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leopardmask-ao3 · 2 years

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Week 9 of the 10 Weeks of Celebration challenge! This week's prompt: The Future. Which was a very uncertain distance away when I wrote this, but is now significantly closer than expected, hence the early-in-the-week upload lol.

Gem and False are hunting frogs to take home. That's it, that's pretty much the fic.

Read it on ao3 or

"Whoaa."

"Well," False declared. "I think we've found the place."

"Look at the mangroves!" Gem scrambled down the hill they had crested, headed for the spreading trees. She hopped up onto one of the raised roots and gently grabbed a hanging branch, taking a close look at the long, thin leaves. "False! These are going to be so pretty!"

"Have you seen the color of the wood inside?" False asked, sliding the last few feet to meet Gem.

"Not in person yet. But I've heard, and I'm so excited."

"Just don't forget that's not the only thing we're here for," False reminded her, lowering her voice and scanning her surroundings carefully.

"Right," Gem stage-whispered back. She crouched down and leaped to another root, while False trekked directly over the thick mud. "I think we gotta get closer to the water."

"You might have had the right idea, getting up on the roots like that," False observed, wrinkling her nose at the mud piling up on the soles of her boots. "This stuff is getting heavy. It's worse than soul sand, I swear."

"Yeah! I'm smart sometimes." Gem offered a hand, which False took to pull herself up. False steadied herself against the trunk of the tree and started scraping her boots off on a root, then looked around to see Gem preparing to jump to the next tree.

Gem hopped nimbly from root to root, with False following closely behind, until Gem stopped them both with a raised hand. "Wait! I hear..."

She stood still for a moment, motionless except for her ears pinpointing the sound. Gem grinned, then silently waved False forward. False grinned back and got a lead ready.

There! Next to a patch of water, an orange frog sat, croaking every few seconds. False whirled the lead like a lasso, then threw it.

The frog tried to hop away, but the lead caught! Struggling against the rope, the frog let out a long-winded, high squeal of distress as False reeled it in. Gem picked it up gently, wincing at the sound. "Hey, hey, it's okay! You're gonna have a nice time back home, I promise. Maybe you can even have some axolotl friends!"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Gem," False advised. "Don't axolotls eat frogs? Or their tadpoles, at least."

"Oh." Gem held up the frog like it was a cat. "You'll get your own tank then! With another froggy friend!"

"Oh, right, we gotta get another one so we can get all the colors, don't we?" False sighed. "Maybe we could find a tadpole? Then it would at least fit in a bucket."

"Yeah! We at least need the white one," Gem reminded False. "For Pearl! Sorta."

False chuckled. "You got someone lined up to help you with that plan, or are you going to farm the magma cubes yourself?"

"I asked Impulse, of course," Gem chirped. "He thought it was pretty funny. He's even found a bastion we can use! Operation Pearlescent Froglights for Pearlescentmoon is a go!"

"As long as we get the white frog."

"As long as we get a white frog!"

The orange frog squirmed in Gem's arms, then pushed off and landed back in the mud. Gem yelped as the force of the jump knocked her backward. Her hoof slipped from the root, and the next thing she knew, she was flailing on muddy ground, struggling to get her hooves under her.

"Oh gosh," False laughed.

Gem slipped, one foot staying stuck in the mud while the rest of her fell again. "Ow. I'm not built for this, False. I really don't want to break an ankle because of a frog. Frogs are supposed to be nice."

"Hang on." False took the end of the lead she was still holding and started trying to tie it around one wrist. "Don't some worlds have hoofed creatures that live in swamps just fine?"

Gem pulled herself free with a squelching sound and tried walking, sighing in frustration when every step required her to pull her knees practically up to her chest. "I'm not a moose, False. Have you seen those things? Their legs alone are as tall as I am. I'm more of a creature of the forest."

False knelt down and held out her hand, bracing herself as Gem pulled herself back up onto the root. Gem wrinkled her nose at the mud caking her legs and back. "Gross."

"Right? Let's get that tadpole and get out of here. I'd rather swim in the swamp water with a bucket than fall in this mud again."

"Agreed."

-----

Bonus end scene: The frog meets the slime man.

When they got home, Gem proudly showed off the frog to a number of hermits - including Jevin. Totally not because she and False wanted to see if it would scare him, nope.

Instead, Jevin looked excited when they showed up. He jogged over to greet them and the frog - "Hey, little guy!" - and chuckled at the slightly disappointed expressions on the ladies' faces.

"Yeah, I'm a little too big for this dude, huh?" Jevin reached his hand out to pet the frog. The frog shot its tongue out, pulling Jevin's hand into its mouth and startling all three of them. But, not a second later, the frog released him, and proceeded to ignore all further approaches. Jevin patted it on the head. "See? Too big. Sorry, buddy - you'll have to get your next meal elsewhere."

#hermitcraft #my fic #10 years of hermitcraft #the Wild Update #still not sure how to properly Tumblr Tag #geminitay #falsesymmetry #iJevin #(in the bonus scene)

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codename-adler · 3 years

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Death of Heroes

Because not even Neil can outrun the ephemerality of men.

Renee is the first one to go.

Nearing sixty but never reaching it, she is outlived by Abby and Wymack. At least Stephanie Walker is waiting for her at the gates of Heaven, but for the rest of her Foxes, the loss is heavy.

It’s cancer. Leukemia.

It started with the bruises from her sparring matches with Andrew not healing very well. Then not at all. After decades of maintaining these monthly meetings, of keeping her body healthy, Renee finally has to give it up. She knows something is wrong, and she knows that these sessions won’t be of any help, now.

Then the extreme fatigue starts. Still, Renee doesn’t do a thing about it. Or at least, she lets life go its own course. She looses weight, which she already doesn’t have much of. But then the nosebleeds begin, and it’s no use telling Allison to stop worrying. The diagnosis is unsurprising, yet still shattering. And it’s not a good prognosis either, but it’s still not bad enough for the doctor to give up the Five-Year survival plan.

Renee has to speak up. Ally, I don’t want to do this. She has to put her foot down. Allison, my love, it’ll be okay. I won’t get better, you and I both know that. But it can be okay. It can still be good.

Renee doesn’t get treatment. Renee doesn’t tell anybody, except Andrew. Because Andrew knows, somehow, that she made a terrible, irreversible choice. Because Andrew only deals in truths. Because Andrew is Andrew, and just as he needed her all those years ago, she needs him now.

A little more than six months pass, with less and less outings from Renee and more and more excuses from Allison, and Renee gets sick. Really sick. It starts like a regular cold. Then it looks more like the flu. And suddenly it’s pneumonia, and respiratory difficulties, and lung failure. She’s in that hospital bed, wearing that gown, breathing in that mask. Renee finally nods to Allison, giving her consent.

Ally makes the call.

Only Andrew and Dan make it in time.

Renee Walker goes out like a light.

The Foxes, who had once upon a time been used to murders, life-threatening schemes and acts of extreme violence, had never really known Death itself. The simple, yet inevitable fate of human lives. Of going quietly into the night. It’s all so quiet. So anticlimactic. It’s so quiet, too quiet, too heavy with silence. This time, there is no one to blame, no one to punish, no one to take responsibility.

It’s just life. It’s just death.

Wymack and Abby can’t believe that one of their Foxes, on of their kids, left before them. Renee’s Korean roots made her look barely a day over forty, which made it all so much worse. Renee’s death takes a toll on every single one of them. Because it’s Renee, the best of them. Because all her papers are in orders, her will to date, her wishes known; just as when she was alive, she leaves no chaos behind her.

There is nothing and no one to be mad at, except life.

In the cemetery where Stephanie Walker is buried, Andrew buys a large lot of land. (Large enough to one day welcome all the Foxes) The tomb is moved over there, and Renee’s name is added. A tree is planted above her scattered ashes. It’s very small, very fragile, but with the years, it grows strong.

For the first time, the Foxes realize that, despite going through Hell and back in their youth, they are not immortal. There is nothing to be done about that, but it hurts. It hurts to lose their angel this way, so soon, so suddenly. It hurts to lose, period. It feels like a failure, like giving up. They lost her. They lost.

But somehow, they gained something else they might never know about. Renee might have been the only religious one among them, but that didn’t stop her from becoming their Guardian Angel. Because somehow, from then on, the Foxes were spared.

Let me show you.

Just as Bee had a few years before Renee, Abby, then Wymack, simply die in their sleep, no fight, no agony. None of them have to see another Fox go before them. They don’t have to go through that indescribable ordeal ever again. They are spared the pain.

Then decades pass, enough for the remaining Foxes to grow very old, and live very long. Not infinitely, but long enough.

Matt is the next one to go.

Matt has worked hard all his life, both mentally and physically. It comes to no surprise, then, that arthritis chose to invade his body. For the first few years living with the diagnosis, natural medicine and osteopathy are enough to keep the pain at bay. It doesn’t stop Matt from doing anything. He babysits his 9 grandchildren with Dan every week; he goes on roadtrips with Dan every summer; he goes on a light jog with Dan every day.

It’s just that one day, it’s not enough anymore. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the pain becomes too much for Matt to do his day-to-day activities. And really, the pain, he could take; it was an old friend, a familiar feeling, almost like a sixth sense.

It was the mental toll of it all that he couldn’t take. To have to say no to seeing his grandchildren. No to driving around endlessly and aimlessly for hours. No to waking up in sync with Dan every morning, and no to their routine, and no, and no, and just- not living.

For the first time in a long time, Matt doesn’t want to do this anymore.

But he does, still. He smiles, and he lies, and he tries to will away the pain.

It all comes down to one afternoon, when he takes his painful walk of the day around the neighborhood. There are three little kids playing Exy in their driveway, when suddenly a ball escapes their racquets and rolls down in the street. The smallest kid runs after it, runs and runs and runs, without looking. Kind of like Neil, Matt thinks to himself before his body acts of his own. The kid doesn’t see the car, and the car doesn’t see the kid. Matt sees both.

The BMW is going way over the limit, its sleek black sides reflecting the sun too brightly. Despite his pain, despite his age, despite his now slow reflexes, Matt leaps. He screams at the kid to stop and turn around, to let the ball roll away, but to no avail.

Matt pushes the kid away in time for the car to hit him instead, and only him.

The rest becomes a blur, but the final verdict is as such: broken hip, shattered leg, probably won’t walk ever again, even with surgery. The doctors and surgeons warn Matt that with his age, his pre-existing condition, and his drug history, surgery might kill him. But Matt refuses to be bedridden for the rest of his already miserable life. Dan knows that. She knows that he has to try. Knows that he might not pull through. She also knows that Matt wants to go, has wanted to for a while now.

She calls Neil. She calls Allison. From there, all the Foxes are bound to get the news. Matt promises to wait until their arrival before going into surgery. In the meantime, the nurses start a morphine line, after warning the couple very strongly about the side effects and the risks. But Matt is in pain, terrible pain, and it’s a compromise to wait for his Foxes. It takes about a week for all of them to come to his bedside, with Nicky being last, coming all the way from Germany. Neil and Allison barely leave his room; Dan doesn’t at all. The others take turns, leaving as much space for Matt’s kids and grandkids as their hearts can allow.

The open spot for Matt’s surgery is on a Friday.

Matt Boyd does not make it to Friday.

The morphine is too heavy on his heart. It was a possible outcome, not as alarming as the upcoming surgery, but... Matt had secretely wished to go ever since and- maybe, up there in Heaven, someone heard him...

Dan and Matt had had a mutual understanding, that it was okay, but it doesn’t make it any more easy to let go.

Two months into Matt’s departure, Allison moves in with Dan. She walks her through every stage of grief. She grieves all over again herself, too. But they make it.

Same goes for Andrew with Neil. Neil doesn’t know loss like this. Death like this.

And yet. And yet. Deep, deep down, Neil is scared. That after all his years of running, and fighting, and lying, he won’t get that peaceful ending Matt was granted.

But Neil lives.

And Nicky leaves.

A few months after Matt, he and Erik simply stay in the States. They say it’s because they want to be close, because they don’t want to miss anything, because they don’t want to risk a Fox leaving without a chance at saying goodbye. Because Nicky misses his Aaron and his Andrew.

Which are all valid and true motives. It’s just not the whole truth.

Nicky has dementia. Alzheimer’s, to be precise. Diagnosed about a year ago. It’s not bad yet, but- It’s the endless back-and-forth between the house and “der Supermarkt” because Nicky forgot what he drove there for in the first place. It’s forgetting words in all the languages Nicky speaks. It’s freaking out at all the Germans speaking German, because Nicky sometimes believe he is still living in America. It’s not finding the Columbia house and panicking when Nicky can’t get a hold of Andrew or Aaron.

It’s hard, it’s heartbreaking, it’s terrifying, but it’s manageable.

Once Nicky and Erik settle back down in North Carolina, they both wonder how long it’ll take before the twins figure it out, because there is no way Nicky is telling them, but he also knows nothing can get past his twins.

And he’s right. Between Aaron’s acute knowledge of Medicine and Andrew’s reknown lie-detector skills, it takes about 14 days for them to take Nicky hostage and demand the truth.

As the year comes to an end, Nicky’s dementia doesn’t seem to progress that much. He seems to escape the worst. He doesn’t forget anyone. He doesn’t become aggressive, doesn’t go missing, doesn’t lose any function of his body. Without looking too closely, Nicky is simply getting old.

The twin girls he and Erik adopted get to move back in for a little while, having lived in the U.S. all their lives and seeing their parents fly to Germany after their retirement. They know, too, and try to make the most of it. They are lucky. They are so lucky. Nicky is a miracle patient.

In the end, though, it’s Nicky’s body rather than his mind that gives out. Once you reach a certain point in time living with the disease, but without the general complications of it, eventually the brain has trouble managing all the organs of the body. So instead of forgetting to eat, or forgetting names and faces, sometimes your brain doesn’t remember how to make your heart beat. Or how to make make your lungs breathe.

Nicky Hemmick stops breathing in the middle of the night, after having wished his twin daughters goodnight, texted his other set of twins goodnight, and kissed his husband goodnight. Nicky had thought, then, that it was indeed, a good night.

Just as he had remembered his Foxes until the end, he was remembered by them as the big-hearted lover that Heaven had just gained as its new angel.

Too soon after him, though, it’s Allison’s turn.

It’s not that she’d simply been waiting around for the day she could be reunited with Renee. She just didn’t understand why her Foxes kept leaving, and why she was still stuck here without her other half.

She didn’t just wait, though. She helps Dan out with the grandkids, and sometimes the grown-up kids too. She volunteers a lot. She gives back to the Columbia community, and all around the world. She travels to places she’s never been, places that remind her of Renee, but are void of painful memories. She empties their bucket list, and much more. The last thing Allison has yet to do, the only thing left to do, is mending her relationship with her parents. Or parent. Singular. In spite of everything, including the death of her husband, Francesca Reynolds was still standing strong at the head of the Reynolds empire. 100 years old was nothing when you lived in spite.

In a twisted way, Allison believed that maybe her mother was the last piece she needed to mend before she was allowed to go. That despite being gone for years, Renee was still there somewhere, looking out for her and making sure she didn’t have any regrets.

So Allison accomplished the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the impossible. For the first time in decades, she flew back to the Reynolds estate and spoke to her mother. In person.

It was not the emotional reunion Renee might have hoped for, but it was a reunion still. That was more than enough for Allison. They didn’t talk about the big things. The important things. But they talked. They talked. And they scheduled another talk.

Back home with Dan, Allison embraced her friend and let the tears fall. She was grateful for her friend, but both of them knew that these were not the arms Allison wished to be held in. She went to rest a bit before dinner, and she tried to imagine how it would feel like to have Renee hold her again.

For someone as loud, as present and as strong as she was, Allison Walker slipped quietly from time.

When Dan found her, she could only smile tearfully. She played with her hair one last time as she called her Foxes.

Allison left Dan in charge of her finances, and so she took over her charity duties and went above and beyond to honor her friend’s memory. Her sister.

Dan thought she would be next. She wished, she hoped, she prayed to be next.

She wasn’t.

Kevin was.

He might have been the biggest and hardest loss to weather. It wasn’t a feeling that could be explained. As painful as it had been to lose Renee, and Matt, and Nicky, and Allison, losing Kevin was... the great and terrible 10, as they’d say.

Kevin should have died way sooner. His liver should have given out because of all the alcohol it had endured in Kevin’s youth. His heart should have given out because of all the stress it had faced for most of Kevin’s life. All the bad things that could happen with old age should have happened to Kevin, but they didn’t. They didn’t.

Death came knocking one day, and politely asked him if he would please follow them, and Kevin simply took it as a sign that his time was up.

That day, Kevin had felt a numbing pain in his chest all morning long. Used to little injuries here and there, he hadn’t thought anything of it. And he certainly wasn’t about to worry his doctor of a husband...

However, as the sun reached it’s highest in the sky, Kevin couldn’t really hide his pain any longer. He had lain down on their couch for a bit, but he couldn’t seem to get back up. It was too exhausting. So he called for Aaron, as loud as he could in the state he was.

As Aaron stumbled into the living room, Kevin tried to use his softest voice to inform his husband of the situation. Aaron immediately called an ambulance, and when the vehicle took them both away, he reached for his phone again to make, once again, a terrible call to their Foxes. But through his oxygen mask, Kevin reached out to grap his wrist and whispered, with difficulty, just Neil... just Andrew...

