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book-boys-are-my-guilty-pleasure · 3 years

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A Stark and her Soldier ~ Part 1

Imagine: Reuniting with Bucky when you end up helping Sam with the Flag Smashers.

Warnings: TFATWS SPOILERS! This takes place during the first two episodes of the show.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’M BACK (with a new header lol)!!! AHHHHHHHH! It’s been nearly two years but here I am… posting this makes me SO nervous, so feedback would be highly appreciated! More parts and some information about what I’m planning with this blog to follow soon!

“You held us together – do it for them,” he paused before adding, “Promise me you’ll do it for them.”

You blinked away the tears, knowing what was coming, “I can’t promise that...”

“Y/N please,” the way he begged you with that shaking voice was nearly enough to push you over the edge.

“I-I promise.” He squeezed your hand before letting you leave.

“You’ve reached James Barnes, sorry I couldn’t take your call, please –” you hung up before the recorded message could continue, face burning with frustration. This was the 9th time you had tried calling him this week, not to mention the countless text messages.

You scoffed thinking of Steve’s last words to you, how were you supposed to hold them together when you barely held yourself together on a good day? It doesn’t make it any easier when the person you’re supposed to be holding together is so keen on letting himself fall apart.

Every time you tried calling him, you ended up feeling furious, miserable, or like an absolute failure – usually all three. You promised Steve, you promised, and you failed. You groaned and chucked your phone across your bed.

The last time you had seen him, Steve had still been around, and you hadn’t even spoken to him since Tony’s funeral.

You and Pepper had walked to the lake, each holding one of Morgan’s hands, and you had sat at the dock watching the arc reactor – his heart – float away, the people behind you forgotten in your grief. The weight on your heart was unbelievable, you had already lost your best friend, Natasha, and now your brother was gone.

You promised him that you wouldn’t cry at his funeral – he always knew it was inevitable – and so you sat there, sending him away with a pained smile.

You had no idea how long you had just sat there, staring at the horizon across the lake, trying to make this last moment with your brother last forever.

“Y/N?” You felt a hand squeezing your shoulder, “You should come back inside.”

“What happens now, Steve?” Your voice was softer than he had ever heard before.

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out together,” he paused for a moment before gesturing to Bucky, waiting outside the house behind him, “He wants to talk to you.”

You gave Bucky a small smile, “Hey.”

He walked over and dropped down next to you, Steve leaving the two of you to chat, “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” You nodded solemnly.

He added, “For everything, Y/N… he probably wouldn’t even have wanted me here, but –”

You shook your head and took his hand, heart fluttering at the contact. You had always been attracted to him, and it had only grown with every interaction. “That wasn’t you.”

You knew your brother never blamed Bucky, you all knew how it felt to have people mess with your heads and Bucky had had the worst of it. He was furious at Steve for years, but never at Bucky – you could never bring yourself to be angry with either of them, not after the stories you grew up with. Your father had adored the soldiers and you had been one of their biggest fans, and later one of Steve’s closest friends.

There had come a point after the battle between Tony and Steve when you had become sick of all the back and forth. You were lucky enough to find an escape when T’Challa got in touch with you, offering you a chance to come to Wakanda and learn about their technology – you weren’t ashamed to admit that you were the one who contacted him to beg for it. You hadn’t known that Bucky was already there. Slowly but surely, the two of you found comfort in one another and became good friends.

He gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “You should head inside, it’s getting late – I’ll see you again soon.”

He stayed true to that statement, the two of you stood with Sam and Bruce, waiting for Steve to come back after returning the stones – only to have him shatter your hearts.

You only saw Bucky in passing after that, occasionally visiting Steve at the same time – you never said a word to him, beyond a smile or a wave, and then you stopped seeing him all together. You tried, for the sake of your promise to Steve, but he never answered your calls or texts.

“We’ll figure it out together, right, thanks a lot Steve,” You muttered.

You jumped at the sound of your phone ringing, and your shoulders sank a bit when you saw Sam’s name flashing across the screen, “Hey.”

“He’s doing an interview,” You knew exactly who Sam was talking about, “Good Morning America.”

Your stomach turned, “That’s the last thing I want to see.”

“I know, I just thought I’d share my joy with someone,” Sam chuckled, “Any luck with Bucky?”

“I’m just wasting my time at this point,” You could feel the tears returning to your eyes as you said it.

“Hey, come on now, he’ll come around, he just needs some time.”

“Right…”

“Listen, I called because we have a lead, wanna join?”

“Please.”

“I hate it, his stupid face plastered on every wall, it feels like he’s mocking us.”

“Don’t you start, Y/N.”

“Seriously Sam, I get that he’s the new Cap – the fake Cap, but don’t you think that this,” You gestured to the posters around you, “is excessive?”

“It-”

“Shouldn’t have given up the shield.” Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice and your face heated up with anger, you hadn’t realized it was possible to feel such contrasting emotions at the same time, but here you were. You noted that his voice was a bit hoarse and wondered if he had been sick.

“Good to see you too, Buck.”

“This is wrong.”

“So is pushing away everyone who cares about you.” He finally looked at you and you saw shame glistening in those steel blue eyes.

He said nothing before turning back to Sam, “You didn’t know that was gonna happen?”

Wow, ignoring your calls was one thing, but outright ignoring you while you stood in front of him, that caused a different kind of hurt.

You stood in silence as Sam explained where the two of you were headed, trying to push away the pounding in your head, and suddenly, you found yourself in a jet sitting next to Bucky.

“You could have answered, even once. Could’ve at least let me know that you were still alive.”

“I know,” Was all he said.

“We were friends once,” Nothing, “and I still care for you.”

“I know.”

“Four months, a full four months and I didn’t hear a single word from you, I’m going to need more than ‘I know’.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry.”

You could tell that he meant it and didn’t know what more to say, so you got up and headed towards the open door of the plane, “I’ll catch you boys on the ground.”

You watched Sam follow, and considered helping Bucky as he fell through the trees, but you decided against it. He hurt your feelings and now you could call it even.

Super soldiers? How on earth were there more super soldiers?! You didn’t have much time to ponder on the thought as you got kicked in the face by one of them and fell off the semi – definitely should have let Tony make you a helmet like he insisted.

You flew back up only to see him dropping out of a helicopter, Fake Cap, fuck.

“Looks like you guys could use some help,” Your blood boiled at the sight of his cocky grin.

You weren’t winning, and you weren’t stupid enough to continue trying, let Steve’s knock-off take care of it.

You flew off just in time to see Bucky lying on top of Sam, the latter groaned in displeasure.

“Hey, can you gentlemen save the PDA for later?” You joked, earning a glare from both of them.

With the adrenaline slowly draining from your system, the pain from the blows you took started to set in, making you dread the trek in front of you. As if on cue, you heard a horn honking and Fake Cap pulled up next to you, “It’s 20 miles to the airport, you guys need a ride.”

“I think we’re good,” You simply stated.

“You won’t make it with that limp.”

You gave him a crude smile, “I’d rather crawl.”

They stopped and opened the door, you exchanged a look with Sam and Bucky, silently deciding to join them.

You sat between Bucky and Sam, and felt the anger and disgust radiating off of both of them with every word that was exchanged.

“Y/N Stark,” You despised the way he said your last name, like he wanted to devour you, “You are one of the original seven, I trust you know the importance of having a strong team. I’d suggest giving a word or two of advice to your friends here.”

“Did you really just compare being on a team with you two, to being on a team with the Avengers?” You glowered at him, “A word of advice Walker, you’re not Steve, you might be holding that shield, but you will never be half the Captain America that he was. So quit fucking pretending.”

“I didn’t realize Stark’s sister had such a mouth on her,” He smirked, he knew exactly what he was doing and as much as you hated to admit it, it was working, “Vicious.”

“Go to hell.”

The ride didn’t last very long after that, and you had no complaints when Bucky demanded them to stop the car.

You opened your eyes and rolled over to see Sam still asleep on the seats across from you, and Bucky was sitting on the large crate in the middle of the jet, “Not tired?”

“Nah,” He shook his head.

You pushed yourself to your feet and hopped up next to him, “You’d think they’d make those seats a bit more comfortable considering the amount of time we spend on these things.”

He chuckled and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. After a considerable pause he turned to you, “Y/N, I meant what I said earlier, I’m sorry.”

The dark bags under his eyes were a stark contrast from the beautiful blue that you were looking into, which you noted which had lost its luster. You noticed that his voice still had a bit of that hoarseness from earlier in the day, and the dots connected. You remembered how hoarse your voice used to get when you’d wake up screaming from the nightmares after particularly rough missions. You understood why he was awake, he didn’t want you and Sam to see him like that.

You nodded, “I know, I just wish – I was worried sick about you. I know it hasn’t been easy for you Buck, but we were good friends once and I miss you.”

“I wanted to call, it’s just been tough,” He admitted, and you reached over to take his hand, only to quickly pull away as Sam woke up.

“You two okay?”

“Yeah,” You both said. You wondered if Bucky’s super soldier ability allowed him to hear the way your heartbeat picked up from that brief touch.

Your mind was racing a million miles a minute, you had barely kept the tears in listening to Isaiah’s story, both out of anger and sadness. How? How did this happen? How was this man tortured, then brushed under the rug? How did no one know about it? Why the hell did Bucky keep this from you?

Sam mirrored your pained expression, but something darker lurked beneath his eyes, you couldn’t even imagine the rage he felt. The sound of a police siren pulled you out of your thoughts.

Your anger only grew at the argument that ensued, “I am calm, what do you want? We’re just standing here talking.”

“Just give him your ID,” You glared at Bucky as the words left his mouth.

“Why the hell should he? He didn’t do anything wrong!” You growled, at the same time Sam said, “I’m not giving him shit, we were just talking.”

“Hey, hey, look, is this guy bothering you?” The officer asked you and Bucky. Your eyes widened, he can’t be serious right now.

“No, he’s not bothering us, do you know who this is?!”

You couldn’t even stand to look at the guy as his jaw dropped in shock upon realizing who Sam was, you felt your body shake with anger, and you didn’t even want to think what would have happened if Sam hadn’t been an Avenger.

The officer returned from his vehicle and turned the tables, announcing that there was a warrant out for Bucky’s arrest.

Watching him being handcuffed and put into the car shattered your heart, if the events of the day hadn’t already left you feeling nauseous, you knew this would be the nail in the coffin. All you could see was Bucky on his knees with a gun to his head nearly seven year ago when Steve barely prevented T’Challa from killing him and the four of you had been arrested – Tony had been furious with you, but it was the shame in Bucky’s eyes that had hurt you the most, and here you were, witnessing it again.

You reached over a grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed as hard as you could, desperate for a lifeline to keep you from sinking into those painful memories.

You maintained that same grip on the poor man’s hand as you sat at the police station waiting for Bucky to be bailed out, “Sam, Y/N, I’ve heard a lot about you two, I’m Dr. Raynor, I’m James’ therapist.”

The two of you shook her hand and Sam thanked her for getting Bucky out.

“That was not me –”

“Christina!” You’d recognize that voice anywhere from the way it made your skin crawl, fuck, “Good to see you again.”

You clenched your jaw to keep yourself from punching the stupid grin off of his face as he pointed to himself when Dr. Raynor asked him who authorized Bucky’s release. You knew you had a problem with constantly wanting to punch people in the face, it was a trait that ran in the family, but Walker’s face was definitely one of the most punchable ones you had seen – a good ol’ pop in the jaw wouldn’t hurt, right? Just one?

“He’s too valuable of an asset to have him tied up –”

That was it, that was all you were willing to hear, you couldn’t stop yourself from getting in his face and hissing, “Call him that again, and I swear to god Walker, I –”

Sam put his arm around you, hand pressed to your stomach and pulled you back, “Y/N.”

Walker simply smirked and turned back to Raynor, “Do what you have to do and send him off to me. Got some unfinished business, him and I, you too Wilson, and bring your guard dog with you.”

It took everything in your power to keep from snarling at him.

“James, condition of your release, session now,” The doctor ordered, “You two as well.”

“I’m good, I’ve been to enough therapy,” You shook your head, at the same time Sam said, “That’s okay, I’ll be out here with –”

“That wasn’t a request,” You couldn’t help but chuckle, and decided that you liked this woman.

You and Sam sat on either side of Bucky, facing Dr. Raynor as she got started. You couldn’t help but notice the way Bucky’s eyes shifted and jaw clenched as Sam tried to weasel his way out of the session, and your chest tightened. He looked so tired, and not just the ‘hasn’t slept in a few days’ tired, but more like he was tired of trying – he looked broken.

You decided in that moment that you would try, and not just for Steve, but for the man next to you who had held a piece of your heart before he even knew you, and managed steal that piece away when you had met him years later.

You realized how hard you’d have try when Bucky answered Dr. Raynor’s question with, “In my miracle, he would talk less.”

“Exactly what I was gonna say, isn’t that ironic?” You sighed, so hard.

She turned to you, mimicking the expression on your face, “Y/N, can I trust you to give me a proper answer?”

Try, Y/N, try. You saw a glimmer of hope in Raynor’s eyes as they met yours, but you simply shrugged and looked away, unable to bring yourself to open up, and she let her shoulders fall slightly.

“You guys are leaving me with no choice. It’s time for the soul-gazing exercise. Y/N, you can sit this one out, you get along with both of them well enough.”

You rolled your eyes at the reactions from the boys, this’ll be good. You couldn’t help but chuckle as they got closer to one another, maybe I should have taken part in this exercise. They made eye contact and continued to hold it, you realized what they were doing moments before the doctor did and let out a genuine laugh – earning a glare from Raynor, don’t encourage them she seemed to say.

“James, why does Sam aggravate you? And don’t say something childish.” Your head filled with a hundred different ideas about what stupid things Bucky would come up with, only to have them fizzle away at his cheeky grin towards the doctor, followed by the lick of his lip. It left your throat dry. Snap out of it, Y/N, what’s gotten into you?

He paused for a moment, his expression changing, and turned back to Sam, “Why’d you give of that shield?”

You held your breath, you knew this was going to come up, but weren’t expecting it here. You couldn’t take your eyes off of Bucky, noticing every change in his face, it becoming more pained with every word that left his mouth, and your chest tightening alongside it, until finally, “So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me.”

The break in his voice cracked your heart into a million pieces. You looked up, trying to keep the tears swimming in your eyes from falling. You turned your attention towards Sam and noticed the emotion behind his glassy eyes – it was different than anything you had seen in him before, it was almost as though you could see the burden he was carrying on his shoulders, the pressure that was pushing him in every direction.

I have to fix this, you told yourself, you couldn’t stand to see them like this, I have to try.

Your mind was roaring with thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed that Sam and Bucky had left until Raynor asked, “What would be in your miracle, Y/N?”

You snapped your head towards her, then to the door, you weighed your options and headed towards the latter. You grabbed the handle and stopped, without turning towards her you whispered, “I’d find a home again, and they’d find some happiness.”

You pulled the door open, “Y/N, I don’t think those two things have to be separate.”

Her words swam in your head until you found Bucky and Sam walking outside, Walker and Hoskins storming off in the other direction.

“What’s that all about?”

“Walker being Walker,” Sam shrugged.

“So, what now?”

“Bucky wants to talk to Zemo,” Every memory that you spent years trying to forget came flooding back: Zemo using those words to turn Bucky into the Winter Soldier, who then proceeded to trash the compound and nearly kill you and your friends; watching your family fight each other at the airport and being forced to pick a side; watching the footage of your parents dying; desperately begging your brother and the man who had become your brother not to kill one another.

“You what?!” You gasped.

“Y/N –”

You stepped between the two of them, close enough to Bucky that you had to tilt your head up to look into his eyes, and whispered, “Bucky, no.”

“This might be our only lead, Y/N,” You stared up at him, silently pleading him, he reflected the same in his own, “Please Y/N.”

He took your hand and you instantly melted, “I – fine, but promise me you will be careful.”

“I promise.”

End.

Read Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 and Part 6

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devilberries · 3 years

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~Tears of Themis~

Marius royalty au

Part ii coming out soon with Marius x femMC

Pressure.

Marius Von Hagen knew pressure very well. In fact, he was acquainted with pressure since he was born. Pressure had been holding his hand since he learned how to walk, and it’s always stuck by his side.

Pressure weighed on his back when he became prince. Pressure weighed on his back when he sat with the neighboring royal children. Pressure weighed on his back when his brother ran away. Pressure weighed on his back when he became the crown prince. Pressure weighed on his back when his parents both grew old and ill.

Pressure weighed on his back when he became king.

And here he sat on the throne. It felt uncomfortable, like he didn’t belong there. The elbow rests of the golden chair were cold, unwelcoming. The seat itself was big. He felt like a small child, sitting there.

It reminded him that he was only king in name. At least, that was what people kept saying. He almost believed them. He really should. After all, how could he rule a kingdom he was never meant to rule?

Was this why his brother left? Were the responsibilities too much? Was this why he ran away, leaving all the heavy burdens behind for his pitiful younger brother?

Marius slumped in his seat defeatedly. It wasn’t like he could ask his parents for help when they were both ill in their beds.

But now that there was a change in power, advisors, military commanders, and neighboring kingdoms were watching for a chance to swoop in and eat up Marius. They were waiting for him to slip and fall, using it to their advantage. They would try and try to manipulate Marius, the ignorant younger prince who only knew how to draw.

He heard the whispers in the long halls. He knew of the names they conjured up for him. He could feel the contempt through their fake smiles.

“Your Royal Majesty,” one of the advisors coughed. Marius snapped out of his daze and looked at him. The advisor furrowed his eyebrow and stated, “As the king of this nation, it would be wise not to mindlessly daydream in the middle of a meeting.”

Marius could hear another counselor scoff under his breath, “King? He’s no king. Just a foolish child wearing a crown.”

He raised eyes at the two men calmly.

“Tell me, old man, who is my father?”

The counselor stared back at him with caution as he answered, “His Royal Majesty King Austin von Hagen.”

Marius smirked when he heard his voice quiver. “Alright, and what is my brother’s title?”

Whispers rush between the men along the long table. It was an unspoken rule not to speak of the original crown prince. They could feel the tension suffocate them.

“H-His Royal Highness… Prince G-Giann von Hagen.”

“Good!” Marius smiled, praising the old man, who sat there, sweating buckets of water. “Now,” he stared straight into his eyes, “what is my title?”

“Y-Your Royal Majesty… King Marius von Hagen II.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Marius waved his finger at the counselor. “That’s not what you said a few seconds ago. Tell me, oh, wise counselor.” He walked behind the old man, towering above him. He placed his hands on his shoulders and asked, “What did you call me?”

The silence was loud. Everyone could only look down, ignoring the counselor. Marius could feel the man shake beneath his touch.

He knew this wasn’t the life he was meant for. He knew that he was better off painting somewhere far away from the throne. Marius knew he was an incompetent king.

But a king nonetheless.

When the man said nothing, Marius whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “That’s treason, you know? What should we do with you, hmm? We could,” he traced his finger on the shaking counselor’s neck, “slit your throat. Hang you. Maybe both. Or wait,” he snaked his arm around the man’s shoulder and harshly grabbed the man’s cheeks with one hand.

“We could cut that tongue of yours out.”

As if that triggered something in him, the man began to sputter out words, begging for mercy. He’d be on his knees if he could, but he didn’t dare shove Marius away. The young king cringed when he felt the man’s snot and tears drip down on his hand. Hastily, he pulled away and called for the guards.

As they forced the counselor away, he screamed and cried, but they all fell on deaf ears. Marius turned to the others who sat there with pale faces.

“I think it’d be best to end the meeting here today. Good day, everyone.” He turned to leave, and everyone let out a sigh of relief, until he turned around. They all flinched and attempted to compose themselves. “Ah, by the way,” he eyed each one of them carefully. “I wasn’t joking when I said that was treason. If I hear a single one of you utter a word about my father, brother, or me, I will cut your tongues out, and let it be known that your families won’t be spared.”

He swiftly exited the room and headed to his parents room.

Pressure trailed behind him, so he walked faster. It was a hopeless attempt, as it caught up to him in no time. He paused his movement and clutched his chest, taking in heavy breaths. The shame and embarrassment clouds his vision, while fear blocked his hearing. He was simply alone, facing his fellow friend pressure once more.

