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aquafolia · 3 years

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Sokai Day Fic 1: True Love’s Kiss(es)

So yes, I am a Classics/ancient history blog, and this is obviously super different from the content I normally post on this blog. Please forgive me, but I’ve recently become OBSESSED with Kingdom Hearts and I have nowhere else to post this stuff at the moment. So please forgive me, normal content will resume soon!

Anyway, as I said I just started playing the KH games for the first time this summer and it’s been so much fun. And seeing all the amazing stories and artwork in this fandom has inspired me to write some stuff too. Anyway, I’m Holly, and I hope y’all enjoy :)

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True Love’s Kiss(es)

‘Ugh!’ Kairi groaned, unceremoniously setting down the basket she held in her hands. ‘I forgot that when you pick apples, you have to actually carry them all back, too!’

‘Your basket’s not even half full, Kairi,’ Sora remarked, ‘and we’ve only just started!’

She grinned. ‘Well then, it’s a good thing I have a strong, manly boyfriend to help me carry all of these.’

He could hardly argue with that. Sora feigned displeasure by rolling his eyes and letting out a dramatic groan, which made Kairi giggle. But then he walked over to her, grabbing one of the basket’s handles as she grabbed the other, and the pair made their way deeper down the rows of apple trees. They could hear the distant shouts and laughs of their friends echoing through the orchard as they went. Apparently, Twilight Town– a world basically in perpetual autumn– was known for its fall festivities, including its legendary apple orchards. Once they’d visited the orchards, the gang hoped Remi would help them make apple pies, apple cider, and all sorts of goodies during their visit. To that end, the group had decided to break up into teams in order to pick as many apples as they could carry. Today, Sora and Kairi were paired up. But Sora knew that if they only returned with a measly half basket of apples, the others would surely tease them, accuse them of slacking off.

They wouldn’t be totally wrong, Sora thought with a grin. Sure, Kairi was determined to focus on their task: she was deep in concentration, examining each apple carefully before deciding to place it in her basket. Sora, on the other hand, was much more determined to get Kairi off task. It wasn’t that Sora didn’t want to help out, but this was an opportunity for him and Kairi to spend some time alone– that was a temptation greater than any fruit, in Sora’s world.

Kairi set her sights on a shiny red apple that hung high on a nearby tree. She stood up on her tiptoes, making adorable little noises as she tried to grab it. Sora was staring intently, but not at the apple: Kairi’s form was stretched out in front of him as she reached high over her head, accentuating her curves, and Sora was mesmerized. It was only when she said his name that he snapped out of his trance: ‘Sora,’ she called out, not taking her eyes off the fruit, ‘would you come over and help me with this one? You should be able to–’

Kairi shrieked as Sora, having silently moved behind her, wrapped his arms around her legs and hoisted her up onto his shoulder.

‘Tall enough now?’ he asked casually.

Her surprised squeak was the only reply Kairi could muster. Once she’d successfully picked the apple, Sora released her hips. He held her by the waist as her body slid down his until she landed gently on the ground. Even in the autumn chill, Sora could feel his cheeks burning.

Having regained some of her composure, with a giggle, Kairi said, ‘Guess we make a pretty good team, huh?’ before she turned to the next tree. Sora tried to hide it by replying with a level ‘Absolutely,’ but inside, he was beaming: watching the effect he had on Kairi just never got old for him– but given how hard he had to try to appear cool and unfazed, it wasn’t like he was much better than she was.

Now that he’d had his fun, Sora walked up next to Kairi to help out. The pair picked apples side by side, happily chatting and admiring each other's finds, and over time, their basket filled with bright red apples. While they worked, something about the orchard nagged at Sora’s mind, but he couldn't place it. As he studied a large, blood-red apple in his hands, it finally clicked.

‘All these apples remind me of Snow White,’ Sora remarked. ‘Aqua told me how Snow White’s evil stepmother tried to kill her by getting her to eat a poisoned apple. The dwarves thought she was dead, so they placed her in a beautiful glass casket,’ Sora recalled, his eyes still fixed on the apple. He found himself absentmindedly tracing the spot on his chest where a scar marred the skin over his heart: the permanent reminder of his sacrifice for Kairi– well, his first one, anyway.

‘But she wasn’t dead,’ Sora continued, thought bleeding into memory. ‘She was asleep, and she couldn’t wake up…’

‘Until her true love saved her.’

That broke Sora out of his reverie. He looked up to find Kairi already gazing at him, her eyes soft and sincere. Sora replied, ‘Yeah… Reminds me of another princess I know.’

Did she really mean…? They’d talked about their first adventure numerous times before, but she’d never said it like that.

‘I would have killed for a nice bed to sleep on,’ she continued. ‘You and Riku took me on quite a journey– napping peacefully in a meadow sounds pretty good to me,’ Kairi said with a grin.

A breeze drifted through the orchard, rustling the leaves over their heads. ‘I remember your dad telling us all those old fairy tales when we were kids,’ Sora said. ‘After all the adventures we’ve had… it’s strange to think we sort of became one ourselves.’

‘They’re not always as fun to live as they are to hear…’ Kairi remarked, almost to herself, ‘when you don’t know if there’ll be a happy ending after all.’ Her eyes grew distant, drifting aimlessly down the row of apple trees. ‘I… I still remember waking up at Hollow Bastion, seeing that Keyblade in your chest… And then how you–’ she started, but then faltered, unable to bring herself to say what came next.

Sora gently placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. She still seemed lost in thought, not meeting his eyes. ‘I know what you mean. But we did get one, didn’t we, Kairi? It took a while, and we’ve had to find each other again and again, but now you’re here. And thanks to you, I’m here. We’re finally together, and nothing is ever going to change that. That’s the best ‘happily ever after’ I could have wished for.’

The pair were alone, the trees standing sentry around them, but his voice grew softer all the same: these words were just for her. ‘All that doesn’t really matter anymore,’ Sora continued. ‘What I mean is… what matters is that we’re here now. That means it was all worth it.’ He took her hand, interlacing their fingers. ‘Back at Hollow Bastion, when I saw your eyes open just before mine closed, when I knew your heart was safe… it was worth it, Kairi.’

She finally looked up at him. Sora hoped his eyes conveyed the sincerity of his words: It had all been for her– and it had all been worth it, every moment. Every time Sora got to see her sweet smile, got to hear her lovely laugh, it was worth it. And now, he wasn’t just connected to her across the worlds by promises and oaths– if he wanted to find Kairi, all Sora had to do was reach for her hand. How was that not a dream come true?

A small smile forming on her lips, Kairi gave him a look of such love and gratitude that Sora knew she felt the same. ‘It just makes our time together now even more precious to me,’ she finally said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. ‘I’m never going to take this for granted.’

Sora decided then to gather her into his arms and bring her close, her head resting in the crook of his neck, his cheek on her soft hair. ‘You know,’ he started after a pause, ‘I have to admit, when I heard Snow White’s story, I got a bit jealous.’

Kairi pulled back just enough to shoot him a quizzical look. ‘Jealous?’

‘Yeah, of Prince Florian. All he had to do to wake up Snow White and save the day was kiss her– pretty nice deal, if you ask me,’ Sora explained. Kairi smiled, but her eyes were still a bit sad. So he continued, a grin spreading across his face, ‘Don’t know why I didn’t think to try that first…’

‘Oh, Sora!’ Kairi giggled, giving Sora a playful smack on his arm, her face brighter. ‘What, does that mean you thought about kissing Ven at some point, too?’ she countered.

‘I was getting so desperate to find the Power of Waking, I just might have!’ Sora replied, and they both laughed again. Keeping one arm around Kairi, he took a bite from the apple still in his hand. It was crisp and fresh, and amazingly sweet– it was just right, like everything else in this moment.

Suddenly, with a smirk on her face, Kairi plucked the half-eaten apple from Sora’s hand. She lifted the fruit to her lips, holding Sora’s gaze as she took a large bite next to where he’d just bitten, a small drop of juice running down her chin as she chewed. All Sora could do was watch her, hopelessly mesmerized. It was bold, yet playful– Kairi to a T. Before Sora’s brain could fully resume normal functioning, Kairi said, feigning innocence, ‘What? Isn’t sharing fruit kind of our thing? It’s no paopu fruit, but still…’

Staring into her eyes, the radiant sunset bathing them in soft, warm light, Sora grew bold himself: They’d spent so long in silence, so long apart, why waste any time? He’d fought so hard to find her, to come back to her, over and over again. She was right here– if he wanted to kiss her, what on earth was there to consider? Sora reached a hand forward to cup her cheek, wiping the juice from the corner of her lip with his thumb. Kairi let the gentle pull of his thumb part her lips. ‘It is pretty good,’ Sora said, ‘but… you definitely taste better.’ And with that, he lowered his head and kissed her. He heard the sound of the apple landing on the ground, utterly forgotten, as Kairi’s arms wound around his neck.

And Sora had to admit, kissing Kairi felt pretty magical– Maybe those fairytales were onto something after all.

But of course, the distant sound of Aqua, Ven, and Riku calling out in search of them forced the pair to break their kiss, albeit begrudgingly. Sora expected Kairi to step away, pick up her basket, maybe call out to their friends– but she didn’t. She stayed as she was in Sora’s arms, one hand resting on his shirt, over the scar. Sora could feel his heartbeat racing under her touch. When she looked up at him again, something in her eyes was different. Still happy, but mixed with something else– not just happiness, but a determination to be so.

‘This is a pretty large orchard,’ Kairi remarked, her eyes bright. ‘Our friends probably won’t find us for a little while longer…’

‘We’d better not make them wait too long, or Axel will use his chakrams to–’

Kairi grabbed Sora’s hoodie with both hands and pulled him back down to her lips. For a moment, Sora stood frozen, eyes wide with shock. But as she melted into him, his eyes fluttered closed and he wound his arms around her, each kiss between them less ‘Fairy Godmother Friendly’ than the last. Traditionally, in all those fairytales, the heroes only ever got one ‘True Love’s Kiss.’ Sora considered himself the luckiest prince of all time– he had a never ending supply.

Twilight Town was always just that– hanging in perpetual dusk. So Sora really didn’t know how long he and Kairi spent like that, lost in laughter and kisses and caresses beneath the trees. But once their friends’ voices grew dangerously close, Sora and Kairi managed to untangle themselves, wiping swollen lips, readjusting ruffled clothing, and fixing disheveled hair (not that Sora’s hair had been tidy in the first place– and Kairi burst out laughing when she realized her attempts to smooth it didn’t do much good, either). As Kairi called out to their friends, Sora picked up her basket, now full of delicious looking apples, and the pair began to head back toward the orchard entrance. They probably hadn’t gathered the most apples– and he was sure their friends would point that fact out– but Sora didn’t care one bit. He wouldn’t have traded this day for anything.

‘Hey Kairi?’ Sora said as they walked, ‘For the record, if I’m ever in a fruit induced coma– or any other kind of coma, really– feel free to make out with me, in order to revive me. Thought I should say so, you know, just in case.’

‘Oh, really?’ She teased back. ‘I’ll make sure to tell Donald– you always complain he never uses Curaga when you need it.’

‘What? No! Ew, gross!’ Sora blanched as Kairi dissolved into laughter. But when his eyes found hers again, he couldn’t help but smile.

As her giggles died out, she replied, 'Okay, I’ll remember that… But that doesn’t mean you can go throw yourself into danger so I’ll kiss you better!’

‘I can’t help it– when you kiss me, I feel like I can do anything,’ Sora answered simply. Kairi’s eyes widened at his remark, and she ducked her head as her cheeks bloomed pink. Sora beamed. He may have been laying it on her thick, but Sora wasn’t lying: He had true love on his side– the most powerful magic of all.

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#sokai day 2021 #sokai #kairi #sora #I'm new to this ship but absolutely obsessed #here is my humble addition to sokai day :)#sokaiday

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dani-escribe · 3 years

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A Place To Call Home

Chapter 1

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F! Reader

Wordcount: 1,594

Summary: Who would have known that a day at the art museum could lead to meeting an extremely handsome FBI Agent ;)

Warnings: An incredible amount of fluff (seriously, like cotton candy level). SLOW BURN (buckle up for the ride!). Reader is a pediatric nurse, so a few mentions of kids and medical procedures in later chapters.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading and I really hope you like it! This is my comeback into writing and I am honestly so excited to keep writing this series. After watching the Mentalist and seeing how it ended I wanted to give our precious Marcus a happy ending (this is totally self-indulgent bc why not!). I want to thank @lowlights @fastandfeminist @wbl75 for being my beta readers and for all of their support. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! :)

Read here on ao3

You didn't know what possessed you to go visit the art museum on a rainy Wednesday afternoon, but you’re sure glad you went. You hadn't really had time to go to many museums in the last couple of years and wanted to really take in the experience. You’d been walking around looking at all of the intricate paintings and reading the descriptions of each one to try to understand what they were about when you saw a man that fit right in with the artwork. His pensive stance and deep brown eyes drew you in right away.

He was reading the description of the painting in front of him. He let out a short stifled laugh as if he knew something more about the painting that wasn't included in the description. The grey suit and black tie he was wearing made you wonder if he might be here on a date with someone or if he worked here. You were truly hoping that it was the latter of the two.

When you noticed that you had been staring at him for a creepy amount of time, you started to turn away, and in that exact moment he seemed to catch your eye. The way that he smiled made it seem like the world stopped for a short second. Before your flirty gaze turned into an awkward stare, you gave him a smile back and retreated to look at other artwork.

Walking around the other exhibits and looking at the sculptures and canvases from different time periods you began to think about all the wonders that you missed moving around as a kid. Your parents were teachers/potters and their jobs came with the occasional relocation to different places. They said that while teaching was their passion, ceramics had been their first true love. This meant that while you were usually in a stable place for a few years, during summer you and your sibling moved around with them to sell their art in different fairs. While you had seen and sold a lot of different types of art over the years, you never really had much time to appreciate it.

Your parents had been incredible in providing for you, and had only moved to ensure you had the best opportunities; but you always wondered about the experiences that you missed while being in a hurry to assimilate for half of your life. You knew that their teaching jobs didn't pay much, and that they used the money they got from their art to help cover the bills. This is why you had decided to move close to your family after starting a job at a local hospital in order to find a permanent place for yourself, a place that you could call home.

After making sure to see all of the exhibits at least once, you walked out of the museum with a sense of satisfaction: one, because you felt like you were catching up on lost time, and two, because of the interaction that you had had with a handsome stranger.

One of the best things was that the drive back to your new apartment from the museum, and pretty much everything else, was only about 5 minutes (10 if you counted traffic during rush hour). This also meant that everything was within walkable distance, which was also good because you sure as hell needed to start buying some supplies if you were going to clean up the pile of unpacked boxes at your new apartment.

As the night went on you were able to get most of your unpacking done, and you thought back to the stranger with those big brown eyes and gorgeous smile. He had a kind smile, one that made you feel like you could trust him, which was rare in a man you had just met. God, not only that but the suit that he had on made him seem like he was straight out of a James Bond movie. While putting away the last of your clothing, the blue scrubs that you had bought for your new job fell from the pile that you were carrying. This was enough to snap you out of your train of thought. You really needed to focus on thinking about that instead of daydreaming about a person you haven't even talked to, even if he had some of the cutest dimples you had seen. After trying to get him out of your thoughts unsuccessfully, you figured that it was either stressing about your new job or thinking about him. Ultimately you decided that a little daydreaming couldn't hurt too much. You wondered if you would ever see him again, and hoped that by some twist of fate you would.

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With your job starting today you figured it would be a sign of good comradery to bring your new coworkers some coffee from the cute diner down the street. Also, you found social interactions to be quite tricky at first and an ice breaker couldn't seem to hurt. Plus who doesn't like free breakfast, especially on a Monday morning right?

As you got dressed in your blue scrubs you headed for the door a whole hour early to avoid being late and to try to make a good impression. Making sure to note as you entered the diner to grab some scones or muffins for those who don’t like coffee, you accidentally stumbled into the man exiting with his coffee. The splash drenched his tie and shirt, only leaving his pants unscathed. Starting to profusely apologize and grabbing a handful of napkins to clean up the mess, you almost missed the fact that the brown eyes that were looking at you right now were the same ones that had held your gaze in the museum.

“I am so sorry, I can totally pay for your dry cleaning,” you gasped, both out of embarrassment and amazement that you were seeing the gorgeous stranger that had plagued your mind for the past couple of days.

“No worries at all. I actually needed an excuse to get out of wearing this tie that I got as a gift last year, so to think of it you really saved me,” he let out a chuckle. Now that you're looking at it, it is a very… bold choice of clothing. It was a striped neon tie with pink and orange interchanging lines.

“I got it as an office exchange party gift and now have the perfect excuse to change out of it.” Those killer dimples were showing along with the smile he gave you that helped to put you at ease.

“Well at least let me replace your coffee,” you said with a laugh at his honesty.

You went back inside to pay for his and your coffee orders and got to talking a bit before your orders were out.

“So what brings you around here, besides the coffee of course. I haven't really seen you here before,” he stated as he moved slightly closer to hear your answer over the clinking of cutlery and dishes.

“Oh I actually just moved near here. I’m starting today at the nearby hospital as a pediatric nurse. ” His proximity made you suddenly aware of how tall he was. He had at least a few good inches on you, and he leaned in to listen when you spoke. This didn’t help with your already flustered state to say the least.

“That sounds really exciting, congrats! The closest I get with kids at my job is the ones on an oil painting,” his eyes crinkled a bit as he laughed.

“Yeah, I totally understand. Little kids are such a wonder but working with them is not for everyone,” you chimed in with a bit of a laugh “Are you a curator then, is that why you were at the museum the other day?” You asked with a hope that he hadn't been there with anyone as a date.

“Oh no, I actually work with the FBI. I’m in the art crimes division. I was doing research on a new case which is why I was down in the museum. Some inspiration never hurts.” Now it was your turn to be amazed. You didn’t actually think he would be an agent like James Bond, but you weren’t complaining.

“I guess it doesn't hurt that it's really close to here too huh.” You added noting that it was a bit serendipitous to have met him twice in a few days within the same five mile radius.

Just as you were about to say something else your name was called and your orders came out. When you were about to turn to leave he called to you.

“I never did get your name,” he noted before heading out.

You told him your name and he repeated it in a way that made it seem like he was trying it out.

“And I feel like the least I can do is learn the name of the person who I so viciously attacked with a coffee cup.” You stated as you gave him a sheepish smile.

He let out a short laugh and replied, “The name of the person who you saved from having to continue wearing a highlighter tie is Marcus.” You shook your head at his joke and turned to leave.

As you grabbed the door handle you took one last look back and said “hope to see you around, Marcus.” You waved and parted ways to head in for your first day of work.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fic #marcus pike x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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apiratewhopines · 3 years

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Thanks again to @teamhook for the artwork and being the muse for this one! You wanted a movie fic and I did my best 🙂

Midnight

Chapter 7 — The Slipper

Summary: In which our heroine resets the clock

Chapter 7 on AO3 (That’s all folks!!)

“You’ll never know

How many dreams I dreamed about you”

-It’s Been a Long, Long Time, Bing Crosby

It was receiving the invitation to Arthur and Guinevere’s second wedding that did it. Emma’s fairy godfather stayed in touch after their weekend in the country, offering investment advice for her windfall and acting for all the world like her adopted brother. She knew he felt guilty for finding his happy ending at her expense. Despite her reassurances she messed up her chances hours before he came on the scene, maybe months if she were really honest.

Three months ago, she left the estate a little more scarred, a little less hopeful, and much more wealthy. She paid back the money stolen from Granny but couldn’t bring herself to buy a place in the city like she originally planned. Instead, she took the remainder and invested it per Arthur’s overbearing instruction. She doubled it in a week and tripled that figure by the end of the month.

She still wasn’t satisfied, though. Dreams of a certain blue-eyed man haunted her, his last words whispering through her mind like a mantra and a curse. So she found Neal’s trail again and spent the next couple of weeks looking for him in the shadows and muck. She found him mooching off his mother of all people.

All the hate, anger, and embarrassment she buried deeply at the end of their relationship dissipated the moment she saw him. Why had she given him so much real estate in her mind, allowed the ghost of him to rob her of her sanity and potential happiness?

It was with satisfaction at a job well done rather than his impeding downfall that she turned him over to the local authorities and headed back to the east coast.

By the time she arrived, she was richer and even more lonely.

She was listless and finding no reason to stay, Emma accepted Arthur’s latest proposition that she needed to see the world. Using his numerous estates as a guide, she flitted across the globe, experiencing all the world had to offer and looking. Always looking.

It took her longer than it should have to realize she wouldn’t find what she was missing in the new people she met or the natural wonders she explored. The whole time her mind and soul were calling out for a more familiar setting and a dearer face.

Lancelot was right. She was running scared, and the only thing it was going to get her was absolutely nothing.

The handsome, almost homewrecker had not attempted to reach out since their quiet conversation on the beach, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know what he was up to. After calling it quits, he realized the US hadn’t been the best place for him. He returned with great fanfare to France, where he took on the daily running of the family business. He was said to have the Midas touch, working with the locals to improve the processes and products they offered. His vineyard was becoming the trendiest tourist destination in the country.

Not even a month after his departure, the press reported on the fairytale romance of the champagne millionaire and his widowed neighbor, Belle French. The pair’s engagement announcement ran in every major newspaper in the world.

It was quick work, even for Lancelot du Lac. She couldn’t begrudge him, though. He was never truly a bad man, just a regular one who made bad decisions. She could certainly relate.

Cutting her trip short, she returned to the city where it all started, to a tiny loft apartment she rented on a month-by-month basis above Granny’s diner. There didn’t seem to be much point in seeing the world when the only world she was interested in was centered about four hours away.

The news of Killian was more challenging to come by than the other people involved in her charade, but that only made it more precious. A charity fundraiser here, a life saved there, the ever-present and never changing picture on the hospital website she checked so often it was now saved as her homepage. She thought glimpses and scraps were all she was entitled to at first. However, the longer she tried to resist his pull, the more she started to think maybe she did deserve a chance.

Maybe she wasn’t too late.

Staring at the thick cream-colored invitation with scrolling words waxing romance, dates, and times, she came to a decision and packed her bags.

—

It wasn’t hard to find the exact location of their meeting. It was burned into Emma’s memory. Their initial encounter cemented as one of those moments that seem routine when they happen but take root in your fate and grow, threading through every aspect of your life until all traces of happiness are tied to one serendipitous second in time.

After departing from Arthur’s estate in a chauffeured car all those months ago, she had returned to this spot and found her Bug right where she left it. Someone, probably the Prince Charming she was determined to break, had filled the tank with gas. So, she bid adieu to Arthur’s employee and drove off into the sunset all alone. Like she did everything.

Nothing had changed about the place in the intervening months. It was thirty minutes to midnight. The dark sky was clear, stars twinkling from space and the moon a tiny thumbnail above the evergreens. She would wait all night if she had to, but sooner or later, she would catch her quarry.

Emma Swan always got her man.

Unfortunately, she didn’t always get him on her first try. She waited for a couple hours the first night, but no black BMW could be seen cresting the hill. Admitting defeat, she went back to her hotel and vowed to try again.

She knew she could have sprung an unannounced visit on him at his job. After all, it wasn’t difficult to pick out his dark sedan in the parking lot when she cruised by the hospital several times a day. Nor would it have been difficult to track down his address and ambush him one evening when he returned home. The idea had a lot of appeal since his place lived in a variety of fantasies involving oversized shirts and pancakes.

Deep down, she knew after she had robbed him of his choice so many times in their brief acquaintance, it would be wrong to show up and act like nothing happened. She needed to allow him to invite her back in or send her away.

God, she hoped he invited her in.

It took three nights, but eventually, she saw headlights. Smoothing down the hem of her black tank top over her skinny jeans, she took a cleansing breath and stepped out into the middle of the road.

She had no doubt it was him, the cautious pace slicing through the night at exactly the same time as before. She could even tell the precise moment he spotted her in the bright lights of his high beams, the luxury car swerving slightly into the other lane. It was less than a minute later he rolled to a stop about ten feet away.

Then, nothing. The silence of a door not opening was deafening.

Maybe this was her answer.

She wished she could see past the glare and through the windshield. Look into his eyes at least once more and tell him everything she figured out over the past couple of months. The same things he had tried to say to her before he left.

Finally, a lifetime later, she heard the door open. She felt every footfall in the far reaches of her heart, each measured step in time with the rapid beating in her chest. She was lightheaded with longing, her eyes frantically trying to adjust between light and dark and make out Killian’s beloved form in the nighttime.

“Fancy meeting you here, Captain.”

There was another long pause and then he stepped into the narrow, car-sized area of light. He was even more handsome than she remembered. The static, professionally staged photo on the website never did him justice in the first place. “Emma, when did you get back?”

She heard the question for what it really was, ‘Emma, why are you here?’

Smiling past her nerves, she took a step closer. He looked like the proverbial deer in the highlights, like any sudden movement would cause him to turn tail and run. She did this to him. It was her fault her cocky Prince Charming looked spooked. “A couple of days ago. I need a ride to Misthaven. I’m late for an appointment.”

“An appointment? It’s almost midnight. I’m getting the strangest sense of deja vu.”

“You see, there’s a man. He’s actually the best thing that ever happened to me. But I felt like I didn’t deserve him, like I didn’t deserve anyone, really, so I ran. Several times. And even though I pushed him away and ruined everything, I need to let him know that he was never nothing. His feelings were never nothing. As a matter of fact, he’s come to mean everything to me, and I wanted to tell him I was sorry it took me so long to say it.”

Taking a step forward, he stood nearly toe to toe with her. His hair was sticking out at odd angles, his face twisted in thought, hands hanging in fists at his side. “Is that so?”

Reaching out, she placed her hands on his shoulders and she looked up into his eyes, whispering, “I’ve loved you since you let me have all the bites with whipped cream. I was just too scared to admit it.”

She waited when all she wanted to do was pull him closer and bury her face in his neck, inhale his intoxicating scent again and taste his skin. She had said what she needed to say, but it didn’t give her the right to waltz back into his life if that wasn’t what he wanted. “Killian, I—“

Her words were cut off by his abrupt kiss. He grabbed her like he was drowning and she was the only thing that could save him. His chest heaving and lips brutal in their quest. He hitched her up slightly, settling her against the hood of his car. He half leaned over her as he continued to explore every neglected inch of her mouth, every lonely corner of her soul. When he finally broke off his passionate embrace, his breathing was ragged and his voice harsh with emotion. “I have big plans for you and whipped cream, love.”