Because here’s the thing: Kevin loved his Foxes, and his Foxes loved him back. Immensely.

He loved them so much he had married one, with another one of them as best man (Neil), another as his husband’s (Andrew), and yet another one as their celebrant (Renee).

They loved him so much that it was only short of worship by a hair or two. And Kevin knew that. He loved Dan like a sister. And by extension, he loved Erik like a brother, too. And he loved all the Foxes’ children and grandchildren like his own, despite never being a parent himself.

But Neil and Andrew... There were no words for what they were to him. He knew that he wouldn’t have to talk them through it. He knew they would be the only ones strong enough and close enough to hold Aaron up in case it all turned to shit the moment he passed the hospital doors.

And being the History nerd he had always been, Kevin had written letters, a long time ago. To his Foxes. Most of them had left before him, and so he could never give them their letters, but Dan, and Erik for Nicky, could still have those letters. Kevin poured everything into these letters. It had taken him years, ever since Renee’s departure. He wrote, and threw away, and started again, until he got it right. Nine letters, for his nine Foxes. Andrew knew about it. He’d give Nicky’s and the upperclassmen’s to Dan and Erik, and they’d understand. Kevin didn’t want them to be there, at the very end of it all. He just wanted Aaron. And Neil. And Andrew.

Those three had letters waiting for them, too. Andrew would hand them over a month later. But he would never open his.

Andrew and Neil arrived just before 1 PM. Kevin was hooked on all sorts of IVs and still had the oxygen mask on. His heart monitor was beeping very, very slowly, erratically. He was still Kevin Day in all his gloriousness, but he was much more Kevin, their beloved Kevin.

On one side of the hospital bed, Aaron never let go of Kevin’s hand. On the other side, Kevin removed the mask and weakly motioned for Neil to take the other hand. But Neil was stunned. Frozen. So Andrew came up behind him, and held Kevin’s hand.

It would be the first, and the last time.

Just as Neil finally sprung into action and went to put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder, feeling his wiry muscles and his fragile bones underneath the hospital gown, Kevin closed his eyes.

The heart monitor began flatlining.

Neil looked at the monitor, then to Kevin. He looked at Andrew, then back at Kevin, and then at Aaron. His eyes couldn’t stay focused on one thing. He was still hoping. He was still refusing.

Aaron lowered his head. Kissed Kevin’s hand.

Andrew held on tighter to Kevin’s other hand. Gripped the back of Neil’s neck.

Kevin took Death’s hand, which felt a lot like Aaron’s, and Andrew’s, and Renee’s, and walked away.

Aaron unplugged the monitor. And called it.

Time of death: 13:01.

It took exaclty one month, day for day, for Aaron to leave as well. They called it the Broken Heart Syndrome. On the surface, Aaron had held it together. But Andrew knew. He saw. That he was losing him as well.

Some could say that, by handing over Kevin’s letter, Andrew killed his brother. But those who would say that didn’t even begin to understand the complexity of the bond between twin brothers. Especially not the Minyards.

Because what Andrew really did, with that letter, was gifting Aaron with relief.

Peace. Quiet.

Love.

Aaron could exhale, now. He would see Kevin soon, now.

And so in the same room, in the same bed as his husband’s, Aaron Minyard forced Death’s hand and demanded to see Kevin again.

And then there were three.

Dan lived for so long that she started to fear outliving her children. She felt old, so old. In her head and in her heart. She did not believe in a God, but she often found herself praying to someone, anyone. She did not believe in angels and demons, but she often wondered how long they would keep her from Death.

So she waited. For the days to go and the nights to pass. She barely ate anymore. She barely moved. She was only feeling okay when she slept outside, in her chair in the backyard, the sun shinning on her beautiful face. She could sleep for hours there, surrounded by her lively garden. The wind swayed her skirts, the trees whispered in her ears. It was okay.

And at the same time, it wasn’t.

She was tired. She was lonely. Even Erik, a couple of years ago, had gone to rejoin his husband. Neil visited her at least once a week, but he still had Andrew. He couldn’t understand, nor could he stay away from him for too long. He would miss him too much.

Every year she celebrated another birthday, and every year she blew her candles wishing they were her last.

And at last, her wish came true.

Dan was expecting one of her kids to come by in the afternoon. The Carolina sun was shinning quite hard on her, so she had placed her chair in way that let the sunlight hit the back of her head, turned away completely from her house. Her daughter knew exactly where to find her when she arrived, and so she didn’t wait for a response to her presence before making her way down into the garden. She had called her mother multiple times, and had assumed she was sleeping when she hadn’t answered.

Dan was not sleeping.

Dan Wilds had left this world, the sunlight pouring down on her like the radiant goddess that she was.

Being one of the last Foxes, it took a day before Neil and Andrew got the news of her death. They don’t get involved in the funeral preparations, but they show up. And that’s enough.

People don’t really bother them anymore, so they can bid farewell to their Captain in relative peace. They come by Dan’s house aftwerwards, too, and help her kids out with everything. Yes, even Andrew.

Dan’s death makes them reflect the most.

About the Foxes. About each of their departures. How they all lived a good and long life. How they all died a good and quiet death.

They think about how they were always the ones nearing death, always fighting to stay alive. About how they died a million deaths before the age of 18.

They think about how they are the last ones standing, even after everything.

They survived. They lived.

(They loved)

Neil and Andrew should not have gotten this far. They should not have lived this long. They shouldn’t have. But somehow, somewhere above, someone has watched over them and made sure that they didn’t get the ending they should’ve had, but the ending they deserved.

Neil and Andrew don’t really want to die. They don’t really want to live on either. But they take every day that they are given, to be with each other, to mend their hearts still, to breathe.

They take every breath they can.

They wonder who will leave first. Who will have to say goodbye and stay behind, who will have to wait.

It’s a fear neither of them had ever thought they’d have. Not like that.

And it’s only a matter of time before they get their answer. They are, after all, getting very old. It is both a blessing and a curse.

After decades of partnership, Neil and Andrew still go to bed the same way they did when they were eighteen. Both facing each other, their hands joined in the middle, their nose a breath apart.

After decades of peace, Neil and Andrew still wake from sleep at the slightest abnormality.

Which is why the minute Neil Josten gives out his last breath, Andrew awakes.

Neil’s hand in his is still warm and his skin is still soft. His hair, although completely white for quite some years now, still have that bronze glow to them. They’re still curly, and soft to the touch. Andrew passes a hand through them before resting it on the back of Neil’s neck.

He looks at Neil like it’s the first time, tries to memorize every detail of his beautiful face. He rubs circle in his skin, and takes in everything that was, that is Neil. His husband. His junkie. His rabbit. His pipedream. His lover. His love.

Andrew doesn’t move from their bed.

When he has finally spoken everything that he feels to Neil, from the safety of his mind, Andrew moves closer to him so their foreheads touch and noses align. He takes Neil’s lifeless hand again, and kisses it. He sets their hands back down, between the two of them, and looks at Neil one last time.

And slowly, Andrew Minyard closes his eyes, forever.

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spooky-nerd · 3 years

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I Wrote an MSR Christmas Fic in September, Sorry

Christmas comes but once a year, or so he’s been told. Which means that he has 364 days (at least) to strategize. And yet, he never quite manages to be able to escape it.

He’s come close a small handful of times. A mere brush with victory followed by crushing defeat. In 1971 he was hospitalized with appendicitis on December 24. Unfortunately, the hospital gave out little teddy bears with santa hats that year to all of the children. In 1994, he tried lying low in his apartment, but Mrs. Sanders from across the hall had dropped off a fruitcake wrapped in red and green paper with a ridiculously frilled bow. The fruitcake had tasted horrible, but then that had been comforting, because he has never had a fruitcake that didn’t taste horrible and would find the very idea to be unsettling to say the least.

Twice he has nearly managed to avoid Christmas altogether. An almost impossible feat, and a coveted one amongst those who bemoan the holiday like he does.

He is not a grinch, as some would suspect, and his heart is not withered and cold. He does not have a propensity for stealing presents from under trees, and he has never once uttered the words “bah, humbug!”. He just does not care for Christmas.

This had come as a shock to Scully during their first year of partnership. She had whisked into the office on December 23rd in a cloud of merriment, smelling like peppermint and humming festively. “So, what are your Christmas plans?” she had asked innocently.

“Well, I’ll probably microwave some popcorn and watch Plan 9 From Outer Space,” he had said in complete seriousness. In spite of his delivery, she had laughed. Probably at the absurdity of it, which likely was obvious to outside observers, he had realized then. And yet, his world-weary soul had lacked the energy to care.

“You’re serious?” She had dropped the smile, and in its place was that frown of disappointment that he was rapidly becoming acquainted with. For some reason, he had felt a bit sheepish.

“Yeah, I’ve just never been one for the holidays.”

“But Mulder, it’s Christmas,” she had said, her incredulity ratcheting up impossibly higher.

“Oh I know, Scully. Trust me, I know. 104.9 started playing Christmas music in October. My building super put up tinsel in all the hallways on November 1st. I’ve been visually assaulted by this holiday on every street corner since the day after Black Friday. I know it’s Christmas. I just don’t really care.” He had shrugged, in case the rant came off a little too harsh. Not that Scully was easily intimidated. He was quickly beginning to learn that too.

She had shrugged, already poised to drop the subject. “Alright. Enjoy your popcorn, then.”

He had smiled. “Thanks, Scully.”

She had paused, turned back to him. He had gotten a whiff of peppermint again, and wondered if it was a new holiday perfume, or just the everyday magic of her. “You know, November 1st is a little early for tinsel.”

Looking back, it is possible that he had begun to fall in love with her then.

* * *

In the four years that Scully has been his partner, he has discovered that she has exactly one flaw: she loves Christmas. The music, the food, the gifts, the decorations, she eats them all up with a little festively-adorned spoon. At his request, she had refrained from stringing lights up in the office, but in exchange, he is forced to accept one Christmas gift from her each year.

Of course, he isn’t a monster, so every year, he buys her a present, too. Usually something quite ridiculous and useless. Their second Christmas together, he had bought her a mug depicting the entire cast of General Hospital. “It made me think of you,” he had said, to which she had raised an eyebrow and smiled, sliding her own present across the desk to him with false demureness. He had given her a suspicious look and ripped into the gift with exaggerated zeal, just to make her laugh. With delight he had pulled out a tie with little green aliens and flying saucers.

“Scully,” he had said, completely smitten. She had smiled and shrugged. He had decided that is was possible he didn’t hate gift exchanges as much as he had previously thought.

* * *

On December 23rd, 1997, he walks into the office and she is not there. It is not a surprise to him, but it is a blow nonetheless. She should be here, bringing him hot chocolate in addition to his morning coffee, placing a gift on his desk wrapped in ribbon so clinquant and overwhelmingly jubilant that it makes his eyes hurt. She should be here, making him dislike the holiday less and less with each passing moment. And if she can’t be here, he should be there with her. He calls Skinner and tells him he is taking a personal day. He does not explain further but he does not need to.

“Okay. Tell her I said Merry Christmas,” Skinner says.

“Thank you, sir. I will.”

* * *

Within an hour, he is at her doorstep with a hazardously overstuffed plastic grocery bag, a six-foot spruce that is growing heavier by the minute, and a gift wrapped in paper that had been sparkly at one time but has now transferred all of its glitter onto his coat.

It takes her a worryingly long time to answer the door. But she does eventually, looking completely drained, a sweater wrapped around her thin frame. She is cold all the time now and she never complains but it has not escaped his notice. She looks exhausted, but it stops his breath how beautiful she is all the same.

She is surprised to see him. Even more shocked by the one-man window display he has become.

“Mulder? What are you doing?” Confusion, but also a smile in her voice that he can see glittering in her eyes, too.

“I thought I’d bring the party to you, Scully.” He is still a little out of breath, but he smiles, and finally she laughs, melodic and joyful. She lets him in.

* * *

With the muted tones of Bing Crosby playing smooth and unobtrusive underneath, he makes them hot chocolate, dons a Santa hat, and gets to work decorating her tree. She sits on the end of her couch nearest him and opens up the little boxes of colorful Christmas ornaments, handing them to him one-by-one with delicate care. He gets tangled more than once in the Christmas lights, each time extricating himself in a flurry of limbs and curses. It’s worth it to hear her laugh. He wants to close his eyes and listen to the sound and pretend everything is okay.

When he is finished, she holds out her hands wordlessly and he helps her stand up. He wraps an arm around her and they lean against one another, admiring the finished tree. He wonders if she knows it means so much more to him than just a nice gesture. Her grip tightens around him in a brief hug.

“Mulder,” she says softly. “I don’t even know what to say. You really didn’t have to do all this.”

They are quiet for a moment. Bing Crosby sings that it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. He finds that he agrees.

“I wanted to, Scully. I wanted to be here. The office doesn’t feel right without you,” he says. “Besides, you would’ve done the same.”

She huffs a small laugh. “You hate Christmas.”

“No I don’t.” She looks up at him and he meets her gaze. “I don’t.”

* * *

Exactly one year later, she is safe and whole and mulling over a file, tapping an absent beat on their desk with her pencil. He bounds into the office, over-laden with a diverse assortment of ridiculous Christmas paraphernalia. He dumps it all on the floor in an unceremonious heap, shakes the snow out of his hair, and tosses her a goofy smile.

“Hey, Scully,” he says, out of breath. “Wanna help me deck the halls?”

When they are finished, the office has never looked more unprofessional. They couldn’t be prouder of themselves. Before she leaves for the night, she gives him his gift and a kiss on the cheek. Also very unprofessional, as is the alarming rate at which his heart is beating. It’s just about the only thing he can think about over the holidays, and that in itself brings clarity.

* * *

Her hand is icy where it settles atop his on the steering wheel. He risks only a brief glance in her direction. ‘It’s really coming down out there,’ he had said obligatorily about thirty minutes earlier, squinting into the critical sliver of light their headlights were slashing through the dark flurries of snow.

“Let’s stop for the night,” she says. He nods and gets off at the next exit without question.

They find a motel down a nearly deserted back road that makes them both touch the concealed weapons at their hips just for comfort. The attendant wordlessly accepts their cash and slides them a key.

“You know what’s messed up?” he says as he flops onto the bed after a cursory inspection for suspicious stains.

“What?” she says, rooting through her bag for their toothbrushes.

“I don’t even know where we are.”

She sighs, a weary sound that he has gotten used to hearing in the months they’ve been on the road. Almost four months now.

“We are somewhere in the southern part of Kentucky. That’s all I know.”

“Scully,” he begins, the word absolutely riddled with guilt.

“Mulder, stop. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” They’ve had this small scrap of conversation several times. He keeps waiting for her response to change but it never does.

Silence except for her continued rummaging. Then, a triumphant “Aha!”

He peeks out from under the arm slung across his face. “What-“ He stops at the sight of her wearing a santa hat and holding a lumpy package wrapped in newspaper and held together with duct tape. She smiles and inclines her head triumphantly. The hat tilts adorably and the little pompom falls in front of her face. He laughs in spite of everything. In the spirit of the season, she joins him.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

He shakes his head, in awe once again. “I love you.”

* * *

In an unremarkable house, in an unremarkable room, in an unremarkable chair sits a man. He is unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He is holding in his hand a two-inch long replica of a Louisville Slugger that has been made into a keychain. A gas station trinket, unremarkable in some ways and remarkable in others. He turns it over in his hands and cannot help the smile that spreads across his face. It takes him back to a motel on a snowy night in southeastern Kentucky, and he has a mind to stay there awhile.

She walks in at that moment, wearing the most hideous sweater he has ever seen. After a moment of stunned silence he lets out a loud gut laugh. She smiles, spreading her hands in a silent ‘ta-da’. The sweater is red and green, and knit into it are alternating rows of Christmas trees, presents, wreaths, some colorful blobs that inexplicably might be potted ferns, and a pair of kissing reindeer, both of which have antlers.

“You look horrible,” he says, still chuckling. “I love it.”

“I found it at a Goodwill.”

“An ironic name for a store that would sell such an act of violence.”

She laughs. “I’m thinking of adding it to my regular rotation. I could get you one, too, and then we could match.”

“Well, people in town already think we’re crazy. Maybe it’s time to start leaning into it.”

She heads to the kitchen to make the hot chocolate, and he puts his hand in his pocket for the thousandth time that day, touching the small box like he’s afraid it will disappear. While she putters around the kitchen, he stares at the winking lights of their Christmas tree and gathers his thoughts.

Within minutes she is back with two steaming mugs filled much too full, sloshing dangerously. She sips a little out of both of them, burns her tongue, and hands him his. The mugs are hot. She pulls her sleeves up until only the tips of her fingers are peeking out and holds the mug that way. He watches the entire scene, completely enamored.

She throws herself onto the couch with a sigh and it is a Christmas miracle that she does not spill any of the hot chocolate on that horrendously festive sweater. He settles down next to her and sips gingerly from his mug, contemplating the mystery of those reindeer.

“Is it a misunderstanding of deer anatomy or a political statement, do you think?” she says, clearly reading his mind. He makes a mental note to open up an unofficial investigation into how she keeps being able to do that.

“All I know is it’s my favorite thing you’ve ever worn.”

“Aww. Thanks.”

“I am curious about those potted ferns, though.”

“Is that what they are?”