He could tell it was mocking him. He could hear its laughs as it pointed at him, calling his crown unbefitting of him, a faux king. He could feel the judgement of its eyes as it stared at him, his glimmering jewels and badges and oversized cape.

Even with all the riches and gold covering him, he felt so naked.

When he felt its hand on its shoulder, he turned and yelled at it, hoping the nightmare would end.

“Get away from me!”

There he was, Vyn, his Royal Tutor, hand in the air as it was shoved away by Marius, and wearing a surprised expression on his face.

He quickly erased whatever trace of shock he had on his face and inquired the boy, “Should we skip todays lessons, Your Royal Majesty?”

Marius blinked back at him, not comprehending what he had just said.

What just happened? Did he shove Vyn?

Vyn saw his visible panic and gently placed his hand on his shoulder. The poor boy looked at him with fear.

“Your Royal Majesty-“

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered with closed eyes. “That’s not me. I’m not…”

“Oh, but you are,” Vyn said. “Let’s talk somewhere more private, shall we?”

No words came out of Marius, so the Tutor pulled the depressed king along with him into a private guest bedroom. He softly pushed Marius to sit on the bed, while he himself sat on the chair, watching the boy.

“How do you feel?”

Marius stared at the ground emptily. “Can I answer you honestly, Vyn?”

“Of course. You can tell me anything… Marius,” he added that at the end carefully. The boy let out a relieved sigh once he heard Vyn drop the honorifics.

“You really don’t have to call me all those things in public either, Vyn.”

He smiled, “That would be rude and almost treasonous. Didn’t I teach you that?”

“Argh,” Marius bent over, covering his face. “Don’t even mention the word treason near me again.”

“Why? What’s wrong with that?”

Marius looked up, and Vyn chuckled at his distressed expression. “I may have gotten mad at someone for talking shit about me, so I sent him to the chambers and threatened to cut his tongue off…”

Vyn raised an eyebrow, “Was it someone from the Council?”

“Yeah, it was,” Marius sighed.

“Well, it was very irrational to say, at the least, but at least you took the initiative to use your power. That’s the first step of being a ruler.”

“But I don’t want to be a ruler, Vyn. You know that. This,” he got up and spread his arms out, pointing to himself, “none of this stuff feels right. Being King doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel right. Everything is just so…” He trailed off, rubbing his eyes hard to stop the tears.

Vyn sat there patiently. He watched as the boy just a bit younger than him fall apart. He knew it would happen one day. No, in fact, he hoped it would happen. Perhaps this was Marius’s way to free himself from this mess of a kingdom he was born it.

The Tutor was smart. He was intelligent enough to be a military strategist, maybe even be King, but he was unlucky. He was born with commoner blood, yet maybe he was grateful to have been a mere peasant, a mere servant to serve a spoiled prince because he realized being born with royal blood didn’t mean you were lucky; you were just crushed even more by the endless expectations of thousands of people who entrust their lives to you.

He knew what Marius was going to

Everything was just so suffocating.

———————————

It took a while for Marius to stop crying. Vyn chuckled to himself thinking about it. How old was he? Twenty-one, right? Twenty-one and still weeping like he was five.

“Marius.” The boy who was sitting down on the bed, hugging a soft white pillow, looked up with puffy eyes. They decided it was best to stay until his eyes were a bit better in case word spreads that the King is a big baby. “If the pressure makes you too anxious, how about visiting the Themis Temple?”

“Temple? But I’m not religious,” Marius sniffed.

“I know that, but it might calm you a bit. Visiting the temple may bring peace and tranquil for your mind. Plus, I heard the priests and priestesses there are very kind and welcoming to all, despite social and economical differences.”

The boy raised his eyebrow when he heard the words “welcoming to all, despite social and economical differences.”

Was there really such a place that would overlook such things?

“Plus, I hear that they have this intriguing… we’ll call it ‘tradition.’”

“What do you mean by that?” Marius questioned.

“Well, you see, they believe that all the Head Priestesses that are born inherit Themis’s blood. I hear the Head Priestess as of now has a daughter who is coming of age to become the next Head Priestess, so they’re having this event, almost like a ritual to perform on the girl.”

Marius furrowed his eyebrows. “Ritual?”

Vyn nodded, “Yes, a ritual. I’ve only heard rumors, since the last one was forty years ago, but, apparently, the girl gets hot water poured all over her. It’s suppose to symbolize inheriting the burdens of the last Head Priestess and to make her feel the injustice of this world weigh down on her.”

Marius frowned. That sounded more like torture. He felt pity for the girl. She seemed similar to Marius, born with responsibility and pressure, with a role she never asked for.

“How about you go with me right now? We can use our study time to see whether or not you’ll like it. Plus, I believe it’s an opportunity of a lifetime.”

“But won’t people recognize me?” He inquired.

“The question you should be asking is not that, but if you ‘want’ people to recognize you.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t want people to know,” he grumbled.

“Then we shall dress as normal aristocrats. Come now, I have plenty of clothes that will suit you. You’ll have to make due with a commoner’s clothes, Your-“

“Don’t even think about addressing me like that,” he sneers. “And I don’t mind about wearing commoner stuff. I don’t care for this social hierarchy at all.”

Vyn whistles, “How cute, coming from a person of privilege.”

“You know that’s not what I mean!”

“Right, right, of course. I’ll just have to trust your word then. Now, shall we get dressed?”

The two exit the guest bedroom and head to Vyn’s, which was a couple doors down the hall. They walked side by side. Though the servants and maids whispered among themselves, Marius was occupied with his thoughts.

He couldn’t get his mind off of the girl. Perhaps it was infatuation, or genuine curiosity. He created an illusion in his mind.

In his fantasies, he would speak with the girl. He would ask if she felt proud to be part of this bloodline of Goddess’s, or if she felt as if such a position did not suit someone like her. In his mind, she would hesitantly tell him her true thoughts, that she didn’t want to burn under the wrath of the burning water. He would say he felt the same, that he had always been crushed by the constant expectations of the people. He would hold her hand and promise that he would save her, that the two of them could run away together, and she would agree. And together they would-

“The advisors weren’t wrong about you and your constant daydreaming,” Vyn chuckled as he flicked his forehead. Marius flinched, groaning out loud as he slapped his hand above his eyes. The Tutor turned the knob and held the door open. “Hurry now; we wouldn’t want to miss the performance, would we?”

Marius huffed and stepped in, shoving the Tutor along his way. Inside, Artem sat at Vyn’s desk, reading a few documents. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, and his face wore a tired expression with the visible frown and disheveled hair.

It would be best not to piss off the Royal Justice.

“Artem,” Vyn called out. The grumpy man turned away from his papers and nodded at Vyn. When he noticed Marius, he heaved himself up to properly greet his king, but Marius quickly stopped him.

“Hey, sit down. I don’t need to hear any more honorifics than I should, and I would really hate hearing them from you.”

Artem sighed as he sat back down, pinching his nose bridge. “Sorry, I’m just completely exhausted right now. Work has been so swamped lately.”

Marius softened his eyes. “Is there anyway I can help you?”

The Royal Justice shook his head, “No. If you assisted me, word would spread that I am incompetent. There’s already enough rumors spreading around the castle.”

He had already known how brutally honest Artem was. Still, he could never get used to it. It ticked him off how Artem brushed him off like that; it felt insulting.

Before Marius could say any retort, Vyn placed a hand on his shoulder. “Artem, how about we all take a break?”

#tears of themis #Themis #marius von hagen #marius x reader #Themis royalty au #royalty au #royalty #angst #Themis angst #tears of Themis angst #marius angst #too many husbands help-#tot #marius x mc

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much-obliged-timothy · 3 years

Text

Got the urge to write some Devil May Cry tonight, so have a family dinner that goes about as well as you’d expect

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Nero said, for probably the millionth time that day.

Kyrie continued to hum and ignore him, checking on dinner to make sure it wasn’t burning. Nero followed her around the kitchen, silently fuming.

“Kyrie, let’s call it off,” Nero said. “Hell, it’s not like I owe the bastard a timely warning. He can find his own dinner.”

“He’s your father, Nero,” Kyrie said, which had him wincing. She gently pushed a stack of plates into his hands, folding hers over them and squeezing. “Set the table, please.”

“Kyrie-”

“It can’t hurt to try,” she said. “I wouldn’t do this if I thought you really didn’t want to. But you agreed, Nero. We can call it off if that’s what you want, but I know you. You’ve found the family you always wondered about.” She gave a small smile. “And you’ve always been too curious for your own good.”

“He cut my arm off,” Nero said, flexing the fingers of his regrown hand. “Not much of a start to the whole parenting thing. Definitely not the dad I used to dream of having. No, you and Cre-” He bit down on his lip, then pressed on, because it wasn’t right to deny Credo’s memory just because it still hurt. “You and Credo are my family.”

“And we still are,” she said, squeezing his hands again.

Nero looked into her eyes for a long moment, then let out a quiet string of curse words. He let her squeeze his hands once more before pulling them away to go set the table.

She’d suggested they have the twins over for dinner, wanting to get to know Nero’s family. She’d met Dante before, but now that she knew he was Nero’s uncle, she was even more eager to spend time with him.

And Vergil.

Nero set a plate down with too much force, relieved when it didn’t break. This whole dinner was going to be a disaster. He wished he’d never agreed to it.

But he had agreed to it. He didn’t want to think too hard on what that meant.

And Vergil had agreed to come. He definitely didn’t want to think too hard on what that meant.

So rather than think, he busied himself helping Kyrie. She’d been working hard on the meal since this afternoon, wanting everything to be perfect. His mouth dried up every time he tried to tell her how much the effort meant.

She knew what this meant to him. Or, at least, what it could mean, if things would just go right. Nero didn’t want to dash her hopes alongside his own, so he stopped pointing out how awful this was likely to turn out. At least the food would be good. Maybe he’d even make Dante a to-go dish if he helped kick Vergil out when shit hit the fan.

All too soon, there was a knock on the door. Nero went to answer it, leaving Kyrie to put the final touches on dinner.

“Smells good,” Dante said, poking his head in and sniffing as soon as the door was open enough for his head to fit through.

Nero pushed his face back. “You can’t eat it all, you mooch.”

“Who’s going to stop me?” Dante scoffed.

“Kyrie,” Nero said simply.

Dante sighed. “Yea, alright. That’ll do it.”

He stepped into the house, the movement revealing Vergil behind him. Nero couldn’t help but glare a little, though he did step aside to let Vergil in.

He couldn’t untangle his own feelings. He’d longed for a family as a child, and now here they were. But of course the crazy, power-hungry asshole that cut Nero’s arm off also had to be his damn father.

Vergil’s gaze traveled around the room, his expression revealing nothing but his usual judgment. Nero gestured to the couch.

“Have a seat. I’ll get drinks,” he said. He doubted even alcohol would lighten Vergil up, but it was worth a shot.

He fetched three beers, tossing one to Dante, one to Vergil, and popping the last for himself. He wished he’d gotten something stronger.

“Where is Kyrie?” Dante asked, lounging on the couch. Vergil was trying to shove Dante’s feet away from himself, but Dante was persistent in his role as annoying brother.

“Finishing up dinner. It’ll only be a few minutes,” Nero said. He was too anxious to sit, so he leaned against the wall, lightly drumming his fingers on his beer.

That few minutes turned out to be Dante carrying on a full conversation almost by himself. Nero jumped in a few times, but Vergil never spoke.

“It’s ready!” Kyrie called, saving them from the whole thing carrying over into awkward territory.

Dante hopped off the couch, making sure to kick Vergil in the leg as he did so. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Nero said.

“Even more reason to pick up the pace, kid,” Dante said, shooing him in the direction Kyrie’s voice had come from.

Nero led them to the table, where delicious looking food was laid out for them. Kyrie smiled, kind and welcoming as always. Only the way she twisted her hands together gave away that she was feeling any of the anxiety Nero did.

He couldn’t meet her eyes. If this failed...Shit. He didn’t want it to, but he knew it would hurt him. And Kyrie knew that, too.

“Take a seat wherever,” Nero said, claiming his usual seat. Kyrie sat next to him, pressing her leg to his. He’d survive, even if this whole dinner went to hell; he could make it through any hell with her support. But that irritating flicker of hope was hard to douse.

“Looks delicious,” Dante informed Kyrie as he began to pile his plate. “I’m coming here more often.”

“You’re welcome any time, Dante,” Kyrie said.

“Please don’t tell him that,” Nero said. “She didn’t mean it. You’re not welcome any time.”

Kyrie ignored him. “As are you, Vergil. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Kyrie.”

Vergil was eyeing her with the same judgmental expression he’d had when he came into the house. Nero wondered if he’d been born with that expression on his face.

Finally, Vergil spoke. As soon as the words left his mouth, Nero wished the asshole had just stayed quiet the whole night.

“You don’t look like you can fight,” he said.

“I can’t,” Kyrie said, patient, unbothered. “I don’t want to.”

Vergil scoffed quietly. “Then you don’t belong in Nero’s world.”

“You couldn’t even let me eat before you go getting us kicked out?” Dante said in exasperation.

“If Nero plans to continue fighting, then she doesn’t belong with him,” Vergil said, as if it was the most obvious statement in the world. “She becomes a liability.”

“I’m sorry you think that,” Kyrie said.

“You don’t owe him an apology for his own shitty thoughts,” Nero said, temper lashing to the surface.

But Kyrie rested a hand on his thigh, shaking her head. “No, Nero. I mean it. I am sorry he thinks that. I feel bad for him.” She met Vergil’s eyes, unflinching under his cool gaze. “Who loves you, Vergil? Who grounds you? Who worries for you when you go running into all your fights?”

His eyes narrowed further. He didn’t answer. Nero doubted he could.

Kyrie nodded, like she’d expected the silent hostility. “Nero has that. When the world comes apart under his feet, I’m there to grab his hand and hold him up until he can find steady ground again. When he goes into battle, I pray for his safe return. If he comes home injured, I tend to him. When he can’t love himself, I love him. Maybe he didn’t have parents growing up. But he never went a day unloved since I met him.”

“And when an enemy captures you and he has to risk himself to save you? Will your love and support be enough then?” Vergil mocked.

“It was enough before,” Nero said, resting his hand over hers. “You fight for power. I fight for the people I love. And I’m the one who kicked your ass.”

Dante let out a sharp whistle. “He’s got you there, Verg.”

“It’s foolish human sappiness,” Vergil said, shaking his head. “She puts him at risk. It’s as simple as that. Someone who doesn’t want to learn how to fight is a weak point for a warrior like Nero.”

“It’s a damn shame Kyrie worked so hard on this meal just for me to punch you in the face and throw your ass out of my house before you try any of it,” Nero said, slamming his hands on the table and standing up. “You don’t-”

Kyrie tugged him back into his chair. “What he was going to say, is that you don’t get to come in here and decide anything about our relationship. Establish your own with Nero before you go judging the two of us. Part of me hates you, Vergil. The part of me that found Nero bleeding to death with his arm ripped off? I don’t know if it can ever forgive you for that. But I’m trying, for his sake. Maybe I can’t run around stabbing demons all day. But don’t you come into my home and tell me I’m weak. You should be grateful I have the strength to bite my tongue and try to give you a fresh start.”

They stared each other down for a tense moment. Finally, Vergil reached out and scooped food onto his plate.

“I will not waste my time arguing this. Nero can live with the consequences when they inevitably catch up to him,” he said.

He fell silent again for dinner as Kyrie carried on a conversation with Dante, trying to urge Nero and Vergil into it. Vergil resisted expertly, but Nero allowed himself to be part of it.

When they were done eating, Vergil stacked the dirty dishes and pushed them off to Dante, who found himself being sweetly pressured by Kyrie to help wash them. No doubt hoping to be invited back for another meal, he complied.

But it left Nero and Vergil alone at the table. Nero considered getting up to go help just to escape Vergil, but then decided there was no use in being cowardly now. He’d never been afraid to piss people off before. Might as well not start with his father.

“You ever come in my house and talk badly about her again, you better take a damn good look around on your way out, because you won’t ever step foot in here again,” Nero warned.

“She’s as stubborn as you, that’s for sure,” he grumbled.

Nero opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. Some part of him thought that it might have even been a compliment.

His anger dissipated just enough for him to think over the argument. Had Vergil been...concerned?

Nero leaned back in his chair. “Some things are worth the risk. I’d give my life for hers.”

Vergil was silent for a long moment before saying, “Then you take after your grandmother.”

Nero opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He just closed it and nodded, too stunned to know how to reply to that.

His grandmother. A woman who died to protect those she loved. Whose death set Vergil on the path for the search for power, because he’d been too helpless to protect his family when they were under attack.

When Kyrie and Dante returned, they seemed to expect tension or an outright fight between father and son. Instead, Nero and Vergil sat in an almost companionable silence, their drinks almost finished.

Nero got up to see the twins to the door, Kyrie following him. He took her hand in his, their fingers sliding together with a familiar ease. He allowed his thumb to trace a pattern over her smooth skin, her hand soft against his rough, calloused one.

“Thanks for the meal, kid,” Dante said. “Ah, guess I should be thanking Kyrie, actually. I doubt Nero cooked.”

“He helped,” Kyrie said, smiling. “Thank you for coming. We’ll have to do this again sometime.”

“Hey, I never say no to free food,” Dante assured.

“Next time, I’ll buy something stronger than beer,” Nero said.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Vergil said, turning his back on them and leaving out the door.

Dante clapped Nero on the shoulder. “Think you’re winning your old man over. And if you’re not, Kyrie sure is. Catch you later.”

Nero shut the door once he was out. “He’ll...come again. That was his way of saying he would.”

“Is that a good thing?” Kyrie asked, voice soft.

“I think it could be.” Vergil had suffered the loss of his mother. Maybe he was an asshole about it, but Nero thought that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to see his son suffer a similar fate. “He’s a dick. But there might actually be something like a heart in that chest.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know if a man like that remembers what it means to love someone. But I think he remembers what it’s like to care.”

Nero held her close. She looked up at him, her smile easing the anxiety he’d felt all night.

“Maybe he just needs a reminder,” she said.

He kissed her head. “I’ll help cook next time. I think I’m actually gettin’ the hang of it now.”

They stood there together, holding each other in the aftermath of a night that had turned out better than Nero could’ve hoped for. He’d try with Vergil. Vergil might suck at it, but he was trying in his own way. Nero could try to.

And even if he failed, he’d always have Kyrie.

#devil may cry #Nero Sparda #Vergil Sparda #Dante Sparda #dmc kyrie #dmc nero #dmc vergil #dmc dante #DMC #devil may cry fanfiction #My writing

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dreamofmysoul-tsc · 4 years

Text

Elias Carstairs, Matthew Fairchild, and the Disease of Alcoholism

I’m very nervous about posting this but I think it’s important.

Now before you guys scroll past this post, I’m gonna ask that whoever may read this take some time to hear from my perspective. I would like to preface this by saying that I do not know, nor am I claiming to know, what it’s like to face racism and prejudice everyday, nor do I know what it was like to be queer in a time that was less than accepting and terribly cruel to LGBTQIA+ folks. I will not be speaking about either of those things here, as it is not my place to. However, I do know what it’s like to live with an alcoholic. I do know what it’s like to have an alcoholic parent and I have seen what addiction does to a person and their family firsthand.

Final disclaimer, I am in no way trying to attack or target anybody. All I am doing is providing my own perspective when it comes to the discourse surrounding Elias Carstairs and the differing opinions I have seen in regards to Matthew. I would also like to state that my experiences are my own, and are in no way reflective of every addicts’ experience or the experiences of their children/loved ones. Addiction affects everybody differently.

I am also not a psychologist or a doctor; everything stated below are my personal experiences as a child of an alcoholic.

Now let’s get started.