Laughter filled the inches between them, his forehead resting against hers. Peppering his face with soft kisses, her fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, she teased, “Prove it.”

—

The trail of clothes leading to the bedroom remained untouched for days. They survived the early days of their relationship on pancakes, whipped cream, and borrowed shirts.

Over the years, people asked her when she knew Killian Jones was the one. Her answer was always the same.

At the stroke of midnight.

Every night for the rest of their lives.

Note:

Midnight — Info about the movie

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @motherkatereloyshipper @klynn-stormz

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

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t r e a c h e r o u s - chapter iv

The one where you are Sebastian’s girlfriend, but Chris can’t get enough of you.

Due to the age gap between you and Sebastian, your boyfriend has a hard time feeling sexually attracted to you. In order to save your relationship, he invites Chris to have sex with you while he watches, hoping that the voyeurism will awaken his arousal and jealousy. Soon, he’ll learn that inviting his best friend into his relationship may have just been the worst mistake he ever made, when Chris finds himself unable to let you go after his role is done.

for general warnings, author’s notes and disclaimer, please go to the fic’s masterlist

Chris’ P.O.V.

“Chris,” she let out, clearly surprised to see me at her doorstep in the middle of the night. My heart thundered in my chest at the sight of her, her hair a bit disheveled but still falling down her back in perfect curves, stopping just before that incredible ass I couldn’t stop thinking about. She shuffled her weight from one foot to another before breaking the silence. “Sebastian isn’t here,” she explained, to which I nodded. “I know,” I smiled, enjoying how a blush traveled across her face as she realized I had come here for her. “What do you want?” She asked, a bit breathlessly. I licked my lips, unable to tear my eyes away from hers. “Isn’t it obvious?” A pause, no response. Her chest heaved under the thin nightgown she was wearing. “I want you, Y/N,” I finally admitted, watching her mouth fall open as my words reached her. “Chris…” She started, already taking a step back inside the house, as I took up the opportunity to step inside, closing the door behind me. “Hear me out,” I begged, capturing her hands and pulling her to me. She tried to avert her gaze, staring at anything other than me, until I carefully fixed a curl that danced in front of her eyes, depositing it behind one of her ears. “One night, please. That’s all I’m asking for. I…. Fuck, I just need you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night. I haven’t been able to fuck anyone else, to be completely honest. I just need you. One last time. Please.” That was the whole speech I had and I was fully prepared for her to scream at me, throw me out of her house and never speak to me again, but her eyes pierced me with something that reminded me so much of the feeling I was trying to control inside of me and before I could second guess this, she nodded once. “Okay,” she whispered, barely audible, and my lips connected to hers.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Our first kiss took all the strength I was trying to use to still restrain myself from this vile act I had just accepted to partake in. But now that it had left me, with weak knees and barely supported by Chris, who now had one of his arms around my waist, all I could think about was him and how his mouth tasted like beer and how sweet his movements were. Of course, I knew he was a sweet man, having had the pleasure to become friends with him a while ago. But it was very different to be receiving his sweetness under this situation, one I never thought I would get to experience. The night we shared under Sebastian’s watch was nothing more than pure lust, and I was expecting this to be no different, but he… he was treating me with such care. Like I was the most precious thing he had ever had the pleasure to hold. We were still kissing as we made our way through the house until we reached the bedroom. In fact, we never stopped kissing. Any time I tried to pull back to gather some air into my lungs, Chris would pull me back to him again, like he was afraid I was going to say something to stop this. I didn’t want to stop this. Suddenly, my nightgown was being pulled over my head and I was standing naked in front of my boyfriend’s best friend. Again. Only everything was so much different from last time. For starters, I didn’t remember him looking at me like that. Not like I was the most precious thing he had ever seen, some sort of rare artwork he couldn’t believe he had right before his eyes. His hands slowly caressed me from my hips to my breasts and he took his time. He pinched and he rolled my nipples between his fingers and before long I was gasping and he was pushing me down into the mattress, climbing up on top of me right after he took off his own clothes. And then I felt him, hard and heavy against the inside of my thigh and just that simple contact had me moaning from underneath him. “I know, baby. I know.” Every word was followed by his lips against my skin, kissing, licking, tugging, just hard enough to elicit a gasp, but never enough to leave a bruise. We both knew we couldn’t. “I’m gonna take my time with you, alright? Gonna do this the right way, now.” He didn’t offer me a chance to answer, his mouth engulfed my nipple and I cried out loud at the feeling of his tongue swirling around it. He sucked on it enthusiastically, and I was already writhing with desire. When he finally released it with a pop, his attention went immediately to the other one, but his fingers came up to continue playing with the nipple he had released. Between the pulling and the licking, I was dripping and he hadn’t even touched me properly yet. I was just about to beg for him to get on with it when he finally seemed to take pity on me.

Chris’ P.O.V.

After I had satisfied my need to suck on her sweet nipples, I started my slow descent on her body with wet, open-mouthed kisses, wanting to make sure I didn’t leave one single inch of skin untasted. I wanted to memorize her sweetness, the way she intoxicated my tongue and my thoughts. When I finally reached my destination, she was trembling with desire, just how I’d dreamed I would be able to leave her. I smiled when our eyes met just as I stuck out my tongue to touch her outer lips, barely teasing her. “Chris, please…” She whispered into the night, and immediately all of my restraint was gone. Hearing my name leave her like a prayer was more than I had ever hoped for. I buried my face in her pussy like she was the last meal I would ever get to eat. God, as much as I loved to eat women out, nothing could compare to this, to her, to her taste. I already knew I would only be able to stop licking her when overpleasured tears were coming out of her eyes and she was begging me to stop. Then, and only then, would I force my cock into her. Her juices were already overflowing from her pussy when I wrapped my lips on her little clit. She screamed out, half in surprise and a half in pleasure, and I was so proud of myself for being able to elicit this type of reaction from her. She was fucking delicious. Sweet and overpowering and I licked her furiously, determined not to waste a single drop of her essence. When she came for the first time, I felt like I was the one who was going to pass out, from having all of that liquid thrust into me. I welcomed it happily. Then I pushed a single finger into her, my movements quick and precise as I felt around for her special spot. When she squirmed, trying to escape my touch, I knew I had found it. “What’s wrong, baby girl?” I teased her, separating my lips from her just enough so that I could talk, but keeping my finger moving inside of her. “Didn’t know about this, did you? I bet no one had ever taken their time to look for it, but I’m here now, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.” When I sucked her clit this time around she cried out, quickly cumming again, and I had to groan at the feeling of her walls clenching around my single digit. I didn’t mind that by now my face was completely drenched in her release, I would bathe on it if I could. But knowing how she felt squeezing a part of me made me desperately want to have my cock inside of her again, soon. However, the part of me that wanted to take advantage of this night together was still stronger. So, instead of separating myself completely from her, I pushed another finger in, opting to give her little clit some rest this time around. I kissed my way back up to her face, forcing my tongue past her lips so that she could have a taste of her own arousal.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Don’t you taste good, sweetheart?” He asked, in that voice that was pure sin. I felt like I was drowning in desire and I couldn’t remember why I should feel bad about this, not when it was giving me such pleasure. His fingers quickly brought me to another release, or maybe it was the same, just stronger, and I was thankful there was no one around to hear my screams. I never thought I was very vocal in bed, but I guess that no one simply had been able to bring that out in me. Chris did. He looked so pleased with himself when I was finally able to open my eyes again. To be honest, I would be too, if I knew I could give this much pleasure to someone. But I guess this was my chance to prove myself not only to me but to him, too. So as soon as I could gather enough strength, I managed to push him back on the bed, changing our positions so that I was the one hovering above him, between his stretched out legs. “Can I taste you, daddy?” I asked, looking up at him from underneath my eyelashes as I softly ran my fingers over the bulge in his boxers. Chris let out a groan at my words, biting his lip as he adjusted himself so his hands would be behind his head. “I fucking knew you weren’t that sweet little innocent angel you pretended to be. Go on then, baby girl. I’ve been dying to feel your lips around me ever since we met.” The confession brought a new wave of wetness to my pussy, and I eagerly climbed up his body to kiss him once before taking off his remaining piece of clothing. Despite his words, he didn’t seem to want to let me go. Every time I pulled away from his lips, he’d grab me by the back of my neck to kiss me again. Finally, I pushed away from him, keeping my hand over his chest to force him to remain lying down while I giggled. “Do you want me to suck you off or not?” I teased, running a single finger over his plump lower lip before taking my eyes off of it to find the darkness that had taken over his staring back at me. He groaned like the decision gave him physical pain, but ended up releasing my hips and relaxing back against the mattress. “Fine, princess. Get on with it, then.” Despite the relatively harsh words, there wasn’t any roughness to his tone. In fact, he looked at me like I was in fact a princess, something rare and beautiful that he couldn’t wait to treasure, and as much as I wanted to ignore it, my heart melted at the sight. I distracted myself from the emotional response he caused me by moving along with what I intended to do. Despite the little time I had dedicated towards it last time, I remembered Chris’ cock vividly, and my mouth watered just by the memories. So it wasn’t much of a surprise that as soon as it was freed from its confines, in all its pinky, girthy beauty, I immediately licked the head, relishing in the taste of the few drops of precum already there, as well as in the loud moan that immediately escaped the man’s lips. God, he was beautiful. And at least for tonight, he was all mine. I’d cherish every single second where I could taste his skin, explore his muscles, feel his lips on mine. I’d worry about the consequences tomorrow. Making sure to keep my mind focused on this moment, I sucked on the head of his cock before slowly pushing more of it into my mouth. The sounds that he was emitting only served to make me wetter, to incentive my own movements on his member. I wanted to make him break. I wanted to taste his cum, to have it filling my mouth until it dripped from my closed lips. So I pushed forward, sucking and swallowing around him when I had his cock deep inside my throat. The broken moans that Chris let out made it all worth it, every drop of sweat and tear that traveled down my body. His hands had found their way around my hair, and although he didn’t use it to guide my movements, it still made me feel hot like nothing else. But when he did use his grip to pull me up, forcing me to release his hard cock, I whimpered at just how satisfactory that tiny bit of pain felt, while at the same time whining because he had separated me from my new obsession. “I don’t want to stop,” I protested, ready to fight my way down his body again, but he only laughed, mocking me. Fuck why did this arouse me so much? I tried to rub my thighs together to alleviate some of the need that was already rising in me again, but of course, Chris caught on to that.

Chris’ P.O.V.

I pulled her to my lips again, making sure to sit her on my lap so her warmness was pressing right over my throbbing cock. “I know you don’t want to stop, baby. I know you want to keep on sucking me until I cum deep inside your throat, but guess what?” I raised her only enough so I could get my member inside of her, grunting as I felt her tightness engulf me. “I’m gonna cum deep inside this pussy tonight.” She only moaned loudly at my words, clawing at my chest as she struggled to find something to hold as I fucked up into her while pulling her back to me, manhandling her as if she were nothing but a doll, a toy for me to use. “Fuck, your fucking pussy…” I could barely believe I was here, inside of her again. Only this time, it was so much more intense. There was no Sebastian to worry about. There was no condom to keep me from feeling exactly how wet and warm she was. For a split second, the thought that I could get her pregnant flashed in my mind, but it was gone as quickly as it came. She must be on the pill now that she and Sebastian are official, right? At least, that’s what I used to ignore the fact that I didn’t want her to be. “Chris, fuck, this fucking dick…” She whined, tears spilling out from between her closed eyelids as I continued to pound her. A warm feeling of satisfaction took over me, and I raised myself to my forearms before fully sitting, keeping her moving up and down my cock through my grip on her hips once more. “You like it, baby? You like feeling me deep inside of you?” Her moans were music to my ears, especially since I’d spent so much time imagining them after fucking her for the first time. Just the little breathless gasps that she allowed herself to release then weren’t enough. And I had the distinct feeling that fucking her would never be enough either, even after this unrestrained experience. I wanted to own her completely. The longer I spent inside of her, the clearer it was in my mind: I wanted what Sebastian had. God, I wanted what Sebastian had. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll forget you ever even met Sebastian.” She cried out when I pulled out until only the head of my cock was wrapped by her lower lips, only to forcefully push my way inside again. “If you were mine, I’d never leave you empty. You’d be filled with my cock all day, every day, even after you begged me to stop fucking you. I’d just leave you here, warming me up, keeping me ready for when you were begging to be ruined again.” There was absolutely no filter to my words anymore. All I knew was me and her and this need to fuck her so well, she’d never forget how it felt to have me inside of her. “Fuck, you’re so deep inside of me,” Y/N moaned, and it only spurred me on, watching her rub her lower belly, where she could feel me hitting from the inside. The sight of her hand over her stomach was too arousing and I lost control of my thrusts, but I had no idea why. “I love being inside of you,” I confessed as I pulled out to make sure I wouldn’t cum that instant, instead manhandling her body until she was on her stomach, her ass pressed up at my member. “Do you want to fuck me like this?” She asked, getting on our fours before turning around to meet my eyes from over her shoulder, and my cock throbbed just from the pure sin of the view before me. There were no words to describe how it felt to know that this was how Y/N behaved in bed, in her most vulnerable state. It felt even better to know that I was the one who had put her in that situation. “Fuck yes,” I agreed, rubbing the head of my cock between her sensitive lips before slamming home, one of my hands making sure to wrap around her hair to pull her back against me. “I love doggy.” The view of her ass bouncing as it hit my thighs prompted me to slap her right cheek, which in turn, made her gasp. “Me too,” she managed to get out, and for whatever reason, the confession only turned me on even further. “Tell me more, tell me what else you like,” I begged, desperate to keep hearing her speak, to know what sort of filth goes through her mind, just so I could make this moment more real, feel like I owned her at least a little bit more than the actual truth. “I like having your cock in my mouth.” The use of the present tense got to me way more than it should. I opened my mouth to beg her to shut up now, but before I could, she kept speaking, making me moan out loud instead as I gave myself over to this sinful pleasure. “I like feeling you stretch me open, it feels like you’re splitting me with this fucking cock. I’d let you.” Those last words came out as a whine, exactly as I felt her pussy milking me dry. My orgasm was so intense, that I found myself admitting in the throes of pleasure, “Fuck, I wish you were mine.” I kept thrusting, albeit slower, just to make sure that every last bit of my cum had gotten inside of her. The idea that there was a slight possibility of breeding her was enough to keep my dick from softening. “I still want you,” she claimed, her hands pulling me to lie down in the bed beside her before she climbed up my body, our witnesses dripping on my chest. “I want more.” “Me too, baby. Me too.”

#chris evans smut #smut #chris evans #my series #chris evans reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fiction #chris evans ff #chris evans oneshot #chris evans writings #chris evans writing #chris evans imagine #chris evans imagines

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shadowywerewolfqueen · 3 years

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Alpha Fight

This was inspired by @verobatto-angelxhunter most recent artwork. They wanted two Alpha’s fighting so I did my best! Hope you enjoy it darling and thank you for the gorgeous artwork and wonderful inspiration!

The two Alphas stood in the moonlit clearing, staring at one another. They stood motionless, their bodies tight with tension. A large orange-eyed wolf stood to the side, a triumphant smile showing sharp teeth. He tipped his head back and howled, and the sound echoed through the trees.

One of the Alphas, tall with bright green eyes, glanced at the wolf before focusing back on the man in front of him. “Cas, please, don’t do this! Fight Lucifer’s control! I know you can do it!”

Dean winced when a laugh pierced his skull. “Oh, Dean, you really think your pleading words will break the hold I have on Castiel? Your precious mate is mine, and I will watch with glee as he rips your throat out, finally making me the Pack Alpha!”

A growl rumbled from Dean’s chest, and he swung his head to glare at Lucifer, making sure to keep Cas in his peripheral. “I don’t know what spell you have on him, but I will break it! Cas is mine, my mate!”

A dark chuckle escaped Lucifer. “You think you can break my spell? You, a mere human Alpha with not an ounce of magic running in your veins? Castiel challenged me and lost; what hope do you have of defeating me?”

Dean’s mouth was set in a firm line, refusing to rise to Lucifer’s bait. He focused back on Cas, a whine forming in the back of his throat. Cas was looking at him, and there wasn’t an ounce of recognition in the blue eyes he loved so much. “Cas, please, fight this. Beat him. I know you’re stronger than Lucifer!”

“I grow tired of this.” Lucifer looked at Cas and ordered, “Brother, kill your mate!”

Without hesitation, Cas shifted into a large black wolf and lunged at Dean. Dean threw his body to the side, barely escaping Cas’ vicious teeth. He rolled onto his hands and knees, panting heavily. He looked up and saw Cas charging at him.

“Dammit,” Dean cursed, shifting into his tan and red wolf.

In the next instant, Cas was slamming into Dean, his jaws clamping down on whatever he could reach. Dean whimpered when Cas’ teeth ripped into his shoulder, slicing through fur and muscle quickly. Dean grabbed at the back of Cas’ neck, attempting to pull his mate away without hurting him. Cas shook his head, deepening the wound and causing more blood to gush from it. Dean snarled and lurched forward, gasping in pain as more muscle tore.

Dean spun around, afraid to have Cas at his back. He stared at his mate, whose muzzle was covered in blood. “Cas, please, stop this. It’s me; it’s Dean. It’s your mate! Please, Cas, remember me,” Dean begged.

Cas snarled and rushed forward. Dean tried to sidestep him but his leg crumpled beneath him. Cas was on top of him, snapping and growling. Dean, having no choice but to fight back, growled and bit into Cas’ leg.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said before closing his jaws. He heard a snapping sound, and Cas scurried backward, howling in pain.

Cas stood on three legs, his front right leg hanging uselessly. He was panting heavily, his sides heaving as he struggled to bring oxygen into his lungs. He eyed Dean warily, trying to determine his next move.

“What are you doing? Kill him,” Lucifer shouted.

Immediately, Cas lunged at Dean. He was slower, and Dean was able to avoid his attack. Dean spun around to face his mate but had underestimated how fast Cas could move with his injury. Cas slammed into Dean, sending him sprawling. Before Dean could regain his feet, Cas was on him, his jaws going straight for Dean’s neck.

Dean tried to buck his mate off, but he couldn’t with his injured shoulder. He scrabbled, but his paws did nothing but rake the dirt and grass. Pain raced through his body as Cas chewed into the thick fur of his neck. Dean turned his head and saw Cas’ broken leg. He lashed out with his paw, hitting the broken limb hard.

Cas howled in pain, giving Dean the opening he needed. He lurched forward, ignoring the blood pouring down his back and neck. He got to his feet shakily but was too slow. Cas rammed him, sending him back to the ground. This time, Cas’ jaws locked around the vulnerable underside of Dean’s neck.

Dean stared into the blue eyes he loved so much. “Please, Cas, shake Lucifer off. You’re stronger than him!”

“My brother wishes he was stronger than me,” Lucifer cried. “Now, finish him, brother!”

Dean could feel Cas’ jaws tightening, slowly cutting off his air supply. He tried to break out of Cas’ grasp, but it was futile; he was too weak and Cas’ grip too strong. Black spots appeared at the edge of Dean’s vision, and he knew he only had moments left. His gaze locked with Cas, the blue eyes the last thing he wanted to see. “It’s ok, Cas. I don’t blame you. I love you. Goodbye, honeybee.” Dean’s world went dark.

____________________________________________________________________________

Dean blinked his eyes open, and the first thing he saw was blue. “Hey, honeybee.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas cried, throwing himself into Dean’s arms. “I was so scared I wouldn’t be able to save you in time!”

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ sobbing shoulders. “I knew you would beat him. I had all the faith in the world.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Cas mumbled against Dean’s chest. “He was strong, Dean. Far stronger than I realized.”

“Hey, it’s ok; you beat him,” Dean said, running his fingers soothingly through Cas’ black locks. He glanced to the side and noticed a prone body lying in the grass. Dean felt no remorse at seeing Lucifer dead, only wishing he had been the one to kill the bastard. He squeezed Cas, overjoyed to have his mate back in his arms and free of Lucifer’s mind control. “Thank you for healing me.”

Cas pulled back to look at him. “Of course! You were losing so much blood, I was afraid-”

“Cas, stop,” Dean said, cutting his mate off. “You saved me, we’re safe, and we’re free of your crazy brother. That’s all that matters.”

Cas nodded his head, smiling weakly. “You’re right; that is all that matters.”

“Now, let’s go home. You’ve been missing for days, and I’m desperate to have your knot filling my ass.” Dean leaned forward and covered Cas’ mouth with his own.

As they kissed, their cocks thickened and rubbed against each other. They broke apart, gasping for breath. Cas cupped Dean’s jaw in his hand, his thumb rubbing against the smooth skin. “I love you, Dean.”

“Love you, too, honeybee,” Dean murmured, pecking Cas on the lips again.

The two men separated and shifted into their wolves. Cas started walking when he was suddenly being shoved to the ground by a tan body. “Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be. I already kicked your ass once; you really wanna get beat twice in one day?”

“You just got lucky! I was going easy on you,” Dean said, his voice full of laughter.

“It’s gonna be really embarrassing for you when I tell Sam I beat you twice,” Cas shot back.

Cas shot forward, tackling Dean to the ground. He bared his teeth and growled, but there was no malice behind the sounds. He grabbed the scruff of Dean’s neck and shook his head, playing rather than fighting. Dean bucked him off and shot forward. Cas followed him, not giving Dean a chance to catch his breath.

Their bodies slammed into each other, and they both went rolling. Cas scrambled to throw his body on top of Dean’s, pinning the larger wolf beneath him. He grabbed the underside of Dean’s neck in his teeth, hard enough to keep Dean from moving but light enough not to break the skin. Dean tried to scratch at Cas’ belly, but the fur was too thick for the nails to do much damage.

“Alright, I surrender,” Dean cried, baring his neck even more to his Alpha mate.

Cas gave a gentle shake of his head before letting Dean’s fur drop from his mouth. He smiled a toothy grin and said, “Told you I was gonna beat you twice. Now, let’s go home so I can enjoy my victory. I’m gonna pound your ass so hard, my love, you will feel it for days.”

Dean licked at Cas’ muzzle. “You promise?”

Cas’ laughter floated through Dean’s head as he backed off his mate. Dean got to his feet and slid his body along Cas’, marking him so all others would know Cas was his. He was a very possessive wolf when he wanted to be.

Cas snapped his jaws. “Quit marking me, you possessive bastard. I thought you wanted sex.”

“Oh, I do!” Dean nuzzled his muzzle against Cas’. “Let’s go home, honeybee.”

Cas nudged Dean’s head with his. “Love you, Alpha.”

“Love you too, Alpha,” Dean said, chuckling softly. He took off into the forest, Cas, close on his heels, the past hour already fading to the back of their minds.

#My writing #Destiel #abo #userstarry #archervale

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

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Title: Division of Labor (2/?)

Summary:

“The past years, we have noticed a lot of our fresh high school graduates knew nothing about responsibilities the that awaited them outside high school and even college. Many students do not master budgeting, taxes, household planning, loans and we hope to raise a generation who can navigate the adult world without the consequences of bad decisions they are bound to make going in blindly…”

Paradis High school starts a program incorporating adulting into their curriculum and Hange and Levi are paired together.

Note: From request of @a-golden-hearted-snk-fan. See this link for the request

Other Chapters: 1 3

Link to cross-postings: AO3

"This doesn't make any sense."

Jean had always been one of the more vocal ones in the classroom when it came to inconvenient developments. More often than not, people had just brushed off his complaints and banter as an inevitable part of his personality. That was one of the few times everyone else agreed with him.

The rest though just sat silently in the classroom while both Erwin and Shadis went out of the room, to get what was supposed to be their "kids."

Having taken classes on reproduction and health growing up, most if not all the people in the room already knew the amount of money it took to raise a child and the importance of contraception.

Oddly enough though, the number of kids was decided at random, only justified by the fact that they would never know how many dependents they'll have to care of one day.

"Every single one of you will be faced with the prospect of taking care of a dependent one day, maybe for a few years, maybe for decades," Erwin had explained. He had a natural charisma in the way he carried himself and spoke that made everyone in the room aware of their own tendency for altruism. Everyone had somebody in their life, they probably would have dug into their savings to support be it a mother, a sibling or a close friend.

They were all silently doing their own reflections of who that person would have been as Shadis passed around sacks of flour at random.

"Just be lucky you don't have to do this in real life yet. This adult experience is fucking watered down already. If we could simulate the pain of childhood or the stench of a dirty diaper, we would. " Shadis' words were a stark contrast to Erwin's.

Either way, everyone was too distracted by the number they were getting and the whole prospect of having sack babies in the first place to even react to his words.

"We initially thought of using actual eggs or flour but if you're going to be taking care of this for the whole year…” Erwin fell silent for a second. “That would be disgusting."

The sack was definitely much lighter than what Levi had expected. He squeezed it, noting the firmness of the sack. It was stuffed with cotton. They thought some of it through at least.

Erwin turned on his projector, looking undisturbed by the awkward silence in the room. "By the end of this month, these are what I expect from all of you," He started. "An overview of career plans, a meal plan, a house design based on real estate prices around the area and a breakdown of house responsibilities."

He moved his tacky pointer towards the line on meal plans. "Every two weeks you and your partner go to the supermarket, assess grocery prices and submit me a list of groceries you would buy and a meal plan based on that for the family you have with you. Remember, you are still limited by your wage and each sack represents an extra mouth to consider when you make the meal plan. I will be sending a more detailed version with the deadlines and a prescribed format through email.”

The class was silent for a time. The only notable sounds coming from that room were the scratching of pencil and paper and a few sighs. Hange was taking notes next to Levi while the latter wondered why she even bothered when Erwin was going to send the rest of the information through email after all.

Erwin spent a good few seconds taking stock of everyone in the room before letting out a subtle sigh of his own. "Don't look too overwhelmed, these assignments will be incorporated into all your other classes anyway. Just don't expect teachers from other subjects to spoon feed you though. As much as possible we want you to learn to work with it independently."

Division of Labor

Regardless of what Erwin said, everyone was left overwhelmed anyway. The prospect of having to deal with that heavy of a workload and having that performance affect their chances at college had people spending their precious one hour of lunch time with their partners.

Despite his generally antisocial personality, Levi was rarely alone for lunch. Most days he spent his breaks with his classmates Petra and Oluo. Sometimes Gunther and Eld from the other section would join in. That was unless he felt particularly compelled to spend a lunch break alone. It was as if everyone silently agreed to use that short hour to discuss and strategize with their partners. Levi did not even have time to protest that trend, as his own friends filed out of their seats with their partners, not even bothering to ask if he would be joining them for lunch.