They wait there together, sipping and talking about everything and nothing until the hour whittles down to nil and the clock strikes midnight, Christmas Day. He puts an arm around her shoulders and marvels at the way her head fits so perfectly in the crook of his neck. He presses a kiss onto the top of her head.

“Merry Christmas, Scully.” He whispers it like a treasured secret.

She turns to kiss him. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers back. Then she is up, grabbing his presents. She is eager for him to see one of them, and has been carrying the secret of what it is around with her for weeks. She hands it to him first, and he makes a show of opening it agonizingly slowly. She rolls her eyes and shoves him gently until he picks up the pace.

“Oh wow, Scully,” he says softly when he pulls the tissue paper aside to reveal a vintage restored Polaroid camera. “Thank you. This…wow.” He runs a hand over the glossy surface appreciatively, and then points it at her. “Say cheese.”

Within moments, the photo of her completely unprepared and squinting painfully at the sudden flash develops.

“Ugh,” she giggles.

“I’m keeping it.” He slips it into his pocket before she can snatch it away. His knuckles bump the small box, and he swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Okay, now it’s your turn.”

He retrieves the gift from under the tree and watches her open it. “Oh, Mulder,” she says, pulling the typewriter out of its box. He’d had to place an anonymous ad in the paper for that one. They had decided at the beginning of their life on the run that they would use only the most basic technology, which meant burner phones and nondigital alternatives. “It’s beautiful.”

It is. It’s an Underwood, glossy white, impeccably maintained. He’d paid a small fortune to a very old man for this one. They had met in a public park. He had paid in cash. The man had brought it in an old shoebox inside a brown paper grocery sack. The whole transaction had felt vaguely illegal. The man had looked at least 100.

“Thank you.” She gives him a hug. She smells like hot chocolate and peppermint. It reminds him of a Christmas many years ago. A conversation about why he didn’t like Christmas. Oh how things have changed.

“Actually, there’s one more thing,” he says when she pulls away. She raises an eyebrow. She hates to be outdone, especially on Christmas. Incredulity turns into disbelief when he pulls out the small box.

“Mulder,” she whispers. Her eyes fill with unshed tears when he gets on his knee in front of her, and if he’s going to make it through this, he cannot look at her.

“Scully, I-“ his voice catches immediately. He clears his throat. “I know that the past few years have been…well there’s no words for it. You are the only thing that has gotten me through. You’ve been there Scully, since the beginning you’ve been there and I- I can’t imagine my life without you. I want so much more for you. You deserve so much more, and I…I wish that I could give you more. But this is all I have to offer, Scully. This is everything I have. I want to grow old with you and, and love you and support you and laugh with you until the end of time. I promise to be faithful. I promise to have your back and to be there for you always.” He takes a shaky breath. “Dana Katherine Scully, will you marry me?”

He looks into her eyes, and he sees everything there. The love and devotion that had started small and fragile and had grown into something ineffably strong. He cannot imagine a life without this woman. Bing Crosby’s voice floats quietly over from the record player, singing about having a merry little Christmas. He wants a life with her, a thousand more little Christmases just like this one, filled to the brim with ridiculous, garish holiday cheer. She takes a deep breath, the words that will determine their future poised on the tip of her tongue.

“Yes. Of course I will.”

- - - - - - - -

Note: Btw, I wasn’t lying about that sweater

#txf fic #msr #the x files fanfic #the x files #Fox Mulder #Dana Scully #txf fanfic #msr fanfic #christmas fic #x files fanfic #mine

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tempenensis · 3 years

Text

Jujutsu Kaisen Light Novel #2

Firstly, @bonsai62 provides me with raw text of this - so thank you very much! This is the first eight pages of the first chapter from the second light novel. That being said, I don’t know how much I get this translation right, but enjoy anyway. Though this is cut at bad point lol

The title of the light novel is Thorny Road at Dawn. Text in bold means that it is spoken in English.

Chapter 1: Nobara and Toge

“About Toge?”

August has begun.

Under the overlapping form of trees in the schoolyard, Panda asks back to Kugisaki who he has been holding on his arm and turning over 180 degree.

For the upcoming exchange event, Fushiguro is also working hard to train as participating first year.

He is in the middle of training with assumption that one-vs-one sorcerer combat can break especially during the fight.

Even though she is training, Kugisaki is now thrown towards Panda – repeatedly thrown towards him in a stage. But because it seems that her motivation is high, she’s become into it, as long as in the end she can be successful facing Todo and Mai even just a little bit.

“Yes. I understand Maki-san is worth of my respect. I also know that Panda-senpai is sorcerer with ability.”

“I also want you to say the same thing about me like Maki.”

Kugisaki answers as she stands up and brushes away leaves attached to her jersey.

“I respect you. I’m not saying bullshit about Panda-san.” (1)

“Well, if you become able to chat while being blown away, I’ll praise you.”

“My body can easily remember just blown like this.”

“Hooon. Then”

Panda looks around, confirming that Toge who went to pharmacy has not come back.

“What about Toge?”

“What kind of senpai is he?”

“Eh, you don’t know from talking to him?”

“Not that I don’t understand. Well, I know he is not a bad person, but if all his vocabularies are riceball fillings, talking with him will be limited, right?”

“We already get too used to it, right Maki?”

“Aah. Now that you say it, it naturally becomes question.”

Maki is spinning around a staff, sending a sympathetic look to Fushiguro after she lightly avoids Fushiguro’s attack and land a small hit on his head.

“It hurts…”

“You are thinking too much again with your head.”

Maki joins the conversation as she glances at groaning Fushiguro. Out of breath but clean of dust, she circles around Panda calmly.

“Among us maybe he is the best at taking care.”

“Yeah, he has a bright personality (2). If you exclude Yuuta, then he is the number one good person in our year.”

“His flaw is that he can get carried away a little.” (3)

“Is he?”

“You are the one who always get carried away when we are together, that’s why you don’t know.”

“That’s unexpected. We are not like that though. We like to join in the fun.”

Kugisaki’s body fitness is finally reaching that point where she can chat while doing her training. Even then, the second years who are lightly talking among them without difficulty remembers existence of Kugisaki of August (4) in the nearby stage.

Just a bit when Panda’s attention is at Maki as they converse, Kugisaki tries to do a feint from the side and mixes it with an upper but—

“Anyway.”

“Geh.”

Panda sways easily, then he hesitates a little before swipe Kugisaki’s feet in sobat-like (5) kick.

Kugisaki, whose pivot foot collapses, falls down rolling. Her body becomes totally irresponsive. In several weeks here, it’s a movement that she kept thought she could do.

That said she becomes irresponsive and she can’t win the match.

As he looks down at Kugisaki who makes a discouraged face, Panda opens his mouth.

“Toge is a good guy. That alone you should know.”

“….I see.”

More than that, her body has become irresponsive and her back is hurting.

The frequency of her falling down sloppily has not reduced, also buying a replacement jersey have also becomes necessary -- Kugisaki at summer time thinks with melancholy.

.---.

The story continues when it has turn to fall.

After the incident of Yasohachi has passed, there’s a brief spare time.

At that day, Kugisaki is alone in Shibuya.

Fushiguro is locking himself up and reading in his room as he is still exhausted after he overexerted himself.

Itadori has gone out to watch a maniac movie in a cinema currently doing a whole-building screening.

Maki is currently on a mission different from Yasohachi bridge, so she can’t meet her conveniently in a while. Kugisaki who completely doesn’t have a plan, aims to go shopping to make-up and clothes shops which are hard to go with boys, then buy daily necessities.

“Winter clothes set, winter shoes, inner and foundation and…”

Grasping paper bags in both hands, she lifts them up as she confirms her haul today.

She doesn’t think she bought too much, but she has walked more than she had planned. Maybe wearing the pin heel boots she bought the other day is a bit mistake.

But it is a rare chance that she gets to go out and shop alone. There’s a lot she still needs to buy.

Kugisaki is thinking to go looking for bags next as she walks in traffic jam.

When she had just arrived in Tokyo, it all seemed to be glittering scenery. After around three months has passed, she gets used to it a lot, used to hearing noisy sounds.

That being said, it is a backside of being busy and lively. It’s a thing that’s called taste of convenience.

“And that, it is really a masterpiece.”

“Doesn’t it make you angry?”

“Hey, hey. Girl, are you alone? Are you free?”

“I’m in a hurry.”

“Salmon.”

“We’re opening a new shop! Please take care of us.”

“Are you not going to eat?”

“How much are you going to eat?!”

“It’s damned boring, how about we skip work today?”

“Mama, buy me that!”

A lot of voices. It’s an intersection where a lot of life collides.

There are daily life as many as the number of people, there are worlds as many as the number of people. In the city where many wills and voices flying around, of course there will be a lot of people who is feeling gloomy – but not Kugisaki.

For her who has a firm sense of self, she understands that everyone has their own way of living in the hustle bustle of the city, it even feels like a kindness.

Now that she thinks about it, the village where she comes from was suffocating.

An exclusivity that imitate the people who had come before (6). An ecosystem long existed that doesn’t recognize individuality of a person. A closed world that gently rot — exists there in that village, Kugisaki thinks.

Compared to the crowd of the city, it is tough yet she can live with freedom.

In the city, someone says that the concern towards other people is weak. Kugisaki laughs, thinking that is wonderful. She has her own way and won’t blame anyone over it. She will stand and walk with her own foot.

However, mixing in the city crowd during the holiday, a mysterious chance can happen.

“Hm?”

Kugisaki who walks towards the direction of Shibuya Hikarie (7) in the lane across the street, makes a face of remembering something as she found him. It is the only one of her acquittances who hides lower half of mouth with closed overly long collar.

It’s Inumaki Toge.

There is also another one. A male foreign tourist with thoughtful blue eyes who can’t be someone familiar. Kugisaki becomes interested on the exchange between the foreigner and Inumaki.

“What are they talking about?”

Kugisaki changes her destination, then crosses the road when the traffic lamp changes at the right timing, and strolls towards Inumaki. When she is near them, she overhears their talk.

“I’d like to go to SHIBUYA109.” (8)

“Salmon salmon.”

“Could you tell me where I can get a taxi?”

“Salmon roe.”

“Ah… Which way should we go?”

“Seaweed.”

“Ah…I, want to go. 109 (9). Please. Ok?”

“Salmon.”

“Shake?” (10)

“….Salmon?” (11)

“….Salmon!? Why?”

“Okaka…..” (12)

“Ee…?”

For some reason, in Kugisaki’s guess ten times over, it has become a troublesome situation.

She knows that Inumaki, who is a cursed speech user, only speaks in onigiri fillings to avoid sudden outburst of curse. How come that he is asked by foreigner tourist for direction.

No, Inumaki can use Inumaki’s way of showing the way – he points his finger and gestures using his body and hands. With that, she wonders if the foreigner becomes impatient (13) as Kugisaki decides to get in between the two of them.

“What are you doing, senpai?”

“Tunamayo.”

“It can’t be ‘tunamayo’. Jeez.”

“Oh! Geisha girl!”

“Who the heck is geisha girl?!”

--- tbc (hopefully can do more)

(1) More literally, she is saying things about Panda that “doesn’t smell like fairy tale” (2) “His root is bright” is the literal translation (3) 悪ノリ (akunori) is a bit hard to be translated. It’s like, getting carried away in mischievous manner. (4) Overheated Kugisaki lol (5) Sobat : back kick in wrestling (6) literally “To follow the right” (7) A skyscraper in Shibuya (8) A department store in Shibuya (9) Spoken in broken Japanese lol. (10) Shake = salmon. He repeats what Toge said to him. In Inumaki’s language means “yes” (11) Salmon, as in engrish lol (12) Okaka = chopped katsuobushi, in Inumaki’s language means “no” (13) literally, “becomes hot”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk light novel #novel translation #kugisaki nobara #inumaki

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babylooneytoonz · 3 years

Text

The Vessel [ Pt. 9 ]

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem! Reader

Summary: Geralt confronts Yennefer, and a massive argument leads to something massive, that even Yennefer cannot control. And neither can you. Or Geralt.

[My Masterlist] [My Witcher Masterlist - Read the other parts here!]

"YENNEFER? YEN!"

Geralt's voice rang through the quiet hallways until the sorceress finally stepped out of her chambers, frowning.

"Geralt—"

She gasped, freezing when she saw him looking at her with a look that was far from the love that she had always seen in his eyes for her. Her eyes flicked from him to you, and you pressed yourself against the wall, although you kept looking at her with rage filled eyes.

"You used me. And I fucking let you." His voice was low, dark— mediating between a growl and a warning.

"My love, what—"

"ENOUGH, Yennefer. Tissaia de Vries told her everything. Funny I happened to be around when she did," he growled.

"And you really believed the lies that woman fed you with? Really Geralt? You would take her words over me?" She hissed back, venom lurking through her dark eyes as she took a step closer. You could see that Yennefer was shaking, and your nearest guess was, that it was with rage.

"Yennefer—" Geralt began, but she cut him off.

"What did she say? She must have cooked up lies on how this whore is a Cintran Princess."

"You couldn't have made it up, Yennefer."

"I thought you loved me. I thought I was important to you. Now you are being poisoned by that witch, knowing what she did to me—"

"Yennefer, enough," Geralt grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her towards himself, so her face was now inches away from his.

"I told you, I wouldn't be here to catch you fall."

"Geralt, they are poisoning your minds. Look at her—" She turned towards you with hate filled eyes, hot tears leaking from them, "She can never be a Princess."

The sides of his lips tugged upwards as he shot you a quick glance, and then turned back to her.

"I would rather believe the lies they feed me then, than trust you again."

With those words, Geralt pushed Yennefer away and turned his back towards her, his face now towards you. It was only as he had finally started walking towards you, that Yennefer threw back her head and began laughing. It started as a chuckle first, a maniacal, evil chuckle, until she was clutching her stomach and laughing.

"What are you going to do about it, Geralt of Rivia? You're weak. You let yourself be manipulated by me, you fell in love with me and gave up almost everything. Now, what will you do exactly? Leave?"

She hiccuped, her voice dark and malicious, as she mumbled them between her uncontrollable laughter. Geralt's fists clenched, his body going rigid as he slowly turned, looking her in the eye.

"It's over, Yennefer."

"No, it's not. And you—" She turned towards you, taking a step towards you, but Geralt pushed himself between you and her, placing his thick hand on her shoulder to keep her away from you, "You think you've won? You don't know what Yennefer of Vengerberg is capable of." She snapped her neck towards Geralt, craning her neck slightly, so her lips were hovering over his, but he didn't move, as she whispered, "You two will run away. Raise that baby? And Yennefer won't find you?"

"That's the plan, Yen— if you don't already know." Geralt grunted, but stayed where he was.

"Well, then.. go?" She smiled and stepped away, throwing her hands in the air.

You didn't know when Jaskier had sneaked up next to you, but you were now thankful he was there. He took your hand in his, his fingers coiling around yours, entwining your hands.

"She can't mean it, can she?" You whispered, bit all you received in return was silence.

"Leave before I change my mind." She screamed, causing you to flinch, and instinctively jump backwards.

Geralt, in that split second, turned towards you, and your eyes met his. He nodded. You swallowed, pleading with him with your eyes and he softened. You watched as he parted his lips, mouthing the word 'go', and you turned towards Jaskier.

"Jaskier. We need to leave. Now."

"But Geralt—" Jaskier asked, as you pulled his hand and began dragging him towards the main door.

"Just.. Geralt will figure something out. I know it."

The two of you dashed towards the door, until suddenly a sudden thrust hit you hard against your back, and you flew off, your back hitting the wall as you crashed against the floor on one end, while Jaskier flew off to the right. Yennefer smirked, her hands held against her chest, a ball of air revolving around her fingers.

Geralt growled like a wounded animal, his hand finally gripping his sword, as he pounced on her, like a hungry predator. Instead of using the sword, he twisted the sword, hitting Yennefer against her temple with the hilt of the sword, disbalancing her and knocking her off as she fell to her side.She snarled, grabbing Geralt's foot, pulling him slightly until cracks appeared underneath his feet and roots started creeping against his legs, coiling around them, freezing him to where he was.

He muttered a curse under his breath, and using his fingers, he drew a sign in the air, and a sudden blast of telekinetic energy hit the creepers, freeing him of his captivity.

"I can't believe this is how it ends, Yen, but it will," Geralt muttered, in a voice so low, only Yennefer could hear it.

You groaned, blinking, confused and dazed as you fluttered your eyes open. The back of your head was stinging as you sat back up, your hand immediately flowing to your head. Suddenly, you were reminded of Yennefer, and you immediately gasped, your head sharply turning towards where Yennefer and Geralt were, fighting each other. Biting your lip, you crawled to where Jaskier was laying unconscious, keeping your head low so she wouldn't spot you.

"Jaskier," you hissed, slapping him lightly across his face, your head ducked so the sorceress wouldn't be able to see that you are awake, "Jas' wake up. Wake up Jaskier."

"Where... the..fuck am I? Am I dead? Am I in.. heaven?" Jaskier mumbled barely incoherent words as he slowly opened his eyes.

"Na, not so lucky. Now wake up, we need to find a way to get out of here. Geralt can stall her, but he cannot fight her—" Your words were interrupted when Geralt crashed on his back just inches away from where you and Jaskier were, and the two of you looked from each other to him. Geralt groaned slightly, but conscious as he lifted his head up, and his eyes met yours. His eyes softened when he saw that you were okay, the firmness of his eyes melting away.