CW for alcoholism, substance abuse, abuse in general, and death

Elias

When I first started Chain of Gold I didn’t anticipate how much I was going to relate to Alastair. Honestly, I didn’t have strong opinions about him either way; I didn’t hate him, but I didn’t love him either. That was until it was revealed why Elias was sick all the time, and what really happened during his mission. I have never seen alcoholism portrayed in a novel ever. I’m sure there are novels which talk about it out there, but I have never come across one. And for the first time in my life, I felt like somebody understood. There are countless characters in The Shadowhunter Chronicles who have touched my heart, but I will forever be grateful to Alastair and Cassandra Clare for making me feel like I didn’t have to hide anymore, that I was allowed to talk about my father’s alcoholism. Because for 18 years, it had been my secret. For my mother, it had been even longer.

My father has been an alcoholic for my entire life. I’m sure this is common sense for most people, but an alcoholic cannot be a 100% good and supportive parent. Those two things do not mix. Most alcoholics are alcoholics because of shame, pain, or other mental health problems that they have not sought therapy for. I would also like to say that alcoholism is a disease. It physically alters the brain to make the addict believe that they need to drink just as much as they need to eat or sleep. When you are constantly drunk, it can increase stress or anxiety in everyday life and leaves the addict at risk of developing depression if it was not already there. Many alcoholics suffer with depression, general low self esteem, or various other mental health problems before abusing alcohol; these problems are then exacerbated with daily alcohol consumption.

My father never abused us, mentally, physically, etc, and he never has. He carries a lot of mental pain and shame with him, which he has continually refused to seek help for. He drinks because he does not like himself; he feels that he isn’t deserving of help. He feels like he messes everything up. And as a child, I used to make excuses for him. “Well, he never hurts us, so what’s the problem?” “It doesn’t affect his work, so what’s the problem?” I was naive then. No matter how “functioning” they may seem, an alcoholic cannot live a completely healthy, happy, and fulfilling life if they drink everyday, even if it seemingly doesn’t affect their work lives. Alcoholics are very good at hiding their addiction. I cried when Cordelia described finding bottles in odd places, or when Alastair described how he tried everything in his power to hide it from his sister and their community. I used to find beer cans stashed under the kitchen sink. Sometimes I’d find them in the spice cabinet. I don’t like inviting friends to my house because I can never be sure if my dad will be 100% sober. I didn’t want people to see him that way. I don’t want to see him that way.

I have seen a decent amount of posts on various platforms of people wishing Elias dead or wanting him to be completely x-ed out of Alastair and Cordelia’s lives. And while I totally understand the protectiveness many people feel toward Alastair and Cordelia whenever their father is involved (I love them to pieces, too), as somebody who is a child of an alcoholic, I do not and would never wish my father dead. The thought of it makes me sick. Thus far, we know very little about Elias and his personality. We don’t know if he has ever physically harmed Alastair or Sona. This is not to invalidate mental or emotional abuse either, which are just as terrible. And while he does seem to be biased towards Cordelia, which in and of itself isn’t fair, there has been little evidence to show that Elias is violent or abusive. Of course Chain of Iron could prove me wrong, but as of now, I don’t want to immediately assume that Elias is abusive. Alcoholism does not equal abuse, although alcohol can be an expedient to violence. I do not want to invalidate the Carstairs’ experience if that is the case, but I do not want to jump to conclusions either. Of course you can call me lucky because my father has never harmed us in any way. But personally, I find that insulting. When a parent is an addict, regardless of whether or not they harm their children or how involved they are in their child’s life, they will end up leaving their child with mental scars whether it was intentional or not. My father’s addiction and the addictions of countless others cannot be measured on a scale. Addiction hurts everybody it touches, no matter how normal the addict may seem to the rest of the world.

I know this Elias section is already so long, but I have a bit more to say before I move on to Matthew. Alcoholics make choices, many of them poor choices. They decide whether or not to seek help. They decide to drink another beer. They decide to drive drunk, even if their child is in the car with them. It is a disease which completely takes over every single part of their life. And while it negatively affects their lives and the lives of their loved ones, that does not mean that they are undeserving of help. Any addict, whether they’re addicted to alcohol or heroin or cigarettes, anything at all, needs help. And they most definitely should not be mocked or attacked for their addiction or their attempts to get help for it. Regardless of whether or not they are in recovery or in the thick of their addiction, there is absolutely no reason to mock them. There is no reason to tell them to “just quit drinking.” There is no reason to call them a “junkie” or a “drunk,” no matter what stage of their addiction or recovery process they are in.

I am in no way excusing Elias’ behavior just as I in no way excuse my father’s behavior. He [Elias] needs to be punished for showing up to a mission drunk and consequently being unable to keep those four Shadowhunters from dying. He needs to apologize to his children. He needs to apologize to his wife. And he needs to recover. Addiction is an ugly, ugly thing. It never just affects the addict. It leaves their loved ones with scars, whether they’re mental of physical. Personally, I can’t stand the sound of metal beer or soda cans being cracked open anymore. I’m terrified of getting married. I can never feel 100% comfortable or safe around drunk people. I refuse to drink. I don’t like thinking about how the only time my dad has been 100% sober was when we visited my grandparents for a week and he had no opportunity to slip away to buy alcohol. I don’t like thinking about how my mother has had to deal with this for decades. I want my mother to be happier. But I also want my dad to recover. Living with an alcoholic isn’t black and white; I don’t hate my dad. I hate his addiction. I love him. He’s my dad. I don’t like seeing him that way. I know Alastair doesn’t like seeing his father that way either. But no matter how much you scream or cry or fight with somebody, people will not change unless they themselves want to.

Matthew

This section will be much more brief because many of my thoughts surrounding Matthew are similar to my thoughts surrounding Elias. I would like to touch on two things, however.

I have seen people talking about Matthew, or more specifically Matthew’s friends, saying that they don’t understand why they [The Merry Thieves and Co] seem to be ignoring Matthew’s alcoholism or aren’t doing anything about it even if they do realize he has problems with alcohol. Part of it is because of historical context; alcoholism wasn’t considered a disease until very recently, and the beliefs that alcoholics can either a) stop drinking whenever they want or b) are abusive, useless members of society still persist to this day. But the other, bigger part of it is relatively simple: people won’t change unless they believe they can change. Addicts need to want to change in order to begin the recovery process. You can’t force them to. If their heart isn’t in it, they’ll attend therapy or AA meetings a couple times to appease you, and then they will start drinking/using again. Or they’ll lie to you even more, telling you that they did attend a meeting or a therapy session when in reality they bought another pack of beer. Matthew will not seek help unless he believes wholeheartedly that he can change. He needs to believe that he is worthy of change and he needs to truly want to get better in order to begin to make significant improvements in his life. Of course relapses will happen, but the point is that he wants to improve his life. He wants to recover. No matter how much James or Thomas or Cordelia or Lucie tell him to change, no matter how much they want him to get better, he simply will not unless he wants to. It hurts. It really does. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. You can love somebody so, so much, but your love is not going to make them better. Your love will not magically make their addiction go away. To reiterate what I said about Elias earlier, you can scream and cry and fight and give them all of the love until you’re blue in the face, but if they don’t want help, they will not seek it out. Matthew needs help, but more importantly, he needs to come to the realization that he is deserving of that help. He is deserving of a successful recovery. Every addict is.

Lastly, there is something about Matthew and Cordelia’s relationship that has never sat right with me. Children of alcoholics are statistically more likely to get into a relationship or marry an alcoholic because it’s what feels “normal” to us. And while I have always wanted Matthew and Cordelia to become friends, part of this is the reason why I don’t want them to have a romantic relationship. I don’t want Cordelia to have to continue that cycle, never able to escape the effects of addiction. I want Matthew to focus on himself. I want him to recover. I want his friends to support him. I want both Matthew and Elias to have a successful recovery, because the amount of addicts who die from their disease every year is staggering and upsetting. Of course Matthew is deserving of love, but he needs to focus on recovering, both from his addiction and his trauma, before he puts all of his energy into a romantic relationship.

----------

Overall, I want Alastair to have time to be himself, to not have to carry the weight of his father’s addiction on his shoulders. I want Elias to recover and to apologize for how he has hurt his family, whether it was intentional or not. I want Matthew to forgive himself and to realize that he deserves to take up space in this world just as we all do. And I ask that you, whoever may be reading this, to try to feel a little more compassion for these characters and addicts you may know or meet in your life. Or to put yourself in their shoes and the shoes of their loved ones. We should not be mocking them, or hurting them, and we certainly should not be wishing death upon them. There are far, far too many addicts who have died because of their disease and their mental pain. When dealing with addicts or the loved ones of addicts, I ask that you try to support them and encourage them to seek help, whether it’s therapy or AA or any number of support groups. The effects of alcoholism and drug addiction will stick with the addict in recovery and their loved ones for the rest of their lives. Some days will be harder than others. But the important part is that, when those hard days come, they have a support system of therapists, family, friends, even people online to remind them why they are in recovery and to encourage them and their progress, no matter how small. An addict in recovery, no matter how slow or fast their progress may seem, is better than an addict who has died because they never sought out the help they desperately needed.

If you read through this entire thing, thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to read through my personal experience. This topic is very important to me, and while I’m relatively new to tumblr, I still felt the need and the obligation to share my perspective. I’m not trying to sway your opinion of Matthew or Elias, just to maybe make some people think about this complex issue. If you aren’t a fan of either of them, that’s totally fine. If anything, what I would like you to take away from this is to be more aware of alcoholism and its effects. If something doesn’t seem right, speak up. I will be providing resources below if you or a loved one needs addiction counseling or help, or if you simply would like to learn more about this. If you have anything to add to this, would like to share your opinion, or have a question for me, feel free to reblog or message me in my ask box. Please be respectful, y’all! This is a sensitive topic and it affects everybody differently; I want this to be a civil discussion, not a witch hunt.

Thank you very much for reading and considering my point of view.

Resources:

What is Alcohol Use Disorder?

SAMHSA (a helpline)

Alcohol Rehab Guide (this website also includes educational resources and a helpline)

Substance Abuse Helplines and Treatment Programs

How Parental Alcoholism Affects Children

#tsc #tlh #matthew fairchild #elias carstairs #personal #just wanted to get my opinion out there #this has been nagging at me for a while #thanks for reading #this is as personal as im ever gonna get with yall i promise

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

Oh, can I please ask for one of your folklore prompts? “And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want/just not home” my tears ricochet For a young Tony, maybe? It doesn't have to have a pairing if you don't want to. :)

A house and a home are different. Tony did not know this until he was in college, much to his surprise.

A house is somewhere you live. A central place that you come back to in between visits to other people or places or countries or anything else. It is not personal. It is something you use until you no longer see the need or the desire. You can move to a lot of them.

A home lingers. A home is where you smile late at night over drinks. It is where crumbs reside from last night’s takeout, and you spend lazy Sundays.

(Tony also didn’t know what that was either.)

He’s lived in a lot of houses. He has a lot of houses. There’s the one in New York that is looming and lonely and probably would be his least favorite except it’s in New York, which earns it its redemption.

There is sunny Malibu with its beaches and great views. There are a few others.

None of them are homes. It’s just a place to rest for a couple of months or a year or until Howard decides it’s not enough.

He gets to MIT and gets a dorm room, same as everyone else. It is pitifully sad, he gets sun only in the mornings, and that sucks. He kind of hates it. He guesses that’s the college experience.

He also has a roommate. Jarvis had told him it’d be good for him, and Tony had had to talk Howard out of about twenty-seven different legal documents that basically said “if you ever breathe a word of anything to anyone, you’re being legally sued.”

James Rhodes. Literally studying to become a rocket scientist, has questionable taste in posters, and waves at Tony when they meet each other.

“Call me Jim.”

“...Jim. Are you eighty or something?”

It’s probably the wrong thing to say. It definitely is the wrong thing to say by Jarvis’ raised eyebrows and down-turned frown.

But James Rhodes takes it in stride.

“You can call me something else if you want, but it has to be good and I have to approve it. Can’t be my last name, can’t be Jimmy. Anything else is fair game.”

Different reaction. That’s...that’s weird.

So Tony shrugs, smiles as Jarvis leaves, and realizes that he’s alone and Howard doesn’t really have an influence--except he does, god he does--and Tony asks James Rhodes if he’d like to get pizza.

“You know anywhere with good pizza?”

“Wanna find out if Hemingway’s is any good?”

“It’s either going to be artisan hipster or the worst. Hell yes.”

It’s artisan hipster. It is bad, and James laughs as he tells a story and burns his tongue when he’s reenacting his mother is chewing him out, using his full name, and:

“Rhodey,” Tony gasps out.

“I told you that you couldn’t use my last name!”

“It’s technically not your last name, sugar plum,” Tony mocks, using one of his mother’s nicknames against him. “You are forever now Rhodey. Forever.”

From there, friendship progresses. Tony’s never actually had a real friend before, not that he tells Rhodey that. Besides, Rhodey probably knows. Tony just automatically assumes he’s paying for everything, and he’s not sure what to do with genuine affection for a couple of months.

He looks at Rhodey with such love and affection. He does, really. Rhodey has created a whole new world for him.

And then, the holidays.

Thanksgiving is Tony’s least-favorite-holiday for a variety of reasons. It’s all a fake kind of gathering. “Coming together to celebrate gratefulness” is the biggest goddamn crock of bullshit he’s ever cooked in his life, and for once his family isn’t doing a PR stunt, so his mother has announced that he’s welcome to be back home, but they won’t be there.

Howard is taking Jarvis with him on a trip to England to visit Aunt Peggy and probably talk shop about Cap and ice and stupid fucking theories about the degree of alive he’ll be when he’s found.

(When. What pretentious bullshit.)

Tony doesn’t want to be alone in the house, because that’d suck shit and MIT would be better. At least he could make shitty ramen and cry and only get a noise complaint instead of one of the cleaning staff members saying that he probably needed therapy.

“You are not staying in the dorms, what the fuck man,” Rhodey says. “You’re coming home with me.”

“Now darling, I thought you said we weren’t going to be forward about this whole thing,” he purrs, putting on an old Hollywood accent. “Are you finally coming up and seeing me?”

Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be as forward as I want,” he decides, and Tony wishes he wouldn’t say things like that, because that seriously get’s a man’s heart rising. “Besides, I told you that you need to have my Aunt Kendra’s rolls, and that’s a promise. So, Thanksgiving is now with the Rhodes’ family.”

Tony doesn’t know if they know that he’s coming. He also doesn’t know the dress code, and Rhodey is absolutely no help.

“What do you mean by casual?” Tony squawks. “Is it business casual? Dressy casual? Jeans casual?”

“What do any of those mean?”

“Oh my god, I’m going to look like a failure at this shindig. Your mother will die over her cooking because I’ll pull out of the wrong wardrobe and be a fool. I’ll die, and you’ll have to bury me, and you won’t even know which outfit I’ll want. God, this is going to--”

Rhodey shuts him up, putting a hand over his mouth.

“Just wear your red turtleneck and your dark jeans or whatever. That looks nice.”

“You noticed?”

“You don’t give me as much credit as I deserve,” Rhodey grunts. “Early wake-up on Monday. I’ll supply coffee as long as you give me gas money.”

“I’ll give you anything for coffee. I’ll give you my hand in marriage for coffee.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Rhodey teases. “I might actually do that.”

God, I wish you would.

Rhodey’s house is a nice place, a wire fence bordering with a porch swing covered in a light dusting of snow, and swinging slightly with the wind that blows through the neighborhood.

There are quite a lot of cars parked in the driveway and in the street, and Tony can see at least six people inside the house, which is more family than he actually knows on either side.

It’s all warm and yellow, and Rhodey moves with an ease that Tony didn’t know happened outside of those cheesy family shows.

He throws open the door and there are shouts of joy and happiness and “Jimmy-boy!”

“I didn’t know Jimmy-boy was on the table,” Tony remarks dryly. “And here it’s been for months, Jimmy-boy.”

Rhodey groans.

“This is worse than Rhodey,” he mutters.

A woman who could only be his mother steps forward, grinning.

“Call me Mama, darling. And what’s this I hear about ‘Rhodey’?”

“He burnt his tongue on pizza while telling me about a time he got a well-deserved talking-to by your own graceful words, Mrs. Rhodes,” Tony says. He’s charming. Oh, he’s very charming.

She giggles.

“I said mama, but I can’t say I’ll mind too much when you talk like that. Jim, you should’ve had us meet earlier.”

“You see I would’ve, but I happen to value myself,” Rhodey says.

“You do?” a man says. Mr. Rhodes, tall and a smile that could put any of the fake veneers in Hollywood to shame. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Rhodey gets pulled into a hug, and he laughs, and Tony has the Distinct Memory that He’s Never Been Hugged by his Father.

Well, isn’t this a time to realize family inadequacies!

“Rhodey, light of my life, where am I setting up my suitcase?” Tony asks.

“Come on up with me. We’re sleeping in my room, hope that’s alright.”

It’s more than alright, and Tony smiles when he sees Rhodey’s room.

He loves it. It’s decorated with model airplanes hanging from the ceiling, a peeling Star Wars poster that has most definitely been needed to be thrown away for more than five years (but won’t be), and a few trophies from soccer.

Tony’s never had his own room decorated with anything but the current trends, his mother hand-picking his comforter and the decorations in his room. And they all say he’s so “fashionable” and “keeps an eye out for trends.”

(Ha.)

It’s odd for him to see a house look so...lived in.

“Welcome home,” Rhodey says. “I haven’t grabbed it yet, but I’ll use a sleeping bag and you can take the bed.”

Tony snorts.

“No way, honeybee. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. We’ve shared a bed before, this is no different.”

"Only if you’re sure,” Rhodey says, smiling at him. “This is a bit different than both twin beds being crashed together because we wanted more space for the fridge.”

“This time we don’t have the fridge,” Tony quips as Rhodey laughs.

“Come on, let’s head downstairs. Mama’s probably gonna have us wash dishes or something. Maybe set up some more chairs.”

What actually happens is that their laundry machine has gone rebel-mode, and is currently trying it’s best to fling the door open and spew laundry everywhere.

“Shit,” Mr. Rhodes says, looking at it. “Another call to the repairman this month...”

“He won’t get here until a week after Thanksgiving,” Mama says, sighing. “How much do you mind your jeans freezing up a bit?”

He smiles a bit at his wife.

Tony’s never seen that. But he likes it.

“I can fix it,” he says. Family turns to him. This is all quite embarrassing. “I, uh, I’ve taken apart some washing machines before. I think I can figure it out, if you don’t mind me poking around.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit,” Mama says. “Jimmy, I like this one.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“I’ll go get the toolkit for you. Need anything?”

“Towels and you, honey-pie.”

“You get one out of two of those options.”

“You treat me like a vagrant,” Tony declares. Rhodey laughs as he heads to go get supplies.

The night goes on. People occasionally check in, and Rhodey assures them that it’s going well.

“Instruction manuals are such bullshit,” Tony says. “Half the time they’re written by someone who doesn’t even know how to do it themselves. The other half, no one uses them.”

“Well when you take over your company, write better instruction manuals,” Rhodey says. “Pass me a towel, things are about to get sudsy.”

Forty-five minutes later, the washing machine is probably doing better than it was even at production, and Tony gets a kiss on the cheek and cheers all around him.

“This calls for cookies,” Rhodey declares. “Tony, let’s go get some.”

They sit at the kitchen table, and Tony learns so much about Rhodey’s family. He sees him laugh and relax and tell the funniest stories about when he was little and got stuck in a tree.

It’s home. That’s how he finally understands it. Home where you keep on going long after, with people you love.

He doesn’t have one of those.

He thinks, maybe, that he could make a home of his own. Maybe he could have AC/DC posters lining a wall, or have the pictures of friends and vacation in the kitchen.

And Rhodey would be there. For now, he’s going to enjoy his hot chocolate and try to get more embarrassing stories about his best friend from his family.

#lovelyirony writes #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #the difference between a house and a home #mit era #rhodey #tony stark #jarvis #anyways yeah i don't think tony would actually know what a home looks like #he's Deficient

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horrorslashergirl · 3 years

Text

A takeback on a raven. A Shadow Story

Authors Note: History is always interesting and everyone has one. Shall we take a glimpse at the infamous Boston Serial Killer?

Warning: 18+ because of sexual assault, abusive behaviour perhaps and some uestionable themes. Just putting the warning in case.