Or did they even need to ask? Hange was right next to him, already taking out her lunch and looking at him expectantly. “Let’s go?”

“Wait, who said we were having lunch together?”

Hange gestured subtly at the already empty room, as if to ask him “what else?” Levi cursed himself for even complaining about groupmates who never pulled their weight. At that moment, an overly enthusiastic groupmate seemed more unbearable and Levi almost wished he could have gotten a lazy and uninterested groupmate instead. At least then he’d be able to decide for himself when to start working.

They sat on one of the picnic tables in the school courtyard, Hange with a boxed lunch and Levi with his homemade sandwich. Their two sack babies were stacked up to the side of the table.

"So what do we name them?" Hange asked.

Levi grabbed one of the sacks from the pile and propped it up on his lunch bag, an attempt to use that empty slate of a sack as a guide to imagining what should be a face. With that, Levi could pretend they were at least kind of living and maybe they did deserve names.

"Flour," Levi suggested. His attempts to see life in faceless sacks came out fruitless.

"Let's try to be a little more creative Levi."

"Why do we even have to give names to these things? They're not even alive. Like nobody is gonna press charges if I stabbed it right now anyway."

"Because they're grading us,” Hange took out a permanent marker and carefully drew a smiling face one sack. She made sure to add a few lines of what looked to be bangs. As she went for the other sack, Levi could not help but notice the goofy smile that appeared on her face.

Levi narrowed his eyes. "You're enjoying this?”

"We’re here. Might as well enjoy it right?" Hange shrugged." If you're not gonna name them. I will." She propped the one she had just finished drawing on, up on Levi’s lunch bag. “This is Flora.” She continued drawing on the other sack. “And this is Fauna."

The names sounded to Levi like science terms he had learned too long ago and had wanted to forget. They flew into one ear and out the other within seconds and Levi had settled for internally naming the sacks the first thing he thought of when he saw Hange's artwork: “ugly bangs” and “eyelash.”

He made sure not to tell Hange though. She seemed way too enthusiastic about her naming choices.

Division of Labor

Although Levi did have a natural talent with numbers, this potential remained untapped through most of high school. The most apparent reason for this being the fact that the person teaching them Math, at one of the most important times in their high school life was an utter prick.

That utter prick of a Math teacher during their sophomore year made a comeback as their teacher for their junior year. He did not look too happy about it either. Levi at least shared that same sentiment.

"So I'm supposed to be teaching you guys about taxes but really, believe me, you won't really use half of this shit, just hire an accountant.” Zeke Yaeger propped his feet on the teacher’s table, not bothering to even explain the table of tax rates he had flashed as a powerpoint slide next to him. “ Or... just get an employer, they’ll calculate it for you anyway.”

“Do you mean get a job sir?” It was Marco who so politely asked the question.

“Get a job, get an employer, same banana.” Zeke answered, in between gulps of coffee.

Somehow everyone knew that getting a job would probably be not as easy as the phrase “get an employer” implied it to be. Zeke was their teacher though and he probably knew much more than they did, given the decades of work experience he had in his belt.

“Don’t we need to know how to calculate our taxes based on the table?” Armin asked. He looked to his partner Annie who seemed to be furiously taking notes.

Zeke looked once again at the board for a few minutes before slamming his cup on the table, spilling out some coffee in the process. “Just remember, if your employer promises you 70,000 dollars a year, don’t be surprised when you end up taking home 50,000 dollars coz of some bullshit about the government needing money, insurance and retirement.” He rolled his eyes. “Not like we all live that long to enjoy that K410 nonsense anyway.” He added bitterly, adding some venom on that part about that string of numbers in particular.

“If we own a business, how do we file them?” Annie asked.

“No one needs to know how to do this. Besides, you’re all in high school. Don’t stress yourself over this. Like I said before, just get an accountant.”

“What if we can’t afford an accountant?”

“Then don’t own a fucking business.” Zeke rolled his eyes. “Fine… Look, I didn’t prepare for that question, gimme a sec.”

The class watched as he closed the powerpoint, quickly opened an incognito window and went on google.

How to file taxes as business owners?

Zeke stared at the next few pages for what seemed like minutes, before clicking on one particular page.

“So yeah, it looks like you just fill out this form and send the money to the tax office.” He shrugged. “Your generation grew up with ipads glued to your faces. I’m sure you’re way better in googling shit than I am so yeah, just google the rest of what you need. Free period until your next class, now go talk about your fake taxes or your fake house or something.”

Division of Labor

Even with the free period Zeke had so generously given them, no one was able to start anything until they got home. It was eight in the evening when Levi opened his school email to find the information on their next tasks, which was sent only a few minutes ago.

September*

Week 3

Housing plan (Wednesday)

Housing Design (Wednesday)

Daily routine

Meal Plan

Week 4

Breakdown of Responsibilities

*Unless otherwise stated, please submit output by Friday of said week

Levi did not even have time to finish scanning through the guide to their housing plan task as his computer started to slow down, unable to take the quick scrolling. He soon realized it was not the scrolling that had made the computer so dysfunctional. On the lower right of his screen, he saw the notification.

Hange Zoe

New Message

The badge next to his messaging app, quickly rose from 12 unread messages to 26 to 45. Even the screen looked unable to display the messages properly. Wanting to save his computer from anymore torture, Levi grabbed his phone from his bed side and called his partner.

“If you have a lot of things you need to tell me, call .” Levi said, not even bothering to wait for a hello from Hange.

“Oh great! So you did get the messages! For a while I was wondering if your messenger app was broken.”

Levi looked back at the screen to see that the badge next to his app was already displaying a “99+.” If his application or his laptop was not broken then, it might break when he opens the application.

“What the hell are you sending anyway?” Levi asked, delaying the inevitable of having to open the messaging app.

“Links to houses for the housing plan,” Hange answered matter-of-factly. “Unless you’d rather I just say the links out loud for you to type it in the browser yourself.”

With a part of him so nervous at the possibly of his computer hanging or even breaking, Levi had ended having to slam his finger on his mouse when he opened the messaging app. He looked away not wanting to see how his computer tried to process the 99+ messages.

He lay on his bed opening the file on his phone.

“So, since I’m working freelance, I pretty much have a work from home job so we can live anywhere. We have two kids, so what do you think of a three bedroom house?”

“A ‘house house?” Levi looked around at his own living space which his uncle rented for him. He lived in a studio apartment and the concept of living in a house, even in a simulation seemed too unrealistic. “Like a house, with two floors, and multiple bedrooms?”

“And a garden!” Hange said excitedly. “So Flora and Fauna can run around.”

It took Levi a few seconds to comprehend that Hange was discussing their flour sack babies running around an imaginary garden. Levi was sure Hange was not an idiot though and had decided to at least entertain the expensive option of a fully furnished three bedroom house with a sprawling garden. “And, how were the prices?” Levi walked back to his computer to see that most of his messages had already loaded.

“Well, I found some for 1500 dollars a month, others for 1800 dollars a month. I earn 3600 dollars a month apparently, so I don’t think spending half of it on rent would be too much right?”

“I mean, it’s your wages right?” Levi replied. In truth, a part of him just did not want to go through all one hundred houses Hange had linked him too on the messaging application just to decide on a house.

Hange sent a picture of a split level house, with a wide front garden. “This is my favorite! It comes with a large backyard. And it only costs 1800 dollars a month!”

Only 1800 dollars a month. Levi almost choked. The words “only” and “1800 dollars a month” just seemed too absurd to his ears that someone saying it so casually had him speechless even if Hange was talking about a three bedroom house with a sprawling garden. He cleared his throat. “You’re the breadwinner.”

“Okay! Let’s design the house! I’ll move to my laptop.”

For some reason, Levi had a bad feeling about the listing Hange had shown him. He quickly brushed it away as it came, attributing it to the fact that he never really grew up with enough money to entertain the idea of spending on luxuries. He lived with less than three hundred dollars a month after all, all funded by his absent uncle.

Hange had seemed confident with her decision though.

I’ll stick to what I know best. In the end, Levi decided to leave the larger purchases to Hange. Hehad confidence only in his ability to manage a household. Maybe he would be able to contribute then.

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #levi x hange #fanfic

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cold-b-writing · 3 years

Text

Thanatophobia: Chapter I

The first entry to a fanfic series I've been meaning to write for 3 years. I finally got out of that writer's block and figured out how I wanna start this. I pretty much know how this is gonna play out, but still. That was the first obstacle. There isn't a set deadline for the future chapters, but I will do my best. Image was made with Rinmaru Games, artwork is not my own.

The horses struggled to trudge through the snow, even on a pathway, the snow piled so high, and the carriage they were pulling along was so heavy; there was no chance that the driver could make it to his destination by the end of the day. He would be lucky if he could even find a place to stop and rest; he was prepared for the winter, but he still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of having to spend another night out into the wilderness, especially since he still had to keep an eye on the passenger.

The boy riding along the back was a strange character, always having his nose in one book or another, rather timid in the few times he does speak, and the worst part about it was that he seemed young and inexperienced. If one were to approach the boy from behind, they could easily confuse him for an old man facing away; but that notion would disappear the moment that passenger would turn around. The carriage seemed to have hit a large stone hidden in the snow, as the ride got even more bumpy than it already was. The driver had to tug on his reigns and calm down the horses, the commotion made the passenger drop his book.

“Sorry about that,” the driver called out. “Are you alright?” The passenger bent over to grab his book, looked up to the driver with pitch pine-eyes when asked and nodded his head. The driver sighed, knowing that would be all he would get from the boy, he just kept his eyes on the road and made sure his horses stayed on the path, as far as he can make I out. Things were only going to get worse, as things were before, he could still see the mountains and the river a few miles away, however, with the path he was taking, he was starting to make his way into a pine forest.

It wasn’t too long before making it inside before he could see nothing but the surrounding trees in the area. The forest made him nervous, at least if something were coming towards him when he was out on the path before, he would be able to see it long before reaching him; now he’d be lucky to spot something a couple yards away from him.

Sure enough, the driver’s suspicions became true, he passed by a couple of figures emerging from the trees onto the path. He heard a shrill cry from behind as a female called out to him, asking him to stop. The driver didn’t have much time before they would be out of sight, he didn’t even think about whether it was a good idea to stop for them or not. Instinctually, he pulled hard on the reigns, having the carriage come to a full stop after a good five seconds.

The driver cursed under his breath, wondering why he even bothered stopping. Stopping for a couple of people randomly found in the woods was just asking for trouble. He had no idea who these people were and for all he knew, they could be bandits. Regardless, even if he whipped the reigns and got the horses moving again, the two figures were not so distant anymore. It would be impossible to get away without them climbing the carriage at this point; and if they were bandits, there’d be no point in trying to escape anyway, they’d have some trap ready to go.

The driver wasn’t ready for a fight, and the passenger in the back didn’t look like he could handle himself much better. He felt the carriage shift and heard a man being shoved into the carriage. The woman in leather armor climbed up not long after and thanked the driver, pulling the man up off the ground and shoving him onto the bench opposite of the first passenger.

“Thank you, mister.” The woman exclaimed as she sat between her companion and the latter they climbed. “Two of us woulda frozen t’ death if i’ weren’t for you.” The driver sighed and turned to face his new passengers.

“Just happy to see a couple of friendly faces around these parts.” The driver forced a smile and nodded.

“A happy face.” The woman pointed at herself, correcting the driver. “This man here, not so much.” she pointed at the man who had a black hood over his head, having pointed ears and looked older than everyone else in the carriage, all he could do was chuckle when she brought him up.

“What’s the deal with the dagger-head here?” the driver asked. The elf had his hands tied, but the moment he heard what the driver called him, he looked up and spat at the driver. At that instant, the woman elbowed him right in the nose, causing him to rear his head back from the pain, reaching up with his tied hands to try to cover up his now bloody face.

The boy sitting from across could only stare at everyone in shock for a split second, then going back to reading from his book to try and avoid getting involved.

“I’m glad you asked, mister.” The woman smiled condescendingly. “This right here, is none other than Morqen Reshert,” she slowed down and emphasized the name as if the driver should know who that is. “he is wanted for multiple counts of larceny, burglary, theft, vandalism, perjury, and my favorite,” she began to chuckle to herself. “public intoxication…”

The driver wasn’t laughing, he his expression dropped, and he glared at the woman. “What in the Nine Hells are you doing, bringing a damn criminal to my carriage?” his tone became gruff. “Are you trying to bring me trouble?”

“It ain’t like that.” The woman shook her head, raising her hands in the air. “I’m just doing my duty as an adventurer and getting some work around here done.” She looked at the elf. “Look, there ain’t nobody coming here to save ‘im. He was running with some others not too long ago, but they didn’t really care much for him. They was just itchin’ to get rid of him and I gave them an excuse.” The elf laughed and shook his head in response.

“This doesn’t sit right with me.” The driver shook his head. “It sounds too good of a story.”

“Look mister.” The woman smiled pleadingly at the driver. “I’ll tell you what, the keeb’s worth fifteen-hundred gold pieces. If you let me ride this carriage, I’ll be willing to split the bounty with you.”

“By how much?” the driver raised an eyebrow. The woman turned her head quizzically. “You said, you would split the bounty, how are we gonna split it?”

“I can give you thirty percent for the ride, that should cover it, right?” the woman smiled. “Its just a ride to the closest village.” The driver laughed and shook his head.

“I hope you find another carriage soon.” The driver chuckled. The woman widened her eyes in horror.

“Forty percent!” she piped up. “Please mister, that should be enough for the ride and hazard pay.” She turned her head to the elf. The elf wiped his nose with the sleeve of his cloak.

“Half.” The driver stated. The woman was slack jawed. “If you give me half, I’ll give you your ride.”

“You’d really take advantage of a woman like this?” the adventurer asked.

“Well,” the driver chuckled to himself. “way I see it is this is precious cargo.” He pointed at the elf. “Very expensive cargo…not only that, but you ain’t got much of a choice, do you?”

“This is fuckin’ extortion.” The woman growled, showing what few rotten teeth, she had left. “What’s to stop me from just taking your carriage for myself?”

“Think of it like this, miss.” The driver smiled. “You can’t keep an eye on him and make your way back to town. Not with him alive at least. From what I can gather, he ain’t worth nearly as much dead. And if you ran into the people he used to work with, well I can’t help but just assume you didn’t acquire this man legally.” He raised a finger, pointed at her with a crossbow hidden under his sleeve. “I’d best be careful with my words if I were you,” the driver grunted low. “you’re lucky I’m still giving you the ride after that pathetic little threat of yours.”

The woman huffed and crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Fine…” she muttered. The elf started chuckling to himself and the woman immediately punched him in the back of the head. The elf fell over immediately, hitting his head on the back of the driver’s seat and ended up on the floor. He wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

The ranger smiled as she rubbed her fist, admiring her work. She turned her attention to the white-haired passenger sitting across from her and grimaced. “We gonna have a problem too, frilly boy?” she grunted.

The passenger didn’t respond, he just kept his face down in his book. He didn’t even make any indication of listening to the woman.

The ranger chuffed and rolled her eyes, she wasn’t fond with anyone on this carriage, but she didn’t care. For her, all that mattered was getting all the money she could. Right now, that mean making sure that her elven friend would be getting to the nearest prison in the area.

The carriage driver turned back to his horses, he made his point clear. He would be sticking close with the ranger for a while to make sure she keeps her end of the deal.

He didn’t like the idea of having this dealing in front of his other passenger, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He was grateful that the boy knew when to keep quiet, he wasn’t sure if he could tolerate anymore scuffling in the carriage than what was already going on.

He whipped the reigns and got the horses moving through the woods again. He had to make sure to find some place to take shelter. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a map, looking at part of it with one hand with his other hand still holding the reigns.

He spent half his time looking at the map to see where he was and where he was going, and he spent the other half of his time keeping an eye on the road, looking for signs. Occasionally, he would turn around to check on his passengers.

The ranger was playing with her quiver and twirling her arrows around in her fingers. She had her bow to her side, and she would look down at the elf every now and then. Eventually she put her quiver down and decided to take a look at her knuckles that were starting to look a bit roughed up. She would spend some time taking care of them with the supplies she had on hand.

The elf was still dead asleep on the floorboards. He wore some leather armor of his own dyed black with a fur cloak around him. He had some unrecognizable tools attached to his belt. Whatever those contraptions could be, they likely weren’t used for anything productive.

Looking over at the last passenger, out of everyone in the back, he was the strangest of them all. The boy gave off an aura that he was more capable than he was letting on. Despite that, he was the least armed of the bunch. He seemed to only have a satchel and the robes on him, along with his trusty book. In fact, that seemed to be all he had.

The boy didn’t look like any kind of scholar the driver has ever seen. Even if he did, he would have no business being on the North West corner of the continent. He had been on this ride the longest and he still didn’t even share his name.

Keeping all of this in mind, he turned his head and finally saw a signpost at a crossroads. Looking down at his map, he could tell that the closest settlement he could head to would be a city called Loudwater. From what he heard about it, it was a rather successful city filled mostly with humans and half elves.

He turned back around to look at the ranger in the back, if she were as loud and obnoxious with them as she was with him, she likely wouldn’t last long. They likely wouldn’t take too kindly to the colorful slurs she referred to her captive with. He made a remark himself, but he was smart enough to keep his opinion to himself when he should. She likely didn’t share that same attitude.

Regardless, he didn’t really care about what would happen to her. The only thing he wanted was a portion of the bounty that he managed to haggle out of her. After that, he never wanted to hear from her again.

The man sighed and looked off into the distance only to see footsteps not that far away. He turned his head to the other side and saw footsteps that looked similar from that direction as well. He pulled on his reigns and stopped the carriage. Everyone jerked back and forth for a split second and then looked over at the driver.

“I thought you said no one was coming to save him.” The man turned around, facing the ranger again.

“There ain’t!” the woman barked. Then she paused and looked around, she noticed that something was off as well.

“Like Hell there ain’t!” the driver spoke through his teeth. “This is your fault!”

“Hey there, mister!” a voice called out. Soon, two men riding a horse emerged from the trees, one was steering the horse towards the front of the carriage, the other had an arrow nocked already, pointing it at the driver. “We couldn’t help but notice that you happen to be in some interesting company.”

“Expensive?” the driver tried to play dumb. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, that elf on the back happens to be someone of great interest around here.” The rider smiled. He looked over at the ranger and smiled. “Miss Vedetta, pleasure to see you again.”

“The fuck is this!?” the ranger motioned at the two in front of the carriage. While this was happening, another pair with similar attire to the ones in front of the carriage approached from behind. A rider was steering the horse and the other had an arrow nocked, pointing it at the woman’s back. “We had a deal, Cledus, you said you didn’t even like him!”

“I did…” Cledus nodded. “But then I figured, why not just turn in the bounty myself? Get a few arrows while I’m at it.”

“Now hold on...” The driver raised a hand. “I don’t want no part of this, if we give you the elf and her, will you let us go?”

“Sure, we’ll let you go.” Cledus smiled. “But here’s the thing, mister. These woods here, this is Bull Crew territory. If you wanna pass, you’re gonna have to pay the toll.”

“How much is the toll?” The driver tried to play dumb again, this only caused Cledus to chuckle to himself.

“Show me your pockets…” the bandit laughed. “Give me everything you got.”

“I got a better idea.” The driver muttered. He aimed the wrist crossbow at the horse and shot it right in the leg. Immediately, the horse whined in pain and lifted itself in the air, kicking the air in a frenzy. This knocked the rider and Cledus off the horse, and the mare soon ran off into the woods. Cledus grabbed and whipped the reigns as fast as he could, causing the horses to move at break-neck speed. The carriage simply ran over the people on the ground.

“Cledus!” the archer from behind shouted. “You’re fucking dead!” He tried to take a shot at the driver, but the carriage on the move already caused him to not lead well enough, he ended up hitting a tree instead of his intended target.

The rider went chasing after the carriage, the archer reaching to his quiver to get ready to shoot again. The driver was sweating bullets, trying to get everyone out of this predicament. He turned to the ranger. “If you wanna get out of this alive, keep them off of me!”

The ranger nodded and grabbed her bow. Pulling an arrow from her quiver and tried to aim at the bandits after them. The strange boy ducked behind the bench and tried to stay out of the fight. It was better off that way, as far as she cared, he would just get in the way.

The archer took another shoot and it could have caused a major injury. It scraped past her armor, and it lodged itself into the bench behind the ranger. Vedetta sighed in relief and took a shot herself. The rider turned the horse to the other side of the carriage, with the way he executed the maneuver, it was done just well enough to make the ranger miss.

“Just go home!” the driver shouted. “This ain’t even worth it, anymore!” the bandits didn’t listen. They kept trying to shoot down the driver. Every time the archer tried to take a shot at him, Vedetta would try to shoot at them, making them lose their angle.

It was clear that if they wanted to stop the carriage, they would have to deal with the ranger first. The bandits looked at each other for a second, like they were sharing an idea and didn’t even need to speak. Both nodded to one another, the archer then pulled out another arrow and now kept trying to shoot Vedetta.

While this was happening, the rider got his horse closer and closer to the carriage with every passing second. Vedetta would try to take a shot at the horse or the horseman, but the archer kept shooting at her, making her duck and cover every time that happened.

“Ready!?” the archer called out to his partner. The partner nodded, and soon started to try to stand up on the saddle, hanging desperately onto the handle while planting his feet on the battle. “Now!”

The rider lept off the horse and grabbed onto the bench, Vedetta tried to get up to knock the man off, but the archer took another shot at her. As she got up, she got hit in the shoulder, the arrowhead went all the way through the shoulder plate.

The ranger screamed as she reared back in pain and ducked down behind cover again. The rider hanging off the side of the carriage smiled and climbed over to get into where the passengers were hiding.

The bandit chuckled as he reached to the side of his belt and pulled a dagger out from its hilt. “You gonna stop the carriage now?” the bandit called out.

The strange boy was still hiding behind cover all this time, hood over his head. He looked up to see a large buff man smiling manically down at him. The boy didn’t get up, instead, he raised his hand and a green smoke cloud shot out from the palm of his hand.

The smoke cloud made its way right into the bandit’s face, he wasn’t ready for whatever it is the cloud was made of. The bandit started coughing hoarsely, his eyes becoming bloodshot. His face turned red and he grimaced. The grip on his dagger tightened and he took a swing at the boy.

The boy flinched and raised an arm instinctually, covering any vital areas. He felt a sharp pain tear through his robe and rip across his forearm. The strike was powerful enough to knock the boy back.

Vedetta still hiding behind cover, broke the arrow lodged in her shoulder in half, pulling it out from one side and then the other. She bit her lip and glared up at the bandit fighting the frilly boy.

The boy himself gritted his teeth, fighting through the pain. He looked up at the bandit and clenched his fist. Soon enough, he swiped his arm in a swinging motion at the bandit standing above him.

A strange green substance was flung from his hand landing right into the bandit’s face. Immediately, he screamed as whatever this was, it was eating away at the flesh on his head. He dropped his dagger and tried to scrub whatever this was off his face, anything to make the overwhelming pain go away.

Vedetta shot up and charged at the man, as she did an arrow flew right past her head. She raised her knee high up in the air and put all of her weight into the kick, landing right into the bandit’s stomach.

The ranger wasn’t proficient when it comes to close quarters combat, but at a time like this, she didn’t see any other way. Luckily, it paid off, because she delivered enough force to knock the large man off of the carriage and make him land headfirst on the road.

As the man landed, there was a loud snap as his head turned in such a way where heads shouldn’t turn naturally. Everyone around, however, didn’t hear the snap, there was too much of a commotion going on to hear any kind of snap at all. He immediately collapsed on the road, not getting up, just laying there as the snow continued to fall on him.

The archer watched everything play out in horror, and then glared at the carriage with a deep, burning hatred. The money didn’t matter anymore, none of the goods or the bounty mattered anymore either. At this point, he just wanted to watch these people suffer.

He hoisted himself onto the saddle and readied himself to take another shot. Reaching for another arrow, nocking it and pointing it at the driver.

The strange boy looked up and saw what the archer was trying to do. He flung another bit of that strange green substance at the archer. The archer, however, saw what it did and intended to not let it touch him, he ducked his head, losing his grip on the arrow. He would have to nock it again, but it seems that the boy wouldn’t bother him again, seeing as the boy immediately ducked for cover right after throwing the green substance.

Vedetta grabbed her bow once again, nocking her arrow and pointed it at the last bandit who was after them. “Suck on this!” she shouted as she let her arrow loose. It scraped the side of the horseman’s head. He could feel his flesh rip open as the arrow flew past him, he grunted in pain and frustration.

The bandit was looking to return the favor. He was pulling out an arrow himself. He was getting ready to take out the ranger, tired of her antics and ready to finish the job.

The driver saw what was happening and shook his head, reloading his wrist crossbow, knowing he would need to help finish this. The boy shot up again and flung more of that green substance at the archer.

The archer ducked his head and the stuff flew right past him, hitting the ground instead. He readied his arrow and pointed it at Vedetta, when she tried to poke her head out of cover, he took a shot and it made her duck.

The driver turned around and aimed his crossbow at the bandit’s horse. He wasn’t going to waste time like the others were. He shot the horse right in the leg and the horse whinnied in pain, rearing its head back and forth. The bandit was starting to lose control of his horse.

At that moment, both Vedetta and the boy saw their opportunity and the two of them shot up from cover. Neither of them wasted their time taking their shots. Vedetta had an arrow nocked and ready to go.

The boy flung more of that green substance at the man, the bandit looked up only to have that substance land right in his face. He howled in pain, dropping his bow as he tried to scrub it off of him like his friend did earlier.

Vedetta aimed right for the man’s chest and took her shot. The bandit stopped screaming, and as he dropped his arms, she could see that there was no skin on his face anymore. It was all just muscle and bone, whatever that green stuff was, it ate away at his flesh. Whatever was still left was still bubbling and sizzling on him.

The bandit soon flopped over to the side, but his foot was still caught up in the stirrup, there was a loud thud as he hit the ground. The ranger and the boy watched as the horse dragged its former rider across the ground and into the woods, leaving a trail of blood in the direction it ran.

The boy started catching his breath as he collapsed onto his bench and leaning back. He shook his head as he looked over at the ranger.

Vedetta couldn’t help but chuckle to herself, amazed that they had all managed to make it out of that whole predicament. She took a deep breath and sighed, grateful that she got to live another day. She turned her attention back to the strange boy. “How in the Nine Hells are you able to do that?” she asked him. “That green stuff, what is it?”