"Go," he grunted, as he pushed himself up again, his fingers moving as he conjured up another sign, but his eyes were on you.

You pursed your lips together and looked at Jaskier and then at Geralt, shaking your head, "Not without you, Geralt." Jaskier smiled, Geralt kept looking at you, his expressions not betraying exactly how he was feeling right now when Yennefer's bellowing laughter started ringing into your ears. You turned around to see her standing fifteen steps away from you, smiling.

"Had a nice sleep, pet?" She hissed.

Then everything happened in slow motion. You watched her lips and her hands move, and a blast of white light dashed towards you. You could hear it in the back of your head; Geralt screaming, running towards you, trying to conjure up a sign to save you but the momentum and the strength of the sorceress' attack was no match for him.

You didn't know why, but you began gripping the fabric of your tunic, your fingers curling around it. You opened your mouth— a scream, like death, blasted out from the crevice of your throat, shrill and loud. Cracks appeared on the walls around you, the vessels beginning to shake. Just when the blast Yennefer had sent your way was close enough to hit you, the two pillars that stood on the either side of the room fell, landing in front of you, acting as a barrier to stop the force from touching you.

The room was engulfed in dust the second the pillars fell, and you let go off the fabrics you were holding, immediately jumping backwards, running towards Geralt. He wrapped an arm around your waist the minute you reached him, and then turned to look at the rubble that had formed, looking from it to you, "Fuck." He exclaimed, looking at you.

He, however recovered from it faster than Jaskier could who was still gaping at you, wide mouthed. Geralt took this minute when Yennefer was distracted, seething in rage when she had seen just what you had done. Grabbing your arm, he pulled you backwards, dragging you towards the door.

"You two leave."

"And you?" You snapped, pulling your arm away and got a growl from him in retaliation.

"[Y/N]—" the bard intervened, grabbing your other arm, which was hilarious. It was like you were a commodity suddenly. One dropped you and other lifted you up, "Now is not the best time to argue. Geralt can take care of himself but we should get out while we can. You're a pregnant ball of magic that doesn't know how to control it."

"A ball of magic?" You glared at him.

"Fuck, you two. Will you leave?" Geralt growled, intercepting the two of you. When you turned towards him, you realized that while you were bantering with the bard, Geralt had formed a defensive sign around the three of you. It was holding against Yennefer's spell of lightning, but for how long?

"I'm not leaving you. We are leaving, together." You announced.

You just realized something. Yennefer had Geralt's heart, whether you liked or not. He wouldn't be able to kill her, even if he knew he could. He was just buying you time to escape. But you also realized, Geralt had your heart, and you couldn't leave him behind.

"Fucks sake, I can't hold it any longer, why won't you leave—" Geralt barked, and you looked at him, an idea suddenly striking you.

"What if we can all leave? I think I have an idea."

"It better be good." Geralt grunted, still struggling to hold his sheild.

"Remember what Yen said about the Great Mount? No Mage is powerful enough to create a portal to that place. But, I am not a mage." You smiled.

"But [Y/N], you are not strong enough," Jaskier protested.

"We have to try, Jaskier. That's our only way for all three of us to leave. For now. Geralt, hold on for a few seconds longer, I can do this."

A look passed between you and Geralt. He just glared at you, not agreeing per se with the action plan that you had come out with, but he didn't have a plan of his own, except to stall the sorceress. He pursed his lips and nodded, finally parting his lips as words shot out of his mouth, "Fine.. just... don't get hurt."

You nodded and fluttered your eyes close, concentrating on that one black spot in front of your eyelids. A few seconds passed, and nothing happened, your fingers twitching with impatience. You could hear Jaskier mumble, "Geralt, I don't think it's working. We're gonna die by your lover's hands if you don't do something."

You snarled angrily, clenching your eyes shut, focusing all your energy on that spot when the sounds started growing distance and your mind started blocking out the sounds. Your breathing piked up, and you were practically panting; gasping for air when you finally saw it in front of your eyes — the Great Mount. It stood tall, just like you remembered it from earlier.

"Jaskier, bring her back!" Geralt snarled, screaming and struggling when suddenly his spell broke, and the three of you were flung into the air by the force of Yennefer's spell. You kept laying there twitching and convulsing, foam shooting out of your mouth but all you could see in your mind now was the Great Mount.

Suddenly, a portal appeared in front of you, and Yennefer screamed at the sight of it, for the portal wasn't a normal portal she had ever used. This was only something she had heard in stories, and had never seen anything like it. It was a portal that could only be used by the elven mages; better known as the sages. Yennefer realized, blood draining out of her face, if you could conjure up a portal like this, you could bring down her magic with the blink of an eye, if you got full control over your power.

"Hurry!" You screamed, and the three of you pushed yourself up; before you began running towards the portal, without taking a look back. You ignored Yennefer's scream, and the powerful blast of fire that she released because the instant you stepped into the portal, the portal closed, blocking Yennefer out and the three of you landed on your backs on a muddy ground.

You could hear Jaskier groaning someplace next to you, and you could hear Geralt grunt, but louder than that was the piercing ringing in your ears. You kept laying on the cold ground, staring at the sky, your body feeling like it had been run over by a massive elephant, until you felt Geralt; saw Geralt leaning over you, trying to revive you, his fingers patting over your cheeks.

"Wake up. Wake up, fuck."

You blinked, taking a deep breath as you abruptly sat up, all of it coming to you slowly, your brain still clogged due to the immense pain that you were feeling everywhere but your stomach.

"Geralt— the baby."

Geralt's eyes constricted, as his eyes fell to your belly, and without hesitating, his palm flew to your bump, as he placed it on your stomach and began feeling around, listening for a heartbeat.

You kept watching, breathing heavy, biting your lip, trying to control the tears that were forming in your eyes.

What if you had lost the baby? What if —

"Our baby is okay."

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, whispering, your voice low, "Our?"

The last you remembered, Geralt had only smiled when he was with her. But you couldn't keep your tears in line, when you saw his lips curve into the tiniest of smiles upon hearing your innocent question. He didn't reply; but instead, he removed his hand from your stomach, placing it on your cheek, for just a split second, his thumb stroking slightly over your skin.

"Hm."

Geralt's touch lingered against your cheek for a second longer, and it felt like your skin was on fire. When he removed it though, it was like ice, cold and stinging. You watched him, with a giddy smile on your face as he stood up, and threw out his palm towards you. You slowly reached out, placing your palm in his as he pulled you up.

"Now what, Witcher?" You whispered, staring into his golden orbs, and he kept staring back at you. But you didn't know why his eyes felt different altogether. It was like he was seeing you, for you and not for a woman who was just carrying his baby.

"We go to Cintra."

You smiled, and looked down at your feet before lifting your gaze and looking back at him, before an amused look crossed your eyes.

"What?" He mumbled, his broody voice back again.

"Starving, Geralt." You explained, rubbing your palm over your belly. His eyes followed your movements, his lips twitching as he nodded.

"I'll see if I can find something to hunt around here, before we leave."

Geralt slowly turned away, and you watched as he began walking towards the shrubbery, when Jaskier cleared his throat, rather loudly, and you realized you weren't alone, "What?" You said, feigning innocence.

"Would the two of you just declare your love for each other already? It's getting obnoxious watching the two of you strip each other with just your eyes." He winked, his eyes twinkling as he began teasing you, and you couldn't help but flush at his words.

"There's nothing between us, Jaskier." You shrugged, rubbing your hands together, wincing slightly as you tried to move your shoulder and Jaskier frowned, eyeing you carefully, but you gave him a ghost of a smile, signalling him that you were okay.

"I'm not blind. And neither am I a eunuch."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You gasped hitting him in the arm.

"Well I mean, only a blind cannot see the effect that you are having on my broody friend, [Y/N]."

"Stop being dramatic, Jas'—" You turned away intentionally, not wanting to indulge in this specific topic of conversation with him. Instead, you slowly began walking around, and trying to pass your time until Geralt was back so you didn't have to answer Jaskier anymore or think about what he had said.

Geralt didn't really feel anything for you. Jaskier wasn't right this time. Right?

An owl hooted somewhere around; embers sizzles from the fire that heated up the three of you as you sat around it, letting the warmth seep through your bones. It was like a healing. You watched, as you dug your teeth into the roasted rabbit leg, taking a chunky bite of the meat, hunger making your tummy rumble uncontrollably; you kept staring at Geralt, who was eating too.

Suddenly, Geralt looked at you— the corner of his lips twitching into a smirk— he had seen you stare. You turned away, flustered, heat pooled up inside you.

You cleared your throat awkwardly and began staring at the sky, the trees and anything that wasn't the white haired Witcher smirking teasingly at you.

"We will leave for Cintra at dawn. Although—" Geralt began speaking, and you turned to look at him, "Yen cannot open a portal to the Great Mount, she can open a portal to the city nearest, which is a day's distance from here."

"You think she is already on her way?" You cocked your eyebrow, ignoring Jaskier chewing on the roasted rabbit shamelessly next to you.

"Nothing's gonna stop her. She will follow us to the end of the world just to get what she wants."

"I would be surprised if she didn't," you exhaled as you slowly stood up, your shoulder still sore after having taken that bad fall on your back twice.

"[Y/N], rest," Geralt stated, and it sounded more like a command. When you looked at him, he was arching forward, both his elbows resting on his knees, his legs spread out, his palms together. The fire illuminated his face, highlighting his handsome features.

You lowered yourself by a tree, wincing slightly when your shoulder brushed against the tree bark; a hiss escaping your pursed lips, through your teeth. Geralt's Witcher sense of hearing picked up on your hiss, and he cocked his neck towards you, carefully noticing the way you were slightly tense around the upper body. You watched as he stood up and with big steps, reached where you were, instantly kneeling down next to you.

"Show me."

"What?" You mumbled.

Geralt grunted in annoyance, "You're hurt."

"Geralt, I'm fine, really, it's nothing," you absentmindedly replied him, exhaustion and pain making you feel weak.

A growl arose from somewhere inside the White Wolf's chest— it was animalistic; more like a wounded animal's warning snarl— desperate. He suddenly reached out, placing his hand on your shoulder and you winced in pain. It wasn't the pain, however that bothered you.

But, rather the inappropriate thoughts building up in your mind. You were at the same place yet again, the place where you had conceived your child with Geralt, and so was he. A lot had changed since then, but the feelings had only flared.

Your eyes clenched shut as you felt Geralt's warm fingers brush against your neck as his fingers hooked to the neck of your dirty dress.

Geralt pressed his lips shut when he looked at you like this— cowered under his touch— not in fear, for you could have stopped him anytime. Or could you? Geralt doubted suddenly if he could himself bring him to stop, when his fingers were brushing against your alarmingly cold skin, skin that felt like butter underneath his touch. He suddenly felt intoxicated, his insides flaring up and a sudden, raw hunger built up in him. He wanted to feel more of your skin underneath his fingers, brush his index over the curves of your body, caress you and make you feel better.

He flicked his eyes shut, mentally cursing himself for thinking that way about you.

But it was hard to resist; more so when he could practically see you melting in his touch.

Slowly, he lowered your dress, down your shoulder, grunting under his breath as he noticed the sudden rise of your chest as you took a sharp breath.

You were making this difficult for him.

His eyes fell on your shoulder— a massive bruise had already formed, turning bluish purple and he frowned, leaning closer so he could look at it better.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He looked from the bruise to your face, right into your eyes and you took in his words, slowly craning your neck over your shoulder to see what he was looking at. You knew you were hurt, but you hadn't realized it was that bad.

"I .. didn't realize." You whispered, watching his frown widen as his fingers pulled away, leaving a void inside you that threatened to flare.

"Wait." That was all Geralt said before he stood up, and walked away, his eyes lowered to the sides where the shrubs stood, looking for something.

About ten minutes later, you saw him returning, but he had a few herbs in his hands. You kept looking at him questioningly as he knelt down next to you and began crushing the herbs between his thick, beefy palms, as he didn't have a mortar and pestle on him.

"May I?"

You nodded, biting your lip as you let the Witcher apply the thick paste over your bruise. It stung, but you clenched your eyes shut, taking a deep breath, cursing lightly under your breath, and Geralt swore he felt something inside him— a guilt, or perhaps, an inexplicable feeling of seeing you in pain.

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masonscig · 3 years

Text

antidote

pairing | mason x sofía

word count | 2.4k

warnings | mention of rook’s death and breaking her wrist when she was a kid, so you know. a little angst. some suggestive language towards the end!

author’s note | so this is my late entry for day one of warm in wayhaven, cooking – as usual when i’m writing these two i can’t shut up for the life of me

•─────────────────•

He wakes up from his first nap in a week to the smell of chicken.

There’s only one person in the entire warehouse that could be cooking at 2 in the morning without burning the place down.

He trods barefoot down the dark hallway, his sweatpants hung low off his hips.

Putting on pants was a formality, really. But he had roommates that’d have aneurysms over anything less, so he’s usually at least half clothed when he ventures outside of his room.

The smell gets a lot stronger, mixes with other scents the closer he gets.

Her heartbeat’s stronger in his ears, though, so he keeps going, despite the way his nose is crinkled and his fists are clenched.

When he makes his way to the kitchen, he stops at the doorway, perching his hip against the frame.

She’s pulled a chair up to the stove, chin balanced on her knees that are up against her chest.

Her eyes are glued to the big silver pot that sits there, steam leaking out from the ventilation tiny holes in the lid.

Her hair’s tossed up in a messy bun, and from the glimmer of light from the overhead light above the stove, he can see that a few strands are plastered to the back of her neck and forehead.

She reaches out to twist the knob all the way to the left, then struggles to pick the pot up.

Despite him not announcing himself, he’s next to her in a flash, moving the pot to the other burner in a flash.

“Oh, hey,” she murmurs distractedly. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Nah.”

She nods, barely even giving him a second glance, grabbing the lid and placing it on the counter.

The steam threatens to curl higher and higher, but with a quick flip of a switch, the stove’s fan is pulling it into its vents.

There’s something definitely wrong with her – she’ll bake cupcakes for an elementary school bake sale at 2 a.m., but never soup. Who the fuck makes soup in the dead of night?

“I’m not an expert on human food by any means,” he starts, grimacing at the way the scent wafts towards him when she swirls the wooden spoon through the broth. “But why the hell are you making soup when it’s hot as fuck outside?”

She shrugs, dipping the spoon flat against the surface of the hot broth, filling it to the brim. “I was hungry.”

She brings it to her mouth, lips pursed, and blows on it, thin tendrils of steam floating towards him.

He’s still trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with her when she sips it, a small tired smile blooming across her features.

The soft breathy hum that buzzes from her throat is low enough for both of them to hear, nearly matching the pitch of the whirring fan.

He doesn’t wanna press his luck with her, considering they're being civil.

It’d been a week since they were ambushed and she came face to face with her attempted kidnapper.

Things between Mason and Sofía were already… complicated, to say the least.

Different attitudes, different wants, different needs. He’d managed to fail in all three of those categories, disappointing her over and over without really trying to.

There was a certain level of avoidance from the both of them for the days following the ambushing. It’s not that he wanted to get her alone nor he did he care if she was avoiding him, but this was the first time he’d been alone with her all week, so he wasn’t going to actively try to fuck this up.

“That’s it?” he asked, keeping it simple.

She ignores him, instead flitting around the kitchen to grab a bowl and a spoon.

Well, she’d be amicable if she kept quiet – she wasn’t wrong with that one.

He watches as she fishes out sliced vegetables, an ear of corn, and chicken, then fills the bowl to the brim with broth.

Setting it on the table, she grabs a stained tortilla warmer from the microwave and scoots up to her bowl, digging in with one hand, a tortilla rolled in the other.

She’s still sweating under the heat, her chest glistening, the seams of her tattered tank damp underneath her armpits.

He sinks into the chair across from her, arms crossed.

“You gonna keep ignoring me?”

“Maybe,” she says from behind her hand (and around a mouthful of veggies).

“Tell me to leave, then, and I’ll go. Just say the word, sweetheart.”

He knows she won’t.

She lifts her eyes from the bowl to meet his own lazy gaze. Without saying another word, she dunks her rolled tortilla in the broth and takes a bite.

“That’s what I thought. You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“You’re not that invested in my life outside of work, are you?” She challenges, mashing the back of her spoon against a vegetable until it’s smooth, scooping it up with a little broth and popping it into her mouth.

He shrugs. “I just know you’re lying, that’s all.”

“You lie all the time,” she counters immediately, pointing the tip of the spoon at him.

“When?” He knows she’s right, but she hasn’t brought it up since she stormed away from him outside of the warehouse, drenched and shivering.

“You lied at the bakery.”

Bingo.

He leans forward till his elbows are on the table, resting his chin on the back of his interlaced fingers.

“So that’s what you’re upset about.”

He’s a foot away from her, the temptation of closing the gap between them nearly tugging his shoulders forward.

Her face contorts into a grimace, bordering on disgust. “That’s not at the forefront of my mind, no.”

She swirls her spoon around the bowl, eyes following the movements of her wrist.

“I hate the summer. I always have.”

He stifles a wince as he leans back until his bare back presses against the cool plastic.