Words: 1.9k

It was autumn in Boston and the rain just stopped as the preteenagers exited the school, all glad for the ending of the program, looking forward to getting home for the weekend. Everything was peaceful until a little boy was pushed into a puddle from the rain, all his clothes getting wet and leaves sticking to his face.

He looked up at the group of boys laughing and smirking at his form, the books from his satchel fell out into the dirty ground, destroying the pristine white pages.

"Looks like the ugly raven fell off the tree." one of the boys, probably the leader mocked, kicking at the books and throwing them all around the ground covered by the amber leaves of autumn.

The little boy didn't say anything, but he avoided looking up at the aggressors, only for one of them to take his book from the ground and hit him upside the head with it.

"We are talking with you, crow. Hey! What's this?" he asked, opening the destroyed book and looking at the content inside, the group accompanying him and checking what the pages held.

They all began to laugh and the boy felt a heavy force on his head from the obnoxious and obscene sounds the group was making.

"Check this out, guys! Naked women!" the leader said, snorting at the images.

It was actually an anatomy book, very much detailed and nothing improper at all; it was educative, but the low-brains were too blind to actually see, probably couldn't even read the title of the book anyway.

Before they could throw any more insults, the teacher came by them, scolding the group and promising them that she will have a very nice discussion with their parents. The pre-teenagers scowled and looked down at the boy on the ground, rolling their eyes and starting to walk away.

"See you on Monday, pervert!" The leader yelled before stalking away after his group.

"I told you that you should away conflicts, especially with Henry." The female teacher told the boy, getting his books from the ground and handing them to the black-haired boy.

"I-I tried." he whispered, putting his belongings back in his leather satchel.

"Lucas, if you indeed tried you wouldn't have been here. Now, go home. You wouldn't want to be late for dinner." she quickly told him, then walked away, leaving Lucas alone, who slowly got up, whipping the dirt and leaves from his pale cheeks, which had a slight rosy tint.

He walked to the bus station, waiting for the next one since he missed the principal one. At last, this one wasn't crowded with his classmates and bullies, so he could sit in silence until he arrived home. On the long drive, he pulled out his books so that he could inspect them; indeed destroyed, but not completely, although he will have to get all the unwanted mess off and dry them.

He really hated this school, but not because he didn't want to learn or because of homework. The classmates and pretty much every kid was a Buffon, ignorant over the edge and it made him always wonder why he was learning among a wave of monkeys who couldn't distinguish tendons from bones.

"Last stop! We are here." the driver announced, getting off from the seat and exiting the vehicle to be met with the imposing view of his house that looked like something from a Tim Burton art book.

He opened the large gate to enter, stepping on the brick sidewalk and on the stairs to the large mahogany double doors, his tiny hand wrapping around the door handle and pushing the door open, only to be met with the face of his aunt, younger sister of his mother.

"You're late and oh my! You look horrible!" Aunt Mia said, her brown eyes widening and she grimaced at the dirty and disheveled look Lucas was sporting, not like he wanted to.

"Your mother is in the living room, having tea with the ladies of her literature club. If she sees you like this, she will go bonkers." Mia whispered to Lucas, narrowing her eyes at the boy.

"Get your clothes off right now. I just whipped the floorboards and cleaned the carpets. I don't want to see one spot of mud on them." Mia said with finality, moving with the tray of tea tools to the kitchen to refill them.

Lucas sighed, putting his satchel down and tugging on the black vest off, the white button-down came next, a shiver running down his spine at the coldness. He put his shoes neatly on the doormat and unbuckling the belt, tugging his khaki slacks down when he heard a scream.

His amber eyes looked up to see his older sister at the top of the main staircase, looking at him like she saw something repulsive.

"Mother!" Amelia yelled, making Lucas's eyes widen, knowing that this won't turn out to be good.

In a few seconds, not enough time for him to get his clothes and run upstairs to his room, his mother exited the livingroom stopping once her amber eyes laid on him, the other ladies peeking their heads from the living-room, curious and also hungry for something to gossip about later.

Everything happened in a flash of his mother's long black dress and a slap echoed in the gigantic victorian style house.

"You pervert! This is how you present yourself in front of so many ladies?!" Evelyn's booming voice meets Luca's ears, his cheek stinging from the slap, his tiny hand holding the red spot of skin.

He wasn't one to cry, he never cried, just looking down in shame as he heard his older sister snicker and his mother's friends whispering all kinds of things that he blocked from understanding; probably very judgemental comments.

Evelyn looked down at her son with a viper like glare, her amber eyes matching Lucas. He looked up and felt his legs tremble, so as quickly as possible he got his wet and dirty clothes off the floor and dashed upstairs to his room, avoiding his sister's smirking face at the embarrassing moment.

After cleaning himself up and getting dry clothes from his closet, Lucas looked into the mirror of his bedroom, making sure he was presentable, his raven black hair slicked back.

He grimaced at the color; the reason for why he was labeled as the raven or crow.

A knock at his door made him glance to see his aunt, Mia with her lips pulled into a thin line.

"You missed dinner, young man. Also tomorrow you have waltz classes, piano lessons and let's not forget about your homework and also Evelyn told me that tomorrow you will clean the attic. A reminder to never pull a stunt like that again. I saved you some dinner, but don't expect this to be a normal occurrence. You know how important punctuality is." Mia rambled and all Lucas did was listen, because what else was he supposed to do when you're surrounded by women.

He was the only male inside the house; Evelyn, his mother who reminded him of a witch from the fairytales, then his older sister Amelia who looked a lot like Evelyn and Mia, his aunt and younger sister of Evelyn who was responsible for cooking and cleaning, since she hasn't married a rich man like his father.

All Lucas know about his father was that he was rich as his mother stated and he was very fond of literature, one of the reasons the library of the house was mostly used by Lucas. Amelia was too busy following after Evelyn to actually open a book and read, at last, a paragraph.

Lucas followed Mia to the kitchen, sitting down at the table and eating the leftover boiled vegetables and cold steak of beef. He heard Evelyn and Mia talk outside the kitchen into the front entrance of the house.

After he was finished, he washed the dishes and was ready to head back to his bedroom or perhaps the library to find a book to take his mind of the events today.

He was meet with his mother and aunt, all put together, dresses perfectly without a wrinkle, make-up was neatly done to hide the aging and the hair? Not even a rebel lock out of place.

"Mother?" Lucas asked, making the women look at him.

"We're going out tonight, Lucas. There is an important event in town about new investors for the new hotel. We've got invitations." Evelyn said, fixing her fur coat and lipstick in the mirror by the front door.

Of course, they were out hunting new fresh meat or better said a new wallet to get their manicured hands onto.

"I'm no longer with Mr. Gladstone to tie me down so we don't have to worry about anything." Evelyn muttered and Lucas fought the urge to grimace and say something.

Mr. Gladstone as in his father; Evelyn's former husband, now deceased and a loving father as much as Lucas could remember.

The two ladies exited the house and closed the door behind them, not even saying goodbye to the little boy, leaving him in the darkness, save for the faint light coming from the chandelier above.

He sighed and decided to went straight to bed, not even in the mood to read anything. He was tired and not in the mood to do anything at all. He marched upstairs and sadly he had to pass his sisters' door that was wide open, more feminine voices coming from inside.

Amelia was with her friends, probably having a sleepover or just a gathering for doing make-up and their hair.

He tried to be discreet and quickly pass the door, so he won't be observed.

"Hey!"

No such luck.

He looked over his shoulder and saw one of Amelia's friends, long curly hair in a golden color following down her shoulder and mischievous sky blue eyes looked at him.

"You're Amelia's little brother, right?" she asked, making him slowly nod.

Amelia turned from her friends and grimaced once she saw Lucas.

"You again? Stop creeping out of the corners like that, pervert!" she yelled, bopping his nose pretty roughly and making it sting; a normal habit of hers.

"I'm going downstairs to get some snacks. It might take a while." Amelia said and walked out of her bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen.

Lucas was ready to bolt to his bedroom, but he was pushed inside his sister's room by the blonde; his amber eyes looking at the older girls who smirked or whispered to each other.

Lucas was only 10, while his sister was 17 as were the females in front of him.

"Umm...I need to go...My curfew is...." he shuttered, trying to excuse himself, but then he felt the blonde move behind him.

"Awww why in such a hurry? You're too big for a curfew." the girl whispered in his ear, making him blush and gulp down.

Before he could say anything else, he was pushed forward, two girls holding his arms and his eyes widened as he looked at the blonde, who snorted.

"Yell and we will tell that you tried to come upon us." the way she spoke, made the boy shake in fear, not used to what was happening. Sure, he was slapped and beaten up over his hands with a wooden spoon by his mother, but not this.

The blonde started to work on the belt that held his slacks; the gesture finally hitting on what they were planning. Lucas wasn't obvious to this kind of activity; he was very educated, but never indulged in them.

Another girl, a redhead closed and locked the door, giggling at Lucas's scared expression.

"This will stay between us all." the blonde whispered against Lucas's lips.

#Shadow #Serial Killer #Salem #Original characters #Slasher OC #Boston #Horror OC #Story Time

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marvels-agents100 · 4 years

Text

tenant of tartarus

you were my crown, now i’m in exile, seeing you out

pairing: aaron hotchner x gender neutral ! reader

warnings: the big sad, manipulative behavior, toxic relationship

word count: 2,520

request: one shot based on ‘exile’, from taylor swift’s new album, folklore

author’s note: mr first request ! this hurt to write so prepare yourself

His hands used to feel so warm, so inviting. His skin used to be so soft and gentle. But, as time passed by in an unforgiving pace, the sunlight he shone onto you dimmed into the flicker of a candle, the winds of wasted time rolling off cold shoulders and whisking away the small amount of light emitted from the single flame. All that was left was the cold, dark wasteland of what once was.

A burdened sigh left you, your cheek resting on your fist, elbow propped on the armrest of the couch. The only light in the room was that of the television screen, its ocean hue lining your tired features. Your eyes stared nowhere in particular, looking at the screen before you but not necessarily watching it.

The click of the deadbolt did little to shock you out of your stupor, the hinges creaking as the door opened. Aaron stepped inside, his briefcase finding it home beside the door as it clicked shut. He barely spared you a glance as he shed his suit jacket.

“Hey,” you broke the silence, gaze finally flickering towards him.

His jacket was slung over his arm, the gun on his side finding it’s way into its small safe, “Hi.”

“There’s leftovers in the fridge, if you’re hungry,” you said quietly, eyes following him as he settled into the apartment. He walked behind the couch, hand coming to rest on your shoulder as his lips pressed a chaste kiss on the top of your head.

“Thank you,” he mumbled into your hair, before disappearing down the hallway leading to the bedroom.

His touch left no searing heat on your shoulder, his kiss doing little to the beating of your heart.

His love- if you could even call it that- had trouble filling a space it once occupied, and it was the most awful, terrible thing.

You could no longer decipher the complicated feelings you had towards him; all you could feel was complete and utter exhaustion.

“What happened?” Your feet carried you into the bedroom without your consent, the question that had been festering in your mind for months tumbling from your lips without reserve.

He sighed, hands coming to rest on his hips, “You know I don’t like talking about cases at home-“

“I don’t mean on the case,” you interrupted, “I mean to us. You’re distant, I’m distant, and neither of us seem to care.”

“That’s unfair,” he protested.

“How is that unfair?” Your volume was beginning to rise, the inevitable fight creeping into the room.

“Because you know what I do, how much time my job takes,” his voice raised with yours, “you can’t call me distant when it’s out of my control.”

“I wasn’t talking about your job, Aaron,” you were sure your yelling carried through the walls, “I was talking about how you barely acknowledge my existence when you’re home.”

“Oh,” he laughed humorlessly, holding his palms up in mock surrender, “well, I’m sorry I’m not completely fine when I come home,” he took his tie off his neck angrily, “I watch people die, and sometimes I’m the one pulling the trigger. How would you feel after that?”

“I’m not asking for you to give me the world,” tears began to burn and your eyes and you could feel your throat tighten, “but, God, I want to feel like I occupy even a fraction of your thoughts.”

He sighed, a hand running down his features. With a small, rushed glance at you, he walked into the closet, hand fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. You followed him, a tear escaping onto your cheek.

“Are you going to say anything?” You asked exasperatedly, hands out to your side, emphasizing your words.

“What do you want me to say?” His eyebrows sat low on his forehead, “I can apologize, but I have a feeling that you won’t be forgiving until I give up the thing that comes between us.”

You scoffed, “I have never asked you to quit the BAU.”

“You don’t need to ask.”

His shirt floated to the ground, landing upon the rest of his worn, wrinkled clothes, his belt buckle rattling as he removed it from his waist. You stood in the doorway of the closet, arms crossed and eyes focused on the floor, tears falling from your face onto the carpet below your feet. The silence in the air was tense, the only sound being the ruffling of fabric as Aaron untucked his shirt.

“Look,” he said, quietly, “I can try to put in more effort, but I can’t say I’m sorry for doing what I do. I won’t apologize for who I am.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Your eyes finally snapped up to meet his.

“What?”

“I’m not asking for you to be a perfect partner, I’m not asking for you to be one hundred percent here, all the time,” your words were spilling over, bubbling from your chest in a way that was beyond your control, “I am just asking for you to care, to be here when you are here and there when you are there.”

“I’m trying!”

“It doesn’t feel like you are!”

“What more do you want me to do?” His arms were extended to his sides, “I can’t stop working, there are people who are dying everyday-“

“Don’t do that, Aaron,” you warned lowly, your finger pointed towards him, “don’t use the people you save as an excuse for your treatment of me. You’re a good man, and I won’t ever deny that, but you don’t have to be so damn shrewd.”

“Oh, so I’m shrewd for wanting to help others?” He countered.

“No,” you seethed, “you’re shrewd for using them to guilt me into forgiving you.”

He sighed, head shaking as he looked away from you. Ripping a pair of sweatpants from the shelf beside him, he pushed past you back into the bedroom. You turned with his movement, eyes following him as he circled to his side of the bed.

“I don’t know what to say,” he shrugged, finally meeting your gaze, “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Do you even want to?” You choked out, arms falling limply to your sides. Every bit of you felt defeated, and the dread that had been sitting in your stomach fully consumed you. It was the tell tale sign of the end, a fight like that.

His lack of an answer was an answer within itself.

“Do you still love me?” You voice was softer for that question. His angry expression broke into one of complete sorrow.

“I always will,” he whispered, “there will never be a day that I stop loving you.”

You breathed deeply, wiping chastely at your dampened cheeks, “When did you decide to stop showing it?”

His head bowed down in shame, the great of the beating in his chest echoing through the room. There was no arguing, he knew. Any word he shouted would be countered with your own. The end had made an appearance in his life before, and the dark, stormy feelings eating away at his mind were a painful reminder of a woman he had lost long ago.

You let yourself cry, because you knew. You knew that night would be the last time you saw him, the last time you stood in that bedroom, the last time you witnessed the way he wore the moonlight like a blanket. He was a good man, and he had been good to you, but you had to worry for your own happiness before his. It’s what everyone has to do- care for themselves before they can care for anyone else.

Happiness used to live in the laughter you shared with him, in the morning sun that leaked through the curtains and onto your shared bed. The way he held you and the way he kissed you used to be the reason you rose every morning, hands soft like the breeze over a blossoming field, kisses hot with shared breath.

But, every sun will set, and every flower will die. And just like the way the beauty of autumn falls victim to unrelenting winter every year, the rapid beating of your heart and warm feeling in your chest ran away at the sight of his fading love.

He wanted to reach out and hold you, comfort you, but he knew it would offer no help. So, he let you cry. He let you release the emotions you were holding, and he didn’t make any attempt of stopping the outpour.

However the small, sleepy voice of Jack Hotchner did.

“Dad?” He called quietly, perched nervously in the doorway. His eyes darted from Aaron to you, the upturn of his eyebrows making his soft eyes look so, incredibly sad.

You stopped your cries, wiping away the tears that stained your face and turning away from the little boy you had come to love dearly.

“Jack,” Aaron breathed, crossing the room quickly, “buddy, why are you up? It’s late.”

“I heard you yelling,” his voice was so small, so innocent, it almost broke you again.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron whispered, kneeling before his son and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, “we were just talking, everything’s okay. Go get some rest, you have school tomorrow.”

Jack looked at you, your back still to him. Despite his father’s plea, he walked towards you, his small hand reaching to touch the back of your arm. The contact made you turn towards him eyes red and impossibly glossed over, heartbreak written in your expression. Jack smiled sadly at you, fisting the fabric of your shirt and tugging on it slightly.

“Can you tuck me in?” He asked, and it was that question that took your already damaged heart and crushed it completely.

“Of course, baby,” your voice was watery and your smile was shaky, but the toothy grin he gave you was holding together the rickety scaffolding that you called your composure.

You followed Jack to his room, keeping your eyes away from Aaron as you passed him. The soft light of Jack’s night light gave the room a soft yellow glow, just enough for visibility, but not too much that it prevented sleep. Jack hopped into his bed, digging himself into the covers and sitting against his pillows. You found a spot by the edge of the bed, hands pulling the blanket to cover the boy a little more.

“I’m sorry we woke you up,” you apologized, your hand running through his blonde hair.

“Are you gonna leave?” He asked quietly, completely disregarding your statement.

You paused before answering, “I don’t know, baby,” you held his hands, “love can be tricky, sometimes.”

“Okay,” the sadness in his voice made you want to hold him, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m sorry, love bug,” you struggled to keep yourself together, “just know that no matter what, I love you, okay?”

“I love you,” he answered, nodding slightly. You wrapped him in a hug, holding him to you like you would never see him again, because in all actuality, there was a chance you wouldn’t. With a small kiss to his forehead, he laid on his pillow before turning over and closing his eyes.

You turned to take one more look at him before leaving the room, trying to memorize the way his hugs always felt warm, the way his laughter could bring a smile to anyone’s face. He was such a good kid, and losing him from your life was something that was unfathomably painful.

Reaching the bedroom once more, you found Aaron sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows rested on his knees.

“I think I should go,” you said quietly, eyes focused on the carpet below your feet.

He looked up at you, sad eyes already glossy, “Do you mean-“

“Yeah,” you interrupted.

“Is there anything I can say?” He pleaded, voice heavy with tears.

“I don’t-,” you hesitated, “I’m just so tired, Aaron. I’m exhausted.”

He didn’t answer, just dropped his head once more, gaze trained on the ground.

You moved swiftly, packing the things you had moved to his apartment, since you stayed there so often with Jack. It was easy enough, and you were silently thankful that you hadn’t fully moved in. Of course, you would’ve said yes if he asked you- it was a normal step for people who had been together for over a year- but he never asked.

A duffel bag and a backpack was enough to carry your belongings, and you set them by the door with a soft thud. You walked to Aaron, still on the edge of the bed, and placed a soft hand on his shoulder. He looked up at you, cheeks wet and eyes rosy.

“If you need any help with Jack, I’m here,” your fingers carded through his hair, relishing in the way he felt for the last time, “goodbye, Aaron.”

“Please,” he choked out.

You leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, just like you had done to Jack.

“Goodbye,” you whispered onto his skin, before pulling away, gathering your bags, and walking through the door.

He stayed where he was long after he heard the front door close. There was no desire to move, no desire to chase you, no desire to profess how much he wanted you to stay. Everything he felt was numb, and the lack of any pain almost disgusted him. What did you mean to him, if he felt nothing when you were gone?

He shook his head to push that thought away, because he knew what you meant. He loved you, with everything he was, but you were right. You were right in saying that he didn’t prioritize you, he didn’t strive to show you how you were needed in his life. You leaving was simply karma balancing the mistreatment he had inflicted upon you.

He thought of Jack, of how sad he was going to be. Of how much he would miss you. Of how much he loved you. He worried that Jack felt the same feelings you did. Never in his life did he want his son to feel unloved, or unworthy, or unimportant. Did his tendency to be cold and serious carry over into his life with his son?

Everything just felt wrong, it all felt empty. The moonlight wasn’t comforting, it was a spotlight of judgment sneaking through the curtains. The stars didn’t shine, they twinkled dimly before burning out within the light pollution of the city. The sheets he used to share with you, the sheets he used to love you in, were just linens, cold and rough and uninviting. Everything was wrong, and he had no clue how he was going to fix it.