“Its magic.” The boy finally spoke. “Just a couple of the few spells that I know.” He shook his head. “They aren’t the best, and I don’t know that many spells, but I know enough to get by.”

“What are you, some kind of sorcerer?” the ranger raised an eyebrow. “Heard you lot are born with magical powers, able to do some crazy things with it too.”

The boy shook his head. “No, I wasn’t born with it…” he sighed. “Everything I know about magic, I studied on my own. Anyone can learn it; you just need to take the time to do it.” Vedetta nodded, pulling herself back up onto a bench and sitting herself down.

The ranger reached into her satchel and pulled out a large red potion. She bit into the cork, pulled it out with her teeth and spit it. Downing the contents, the boy watched as all the red liquid of the bottle poured down her throat.

“Got any for me?” the boy asked as she was finishing up. The ranger raised an eyebrow and he looked at her expectantly. The ranger was staring at him for a second but then sighed and shook her head, giving in.

“Fine, sure why not?” she reached into her satchel again and pulled out another healing potion. “But only because you were helpful.” She said as she handed it to him. “Don’t expect any more favors.”

The boy thanked her and gripped the cork tightly and twisted it, taking much longer to pull it out than the ranger herself. He eventually got it off, but he ended up spilling a few drops of the potion onto his robes.

At this point, he didn’t really care about making a mess. He downed the contents of the potion and held the glass bottle out to her. “Want this back?” he asked. The ranger held up a hand and shook her head. The boy shrugged and put the empty glass in his satchel. Thinking he could use it to contain something useful later.

The ranger eventually pulled out a white rag and began tying it around her shoulder blade, biting into one end of the rag and using her hands to wrap it around her shoulder blade while she did so. When she was done, she tied a tight and secure knot at the front end of it where she could easily reach up and undo it.

The boy wasn’t really prepared for such an occasion, his arm was still bleeding slightly, but he just covered the wound with the sleeves of his robes. He didn’t have a rag or medical equipment to cover it up. However, he would make sure to get it looked at when they would reach town. The last thing he would want is an infection, he mentally chastised himself for not being ready for this king of situation as the driver kept riding down the path.

“Now then,” the driver started. “are you sure we aren’t going to have any more visitors for us now?” he sighed and shook his head. “Because I’m not sure if I’m not ready for another skirmish.”

“No, that was all of them,” The ranger sighed, “at least all of the ones that I ever met. I doubt they would risk going after us again for a while.”

“Alright…” the driver shook his head. He looked ahead, and he finally saw the wooden gates to a large village out of the woods. He could finally see his destination on the horizon. He smiled and sighed in relief. “who were those guys anyway? What even is this Bull-something?”

“Bull Crew.” Vedetta clarified. “They’s just a bunch of stupid orphan boys angry at the world. They picked the name because they thought it’d make them sound tough.” She chuckled to herself.

“Yeah well, for a bunch of stupid orphan boys, they nearly played you for a fiddle.” The driver huffed. “Are you sure that’s all of them?”

“How the Hell should I know?” Vedetta snapped back. “I only ever met that small handful you saw back there. And how was I supposed to know they was gonna go back on the deal?”

“You got one of their own sleeping beneath your feet.” The driver shook his head. “They sold out one of their own to you, a complete stranger, because you wiggled some money or your ass at them.” He raised his right arm in a shrugging motion. “That didn’t tip you off? You know that they don’t seem like the type to stick to a deal?”

“Well I didn’t know they was gonna come all this way after me?” The ranger shook her head. “Besides, what’s it matter? They ain’t gonna come after us no more. We made sure of that.”

“Yeah, at no small expense of my carriage.” The driver sighed.

“So? You’ll still be getting half the bounty on this fella, here.” She gently kicked the unconscious elf on the floorboards.

“Oh, I know.” The driver turned to face her. “I am going to make sure that I get my half of the bounty after all this. You and I miss, are gonna be spending a lotta time together in the near future, so I hope you aren’t already sick o’ this mug.”

The ranger laughed and shook her head. “Whatever…” she shrugged her shoulders but grunted in pain as she did so. She raised her hand and tightly gripped the wound on her shoulder.

The driver turned his attention back to the road. He still had to do his end of the job and make sure everyone made it to Loudwater in one peace. So far, getting that job done was more difficult than he could ever imagine, but its not like it was anything under his control.

“And you, frilly boy.” She looked over at the wizard who helped her. “I’ll tell you what, you handled yourself well back there. What’chu say if I buy you a round or two at the inn when we get there?”

“Sure…” the wizard chuckled. “and I’m not a frilly boy, I got a name…”

The ranger shook her head and turned her gaze back at him. “Alright boy, then tell me, what’s your name?”

“It’s Pilienries…” the wizard nodded. “But you can just call me Pil…”

#dnd #fanfic #5th edition #backstory

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years

Note

"Close your eyes and hold out your hands" Jaskier x Reader pls/thx

A/N: This one was a challenge. I thought about just having Jaskier drop something cute and fluffy into your arms, but I wanted to really try and stick with the spirit of the prompt list this time and that by itself didn’t feel like a way to say I love you.Anyway, Enjoy!Word Count: 2602Content Warnings: near death experiences, injury, small/enclosed underground spaces, flagrant disregard for geological functioning and probably physics, Angst (with a happy ending because I am not heartless)

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined, dragging the name out. “Please I need your help.”

“No.”

“I promise if you help me with this I will never ask you for another favor ever again.”

The witcher looked at him incredulously.

Okay fine, that’s probably a lie, but I really really need the help. It’s for Y/N. Please? Please please please?”

“If I agree to help will you shut up?”

Jaskier grinned broadly at his best friend and Geralt sighed in resignation.

In an effort to distract you, Geralt had sent you out to gather a rare pigment found nearby and cheerfully enough you had gone off, always eager for new materials to experiment with on your artworks. Then he and Jaskier had set about creating the bard’s vision.

They were bickering over who was going to go into the little town up ahead and get the few items they were missing when a scream pierced the air.

Jaskier’s heart dropped. He would know your voice anywhere. Before Geralt could even react, he was off, running for you and heedless of any danger he might be in.

The afternoon was lovely, bright and warm still, with a crisp breeze carrying the welcoming smells of autumn. So of course, when Geralt announced that you would be stopping now, rather than pushing on toward town or even through it, you were puzzled.

And then there was Jaskier, who had been acting cagey and even more high-strung than usual for days. You had planned to use the downtime to ferret out what was going on with them. Until Geralt mentioned that he had heard of a rare brilliant blue stone vein that ran through the nearby mountain face and could be turned into paint fairly easily once extracted. Even the mysteries of your best friend and your beloved and their odd behavior could not compare to the prospect of an artistic adventure. The word rare stirred up a ringing bell in the back of your mind and it would not rest until you had acquired the pigment.

“We’ll set up camp. You go,” Geralt offered.

Your eyes lit up and you swore you were flying at his suggestion.

“Wow…You don’t even get that excited when I—“ Jaskier purred, laughing by the time you clamped a hand over his mouth to cut off the rest of his sentence. He might have no shame about broadcasting the details of your intimacy but you preferred to keep it private (there may have been a song that had already ruined that and it may have taken a lot of work for you to forgive him, but it was never spoken of again).

A moment later, you relented and released him, kissing him on the cheek. Then you had gathered up your things and dashed off, calling your thanks back to them.

It did not take you long to spot a vein like Geralt spoke of. It was darker than you had hoped for, still secretly struggling to find a color close enough to Jaskier’s eyes to satisfy you, but still a gorgeous color and you were determined to get it. Unfortunately, it appeared to be a bit of a climb to get to it. With a sigh, you hiked up your skirt and started upward.

Upon reaching the streak of blue, you bit your lip with a smile. From directly in front of it, rather than below, it was as if the eyes that were your favorite sight were made from chips of the stone. Reverently, you ran your hand along the line before setting down your bag and digging around for a small pick and a vial. Soon enough you had collected enough of it to satisfy you, the soft, chalky texture of it promising for conversion into paint.

Elated and distracted by your triumph as you made your way back down the mountain, you did not hear the rumbling of the earth. When the ground shifted beneath your feet, you stumbled, scrabbling back to your feet and running. But it was too late. As rock and sand gave way, you pitched forward, your bag sent flying. You screamed surprise and terror combining in a high, clear sound. You landed with a thud and groaned, dazed and confused, but seemingly safe.

And then you felt yourself sliding. Beneath you, more rock crumbled and somehow both suddenly and in slow motion you were tumbling downward. You tried to move against the torrent of debris and wrap your arms around your head. And then everything was black.

Coughing dirt and dust from your lungs, you pushed yourself into a seated position and tried to look around in the darkness. Your head throbbed as your waited for your eyes to adjust and every breath you drew in felt short, as if there was not enough air to satisfy your lungs.

You were in a shallow cave. You couldn’t quite see the walls around you, and looking up you saw that the shifting ground had closed over you, unstable but solid for now.

Counting backwards from ten, you tried to calm your racing heart.

“Hello?” you called out, angling your voice upward. The space was not big enough for it to echo back at you and you breathed a sigh of relief.

You tried to stand and hissed as the weight sent pain shooting up through your leg. Gingerly you pressed on, standing fully, only for your ankle to give beneath your weight, sending you tumbling onto your hands and knees, scraping them further, leaving faint red streaks on the stony floor.

“Can anyone hear me? Help!” You shouted again, knowing that it was hopeless. But Geralt and Jaskier would notice how long you’d been gone, or have heard your scream – did you scream, you wondered sluggishly – and they would come looking for you. You just had to save your air and your voice until then.

Trying to keep your breath shallow, you waited. The shadows around you shifted menacingly, something an even darker black seeming to move around you, taunting and baiting you. You shook your head, telling yourself that it was just your frightened and still dizzy mind playing tricks. Still, you whispered a prayer to Melitele for protection and swift salvation.

“Y/N!” Jaskier called out again and again, not caring if he screamed himself hoarse in the effort to find you.

He could feel the panic rising in his chest, threatening to spill over when he spotted something on the ground. He ran for it, heart racing, and let out a whimper when he saw that it was your workbag, contents spilled down the face of the hill. That bag was precious to you in the same way that his lute was to him, a gift of such great importance that almost anything would be worth surrendering to keep it with you (he recalled, for example, how you had risked actual death rather than hand the bag over to bandits, only a narrow save from Geralt sparing your pretty throat from their blades). Frantically, he began gathering up the reagents and tools and pages of sketches that were scattered about, calling out your name once more.

Geralt, far calmer, stood nearby, head tilted as if he was listening to something, or for something.

“Geralt…” Jaskier said, voice choked with fear, “We will find her, right? We have to. I…I can’t…”

Geralt sighed and pressed a finger to his lips, motioning for his friend to be silent, fairly certain he had heard your faint voice but not wanting to get Jaskier’s hopes up until he was certain. There it was again, muffled and pained, but clearly you.

“This way,” he growled, leading Jaskier further up the mountainside.

Moments later, they found the spot where the ground had given way, swallowing you down into it.

“Please, you cried, no longer sure that your voice was even loud enough to breach the surface. “Gods, someone help me.”

“Y/N!” Jaskier cried, dropping to his knees and digging desperately until Geralt yanked him back, just as the surface soil shifted again and more collapsed down into the hole, soil and small chunks of limestone raining down on your arms as you sheltered your head.

By some stroke of luck, this new shift was enough to clear the hole, letting in the dying light, and more thankfully, fresh air. You looked up just as both Jaskier and Geralt’s faces peered over the edge.

“Oh thank the gods,” Jaskier laughed in relief. “Are you alright Y/N?”

Tears welled up in your eyes.

“No,” you admitted, trembling. “I might have blacked out? I think I hit my head when I fell, or it was the lack of air…It’s hard to put weight on my ankle. Also, I think there’s something else alive down here.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll get you out of there. Right Geralt?”

“Hmm.” The witcher seemed to be sizing up the hole, and then the three of you. “We need rope. I’ll be back. Stay here.” He turned to go back toward camp, to collect Roach and make a hard ride to town.

“Oh yes, because I was planning on going anywhere.” You snapped at Geralt’s retreating back, rolling your eyes.

“I think he was talking to me with the last part,” Jaskier pointed out with a wry grin. “Not that I would ever go anywhere until I knew you were safe.”

As night began to fall more fully, you shivered, feeling afraid and exhausted. You just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep, but you had enough medicinal knowledge to know that was a bad idea.

“Jaskier,” you said softly, drawing his attention, which was constantly wandering as he sought some way to more quickly get you back on solid ground and in his arms.

“Yes, love?”

“Will you sing for me?”

He smiled softly, and began a gentle croon, a love song he had been writing for you, had planned to play for you tonight in an entirely different context.

“I’m scared.” You said softly when he paused to try and compose another verse on the spot, your voice trembling, and you finally gave up fighting back tears. “I don’t want to die down here.”

Jaskier felt his heart stop and then crack in two. “No. No, love, you’re not going to die,” he tried to assure you in a rush. “Not now and not for a long time. I promise. Geralt will be back soon and then we’ll get you out of there.”

He hated himself for being so useless, unable to help you himself, and his eyes once again roamed over the area. Finally, he spotted a ledge on the other side of the hole from where he sat. It wasn’t far down, and it wouldn’t be much, but if the world was kind, its shape and position might just let him reach down to you.

“Jaskier, what are you doing?” you asked in alarm as you watched him lower himself down precariously.

“This will work, trust me. I’m going to get you out.”

“No, you’re going to fall and hurt yourself!”

“Shh, Y/N. It will be fine, I promise.”

He grunted as he wedged his legs between two jutting rocks, hoping that it would be enough to hold him in place if it came to it. He slowly dangled downward, reaching out.

“Jaskier, I don’t like this plan. Let’s just…let’s just wait for Geralt. Like you said, he’ll be back soon, he has to be.”

You gave a small shriek as you jumped at a movement in the shadow, certain that you had heard something breathing heavily.

“No. We are not waiting. Just close your eyes and hold out your hands. I’ll grab onto you and pull you up.” His thanked the stars that his voice was surer than he felt, watching your face relax as you surrendered to his own confidence in the plan.

You took a deep breath, following his command and felt your fingertips brush together. He strained forward and you heard the slide of fabric on stone. You gasped, nearly withdrawing.

“It’s fine, Y/N, but I still can’t quite reach you. I just need to get a little…” his spoke through gritted teeth as he leaned as far as he dared.

You rose up onto your toes, stretching as far upward as you could until finally, finally, his hands curled around yours and he began to pull, easily lifting you the first few inches before he stalled, unable to get the right leverage to go any higher. Your shoulders felt like they might rip from their sockets and you could feel your grips slipping and you pressed your lips together to keep back the terrified sound that bubbled in the back of your throat. Your eyes remained pinched shut as air moved around your feet.

“I’ve got you,” he grunted. “I’ll get you out of there.”

“Jaskier, if you don’t drop me, we’ll both end up down here. And while I’d love the company I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. Just let go. It’s not far of a drop, much less than I’ve already had today. It was a good try. We’ll wait for Geralt.”

“No!”

Neither of you were exactly in a great position to be arguing. You felt him struggle to regain his hold on you, and then suddenly, you felt as if you were sailing through the air, lifted clear of the hole as if you weighed nothing, and then falling gracelessly into a heap on the ground with your bard.

“Y/N!” he breathed, wrapping his arms tightly around you in a hug that felt designed to squeeze you to death. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” His breath tickled your ear as he held you and you felt the telltale dampness of tears on your hair as he cradled you.

You sighed, burying your face in his fine chest hair, and leaned in, content to be held, not caring that you were both covered in dirt and grit. Opening your eyes, you looked over his shoulder at the witcher who was intently averting his eyes, finding something fascinating in the threads of Roach’s saddle.

“Thank you Geralt,” you murmured, “I don’t know what I would have done if this idiot had gotten himself killed trying to save me.”

Geralt chuckled and Jaskier made a noise of protest, quickly quieted when you shifted, tilting your head back to press a tender kiss to his lips.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the attempted rescue, but…”

He sighed, finally letting go just enough to cup your face between his hands. His hand brushed tenderly over a scrape on your cheek.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the sound of retreating hoof beats.

“Y/N, this wasn’t how I planned to do this,” Jaskier leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“I should hope you hadn’t planned for me to fall down a sinkhole. What’s going on darling?”

“I love you. I knew I loved you. You are…everything to me. Almost losing you tonight, it just made everything all the clearer. I cannot imagine a day in my life without you, Y/N, and I don’t want to. If you’ll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you have me, and probably failing because I am not a fraction of the person you are.”

“Jaskier…” you breathed.

He looked intently into your eyes. “Will you marry me?”

#Jaskier x Reader #The Witcher #The Witcher fic #reader insert #Jaskier #angst leading to fluff #I swear I tripped and suddenly there was angst #(I do also have a non-angsty story from the same prompt #that I started writing and then this idea came to me #I'm happy to post that one too if you prefer...not this #just let me know)#or beat me with the 'no angst' stick #you know either one #I am Dramatique

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wreckofawriter · 4 years

Text

Boredom

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x reader

Word Count: 4,049

Warnings: Angst, swearing, kinda hints at depression ish

Summary: The cure for your boredom just happens to have white blonde hair and icey grey eyes.

A/n: kinda feeling like shit rn, anyway here's this.

You lay on the floor of the ballroom which resided inside your home, your arms spread like some sort of bird, your legs the same way. The room was, of course, empty, reminding you slightly of a massive tomb with its barren walls, sprawling polished marble floors and elegant silk curtains pulled tightly shut. In a way it was.

“More like a jail cell.” You mumbled to yourself. You weren’t sure exactly when it first started to happen but you were pretty sure it was around age twelve. As a child you were always taught the wrong thing, you were taught to avoid strangers, to mind your own business and fear stupid little things like spiders. And being young and naive you followed those directions closely, unwavering and constantly. But now you were being suffocated. Suffocated by the thing you should have avoided, the thing you should have minded and the thing you now feared more than you did anything else.

Boredom.

It was like darkness, it took you over slowly, it crept upon you inch by inch silently until you were plunged into its dangers headfirst. When you were younger, there was always an easy fix, you had plenty of toys to play with, a massive house to run through and enough friends to fill the room you currently lay in, but as time passed, toys became unentertaining, the house seemed to get smaller by the second and you realized friends were never truly there. So now you felt yourself begin to drown in the sea of boredom which claimed to be your life. You had tried focusing on your studies for a while but you honestly would have rather died. You tried to find hobbies but all the things that used to bring you joy now left you feeling empty and unimportant.

So you began to do the only thing that brought any sort of feeling into your veins. You caused trouble

So far you have turned yourself into and illegal animagus, cut and dyed your hair 7 times, pierced your ears in four places and your nose in two, given yourself multiple tattoos, you had thrown massive ragers, trashed your entire house, done more drugs than you cared to count and gotten sixteen staff members at your house fired. At this point your parents were convinced you were helpless, they never seemed to pay attention to you anyway, they had gotten you a therapist and now you went once a week and saw how quickly you could make each new shrink cry, your current record was 22 minutes.

You groaned loudly banging your head on the hard floor which you lay, “I’m so fucking bored!” you shouted through the empty halls the only response being your own echo. You racked your brain for ideas and came up blank as you stared up at the crystal chandelier which must have been worth millions. You slowly sat up rubbing your eyes with closed fists and letting out a moan of frustration. You got to your feet which were bare, padding to the exit of the large room and beginning towards the spiral stairs which you had already climbed a number of times that day. You groaned and plopped on the first step, exhaustion for some reason making your bones feel as if they were made of lead.

You sat there for a while staring at the hallway you had just walked, it’s the ceiling so high you had to crane your neck to see it, its walls decorated with giant portraits of relatives you have never met. You bit your lip the idea of defacing them dancing in your head. You eventually cast it away decided it wouldn’t even be very fun.

You had a sudden urge to paint. You had plenty of massive canvases upstairs but those would not do, that is what you were supposed to do, and where was the fun in that?

Your mind wandered back into the ballroom with its massive eggshell wall, just waiting to be decorated. Your lips widened into a smile, your eyes twinkling with sick glee and anticipation. You stood suddenly taking the steps two at a time to your room.

You sprinted back down them a few minutes later, arms full of art supplies, you sprinted into the ballroom, unpacking all the paint. You didn’t have nearly enough to cover even half of a wall in the giant space, but you would make do.

You grabbed the small jar of deep red, adding some brown and black to make a deep crimson before you added some water and stared at the white wall in front of you. Your lips were greeted with a rare smile once again and you threw the paint at the wall. It splattered across the wall, some bouncing straight back at you while most of it stained the wall in a gruesome scene. You watched in a trance as the paint dripped down the wall and slowly began to pool on the floor. You then plunged two fingers into the black paint not bothering with your brushes and began to drag them through the mess of red slowly letting your image fall into place.

Your mother’s heels clipped down the hall in a synchronized symphony of disappointment. You were soaked in paint when she got home. Her eyes had widened knowing it was not going to be a pleasant work of art.

She had attempted to have you tell her where the artwork was but you only winked telling her to find it herself, Now she trailed around the house looking for some masterpiece you spent almost the entire day on. Finally, she walked into the ballroom and her mouth dropped.

Pasted on one of the walls was a bright splash of color. Paint the hue of rich blood splatter the background for the painting, on top of the red was a rough silhouette of what was clearly a young girl, she had her arms spread on either side of her, her hair floating around her like some sort of goddess, her eyes were the only detail added and they were painted in a startling white, wide open, conveying a level of terror. Across the middle of the work, crossing the girl’s stomach were two words, still slowly dripping white paint lazily down the wall.

“You like it?” You asked your mother a light tease making your words taste bitter.

“Back off!” You glared at the man who was carrying your trunks and owl. He had made the fatal mistake of bumping you with one of the bags he was holding and you now growled at him as your owl snipped at him her deep black feathers shimmering in the light.

You walked through the brick wall before heading towards the train. A young girl stumbled over your foot and you glanced down at your now scuffed black boots. You turned your head to yell at the girl but was instead met with a pair of icy eyes. You giggled taking in the boy’s appearance, he was dressed in a trim black suit with a collar with looked like it was choking him.

“Looking pompous as usual Malfoy.” You smirked another fit of laughter threatening to burst from your lips as he rolled his eyes.

“Looking rebellious as usual y//l/n.” He mocked glancing up and down your outfit, “New tattoos I see.” he spoke gesturing towards his own neck.

You gave him a closed-eyed smile which caused a crimson to bleed up his neck. “You like it?” You asked tilting your head so he could get a better look at the deep mark etched into your skin.

He started at the scene depicted on your flesh, it showed a cobra its fangs sunk into a human heart, blood dripping from it’s wound. He resisted the urge to shiver.

“It’s lovely.” He drawled sarcastically.

“Always so kind Malfoy.” you giggled, you opened your mouth to speak again before you heard a sharp cough which made you wince. You turned the light from your eyes disappearing, “Father?” You spoke sweetly, “I didn’t know you were coming.”

He glared past you at the blonde, “I thought I told you not to talk to such families.” He growled lowly.

“Oh, I just ran into him,” You lied a new sparkle dancing in your deep y/e/c. You promptly turned back to the boy standing on your toes and reaching up to cradle on of his cheeks in your hand as your lips pressed softly to the other. “Save me a seat, Dracy.” You said making sure to be louder than necessary. You then turned back to your father’s eyes which were narrowed with furry as your own challenged him, daring him to say something.

“I would never speak to such families.” Your lips curled sickly lipstick now slightly smeared. A sudden rush of excitement met you at your father's pure furry, you finally found a hobby.

You found immense joy at this new weakness lodged in your family. Your parents had recently become numb to the trouble you caused, your attempts had become fruitless as your parent’s tolerance built, but now you realized you had struck a much-hated nerve. The Malfoys.

Draco was never sure what was up with you. You were a particular person, someone he could never quite read, your actions were spontaneous, almost no thought being put into them. You jumped into the world each day just as unsure of what you would do as anyone else, yet you always made an incredible splash. You intrigued him.

When he was younger he had simply liked you because of your thirst for disorder, but as he began to grow your smiles became precious jewels, your laughter sweet symphonies and every step you took was flourished with deep red roses. You were priceless.

You weren't friends, acquaintances was pushing a boundary, he wasn't sure which line you stepped upon but he wished it was one closer to him.

Ever since a misjudged and unfortunate business deal between your families the y/l/n's had cut the Malfoy's from the lives.

Luckily for Draco, you were never one to follow rules, especially those made by your parents.

Draco shook his head attempting to rid his head of the feeling of your lips, which still seemed to be pressed to his cheek. He took a seat ignoring Blaise across from him and letting his eyes drift to the window on his right.

A bubble of laughter emerged from the cabin and his head snapped upward.

"Blaise!" You cheered bouncing on your toes before taking your seat next to Draco, "It's amazing to see you!"

"It's good to see you too y/l/n," he smiled, "You seem like you're in a good mood."

"I'm in a brilliant mood!" You exclaimed, "My dad came to drop me off today."

Blaise's eyebrows knitted in confusion before a sly smirk took his lips, "You pissed him off didn't you."

"Naturally." You shrugged.

"I'm guessing you had quite an eventful summer." Draco murmured.

"As always!" You lied, you couldn't quite admit that you had been crushed by the emptiness you felt not but days before, you had to ride the new high you had acquired through a simple kiss on the cheek, "I painted a mural in the ballroom, mom wasn't too happy about it."

"I can imagine." Draco laughed.

You reach Hogwarts still quite hyper from the events that transpired at the train station, the absolute glee you felt at the hatred that rested in your father's eyes was unlike any drug you'd had before. Your mind reeled, already working to reach that peak again.

You hummed happily in the carriage ride, you practically danced into the hall a lollipop still lodged between your lips. You felt invincible.

Unfortunately it didn't even take a week of mind-numbing classes and monotone voices to bring you back to the routine of boredom which had become your life.

You lay staring at the ceiling of the grand hall, it was currently breakfast, your head rested in Draco's lap as your eyelids struggled under the weight they held.

"You okay y/n?" He asked for the fifth time that morning.

"I'm fine." You lied fiddling with the hem of the blondes robes, your fingers dancing across his wrist as the boy fought a blush.

He opened his mouth to protest your answer but let his words stay behind his lips as the screech of owls echoed around the hall. You seemed indifferent to the new situation until a shimmer of black caught your eye.

You sat up holding out your arm for your owl to perch before untying the letter looped to her bare leg.