“Bad things always happen to me in the summer, you know? Dad died during the summer. Mom forgot to pick me up at science camp for a full twenty-four hours when I was 9, and I had to spend a whole day alone with no friends after everyone had gone home. That’s also the same summer she took her first month-long assignment.

“The next summer, they extended it from a month to a full summer. I broke my wrist on my neighbor’s trampoline, and she didn’t even visit me until my cast was getting sawed off.

“Bobby dumped me for the first time during the summer before he studied abroad so he could sleep with whoever he wanted.”

She shakes her head, dropping the spoon and tortilla.

“Sorry, I, uh, I’m just happier in the fall and winter,” she smiles apologetically.

“And that’s why you’re makin’ soup at 2 a.m.?” He asks, eyeing her warily.

“Yeah, kinda. It sounds stupid when you put it like that, really,” she giggles, scooting the bowl forward so she can rest her elbows there too, her chin in her hands.

A sigh escapes her, low and grim. “This dish is really special to me.”

He waits for her to continue, but she just sinks her teeth into her bottom lip instead, chewing nervously at the skin there.

He kicks his toe against her slipper clad foot, a gentle nudge to get her to speak.

He’s gotten pretty good at reassuring her without words, he thinks. Better than when they first met, that’s for damn sure.

“My favorite picture of my dad and I is one where I’m sitting at my high chair and I barely have two teeth in my mouth and my dad is feeding me mashed zucchini and yucca root. He’s laughing and smiling like he wouldn’t rather be doing anything else in the entire world than eating soup with his daughter.”

Mason stiffens at the mention of her father, and even worse so, feels remorse start to trickle into his bones.

It’s stupid to think he could’ve done anything. He pushes those thoughts to the side, recognizing the remaining scrappy morsels of humanity in him clawing its way to the surface. Impulse has always been the most human part of him – maybe she’s changing that.

He doesn’t really know who he was before this, but what he does know is any inkling of humanity he has surfaces when he’s with her.

Yeah, he can’t feel what it’s like to lose a parent, but watching Sofía tear up over bittersweet memories was enough on its own.

“Your dad cooked?”

“Yeah, from what I can remember, yeah. All of our old cookbooks are in his and my abuela’s handwriting.”

She looks like she wanted to say something more, so he leans back, arms across his chest, waiting.

“When I was in high school, I tried making it on my own and it was so shitty. I wanted to surprise Rebecca, because I knew she was getting back from a stressful work trip, and I couldn’t do it like he did. She didn’t even notice that I’d tried,” she sighs, picking up her spoon again to sip the broth.

She hums again, chews, swallows.

“I don’t know why I was so naive back then, you know? I thought I could chop a couple veggies and toss them into seasoned water and it’d turn out just like Dad made it.

“In reality, I didn’t even know what it tasted like. My mom described the taste to me once before, but she never cooked, so I just went off of what she told me. I romanticized the whole thing right down to making up the flavor in my own head.”

“That’s probably why I made the soup tonight. I miss when I was happy, but even then, what the fuck did that even look like to me? I’m just telling myself I was happy because I saw photos of me being happy, but I can’t recall that feeling by memory at all.”

She darts a hand under her eyes to rub it away before he notices, but he can see her eyes glistening.

“How am I homesick for a life that was never really great to begin with, you know?”

He leans forward, brows furrowed. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t remember. Fuck those old memories. Make new ones.”

He’s speaking from the heart now, compelled to say something before his mind can stop him.

Chuckling with a quick sniffle, she gets up to grab a drink from the fridge. “I know you mean well, but it’s hard when you’ve got an active bounty on your head.”

“Things will get better.” He’s not a beacon of positivity in the slightest, but she’s too good to be feeling this bad, so he has to say something.

“Things can get better.”

“What?”

“It’s not guaranteed. Not for me, at least. Probability’s never worked out in my favor,” she smiles weakly, unscrewing the cap to the water and sipping it politely.

“You’ve got a team making sure things will get better, sweetheart. No matter what.”

“You’re all here by force, though. After you leave, I’m still gonna be stuck here, and –”

She waves her free hand, the other one gripping the damp water bottle.

“I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I’ll be less of a mess in the morning.”

“Not all of us,” he says, delayed, but hoping she gets it.

“Not all of us what?”

“Are here by force.”

She grips the bottle harder, the plastic crackling. She knows what he means now.

“That’s… uh, good to know,” she murmurs, a smile tugging at her features. “Thanks.”

“Didn’t do anything to warrant a thanks.”

She rolls her eyes, sitting back down at the table. “You’re gonna have to get used to my manners, Mason.”

“Never,” he smirks, leaning over the table, over the soup, running his thumb over her bottom lip before standing.

“You don’t like it because you don’t have any.”

He snorts, a hearty laugh ripping out of his vocal cords and echoing off the tile flooring. “Damn right.”

She smiles, too, this time though with her whole body. It’s dim in the kitchen, but she’s shining nonetheless.

The smell’s grown on him a little bit. The shit honestly reeks, but he doesn’t mind it.

He follows her when she makes her way to the cabinets underneath the countertops, retrieving a big glass bowl.

When she bends down, he tentatively steps behind her, leaving a hair’s width space between them. He’s hesitating to touch her, even as she glances back at him reassuringly and closes the gap between his stomach and her back.

The hum that leaves her this time as he hooks a lazy arm around her waist sounds just like the one she let out when she tasted the soup.

She gently guides his hands to grip the edges of the bowl while she pulls the pot closer.

“So what’s this shit called?” He asks, crinkling his nose as she ladles it in, grimacing when some splashes his hand.

He knows he’s there for something, but he can’t quite remember what for when she licks the stray drops from his thumb.

“Caldo de pollo,” she smiles, snapping the plastic top until it’s airtight, guiding him to the fridge.

He knows “pollo” is Spanish from the times Felix watched kids shows to pick up on English. (He could never quite shake the looping sound byte of Felix’s southern drawl saying “poy-yo” when he discovered Dora the Explorer.)

“You gotta make it for Nate sometime,” he suggests, wrapping his other arm around her waist when she closes the fridge door.

She turns in his grasp, splaying her hands on his bare chest, dragging her thumbs over the tuft of hair in the middle of it.

“Thank you, really,” she whispers, eyes trained on her moving hands. “I mean it.”

He’s shit at accepting thanks with words, so instead he kisses her. He fights the urge to deepen it, to open his mouth to taste her.

She’s not ready to let him in like that just yet. He thinks it’s enough that she’s letting him touch her at least.

The lingering taste of chicken is disgusting, but he’s enduring it, because Sofía’s humming like he’s the best thing she’s tasted in years.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc mason #twc detective #wayhavensummer #mason x sofía #detective sofía olmos #my fic

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giuliafc · 3 years

Text

Betrayal Chapter 10: Panic!

<< 1 -- 2 -- 3 -- 4 -- 5 -- 6 -- 7 -- 8 -- 9 -- 10: Ao3 || FFN -- 11 >>

Written by: JuliaFC

Beta: Coffeebanana, Agrestebug, and Myimaginationflows

Summary: Chat Noir has a panic attack waiting for his detransformation and reveal, and Marinette tries to calm him down. Queen Bee has a mishap! (987 words)

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by (c) Thomas Astruc, TS1 Bouygues, Disney Channel, Zagtoon, Toei Animation. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Written for the "Snippet July" challenge of the Miraculous Fanworks Discord server @miraculousfanworks AND for LadyNoir July @ladynoirjuly Day 21 — Prejudice/roommates. Let me know what you think!

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Damn you, Lila!" groaned Chat Noir.

Volpina smirked. "I'm Volpina. Don't waste effort trying to break free; save your energy for what Jacques has in store for you!"

The black-clad superhero growled at Volpina's cackle, but soon lowered his head, not a word coming out of his mouth.

"Finally, you're quiet." Volpina mocked triumphantly as her flute started beeping. She was surprised to see Queen Bee's face on a holographic screen when she opened her communicator. "What's going on?", she asked hastily.

"The slimy fox has escaped!" exclaimed Queen Bee with a little pout on her face.

Volpina stomped her foot. "One job! I gave you ONE JOB! To watch over that stupid reporter. And what do you do? Not even half an hour later, you lose her! What kind of idiot are you?"

Unseen by Volpina, Marinette smirked and exchanged looks with Chat Noir, who nodded to her with a panicky gleam into his eyes. Suddenly, Papillon's mask appeared on Lila's face.

"No! I want to be the one to take the ring off Chat Noir's finger," argued the fox villain. The mask shined brighter and after a moment that felt endless, Volpina lowered her head. "Okay. I'll take care of it. But it doesn't end here, Queen Bee. Mess it up again and our deal is over!" She hung up the communicator and jumped onto the window sill. "Jacques is still watching you, Chat Noir. No funny business. I'll be back ASAP." That said, she disappeared out of sight.

The sentimonster folded its arms over its chest and stared, a lingering smirk popping up at the edges of its mouth.

Marinette grabbed a firm hold of the bars of her cage and gritted her teeth under the sentimonster's cold stare. "I can't believe my prejudices about Chloé were correct," she groaned. "I was so doubtful when the events of Miracle Queen happened, I wanted to believe she could change, but something inside kept telling me that it was impossible. I was right."

Chat Noir eyed the sentimonster and nodded. When his gaze met hers, Marinette noticed that the panic in his eyes hadn't faltered. She had to calm him down or he might do something rash.

"Alya will help, Chaton. We'll be okay!" Her voice trembled, as if she too doubted her words. "I need to believe that we will," she added. Her voice cracked a little, her cheeks shining with tears.

"Don't cry, Purr-incess. We're going to win, as usual. And this time we'll defeat Papillombre for good." But even he didn't believe what he'd said. The room was wrapped in an awkward silence, only broken by the rhythmical tik-tok of a large clock perched on the wall behind them. Chat Noir's Miraculous beeped. He cursed under his breath—he'd been so busy worrying about their situation that he'd forgotten about his timer. His breath caught at the sound as his face drained of blood.

"What are you going to do when Papillombre is defeated, Chaton? Will you stay home or…"

"I don't know," he muttered. "I may need to leave the country. You know, I'll only have two relatives left, and they…" He eyed the sentimonster. "...don't live here."

"Maybe we can convince your relatives to keep you here?" Marinette's hands flattened on the bars of the cage, as if trying to push on a non-existent wall. "Maybe we can live together. Share a place, you know?" She blushed to the roots of her hair. Stealing a quick look, she noticed how red his own face was at the suggestion.

"Y-you mean like roommates?" he whispered, sounding out of breath.

"Y-yeah. Of course. Roommates. Yep. we can share… a r—an apartment. Yes. Waking up in the morning, making breakfast for the two of us, watching TV until it's late at night and playing video games when we're bored of the TV." She sighed and shot him a languid look that caused him to gulp dryly. "We're going to have fun, Chaton. I'll teach you everything you don't know."

"Cooking?" asked Chat Noir, his nose glued to the bars as his pleading gaze met her hopeful one.

"Baking," she told him with a smile. He beamed at her and her smile widened. "I'm not the daughter of the best baker in Paris for nothing.You'll learn from the best, so you'll be great in no time!"

"We can get a piano for the apartment, right?" asked Chat Noir after having stayed quiet for a long instant, eyes still closed, his forehead resting against one of the bars.

"Of course, Minou. What do you want the piano for?"

"I can teach you to play." He looked at her, a radiant smile on his lips that made Marinette's heart drum furiously in her throat. "And Chinese. I can teach you that too, as I promised in Shanghai. Sorry I never managed to do that before."

"Don't worry." She smiled softly. "So that's the deal right? I teach you baking and life skills, and you teach me Chinese and how to play piano? Sounds like an excellent agreement, Chaton. We're going to be purr-fect roommates!"

He smirked. "Was that a pun, purr-incess?"

She smirked back. "Your humour must be starting to rub off me. Oh no! How am I going to survive sharing a place with a dork like you?" They laughed, but as they did, Chat Noir's Miraculous beeped a bit louder. Only one paw left; he knew his time was coming. He eyed the sentimonster as a shiver ran down his spine. Just another minute and his father would know that he’d worked against him. His stomach twisted as the Miraculous beeped one last time and a blob of green energy ran through his body.

The sentimonster's eyes widened. "Adrien?" it whispered. "I can't believe it."

Adrien's face was as white as a sheet, as if someone butchered his heart out of his chest. "Hello, Father."

To be continued… Day 22

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Author's Note

Ehrm… yes I know. Cliffhanger!

Let me know what you thought of the chapter! It was hard to fit the prompt with where the story was at this point, but I think I managed to do it. A comment would be appreciated! You know that comments are my bread and butter!

Until (hopefully) tomorrow, bug out!

#miraculous ladynoir #miraculous love square #miraculous lb #miraculous les aventures de ladybug et chat noir #miraculous adrien #miraculous ladybug #miraculous #miraculous nathalie #nathalie sancoeur #ladynoirjuly2021 #miraculous fanworks

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prettywordsyouleft · 3 years

Text

The Cowboy - Part 10

Summary: Leaving the city for a rural area called Blayne seemed simple enough. Your task was to convince the people to agree with selling their land for a resort redevelopment. But once there, you soon realise that your city ways are entirely different to theirs. Winning their trust was going to take some effort, and when you start to fall for a local cowboy, you wonder if you really needed Blayne more than the city life after all.

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x female reader

Genre: cowboy au / drama / romance / if you squint there’s some enemies to lovers up in here.

Warnings: Jung Jaehyun is a cowboy, need I say more? (a bit of angst and drama, and it sometimes might feel like you’re reading a Nicolas Sparks book, so I’m told lol) -- swearing, and I’ve never been to a rodeo in real life so I probably didn’t make a fully realistic scene, so don’t hate me, it’s fiction lol

Word count: 2281

This series will be updated every Thursday and Friday.

Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

It truly was another world. The country music was playing live from the stage nearby and the endless row of stalls selling assortments from horse gear to food overstimulated you. You had lost Avery in the crowd, the tall man crossing paths with a group of women from high school.

Jaehyun smirked. “He’s always been the popular one.”

“And you the troublemaker?” you offered and Jaehyun laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re the troublemaker. How do you propose I deal with worrying about you when I’m warming up Trickster soon? Maybe you should come with me.”

“I’ll be fine exploring whilst you do that. I’ve seen you ride so much now, I’m convinced your butt is a perfect shape to mold to any saddle seat.”

“Well, you should know, having seen my butt how many times now?”

“Jaehyun!” you gasped, slapping his upper arm and looking around yourselves. You relaxed, realising you saw no familiar faces nearby.

He seemed to read your mind. “Avery knows about us. He’s helping me out by keeping his mother clueless.”

“Would anyone else come from Blayne today?” you asked, and Jaehyun shook his head.

“Not really. It’s more so people from the town over that will. And whilst you’re a household name in Blayne, you’re not on familiar terms yet with others. Which means…”

“Which means?” you repeated, grinning when Jaehyun reached for your hand, interlocking your fingers. You looked down at the gesture. “I felt that tremble, Jaehyun.”

“What tremble?” he feigned innocence for only a moment. “Maybe I have some butterflies about today. I want this to go well.”

“It will. I know it will.”

“Because I have your support?” he teased, and you shook your head, trying not to roll your eyes.

“Because it’s a passion of yours. I can tell you want this opportunity.”

“It would be real nice. Joey told me if I qualify, he can help me with the training. I’ll need to find extra time to do it, maybe travel to his barn a few times a week for evening training but it’s doable.”

“You’re so cute, you know that?” you said, recycling one of Jaehyun’s lines. He picked up on it and laughed. “I like seeing you this hopeful.”

“I’m hopeful about us too.”

“You are?”

“If I win today, my Dad will be pretty chuffed. Maybe we could tell him about us.”

“No more acting like teenagers over this. We’re grown adults, Jaehyun. Regardless of if you win or not, let’s tell him. I’m planning on meeting with him on Thursday for my business proposition, so if that goes well, I doubt he’ll have any concerns about us.”

“This is my Dad we’re talking about. There’s a whole lot about him, about us, that you don’t know.”

“Are you hiding someone in the attic?!” you asked, gasping dramatically. Jaehyun rolled his eyes. “You’ve got an entirely different life kept behind closed doors? How about being the culprit to-”

“Here you two are,” Avery interrupted, eyeing your linked hands with high interest. “Is this why you wanted to come today, Y/N? Away from the prying Blayne eyes, you can finally go on a date with your beau?”

“A date?” you pondered before looking up at Jaehyun. He grinned. “We’ve been on a few of those already in Blayne.”

“And no one knows that you two are together? Woah, I’m impressed with how well you’ve covered them up.”

“Not for long,” Jaehyun announced and you smiled happily, nodding in agreement. “But I am mighty glad you’re back, Avery. Can you keep an eye on this one? I’m sure if left to her own devices, some of the sellers in the market here will have her pulling out money she doesn’t need to spend.”

“You’re insulting my judgment so easily!” you called after Jaehyun’s departing back.

Avery grinned. “Well, you chose him over me. I’ve been doubtful of your taste this whole time.”

“Avery McConnell?”

Spinning to see another woman approach you both, you grinned. “He’s all yours. I’m going to go watch from the stadium.”

An hour had passed by, and you were struggling with the concept of being at a rodeo. On one hand, it was thrilling to watch but also reckless. You knew there was a danger behind the sport, as there was with most sports. But you didn’t realise how easy it was to fall off at this calibre of competition.