His hands scrubbed down his face, a sigh leaving him. He had seen this film before, and he didn’t like ending then, and he definitely didn’t like it now. And there was no way he would be able to change it.

“You were my crown, now I’m in exile, seeing you out.”

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@quillvine @winterscaptain @agenthotchner @davidrossi-ismydad @misskirkstark @good-heavens-chris-evans @vintagecaptainspidey

#aaron hotchner imagines #Aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds

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saintheartwing · 3 years

Text

Breaking Dawn, Pt. 2: Rage of the Forgotten Ones

Author's Note:

Regrettably, this time, I'm not accepting OCs for the story. Though you may spy a cameo here and there for certain...persons. ;)

Anyhow, on with the tale! And feel free to tell me what you like and dislike about it. :D

BREAKING DAWN, PART TWO RAGE OF THE FORGOTTEN ONES

If you're reading this, then again...thanks. I'm glad somebody bothered to check out my blog. I'm surprised you're checking it now, though. Shouldn't you be more concerned with the fact that hundreds of planet Earths are floating around in the sky above, defying all physics? Even the average ignorant idiot can tell: something is seriously wrong.

And I know you want to know how this happened. Maybe you heard about me. Remembered I was the "crazy kid" for a long time, that I had all of these "insane" theories about aliens and the supernatural, and now that this is happening, well, you turn to me for answers. I've got answers, alright...I've got answers.

It all ties back...to him. To an alien named Zim.

His species is called the Irken race. They're like reptile-esque bugs. Their bodies are organic shells, their REAL selves are attached to their backs in robotic backpacks called "PAKS'. They're generally proud, vain, narcissistic, selfish, dangerous, in a word...evil. I knew from the moment Zim entered my classroom in his pathetic disguise that fooled everyone but me that he was bad news, I swore to expose him.

But something happened over the years. Zim and I began to...

Well...

...I can't call it friendship. I really can't. It's like...we were rivals. And we always wanted to stay that way. To outdo each other. It was a "same time next week" kind of deal we had: he'd try to make some world-enslaving or world-destroying plot...I'd stop him. It was a great game we played. And I think we began to develop...well...a kind of respect...a kind of trust. We kinda mellowed, in a sense. Heck, we even applied to the same colleges. I guess that my life fell into a rhythm I intended to ride for the rest of my life.

...but before all that happened, there was...a period that I think back on with shame. It was kind of like the turning point. When we looked back on what we did, something changed in us. I think we kinda were forced to change.

See...I wasn't the only one who knew Zim was an alien. My sister knew, but she didn't really care much. Zim had another Irken living at his home, named Skoodge, but Skoodge wasn't really too much of a threat. He wasn't actually too bad, as far as Irkens went. But I did tell my classmate Gretchen about Zim, and I think she wanted to believe me.

And then there was Nick.

Nice kid from down south. Slightly annoying accent. Little bit dumb. Okay, maybe more than a little bit.

But friendly. Helpful. And Zim had experimented on him before. Made him REAAAALLY happy with this strange device he stuck in his head. Twice. I asked him for help, knowing he knew the truth.

I TRIED to train him. I really did. I tried to help him get smart and savvy the way I was. We planned...we calculated...a few missions went by, we did well.

He wasn't my friend, but...but he was a good comrade. Yes...a comrade. And that day, on March 23rd, six years ago...Zim did the worst thing he'd ever done.

And he did it to Nick.

...I own that. Because he was my soldier. My comrade.

...my fault.

I don't know if he...remembers it all. I kept wondering "Was he afraid? Was he begging for me to save him in his head? Was he crying all the while as Zim..."

Now I know how he felt. I'm feeling that way too. Because someone showed up at our front door. They forced a very dangerous, very powerful ring on me. A ring that can turn the imagination into reality. Chosen for me because I can overcome great fear.

And yet...

All I want to do now...

Is SCREAM.

At first...it was a spiritual experience. Exhilarating. Almost transcendental. He felt invincible. He felt...like he could face anything. Anyone. Dib Membrane wasn't afraid of anything or anyone, and he knew, in that first few moments he KNEW he could have taken on the entire world and WON. For those first few moments...the ring upon his finger showed him a world just in front of his fingertips, a world of potential.

And then...then it was not HIS will that controlled the power. It felt like he was being tugged around by slimy strings, his flesh was not his own...he was lost in his own spirit...and he knew what was at fault.

"Get this thing OFF me!" Dib yelled out, yanking on the white ring on his finger as best he could, gasping as the Irken with the golden eyes looked on in pitiless amusement. Two sets of antennae, one teal, one black slightly raised in amusement with gloved hands and a blue vest across his chest, with dark blue pants and boots of black...black to match the gloves...black to match his heart. "GET IT OFF!"

"It's no use." The Irken with the golden eyes said, waving his hand in the air. "I was the first one to touch the Exemplar Ring you wear on your hand. It might be powered by your Will, it might think you're using it, but really...it's MY will that matters now. It might as well be on my hand. And you're going to do everything I tell you to do. You won't have a choice." The Irken said.

Dib's sister bellowed angrily, punching the ground below and seething, frothing at the mouth. Unlike Dib, who was dressed in a fine outfit of black and green, she was all red and black, with a form that looked vaguely machine-like in its design, a fury dripping off her facial features as the Irken snapped his fingers and she panted slightly, slowly calming down.

"You...fix us...NOW." Dib snarled angrily, summoning up all his willpower, leveling the ring on his finger squarely at the Irken. "You FREAK."

"The NAME...is Zerinim Two Jookiba." The Irken with two sets of antenneas said, putting one gloved hand on his chest before growling fervently, a burning red fiery blaze of energy forming in his hands, sizzling like he was holding a miniature sun in his palms. "But don't call me "Two" like my closest loved ones do. Call me...MASTER."

He immediately launched the wave of energy squarely at Dib and Gaz, knocking them to the ground, Gaz taking a blow to the head, unconsciousness settling in as Dib felt the thing's grip on him relaxing, and now the many sledgehammers he kept imagining should be beating into this thing actually manifested in a bright green glow, energy constructs that struck at Two over and over as Dib kept the manifestation up, intent on one thing and one thing alone...

MAKING...HIM...PAY.

"I'm gonna make you sorry you ever came to my planet!" Dib yelled out, stepping closer and closer to Two as the Irken held his gloved hands forth, a sonic blast of red construct energy knocking Dib back as Two snapped his fingers, a surge of power rising from his form as a bow popped into his gloved hands. Dib jumped back up, quickly firing off blasts of energy from his ring like a cowboy desperately firing his pistols at an oncoming posse, but Two calmly stood still, the blasts missing him as he notched an arrow of burning red.

It launched through the air, impaling Dib through his left side and he screeched in pain, falling to the ground as his grip on his body faded, and he swam in and out of consciousness, struggling to stay awake, Two chuckling coldly as he approached the human and his sister.

"Ahhhhh, I NEEDED that. I'm in a such good mood right now...now you go home and power down and get some rest. Dream peacefully...it'll be the last happy sleep you ever have, I'm afraid." The Irken said, kneeling by Dib and lifting his head with one claw. It wasn't a mocking tone...it just said it. A statement of fact. Nothing personal. "You've got a busy day tomorrow, after all." He added with a slight smile, clapping his hands as Dib and Gaz found themselves returning to their normal clothes, getting back up and returning inside the house of their own accord, the will of their master, the being named Two, echoing in their minds...

Mercifully, Dib could feel his wounds healing. But this was cold comfort. All Dib could think about...was what this thing was going to do the world he loved.

...

...as Dib rested in his bed, snuggling up beneath the covers, shivering slightly, he grit his teeth and grounded them together. He was mad. He was furious. He couldn't even fall asleep without feeling like that...that thingwith the double set of antennas was watching him. It had loosed it's control over them...just barely. It was allowing them to rest, but that was cold comfort considering Dib knew the thing would be up to no good.

What would it do to his world? What would it make himdo to his world? What would it make him do to the people he loved?

Simply trying to imagine talking to his father or anybody else about what had happened was giving him a headache...no doubt another part of that being, "Two", inflicting his will on him. What would happen if he actually tried to tell his father what had occurred, get him to simply analyze the ring that he was unable to take off? Would it be some "Battle Royale" kind of deal? Would a collar manifest around his neck and take his head off?

Gaz. What was Gaz thinking, Dib wondered as his eyelids slowly beginning to drop, genuine sleep mercifully setting in. Was she scared? Was she indignant about being used? Or was she just...angry?

Well, as it turned out, Gaz was none of those things. She had long since fallen deep asleep to dream of a world that shaped and shifted by her will, brought to life by a giant red pen, floating upon a rubber piggy and laughed giddily at the new world she was making. She liked seeing things in red...yes, yes, she wanted to paint everything in red...

She knew this power would help her do it. She was aware it was bringing out her most violent desires and attitudes. But she knew she could channel it. She just had to wait for her chance.

She could take control of this. She could prove stronger than the thing on her finger.

"That idiot thinks he has me. But I've beaten worse things before." Her dream-self said as she raised a chainsaw high, cutting through a swath of imaginary Twos. "AND YOU'LL FALL, JUST LIKE THE REST OF THEM!"

...

..."Oh great. Two is here. Help me put my clothes back on."

"Why did you ask me to bring HER along? I could understand Lilo, but…"

"I want her to understand what we're…willing to do to break her. Lilo, do you know HOW the Minor Arcana was formed? How the…application process is undertaken?"

"..."

"Well, in exchange for very, VERY large amounts of power and the ability to remain eternally young…you've got to kill family. Close family. One member, to be precise."

"Samael approached me and told me that if I wanted into the Minor Arcana…if I wanted the ability to be immune to control and to control reality, I'd have to kill a family member."

"No, please tell me you didn't…didn't kill them…Kila, Zim, you…you didn't?"

"No, of course I couldn't, I…I love my parents. I…I chose Green, my sister from the past."

"If Kila and Zim ARE your parents, the ones I know so well, then they would have been horrified at the idea of you working for the person who made them suffer so much! They wouldn't have raised you to be so cruel!"

"They didn't raise me to be cruel, but we never could stay in one place long…do you know how some kids move around city after city, state after state, never really making friends, or worse, constantly leaving the friends they DO have? For me…it was TEN TIMES WORSE. I had to move from world to world and whenever we got REMOTELY settled into the hotel or other temporarily dwelling, we had to leave! Working for Samael meant he wouldn't hunt my parents anymore and…It's not like I know Green. She's my sister and I understand mentally that the whole thing is…sad."

"..."

"I OUGHT to know her. I should have spent my childhood with my big sister being there, we should have blown stuff up in the backyard together or played gorka-ball or "Toss the GIR"…we should have been siblings but…but we weren't. Aren't. It IS sad, but…I just don't really know her, and so I don't have many qualms about killing her, though MIYU had NO qualms in killing MALIK! And to get to her mother, she killed her dad too!"

"Azazel has yet to kill Nick, his dear, beloved Grandfather. So perhaps he'll kill his originator instead, he was so close to Nick, In his reality, his "Pee-Paw" was so PROUD of him…he even gave him his-"

"..."

"As for Frequency, lobotomizing Sari, whom he cared for greatly, was his act. Samael was happy to allow him to do the act, it allowed Miyu to replace Sari, who had refused to kill her parents and had taken Samael's gift of immortality. Such a pity…she would have gained Miyu's incomparable battle skills but instead she lost most of her brain."

"And now let us come to the point. You are not going to be rescued. You are going to be tortured here by us, one at a time, and when TWO finishes with you, I…will begin."

"Question: Who shall start?"

"I'll be the first...my power will be good for torturing you-"

With that, Dib awoke from the strange dream. It had felt real. FAR too real. And that person...Two. It had definitely been him. What was going on? Were Two's memories of the past somehow crisscrossing with his slave's head? Possible, he supposed. The Irken could control him from his head, but that meant his mind was open, at least when asleep, to Dib's own...

How strange...

"How odd..." Dib mumbled as he scratched his head, sweeping his legs out of his bed and onto the floor as he made his way to his bureau to get his usual attire out. Dark jacket? Check. Blue t-shirt with a "Meh" face on it? Check. Dark pants? Also check. Glasses...shoes...belt for said pants...check, check, check-

"...is the ring still on my finger?" Dib mumbled, looking down at his hand.

Check.

"...crap." He muttered. "You JERK." He growled, turning his head to look out the window at a cheerily grinning Two, who pushed the window open, letting in the sunshine to the dark blue walls of Dib's cluttered-up bedroom.

"Nice place, it really is...except for the smell." Two admitted as he looked around the bedroom. Indeed, over the years Dib had gotten slightly more advanced equipment from his father for birthday presents...yes, Birthday. Dib's father refused to celebrate Christmas due to his undying hatred of Santa Claus, so he always wasted that day searching for signs of Santa. And beating up Santa's Helpers in the street.

Yeah, it was weird.

A sophisticated computer system on a desk with what appeared to be three dozen drawers, many of them stuffed full of papers on Bigfeet, ghosts and aliens...a pile of laundry in the corner, all dark clothes, blue t-shirts...and several dozen paranormal posters littered the walls, including one of a flying saucer. And not just ANY flying saucer. "Is that from the X-Files series?" Two found himself asking, an intrigued expression coming to his features.

"Yes, the original one. I got it off of Ebay. Cost me two month's allowance too." Dib added, not taking his eyes off the alien scumbag. He wanted to jump through the air and do a karate kick to his head, hey, years of fighting with Zim meant he'd picked up a couple of tricks. But no, no, it was like he was rooted to the spot, and he knew EXACTLY why.

He tried to yank the ring off anew...hopeless. Two chuckled slightly as he snapped his fingers. "I used to watch the show when I was younger. Ahhhh, memories. Moving from dimension to dimension it's still nice to see that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Wait until I tell you about the second movie."

"Second movie?" Dib remarked, blinking stupidly.

"Oh, right, you don't know. Guess this world will never see it once I'm...well..." He chuckled coldly. "Once WE'RE finished. Go on, my little puppet. Eat breakfast. Say goodbye to your father with your sister. Then we begin, and I think I'll start by doing you a favor, and doing what all children dream of doing at one point or another...burning down your school."

"Why would you want to do that?" Dib growled angrily, fingers clenching almost like claws, eyes alit with fury. "What could you POSSIBLY gain from-"

"Do I look like a Bond Villain, my boy? I'm not TELLING you." The Irken chuckled. "But I'm in a good mood, so being the nice person I am, here's the deal. You get until Lunch Period's over. Then I'll take full control...and have you and your sister burn down the school and everyone and everything in it."

The Irken was suddenly up in Dib's face, smiling coldly, one hand gripping his chin, the other tapping Dib's ring. "You have until then to convince the others to get out, and don't bother trying to use your ring to convince them, I'll put it under a lock that won't open until it is finally time to BURN, baby, BURN." The Irken laughed. "Hey, you've been failing to get your classmates to listen for years. Maybe today's the day they'll finally listen!"

"You don't have to do this." Dib said, trying another tack, remembering the dream. Normally he wouldn't EVER negotiate with an alien, not even try, but...this was different. "You don't need to hurt anyone."

"But I do." Two whispered, raising his gloved claws up and clenching them. "...I DO."

Letting off cold-hearted laughter, the Irken jumped back out of the window, strolling off. Dib cursed under his breath. This was one of the few times an alien was out in the open! NO disguise! Why, WHY was nobody outside? Or LOOKING outside? What had their attention? Were they all still ASLEEP?

"So then he shot her, it was weird." The newest arrival on the "Okrah" show said to the titular host, Gaz munching on some cereal as the tall and weirdly surreal Prof. Membrane adjusted the goggles over his eyes, looking at the screen.

"This PULP is what the people are interested in?" He inquired.

"Yeeeeep." Gaz said nonchalantly through a mouthful of "Choco Frosted Sugar Bombs".

"And it's on every morning from 8 to 9? Without fail?"

"Yeeeeeeeeep."

"...what next, dancing panda bears?" Prof. Membrane mused sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he poured himself some coffee. He was getting better at this, he TRIED to be there during the day for breakfast if nothing else. And to think, it only took him a little over 10 years to actually start being somewhat of a good father figure.

"Mornin', Dad." Dib said, entering the kitchen and going to the fridge before shrinking away. Every time he tried to open the fridge, weird things happened. Last time he was SURE he'd heard a sneeze, and the mayonnaise had started yelling "The ketchup did it! The ketchup!" And ANOTHER time his father had left an experiment in there. Something had been living in the fridge.

"...is...the thing still in there?" Dib asked Prof. Membrane, inching away from the fridge and reaching for the knife drawer by the sink, pulling out a large carving knife as Gaz watched with interest.

"No, I'm fairly certain I moved him to the freezer." Prof. Membrane said, shaking his head back and forth. Smiling in relief, Dib wiped his brow and opened up the fridge...and was then forced to hack back several dozen tentacles before slamming the fridge shut. "Or maybe I forgot. Who keeps track?" Prof. Membrane added a moment later, putting a gloved finger to where his lip might have been...it was hard to tell, the white labcoat that he wore had a loooong collar that reached up high. You couldn't even see his nose!

"I'll just make some toast."

"SUPER-Toast?" Prof. Membrane asked expectantly.

"...er, I was thinking cinna-" Dib began to say, before he saw his father's slowly drooping expression. "SUPER-Cinnamon Toast." He quickly changed his mind, nodding enthusiastically.

"EXCELLENT choice, my son!" Prof. Membrane agreed, clapping Dib on the shoulder and moving to the cupboard to get the cinnamon sugar for his boy. "I can only spare 110 more seconds but I'd be HAPPY to get your cinnamon toast started!"

"...thanks, Dad." Dib said quietly. "I...I really appreciate it. And...appreciate you." He murmured.

"What will that thing make me do to the ones I love?"He thought sadly to himself, sitting in the chair next to Gaz as she quietly looked over at him, a faint flicker of genuine regret passing over her face for an instant.

...

...the Beautiful Angel clutched his mother's paw, looking down at her closed eyes. She looked so...worn and tired. So sad...so lost...so forgotten. She was a sad little doll that had been tossed into a closet to be forgotten about. She lay there in the ornately-draped bed inside of the crystalline palace that hovered high above the clouds, hidden from all sight not by ignorance on behalf of humanity, but by carefully-constructed machinations, creations of Zerinim Two, and of the robot that calmly watched, her face solemn before she turned her red-helmed head away from the sight of her beloved kneeling by his dying mother.

"C'mon...just a few more days, momma." He whispered, his golden/amber eyes gazing down upon his beloved mother. "...just a few more days and maybe we can end all of this...get our world back...and bring all of us back to normal."

"Is she...any better? Any worse?"

The Angel looked up. Zerinim Two's face was normally a window...behind his eyes you could tell he was barely suppressing a furious rage within. Now that window was cracked, but not showing rage...but deep, deep concern and sadness...

Personal loss...one of the greatest causes of rage in the world.

"No. And...and I've been talking with her and...she kept asking about the plan." The Angel went on, sighing as he stood up, brushing his thick slightly-light-brown locks of hair back. "You know that this base Earth is very...unstable. It's got the seeds of potential for all the other stories, but if this plan works, I'm worried what'll happen to the other-"

"Who GIVES a rat's ass?" Two snapped angrily, cutting his hand in the air to shut him up. "Azzy, these people are awful. AW-FUL. I might have been petty and selfish but when it came down to it, I ALWAYS put doing what was right for the ones I loved and for the world I loved at the forefront! Do you think ANY of the so-called "cornerstones" of this Base Earth would?"

"...I don't know." The Beautiful Angel admitted softly, honestly. "...I'd like to believe that some of them would."

"I'm sorry that "some of them" isn't enough." Two spoke quietly, folding his arms. "You know...I saw into Dib's mind when I controlled him. He has a family. He has a father. He has a sister. And his life's been slowly getting better for the past five years. Zim getting more considerate, Gaz becoming more tolerant, his father's actually eating BREAKFAST with them!"

That made the woman in the bed chuckle slightly. "Brekkie? N-no kiddin'? Ame kef, never thought he'd actually..." Her chuckling dissolved into pained coughs as she held her paw over her mouth and Two gently patted her forehead. "I'm...sorry I'm so friggin' useless now."