You tilted your head curiously, mail was a rare occasion, particularly from your parents. Looping golden letters printed on expensive paper proved it could only be from a higher class. You didn’t bother reading the address, curiosity burning deep within you. You tore through the golden wax, your family's seal placed upon it. You pulled the letter from its shell, your dull eyes seeming to grow pale as you released a small groan.

“What is it?” Draco asked peering over your shoulder at the letter you held.

"Another fucking ball." You moaned throwing your head onto the table in front of you, "I mean how many do we need to have? It's not like anything had changed since last month. My parents just need an excuse to say, 'Hey look we're still prestigious assholes.'"

Draco snickered beside you. Blaise took the letter from your hands and you gave no protests. He scanned it before bursting out laughing.

"It says you need a plus one." He smirked.

In milliseconds your mood changed. Your head popped from the table a dangerous twinkle filling your eyes. You turned to Draco.

"Will you do me a favor?" You asked desperately.

"Umm sure." He shrugged, he would have jumped off a bridge if you had asked with the same enthusiasm.

"Sweet! You're going to this bullshit with me." You smiled.

"Y/n won’t your parents be pissed?" He sighed biting his lip.

"Royally." You responded leaning even closer to the boy, your eyes were wide with excitement, cheeks lightly flushed, hair disheveled from previous frustration, you looked angelic. Then you thrust your lips onto his.

Draco's eyes went wide before slowly slipping shut, his hands snaking around your waist as you forced your tongue into his mouth.

He tasted minty and slightly of blackberry jam. He smelt of expensive cologne and honey.

You pulled away panting slightly, "Take me to Hogsmeade this weekend." It clearly wasn't a question.

"Okay." Was all he could manage his face still beat red.

You smiled grabbing your things and walking away without another word.

Draco turned to Blaise, his eyes wide, cheeks fiery heart thumping at an uncomfortable rate. "What the fuck?"

Blaise burst out laughing.

You weren't exactly sure why you kissed Draco. It just happened. You liked it though, the kiss was nice, it felt better than it had kissing any other boy, it felt wrong. You knew it wasn't supposed to feel that way, but maybe that's why you liked it so much, it wasn't smooth and soft, it was bumpy and rough, like water clashing harshly onto stones. You loved it. It was new and exciting and different it broke your routine, throwing a wrench into the gears of your perfectly planned out life. It was everything you had been yearning for.

You feel an unfamiliar sense of nervousness take you over as you dressed for the ball. The gown you were wearing was far too elegant for you, its sleeves long like a Victorian queen’s, the silky fabric causing you to shiver.

You left your room in a hurry. Your makeup is not quite done right, your dress a bit wrinkled. You didn’t care, you never did.

Draco wrung his hands, sweat seeming to be never-ending. He knew he shouldn't be nervous, your parents already hated him why was he so scared? Because it's HER parents a voice whispered. It was true. Before Draco even knew of the y/l/ns hatred for the Malfoy’s he had fallen in love, He could help but want to please your parents. A heavy sigh followed by the sound of heels on marble echoed through the small room he resided in. Draco glanced upward, his mind going blank as he caught your eye.

You looked like a princess, a small silver tiara topping your head of y/h/c as proof. But isn’t wasn’t the dazzling jewelry which took his breath from him, it was the light that held your eyes. The look of a child so innocent and pure mixed with that of a psychopath who had just trapped its next victim, it made you shine. Your pupils seeming to dance in a sea y/e/c. You walked straight up to him and without any words slammed your tongue down his throat, Draco seeped into the kiss pushing you back towards the wall and eliciting a small moan as you tugged on his hair. The boy was about to reach for your zipper when you pulled away from him, lipstick now smeared, Dracos own lips tinged red.

“We should go.” you murmured before slipping from the room. He still didn't understand you.

Draco trailed after you widening his steps before catching his hand in your own. You walked down the spiral staircase which you hated so much hand and hand with the solution to your problems. Just before you reached the room which you once stained red Draco stopped pulling on your arm.

“What's up?” You asked.

“Y/n, I don't think I can go in there, your parents hate me.” You opened your mouth to brush off his comment but then your eyes met. He looked desperate. He needed something, something that another kiss couldn't fix, something real.

You sighed before throwing your arms around the boy, “I don't care what my parents think Draco.” You lied, “I don't care that they hate you, all I want us you by my side” You felt cruel as the dishonest words left your mouth.

You pulled away cupping his face in your hands, kissing him for the first time in your relationship, lightly, lovingly.

“Now let's go.” You said snatching his hand and entering your jail cell, but this time you had the key.

You enjoyed the stares that the two of you brought, but it wasn't enough. A few murmurs were exchanged but other than that business proceeded as usual. You felt like you were caught in some weird trance, not enough was happening, no one had yelled, no one had gasped, fire had not erupted from the walls, you need a reaction.

You felt he needed to break something, scream or burst into tears, you need to shatter this terrible nightmare you were living in. Your mother’s sharp gasp did the trick, you hid a smirk as she hurried towards you not even sparing a glance at Draco before dragging you away.

“What in Salazar is Malfoy doing here?” She hissed in your ear, the grip on your arm becoming slightly too tight.

“He's my date.” you smiled, so calmly and so innocently it was hard to believe you were riding the high of her utter horror.

“Your what!?” She rasped at you her grip on tightening.

“Date.” You repeated a grin still plastering your features.

She let out something that sounded like a whimper, “You said you were bringing your boyfriend.”

“I did.” Your lips seemed to hold an untold evil as you looked at her.

She looked like she was about to cry, “Y/n! How could you? This is a Malfoy, we lost hundreds of thousands because of them.”

“Correction, you lost hundreds of thousands over them.” You smirked, “By the way, I’m quite disappointed you painted over my mural, I worked so hard.” You pouted

Something new arose in your mother's eyes, she was no longer disappointed or sad or even mad, she had reached her breaking point, “You are a demon of a child.” She snarled.

You felt as if someone had just given you an illegal pill, you reached a point of ecstasy you didn't think was possible you had done it, you had broken the sculpture of your life, “The devil did give birth to me.” You taunted.

She stood speechless, her eyes filling with hatred.

“My date is getting lonely so I’m going to go, but thank you so much for this lovely chat,” you spoke turning on your heel and walking back to the boy who stood awkwardly by a table of elegant food. The second you reached him you locked your hands around his neck and connected your lips, your heart thumping wildly from the excitement you held.

You pulled away and winked ignoring his questioning gaze, “Wanna dance?”

He nodded.

After the ball, your mission seemed to be accomplished. Your parents broke their neat well put together little facade and lost it, your mother burst into tears, your father held a wand to your neck and the whole time you smiled. You smiled because it wasn't what you do every day, it wasn't the thick routine you had become so accustomed to. It wasn't the sharp timer you felt ticking behind you every moment as if you were always one step behind. It wasn't the timeline your parents had drawn for you and forced down your infantile throat. It was chaos. Absolute chaos. And you had never felt more alive.

Just as quickly as it started it all stopped. Your parents disappeared, you went to school again and feel back into the sick loop of your life, and as your high died out and you realized you had created nothing more than a bump in the road your plan became meaningless. And so did the people in it.

You no longer yearned for Dracs touch. His lips felt numb against your own, his hands in your hair meant nothing, the taste of caramel and smell of cologne dulled, the color he used to hold seems to be drained from him. But really his purpose had.

He could sense it, your numbness, your indifference your complete and utter boredom. But he kept hoping. Hoping you would kiss him as you had in that ballroom, that you would hold him as you had that night, that the light in your eyes would return because your touch still sent him into frenzies, your kiss still felt like fireworks, you still tasted of butterscotch and bubblegum. Your hand in his hair still brought butterflies to his stomach. He still needed you.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

The boy cringed at your words, “Doing what?”

“Just this Draco.” You seemed tired, “I don't love you.”

Those four words effectively smashed him into pieces. He wanted to scream.

“I don't think I ever did.” You spoke dryly, wetting your lips.

Those six shattered him, “Then why did you kiss me?” He asked, his throat felt raw and scratchy like it had been clawed apart.

You shrugged, face still vacant of any emotion, “You were new.”

“That doesn’t make any fuckings sense!” he burst suddenly, turning to face you. You didn't even blink.

“Nothing makes any fucking sense Draco. None of this did.” You sighed.

“Why did you lie to me?” He snarled, "Why did you say you loved me, why did you say you needed me? Why did you make me believe you?”

You didn't speak, you weren't sure what to say.

“Why did you fucking lie to me y/n!?” He repeated, his voice cracking.

“I don't know.” But you did know. You had always known. You needed a distraction, something to break the routine, to force chaos upon you and he did just that. He elicited the fire in your father’s eyes, he brought furry to your mother's mind and he gave you a week of freedom. And he was worth it. You would never utter it out loud, but breaking him was worth it. Because for just a moment he had cured an incurable disease. Boredom.

Tags:

@accio-rogers

@roslea

@k3nz-doodl3

@theseuscmander

Masterlist

#draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy ships #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco x oc #draco x reader #draco fanfiction #harry potter ships #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter imagine #fuck im sad

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queenmuzz · 4 years

Text

Deep Blue Sea: Chapter XII

Living on Borrowed Time

Read the full story on Ao3 Here!

Warning: Descriptions of Violence, and mild descriptions of blood. 10:56PM

He looks so peaceful, you thought to yourself as you watched him doze off that night. He was floating gently, with only his tail moving slowly to keep him from drifting too far up to the surface, or too far down to the floor. It fascinated a part of you, of how his people had adapted to live in such a starkly different world than yours. Another part of you was enthralled by his culture, the way his kind lived, interacted, their stories, songs, customs.

And yet, there was yet another part of you, the part that had grown to like him, and then to love him, who knew this couldn’t last. You needed to set him free, and in an hour, you’d finally have the way to do so.

You thanked your lucky stars that you had not, in your ignorance, attempted to free him earlier. You would have never forgiven yourself if you had inadvertently cursed him to a fate worse than death. Perhaps being a meek, indecisive person had finally been a source of good.

But there was no indecisiveness now, no meekness. You had a job to do, and by the Tidemother, you’d see it to its completion, no matter if it broke your heart.

Of course, Vergil had been completely left in the dark in all of this, you’d seen to that. You’d kept up the facade of being a happy, excited bride to be, blaming your bouts of silence and furrowed brows on ‘just being nervous’ about the upcoming nuptials. And he’d bought it hook, line, and sinker.

You placed your hand on the glass, as you once did when you two first met, but this time there would be no reciprocating hand on the other side. It was probably better this way.

You quickly put on your jacket, keys at your hip, and codes in your head, and you slipped out into the late spring night.

It’ll be all over soon, Vergil.

11:17PM

You pulled up to the deserted building with some relief. In your haste to get out, you’d forgotten to check the security feed one last time. But it seemed okay, no one was there, and the closest person who could be alerted to the break in was your father, and he was coming home from a business meeting, and wouldn’t be back until early morning.

Still, you fumbled a bit as you picked out the correct key. Part of you wished you had had drank something, like Sarah had once suggested, to settle your nerves, but you reminded yourself you couldn’t afford being pulled over for impaired driving tonight.

You made your way through the darkened building, before reaching the safe door. This is where your family kept its most priceless documents, artwork, financial statements, and heirlooms. Placing your finger on the scanner, you waited as the computer analyzed your fingerprint, and it registered you as a family member. Once it recognized your biometrics, it asked for a six digit passcode.

After a moment’s hesitation, you punched it in, knowing that it was logging your entry into the safe. That’s why you had to do it tonight, and the plan had to go flawlessly, you’d never get another chance at this once your father checked the security logs.

And once he did? What’s the worst he could do? Call off your wedding? You laughed at the thought. After this was done, there was nothing your father could do, if he didn’t want to endanger his precious business deals that hung off this wedding. So doing this would cost you nothing…

Save for your happiness.

The hiss of air as hydraulics opened the seal, like some 80’s sci-fi movie, and the buzz of fluorescent lights buzzing to life as they lit up one by one. You cautiously made your way, pausing as you approached an old painting of your great grandfather, currently being kept here until a restorer could fix the frame and touch up the varnish. Would he be disappointed at what you were doing? You forced yourself to walk past him, your target next to the metal filing cabinet.

There, leaning against it was that damned briefcase, with locked clasps. Well, you might not have the key or code to unlocking that, but you did have something more versatile: your jackknife. Slipping the blade under the clasp, you applied pressure, and with a loud metallic CLINK that echoed throughout the space, the lock cracked. Taking a deep breath, you opened the case…

There, surrounded in custom cut polyurethane, was the most beautiful weapon you’d ever seen. Dante’s sword might have exuded strength and power, but this...this practically radiated precision and discipline. The saya was made of the finest blue lacquered wood...but not just any wood. It gave off the distinct smell of being at the beach...driftwood. You’d never thought something as worn and rough as that could be carved into something so gorgeous.

Wrapped around it and the tsuba was a sageo, but instead of rope, it was some sort of seaweed, finely woven. And despite this weapon being trapped in dry stale air, it was still as flexible as if it had just come out of the ocean. How odd. There was so much you didn’t understand about mer culture, whether they were capable of magic, or if it could be easily explained by science.

Your hand grazed against the tsuba, inlaid with mother of pearl that gleamed even in the harsh artificial light. You felt a spark, not unpleasant, but strong enough to know it wasn’t just in your head. A warning? Slowly, you placed your hand around it, and now you could swear it was humming. Taking a deep breath, you gripped a bit tighter, and with a smooth motion that you’d not expected, you expertly unsheathed the blade, with only a whisper as it left the confines of its saya.

Transfixed by it, you raised it up, to closer marvel at the metal work. It was unlike any smithwork you’d ever seen, with possibly only the finest Damascus Steel coming close to it. Ripples and waves, like an oily sheen, coated the metal, and you could have sworn that the patterns slowly changed.

You marveled at how unblemished the metal was, your reflection on it’s mirror-like surface, the reflection of your great-grandfather’s portrait, the reflection of Doctor Griffon.

Wait, what?

You turned around suddenly, to come face to face with the Good Doctor himself, his arms crossed, and a very fake smile plastered onto his face.

“My dear,” he slimely said, “I suppose it was a good thing that I forgot some of my papers tonight, because imagine my surprise when I came back to pick it up, and I came across a thief, stealing not gold, nor gems, but something much more priceless; my life’s work.”

“Steal!?” you questioned, “Strange, I could have sworn that this,” your eyes motioned to the weapon, “wasn’t yours to begin with.”

The bastard dropped the facade of fake friendliness. “You, a spoiled rich girl, coming in to dictate how I use my resources. I already gave up my access to Subject Angelo for the desperately needed financial aid your father provided, all so that his little girl” he practically spat out the insult, “could have it as a pet. But no, that wasn’t enough for her, she wants to steal the one thing that could get me into every single prestigious scientific journal in the world, to usurp my place as the preeminent expert on Merkind.”

“What?” You were perplexed. The man was so up his scientific ass, he had just assumed your attempt at a prison break was actually a burglary for his stupid research.

“You’ve got the wrong idea…” you tried to explain, knowing it was fruitless, but it didn’t matter, he cut you off.

“Oh I know exactly what you’re up to, I haven’t spent four decades being mocked by my peers in the scientific community to be that naive. I know how they backstab each other for the merest crumb of success. Now hand me back the weapon.” his hand reached out, as if he was a disappointed parent who caught his child with their hand in the cookie jar.

“Never,” you hissed, and his face turned a dark shade of red. “Of course, ‘daddy’s little girl’ has never been told no,” he practically growled, and he lunged towards you. “I won’t give my life’s work to some know-nothing rich bitch”

You dropped the saya as you barely evaded his attack, his fists missing your face by a hair. Yamato buzzed dangerously in your hand, and you placed both hands around the tsuba, almost instinctively. You brought it up in a pale imitation of a Samurai pose, the tip shaking noticeably.

Griffon now snarled and attacked again in almost animalistic rage, and this time you dodged more easily, as if you were being guided by an unseen hand.

Unfortunately, the doctor still blocked the way between you and the exit, so you would have to play this bullfighting game until you had an opening, and then make a run for it. But right now, he had you pinned, the portrait frame digging at your back. In this cramped space, you’d have only the tiniest bit of time to avoid the attack. He seemed to notice as well, as with a maniacal grin, he yanked an antique brass candelabra from one of the shelves, and after smacking it into his hand to test its weight, he struck.

You had no space, no time to move, so you brought up Yamato in a futile attempt to block, but then there was the sound of rushing wind, the smell of sea salt, and the sound of ripping fabric.

For the briefest of moments, you stood confused. You’d somehow escaped from being bludgeoned. But what was strange was your position. You hadn’t moved, and yet it was if you and the doctor’s places had switched. You stood back to back, both of you stunned.

“What the-” the Doctor started to say, but you didn’t let him finish. Your hands fluidly moved, manipulating the tsuba of yamato as if you had practiced decades with it, twirling the weapon around, and without even glancing, you thrust the blade backwards. It hit resistance, but something in you continued pushing, before the pushback stopped, letting the blade move quickly.

Immediately, the scent of copper filled your nostrils, and warmth sprayed at your back, and as you were released from whatever mysterious force had taken control of you, you heard the sound of the candelabra clattering to the ground. You turned around, already knowing what you had done, but forcing yourself to face it.

Doctor Griffon was still facing away from you looking down, as if he was admiring the disfigured face of your ancestor. A long gash marred your great grandfather’s face, caused by the edge of the candlestick. His arms now dropped slack. And sticking out of his back, like a pearl in a pile of refuse, was Yamato’s tsuba. Blood had sprayed everywhere, including the painting. He was making a strange gurgling sound.

Panicking, you gripped the katana, yanking it out of his torso before his legs could buckle out from underneath him.

As you did so, he fell backwards, nearly bowling you over with his dead weight. Blood smeared your shirt, your face, everywhere, as you frantically attempted to stop the bleeding. You took off your jacket, planning to somehow stem the blood flow, but already his skin had gone unnaturally pale. To your growing horror, you realized he wasn’t going to make it.

And then the Doctor chuckled, punctuated by wet coughs, “Ironic,” and his blue tinged lips formed into a smile, “my life’s work...leading to my death”

And with that, his head rolled to the side, and the cruel light in his eyes faded.

So there you sat, with the body of the man you hated more than anything, the man you had just killed. Perhaps some mysterious power of Yamato had guided your hands, but the fact remained, your hands were responsible for the taking of another person’s life. And just the thought of what you had done caused such a flurry of emotions, and then… you vomited on the cool cement floor.

Between heaves, you sobbed. You’d just done something you’d never thought in a million years thought that you’d do, and the guilt was threatening to drive you mad. You mentally grasped the one thing that was your sole thing to ground you: rescuing Vergil. You had to save him, and only after that, could you focus on whatever happened next. One step at a time…

Grabbing Yamato and it’s saya, you wiped your mouth, and quickly left the safe, leaving the blood spattered body, and the desecrated portrait of your great-grandfather behind.

******

You sat in the driveway in your home, car door open, attempting to spit out the taste of bile and vomit out of your mouth. But only for about a minute. The clock was ticking, and that little stunt you had pulled with the deceased doctor had cost you valuable time. You checked your clock.

11:30 PM

You had no doubt that Dante would linger as long as possible at the rendezvous point, but still, you wanted to get this done and over with as fast as possible. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and, leaving the car running, you walked into your home.

Vergil was awake, and seemed agitated. Did he somehow know via Yamato what had happened? His agitation turned to outright panic the moment he saw you, and it took a moment to remember you were coated in blood, now quickly drying into a rusty red into your clothes.

“Oh don’t worry,” you assured him, masking your own emotional turmoil with faux cheerfulness. “It’s not MY blood”

It didn’t assure Vergil at all, who looked even more horrified.

You scaled the platform steps as quickly as possible, as he swam up to meet you. “You don’t have to worry about that damn doctor anymore, he’ll never hurt you again.”

“Sifa, what did you do...”

“Added bonus too, I got you a gift,” you chirped, ignoring his question, “well, technically it’s not a gift if it originally belonged to the giftee… but let’s just say I managed to retrieve a lost item,” and you thrust the katana into his arms.

Vergil gently grabbed it, dumbfounded, before clutching it close to his chest. It almost looked like he was communing with it, just like with the amulet.

As touching as this reunion scene was, you both didn’t have time to enjoy it. Without warning, you quickly gripped him around his arms, and thanks to your weeks of practice, you swung him into a bridal style hold. He had only time to give out an undignified squawk of protest, before he swung his free arm around your neck to steady himself. As you did so, you felt your engagement ring loosen, slip… and then fall off. You’d retrieve it later, if you had the opportunity.

“Now,” you said, carrying him to you car “let’s get you home”

Behind you, the pink diamond studded gold ring sank to the bottom of the tank, settling into the sand.

******

Ordinarily you’d have some tunes playing out of the radio, but it was silent.

11:43 PM

You glanced at the clock as you drove down the deserted road, with only the full face of the Tidemother as witness. Vergil, buckled in securely in the passenger seat, caressed Yamato like it was a long lost pet that recently came home. Eventually, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a blue flash, and a brief burst of salt air, before you noticed the blade was gone.

“How did you know?” he finally said, attempting to get comfortable in what was no doubt an interesting position for him.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to hurt your brother?” you responded, your eyes never leaving the road. Only a few more minutes, just needed to cross the bay’s suspension bridge, and then a side road to the beach.

“Of course, Dante would put you up to this” he muttered.

“He didn’t.”

“Pardon?” you didn’t have to look to see the shock on his face.

“This was my plan, he just gave me the final information to put this into motion. Mind you, I wasn’t going into this with the intent of anyone dying, but...well…” you looked at your hand gripping the wheel, still covered in flakes of the Doctor’s dried blood. Another wave of nausea threatened to blow up, but you managed to keep it down. Besides it didn’t seem like there was anything left in your stomach to vomit.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do this?” he asked.

“Seriously Vergil, you’re asking me why I set a man free who had been imprisoned for over a year? A guy who constantly tells me how much he misses the goddamn ocean?” your temper was beginning to get the better of you, and it took more and more effort to remain calm. “The question SHOULD be, why didn't YOU tell ME? Even in the beginning, if you had just said what you needed to go home, I would have gotten your soul-weapon for you. I would have done ANYTHING to get you back home. Did you not trust me?”

“In the beginning…” Vergil started out slowly, his breathing a bit erratic, “I suppose trust was an issue, with what I had already endured….”

“But afterwards, after we got to know each other, when I thought we could learn to trust each other? Why not then…?”

“Things...had changed…” he hesitantly replied.

Just admit you had feelings for me, dammit, your mind screamed, that you didn’t want to leave me, the woman who imprisoned you, the daughter of the guy who killed your parents. The thought of someone in that situation loving the person you were was confounding.

Ah, but you haven’t been truthful about your feelings either, another voice in your mind chided you, for all intents and purposes, he has no clue about your feelings about him, so you have only yourself to blame for the pain you are about to cause.

11:51 PM

“Sifa…”

“Stop.”

“Pardon?”

“Stop calling me that, please,” you attempted to blink the tears away. “When we get to the ocean, your brother will be there waiting, you’re going to go with him, preferably without fighting him. He’s going to take you somewhere far, far, away, I don’t know where, and frankly it would be better if I don’t. I’m just going to ask you to do one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Forget this. Forget me. Forget us.”

There was complete silence as Vergil sat staring at you, in complete shock. You might have well asked him to serve you a piece of the Dawnfather on a plate, judging by his reaction. After a few moments of stunned stillness, he faced forward, and sighed.

“I...I… cannot.”

The tears fell down your cheeks, and the streetlights became nothing more than blurry halos lighting the deserted road as you finally approached the bridge.

“You’re crying.”

“Great observation!” you gritted out sarcastically, cursing yourself for lashing out. He hadn’t done anything to deserve your ire.

“You ask me to forget you, but I…”

“Your brother should be nearby, can you feel him with your amulet?” you cut him off. You didn’t want to hear him admit that he loved you, because it took all of your willpower to maintain your plans. It would be too painful to say goodbye in any other case.

Vergil paused, taken aback, before nodding in resignation. “Yes, he is close.”

“Good, something is going right tonight at least”

“What about you?” he queried, concerned. “You have blood on your hands, literally and figuratively speaking, and you humans do not look kindly on that,” his brow furrowed, “even if I think he deserved far worse” he muttered.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll deal with the fallout.”

“I still care abo-”

He didn’t get the chance to finish, as a bright light from behind, temporarily blinded you. Some idiot was driving with his hi-beams on, and was now tailgating you, as if he…

Oh no…

You recognized the car, even in the darkness. Mercedes-Benz E-class. The preferred car of…

The vehicle pulled up alongside you, the driver’s side window down, and to your horror, your fears were confirmed…

Your father.

The man began waving at you in the universal sign to pull over. In response, you gave him the universal sign to mind his own business. And then you slammed down on the gas, accelerating away. You could hear the sound of creaking leather as Vergil gripped on the seat, no doubt alarmed at the speed you were going.

Shit, as if things couldn’t get worse, you thought as you did as your father was left behind momentarily, before speeding up to match you. He must have gotten home early and found out the security alert. And he must have checked the video footage, and put two and two together. Shit, shit shit….”

You were halfway across the bridge, less than two kilometres away lay freedom for Vergil, all you had to do was get there…

BUMP

You and your passenger were jostled. You looked at your indicators, to figure out if you had blown a tire or something when

BUMP

And then you realized your father was attempting to run you off the road. Was he crazy? The lights glowed in your rearview mirror.

BUMP

And this time, the hit was strong enough that you lost control, and when you attempted to correct, you inadvertently overcorrected, causing you to fishtail in an increasingly erratic manner, eventually turning into a full blown spin out.

Eventually, you realized that you had no control over the car, and you let go of the steering wheel and gas, hoping you’d just straighten out, but the car kept spinning…

“VERGIL! HOLD ON!” You screamed as you spun towards the concrete median. You closed your eyes and went limp.

11:55PM

That was the time on the clock before the entire electrical system shut off. You pushed away the rapidly deflating airbags, wincing at the pain in your shoulder. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but it still hurt like a bitch.

A dribble of blood leaked from your nostril, but only a dull throbbing pain, so to your relief, it was probably just a bloody nose.

“Vergil!” you called out, fearful for the worst. You shoved aside the fabric to see to your relief a conscious, if a bit dazed merman. He was bleeding from the mouth, and had a few cuts on his face and torso from the shattered glass, but they quickly faded away.

“I’m… I am fine” he said, as he licked the blood off his lip, “what about you?”