You gasped as a young girl, no older than fifteen hit into a barrel and her horse was deep in the turn, losing its footing and the pair fell, the horse landing on top of her. With bated breath, you watched as she managed to get back to her feet, albeit with an evident hobble.

“Your first time?” an older woman asked knowingly, and you nodded. “Not from around here?”

“Originally from the city,” you admitted sheepishly, and the woman laughed.

“Called that by a mile.”

“Do I stand out that much?”

“You’re no country pumpkin like me, that’s for sure.”

“Ah.” You looked her over and smiled. “I think you’re lovely.”

“I wasn’t meaning how we look, love. You’re here to support your boyfriend, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“And he’ll come out here soon, and you’ll be the type to cheer. Don’t. It’s really tacky and could throw him off. Do you even know what barrel racing is about?”

“Some. There’s three barrels, and you have to make it through the sequence with the fastest time and without touching them.”

“It’s a dangerous sport. The horses are trained athletes. It might be all over in fifteen to seventeen seconds, but during that time, it’s a race against their life. They need to move without any issue, carry the weight of their rider perfectly, and dig deep to get around and then gallop off again. And the riders are just as focused. It’s more than just a sequence. Everything counts.”

“Wow, and he had a chance to go pro for this?”

She laughed loudly then. “All cowboys will tell you that, sweetie. Who are you rooting for?”

“Jung Jaehyun,” you mentioned and her amused expression dropped, scooting closer to you. Leaning back from her sudden invasion of your space, you laughed weakly. “Is that a problem?”

“Oh, he’s good. He’s back on the circuit? He took time off ever since the fire. I didn’t think he’d be back to this level.”

“What fire?”

“Blayne’s fire,” she replied, her eyes now peeled to the catalogue, checking out Jaehyun’s details. She gasped. “Joey Newman’s horse?! He didn’t come to mess around today.”

You smiled politely at the woman, slipping into your thoughts. You knew this was a big thing for Jaehyun, but was he that big of a deal in this world? The new information explained the nerves, but he had downplayed this to you all day long. The barrel racing was one of the last sports on the schedule for this rodeo, and for hours beforehand, Jaehyun had assured you it was like a training event. Yet, this woman now had you believing otherwise.

“Can I ask something?” you enquired, coming out of your reverie and the blonde woman nodded. “What happens if he makes the top five today?”

“He’ll be scouted. Perhaps he already is getting calls. He held the fastest time for five years straight in this region. Everyone wanted a piece of him before his father pulled him out.”

“Pulled him out?” you breathed, blinking rapidly. “Why did he-?”

“How about you ask your cowboy that you’re having a fling with all about it, once he’s done racing the clock, if you have further questions.”

“It’s not a fling,” you corrected and she smiled sadly at you.

“Darl, I was dating Billy Burke. You might not know that name but everyone around here did. He went pro, won the Nationals and become a million dollars richer.”

“A million dollars?!”

She shrugged. “I was pregnant with his baby at the time he got offered to go pro. We were supposed to get married. But, you know, it was his dream to go pro. When given the choice between love and the race, he chose the latter. So what if he has money? He has all that fame now too. All I have is his kid who hasn’t met his Daddy once. Let me warn you, cowboys might charm you with their country hospitality but they all have bigger goals than the farms they run back home. Once Jaehyun is given the chance, he’ll forget that Blayne even exists.”

“I doubt that,” you defended. “I’m sorry to hear of your circumstances, and even if Jaehyun and I end, I can confirm Blayne means more to him than-”

“You really don’t know what he did to Blayne, do you?” Pity for you emerged in her eyes. “What do you know aside from his body then?”

Getting up, you stormed out from the bleachers you had been sitting upon, feeling foolish for being so worked up by a stranger. Before you could leave, however, Avery leapt up towards you and clapped his hands together. “He’s next up. Where are you going?”

“Oh, I uh, need fresh air.”

“Worried about him falling off? Don’t be. He’s the best here today, you’re about to see it. No one else can go from being a farmhand to a decent barrel racer without practising than Jaehyun. Come on, you can get air after his run.”

Nodding numbly, you allowed Avery to push you along, taking a seat again. Avery greeted a few of the people around you, and you watched the horse and rider before you now, finishing their run with ease. You looked to the sidelines, wondering where Jaehyun was.

“I thought you said he was next.”

“He is. He’ll be making his way in any second now.”

The grating voice of the commentator muted as soon as you saw the spotted horse come racing into the arena, your eyes peeled on the pair heading towards their first barrel. Clasping your hands together, you watched on intensely, praying Jaehyun and Trickster would make it around safely.

The woman had been right. It was a sport that relied on precision and speed. You had always considered a minute to be such a short period of time, but as the seconds went by, you found yourself changed. Every second counted now.

Jaehyun and Trickster rounded the final barrel and galloped to the exit, Avery’s screams and sudden shaking your arm jostled you out of the blur that had been your vision towards the end.

Fifteen seconds was all it took to give you clarity on your feelings.

“He made it! That lucky son of a bitch!” Avery rejoiced, and you stood up jarringly, walking down the aisle to the exit. Avery was still full of energy at your side. “He’ll be cooling Trickster down, Y/N. Come this way to the holding pen.”

You followed along in a slight daze, your heart thumping with the thoughts within your head. You disregarded all the information, the warnings that stranger had given you. When you saw Jaehyun walking the heavily breathing animal around and patting his neck, you almost broke into a run to reach the side of the pen faster.

Noticing your arrival, Jaehyun grinned and walked the horse over. “Well, what did you think?”

“I think I’m in love you,” you announced sincerely.

“After seeing only one run?!” Avery joked, but Jaehyun’s expression grew serious, not shifting away from yours even as he continued to walk the horse around.

Distractedly, Jaehyun called out for the groom of Joey’s ranch and dismounted, walking over to you and ducking under the metal bar that separated you from him. “You mean what you say?”

You nodded, choking on the sudden emotions that had come with your confession.

“You can’t take it back after I give you this chance, Y/N. You mean it?”

“I love you,” you repeated, and that was all it took for Jaehyun to crash his lips upon yours.

There was no thought to the professionals around you, nor Avery who had stepped aside to give you albeit a tiny amount of privacy. You didn’t care at all who watched you lock lips with Jaehyun right now.

Because it felt right.

You hadn’t expected to arrive in Blayne and find yourself looking in different directions for your life. It had always been well-planned out. You would build your career and work hard during these years, so when you had achieved all you set out for you could relax into love and create a family.

The country didn’t work like that. The values were so different from what you had experienced in your fast-paced life. And now that you had been given the opportunity to slow down a little, to take in the world outside of an office and not be attached to a screen day in and out, you were finding your desires were changing too.

You liked the idea of waking up in someone’s arms and falling asleep whispering sweet nothings to one another. During those fifteen seconds, you imagined your life without Jaehyun in it, and it made you want to do absolutely everything in your power to remain at his side.

You meant the love confession. You had never spoken of love to another person before. It was liberating, fulfilling. As Jaehyun burned his lips into yours, you knew he felt the same.

It hadn’t been long between you. But this summer romance was shaping your world more than you believed it had for his parents all those years ago.

You couldn’t imagine going back to the city now.

_________________

Part 11

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dorizardthewizard · 3 years

Text

The Revival of Akillian: Chapter 10

Okay, there’s a few things that need to be addressed with this chapter so check out the reblogs for translator notes!

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

Prologue / Chapter 9 / Chapter 11

10. CRUEL MEMORIES

“We remind everyone that the head of Sonny Backbones, the leader of the Pirates, is still priced at two million standard credits. For a more beautiful Galaxy, help Technoid!”

After this cheerful message, which shows Sonny Blackbones’s square head from the front and in profile, the advertisement break ends and the match resumes between the Wambas and the Pirates. This friendly match, “sponsored by Technoid” (despite the participation of the Pirates, long-time enemies of the company), is in its second half. The score is still a draw despite the obvious technical superiority of the Wambas. However, the Pirates seem to know in advance their strategy and their special moves, and come close to cheating thanks to their flux, the Seed of Shiloe, which allows them for a brief moment to produce decoys – projected doubles of themselves. This destabilizes the Wamba players… but they are not left out, compensating for the “treachery” of the Pirates by speed and agility which, on their own ground, the Jungle Stadium, they use profusely with their flux, the Roar, which expresses itself over their bodies in the form of golden sparks. In addition, they seem to be having a lot of fun, which is not the case with the Pirates who, despite their tricks, are falling behind.

“...an incredible leap, almost a somersault that Wouwambou just performed!” cries the excited announcer. “He kept the ball anyway, his clawed feet give him a definite advantage over his opponent - rather his opponents, it looks like there are two of them... no, he has only one defender against him. Wouwambou makes a very long pass to Lun-Zaera who was just waiting for this opportunity! She easily escapes the Pirate defender by leaping over, her control over the flux is remarkable, that of the ball too! Lun-Zaera rushes towards the goal, nothing can stop her, it seems, but here is the number 8 Pirate - a substitute? - who tackles the ball, too late, Lun-Zaera has flown off with the ball at her foot, she performs a sort of pirouette, she is back on the ground, it seems that she has lost the ball... but no, the ball is in the net, it’s a goooal! The Pirate goalkeeper didn't see it coming and I admit neither did I, that’s how fast it was! 1-0 for the Wambas! ...”

Aarch turns off the TV and turns to his team, sprawled out on benches in the lounge cabin of the Tanaga, his personal ship (still piloted by Clamp, the Scrap he intended for this role having proven to be totally incompetent).

- As you know, Lun-Zaera is the star striker of the Wambas team. Her speed is legendary, so beware of that in particular... what did I just say, Thran?

- Huh? Uh...

Sitting next to his dozing brother, Thran leans over a small device he had cobbled together from bits and pieces of various components, salvaged from the Arena Stadium construction site.

- 67 hundredths of a second, - he says, his eyes wide. - From what I recorded, Lun-Zaera scored that goal in 67 hundredths of a second! (He looks up at Aarch who is scrutinizing him, arms crossed, brow furrowed) You said she’s very fast, sir. My device proves it!

- Well, Thran, you’ll be against her in no time!

Aarch shows the team a small golden-brown satellite that orbits near the large and beautiful planet Wamba, whose emerald jungles appear beneath mottles of iridescent clouds.

- You can see the Ibo moon through the portholes. From its light, the Wambas derive their flux, the Roar. It gives them greater agility than usual...

- What about us, sir? – interrupted D’jok. - Why do we have no flux? It was the Breath of Akillian, right?

- Yeah, but it disappeared because of the great ice age, - Thran explains. - The Catastrophe caused a shift in the orbital axis of our planet, which upset the entire magnetic field, and the Breath vanished. It’s scientifically proven, isn’t it, sir?

- That is the circulating theory, yes. - confirms Aarch.

- But sir, - insists D’jok. - What Tia can do with the ball, is that thanks to the Breath?

- Yes, that’s right…

Tia looks down, intimidated, as if D’jok were talking about a flaw she might have. Sitting across from her, Rocket smiles at her.

- But why is she the only one with it? - asks Thran. - Especially since she is from Obia!

- You all have it in each of you, I’m sure you do, - says Aarch. - But it won’t be enough for you to wake it up like Tia; you will also have to learn to channel it, to tame it. That will undoubtedly be the most difficult part...

- In the meantime, - intervenes Micro-Ice. - We will have to manage without it, is that it? Scoring goals in... how many did you say, Thran? A fraction of a second in any case. Well! No need to worry either way, it’s just a friendly match, right?

Aarch comes to stand in front of him.

- You will learn that there are no insignificant matches, Micro-Ice. You and the others have only one desire and that is to play on this team. And I want this team to go far, very far. So, you absolutely have to play to win!

- But if you don’t want to win, Micro-loser, - laughs Sinedd. – We’ll be fine without you!

Aarch turns around to face him.

- We won’t win anything without everyone on board, Sinedd, and you especially would do well to remember it! I already told you, you play too selfishly, but football is a team sport! Understand?

Sinedd frowns and pouts, but refuses to respond. Aarch continues:

- I can’t wait to see you in action on the pitch. In the meantime, rest, because you will need all your strength!

With these words, he joins Clamp in the cockpit. Sinedd takes his set of GF-Cards out of his pocket and takes a seat at a table.

- Anyone up for a game? Who wants to get demolished?

Thran, D’jok and Rocket go looking for their own cards and join Sinedd around the table. Micro-Ice goes to sit next to Mei, who ostensibly ignores him. She gazes sullenly at the planet Wamba growing in the portholes. It seems like it’s hellishly hot down there, full of mosquitoes, spiders, biting insects… Tia prefers to isolate herself in a sleeping cabin. Ahito, well, he doesn’t need to isolate himself to fall sleep.

Sinedd deals the cards with a smirk: sure of his victory or already cheating? Thran contemplates his deck with dreamy eyes.

- What’s the matter, Thran? – remarks Sinedd. - Have you never seen GF-Cards before or what?

- Do you realize that if this works out, one day we too will have our faces on GF-Cards? I can just imagine it... Thran, 300 caps, top defender on the... uh... the... what is our team called, guys?

- Hey, but… wait a second… you’re right! - D’jok realizes. - We don’t even have a name! A great team must have a great name! What should we call ourselves?

- Your turn, D’jok. – prompts Sinedd.

- Uh… - wonders Thran. - Galactik Bats isn’t bad, right? Or… uh, I don’t know, The Fireballs?

- Yeah… - says Sinedd, scooping up the cards. - Me, I’d say something like the Zeroes, or the Broken Feet!

Clamp’s voice echoes in the living room:

- Kids, get back to your seats and buckle your seatbelts. We’ve arrived!

- Did you hear that, Sinedd? Buckle it! - snaps Micro-Ice.

***

True to their reputation for hospitality, the Wambas had invited Aarch’s team to feast in the Council of Elders building, the equivalent of the Akillian Confederation. “Equivalent” is a big word, because comparing this building to the luxurious Confederation building would be liked comparing a cave to a castle: it is a large hut all made of wood and bamboo, with a thatched roof and walls of plant fibers, surrounded by a path of planks held up by long poles. It is nestled in a lush jungle, formed by gigantic trees (beside which Akillian Cedryans look like shrubs), whose enormous roots become entangled with the vegetation that masks the ground. Under this majestic foliage grow many bushes, giant ferns and mushroom trees where vines and climbing plants intermingle. Mangroves and swamps with uninviting brackish water are all around, which bathe in the heat and humidity of an oven. An abundance of wildlife rustles there, a crescendo of birdsong, cries, chirps, cackles, and buzzes of swarms of insects... fortunately kept at a distance by fragrant smoke suspended from the poles. On the other hand, the heat overwhelms the Akillians who sweat profusely, feeling shortness of breath and thickened blood.

A large common table has been set up on the platform, where they share the meal with their future opponents; pleasant, courteous and considerate, like all Wambas. The table is chaired by Wakura, Patriarch of the Council of Elders, a post similar to that held by Adium in the Akillian Confederacy. But unlike Adium, a young bureaucrat, Wakura was once a great footballer, who repeatedly led the Wambas to victory. Servants dressed in lavender - a sign of their belonging to a lower caste - bring trays of steaming food. Smoky and fragrant… a bizarre, sour, and spicy smell. D’jok grimaces.

- Do you know what the Wambas eat? - he asks Micro-Ice at the table next to him, looking worried.

- Yeah, exactly. Mimouk, the Cyclops cook at the Cafeteria, told me about it one day... that’s why I’m freaking out!

A servant sets a dish in front of them that looks like a gray, hairy mash, decorated with a sort of large strawberry, vaguely reminiscent of a human head. The smell rises to the nose like mustard, only more pungent.

- Good… good luck and bon appétit, Micro-Ice.

- You too…

D’jok grabs his wooden spoon and goes to help himself. He holds back, his eyes wide.

- But what is this thing?! (The “mash” just shuddered, making a sort of hiss) Am I hallucinating, or does it move like it’s alive?

- Uh... well... from what Mimouk said... - begins Micro-Ice with a downright disgusted expression.

Someone bends over the dish and plucks the “strawberry” with his three fingers. This is Wouwambou, the captain of the Wambas - bright green eyes, pearly gray complexion - apparently well recovered from his flu on Akillian.

- It’s called Blatch: a puree of fresh spiders in Colmache oil. A real treat! (He stuffs the thing into his mouth - it cracks and squeals) You’ll see, it’s really delicious.

- We don’t doubt it for a second… - Thran grimaces, disgusted.

- Or a very small fraction of a second, - adds Micro-Ice. - Just a few hundredths, eh, Thran?

Wakura taps his goblet with a knife that was used to cut up a local fruit, demanding silence. He then gets up:

- My very dear friends! I am happy to welcome you on behalf of all the Wamba people. I am particularly touched to welcome the team that Aarch has just formed to our planet (he turns to Aarch, who is sitting next to him). Aarch, you should know that with us, you are at home!

- Thank you, Wakura. It is an honor for me to be invited to your table.

- And now, dear friends, I propose a toast to your health! - adds the Patriarch, raising his goblet.

The Wambas gulp down the contents of theirs. The Akillians feel obligated to imitate them. It is a whitish, mucus-like liquid with a pronounced muddy taste.

- Yuck... - belches D’jok. - What is this stuff again?

Lun-Zaera, seated in front of him, leans over, licking her lips.

- It’s Gatcho slime soaked in the mud of the backwater. Isn’t that divine?