"It'll be alright, maneem." Two whimpered, kneeling by his mother and kissing her paw as a blue-furred being entered, Two rubbing his eyes as he left the room. The blue-furred being took off his cap, letting his hair fall down as he nervously chewed his lip, gazing at his aunt.

"...are we really gonna go through with this? I want the world back but..." He sighed. "...what he's making Dib do isn't...it isn't right."

"I want you to have this." The Beautiful Angel said, giving the blue-furred bounty hunter a pad of paper he had in a pack slung around his shoulder. "It's notes that mother took. I've read it five dozen times..." He trailed off, taking his mother's paw again.

The blue-furred being chewed his lip again, walking out of the room as he went to stand on a balcony, reading the journal as the robot stepped out on the balcony to join him.

"I shall be meeting with MY personal inductees today." She said in her emotionless tone, holding up the rings she would be using. "They shall join my Corps and I will then bring the two up here so that they may understand why we do what we do. I think he would go along with it anyway...a chance to destroy this world? Have "fun"? How could he say "no"?"

"Will you bother to tell him that once enough of this world's been destroyed by the Cornerstones, he'll get folded into the historical fabric?" The bounty hunter wanted to know.

"That's on a "need-to-know" basis." The robot said, a flicker of amusement passing over her metallic features as she sauntered back into the crystalline palace, leaving the bounty hunter alone on the balcony as he reached into his pocket, pulling out two small rings of his own. One was shining slightly, a chosen partner found, but the other...it's light was dull.

"...why isn't it lit up? What's it missing? WHO is it missing? I might have been the first to get ahold of these, but...can't do this alone..." He murmured, putting them back in his pocket, his paw going over the journal to his side, over an entry stained by teardrops.

...

...Dib nervously gripped his pants pockets as he looked out the window of the bus, sitting in the back with Gaz as she looked over at him. "Any ideas?" She asked sarcastically.

"...I thought about offering twenty bucks to everyone to leave school right after lunch...but my allowance isn't THAT high." Dib admitted, pulling out his wallet and opening it, a tiny moth fluttering out as Gaz rolled her eyes.

"And just TELLING them the truth won't help either, will it?" She asked. "They'd never believe you. Well, they might if you tried to use that thing in front of them, but-"

"It's not working." Dib mumbled, shaking his fist angrily, the ring uselessly dull. "I'm trying and trying...but he meant it...he shut it off. And after lunch, it turns on...and I turn into a living weapon. He'll drive me like I'm a BATTLEBOT."

Gaz looked around the bus, eyes narrowing darkly. "...Dib...what's wrong with this picture?" She asked quietly, dangerously.

Dib looked up from his lap, glancing around.

"Notice anything...missing?"

Suddenly it hit him. Zim. Skoodge. Gretchen. Nick. All four of them were gone. How strange...how very, very strange...

The bus came to a stop as everyone headed into the school, their new guidance counselor greeting the children at the door. He saw Dib's clearly sullen expression and his gentle green eyes softened. A hand reached out, placed squarely on Dib's right shoulder. "Dib, is something the matter?" Mr. Thildari inquired, one eyebrow raised high over a head with perfectly-combed grey hair.

"...nothing you could help with, sir." Dib told him as Gaz headed inside. "You've been more help than the last guidance counselor I had, but...you can't help me with this."

"Aww, why not try me?" Mr. Thildari asked, moving Dib inside and sitting him down at a bench by a water fountain. "First period bell doesn't ring for a whole seven..." He checked his watch. "...six whole minutes!"

"...I need to get everyone out of the school before lunch. And I mean EVERYONE. Even that creepy janitor." Dib told the guidance counselor, leaning back in the chair, Two's smirk lingering in his mind. "Or else something terrible is going to happen."

"Dib, did a friend of yours say they're going to blow up the school?" The guidance counselor wanted to know, his darkened skin paling slightly.

Dib's eyes went wide.

There it was...

...hope. Why hadn't he seen it before? It was such a simple solution.

"Yes, yes." Dib said fervently. "...except he's not really a friend, he...he said he was going to blow the whole school sky-high after lunch period, Mr. Thildari." Dib informed the guidance counselor, shaking him by his shoulders, back and forth, back and forth.

The guidance counselor looked deep into Dib's eyes, mouth becoming a taut line as if "reading" him. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before closing his green eyes and letting out a soft, long sigh. "I believe you." He told Dib. "I'll inform the principal and vice principal about this, and I'll have everyone escorted out of the building until the police can search the grounds."

Dib inwardly cheered for joy as Mr. Thildari stood up and headed for the staff wing, punching the air as he headed off to class. He won. He'd WON.

Or at least...so he thought.

"I should have KNOWN you'd cheat." Two muttered furiously, sitting in a tree outside of school, his fists clenching tightly as red energy swirled off his body like sparks off a fire as his own ring swirled around him like a tiny fly, buzzing, buzzing.

"Calling in help like that, you great big cheater...well, you're about to find out that I'm just as petty and immature as you, Dib Membrane..." The Irken chuckled darkly. "I suppose the saying's true. If you want something done right..."

He hopped down from the tree, making his way towards the school as red energy seeped off his body, his footprints leaving behind burning indents within the ground as he chuckled coldly.

"You have to do it yourself."

#invader zim #zim #superhero #superheroes #Dib #Gaz #Two #Zerinim #action #adventure #fanfic #fanfiction

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shera-dnd · 3 years

Text

Face Turn - Work the Left

The second chapter of our lovely wrestling AU. Now we get to go back in time a few months and see how it all started and we can take about 12 more chapters getting back to where we were

Just as a heads up, I had to google MMA eye injuries for this chapter, so please keep that in mind

also the AO3 link if you want it

The pain was blinding.

The pain and the blood streaming from her left eye.

Weiss Schnee was no stranger to blood and pain. She had been fighting in the octagon for years now and had her fair share of injuries, but fuck did that hit to the eye hurt like an absolute bitch.

It probably looked really bad too, because even her opponent - some newcomer with a Schnee sponsorship - took pause at the damage she caused. A real shame for her, because the judge hadn’t called the match yet and Weiss was more than happy to capitalize on that distraction.

Usually she’d play it safe and calculate the risks, but she knew she wasn’t about to beat anyone in an extended fight when she only had one working eye, so she just poured everything she had into beating that bitch into submission.

It was only after she had been announced the victor that she realized how bad the damage had been.

No, she wouldn’t realize how fucked she was until much later.

It took her a year to fully recover, and the word ‘fully’ was doing a lot of work there. They said it was a miracle that they managed to save that eye, that she was so lucky to have gotten so much of her eyesight back. They expected her to be happy that her life hadn’t been completely ruined by the event.

Except it had. Except she had lost a year of her life to surgery after surgery and treatment after treatment and at the end of the day she didn’t even get her full sight again. For everyone else it just looked like she got a cool scar out of the deal, while for her she was stuck with eye strain, headaches and a gigantic blindspot.

How the fuck could anyone expect her to be happy when she knew she couldn’t fight anymore? Her career had been ruined, her future was thrown under the bus, and she was ass deep in medical bills. It didn’t take long for the vulture to show up.

It had happened a few weeks after her final surgery. She had been dedicating just about every free moment after that to her workout routine. She wanted to make sure the rest of her body wouldn’t suffer from the inactivity, and she could definitely use the distraction from the absolute dread that came with any thoughts about her future.

It was during one of those workout sessions that she heard a knock on her apartment door. She was half expecting it to be her manager coming to check on her, but of course the universe wouldn’t even allow that basic decency. She looked through the eye hole of her door and was greeted by her least favorite sight.

“Fuck off, Jacques!” She yelled through the door.

“Is this how you greet your father?” He replied, as much of an ass as ever, “am I not allowed to worry over my own daughter?”

Worry. Of course he was ‘worried’. Same as he got oh so worried whenever she had shown any vulnerability, whenever he thought he could sink his claws back in her and drag her back under his control, just another pawn for his schemes.

“When have you ever?” She replied instead.

“Fine. If you wish to be like that,” the bastard replied, no longer disguising his intent, “if you’re done crying over your own failure, I believe it’s time for you to do something with your name besides dragging it through the mud.”

And there it was. Weiss didn’t matter, the name Schnee mattered. He had never liked seeing the family name tied to such a barbaric sport and she was sure he had liked it even less when it was tied to such a colossal failure.

“The name is mine,” she bit back, “and I can do whatever I want with it!”

“Oh don’t be such a child,” he mocked, “I came here to welcome you back into the family and cover all those medical debts you managed to amass in your foolish attempt at rebellion, not to deal with your temper.”

She had suffered through this man doing many despicable things to keep her in control, but she just had enough of it. She would not have her future, her health, her well being dangled in front of her like a carrot on a stick. Not now. Not after all the bullshit she just went through.

Her hand clung to the handle like she was about to rip the whole thing off, and goodness she wanted to. She was having a rough time and maybe forcefully dragging her dad off the building would make her feel better. Not like she needed both eyes to put him in his place.

No, she shouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her angry. That man had a gift for getting under people’s skin and she wasn’t about to let him know he could still do that to her. He had no power over her and it was better that way.

“Whatever you’re selling I’m not buying.” She shouted through the door one last time before turning back to her apartment. She pumped her music up a little more so she couldn’t hear his incessant yelling and got back to her workouts.

It was a couple of days later that she received a different visit. This time from a man she only ocasionally wanted to murder. Jaune Arc, her manager.

“Hey, Weiss, you doing okay?” He greeted. Earning him just a single raised eyebrow, “okay that was a stupid question.”

She brought that fumbling mess to her living room and offered him a seat on her couch, lounging to his left so she could look at him while they talked.

“What do you want, Jaune?”

“I think I found a solution to our money problem,” he began. That same eyebrow raised again, this time in question, “it’s not MMA, but you’re still gonna get a chance to fight again, you won’t risk any more eye injuries, and we’ll still make enough money to pay the bills.”

That sounded incredible. It was good, really good… maybe even too good.

“What’s the catch?” She asked, knowing full well there always was one.

“It’s wrestling,” the man cringed as the words left his mouth.

“No.” She sneered, feeling absolutely insulted by just the suggestion of it.

“Listen-”

“No, you listen!” She interrupted, “I’m not gonna debase myself and make a mockery of the sport I love just for a quick buck.”

“Look, do you wanna keep fighting or not?” He asked, “because that’s the only way I got. I can’t put you back in the cage, but I can still put you in a ring.”

As a person Jaune was a mess, his personal life is the stuff of both comedy and tragedy, and Weiss has laughed at both of those things. But as a manager he was the best in the business and he had been with her for a long time. She trusted that if he said this was the only way, then it really was.

It was just a fucking awful way.

Still what was the alternative? She barely had any working skills besides beating the shit out of people, she was sinking in medical debt, she couldn’t go back to doing what she loved, and she sure as hell wasn’t gonna take up Jacques’s offer.

What other choice did she have?

It was with a heavy sigh that she finally agreed, “fine, but they better not put me in a stupid costume.”

#rwby #Freezer burn #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #fanfic #wrestling au #freezerburn

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mustardyellowanti · 3 years

Text

Sebastian Oh Summer // Before Senior

“Safe to say I think you have everyone else’s birthday present beat,” Finley commented, eyes glancing up to see Sebastian through the rearview mirror. Sebastian hummed pulling his earpods out, the low rumbled of one Anto’s favourite songs leaving his ears. She had decided to diversify Sebastian playlist with all her favourite songs and while Sebastian understood next to none of what was been said it was an easy listen. He glanced up at the elderly driver, Finley had been in his family for years, and over time he became more than just a simple chauffeur. He had been working for his mother since she in her late teens and now on the eve of her 45th birthday remained a trusted confidant to his mother and admittedly Sebastian.

“I don’t know if you asked certain people my presence is not a present at all,” Sebastian commented with a sigh looking out the window. While he had no issues about celebrating his mother’s birthday, he was unashamedly a mothers boy, but dealing with the rest of his family was never high on his to-do list. The rest of his mother’s family, the Vanderbilts, American royalty at its best were divided into blindly hating him because he was the heir apparent and the others sucked up to him for the exact same reason. Then there was his father and brothers, while there was no doubt his father was head over heels in love with his mother, his father didn’t share that same love for the fruits of their love. Sebastian’s father was all too happy to pretend Sebastian did not exist. His brothers weren’t too different, indifferent, borderline hateful of Sebastian all because he got everything they wanted without even trying.

“Who cares what certain people think?” Finley huffed, “No of them matter in the grand scheme of things, do they? You are coming back to surprise your mum and I know for a fact that she would be ecstatic that you here, probably going to end up crying when you step in the house,” he said. “Happy tears of course,” he tacked in causing Sebastian’s lip to quirk up in a small smile.

“As long as they are happy tears I guess I can handle the rest,” Sebastian said with a shrug. He was trying to come across as carefree as possible, fall back into the normal arrogance and aloofness he usually had but the growing pit in his stomach was hard to ignore and as they got closer and closer to the Hamptons.

“Of course you can,” Finley hummed. “Though once the tears are over your mum is going to be in full fret over Sebastian mode and then ofcourse its going to be a whole lot of people asking if you met their oh so wonderful daughter,” Finley said sounding far too amused. “Such a hard life you got there,” he teased. “I would offer my daughter but she has been married for the past 15 years, maybe granddaughter Lily,” he laughed.

“The five-year-old?” Seb laughed, “Well she might be more interesting than half the people at this party but I’ve got what another 20 years before I start dating girls half my age right?” he mocked. The men in this world are known for throwing their wealth around at younger women desperate enough to do anything to get ahead in life. He couldn’t fault the woman, if a man as rich as some of those men were and were dumb enough to get scammed then shame on them.

“Oh so you heard about Mister Langford, just turned sixty and his new wife turned 22 – “ Finley teased. “Lovely wedding, his kids looked like they really enjoyed it,” he laughed. “They were so in love with each other they forget to sign a prenup,” he added. Sebastian smirked he couldn’t only imagine how the Langford children would have reacted to that news. A murder was certainly on the cards, whether it be the kids getting rid of the 22-year-old obstacle or the 22-year-old obstacle getting rid of the old man who thought a little too highly of himself.

“Finn I am trusting you to off me before I ever end up like that,” Sebastian commented shaking his head. “Just make it look like an accident,” he said.

Finley snorted. “By the time you are at that age I am pretty sure I will be six feet under,” he said.

“What? No, you are a young lad,” Sebastian said biting back a smile at the way Finley rolled his eyes. “Besides you are like immortal anyway,” he continued.

“What? Who told you?” Finley said dramatically. “You can’t be telling rich old men that I found the secret to living forever they’d skin me on sight,” he joked. Sebastian snorted but dragged a finger across his lips to show his lips were sealed.

Silence fell over them once again, they were getting closer to the Hampton home. They were already on billionaire row, they’d be there in a few seconds. “You’ll be fine kid,” Finley spoke, Sebastian sat straight up straighter. He wasn’t a kid anymore and he highly doubted that he would be fine. “Don’t let them spoil your time here,” he said. “The last thing we need is them scaring you off, boy if you heard all the rants from your mother about you never been here –“ Finley shook his head.

“And here I thought you actually missed my company,” Sebastian teased. Finley’s lips quirked up into a smile.

Sebastian sucked in a deep breath as he stepped into his parent’s Hampton home, while his Grandfather’s home was the classic Hampton house, his parents were more modern in design. To some people it was considered modest, Sebastian knew he could be a bit insensitive to those who didn’t have the same level of wealth as him but even he knew an 11,000 square foot home on roughly 3 acres of beachfront was not modest by any standard.

“Did you forget something, Irene? I gave you the night off,” Sebastian heard his mother call out, Irene was her assistant/house helper. She had always kept the families staff to a minimum believing it was better if people knew how to do the basics their selves. “Did Jac-“ his mother said stepping into the corridor turning to see Sebastian and freezing, maybe Finley had got it wrong, that didn’t seem like a happy reaction. Maybe he stayed away a little too long and somehow managed to alienate the one family member that actually loved him.

“Hi,” Sebastian waved awkwardly his voice croaking slightly as he spoke.

The noise that left his mother’s mouth could only be described as inhuman, she ran down the hall to where Sebastian stood pulling him into a hug. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? How did I not you were coming? What happened to your trip with Theo? Is he okay? Is he here too? How did you get here? Oh my gosh,” she said frantically causing Sebastian to chuckle. “It’s so good to see you,” she whimpered burying her head into his shoulder. “Ugh when did you get so tall,” she said hitting his chest.

“Taller than you? Sometime after my tenth birthday,” Sebastian joked as his mother pulled back, “And I wouldn’t miss your birthday,” he said. “I know I am not –“

“Shhhh I know you are going to say some sort of nonsense so just stop,” his mother said quickly, eyes narrowing. “There will be no self-deprecating in the house thank you very much,” she said pointedly. “Now let’s get a drink and you can tell all about how you managed to keep this a secret from me,” she said grabbing his hand and dragging him to the kitchen area.

“Hmm,” she said grabbing two glass flutes before looking back at Sebastian. “I guess since it’s my birthday, letting you having a glass of champagne wouldn’t be considered bad parenting,” she hummed.

“What happened to no self-deprecating, it hasn’t even been five minutes mother,” Sebastian teased. “And you’ve changed the marble benches,” Sebastian commented running his hand among the new, well new to him, Granite countertops.

“Yes, the marble had to go, to easy to stain,” His mother waved a hand dismissively. “The amount of time someone has knocked their glass of wine over,” she tsked. “Anyway, that is not important,” she said handing him a now full chute of glass. “I am not going to sit here and talk kitchen décor when my baby is home,” she said sitting down on a stool. “Now care to explain how I didn’t catch wind of this?”

“Well,” Sebastian said taking a sip of his champagne. “I wanted to surprise you so Finley and I planned this, Theo let me borrow his plane and well here I am,” he offered as his mum rolled her eyes.

“Of course it was Finn,” she hummed. “Well I think this is the best present I am going to get so I won’t be too hard on him,” she said. “How is Theo? You could have bought him along, you know he is always welcome,” she said with a soft smile. “Just like you are,” she tacked on. Seb hummed around his glass, if it was just his mum he’d believe it but considering his father was lurking around somewhere that wasn’t exactly true.

“I know,” Sebastian with a weak smile, “But I figured having the two of us surprise you might be a little too much so I left him partying with our classmates,” he shrugged. “But he has sent a gift, it’s probably already at our New York apartment,” he said.

“Well that is sweet of him,” she commented with a smile. “I am glad you have a friend like him when I was your age, I had a lot of trouble finding real friends,” she frowned clearly getting lost in her memories. “Ah look at me getting lost in things that aren’t important,” she said shaking her head. “Maybe I’ve already had too much champagne,” she said shaking her head. “Irene and I had a boozy lunch,” she explained.

“It’s almost your birthday, If you can’t overindulge in champagne then when can you?” Sebastian joked with a cheeky grin.

“Exactly,” His mother nodded before reaching over and pinching his cheek. “Look at those dimples,” she giggled. “I remember when I first found out I was having a boy, those dimples were the number one thing I hoped you inherited from your father,” she said. Sebastian’s face scrunched up as he removed his mother’s hands from his cheek. He already knew that if his father could he would remove any trace of his DNA from Sebastian’s body.

“Seb,” His mother said, eyes softening. She opened her mouth to say something more but stopped. Perhaps she had grown tired of trying to make excuses for her husband, lord knows Sebastian was tired of hearing them.

“It's fine,” Sebastian said with a wave of his hand, swallowing down the lump that was forming in his throat. “You’re being nostalgic, it happens when you have had too much champagne, that or your old age is getting to you already,” Sebastian teased watching the way his mum’s face contorted at the mention of age.

“Hey,” she laughed. “I know I taught you better than to talk to women about their age.”

#story

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holylulusworld · 5 years

Text

Three are one too much

Request: Would you please write for Bucky & reader, wherein he's in love with Natasha but is forced to marry reader, he's never home ignores her even when she tries hard. She even has to work as a waitress for money, one-night Brock tries to rape her, Steve arrives just in time and saves her. They become good friends. It's on you if you want her to stay with Bucky or get married to Steve. It could be an au where they are not Avengers.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader, Mobster!Steve x Reader, Clint Barton

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, tension, arguments, two men fighting over one woman, love triangle, mentions of murder

Consolation Bride Masterlist

True to his word Steve came around a few hours later but Bucky refused to let him see you. Steve yelled and fought against his friend until you walked out of the bedroom, looking confused at both men fighting.