“Not important right now,” you quickly scanned the bridge. There would be no way to carry Vergil to the beach now, it was much too far. Tears began to form in your eyes, you’d been so fucking close!

And then… as you felt as if you were about to give up, you looked at the guardrail of the bridge, a mere twelve metres away from the vehicle. Perhaps…..

Pulling out your jackknife, you began to saw through Vergil’s seatbelt, before pulling him out of the now crumpled up passenger seat. You winced slightly at the pain in your shoulder as you carried him, but the adrenaline would be enough to deal with it.

“Change of plans, Vergil” you said as you began to carry towards the metal guardrail. “Prepare to dive.” Part of you was secretly thankful. At least this way, the parting would be quick and painless.

Three metres away, a loud BANG rang out, and sparks sprayed far too close to you. Instinctively, you spun around, to find the source of the sound, and came face to face with your father, shakily pointing a pistol at you.

“Dad….” you shouldn’t have been surprised, the man had nearly killed you by trying to stop your car. But still, this is the man who raised you, loved you, cherished you. How could he do something like this? Or maybe… maybe you’d just assumed he had. Or had he just looked at you as an investment, a stock portfolio that he needed to increase its worth? “Sweetheart, please don’t…” your father’s voice brokenly begged, “You don’t know what damage that creature will do if it’s set free. Our family company barely broke even with all the repairs from what it has done.”

“So you’re totally okay with imprisoning him? To experiment on him!?” You yelled back in anger. Vergil stiffened against you.

“Look, is this about what happened to Doctor Griffon?” your father asked, totally missing the point. “Look, don’t worry, I can take care of everything! The police won’t ever have to know! I won’t let them arrest you!”

“Really, you think that I’m doing this because of that bastard?” you spat out. Your rage and adrenaline could only mask the growing pain in your shoulder, and you struggled to keep Vergil steady.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart!”

“YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I WANT!” You screamed at him, and you could see the growing fear in your father’s eyes. “ALL THAT EVER MATTERED TO YOU WAS YOUR GODDAMN COMPANY! YOU DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ME, YOUR OWN FUCKING DAUGHTER, YOU JUST WANT WHAT’S BEST FOR YOUR LEGACY! MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE HAS JUST BEEN A WAY FOR YOU TO GROW YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS!” Finally expelling the long contained rage and bile you’d held back for years, no decades, felt so good.

You calmed down a bit, “I’ll deal with the consequences of my actions on my own… and you can deal with yours.”

And with that, you turned back around and continued your way to the guardrail, disregarding your father’s orders and threats to stop. You were confident he’d never have the balls to shoot you. He might not care about you as his daughter, but he wouldn’t risk his ‘investment’ anymore than he had already done.

Two more metres to go, when another shot rang out, and you felt a blinding white hot pain in your lower back, and you stumbled forward a bit from the agony. Your eyesight blacked out about momentarily, and you felt yourself hit cool metal.

Only the soft voice of Vergil calling your name was enough to bring you back. In all the months you had known him, he’d never called you by your name. “What’s wrong?” he asked with fear, something you’d never heard in his voice.

Your body began to feel numb, starting at your fingertips, but there was a growing warm wetness blooming from your stomach. And the realization hit you, you’d been shot, and you were going to die.

Leaning against the guardrail, you chuckled. Of course, your father, who had practically dictated every thing about your life, would choose the manner of your death. At least, you could choose one thing. Your final action.

“Farewell, Sifa…” you managed to force out, despite the pain, and the shortness of breath.

And with his shock at what you had just said, his grip loosened, giving you the opportunity to jostle him loose, and he fell into the moonlit darkness. You could hear him hitting the water, then after a few moments of tense silence, the sloshing of water, and to your relief, you heard Vergil, screaming your name. He’d made it unharmed... and now you prayed that he would swim far, far away.

You clutched your stomach, instinctively trying to stop the blood flow, but even you knew it was fruitless. You were only delaying the inevitable.

Another voice from behind you called your name as well. Using the guardrail to prop you up, you slowly turned around to see your father running towards you, terror in his eyes.

“Sweetheart, I’m so, so, sorry...I was trying to shoot a warning shot! I just… I just got so nervous! Don’t worry! I’m going to call an ambulance, you’re going to pull through this. Please, just stay with me!” One hand on his cellphone, he reached out to steady you with the other, to slowly guide you to the ground

You were wrong. You still had one more choice you could make, how you would die. It was morbidly funny. You’d discovered the existence of merfolk over twenty years ago when you had almost drowned. And now you could pay for living on borrowed time by returning to the ocean. With your last bit of energy, your hand carrying the jackknife swung out, slicing your father’s palm. He pulled back in pain, out of instinct and you used the moment to lean back over the guardrail. With a contented smile on your face, you felt the rushing of wind.

You fell.

#Deep Blue Sea #Devil May Cry #Vergil x reader #Mergil

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theeasternempress · 4 years

Text

Baby’s First Lullaby

Chapter Four of “All in One Day”

Summary - After playing around the ship until evening, Din opens the last gift he bought for his son.

AO3

After showing off his father’s artwork to his new stuffed friend, Din’s son toddled back over to him and reached for more paper. Din ripped out two sheets and passed one to the child. Din figured that drawing together would be a good way to bond with his son and in the deepest part of his heart, he found that he was enjoying drawing.

“How about we draw your mythosaur toy now?” Din asked softly. The baby made an excited noise before hopping over to his toy and dragging it back over. The mythosaur was mostly just the same dull shade of brown, but that didn’t seem to stop the child as he went right back to hyperfocusing on drawing the best mythosaur in the galaxy. Din was so distracted by his son that he hadn’t started drawing yet but once the child let out an upset “ah” and reached over to scribble on the corner of Din’s paper, he began to draw as well.

Despite neither of them having any drawing skills, the father and son enjoyed their time drawing together. Once they showed each other the drawings they had made, they laughed at how terrible they were and how little they resembled the mythosaur beside them.

After that, Din was content to just sit back and watch his son draw whatever his little heart wanted to. Most of the time it was just colorful streaks across the paper, but Din complimented him and held on to them as if they were from the galaxy’s finest artists.

An hour of drawing had eventually passed when the child decided to switch over to painting. Before he began, Din rolled up the child’s sleeves to prevent him from getting paint on them. The child gave a coo as a thank you before dipping his paintbrush in paint and slathering it across the paper. Once a few paintings were complete, the child ditched his paintbrush for his fingers, which he seemed to thoroughly enjoy as his giggles echoed throughout the ship. The paint was marketed as non-toxic and washable, so Din wasn’t worried about having any issues cleaning him up.

The child eventually decided after an hour of painting that he was ready to go back to playing with his mythosaur toy. Before he could touch it with his paint-stained hands, Din carried him into the refresher to scrub all of the paint from his hands. Once Din placed him back on the ground, the child excitedly ran over to his toy to throw himself on it, which made Din smile behind his helmet.

Watching the child bounce around on his toy, an idea popped into Din’s head. If the child enjoyed bouncing on his toy so much, what if Din dragged him around the ship on it? It would tire Din out instead of the child, but he wouldn’t care about that if it made his son happy.

Kneeling next to the giggling child and stroking his ear, Din asked, “Would you like me to drag you around the ship on your toy?” The child clapped happily and bounced on the toy.

“Okay, but make sure you hold on tight.” Din responded. Once Din was sure that the child had a good grip on the toy, he grabbed the end of the toy’s tail and began to drag it along the ship. The child let out a “woo!” and a giggle and held onto his mythosaur even tighter. Din watched his son as he dragged the toy around the ship and he smiled at how happy his child was.

Seeing how much his son enjoyed this new game, Din carefully began to walk faster. As Din began to quicken his steps across the ship, the child’s giggles turned into shrieks of laughter. At that moment, Din decided that his son’s laughter was the most wonderful sound in the entire galaxy. Once he was almost at the end of the hull, he would spin the mythosaur and let it go so that it would slide across the ship. Whenever Din did this, the child would squeal with happiness.

Din thanked his many years of training for giving him the stamina to be able to run across the ship for as long as he did. He eventually took off all of the beskar, save for his helmet, so he wasn’t weighed down by it. Even when Din became tired, he continued for his son’s enjoyment. Din had a feeling that this new game was going to become one of the child’s favorites and he would want to play it all the time. If that meant it would make his son happy, Din would be more than willing to play this game until the end of time.

Time slipped away as father and son continued playing their new game, but the game came to a halt when the loud gurgle of the child’s stomach rang throughout the ship. Laughing quietly, Din picked his son up off his toy and asked, “How about I get you some dinner now?” Setting him down on a box, Din made a serving of the veg-meat and began spoon feeding it to his son. The child happily ate every last piece of his dinner and smiled up at his father. Din patted his head before helping him back down to the ground.

With all of the fun and craziness of their day, Din was sure it was evening now and time to set the child to sleep. They had had such a distracting day that the child never laid down for his second nap, but he didn’t seem cranky about it. Din was sure his son would have been more upset about having his fun disrupted than not having a second nap.

“Alright, little one, it’s time for you to go to sleep,” Din said softly as he scooped up his son. Just as he had a few hours ago, the child reached for the bag with the remaining item Din had bought for him. Pulling it out of the bag, Din saw that it was the delicately decorated music box. It was a wooden box with light carvings along the top and a handle on the bottom that would play music once it was turned. Din had never had one as a child, but he remembered his mother had one that played a song that had long since left his memory.

“I’ll play this for you while you fall asleep, okay?” Din told the child who was running his hands across the grooves in the lid. Din brought the child up to the cockpit where his bassinet was and sat in his pilot’s chair. With one hand holding his son in his lap, the other began to carefully crank the music box until the lid popped open and the song began.

The soft humming of a woman’s voice filled the air and the humming soon turning into singing, “Baby mine, don’t you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine.”

Hearing the song, Din knew why this box had been recommended to him. He imagined that it was intended for a mother to play for her child, but the melody worked just as well for Din and his son. Pressing his son tighter to his chest, he began to slowly sway with him to the tune of the song.

“Little one, when you play don’t you mind what they say. Let those eyes sparkle and shine, never a tear, baby of mine,” the voice continued before humming again. The child snuggled into his father’s armorless chest, enjoying the warmth that he rarely got to receive. Din stood up from his chair and placed the music box on his seat so he could hold his son with both arms.

He continued to rock and sway with him as the song continued, “From your head to your toes, you’re so sweet, goodness knows. You are so precious to me, cute as can be, baby of mine.” Din knew the song was over when the box closed, but the moment between him and his son was far from over. Hearing those lyrics, Din knew that he felt every word was true for how he viewed his son. He never wanted him to feel sadness or cry, just feel as happy as he was when Din was pulling him across the ship on his mythosaur toy. This child had quickly become the most precious thing in the galaxy to Din and the fact that he would do anything for his son crossed Din’s mind for the thousandth time.

The child’s coo broke him from his thoughts and as the child raised his hand to Din’s face, he managed to slip his hand into the space between his helmet and his face to rest on his cheek. Din smiled, letting his son touch his face for the first time before lowering his forehead to meet his son’s.

Din held his son for a few more minutes before he felt the child yawn against him. Deciding it was bedtime, Din carefully placed him in his bassinet with his soft blankets. As Din was covering him up, the child grabbed his fingers and wrapped both of his hands around one of Din’s fingers. The child brought his father’s bare hand up to his face to snuggle against it, which caused his father’s heart to melt at the sight before him.

“Goodnight, my son. I love you,” Din spoke. This was the first time that Din had called the child his son or told him he loved him, but Din decided that tonight was the perfect time. The child seemed to not notice the significance of the words as he snuggled himself into his bassinet and released Din’s fingers from his grasp, but Din was sure that the child knew he was loved.

Reaching behind him to grab the music box, Din cranked it until the song began again. Even half-asleep, the child seemed to notice the song was playing as a sweet smile came across his face. Settling himself in his chair, Din’s exhaustion from the day returned and as he took one last look at his son, he closed his eyes to begin to drift off to sleep.

The soft melody of the music box continued to play as father and son fell asleep, both with hearts full of love.

#The Mandalorian #Baby Yoda #Din Djarin #Din loves his baby boy #Baby yoda loves his dad #Baby's First series #my writing

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tiredandineffable · 5 years

Text

Things They Need

Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale have spent millennia searching for love, skipping from one human to another but never quite satisfied with any one of them. Maybe they’ve been looking for something only the other can provide.

AKA Crowley and Aziraphale’s failed loves told in a series of vignettes but its never quite about the person they’re in love with so much as it is about how different they are from the person they truly love.

Lets be real: this is an excuse to write gender things for both of them and different time periods.

………………

They've both had their fair share of love, whether or not they'd like to admit it. At most points it was unrequited, as if the powers at be had intervened, as if the object of their affection had subconsciously realized that the person looking back at them, wanting them, was barely a person at all. They so frequently found each other after moments like these that it was almost laughable. It was as if they could sense each other's heartbreak and find each other without actively looking. This was how many drunk nights began over the millennia. Crowley would offer Aziraphale a glass of wine and they would spend the night on the couch, lamenting the loss of that which they craved most.

Heaven was a sterile place. Love abounded, sure, but in a way that was so pure that it may as well have been clinical. Aziraphale craved the messy, disastrous love that humans felt. It was the sort of love that brought people to irrational decisions, to taking risks they need not take. Love felt in stolen kisses and hugs so tight they hurt. The sort of love one wrote about in letters to a lover one had not seen in weeks when the ghost of their touch became so overwhelming that one put it on paper in the hopes of reliving it. He'd seen it before, in the shadowy corners of balconies after balls, pulling each other in by ones lapels with barely more than a sigh between each other's lips. He wants someone to love him so desperately, to crave his touch so fully, that they'd take the risks that came with their love. He understands that any relationship he seeks will be overshadowed by the fear of being caught, but oh how it would be worth the anxiety just to be kissed every morning and to be held every night.

Crowley, meanwhile, had once drunkenly outlined his exact intentions and needs when it came to relationships, although he'd deny it if asked. He wanted to be known and understood. He wanted someone who cared so deeply for him that they would take the time to unpack the layers of hurt and dismantle the multitude of walls he'd built between himself and others, brick by brick. Someone who would put up with his shifting moods and ever changing physical form. Someone who would pry his insecurities from his cold heart and stitch him back together, lighter this time. He craved being wanted by someone who knew his mistakes, who had seen him at his worst, who knew his true nature and stayed. Someone who knew they were dating a demonic entity but loved him all the same. To be loved unconditionally, graciously, in a way She had never loved him.

………………

“Did you love him?” The angel asks as he looks over the contours of a jawline, brushing along it with only the most reverent touch, too scared to ruin something already so precious and one of a kind. There was a certain intimacy that came with seeing a sketch, a certain power coupled with the ability to hungrily take in every tentative line, see every rushed brush of charcoal, every erased or faded drawing. It was like seeing the inner workings of one’s mind. Somewhere, in the space between them both, that feeling has settled over Crowley and Aziraphale. On the aged ash flooring of a quiet back storage room in a lavish but closed London bookstore sit a myriad of sketches on faded yellowing paper.

Small notes litter the corners of them. Aziraphale picks out the elegant curves of Crowley’s handwriting, fading words forming both exclamations of appreciation for the artworks they reference or for the artist himself.

What an honor to be seen this way through your eyes.

He picks out the teasing and self deprecating scratch of the artist’s replies.

What a shame I will never be able to fully portray your beauty on canvas and, thus, another shame these will never be finalized.

“I did,” comes the reply to a question since forgotten. Aziraphale looks up then, takes in the very real, sharp lines of the demon before him and he knows. He knows the intimate inner feelings of the artist then, understands almost spiritually what his words mean. I will never be able to fully portray your beauty. A bittersweet smile forms on Aziraphale’s lips and he wonders which of the many thoughts running through his mind are its source.

“Did you tell him?”

He wonders why he asked this. He doesn’t want to know what could have been between the demon before him and the artist who has long since been buried. His eyes refocus on the sharp fingers tinged with sepia tones. He wonders if Leonardo ever truly understood to whom those fingers belonged. Did he know what they were made of, what they had done, what they were capable of? Did he know that they could manipulate the very fires of Hell, could bring down entire empires with a single touch? Did he know they were capable of saving an angel more times than either of them could count? Did he know that they had once comforted shaking stowaways on an ark, carried children even God had condemned and brushed away their tears?

“No.”

Aziraphale took in the impossible fondness of amber eyes on fading paper and wondered how one could be on the receiving end of such a gaze, how one could record it so perfectly on paper, and not understand its meaning.

“Couldn’t. Hell really wanted the whole Leonardeschi. Biggest and brightest minds of the 15th century or some shit like that. Couldn’t really hoard him. Besides, he already had a little demon in his life by the time things picked up between us, a beauty he could finally portray on canvas, I guess. Modelled John the Baptist and Bacchus.”

Aziraphale picks up the bile in Crowley’s tone. All that’s left is a small folder of sketches and the worry that something could have been.

“I think…” Aziraphale starts, but everything he wants to say feels completely inadequate. “Even if it had been possible and you had not been on a job, would it have been everything you wanted it to be? Would he understand you, Crowley, really? Between his inventions and his publications and his artwork, I doubt he would ever have had the time to truly come to know someone or love them.”

Crowley takes in the sketches and remembers, for the first time since they were made, how much he wished the artist would regard him with as much fondness as he did his likeness.

………………

"I've never seen it, actually," Crowley says. They're wandering about the halls of Papal treasures, holding polite conversation now that the discussions regarding their agreement had long since ended. Crowley had done his part and confirmed that the next Pope functioned in a space somewhere between wishy-washy and completely incompetent. He'd sign whatever Crowley or Aziraphale pressured him into signing as needed, and that would be that. A happy sort of medium that they would eventually come to regret.

But, for now, a soft sort of satisfaction settled over them both and something about soon having a seemingly easily swayed Pope in power reassured them both.

The artwork was nice, too.

"Seen what?" Aziraphale asks as they walk and it would take a miracle (perhaps it’s multiple miracles, Crowley hasn’t been counting) to keep him from tripping on the artifacts littering the floor as his eyes focus solely on the intricate tapestries on the wall. He’s always loved the beauty of these pieces. They were never quite right (creation took more trial and error than God would have liked to admit, and the ark contained quite a few more stowaways courtesy of Crowley than any Bible would have you believe) but he loved them for their interpretations of memories he had come to cherish so deeply.

“The ceiling your artist is working on. Heard him bragging to mine that his work is almost done.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks flush. “How much did...my artist tell your artist?”

Crowley grins, all teeth and mirth like he’s cornered Aziraphale without the angel even noticing. But the angel knows, all too well, that this is a game. Crowley will take any excuse to see him embarrassed and Aziraphale will get an excuse to tease him back.

“Leo says your piccolo Michelangelo told him that you posed for him. Albeit in an unconventional context. Is it true?”

Aziraphale fiddles with his collar and wonders, suddenly, if this is the indulgence that finally gets him expelled from the priesthood. And to think that he was finally making progress on the Papal corruption... “Is what true?”

“C’mon, Aziraphale, you know. We’ve both had fun with this job,” he teases, stopping in the middle of the treasure-filled hall to rock onto the balls of his feet. “So tell me: did you, or has Michelangelo been lying to half of Rome about getting himself a literal angel?

Aziraphale looks down at his hands, mouth opening as if to speak before losing his nerve and twisting his fingers. His heart, being the nuisance that it is, feels like it’s attempting to lodge itself in his throat. If he were drunk, confessing to these sorts of things would have come easily and quickly. Besides, Crowley pays enough attention to the art-world gossip to likely know the answer to every question he plans on asking tonight. He’s likely just being nosy. It’s a game to him. Always is with these topics. He sighs, closes his eyes, and finally speaks. “Yes. But I’ll have you know that he’s been nothing but lovely and we’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now.”

The smirk on the demon’s face goes impossibly wider, a fact Aziraphale only registers a few seconds later when he hears it in his tone and opens his eyes to confirm its presence. “Wait, I’m talking about the fact that you posed for the Sistine. What are y-”

Wider still, somehow, as realization settles. “Oh, angel, this is so much better.” He grabs his arm and pulls him away, and Aziraphale makes to protest but the sound comes out as an unconvincingly disgruntled splutter. “We’re going somewhere we can actually talk and get drunk. Christ, Aziraphale, bet it was sappy too. Under his ceiling? Seeing the way he sees you?”

“Are you implying that I, a man of the cloth, committed a serious act of sacrilege on consecrated ground?” The argument is half-hearted, and they both know it, but it’s better than Aziraphale admitting that dripping paint was one of the major contributors to their deciding to move. “There’s a garden with a little secluded corner and he always finishes painting so awfully late and we were nearly a bottle in which I know doesn’t sound like much but the man is a bit of a lightweight so the bottle was mostly mine.” He takes a breath and bites back a fond little smile. “He said he wanted to see what I’d look like amongst the stars. He always was a romantic.”

Crowley, always the jealous realist, wonders if this romance doesn’t mean more to Aziraphale than it does to the aforementioned artist. The local artists with powerful names will smother you in thick layers of poetry and butter you up with handsome sketches and consume you until they find another, newer treat. But Aziraphale deserves to be happy and who is Crowley to determine how that happens? He maintains his smirk by sheer willpower. Aziraphale is a being of love, he’s probably right about this relationship.

But then he looks up to meet pale blue eyes, brimming with fondness as they swim through a memory that does not involve Crowley and he aches and he aches and he aches... He would trade in every fancy word and pretty sketch to have what Michelangelo has somehow gotten.

I have also wanted to know what you would look like amongst my stars.

………………

Crowley was nearly curled in on herself, leaning against the side of the couch with her eyes shut tight. It hadn’t been the worst rejection she’d ever handled, not really. But it was definitely right up there on the list of shittiest rejections she’d ever had. She didn’t know if it was better or worse that she’d looked hot when it had happened. She still did look hot, if she were honest, just with slightly smeared makeup from a rather self indulgent cry.

In her defense, she hadn’t started crying until she’d gotten to the hotel.

Aziraphale had seen a good amount of what had happened. She hadn’t intended to, honestly! She just happened to have picked the same day to go to the opera, and the same opera to see. It was a matter of taste, really. Some operas were just better than others. She had not, in any way shape or form, gone to spy on Crowley’s new love interest. But if she were to be honest (which she has been, this whole time!) she didn’t really see why Crowley had an interest in the lead actor. He was a touch short and his blond hair was a little blinding under the theatre lights. Furthermore, he was rather plain.

What Aziraphale didn’t see was the passion the otherwise common man was capable of demonstrating. They had discussed music and society. They had gotten drunk together at an afterparty for the opening night of one of his shows years prior and had spent the better part of the night avidly tearing apart the characterization of the love interest. Crowley didn’t take to people easily but this was different. The actor understood her interests and was just as deeply invested in every conversation Crowley had introduced. They’d built a rather firm friendship, even if there was something rather unorthodox about an actor and a lady of Crowley’s standing spending so much time together.

Alone.

The past few months had seen the rise of their names in the tabloids. He was the golden boy of the Viennese theatre community. She was a mysterious aristocrat without a husband who seemed to show up at all the right parties. They were sensational, the picture of a modern European love affair. Their names were whispered between members of Austria’s upper echelons, stirring cold jealousy in the hearts of partygoers and magazine readers alike. Some wanted their beauty, their money, their fame. Upper class women wanted a man who looked at them the way he looked at her, who held them the way he held her. Upper class men always had a thing for untouchable women. The headlines all but begged him to propose.

It should have worked.

He should have loved her.

He knew her, for Satan’s sake.

"Can you believe him, Aziraphale?" she says finally. Bitterness was seeping into her voice now that the hurt was gone. She didn't care. He was just human. He'd be dead in a matter of decades. He wasn’t even that pretty anyways (he was, dear lord how he was pretty) and she wasn’t sure why she was still crying. "'This has been fun.' Who does he think he is?"

"I’m sorry, dear,” Aziraphale says, feeling woefully inadequate in her words but mildly adequate in her choice of drink for the night. It didn’t quite feel like a wine night, so she’d ordered the strongest aged whiskey the hotel bar had on hand. She didn’t even bother with the crystal glassware the hotel had so diligently stocked in Crowley’s room. No sense giving Crowley something more to throw. She takes a long drink before handing the bottle to Crowley.

Crowley gulps the whiskey down, already a little drunk from the wine she’d shared with him earlier that night, but this is exactly what she needed. The burn to remind her that she’s still here, to take away any last taste of him on her lips. “I trusted him, Aziraphale, he knew. The first human I’ve ever been interested in who I told. Everything. He knows about us, who we are. All of it. Fucking hell, Aziraphale, both sides would murder me if they knew just how much I told him.”

Aziraphale wasn’t even angry. She knew it would eventually come to this. Crowley ached for someone who knew her in a way that, frankly, humans never would be able to. Because it extended beyond just knowing who or what she was. It required a certain understanding of what she’d seen and what she’d done that only someone with a similar experience would have. Someone like you, Aziraphale thinks, but such thoughts are unproductive and yearning for something she can’t have is a perfectly useless endeavor. She won’t. She can’t. They can’t, even if they both wanted. Which Crowley clearly didn’t, anyways. Seems we both want what we can’t have.

“Was that what did it? Him knowing what we are?” Aziraphale hears herself ask.

Crowley sighs, still holding the bottle and letting her head fall back on the arm of the couch. “Not at all. Makes it worse, doesn’t it? He accepted all the rest of it, knew for months and acted as if it changed nothing. But suddenly he realizes ‘oh, my co-star is pretty’ and everything he and I had goes out the window.”

She took another long drink, staring up at the ceiling and sighing. The tears are gone and in their place is a bubbling and deeply held hurt. “Stupid of me to think that I could be enough for him.”

Aziraphale takes the bottle and sighs before taking a sip, letting the alcohol loosen her tongue. “Stupid of him to think he was worthy of you, Crowley.”

………………

They've both had lovers before and it's never been a secret between them. If drunk enough they'll discuss their most recent ones, compare their merits, as Aziraphale blushingly calls them. There's a comfortable companionship in these discussions, most of the time. There's always a comedic edge to it that balances it out, a defense mechanism naturally built into the conversation that keeps it from becoming too serious too quickly.

But Aziraphale is quite drunk. Even more than usual.

"He's lovely, Crowley," Aziraphale sighs, wine sloshing onto the pale blue carpet, staining it a deep red as he lounges clumsily on the chaise. "He pulled me aside at the party after his new play's first performance, kissed me quite senseless. And the way he held me - oh lord. It was as if I was the single most important person in the universe, to be kissed as if his life depended on it. He takes things so achingly slow at first and then, as if realizing how precious little time he has, he's a flurry of desperation. Oh and he's so tall, dear."