- Uh… I think I’m going to throw up… - replies Thran, suddenly pale.

- You may not know, - Wakura continues. - But your coach has been with us for a long time. You could even say he rebuilt himself here, mentally and physically. We fed him, we took care of him! This is why the bond between Aarch and the Wambas is so strong...

Aarch lowers his head. This innocent and kind evocation of Wakura’s brings back to mind some very cruel memories...

It was ten years ago. A group match qualifying for the Galactik Football Cup. Aarch was attacking, although Artegor Nexus claimed otherwise. Overflowing with the Shadow’s Smog that spread a trail of black ink behind him, rage in his heart, hatred in his eyes, he rushed like a madman towards the Cyclops’ goal.

“Aarch attacks with a startling breakthrough, he decided to take his chances! The Cyclops defense have sensed the danger and decide to cut Aarch off in his tracks!”

Massive and determined, united by a telepathic bond, the three Cyclops defenders rushed to meet him. Without deviating an inch, without attempting any tricks, Aarch hit them head-on. The Smog he gave off prevented them from using their flux, the Psycho-Bug, which boosts their perception and cohesion. He chuckled, amused at how he had hurt them.

“Aarch fought off the Cyclops effortlessly! What determination in this player!”

It wasn’t determination, it was fury. The Smog was also confusing his mind, like an overdosed doping drug. He no longer thought, no longer saw, no longer respected anything. With Artegor Nexus dragging him down this dangerous slope, he had become a war machine destined to pulverize opposing goals. He passed to Artegor, immediately marked by two Cyclops, who returned the ball to Aarch, who resumed his inexorable charge, jostling and knocking down an opposing player.

“Foul!” He heard through his earphones - but he didn’t listen, he ran, blind and deaf. Another Cyclops tried to stop him, having seen the referees flashing. Screaming in fury, Aarch crushed him, suffocating him under an overflow of Smog. He went to shoot at the goal... the ball disappeared: there was a foul, so play had stopped. His dark energy no longer finding an outlet, it spilled out of him like a hemorrhage of ink. He rolled on the floor, drooling and growling. The Smog escaped, flowing from him in huge black streaks. Lying on the ground, his arms outstretched, he still writhed, wanting to get up, finish the match, finish the Cyclops, but he could not… the Smog flowed, he groaned, losing the Breath, his life… his teammates and even his adversaries ran up, worried, a flying stretcher descended from above… the Smog flowed… and everything went black.

***

The blackness lasted several months… the first memory that came back to his mind was this great yellow sun that warmed his eyelids, filtered by foliage which seemed to him to be several hundred meters high. Around Aarch, wooden buildings, thatched roofs… he was lying almost naked on a mat spread on a bed of rough planks, a brightly colored cushion under his head. Birds were singing, insects chirping. A beautiful young woman with short brown hair, big blue eyes and full lips stepped out of a house of wood and cloth, bringing with her a plate of steaming vegetables. For a moment, Aarch believed in heaven. He smiled at this divine apparition...

- So, how is our patient today? Are you feeling better?

Later, Aarch learned that this woman was called Simbai, Dame Simbai. She was a Human exiled to the planet Wamba, where she learned the secrets of native plants and medicines. It was she who, by her mark of care, patience and concern, had succeeded in restoring to Aarch his physical strength, his sanity and his memory… and it was Clamp, his old and faithful friend Clamp, who had torn from the Shadow hospital where he had been taken, where the local doctors proved powerless to contain this hemorrhage of Smog: they had never seen something like that before… later, when he felt better, Dame Simbai explained to him that she believed the Breath of Akillian and the Smog of Obscurantis were two incompatible fluxes, which had competed within Aarch to somehow “dominate” him. The Smog had won him over after his long stay on the Shadows’ planet, but it had made him furious, devoured by an inordinate ambition, a rage to win that only occurred among the greatest dictators or warlords... Artegor apparently fared better, no doubt because the Breath of Akillian was weaker in him. But hadn’t he, too, become arrogant and ambitious, driven by an obsession to win?

- Are you okay, Aarch? Aarch?

He tears himself away from contemplating the mangrove swamp, and the species of dragonflies the size of pigeons that frolic there in a colorful ballet dance.

- Simbai! You have no idea how happy I am to see you!

She has aged a bit; her brown hair has grown, her big blue eyes are protected by small glasses, but her lips are still so attractive, her smile so charming, and her waist, surrounded by a wide red belt, still so fine...

- Are you surprised to see me? I still live here, don’t you remember?

She leans over the edge of the wooden pontoon, dipping her hand in the warm yellow water of the backwater.

- Yes, of course. I haven’t lost my memory again, you know (Aarch joins her, kneels on the ground, then grabs her wet hand). Dear Dame Simbai… (He places a hand over her fingers) Dame Simbai… - he repeats in a tone of respect, deference… and love.

In Dame Simbai’s ear, a small shiny clasp beeps, audible only to her: her permanent link with the Flux Society. Master Zimbra thus lets them know about her encounter with Aarch... as expected.

***

In front of the entrance porch of the large hut of the Council of Elders, Tia, sitting on a rock, also contemplates the backwater. She would have been swimming there just to cool off, but she wonders with some anxiety what dreadful beasts could be splashing about in these silty waters. Besides the sweaty heat that puts her to sleep, she feels a bit heavy, has a rumbling belly and the unpleasant feeling that the Blatch is still wriggling in her stomach. What atrocious food! ...she ate it all the same, because her parents always told her that she should be able to eat anything: “If one day you become an ambassador like us, know that it is extremely rude to refuse the food offered to you by the peoples you visit. So, you will give us the pleasure of eating without complaining what your housekeeper is preparing for you!” Well, it’s not deadly, if Aarch has lived here for several years… for an old man like him, he looks pretty good.

Wouwambou takes a short stroll on the path, in order to take advantage of the relative coolness - only thirty-five degrees today - and to digest the succulent Blatch which he had eaten a little too much of. He suddenly stops, noticing Tia on the rock in front of the entrance. The green irises of his eyes widen, a sign of intense emotion. It’s her! …“She must not be able to play anymore. Never again. Am I clear enough?” Oh yes, Artegor Nexus was very clear. And Wouwambou, that fool, accepted the money. He was able to pay for the doctor, the medicine, and even bring credits to his family. Now he has to honor his end of the bargain... he does not think for a second to shy away, because the Wambas are not like that: they keep their promises, even if it would cost them their lives. But this young Human looks so kind and so fragile… why should Wouwambou prevent her from pursuing her passion? Why must he hurt her, her soul and body? Ah, cruel fate! How devious and wicked humans are! He slips away, feeling shame; he especially doesn’t want to have to talk to little Tia, to bond with her - only to destroy her afterwards. This is totally against the Wamba spirit.

Coming out of the house in search of a bit of coolness, Rocket descends the steps leading to the pontoon, and joins Tia at the foot of the rock. She stands up quickly, ready to flee, then relaxes: Rocket is not an enemy, he does not mean harm to her. As long as he doesn’t touch her, he’s fine.

- Tia… you haven’t told the others about what you know, I hope?

- What are you talking about?

- You didn’t tell them I was Aarch’s nephew, did you?

- No, of course not, come on!

She accompanies her words with a smile and sits down, losing her gaze in the depths of the jungle. Rocket in turn climbs onto the rock and sits next to her, dripping with sweat.

- Well, that’s good! That way, we will each have our little secret...

Sharing secrets is a good start to sharing other things afterwards, such as intimate moments, he thinks. Can he afford to take Tia’s hand, or is it still too soon? But his remark does not produce the desired effect at all:

- What are you talking about, Rocket? - Tia gets angry. - I have nothing to hide!

- What? But… uh… - he stammers, unsettled. - Your arrival on Akillian...

- Excuse me, miss… - a voice echoes behind them (it is one of the Wamba servants, he seems rather old). – Haven’t we bumped into each other somewhere?

- I don’t think so! - Tia answers sharply.

- I’ve worked on many planets, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you before. - insists the servant. – Aren’t you the daughter of... oh, what’s their name? This couple of diplomats?

- I’m telling you, no! - retorts Tia, who jumps down from the rock and walks away briskly.

Rocket gets up in turn, then glares at the Wamba: this idiot screwed everything up! Embarrassed by the hostile expression, the servant walks away muttering.

- It’s her, I’m sure. My memory never deceives me.

#galactik football #the revival of akillian

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brelione · 4 years

Text

The Girl Not To Worry About and The Boy To Stay Away From (JJ X Reader X Rafe)

I’d love with you did that request with JJ breaking up with the reader for Kiara and getting with Rafe ❤️+omg please do jj leaving reader to be with kiara and reader going to kiss/hook up/ date or whatever with rafe because jj always told her not to be around him 😭

You and JJ had been dating for 9 months now. Everyone in your life started to have a label.John.B was like your brother, Pope was the person you vented to and Kiara was always the girl everyone told you not to worry about.JJ told you constantly that she was nothing more than a friend and that he loved you and only you.

But now you found yourself sitting across from him, your eyes becoming glassy. “Wow, JJ. You’re leaving me for the girl you promised me you didn’t like. Are you kidding me?”You asked, blinking the tears away as your sadness was quickly replaced with anger.

He gulped, pulling at his hair as he avoided your gaze. “I’m sorry.”He muttered, not sure about what to say. You sighed, looking down at the ground for a moment before standing up and walking past him.

You went into John.B’s house, slamming the door behind you as you rushed into the room that you had shared with JJ, stuffing your bras, underwear, shirts, and shorts into your bag before heading for the front door.

Kie sat up on the couch, confused. “It’s only nine, where are you going?”She asked, oblivious to what had just happened. You stared back at her for a moment, considering cussing her out but eventually deciding against it, getting into your car, and speeding to your house.

You sat in your driveway, head against the steering wheel as you took deep breaths, the tears coming from your eyes and rolling down your face and onto your neck. You licked your lips, glad that your mom wasn’t home. You grabbed your bag, going inside and into your room, not even bothering to turn on the light before collapsing onto your bed.

Every day felt the same, boring and bland with nothing to do. You would go to bed at four in the morning, waking up at two in the afternoon and living off of tortillas and iced coffee. You had 49 missed calls from Kiara and at least fifty on SC, eventually having to turn off all of your alerts. You knew that you couldn’t be mad at Kiara, it wasn’t her fault that she was perfect.

You laid on your bed, the fitted sheet had given up days ago, only your comforter keeping you safe from the cold air in your room. Your laptop was currently playing Gordon Ramsey, his insults making you smile as more tears rolled down your cheeks.

You were still wearing the clothes that you were wearing that night. You weren’t even sure how long ago that had been. The cups had piled up, creating mountains on your dresser and floor. You smelled bad and your hair was disgusting and messy.

You knew that you should get up and shower, brush your hair and teeth and make yourself a proper meal and get over JJ but it was easier said than done. You hadn’t pooped in days and you figured it was because you weren’t eating enough to even create poop in the first place.

You didn’t even know if you had slept or just zoned out for hours at a time. The cycle probably would’ve never ended if it weren’t for a knock on your door. At first, you ignored it, figuring it was just a mail person and they’d give up and leave the package. Then the knock came again and again, eight times by the time you decided to get up.

The cold air hit you hard, not used to the atmosphere outside of your comforter. You stomped down your stairs, face and neck wet from your tears as you opened the door, almost scared that you’d rip it off its hinges. “What the fuck do you want?”You asked, not understanding why the hell Rafe Cameron would be standing in your doorway.

He chuckled, taking in your appearance. Your eyes were bloodshot, dark circles under your eyes, and the skin on your nose peeling from how many times it had been wiped. Your hair was oily, knotted, and all-around disgusting. “Your mom told me to come and check if you were alive, she paid me two hundred to do it.”He replied.

You nodded, going to close the door when he stuck his foot between the wood and the door frame. “Where the fuck are you going?”He asked, pushing the door in and stepping into the house. “This is my house.”You reminded him, holding the door open.

“Yeah, okay. But I got paid two hundred dollars for this, I gotta do what I gotta do.”He replied, going into your kitchen. “And what do you have to do exactly? Clearly, I’m alive.”You grumbled, slamming the door shut. “You don’t look it.”He replied, taking one of the few cans of sprite and your fridge and opening it.

“So you came in here to bully me?”You asked, regretting opening the door in the first place. He shrugged, taking a long sip of the fizzy soda. “I gotta do what I gotta do, you’ve been a mess since that pogue left you.”He replied, your heart aching. You sniffed, feeling your eyes getting watery again. “You know about that.”You sighed, pulling at the sleeves of your sweatshirt.

He hummed, putting the can down. “Everyone does but you can’t really do much about that, nope. Now get in the shower.”He told you. You were more than angry. Angry at the fact that Rafe thought he could come in and tell you what to do in your own house, angry that everyone knew what happened, angry at JJ, angry at your mother for sending Rafe in the first place.

You didn’t understand when your life got so fucked up. Rafe had always been the guy that you were supposed to stay away from. You didn’t really know why other than the fact that he and JJ had this weird rivalry between them. You wondered what JJ was doing right now. He was probably fucking Kiara or drinking a beer.

You should’ve known this would happen eventually. You felt a few tears roll down your face, rolling your eyes and wiping them away. “Or what?”You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. He smirked, running at you and picking you up, running down your hallway and kicking your bathroom door open as you smacked his back and head.

“PUT ME DOWN!”You shouted, kicking him. He sighed, placing you down as he turned on the shower, grabbing a towel from your closet. “Shower.”He told you, turning around and going to leave when he heard the faucet turn off. You knew that it would be a good idea to shower but you didn’t want to do it just because Rafe Cameron told you to.

That would mean he had some sort of power over you.He turned around, sighing. “So fucking difficult.”He muttered, turning on the shower again only for you to reach over and turn it off.He glared at you, turning it back on before picking you up and putting you under the cold water while you were still fully clothed, a big grin on his face before he ran out of the bathroom.

You gasped, your hair becoming wet and your clothes sticking to you as you sprinted out of the bathroom, jumping onto Rafe’s back. “ASSHOLE!”You screamed at him.He laughed as you messed up his hair, getting his clothes wet.

“Yeah?”He asked, a stupid smile on his face.You stared up at him, becoming angrier and angrier with every second.Why did he have to laugh so often?Couldnt he see how upset you were with him?Why did he find this so funny?He frowned, noticing.

“Hey, im just trying to help, okay?At least you’re a little happier now.”He replied, backing away from you and tugging at his now wet shirt.You sighed, scratching at your scalp.Your hand got caught up in one of the knots, hissing in pain.

He gave you a look of sympathy, grabbing your hand gently and guiding you back into the bathroom, turning off the water and reaching across to grab a bottle of conditioner.Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out what he was doing.

He glanced down at the floor before sitting on the toilet, asking you to sit on the floor.You raised your eyebrows, shaking your head. “If you think im about to give you a fucking blow job in my bathroom-”You started only to be cut off.

“Can you shut the fuck up and let me do something nice for you?Seriously, do you ever shut the hell up?”He asked, squirting conditioner into the palm of his hand.You sighed, giving up and eventually sitting down, your back facing him.

He grinned, rubbing the conditioner into the ends of your hair. “Wheezie does this when she gets back from the beach and her hairs all fucked up.”He muttered, explaining himself as he put more conditioner into his hands, rubbing it into your scalp and roots.

You could’ve fallen asleep right there, forehead resting against his thigh as he massaged your scalp. “Are you asleep?”He asked, trying not to grin.You hummed, letting him know that you were awake.He sighed, rubbing his thumbs over the back of your neck, not really ready to let you go yet.

“Why dont you brush your teeth and get in the shower, okay?”He asked, his fingers ghosting over your temple.You nodded, standing up and waiting for him to leave.It took him a minute, his cheeks flushing before he left, heading for your bedroom.

You brushed your teeth slowly, looking in the mirror and frowning at how bad you really looked, hoping a shower would fix it all.You took off your clothes, getting conditioner inside your shirt but not even caring as you stepped into the shoer, rinsing out the conditioner and noticing how smooth your hair felt.

Rafe went into your room, starting by taking out the dishes and then moving on to the mess that was your bed, taking your overheating laptop off and forcing the sheets back on.You got out of the shower, feeling a little better after crying for a while, staying until the water got cool.

You wrapped the towel around your body, picking up your dirty clothes and putting them into the basket in your bathroom before going into your bedroom, confused when you saw Rafe. “What the hell is this?”He asked, holding up a large grey sweatshirt.

You sighed, knowing that it was JJ’s. “Is this his?EW-”He threw it on the floor, wiping his hand on his shorts. “Yeah, no.We’re burning that.”He kicked it across the room, looking back into your drawer and finding a light pink hoodie that he had seen you wear before, tossing it to you.

He belly flopped onto your bed, face buried in the pillow so you could change.You huffed, making sure he couldnt see anything before you let the towel fall, pulling on the hoodie and a pair of shorts. “Can I look?”He asked, voice muffled by your pillow.

You hummed, sitting at the foot of the bed with your hands in your lap.He looked over at you, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you look so grumpy?”He asked, rolling onto his back. “I dunno….I mean my boyfriend left me for another girl and now you’re here and you refuse to leave.”You shrugged.He chuckled, fighting the urge to pull you into a hug.