“What’s going on here?” Sleepily you rub your eyes, looking at Bucky holding his friend's arm in a tight grip behind his back. Steve is grunting, trying to break free.

“I wanted to visit you and your so-called husband wants to keep me away from you. Bucky, you can’t do this. Days ago, you ignored her, treated her worse than a dog and now you fight for her attention?” Steve is struggling against his friend’s strength.

“James, let Steve go. I want to talk to him. I’m a free human being, not a slave. I can meet whoever I want to meet. You will not put me into a cage as my father did years ago. Do you remember Mark? He asked me out when I was sixteen and dad locked me into my room for three weeks.” Sighing you look at your hands. “Never heard of Mark again. People said his family moved away.”

“Oh, he moved away?”

Bucky can hear the mock in his friend’s voice and let go of his arm. Steve cocks a brow, smirking as he tilts his head, glancing at Bucky. “Is that so, Bucky? Mark and his family moved away? I heard something else…”

Bucky turns pale, trying to hide the panic in his eyes. Steve’s grin widens as he passes his friend to get closer to you, holding out his hand to lead you out of the house.

Stepping out in the sun, looking around the garden you were not allowed to enter you look at the pitiful dead flowers. No one took care of these flowers for years.

“So sad seeing his mother’s roses die. No one took care of them. She would be so sad seeing her beloved flowers die.” You whisper as Steve watches you touch the flowers.

“Y/N, do you want to come with me? I can take you with me right now.” Steve moves his hands up and down your arms, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“Steve…”

“He doesn’t deserve you, Y/N. Come with me and let me take care of you, let me show you a better life. I can give you all you deserve. Money. Beautiful dresses. Anything you wish for.”

“Steve, I don’t want dresses, money or anything.” Turning around you meet his eyes, giving him a cracked smile. “I know you mean well but that’s not what I want. I can’t change the cage my father tossed me into with another cage you or Bucky want to create to keep me as a nice bird to look at.”

“Y/N, I would never lock you away. I want to protect you, doll. Please let me show you I can be the right man for you.” Steve cups your cheek, leaning closer to brush his lips over yours.

“I can’t, Steve. I don’t know what to do right now but I know I can’t just run into your arms as Bucky never wanted me. When my father married me to Bucky I was happy, ran into his arms but his embrace was cold. I have to stand on my own two feet.” Gently touching Steve’s cheek, you kiss the corner of his mouth, holding back the tears.

“Tell me what you need. I’ll do anything to help you, Y/N. Anything you need.” Steve’s voice cracks, feeling your hand trembling.

“I don’t know what I want or need. Since I’m a child my dad told me what to do. Then Bucky ruled my life and now I’m at the point of no return. I can’t go back to letting a man deciding what to do. I’ll grab my stuff and move in with friend for a while.” Steve can only watch you entering the house again, knowing it will be the wrong way to push you right now.

----

“You can’t just leave me, Y/N. We made our vows and you…” Cursing Bucky watches you packing your belongings. You don’t need long, it’s not as if you own much lately.

“I’ll leave, James. We can have an annulment or a divorce. I don’t care any longer about anything. I don’t care about your hatred or my father’s threats. I don’t fear any of you anymore. Kill me, or let my father end me. It’s unimportant by now…” Voice trembling you toss the photo frame with the picture of your wedding day into the bin, not caring about the hurt look on Bucky’s face.

“I will not let you go! You can’t leave my house, Y/N. It’s the only safe place in town. Your father will try to get hold of you and hurt you. I can’t let this happen. He already took Jason from me…” Bucky gasps as you try to brush past him, try to leave so he does the only thing coming to his mind, using his strength to toss you over his shoulder.

“Let go of me! You can’t keep me, hostage here. I want to leave.” Wiggling in his tight grip you curse as Bucky carries you into his bedroom.

“I know you are mad. I know you hate me right now but believe me I can’t let you go to Wanda right now.” Bucky says placing you carefully onto the bed. Angrily clenching your fists, you glare at your husband, trying to escape once again.

“I want to leave, and you won’t stop me, Barnes. I’m not your slave!” Jumping up you try to scratch Bucky, try to hit him. All the anger, hurting and disappointment reached its peak and now you want to fight back, let the frustration out.

Stronger than you Bucky pushes you onto the bed, covering your body with his. You fight against this strength, pressing your hands against his chest as he kisses down your neck.

“Please let me protect you, Baby Girl. I need to know you are safe. I can’t forget the moment Steve called me and told me about Brock attacking you. Please…” Bucky whispers against your skin but you fight against him, shaking your head.

----

“Boss?” Clint watches Steve, not knowing what to say to lighten his mood. Steve believed you would follow him right away. He saw the struggle and knows you will need time; still he wants nothing more than storming into Bucky’s house and carry you out.

“What, Barton?” Steve barks glaring at his friend.

“Does she know what happened last night? Maybe we should drive back, and you can tell her. We still don’t know who is behind this shit, but I bet Barnes won’t protect her the way she deserves it. We can still get her, boss.” Clint tries but Steve shakes his head, glancing out of the window.

“I saw it in her eyes. Y/N needs to decide without me or Bucky pushing her around. Three are one too much, I guess. She’s strong and smart, Clint. Y/N will make the right decision. I can’t act like her father or Bucky and try to force her into something she doesn’t want to do.”

Clint nods, glancing out of the window, licking his lips. “What about the juicy information we gathered? Wouldn’t this change her mind, boss?”

“Clint, in her situation she needs someone to protect her, someone doing anything to keep her safe. If it’s Bucky doing so, it’s fine by me. All I want is for Y/N to be safe and sound. Send Vis (Vision) to observe Bucky’s house. If she leaves the Mansion, tell me so and we pick her up.”

“I’m on it, boss. Shame you didn’t tell her the truth about Mark…”

Clint silently leaves the room while Steve still looks out of the window. Recalling the day, he closes his eyes, feeling your hand on his cheek, your lips pressed against his. “Soon…” He whispers as his lips curve into a smile.

----

“Stop fighting me, Y/N. Give me five minutes to tell you something. While you were sleeping I got a call from Fury. Do you remember Nick? One of my father’s friends? He is still a cop, a Captain by now and keeps me up to date with cases and investigations around my business.” Bucky explains while you glare at him.

“I don’t want to know anything about your shady business. Now let me go!” Wiggling you start cursing feeling Bucky’s erection pressing against your thigh.

“Sorry, Baby Girl. If you are mad you’re so fucking sexy. I’ve missed my bad girl, missed the girl fighting back and kicking my ass with all might.” Bucky groans.

“Let me go!”

“I’ll let go of you if you promise to give me the chance to tell you what Fury told me last night. If you still want to leave the Mansion I’ll call Steve to bring you somewhere safe.”

Weighing your options, you look up at Bucky, nodding. “Fine, I’ll give you ten minutes.”

“Good.”

Letting go of you Bucky sits next to you, nervously moving his hand through his shaggy hair. Clearing his throat he gets the wedding band you tossed onto the floor out of his pocket, playing with the simple golden band.

“Last night Fury called me, telling me someone broke into Wanda’s apartment.” Bucky begins and you gasp.

“James…” Voice trembling you feel tears breaking free. “What happened…?”

“I don’t know how to tell you, but someone broke into her apartment and shot her. I don’t know how; she should’ve been protected by her family’s security. I…”

Composing himself Bucky takes your hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “She didn’t make it, Y/N. I’m so sorry. She meant a lot to all of us. I swear we will find out who killed her.”

Bringing you into his arms James let you cry into his chest. Wanda was your only friend left. The only one ready to help you without awaiting something in return.

“She was my only friend…”

“Shh…Baby Girl. I swear we will find out who was after her, but we know one thing for sure. You are in danger too. The killer left a list. Wanda’s name was crossed out, just like Maria’s and Marcos. Both died last week. Maria in Cannes and Marcos died in a car accident in New York.”

Bucky holds you tighter as you ask him why you are in danger too. “Your name, Y/N. It’s on the list, just like mine, Steve’s and some other names.” Holding tight onto James you try to process your best friend got murdered and that you could be next. “Please stay with me…”

“I’ll stay if you answer one question.”

“Whatever you want to know, Y/N. I’ll promise to answer honestly…”

Clearing your throat, you wipe away a few tears before you place your hands onto Bucky’s shoulders, locking eyes with him.

“What happened to Mark back then?” You ask and Bucky turns pale…

All works Tags

@yolobloggers, @meganywinchester, @shikshinkwon, @miraclesoflove , @mogaruke, @shatteredabby, @soryuwifeyxx, @letsdisneythings, @i-love-superhero

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore, @notyourtypicalrose, @voltage-my2dlove, @thedoctorscamanion , @officialmarvelwhore, @randomgirlkensy, @juniorhuntersam, @lumar014, @doctorswife221b, @badboysdoitbetter2, @sister-winchesters99, @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tags

@hhiggs, @roonyxx, @stylesismyhubs, @multisuperfandom, @mrspeacem1nusone

Consolation Bride Tags

@booktease21, @mc225g, @i-alyssa, @retrxbarnes, @cloudyskylines, @plums-and-peaches, @thisartemisnevermisses, @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark, @donteatmycookiesplease, @aruvdreeh, @scarlett-berserker

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solediem · 3 years

Text

reality re-written; a collection of thoughts and happenings ( @solivaganted )

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 20 years in the future, reaper estate

“holly, he’s like forty years old. stan someone your own age. “

holly sighs heavily as she clips a photocard of the ‘like forty-year old’ to her display board. her friend’s opinion was not asked for, and yet any mention or visual reminder of holly’s affinity for d:fi acts as some sort of invitation for ridicule.

“ yeah, but i’ve been looking for this photocard for months. it’s rare and i’m a collector. so fuck off.”

holly is very organized with her collection of photocards and albums. albums are displayed on shelves in chronological order, with the packaged photocards pinned nearby to indicate the era. she does her best to get two copies of each album – one to keep intact an one to display for her own pleasure. sadly, each album only has so many photocards. much of her collecting is online interactions with sellers willing to part with pieces of their own collection so that holly may complete her’s.

the friend sucks her teeth in annoyance, mumbling something about knocking her collection over if she keeps up such a rude demeanor. holly ignores her friend and stares at the photocard that’s completed her most recent collection venture – clé: levanter.

“ there you go, oppa … home with the rest of your members…”

hanuel lee is making a peace sign at her from his new place among the other cards. her heart swells a little with pride.

don’t be so difficult to find next time, okay??

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 20 years in the future, reaper estate

“hey, you finished levanter!”

holly looks up from her book with a smile and beams over at her collection. her father is standing in front of it, arms crossed over his chest as his gaze is caught on the latest addition,

“ yup! it came today.”

“this is really incredible, bean. your dedication is amazing.”

“call it what it is, dad, obsession.”

jayce turns on his heel to look at his daughter. the bright, beaming smile she had faltering to one a bit more sad. shame. there’s nothing to feel shame over. but one can only handle so much mocking before the words start to hit. she can say ‘fuck off’ to her friends a dozen times, put on a mask of how proud and happy she is when they’re around. but the moment she’s behind her doors, the pain each comment made opens new wounds in her that have turned this collecting hobby of hers from the joyful affair it was to something much more bittersweet.

“ bean…”

holly’s smile is gone, “ it’s like … “ she’s quiet a moment, “ jia collects cards and albums too. but everyone she likes is her age and having comebacks every month. but because i…because i like the groups and the singers that i associate with you and mom and uncle i…somehow i’m the strange one. i’m wrong— i have reaper cards too. and x-gene. you guys did so much for music, but i’m not allowed to look at that and admire that …?? why am i the strange one ?? is it because we’re related ?? do i have to be some obsessive fifteen year old in her bedroom two cities away writing fanfiction for this to be acceptable ??"

jayce finds a spot on holly’s bed, and within seconds, she’s up from her armchair and crawling into her father’s lap like she’s a child again. he wraps his arms around her all the same.

“ reese was here the other day while you were out with your friends. “ as if holly needed to be reminded of who reese kim was, her father pointed to the picture of d:fi’s maknae hanging a couple spaces to the left of hanuel, “ i was showing him the studio, and when we passed your room, he asked if he could see how your collection was coming. he stood there staring at it, and he was so quiet. i thought something was wrong, but then i saw his eyes. i think if he’d been in there by himself he might’ve cried a little bit, because he looked the way i did on reaper’s final tour – touched, honored, amazed. like he couldn’t fathom so much love. he pulled himself together and smiled at me. and he asked me to thank you for remembering him and d:fi like this.

holly presses her lips together tightly and sniffs loudly, desperately trying to not cry. to know he understood her and her intentions brought a sense of relief. she’s not obsessing. she’s not going overboard. she’s immortalizing. remembering. letting the people she grew up with that influenced her so much know that if no one else in the world loves them, she will. if the world decides they aren’t worth remembering, she will remember in spite of it.

they deserve as much. her family deserves to be loved beyond their music and influence.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 20 years in the future, reaper estate

“happy birthday!!”

holly’s not to fond of surprise parties. especially not when they consist of some thirty people all gathered in the main house with party poppers and horns. she’s practically on the floor cowering when her brain registers that a mix of friends and family had gathered to celebrate her 20th birthday.

“ oh my god … “ she can’t even register happiness. her heart is to busy trying escape her chest.

“ sorry, sweetheart. “ her mother puts an arm around her and guides her into the crowd, “ are you okay ??”

holly nods, “ you guys scared me, my gosh … there’s to many of us for it to be a surprise. this is a heart attack party, fucking hell…”

jaehwa sighs a bit, “ do me the favor of keeping your mouth clean at least when you’re around me, hm?”

“ sorry. “

their conversation ends at the kitchen island where the family has gathered to watch her blow out the candles of a very tall cake. holly tucks a few strands of hair behind her ears and, with a deep breath, manages most of the candles on her first go. when she’s taking her second attempt, the estate’s intercom system sounds to let the house know someone’s waiting to be let in. jaehwa takes it upon herself to let them and waits a little bit by the door until the guests arrive.

holly’s made it through the candles and the cake is being cut when she glances up to see who her mom is greeting at the door. two towering figures stand over her with gift bags in hand and toothy grins on their face. they’re bowing politely and holding out the bags to holly’s beaming mother.

“ oh she’ll be so excited!! these are from all of d:fi? that’s so thoughtful. “ holly just barely hears.

she’s straining a bit to identify the individuals, but when they turn to look at the commotion that is her party, her heart drops into her stomach, and she’s caught between a happy smile and an embarrassed one. reese gives her a small wave and a heart with two fingers while mouthing what she assumes is ‘happy birthday’. from where she stands, she gives a small bow.

jaehwa is motioning for them to come in, but the other visitor is shaking his head. holly’s half tempted to break away from the party to go speak to them directly, but cake is being shoved in front of her, and friends are pulling at her for pictures. before she gives in to their pestering, she catches sight of the other visitor peering around reese to catch his own glimpse of the party.

gaze meets, and holly feels her heart (that finally made it’s way back to her chest) thud against her ribcage. hanuel smiles and holds up a peace sign to her before giving jaehwa another small bow and directing reese out the door. the next few minutes are a bit of a blur, as all her brain can really focus on is hanuel greeting her.

it shouldn’t be so odd to her. this isn’t the first time she’s met him, and it surely won’t be the last. but something about that moment felt so off. like she was seeing a hanuel she’d never met before. a hanuel that’s tugged at her heartstrings with just a smile and she can’t seem to gather her senses back up. the world had shifted beneath her and she might’ve fallen if she wasn’t being gripped onto by her friends still pestering her for pictures.

get it together, holls

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 2 years ago, ‘my pace’ video set

music video sets aren’t a new thing for holly, but that doesn’t squash the rush of excitement that comes from being on one. especially considering the set she’s found herself on. the man that would be her father is near the tech set up behind the camera, talking to staff about this and that, and holly doesn’t care. she’s scanning the tunnel and her mind is filling in the blanks. in her mind’s eyes she sees d:fi running forward followed by a crowd of extras on skates and scooters. tickets are on the ground and cameras are panning around to catch different angles.

it goes dark suddenly, then a single very bright spotlight is turned on and nearly blinds her. scaffolding are being moved into place and holly realizes that the next part of filming is a dance sequence. and judging by the pink and purple lights that have joined the spotlight – she knows exactly which. and she’s a little more giddy than she’d like to be showing, but how else is she expected to react to seeing the foundation of d:fi’s career coming to life in front of her?

“ hey – “

holly whips around to see her father in front of her, looking a bit uneased by the affair that is a breach of time and space. understandable.

“hi. hey. sorry. i’m…” she stops, realizing she has nothing to apologize for. jayce just smiles a bit, his expression reading something she doesn’t quite understand.

“you’re in the middle of the shot. come over here.”

he leads her away from the spotlight and back to where he’d just been sitting. from this perspective, holly can see the set coming together to shape the image she has in her mind of this music video. the only thing missing are the boys – and as she waits with jayce behind the camera, they eventually find their way to the center of the spotlight, stretching and chatting.

they look so young.

even knowing that age never really catches up with these boys, they look and feel much younger than the polished and perfected senior group she knows them to be from home. they haven’t moved to their starting positions yet, and so the members that would start in the back of the formation are standing upfront and center.

gazes meet. for him, it’s the first time. for her, it’s one of many. but just as on her birthday, the small smile and wave that hanuel gives her sets her entire world off kilter and she stumbles a bit. her father’s behind her and catches her.

“i’m fine.” she says. just confused. very confused.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 2 years ago, ‘my pace’ video set

“ … hello, there. i was told to bring you this…”

the fact that holly hasn’t fallen over with the way everything around her seems to be shifting is a miracle. hanuel is settled in a seat near the back when she approaches him with a small tub of water bottles on ice. the dancer beams and takes one, thanking her profusely and starting up a conversation.

it literally feels as though the ground is shifting underneath her, and to avoid looking like she’s going to collapse, she sets the water bottles down and takes her own seat while they talk. she’s a theatre major, and he thinks that’s incredible. and ‘jayce-hyung’ is really nice to have let his ‘niece’ stop by the set.

he’s talking so casually. so sweetly. he seems fully invested, and every attempt she makes to break eye contact with him fails. the longer the conversation goes on, the more holly leans in, not even realizing that she’s inching closer and closer to him. he doesn’t seem to mind it. in fact, he’s smiling so much it seems his face might get stuck that way. his eyes are lit up and he’s reaching for conversation topics. he wishes he could see her perform, because he bets she’s really good. because someone related to jayce must be talented, right?

“ hyung !!”

reality crashes back down on them. the set comes back into view and they acknowledge that there’s more to existence than just each other. reese kim – a lankier, more akward looking version of him – is bounding over and motioning for hanuel to return to set.

he asks her to wait around so they can talk. she agrees. the world is still shifting.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ one and a half years ago, practice room

she can’t stop laughing. and maybe it’s because she’s prone to giggle fits, but every word out of hanuel’s mouth makes her laugh harder. she’s convinced he’s doing it on purpose now because he’s got a mischievous grin on his lips.

“ stop it!! “

he’s not doing anything. it’s not his fault she can’t stop laughing. holly grabs at his arm and takes a series of deep breaths, trying to calm herself out of her own hysterics. when she meets his gaze again, the wicked smile is gone, replaced with gentle eyes. eyes of admiration.

holly wants to smack him.

don’t look at me like that. don’t give me those eyes.

because he doesn’t know who he’s looking at. he doesn’t know that their time is limited. he doesn’t know the truth. but he’s still leaning into her, and she’s leaning in as well. he doesn’t know that the next time he sees her like this, it will be awkward at best, mortifying at worst. but their foreheads are together, and he’s holding her like she’s suddenly the most precious thing in the world. she feels tears in her eyes, but keeps them back.

she wants to not kiss him. she wants his lips to not feel as soft as they do. she doesn’t want her heart to be soaring, and she doesn’t want to be pulling him closer. the world is shifting beneath her again, but she feels less shaky in his arms.

i want to stay…

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 22 years in the future, backstage

you’re impossible. my impossible girl. but you have to live your dreams, yeah? don’t…get caught here by some stupid boy. you’ve got important things to do.