Aziraphale sighs. Crowley is really fighting the urge to go find this man and pull just the wrong strings. Make him fall in love with a man he can't have, see how he feels about it.

Aziraphale's expression softens then, cheeks flushed and oh how Crowley wouldn't kill to have Aziraphale look like that as he thought of him.

"He writes to me," Aziraphale finally continues. "And I to him, but with nothing nearly as beautiful as his letters."

Crowley closes his eyes, laying sideways on his chair with the hopes that he can shut out the lovesick look on Aziraphale's face. There's the sound of the glass being set on Aziraphale's end table with a tinge too much clumsy force. It's followed by a ruffle of papers.

"'It is a marvel that those rose leaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing'," Aziraphale reads aloud. His voice has become soft, the tone awfully fond, and Crowley feels the jealousy clogging every crevice of his heart. Aziraphale, however one to be obsessed with love and romance, has never been one to keep a lover for so long. But he shares mutual interests with this one and he always has been weak for poetry. The mortal has Aziraphale wrapped around his little finger and it's sickening that anyone would take advantage of Aziraphale's need for affection.

(If he were playing fair, Crowley would admit that Aziraphale likely has this...person wrapped around his finger instead of the other way around. But he's never been one for playing fair.)

"I do…" Aziraphale starts, wetting his lips as he tries to think of what to say, how best to express to Crowley how much this newfound romance has come to affect him. Crowley dreads Aziraphale's next words. "I do believe he loves me, Crowley."

"That's impossible," Crowley says coldly, catching himself by surprise but not missing a beat. He's not feeling forgiving today. Hearing Aziraphale wax poetic about this new, handsome, successful stranger has left Crowley feeling less than obliging to his fantasies.

Aziraphale sits suddenly, brows furrowed and accidentally knocking his glass to the ground. If he's noticed, he doesn't pay it any mind. The angel looks utterly incensed. "Might I ask why someone harboring affection for me is so incredible to you?"

Because I'm the only one who will ever understand you.

"He's in love with the other chap. The blond boy, fifteen years his junior. You know the one." He's being cruel, he knows. But Aziraphale is also, describing in detail every merit his lover possesses as if Crowley weren't right there.

Aziraphale rises then, and Crowley tries to swallow down his regret as he takes notice of the way his angel's hands shake.

"Why can I not have one good thing without you coming to take it from me, Crowley? Can you not refrain from reflecting your own insecurities on me? What is it, your own fear that you will never be loved?"

He storms out the door and Crowley feels like he's been punched in the gut.

He’s right.

………………

Crowley did a rather good job in the 80's. Things were a lot more lax when it came to indulgences. If you had the money for it, you could have anything your heart desired, from cocaine to a harem. You could own mansions and islands and have the net worth of entire countries. If you were good enough, you could have fans that numbered in the millions and could perform for hundreds of thousands of people worldwide at the click of a button. There was an excitement, an understanding that the world had changed irreversibly and, with it, had brought a myriad of new and exciting possibilities.

And the parties. Oh how they’d changed. The music was louder and the dancing less rigid with each passing year. It had all become more raw over time until it was more about the feeling it gave you than its inherent meaning and, with that, the lyrics had become more daring as if begging you to object. Crowley never did. This exciting debauchery was absolutely his element.

But it had isolated Aziraphale.

Aziraphale had liked dance halls and had even accompanied Crowley to them on multiple occasions. They would get drunk and push the other into dancing with a local until, towards the end of the night, they would sort of fall into step together and finish off a song by dancing a tinge too close, just the angel and the demon. It was...nice, easy. It followed conventions Aziraphale was accustomed to while still being new enough to entice Crowley. Somehow, the dance hall scene had become a perfect place to meet where they could just be themselves for a few hours a week, press the boundaries of what they were meant to be without shattering them completely.

Their decline came with the advent of more modern clubs and, with it, the expectation of more forward behaviours. While Aziraphale was capable of adjusting to some facets of the new music scene, he had difficulty adjusting to social interactions not governed by certain...rules of engagement.

Besides, the music was loud. They couldn’t talk in clubs and really Aziraphale worried he couldn’t keep Crowley properly entertained otherwise.

So Crowley had spent his nights out for the better part of the last decade on his own.

Which was fine.

He could pick up rock stars, famous actors, the inconceivably rich for a night. He didn't have to worry about whether Aziraphale got home alright or if Aziraphale approved or if Aziraphale had gone home with someone worth his time. He didn't have to worry about Aziraphale's disapproval when he got too drunk or high (or both). He most certainly didn't have to worry about accidentally telling Aziraphale about all the feelings he's been repressing since the dawn of time itself.

(Because sometimes, just sometimes, he hears a song that reminds him of Aziraphale and wonders what it would be like to gather him up then, dance and drink the night away with him until they both had enough of an excuse to lean in for a taste of the alcohol on each other’s lips. They had done so before on a rare handful of occasions during the dance hall scene when they both thought that they wouldn’t remember in the morning. But they always did. Crowley always awoke to a ghost-like memory of Aziraphale’s lips on his and a longing in his chest that hadn’t quit since Eden. He always woke to the hope that maybe, for once, he hadn’t gone too fast for Aziraphale.)

He quickly downs another shot before leaning back into the couch to take in the sight of Britain’s most famous, eyes skimming over the crowd in the search for someone of interest.

(Is that what his relationships have always been? Finding someone interesting to take the edge off a constant ache?)

He spots someone with the same soft touch, the same decadence. He’s wrong in every other way but Crowley will gladly cling to what little he has. He knows this person, too. He knows his dreams and aspirations, knew of him since he was barely a performer, since before Hell had decided it had to have him. He gets to his feet and saunters over in a way that betrays just how many shots he’s had. The way he falls into his lap, haphazard and a little desperate, grabbing the open bottle in his hand to take a sip before kissing him like his life depends on it, doesn't help his case.

The man’s lips part a touch too quickly, too eagerly, like he’s lovestruck for someone just out of reach but taking what he can get. If Aziraphale can sense love, Crowley, it seems, can sense heartbreak. They both want someone they cannot have and, at least in this, perhaps Crowley can finally be understood by someone other than Aziraphale.

………………

Aziraphale has decided, genuinely this time, that there is nothing he despises more than researchers touching his books. There is nothing wrong in the way they do it. They are reverent, all feather-light touches masked with soft white gloves, prying open older books with patience so as not to damage their already cracking spines. They touch the book only when they must. Only to open it, to close it, to flip a page, to set it back in its place. They appreciate it fully in a way Aziraphale understands well. The way the scent of their age settles on you, reminds you that it is a product of a time so different from yours that you are here to study it. You are seeing, albeit briefly and only in part, the intricacies of someone else’s life with every page that you flip. They inhale it, its scent, its meaning, every single time they come to the small SoHo shop to do research.

They are respectful. Aziraphale doesn’t hate them.

The man he hates is the head researcher, a man in his mid 40s who sometimes comes in looking like he’s survived the very topic of study he came in to ask Aziraphale about. He’s just as kind with the books. He knows some of them nearly as well as Aziraphale does. Unlike his students, he comes and goes when he pleases, knocks on Aziraphale’s door at ungodly times of night and asks to flip through first edition Bibles Aziraphale has never let anyone see.

He always says yes.

He sits next to him now, watches the way his fingers ghost over the words that he seems to understand almost as deeply as Aziraphale does. And Aziraphale watches and wonders how it must feel to be so swept off one’s feet as the researcher has been by this book.

Oh how he wants and wants and wants. He wants the ghost of those fingers on his face, in his hair. He wants to be revered, to be studied, to be found valuable in this man’s eyes. But they’ve settled into something too comfortable and the wisps of the professor's want have long since been tucked away. Aziraphale frequently forgets what it feels like to be wanted in return.

"Exquisite copy. The lettering is truly phenomenal and the very history these pages carry with them? Intoxicating."

The man understands his passion, shares it even, in a way no one ever has before. He somehow steals the very words from Aziraphale's lips before Aziraphale has even managed to formulate them.

But he will never quite love the angel in the way Aziraphale so desperately needs.

………………

Crowley, Aziraphale has found, does not fully understand him. Crowley listens to Aziraphale talk about books he will never comprehend, with a fervor he will never share, tied to memories he does not possess. He sees the carefully maintained Victorian outfits but will never quite comprehend the beauty Aziraphale sees in them. He teases Aziraphale for his sweet tooth, his decadences, his near-obsession with fine wine. He will never fully understand him in the way that some of his past partners have.

But he doesn’t need that. Aziraphale needs someone who will listen despite the confusion, who will compliment outfits they would never wear, who will tempt him with the things he craves. Not because he himself loves these things or wants them or shares in his interest, but because he wants and loves to see Aziraphale happy through them. How desperately has he wanted to be wooed in this way? For how long? This much, he still doesn’t know. But had he been more attentive, he may have noticed that Crowley had smiled during every single literature-induced rant Aziraphale has gone on, has instigated every indulgence, and has called him show-stopping at every opportunity. Crowley has swept him right off his feet and Aziraphale has been perfectly blind to it until now.

“Angel?”

His breath still catches in his throat with every pet name, as it has for millennia, but now even more so with the promises they bring.

“Yes dear?”

The head on his lap shifts a bit, looking up with such adoration that Aziraphale wonders how on earth he managed to miss this. How on earth did he think that anyone else over the last six thousand years could love him as thoroughly as the demon currently lounging in his lap?

He trails his fingers through auburn curls and watches Crowley’s eyes flutter shut and a small smile curl onto his lips. Beautiful.

“Run away with me?”

Crowley has loved before. He has loved over and over and over and each time one love ended, he worried he might never love again. But each time he was never quite loved back. He was loved in a most superficial way: a muse, a distraction, a source of entertainment. He could be worshipped and revered but never wanted, at least not sufficiently to warrant any attempt at understanding him, connecting with him. The humans could never satisfy this need. Even those that came closest and learned the most. Because it was so much more than a matter of knowing.

It was Aziraphale skipping over old scars when they touched because he knew they carried with them more emotional pain than physical. It was Aziraphale enveloping him in a tight embrace because he hadn’t picked up the angel’s calls all day and something had to be wrong. It was Aziraphale offering to read aloud to him because Crowley had shown interest in the story the angel had rambled on about one day, but struggled to focus on the words on the pages. It was Aziraphale in every little touch and every little gesture and every little word over six millennia, all coming together now in the softest scrape of nails against Crowley’s scalp, leaving him breathless with the sheer adoration of it.

It was Aziraphale, in every slow-forming crack in the walls Crowley had so diligently built since his fall, like water grinding stones into sand.

Pale blue eyes crinkle in the corners. The soft sound of laughter leaves Crowley feeling lost for words.

“Where to, my dear? Alpha centauri?”

Crowley comes up to kiss him, slowly, living for the pressure of rose-leaf lips against his own and savouring the wine-sweetened taste. They commit every press of lips to memory. Reverent, self indulgent. Soft fingers paint along a sharp jawline and tangle their way into the hair at the base of Crowley’s neck. He pulls back and all but sighs into the breath between their lips.

“I have always wanted to know what you would look like amongst my stars.”

#crowley #aziraphale/crowley #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #Aziraphale #good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens fic #fluff #past relationships #lots of time periods #my writing #Ineffable Husbands #ineffable husbands fanfiction #ineffable husbands fic #ineffable wives #ineffable wives fanfiction

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chiseler · 4 years

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The Weeder in God’s Garden

A moral crusader from his early years, Anthony Comstock was born in New Canaan, Connecticut in 1844. His father, Thomas, was a prosperous farmer who also owned two sawmills. While the family had plenty of money, it was through the influence of Comstock’s fervent Congregationalist mother Polly, who like her husband had descended from Puritan stock, that the seven Comstock children led very austere lives marked by hard work, religious instruction, and precious little fun. Among his siblings, Anthony was the only one who clung fiercely to his mother’s fire and brimstone sensibilities. Polly died when Anthony was ten, but by then he knew full well Satan was a very real force in the world, and the only way to stay right with God was to remain pure in thought and deed, resisting the ever-present temptations presented by the Prince of Lies. Alcohol, tobacco, gambling and especially sex were all tickets straight to Hell, a belief he inflicted on everyone around him. This made him, no doubt, a very annoying child.

As a student in the local public school, Comstock never got a firm grasp on reading or spelling, which he considered useless anyway. He also found his growing sense of moral outrage enflamed by his fellow students, those godless little miscreants, who among other things would surreptitiously pass around ads for packs of those French playing cards with the pictures of the girls on them. No, the only education he needed he learned through the Old Testament stories his mother had read him, those tales of a vengeful God and the awful fate awaiting sinful, wicked men who ally themselves with the forces of evil.

When the Civil War broke out, Comstock, then 19, volunteered for the union army and was packed off to Florida. Much to his horror, he quickly discovered that certain Northern businesses, hoping to ease the burden of those proud soldiers willing to sacrifice everything in defense of, well, whatever it was, were in the habit of delivering shipments of not only whiskey and tobacco to the camps, but pornography as well. Although he saw precious little action, he immediately became an enormous pain in the ass to the fellow soldiers in his regiment. Forget about the Confederate army—it was the smoking, drinking, cursing and gambling among those in camp with him that would prove their downfall, and he let them know it on a daily basis. He would claim in his diary to have converted two or three of his fellow soldiers to the ways of righteousness, promising Comstock they would neither drink nor chew tobacco for the duration of the war. But given the evidence of his diary entries, it seems Comstock’s own wartime vice was porn.

In a 1863 diary entry he wrote: “Again tempted and found wanting…Sin, sin. Oh how much peace and happiness is sacrificed on thy altar.” Other entries make it clear the early morning temptations he failed to resist took the form of self abuse.

(In psychological terms, as history has shown time and again, Comstock’s weakness for porn is hardly a shock considering his coming crusade.)

Comstock was not exactly a wholly freelance operator when it came to his wartime proselytizing. He allied himself with The Christian Commission, a project spearheaded by the YMCA which sent missionaries to the front in order to try and save the souls of both Confederate and Union soldiers. His association with the Christian Commission would prove very profitable in the years following the war.

After leaving the army, Comstock moved to New York and took a job at a dry goods store in Manhattan. While most commentators seem baffled by Comstock’s decision to move to the very heart of American vice, a growing dirty metropolis where taverns, gambling join’s, contraceptive devices, prostitutes and erotic literature were all plentiful and accessible, his motivation as a crusader made the move an obvious one. If your self-appointed mission is to stamp out vice, then you go where the vice is.

And sure enough, the bookseller next door to the dry goods store where Comstock worked, a Mr. Conroy, did a brisk business selling pornographic pictures and erotica to those heathens deaf to the word of the Lord. Understandably outraged by this, Comstock entered the store, purchased an obscene book, brought it straight to the police and then led them to the man who sold it to him.

Although the police took Conroy into custody, the bookseller was soon free again and back to his godless business. Every time Comstock demanded the smut merchant be arrested, he was freed again in a matter of hours, convincing Comstock (and correctly) the cops were in cahoots with the city’s purveyors of vice, though this epiphany in no way tempered his holy mission.

Entrapment not being a major legal roadblock in the late 19th century, Comstock would use the same technique—making an illicit purchase, then fingering the seller—to wage his one-man war om smut peddlers throughout the city.

His tireless crusade soon not only earned Comstock coverage in the local papers, in 1872 it also brought him to the attention of the founders of the YMCA. It was the YMCA’s Christian Commission, after all, which had pushed for an amendment to the 1865 postal bill making it a misdemeanor to send obscene material through the mail. Impressed by Comstock’s efforts to eradicate vice, the YMCA’s brass began introducing the young zealot to a number of wealthy and powerful men around the city who who likewise felt something needed to be done about New York’s shocking moral degradation. Comstock seemed to be just the reformist warrior they were looking for. With their financial backing and political connections supporting him, Comstock founded The New York Society for the Suppression of Vice.

Under the guise of the NYSSV, and with the enthusiastic encouragement of local and federal politicians, wealthy conservatives, and evangelicals, Comstock expanded his efforts, demanding the confiscation of not only blatantly pornigraphic materials and the arrest of those who sold them, but the banning of books, artwork and plays he deemed obscene, though his definition of “obscene” was so broad and so vague it essentially boiled down to “anything Comstock didn’t like.” Over the years this would include medical textbooks, classic literature and newspaper editorials condemning his campaign. The efforts to ban works of art and literature willy-nully came to be known, in a term generally if inaccurately attributed to George Bernard Shaw, as “Comstockery.”

Although Comstock did have any number of outspoken enemies around town, especially among early civil libertarians and women’s rights groups, no one seemed capable of stopping, or even curtailing, his efforts. Because of this, his sense of personal invincibility grew, as did his political clout. People were scared to death of him, even if they hated him and everything he stood for. Cross Comstock, and you could find yourself in prison for sending a Mother’s Day card.

It’s been argued that Comstock’s war on obscene material was, at it’s core, really a war against contraception and abortion, given he argued that the reading of obscene materials inevitably led to the sort of behavior that would bring contraception and abortion into play. Inspired by the 1865 postal law, with the help of his political backers, in 1873 what came to be known as The Comstock Act was passed. The law not only forbade sending obscene material through the mail, but any product or information related to contraception or abortion. Three years later, the Comstock Act (aka The Comstock Law) was amended, its powers greatly expanded. The amended version read:

"Every obscene, lewd, or lascivious book, pamphlet, picture, paper, writing, print or other publication of an indecent character, and every article or thing designed or intended for the prevention of conception or procuring of abortion, and every article or thing intended or adapted for any indecent or immoral use, and every written or printed card, circular, book, pamphlet, advertisement, or notice of any kind giving information, directly or indirectly, where, or how, or of whom, or by what means, any of the hereinbefore mentioned matters, articles, or things may be obtained or made, and every letter upon the envelope of which, or postal card upon which, indecent, lewd, obscene, or lascivious delineations, epithets, terms, or language may be written or printed, are hereby declared to be non-mailable matter, and shall not be conveyed in the mails, nor delivered from any post-office, nor by any letter-carrier.”

After the Act was passed, Comstock was made a Special Agent of the US Postal Service, a position that gave him police powers and the right to carry a gun. Although he received no pay as a postal inspector, it was a position he undertook with gusto, as it granted him the power to make his own arrests without bringing those corrupt cops into it. Returning to the same technique he first used to nab that smut peddler Conroy, Comstock, under a false name, would order material through the mail that was covered under his namesake law, and upon receiving it, would order the arrest of the seller, who would then be charged with a federal offense. This included the publisher of anatomy textbooks, two journalists who had written a piece about the sexual improprieties of a well-known religious figure, even one activist who, as a test, had sent some of the Bible’s racier passages through the mail.

In Charles Gallaudet’s 1913 biography, Anthony Comstock, Fighter: Some Impressions of a Lifetime Adventure in Conflict with the Powers of Evil, Comstock would boast he had destroyed 284,000 pounds of printing plates used to create obscene books, 15 tons worth of printed material, nearly 100,000 “articles made of rubber for immoral purposes,” and millions of pornographic images.

It’s also been rumored, and I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if it was true, that in the process of destroying all that material, Comstock quietly squirreled away a massive secret personal library of confiscated books and images, which he would freely share with his wealthy and powerful friends

By his own account, Comstock arrested some four thousand people over the course of his four-decade career as a “weeder in God’s garden,” as he termed himself. Of these, no case received more press than the arrest of D.M. Bennett, a Free Thinker and publisher of The Truth Seeker magazine. As noted in its first issue, the magazine sought to promote "science, morals, free thought, free discussions, liberalism, sexual equality, labor reform progression, free education, and whatever tends to elevate and emancipate the human race." This, needless to say, did not include religious zealots or self-righteous political opportunists, and so found itself in Comstock’s crosshairs.

Comstock had Bennett arrested for both sending a pamphlet advocating Free Love through the mail, and fore writing an editorial for his magazine entitled “An Open Letter to Jesus Christ.” At the close of the highly-publicized trial, Bennett was found guilty and sentenced to thirteen months in prison for violating The Comstock Act.

Comstock was also mighty proud his efforts had driven at least fifteen lost souls (again by his own reckoning) to commit suicide. One was an abortionist who’d been arrested for giving a bottle of pills to Comstock, after he approached her claiming to be the husband of a woman whose current pregnancy was putting her life at risk. Another was Ida Craddock, the author of several explicit marriage manuals, who was arrested after mailing them to her naive and confused customers. Craddock killed herself the day before reporting to federal prison, leaving behind a blistering note condemning Comstock and his supporters.

Comstock’s final arrest and court case came in January of 1915, when he arrested Bill Sanger, husband of pioneering feminist and contraception-rights activist Margaret Sanger, for distributing her pamphlet “Family Limitation.” Like most of those targeted by Comstock, Sanger was found guilty.

Although Comstock took aim at some worthwhile targets in his war on vice, including medical quackery and economic fraud, he will always be remembered as America’s foremost book-burner, a man whose influence would linger for half a century after his 1915 death. His postmortem influence over what Americans could and could not legally read or see would only be broken in June of 1964, when the Supreme Court ruled Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer was not obscene.

Yeah, Anthony Comstock was a real asshole, a man utterly incapable of minding his own goddamn business. But like Joe McCarthy he still has his ardent supporters among the pro-life and evangelical set, pinch-faced types who pine for the days when abortionists were jailed and books they didn’t understand were burned. In fact one of Comstock’s devotees recently published a graphic novel based on the 1913 biography, which itself was turned into a crudely animated film for those True Believers who remain as illiterate as Comstock himself.

by Jim Knipfel

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doodlelolly0910 · 5 years

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Close Encounters of the Spiritual Kind

Summary: Emma Nolan spent a lot of time alone, and that was fine by her. Because one is never truly alone. She should know. She can talk to dead people. What she didn’t expect was one of these spiritual encounters to hang around, taking her down a rabbit hole of missing women, revenge, and, least expected, love. Can she save the day and Killian Jones? Is there even another choice?

Read it from the beginning on AO3 and FFN!

PLEASE NOTE: Due to the extra long length of this chapter and me being currently limited to mobile posting only, the full length chapter will only be available on AO3 and FFN. Sorry guys!

A/N: Hey guys! I'm so super sorry I'm behind on my posting schedule with this. If you're reading my other story that's posting right now, you know that my life got crazy around the holidays for a minute and it put me back a little ways. But I'm back in the saddle and I hope this extra long (extra steamy) chapter will make up for my absence! We are coming to a close, unfortunately, only one more chapter and the epilogue left! A huge humongous ginormous thank you to @kmomof4 who is the absolute best and has been the most wonderful beta for this fic I could have asked for. Another gigantic thank you to @courtorderedcake who made the beautiful artwork that accompanies each chapter that I still love so freaking much. Go give that talented lady some love. And thank you so much to everyone still with me reading this crazy thing! I love and appreciate each and every one of you. You guys are really the best and I hope you like the new chapter!

Chapter 21

The moment their lips separated is when it began to sink in. They weren't touching but it was like there was an electric charge in the thin space between them. Emma could feel Killian's breath wafting out over her cheeks and she was surprised her heart wasn't brushing against his chest with the way it was trying to beat out of hers. Neither of them spoke or moved, they only stared at each other in the dim light coming from the bathroom in silence, both seemingly trying to work out if the other knew that what had happened was real.

Seconds ticked by.

Maybe minutes.

And then Killian moved with the speed, force, and precision of a lightning bolt. He consumed every drop of sanity Emma had left with his hungry kiss, his thumb finding the dimple in her chin and nudging her mouth open so his eager tongue could delve inside. His hand slid along her jaw and into her hair, careful to avoid the tender area, as he kissed her with a passion she'd never experienced before.

It was like her body knew exactly what to do, reaching up to fist her hand in his t-shirt and pull him closer as she responded just as fervently. They moved in perfect sync with one another until Emma felt like she was spinning from the lack of oxygen. Killian's own need for air became too great as well and he wrenched his lips from hers, sucking in precious oxygen as soon as they parted.

He couldn't stop, though, the stubble on his jaw burning against her skin as he kissed a blazing trail from her mouth up to her ear, shifting so he was half hovering over her. His hand still cradled the back of her neck, his fingers twisting and winding through the strands at her nape, sending sparks shooting over every nerve in her body.

“Tell me you want this, love,” he whispered huskily into the flesh beneath her ear. “Tell me I can have you. Tell me you want me like I want you.” His voice was desperate, strained, like it would cause him physical harm to be rejected now. Luckily for him, Emma had no such intention.

Read the full length chapter on AO3 and FFN!

#captain swan #cs ff #cs ff au #csff #cssns #close encounters of the spiritual kind #captain swan supernatural summer #emma swan #monday update #captain hook #killian jones #chapter 21

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unto-myself-together · 5 years

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Of Stories and Songs: Ch 6

A Haunted Mansion fanfic.

I did want to get this chapter out before the new year 2019, and I guess I accomplished that goal

Author notes and story below the cut.

Authornotes: I wanted to give off the clear impression that there really are 999 spirits roaming around, which is why there’s a lot of going on here in this chapter.

I also apologize; I couldn’t quite find a reference pic that I wanted for the hallway, which may be why it looks a little bad. I also can’t scan things right now very well with what I have on hand.

I also tried to make a picture for the Wallpaper Woman, but it did not come out quite right and I don’t want to post what I came up with.

In this chapter, Karen is beginning to figure out a few things about ghosts, a few things more about the residents of the mansion, as well as a few things about her own psychic abilities.

You may recognize the very end; it’s an edited version of what was originally the teaser for this story. You can still look up the original teaser by going here

And yes. That’s me singing. I may end up removing it if I don’t like it later. I can’t tell if I suck or not. Eh. It may be better if you stare at the hallway artwork while listening to the singing. I don’t know. Tell me if it’s any good.

~~~~

Trigger warnings: ghosts, death concepts/discussions, murder, suicide, abuse, blood, lots of scary stuff (horror), implied sexual abuse, cursing (damn and hell), drug abuse, attempted rape (never completed; in a later chapter).

~~~

Table of Contents:

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 ,

Chapter 6 , Chapter 7

~~~

Ch 6: Sixth Sense

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“If you want the present to be different from the past, study the past.”

---Baruch Spinoza, philosopher

~~~~

Shaking.

She was still curled up in a ball and shaking, though nothing paid her any heed.

No being came and bothered her; neither Ghost Host nor statue.

In a room by herself.

With a single lightbulb.

And a pile of coffins.

Those didn’t move either, and she thanked the stars for that.

Taking a deep breath (a quickly developing habit), she---

---one movement at a time---

---gradually got herself to stand. On two feet, too.

The door of the closet was as solid as when she had first approached it. No sign or markings that a statue had thrusted its arms and face straight through.

Of course not. That would make too much sense in a house full of plain nonsense.

And opening the door only brought with it more nonsense: the hallway was a different hallway than the one she came down. Again. Naturally.

The closet only had one door, so how could she have ended up at a different hallway?

She winced her eyes shut, and slowly opened them again.

No use. The new hallway was still there.

A very long hallway with wooden floors showing underneath the sprawling emerald green carpet. It seemed to go on forever, outlined with light from the small chandeliers every so few feet away. The doors on either side seemed to go on forever as well….except….

There were no door handles on any of them.

She sighed and ventured out. No point in getting upset over this; clearly this was just another thing going for this place.

And it was decently lit; not as bright as she’d like, but she was too frightened that the statue may return if she tried to turn more lights on.

It was so much…louder than before. In the distance, she could hear doors slamming, some people were laughing….Or was that…screaming?

But there was also….singing.

How many people were here?

Who was singing?

(listen to the singing)

[Mother?]

[Mother? Will you sing again soon?]

[Please?]

[I like it when you sing.]

Mother? Was that …the little boy speaking?

Karen willed herself to move forward. The voice was hard to pinpoint where it was coming from, although it sounded close. With the wafting way the voice seemed to rise above all the other sounds of humans, one would have thought it would be easier to find.

She moved one way, only for the voice to sound as though it were coming from the other.

It was impossible to chase the voice.

She frowned and eventually moved in a straighter line.

The voice never wavered, but the sounds of the other people grew louder.

At some point, she reached a junction where a door visibly slammed shut all on its own in front of her.

She froze.

Had she…found more people? More ghosts?

“Hello?” She asked, tentatively.

There was no response. No even the lightbulb breaking trick that the statue had been fond of.

Biting her lower lip, she voted against opening any doors and continued on.

The deeper she went, the colder it got. And louder the noises grew. It was more apparent that there was both laughter and screams all vying for space in the echoing halls.

She tried not to chatter her teeth as she brought her jacket closer around her.

Ahead, a black coffin lay atop a table among decayed flowers and rotting leaves. It took her more than a few moments to notice the glass enclosure that lay behind the dying candles, giving her the hint that she had made her way to the glass room she’d seen from outside.

The conservatory.

She flinched as this information popped in her head. Knowledge was all well and good, but she was beginning to really hate that facts and memories were intruding straight into her brain.

As she drew closer, the coffin unexpectedly jerked.

“Carlotta?!! Carlotta, I can hear you! Open up this lid!”

Her mouth went dry; she couldn’t answer.

“I can HEAR you, Carlotta! I swear to pieces, I. WANT. OUT. I’m so tired of these little games you play.”

Below the jutting wood and through a small hole drilled in the sides, there was a single eyeball, pale white and outlined in the decaying flesh of a corpse.

“I. SEE. YOU.” The sinews of old flesh flexed.

Karen wasn’t sure how she was supposed to react. She felt so worn out, she couldn’t quite bring her own anxiety up in response to a talking corpse in a jerking coffin. In a split decision, she instead quickly moved on, away from the conservatory. The Ghost Host was bad enough; she didn’t need more dead people threatening her life. Why, she’d start to get used to it.

A safe distance away, she slowed her pace again, her hands instinctively going to her pockets to get warmth.

The ring….

She pulled it out. The diamond sparkled at the tip, and the golden band almost glowed in the dim light.

Such a pretty thing…..And such…..a very strange….feeling….

…..

She stood at the foot of a bed. The young boy was already tucked in for the night, but he clung to the maid’s apron.

“Please mother? Can’t you read me just one bedtime story? I’m scared.”

Emily Slater hesitated, but then looked in fondness upon the boy’s face.

“I suppose there’s time for one. Which would you like?”

“Your favorite, mother.” He grinned sheepishly at her.

“Again?” She chuckled, but settled down next to him. One of her hands gently went to smooth out the ruffled mop of his hair. “…Don’t you grow tired of it?”

“…You don’t ever tire of it…You said you liked it….And…A-and it will take a long time, so you don’t have to go back to him yet!”

Her face was overcome with solemnity and sorrow. She gently cupped his face and stroked his cheek.

“You shouldn’t worry about such things, little one,” she said this with a smile, but her eyes told a different story. “Leave that to me, all right? Now, how does this story begin again…?”

She gave him a teasing side eye, which the boy responded in turn with an even wider grin.

“Once upon a time!” He said.

“Oh, that’s right! How could I forget? Once upon a time…

There lived a beautiful young woman named Ella.

But she lived with her cruel stepmother, and her equally cruel stepsisters.

They did not treat her like one of the family; instead, they treated her as a lowly servant.

And she was made to sleep amongst the fireplace cinders.

Her dirty, soot caked face convinced the stepsisters to start calling her

Cinderella.”

“But she didn’t give up and she tried really really hard to stay good!” The boy said.

“That’s right. Despite how cruel they were, she never gave up.

Her mother had made her promise to always be a good person, no matter what.

And so she always tried to be the best she could be.

One day, the handsome prince of the kingdom invited all of the girls in the village to his royal ball.”

“So that he could find someone to marry.”

“Yes…so he could find someone to marry…”

“And Ella is the one he found and fell in love with!” The boy exclaimed, eager now. “And he saved her from her cruel stepfamily and they lived happily ever after!”

Emily laughed and playfully poked his nose. “I thought you wanted to hear me read a story to you. Not the other way around.”

“I’m sorry, mother.” The boy couldn’t tone down his smile. “It’s my favorite part, because Ella gets all the nice things she deserves…”

“Yes…” Emily smiled back at him, a little bit more wistfully. “That part is my favorite too…”

The boy stared up at her, his smile dying down. “….Would you…want a prince to come save you, mother?”

She was startled by the question, her mouth hanging open. “I….that is…”

“Do…do you think that Nathaniel is the prince…?”

“No,” she said, rather firmly and immediately. But she then added: “Perhaps at one time…I may have thought he was. But that was a long time ago.”

The boy’s expression was unreadable, but he continued to watch her.

“What if….What if I saved you, mother?”

“…What?”

“When I grow up…I can come and save you, like the prince in the story!” The child’s enthusiasm was precious enough that she could not help but smile sweetly back at him.

“You can’t…you can’t marry me, little one,” she said, trying her best not to laugh at the well intentioned naiveté.

“No, but I can save you! I could! When I grow up, I promise!”

“You…” She tried not to let her emotions overcome her. The boy’s childish, pure logic was enviable.

She sighed, and stroked his hair. “I think you will have much more important things to focus on when you grow up. You should concentrate on school an—“

“Emily! Oh Emily!” A young man walked in. His face, and the way he held himself, looked all too familiar.

The man from the first memory.

“Nathaniel! I’ll…I’ll be with you in a moment. I’m telling a story—“

“Could it be a story about how my mother died years ago…” Nathaniel interrupted, his eyes narrowing in the young boy’s direction, “…and this brat is responsible?”

“Nathaniel!” She gasped, and tried to pull him away as he approached the child.

The boy whimpered and cowered under the covers, perhaps with the belief it might somehow save him.

“Oh, but Emily. My sweet Emily, there’s no mincing words. If he hadn’t been born…”

“Nathaniel! Not now, please.”

“And why NOT now? It’s as good a time as ever to bring it up again! Especially as he’s all nice and cozy in bed, being read to him by his ‘dear mother’.”

These last words he said with both heavy sarcasm and a disgusted sneer.

“How wonderful that you have a mother to read you stories!”

The man grew more and more visibly red in the face as he screamed.

“How I wish I could say the same, isn’t that right?!”

“Nathaniel, please. Nathaniel…I…I-I can read to you too, if you’d li-“

“Shut up!”

A sickening sound later and Emily was on the floor, hand clasped her face.

Nathaniel looked at her, almost in disbelief, and slowly looked at his own hands.

“N-no. Mother!” The child threw the covers off and tried to run to her side.

But Nathaniel grabbed him and pushed him to the ground. “What do you think you’re doing, brat? You see what you do? Do you see how angry you made me?! It’s…It’s your fault! It’s all your fault! You stupid little—“

Emily threw herself at the man as he advanced on the boy. “Nathaniel, please stop!”

“Let go of me! He needs to be taught his place. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

....

Her head was throbbing as she banged it against the wall in an effort to scuttle away.

Karen.

Her name was Karen, right?

That was right, right?

Karen’s whole body was shaking. That memory, or whatever it was, was much more powerful than the others. She struggled to bring herself back to the present time.

A hallway. The mansion house that she and Michael had entered.

Karen. Her name was Karen.

In a futile effort, Karen closed her eyes and tried to will away the feeling of a mark across her face.

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Her cheek wasn’t REALLY stinging from a man hitting her.

She rose a hand to her face to feel against her cheek. There was no pain. It all vanished as soon as she did that.

Her attention went back to the memory. Emily looked younger than she did in the memory with the Ghost Host….and yet…

She didn’t remember the boy being with her when Emily struck a deal with the Ghost Host.

Why hadn’t she taken her son with her when she fled the mansion?

Karen’s stomach dropped as she thought through the implications of this.

What happened….to her son…?

She leaned heavily against the wall. Her head was pounding as soon as she stood up, and it was causing her to see things.

Strange things.

Like the face in the wallpaper.

……..

Karen blinked again.

…..There was a face…..in the wallpaper….of the hall….

She shook her head to try and get the pounding away, but that only made the pain worse.

It also didn’t seem to make the face disappear; on the contrary, it was now coupled with a set of hands.

Karen took a few uneasy steps back. The wallpaper already looked like a series of faces, and more than once she had to ignore what she’d thought were eyes blinking back at her. But this was such an obviously sculpted human form that she couldn’t just wave it away as a flight of fancy result of too many memories.

And it was becoming more and more pronounced by the seconds.

First it had been a face, mouth wide open as if frozen in a scream.

Then it had been a set of hands, reaching in front as if trying to escape.

Next a torso.

Then a foot.

A dress.

A person…

The wallpaper woman, newly freed from the wall, mechanically turned to Karen’s direction. Karen stumbled back further as the mouth opened and closed as if on hinges, hands opening and closing as if stretching. The pliability of the wallpaper person was increasing.

They could now close their mouth.

They could now put their hands down.

They could now open their eyes: Stark white eyes, with no pupils in sight.

Karen stumbled further back out of caution.

“Miss Slater!!” The Wallpaper Woman yelled, advancing upon her, “Miss Slater! Are you messing around with that boy again?!”

“Uh…uh….”

The woman was advancing further and further. A human shape, human face, but completely composed of wallpaper, save for stark white eyes. The purple of the paper of her “dress” almost had a sheen to it, like real silk would have.

“I swear, if the Master finds out what you’ve been doing with his son, he’ll kick you out for sure! Be thankful the war has preoccupied him for so long!”

But how do I say no to Nathaniel? I’m scared.

Karen tried to shake the intrusive thought away. She was already under the end table of the hallway.

“I’m only hard on you for your own good, Miss Slater!”

The Wallpaper Woman pounded on the table, her knocking almost akin to slamming her fist down in frustration.

Karen screamed, in part because she didn't know what to do, but also in some vain hope someone would help her.

The Wallpaper Woman paused. Karen could see the “hem” of her “dress” as it jutted out into her personal space.

The woman’s face loomed as the spirit ducked down its torso.

“You….” She said, her pupil-less eyes staring.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Karen whimpered; she could not retreat any further back and resorted to sticking her arms up in defense.

“Y-you….”

The Wallpaper Woman’s eyes began to flicker….a circle forming in the center of each of them….a pupil….

“Y-y-you…are….m-mortal….” The Wallpaper Woman stuttered in time with the flickering pupils.

Karen was struck speechless with confusion. This was a heel face turn and she couldn’t bring herself to respond.

“W-what…..what…..are you…..doing here…..?” The pupils seemed to refuse to solidify fully.

“I….I’m sorry….I’m….lost….” Karen finally managed to gulp back the lump.

The Wallpaper Woman laughed weakly. It had a sound similar to sandpaper slapped and scrapped together.

“So….so am I….Lost…I am Lost…like many…here….”

The spirit was retreating, and Karen, after hesitating, felt safe enough to poke her head out from under the table.

The spirit was….going backwards, as if by invisible force, towards the wallpaper. She reached it, and her face was contorted in agony for a flicker of a second as a crunching sound was heard.

“Wait!” Karen got out and approached her. “How do I get out of here? How do I find my friend? You haven’t….you haven’t seen a living boy--”

That sounded so odd out of her mouth.

“A living boy about my age come by here, have you?”

The crackling continued; the wallpaper surrounding the spirit began to latch onto the spirit herself, returning her to the rest of the wall.

“Down the hall….to the junction….” The spirit’s voice began to crackle too. “Two rights….one left…to the ballroom…the ones there are not Lost…they can help….they can help better…”

The ghost let out a cry as it fell further into the wall, which alarmed Karen. The ghost’s arms and dress were already dispersed through the wall.

“Are you okay?” Karen asked anxiously, her mortal hands hovering around the wallpaper in an attempt to help, but she wasn’t sure what to help with.

“Don’t let….” The ghost’s voice was beginning to fade now. “Don’t let…Master…Gracey….he will possess you…He wants…a body….”

The crackling came to a climax as the woman’s head embedded into the wall. The mouth of the woman fell silent as it was crackled over with more wallpaper.

It was hard to tell there had ever been a woman at all…

Master Gracey….

Which Master Gracey? As far as Karen could guess, Gracey was a family name and not one particular person.

Karen continued onward. At least the spirit had been nice enough to give her directions, but now she had even more questions.

Who was that ghost, since she knew Emily Slater?

Why did the ghost think she was Emily Slater?

What did the ghost mean by saying she herself was ‘Lost’? Wouldn’t a spirit who had lived here (or was it unlive?) for a long time know their way around?

Why did she have to find ghosts who were not ‘Lost’ in order to find her way out?

Did this have something to do with those strange white eyes that the spirits in this hallway seemed to all possess?

Karen turned all of these thoughts over in her head. Now that she considered it, the statue ghost had backed off after getting a set of pupils too.

The junction.

Karen had reached the junction. Four hallways (including the one she’d just came from) all intersecting together. And they were all different.

To the left, was such a completely dark hallway, it was impossible to see.

In the front was a brightly lit hallway, but it was encased completely in spider’s webs and parts of the doorframes and objects were severely distorted like something from a dream.

To the right…and Karen was very grateful for this, it was a hallway lit with moderate amounts of green light. The green light was creepy, but the hallway itself looked much like the one she had just came from.

One right….

As she wandered down the hall, the green light making her feel like a shamrock, she heard a deep….booming….laugh….

“Hmm hmm hmm hmmm…..”

That sounded just like….

“Ghost Host…?” She called out tentatively.

Her fingers felt along the edges of another table, preparing herself to hide again. That laughter couldn’t possibly be a good sign.

An old hat stool beside her…..her head was beginning to pound again….this felt just like…

…..

The slamming of the door caused Lucy to look up. The master, Solomon Gracey, had barged through the front entrance with an absolute look of chagrin on his face.

Immediately, she sought to step forward.

“Sir, shall I take your coat and hat?”

But he seemed to pay her no heed, instead choosing to take out a length of letter head and angrily scribble something she couldn’t quite read from her vantage point.

“S-sir?” She tentatively stepped closer, and Solomon’s face snapped to hers.

She almost felt frozen; held in the gaze of brilliantly blue eyes that still smoldered with barely restrained fury.

“S….S-s-sir?”

The gaze softened into surprise; and she felt release as if from physical bonds as his expression turned more neutral.

“Yes, Miss Blanchard? Did you need me?”

“Your….your coat….”

Confusion crossed his lips, then…

“Oh….yes, of course.” He shrugged off his outer coat and handed it to her alongside his hat. “Tell me, is Abigail around?”

“She…she should be in the main parlor, sir.”

“Of course. Thank you.” He nodded his acknowledgement to her with an apologetic smile, before leaving her. He took the paper with him.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Lucy!” A female voice whispered.

Lucille looked up to see Elizabeth, another maid, standing in the doorstep. She felt obliged to neatly hang up the master’s affects before joining her. The wafting fragrance of cypress, vetiver, and sandalwood rubbed off of the clothes and seemingly followed along with her.

Elizabeth giggled as Lucy came close.

“The master and Abigail are talking in the parlor.” Elizabeth said.

“I know; I sent him there.” Lucy took another deep breath, trying to wave away the memory of that stare (and also partially the fragrance of his clothes).

“Don’t you want to go up and give a little listen?” Elizabeth asked, coyly.

“I tell you; I do not think that is a very good idea at the moment. The master seemed rather angry coming in just now.”

“Oh he won’t mind. He’s already caught me eavesdropping before.”

“Elsie!” Lucy cried, laughing a bit with a tinge of red in her face.

“Well it is true! Just the other day, in fact! I was polishing the door handles when-“

“You don’t polish any of the door handles!” She playfully pushed at her friend.

“A good maid has to be attentive to every detail!” Elizabeth playfully pushed back.

“Hogwash. You were there solely because you wanted to listen in.”

“Aren’t you curious enough to know what happened?”

Lucy stared back at the gall of her friend. Both couldn’t resist to hold a cheeky smile on the edges of their lips.

“Go on then. Don’t leave me in suspense.” Lucy said.

“Well I was listening in, and it seems the company has been having trouble with that Williams’ family in town.”

“When are they not vying for each other’s business?”

“But that’s not the whole of it! I also heard of a circus…”

“A circus?”

“Yes. You know that strange circus that’s been making its rounds across the state? They were here some many years ago. It was so filled with dark things and death that I could scarcely stand it.”

“I remember it. But why the circus?”

“Well there seems to be a singer he’s taken an interest in.”

“To hire?”

“I’d say it was because he had something of a fancy for her. I can’t think of any reason why the Gracey family would need to hire a circus performer.”

“Neither can I, and yet you’re here.”

“Lucy!” The gobsmacked expression on Elsie’s face made it well worth the statement, even if it earned her a pinch on her arm in the process.

“And for my next trick!” Lucy stated with a giggling air of grandiosity. “I, the Great Elsie, will attempt—and fail—to fold the a simple shirt!”

“You beast, you beast!” Elsie laughed along as she nudged her friend harder.

“But you haven’t said the part where you’re caught.”

“I would get to that if it weren’t for all these interruptions you cause.”

They stared each other down, all smiles, and Elsie finally gave way first.

“All right, all right. So there I was. An ear to the door, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“Hush you. An ear to the door, and, before I had known it, the door had suddenly swung open, and I landed none too ceremoniously at the master’s feet!”

“You didn’t! What did he say?”

“He was rather amused; you could read it on his face. I could even swear that those handsome blue eyes of his glistened a bit too. And he was very much the gentleman, allowing me to gather myself without so much as a word at my expense. But the moment I was up and proper, my dress smoothed out and face as red as a rose he leaned forward a bit and….”

“….And?? Elsie!”

Elizabeth laughed and leaned towards her. “And he said ‘Remember for next time, Miss Fletcher, that the doors in this particular hallway swing inward.’”

Both erupted in a fit of giggles.

“He didn’t.”

“He did!”

“Does that mean he approves of the habit?”

“I certainly mean to take it that way. Mr. Galloway, who was the one speaking to him, was not so amused. Oh but you should have seen it, Lucy. I could swear by Mr. Gracey’s grin he was teasing me. Perhaps I stand as much a chance as that circus performer.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I think he was only humoring you. A smile doesn’t always mean a spark; you’ve too vivid an imagination for your own good sometimes.”

“A girl can still dream.” Elsie’s grin widened and she poked at her friend’s elbow. “You can’t honestly say that YOU’VE never felt a bit of a thing for our young employer, now can you?”

“Of course not.”

“…Uh huh.”

Lucy very much believed she did a good job steadying her emotions. But the moment she peered over and saw Elsie’s smug little grin, she could feel her face heating up.

“Well at the very least, I don’t wear it upon my sleeve. Unlike some people.” Lucy elbowed her back. “Your wanting is very nearly improper.”

“Oh it is very improper. To think; an eligible bachelor of his status ever considering to court a maid, of all people. But one doesn’t have to be courted to try and catch a gentleman’s eye. A little fun off the books never hurt anyone... ”

“Elsie!” Lucy’s face felt even hotter. “That is so inappropriate! Truly, I should think your mouth ought to be washed with soap!”

But Elsie only laughed. “Speaking of inappropriate, shall we go and listen in on what the master and Miss Galloway are doing in the parlor?”

Lucille made a face. “I don’t….think that’s wise today, Elsie.”

“Well why not?”

“The Graceys are just as much known for their generosity in payment as they are for their quick and violent tempers. And I’m telling you, the master’s temper looked particularly ready to boil over when he came in just now. I know firsthand what happens when one of the family is peeved with you…”

As if in response, the scars on her back stung a bit despite their age. The marks of a fine piece of birch.

“Oh my dear Lucy.” Elsie gently touched her cheek out of comfort. “I do so forget that you are used to Mrs. Emmeline Gracey. I promise you, as someone who has spent much time with Mr. Solomon before he left for school that he is not like his other relatives. His temper is as the same as them, but he has never once raised a hand to me or anyone else that works here. It’s all right.”

Lucy hesitated, but nonetheless allowed herself to be dragged by the hand as they crept upstairs to the walkway overlooking the main parlor.

“Speaking of a thing for the master. Have you ever notice how Miss Abigail Galloway looks at him? ….He looks at her much of the same way…”

….

Karen was panting, her hands shaking as she sat grasping the hat stand. Somehow, she had slumped her way down to the floor.

Were these….memories….getting more frequent?

Karen….her name was Karen…

And that’s exactly when she realized; she was no longer a third person observer.

The first memories she’d seen, she had always been her own separate person, watching in on the people in the memory as if she were some omnipotent being.

But this memory….she wasn’t Karen watching in….she was Lucy.

She was actually Lucy.

And before, she’d been Emily. She’d actually raised her hand to her cheek in response to being struck by Nathaniel.

If this continued on…was she going to…..

Was Karen going to….

She gave a soft cry and leaned against the hat stand.

She was still shaking so badly, she wasn’t sure she could stand up.

“Hmm hmm hmmm….”

“Ghost Host!” She cried out. “Ghost Host Ghost Host Ghost Host…”

In that moment, she wasn’t sure if she cared that he’d torment her further. She just wanted something familiar to latch onto. To ground her. Anything.

“What’s this? Calling for me now?”

“Yes…” Karen choked out, clinging to the hat stand like a teddy bear.

“My, we must be desperate. Could it be that you’ve missed me? Please do be honest, hmm hmm…”

She gritted her teeth. Already, he was getting on her nerves; this was a bad idea. But it was the best she had. She couldn’t even think straight at the moment. She still had Lucy’s thoughts swimming in her head.

“Yes,” She lied.

“….What an underwhelming response. You couldn’t at least flatter me a little, my dear? Say how wonderful I am and how happy you are to hear my voice? ”

Again, that stupid tone in his voice that gave off the impression of superiority and mockery. She grasped the hat stand tighter.

“Are you, perhaps, stuck? Need assistance to get where you’re going?”

“I….” She would have preferred to have found her way without having to resort to this creep’s help, but the pounding of her head and the haze in her brain already made her forget how many turns she made.

Was it supposed to be two lefts and a right? Or two rights and a left?

“….Yes…” She breathed, worn out, “Yes, I need help.”

“As you wish.”

The door nearest to her swung open and a suit of armor appeared. A moving suit of armor, naturally.

“Because why not…?” She muttered under her breath.

She didn’t immediately figure out why he summoned a moving suit of armor until it took a swing at her hat stand with an axe.

The sound of the top of the hat stand being sliced through and clattering to the floor had a semi sobering effect on her. She jumped to attention, and barely managed to dodge as another swing came for her head.

“You said helping! This isn’t helping!”

She careened down the hall, the suit of armor in hot pursuit.

“Ah, but it’s helping you move, isn’t it?”

“I hate you,” she seethed under her breath, “For once, can you not be a little piece of—“

She was interrupted when a wall suddenly materialized in her way.

“Tsk, tsk. Good mortals watch their language.”

She fumed, angry tears in her eyes, but gave no further reply. She had to duck again as another axe swing came her way.

Down a different hallway. Left. Right again. Was she going the correct way? The hallways were getting quieter. No longer could she hear the chorus of people laughing and screaming. That couldn’t be a good sign.

She stumbled against the wall, picking herself up just long enough to turn around the next corner. Another hallway filled with creaky wooden floors and seemingly endless darkness.

But she didn’t have time to think or even consider that the corridor that lay in front of her was worse than the one behind.

She had to keep moving forward.

And forward.

And--

Something suddenly slammed into her. She stepped back, dazed at first, only to feel in front, anxiety growing, and confirmed it: A wall.

“Dead end?”

A taunt and a chuckle as she frantically grasped around in the darkness for some hope of a door.

She could feel him. More and more it was becoming as if he had a tangible presence. The longer she stood in that one spot, the colder she grew and the more pronounced the sensation crept down her spine.

She had a feeling that it wasn’t just out of fear; there was something about being near the self-proclaimed ‘Ghost Host’ that made her feel like icy fingers were gently clawing down her back. Needless to say, it was none too pleasant a feeling.

She couldn’t see. There were still leftovers of tears in her eyes and her pounding head was still making it hard to think, but that mattered very little when the hallway itself was so dark. There were shapes in the shadows creeping towards her, but she had no way of knowing if one of them was the armor. They moved and danced to give the darkness an almost liquid appearance.

And they were coming closer.

And CLOSER.

AND–

A door banged open right near her, jolting her from her helpless staring. She felt something else moving in the darkness, something that was distinctively different.

Quite suddenly, her mouth was full with the taste of….licorice?

“What,” A different voice, low and deep and angry “in Blue Heavens is all this racket?!”

She could actually see a little better in the doorway, as the man was illuminated a bit from some unseen light from within. Somewhat tall with a fine cut suit, he gave off the airs of an extremely influential individual.

His eyes.

Unlike the statue’s. Unlike the coffin man’s. Unlike the wallpaper woman’s.

He did NOT have milky white eyes. He had pupils.

They were as blue and as beautiful as always. Perhaps even more so than she’d seen in the memories or even in his portrait.

And he was standing before her now.

Solomon Gracey.

#fanfiction #haunted mansion fanfiction #the haunted mansion fanfiction #fanfics #my fanfiction

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