“positions !!”

the audience is filing in and holly’s mind is everywhere other than it needs to be.

you’re to talented to stay here. i love you. i’ll always love you.

“holls? why are you crying?”

two years! one would think that after two years she’d be alright again, but she’s not. the anguish has eaten at her since the day she left him behind and not a damn thing she does can assuage it.

all her photocards and albums are gone. her entire collection boxed and shoved into the corner of the garage, never to be seen again. every indication of her admiration wiped away as though it never happened. and she hasn’t seen d:fi either. not a single member, since the day she came home. it’s like they don’t exist. and she supposed rightfully so. she’d stay away too if she realized. the awful position she forced hanuel into, she can’t forgive herself. she had so much time while she was there to dissuade him, to not lead him on and yet

and yet

in her selfishness she let it happen. and now that time has put itself right again, surely he’s stuck with the realization of who he’d fallen for. surely he’s avoided every event and party she’d be at for that reason.

“ i’m okay. are we ready?”

she remembers the moments fondly. when she lets herself sink into them, it’s the most right she’s ever felt. but reality always brings her back and every part of her aches. she feels weak. heavy. like she’s wrong.

but the show must go on, as they say. holly’s dedication to her ‘dream’ is the only thing that’s kept her going. without something to focus on, the sadness is too much. the stage is waiting for her. she’s come this far. she has to do it. she has to keep going now.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 22 years in the future, holly song’s memorial service

there are some horrors you can’t unsee.

there are some tragedies that can’t be reframed.

there is nothing that sits worse on the hearts of parents than to put their child into the ground.

jayce and jaehwa don’t see anything but her that day. as many people surround them, they perceive no one. kind words mean nothing. holly song is in a casket at the front of the room and the building is packed to capacity with those come to mourn her.

she was to young. and this is all wrong.

her parents are doing everything in their power to hold themselves together as person after person comes into the room to pay respects. but after nearly an hour of this, jaehwa is on the floor letting out cries of anguish that only a mother could make.

hanuel is in the next room. arms over his stomach and head bowed. the sound of jaehwa’s wails, however, bring him to the ground. he sits on his knees, doing everything in his power to not be loud as his own sobs take over his body. he doesn’t have the right to grieve in such a way. not when he could’ve prevented this entirely. but that truth makes the pain worse. better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. such a sham of a statement. he’s loved and lost. twice.

I should’ve stopped her.

[ 🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ] ⠀━━ 2 month ago, two star lobby

as wobbly as she feels, it’s the most stable she’s felt in her life. her mind is a mess. A mix of memories and shifting realities that come together to form a jumbled mess of a new existence. council this, fate that, reality this, aries that.

she needs hanuel.

the only thing in her jumbled mind that’s certain is the necessity that is hanuel lee in her life again. he’s moved on, she knows that. she can’t expect him to be what he was before, but for the love of everything, he’s the only thing that makes sense and the only one that can hold her up while she gets used to this new reality. holly leans against a column in the two star lobby and slides to the ground, finally giving in to the fact that her body is not yet ready for movement.

he says her name. he can’t believe what he’s seeing, and he’s in tears as he falls next to her and wraps her in his arms. he’s sorry, he’s so so sorry. he should’ve never told her to leave. he should’ve held onto her and made her stay and saved her. he’d been broken since she left, the wolf in him was dying. everything in him was dying.

holly lets herself fall into him.

“ nothing was right…”

he agrees. he’s never letting her go again. he’s her’s forever. there’s much to talk about and understand. but hanuel can see the state she’s in. he doesn’t say anything but kind and loving words to her. a hand gently strokes her head. everything is right. he knows exactly who he’s looking at, and he knows that time isn’t limited for them.

the world isn’t shifting anymore.

#* ▷ ╰ 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 ━━ 「 holly && hanuel 」

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monkey-d-momo · 4 years

Text

Another swordsman

Title: Another swordsman

Characters: Zoro and Sanji

Disclaimer: The characters and the univers belongs to Eiichiro Oda

Notes: It is the translation of my fic Un autre épéiste. I wrote it back in 2019, but I translated it recently. It was edited by @nopleaseexplain

You can also read it on ao3 or ff.net

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“Oi! Sanji, I’m hungry!” screamed a young man with disheveled raven hair.

The apprehended man sighed in annoyance. It was at least the ninth time today that the captain repeated this sentence. Before answering, he put down the refreshment he was carrying to his ladies who were sunbathing.

“I know, I know!” he screamed back. “There’s a snack in the kitchen.”

In a cry of joy, he rushed out towards the stairs to go to the kitchen and while not paying attention to the swordsman who was in the way.

“Luffy, be caref…!”

The pirate collided with a green haired man. With the shock, one of the swordsman’s katanas flew out of its scabbard and started to fall towards the deck, exactly where the cook and the two women of the crew were. The protective instinct of the blonde flared up and without thinking, he caught the sword, stopping it in its fall.

“Shitty marimo bastard!” he screamed. “Be careful, you could have harmed Nami-san and Robin-chan!”

“You’re the bastard!” answered Zoro back. “You be careful with my sword, it’s not a toy!”

“Don’t worry marimo! It’s not the first time I've handled a katana!”

Sanji had spoken thoughtlessly. He didn't immediately understand why everyone went silent...and was looking at him with big eyes.

“What? What did I say?”

“Since when have you handled a katana?” the swordsman asked, clearly surprised by this new information regarding his rival.

The cook felt his heart stopping.

“Knife! I said knife” he tried to take it back, “I’m a cook!”

“No, you did say katana”Namie replied.

“Yeah, we all heard it clearly” Luffy added, finally showing up after everything.

All confirmed the captain’s words. Sanji cursed.

“So, care to explain?” Zoro asked eagerly. The one who wanted to be the best swordsman in the world was very interested that his rival in the crew could also use a sword, especially after defending the fact of not using his hands or a blade in combat and fighting only with his legs. And why was he trying to hide this at all cost ?

“It’s been a while” the blond replied. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

With these last words, he stuck the sword he still had in his hand in the ground and went to lock himself in the men’s quarters, slamming the door behind him and leaving the pirate crew speechless. The cook never acted this way.

“I think it’s a sensitive subject for him” commented Robin after a moment.

“Me, I’m hungry” declared the captain, going to the kitchen for a second time.

The common lethargy wore off and all resumed their activities. Zoro, however, was not finished. There was another swordsman on board, besides him and Brook, and he wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery.

He went downstairs to get back his katana before going to take a bottle of alcohol from the pantry. The cook would maybe be more prone to talk with some sake. His goal in mind, he entered the men’s quarters. The blond was lying down in his bed, using his hands as a pillow, looking up, lost in his thoughts. He still noticed the swordsman coming pretty quickly.

“Go away! I said I don’t wanna talk about it!”

“No.”

Sanji grew annoyed. “No what!?”

“I’m staying.”

He took a seat on his own bed which was right next to his rival’s – got to find out why it was chosen that way – and filled two cups of sake before offering one to the other man.

“You want to get me drunk so I’ll talk…”

“Maybe. But alcohol has always been good to keep bad memories away,” replied the green haired man.

The cook sighed before taking the cup and drinking it in one shot. “How did you know it reminded me of bad memories?” he asked after a while.

“It was the most obvious option,” Zoro replied, filling the blonde’s cup once again

“You’re not so stupid, it seems” Sanji mocked.

“And you’re trying to change the subject by starting a fight.”

“What a shame, it normally works.”

“Not this time. I’m serious.”

Indeed. The swordsman was looking at him in the eyes with a stern look. He was extremely stubborn and the cook knew that he would not drop the issue.

“Why do you want to know?” he sighed.

“You know why.”

Yes, Sanji knew. Despite their rivalry, the two men were like brothers. And he knew Zoro felt the same. When one was hurt, the other was hurt as well. He would not let go before the cook told him everything. It was his way of demonstrating his support and giving a little comfort.

The blond sat up in the bed. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. After taking a drag, he spoke.

“I won’t go into detail,” he started, “but my biological father is the head of an army..Basically”

“Your biological father!?” Zoro exclaimed, surprised. “You’ve never talked about him, I thought Zeff was your father!”

“Zeff is my dad. At least, I consider him as that.”

“And he’s at the head of an army? He’s a king?!”

“Yeah…”

“So, you’re a prince!? All my respect, your majesty” Zoro joked.

“Stop that,” Sanji said menacingly. He wasn’t in the mood for that. “I rejected my family long ago. I’m not a prince anymore.”

“Sorry, sorry. Go on.” To encourage him, Zoro served him another cup of sake. The cook looked at him suspiciously before accepting the cup and drinking it in one shot. He preferred wine, but at this moment, the rice alcohol was helping him feel better.

“So, my brothers and I…”

“You even have brothers!?”

“Yes, we’re four twins. And a big sister.”

“So, there are more like you?” Zoro laughed.

“No. I’m different.” The green haired man felt a hint of sadness in his rival’s voice. He didn’t like it. Sanji was obviously hiding a deep scar and he hated seeing that it was still hurting him. He filled the cups once more.

“Anyway. At a pretty young age, our father was training us to become commanders for his army” the blonde continued. “I was assigned as a swordsman. I trained for it until… I left my family.”

Zoro couldn’t believe it. His friend could have been a swordsman too. “How good were you?”

“Plain bad. Let’s just say my father wasn’t pleased about it.”

“What did he do?”

He shook his head. “I’ve said too much. Maybe another time.” He closed himself off. He wasn’t going to say any more, for now.

“Don’t worry. It’s in the past. You’re here now.”

Sanji looked up at the ceiling once more while laying down in his bed again. His rival did the same and the room became quiet. In the swordsman’s head, however, it was not quiet at all. He was really curious to know what his friend has been through and he was imagining so many scenarios. It wasn’t going to help him much. An idea popped in his mind.

“Let’s have a fight,”Zoro suggested, breaking the silence that had been going for few minutes now.

“We do that at least ten times a day, marimo.”

“I mean, a sword fight.” The concerned one looked at his crewmate like he'd grown a second head.

“Have you lost your mind? I’m not a swordsman! And I never use my hands while fighting, you know that!”

“A friendly sparring match,” he justified himself. “You’ll at least have a good memory of sword training.”

Sanji was speechless. He didn’t know what to do with the marimo’s proposition. The latter then handed him one of his katana.

“Come on!” he insisted “see it as a revanche on your father.”

The blonde’s heart squeezed. How did his friend understand how many scars his biological father left him with? He looked at the sword in Zoro’s extended hand. It was Wado Ichimonji. The young man’s biggest treasure. He was dead serious and had just given the cook a great sign of trust.

“Okay” he obliged, not able to say “no” any more. He took the katana and the two men went to the ship’s deck under the surprised eyes of their crewmates. The whole crew had fallen silent when the two rivals each drew out a sword.

Zoro noticed that Sanji’s position was perfect. His hands were holding the handle at a good height, the blade in front of him. His feet were at a good distance apart and his whole body looked like it was ready to parry any attack. Everything in him showed sword training. How had he not noticed before? How had he not made the link with his cutting skills when he was cooking?

The green haired man did not have time to think, the cook was coming with a front attack. He didn’t have any difficulties blocking it, but was surprised by the precision and the strength of the strike. He counterattacked, but the blonde saw it coming and parried it effectively.

The match went on for a few minutes before the two men stopped. The whole crew stayed quiet during the fight.

“You could have been a really good swordsman,” Zoro commented, “you got skills.”

Sanji knew his rival hadn’t used his full potential, but he knew that he wasn’t the type to give compliments out of nowhere.

“I’m leaving the role to you” he said back with a smile in his voice.

“Uhh.. can somebody explain this to me?” asked Usopp. The crew looked like they were waiting for the answer eagerly. They were obviously confused by the whole scene they just saw.

“No,” the swordsman replied. “It’s between the cook and me.”

Life on the boat went on, as lively as usual. In the evening, when Zoro went up to the crow’s-nest, he saw a bottle of sake and some perfectly sculpted onigiri.

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Thank for reading!

#one piece #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #zoro #roronoa zoro #sanji #zoro and sanji #zosan #my fic

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mieteve-minijoma · 4 years

Text

So This Is Christmas - A Bughead Secret Santa Fic

Here is my Bughead Secret Santa Fic/Gift for @madsinwonderland (or mysweetjughead)! I hope you like it!!! Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to you and your family! 🎄⛄🎅🦌💋

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twas the morning of christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring... well, except for the twins inside the Jones house. Fresh snow had fallen the night before, insuring a white christmas for all the residents in the sleepy town of Riverdale. In a newly renovated home, just on the Southside of town, two little girls lay awake, waiting to hear Santa Clause come to deliver their gifts.

“Do you think Santa has come yet, Maggie?” Seven year old Juliet Jones whispered in the darkness of early morning to her twin sister, Margeret. Maggie looked down at her sister from the top bunk, her green doe-eyes wide in wonder and a grin splitting her face.

“Should we go check?” Maggie asked her sister in a hushed whisper, excited to be able to unwrap her gifts. She had not heard Santa come yet but he may have came and they just didn’t know it. When she thought about it for a moment longer though, she chewed her bottom lip and said, “What if Momma catches us, Jules? I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“We won’t, silly! We will be super quiet and then no one will catch us, I promise! Come on, let’s go see if Santa came!” Momma and Daddy are probably still asleep anyway so they will never know if we stay quiet, Juliet thought slyly. Her Aunt Jelly had told her that if she waited up long enough that she was sure to catch Santa when he came and Juliet was determined to catch him this year.

The two girls snuck out of their bunk beds quietly and made sure to creep past their little brother’s room so as not to wake the toddler. They crept up to their parents door and pressed their ears against it to listen. They didn’t hear anything from inside so they figured they were in the clear.

They both grinned and tip-toed away from the door, both confident that they would catch a glimpse of Santa in the act. As they approached the stairs, they heard faint sounds and talking coming from downstairs and both got excited and snuck further down the hall to see if Santa was here.

* * *

Betty Jones was busy tucking the remainder of her children’s presents under the tree while her husband finished off the milk and cookies they had laid out in a hurry before the kids could see him. She rubbed her slightly rounded belly, feeling their fourth child squirming and dancing around as if she were a dancer in a ballet. She felt content in this moment and turned to watch her husband enjoy the cookies she and her daughters baked earlier that day.

“I swear, I think your daughter is trying to dance to the ‘Sugar Plum Fairies’ on my bladder right now,” Betty chuckled at him as Jughead looked up at her in confusion before grinning as he swallowed a mouth full of chocolate chip cookie.

“What?” he asked as he brushed cookie crumbs off his shirt, a sheepish look on his face. Betty giggled and stepped closer to him, wiping the milk mustache off his face. She sat in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Your daughter is wide awake right now,” Betty said with a grin. Jughead laughed and wrapped an arm around his wife, placing his other hand on her belly to feel the flutters of the baby’s kicks against his palm.

“So she is, Betts. She will make an adorable Sugar Plum Fairy when she is old enough, I just know it.” He smiled at his wife, peaking kisses all over her face as she giggled.

“You know, if the girls see that you ate Santa’s cookies and milk we will both have some explaining to do, right?” Betty arched her brow and gave him a mocking stern look.

“I know, but they are still asleep. Speaking of which... Since everything is all done, what do you say we go spend the rest of the morning in bed? Just the two of us,” Jughead rasped, running his hand up the back of her pajama shirt as Betty gave him a knowing look. He cupped her cheek and kissed her passionately. Betty ran her hands into his hair, opening her mouth to allow him to explore with his tongue. Suddenly, she heard a shriek from the stairs leading to the second floor that startled them both.

“Ewwwww!!!” Betty pulled back and stood up to see her twins standing on the stairs with sour looks on their faces. She heard Jughead chuckle before stepping behind her and placing a kiss on her cheek as they faced their kids.

“Now girls, what are you two doing up so early?” Jughead asked firmly. Jughead didn’t often use ‘Daddy Voice’ but when he did, the girls knew he meant business. Maggie and Juliet stared at each other for a moment before turning back to their parents, both with wide, fearful eyes.

“We...um, we-,” Maggie began, stuttering and trying to find an acceptable excuse until she was interrupted by her sister before she could even finish her sentence.

“Maggie wanted to see if Santa came!” Juliet exclaimed, firmly placing all the blame on her ‘older’ sister. Maggie placed her hands on her hips and turned to face Juliet, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout. She couldn’t believe that her sister would try to blame her for them sneaking downstairs when it was her idea to begin with. How rude! Maggie thought angrily.

“No. I. Didn’t! It was your idea in the first place, Jules, so stop lying!” She shouted at her sister, not caring if the whole neighborhood heard her protests.

“I’m not lying! Momma, she’s lying, not me!” The girls then started arguing back and forth loudly when a sudden cry came from above. Betty placed her forehead in her palm and blew out a frustrated huff before addressing her daughters.

“Girls! It’s six o’clock in the morning and your shouting has just woken up your brother! Stop fighting right this minute!” Betty scolded them.

Both girls hung their heads and murmured apologies to their mother, their hands behind their backs and both looking every bit as shameful as they felt for shouting. Betty sighed - feeling bad that she had fussed at them, especially on Christmas - walked up to them and lifted their chins. She sighed again when she saw the tears in their eyes before looking at Jughead, who just shrugged in return.

“Hey, why don't you guys go downstairs with Daddy while I go get Holden and then Momma can make your breakfast before we open presents. How does that sound?” Betty said softly as she rubbed the girls shoulders, hoping to let them know she wasn’t angry.

“Ok, Momma!” The girls shouted in unison, smiling and happily skipping down the stairs to where their father waited for them.

Jughead gave them a smile too and kissed each girl on the forehead before he spoke gently, whispering to them but knowing very well that Betty could hear him. “What do you girls say to some milk and cookies while Daddy reads you The Polar Express?”

The girls cheered quietly and jumped up and down at the suggestion. Jughead blew Betty a kiss and took the girls to the kitchen to retrieve their snacks.

Betty shook her head and laughed lightly at her little family before turning to go upstairs to get her son. She walked into his room to find him sitting in his toddler bed, his knit beanie askew on his dark curls as he wailed and clutched his stuffed puppy. Betty walked over to him and dried his cheeks as he held his arms up for her.

“Hey Denny Boy, it’s ok. You don’t need to cry anymore, Momma's here. I’ve got you, little man,” Betty whispered as she reached down to pick him up, letting Hot Dog drop to the mattress.

Holden nuzzled into his mother’s neck, sniffling and clinging to her tightly in his frightened half awake state. Betty began to sing him a christmas tune, hoping that maybe she could get him back to sleep for at least a few more hours.

“I'll be home for Christmas, you can plan on me. Please have snow and mistletoe, and presents by the tree,” Betty gently swayed her son as she danced slowly around the room, her melodic voice filling the quiet room. She could already feel his body going limp, comforted by the sound of his mother’s voice. She continued to sing for a few more minutes, happy to just hold her child to her.

“Christmas Eve will find you, where the love light gleams. I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams. Yes, I’ll be home for Christmas, if on-ly in...my dreams.” Betty laid her now sleeping toddler back onto his bed, still humming the tune to make sure he stayed asleep. She brushed the stray curls from his forehead before kissing him gently and covering him up.

As Betty started to close his door she smiled and sang once more, just barely above a whisper. “Yes, I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.”

Betty closed the door quietly and walked back downstairs to find Jughead and their girls fast asleep on the couch, the half-read book propped against his chest as Juliet curled on one side of him and Maggie curled up on the other side.

She grabbed the fleece throw blanket off the back of her favorite chair and spread it out over them. Betty grinned and tears pricked her eyes as she felt their newest daughter, Persephone, kicking her gently to let Betty know she was still awake.

Betty rubbed her belly as she smiled down it and whispered, “Little Persie, looks like it’s just you and me, kid. What'd you say we go make the family breakfast, huh? I’ll even sneak us some extra bacon. What do you say kid?”

Just then, Persie gave her a swift kick and Betty chuckled. “Yep, you are a true Jones, baby girl.”

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