“You cant just let him win.Come on, you gotta live a little.”He told you, standing back up and opening your drawers, grabbing anything that looked like it belonged to JJ and throwing it onto your floor. “What are you doing?”You asked, watching as the hoodies and t shirts piled up on your floor.

“We’re getting rid of the past, my therapist told me that holding on to the things that hurt you is bad for your mental health or something.”He replied, closing your drawers once he was satisfied.You frowned, realising just how much JJ influenced your life.

He kicked the pile a few times, looking over at you.You got what he was trying to tell you, standing up and beginning to kick the pile too.You stepped on one of the shirts, kicking one of the hoodies so hard that it went under your bed.He smiled, watching you take out your anger on the pile.

“See?It feels good.”He watched as you kicked the clothes, laughing. “What a fucking asshole.”You muttered, taking in a deep breath.He nodded in agreement, hesitantly wrapping his arms around you.You stiffened up, not knowing how to feel about it.

You eventually hugged him back, arms around his waist and your head against his chest, enjoying his warmth.You never thought you’d be in this position.You were supposed to hate Rafe and now you were hugging him.He rubbed your back and your wet hair, his face red.

Eventually your body gave out, sitting on the bed while you still held onto him, his fingers running over your jaw and temple.You sighed, eyes closed as you leaned against him.He kneeled on the floor, your head on his shoulder now.

His hands cupped your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You should go brush your hair….”He told you, still not letting go.You nodded, looking up at him.His eyes flicked down for a moment, looking back into your eyes before letting go of you, watching as you got up and went back to the bathroom.

You tugged the brush through your hair, the sweatshirt getting wet as drops got splashed onto the mirror and bathroom counter.Rafe sat on your bed for a few minutes, deciding to go check on you.You were halfway done with brushing your hair, sighing at all the knots that had built up.

He took the brush from you, standing behind you as he brushed your hair, holding his hand under the locks so the brush wouldnt hit your shoulder. “You should delete all your pictures of him, it’ll help with your phone storage.”He mumbled, grinning when he defeated one of the many knots.

You shrugged, wincing when he pulled the brush through your hair. “Sorry.”He mumbled, glad once the knots were finally out.He pulled your hair off your shoulders, resting his chin on your shoulder, arms making their way around your waist.You could feel his breath on your neck, staring at your reflection as he pressed a light kiss to your neck.

“He never deserved you, you know.”He muttered, looking into the mirror.Your hands rested on his, leaning against his chest.He smiled, kisses being pressed up and down your neck, another one on your temple. “I could never imagine leaving you for Kiara, I mean, shes pretty but she could never be you.”He muttered.

You raised your eyebrows, turning around to look at him. “Serious?”You asked, not really believing him.He hummed, pressing another kiss to your forehead.Rafe’s hands grazed over your sides lightly, sending a shiver up your spine. “I can help you forget about him.”He spoke softly, his forehead resting against yours.You gulped, thinking about it.

He moved slowly, unbelievably close to you. “Do you wanna forget about him?”He asked, his hands slipping under the pink hoodie.You nodded, your hands going to the back of his neck so you could kiss him.

He was unbelievably gentle, barely touching you.His knees felt weak, not able to believe what was happening right now.You pulled away for a second, taking in a deep breath.He smiled, biting his lip.

“You okay?”He asked, his thumbs rubbing your hips. “Yeah.”You smiled, kissing him lightly.The two of you ended up in your bedroom, gentle kisses being pressed to your neck and collarbones.

“We dont have to do this.”He reminded you.You nodded. “I know, but I want to.”You answered.He hummed, kissing your forehead. “Tell me what to do, princess.”He whispered, sucking a hickey on your neck.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it off of him.He smiled, watching as you stared at his chest, slowly grabbing his arms so he would fall under you.He smiled, watching as you pulled down his pants, just straddling him for a few moments, tracing patterns along his chest.

You sighed softly, not sure if you were ready to do this.It felt like you would be betraying JJ even if he had betrayed your first. “Hey, you okay?”He asked, noticing how you were hesitating.

You nodded, kissing him gently. “Its just...I dunno.It feels weird.”You muttered, getting off of him.He turned on his side, looking up at you. “Weird how?”He asked, his hand resting on your thigh.You shrugged.

“Its just weird...being around a guy thats not JJ.”You admitted, feeling guilt in your stomach.He frowned, resting his head against your knee. “Good weird?”He asked.You shrugged, twirling his hair.

“Neutral weird.”You answered.He nodded, his eyes not leaving your face. “So do you want me to leave?”He offered.You shook your head, kissing him lightly. “Nope.”You replied, pulling away from him fully when your phone rang.

Your heart thumped in your chest, eyes wide as JJ’s photo flashed on your screen.Rafe shook his head, trying to get you to ignore it and frowning when you answered. “Hey...do you have a minute to talk?”JJ asked, his voice high pitched like he had been crying.Fuck.

@nas-marie-loves-u @28cnn @sexytholland @yuxsh06 @ifilwtmfc @cherryobx @poguestarkey @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @poguestyleskye @judayyyw @sunwardsss @meaganjm @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @jj-fic-recs @homophobicclownmoviestan @jj-iz-bae @natalie-kate-98 @negativity4you @nxsmss @ofmaybankheart @broken-jj @joshy-obx @curroptbunnie @outerbnx-stiles @angelreyesgirl100 @hannahhh-marie @sadnessrehab @purple-vodka-99 @annmariek8 @harryswigss @imagines-07 @pink-meringues @popcrone818 @fttayla @cherryobx @drewstarkeyobx @jjtheangel @jj-iz-bae@sunwardsss @natalie-kate-98 @nxsmss @broken-jj @prejudic3 @outerbongs @copper-boom @httpstarkey @teenwaywardasgardian @drewswannabegirl @simonsbluee @jiaraendgame @khiaraaa-in-spacee @on-socks-off @abbiesthings @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @i-love-scott-mccall @dreamypeaches

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe outer banks #rafe smut #rafe fluff #jj maybank #jj maybankxreader #jj maybank imagine #jj x you #jj maybank oneshot #jj

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candied-cae · 2 years

Text

This Here is Not Singing - Home Sweet Home

Chapter 6/? - - - Read it on AO3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] <- Previous Chapters - - - Next Chapters -> [7] [8] [9]

Word Count : 3,788

Summary : After far too many days on the road, the companions arrive at their destination: Bleobheris and its surrounding city Velen. It was a long journey, but Winter dutifully delivered them to a place to rest and call home. They'll need to get settled in before it really feels like safety, but for the first time in a long time, they both feel some hope that they really will be fine. Like they can relax without risking everything.

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The duo ride into Velen, the township surrounding the tree itself, atop their steed in the early afternoon. With a look around the agricultural town, there are all the staples one might expect. The more condensed living center was framed by wide ranges of farmland, cattle barns, and a speckling of houses; and in the city itself, a woman was leading a gaggle of goats down the road, the stray chicken or two was clucking and fluttering about, and some dogs were prowling for their next feed. None of those sights would be of interest, they were all the usual things every other place might have.

Where the Seat of Friendship was different than most other cities on the Continent, was in its people. Sure, the town was diverse, so were a few others, but it was the way they interacted. Like the citizens had realized long ago they had way bigger problems in this life than the shape of their neighbors' ears or the height they came to. Just trying to find joy and money to support oneself was enough to worry about, all the other divisions of race were a waste of thought. The rest of Temeria might be lagging in the societal reform, but Velen’s ease was an attraction that made it one of the nicest and most respected farming towns in the world, so it had earned itself some lax; you’d never find an army stopping through to ruin the peace in the name of the crown’s prejudice.

The whole thing was a breath of fresh air for them. Jaskier was happy to return to a place of comfort and memory, and Ciri was noticing a feeling of simplicity and, they both hoped, safety. As they came to the cobblestone path they decided to dismount Winter; any additional weight they could take off the horse would serve as a small thank you for the distance he’d brought them in such haste. Jaskier got himself down and reached up to help Ciri slide off after him. The bard held the reins and they continued down the road to where they’d arrive at the center of the glade. Where the other thing that set the city apart from others resided: The Great Oak.

Beyond all the people and buildings, you could see the massive colors of autumn blocking the sky. It’s a marvelous thing to behold, even more so when you stood at the foot of it.

“There it is,” Jaskier says to Ciri, taking Winter’s reins into his hands as he leads them in the direction of the tree.

“It’s huge” she gaps, eyes looking up to the ruby red and fiery orange leaves breaking up the sunlight.

“It is. They say it was the first tree to take root and grow on the Continent. After all those years, it’s become a bit of a landmark for lost souls looking for a home. A very similar journey to the one we've taken today. There’s a place to stay further into the city, it’s about as close to the tree you can get and still be in town, so we’ll get Winter here checked into a stable, and set to getting a room down there to get ‘moved in’ for the foreseeable future. Then we can see abou-”

“Julian!” a voice from their left calls. Its speaker is a middle-aged woman with graying blonde hair pulled into a low bun that peeks out under her bonnet, who steps into the street while she wrings her hands clean on her apron. She’s followed closely by a younger boy, probably about 17 or 18 to Ciri’s best guess. He was a lean guy, with a messy short cut of dark blonde hair, arms busy carrying a tray of baked goods.

“Marinela” Jaskier replies warmly,” And Thomas, I see. You really are sprouting up these days, huh lad?”

The woman puts a hand on the boy’s arm and pulls him closer to her, further displaying the height difference. She stood barely taller than Ciri did and Thomas was at least a head and a half above her.

“He really has gone up these last few years. I’ve been making him eat more which seems to do it. He used to be so fussy over his vegetables and-”

“Mother” the boy groaned.

“Oh hush now-” She says giving a light smack to her son’s arm, earning a chuckle from them both,” Anyway, what’s got you back up this way now? Haven't seen you make the stop here since Thomas was just 14 and still as small as me. And you never came while the weather was still so warm.”

“Oh, that’s quite a story to share. But I’m planning on settling down here for a little while, so I’ll be sure to stop by and tell you all about it,” he promised her with a wink.

“You better. I expect some company while I’ve got you in town, you hear? And who is this darling girl?" Marinella asks with some lip like Jaskier'd been hiding her away all this time.

"She's my cousin, Eliara's, oldest. This is our dear Isalaine." Jaskier introduces.

"Isalaine, that's such a pretty name... Oh! Thomas, give them something to take to the inn.” she said, chastising him for lack of action, yet taking care of the task herself. She reached her hand into her pocket and swiped a handkerchief out before she plucked a few items off the tray and wrapped them up together. She handed the treats to Ciri, the freshly baked foods seeping warmth into her palms through the gloves,” Now you’ve got to come to find me and return my rag, alright? And if you’ve got my favorite visitor to come up all this way, then I need to get to know you as well and properly thank you, child.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ciri lets out shyly.

“Well be back, Marinela, give us a night to unpack our things first and get settled, love. We’ll come back this way tomorrow morning”, Jaskier pulled Ciri along while Marinela waved farewell.

As the two continued their walk to the stables, Jaskier got a few more greetings. Most were just a quick “Jaskier” tossed their way to which he could reply with a smile and nod. Some, however, would also add comments that he looked well, they wanted to hear his latest songs, or they'd mention how early it was in the season to see him.

“A lot of people know you here.” Ciri comments.

“Yes. I forgot how much I’ve really been around this place. Every time the Witcher breaks for his winter at the keep, I either go to Oxenfurt and run some lectures, get cozied up with whoever is my current paramour, or I find myself back here. It has been a few years since I’ve weathered the season in Bleobheris, though.” Jaskier pauses for a moment, remembering the time that’s passed before he decided on offering some details about the two they’d just met.

“Marinela’s an old friend. She was one of the first people I got to know back in my early years on the Path. I was just a young thing back then, and I’d come here without really knowing what I was doing. I guess I was looking for some answers. And she saw me, lost and on my own, and just pulled me into her family. She had a husband back then, a traveling salesman, and was freshly pregnant with her first son, Thomas’s older brother Jordy. I guess she saw this kid on his own and with a mother’s instinct decided to take care of me back when I didn’t have my own standing. And her husband was on the road at the time, so she was alone, the same as me. Whenever I find myself up this way, I try and visit with her as well. Her husband passed when Thomas was still young, so they’ve been on their own for a while now. She bakes wonderful meat pies and spiced breads though. Keeps them all comfortable with income from the marketplace.”

“You came here looking for answers?”

“Yes. A long time ago. We’ll talk about it later. Right now, we need to get Winter into his booking and us into ours.” he says before picking up his pace just a bit.

It was true, back when Jaskier had just met Geralt and had his first brush with elves, he felt like he was missing some of the story. He’d gone to Oxenfurt but found no true answers there. As much as he loved his alma mater, it was not a place of varied perspectives or sources. If you looked among its members, you’d distinctly see a lot of human men of wealthy families, there's only so much education they could provide. And the questions Jaskier had couldn’t be answered by them. So one winter instead of going back to the academy as he had in the years past, he came to Bleobheris, a place he’d been told was a community of different people who were all given the right to speak freely.

They arrived at the stables and handed Winter off to a young stablehand. He took the horse’s reins and pulled him along into a stall where he asked for the name. They watched him scrawl it into a leatherbound book with a few notes on the horse’s description.

“Winter: gray, dapple, colt, well-built. Keeper: Jaskier. Length of Stay: Undeclared. Payment:... If you’d like we can charge daily, weekly, or for a period longer. If you pay for longer than the horse stays you will not get the overcharge back, but if the horse’s stay is not paid for he will be sold to the first interested party. How will you be paying today?” the kid relayed like he wasn’t even registering the words anymore, he’d been trained with them and they fell out in order like a habit.

“We’ll cover four weeks starting today.”

The boy charges Jaskier for the stay and after the bard hands over the orens and the boy hands back a ticket of paper which has his payment written in with the date it’s covered. Each says their respectful thank you’s and goodbye’s and Ciri and Jaskier make way for the inn just further up the road. It was a big building, the town receives many travelers year-round so they were well-equipped to house them comfortably. They get themselves a room in a similar fashion to Mayena, a steeper price for the higher demand, but not something they couldn’t afford.

They ascended some stairs and used the key to unlock their room. The two of them step into the room, Jaskier shutting the door behind. It was a bigger room than the last, organized into two sections with candles assorted around to illuminate it at night and a few windows along the wall above the beds for the daytime. When they entered the door they were greeted with two beds and a wood furnace resting between them against the left wall, and a lounge chair, a desk, and a wooden chair opposite. Jaskier claimed the bed closest to the door, laying his lute case on it, and motioned for Ciri to take the other further into the room, something Geralt often did for him what now feels like a lifetime ago. To put oneself in between any harm the outside world could bring, it’s a kindness that had, at the time, assured Jaskier that Geralt cared for him despite his protests. Ciri followed Jaskier’s gesture and sat on the second bed, setting the baked goods beside her and removing her gloves to smooth her hands across the bedding while she watched him explore the rest of the room.

Jaskier walked past the beds to where there were two doors, one leading to a space with a smaller furnace with a bucket and water pump, a dresser, a mirror, and a wooden tub for a bath to be drawn. Another element that brought memories of past nights at inns with the Witcher. But those days are gone and passed. He stepped to the second door which opened to reveal a sizable closet that held a chest on the floor and shelves on the wall.

“We can find some more clothing to buy in town and store it in here, along with anything else we don’t want to keep on us when we go out. There’s certainly enough room for a few outfits. I don’t know about you, but I am personally very much looking forward to putting on clothes that don’t smell like we’ve been camping most nights over these last few weeks.”

Ciri closes her eyes, hikes her shoulders up with a deep breath in, and drops them as she scrunches up her nose,” I’d like that. A lot”

“Good. I’m not sure we’ll find anything as fine as what you usually wore, but I’ve been shopping in this district before and I’ve found some pieces I’ve loved well over the years, so I’m sure we’ll find something that suits you too. But before we do that, I think we ought to see what Marinela gifted us.”

The two of them dig into the wrapped handkerchief to find two hand-sized meat pies, four crescent rolls, and two fruit tarts. They split the treats before leaving the room, locking the door behind them, as they make way for the market to find some clothing to stock their closet with. After roughly two hours of wandering about, picking at fabrics, holding pieces up to their frames to compare its size, and lightening the weight of Jaskier’s coin purse, the two have gathered a plentiful spoil of clothes. They return to the Inn as the sun began to fall below the horizon. In tow with them, they brought back for Ciri; a chemise to sleep in, three colors of loose-fitting blouses of different colors with matching skirts, a pair of pants, and two bodices for her daily wear. And for Jaskier, they'd bought; two doublets, two linen shirts, a waistcoat, a hooded cloak to match Ciri’s, and a few pairs of pants for Jaskier. Jaskier might’ve also gathered a few other assorted items, a book for Ciri to read, a few leather ties for her hair, and some bathing supplies.

Jaskier entrusted Ciri to unload their items and organize them into the closet while he set to drawing a bath for her, leaving a bar of soap and some oils on the vanity. Once the tub was ready and warm, he left her to close the doors and get clean and dressed while he waited in the room, strumming lightly on his lute and scribbling notes into his journal. Once Ciri’s finished enjoying a moment of much-needed privacy and relaxation, washing off dirt and grime and ash she swears has been stuck to her skin since Cintra, she reenters the room and sits on the bed, now dressed in her knee-length pale blue chemise. Jaskier takes his turn to wash after letting the bath drain out and warming just a few buckets of water to pour over himself and scrub clean, himself exiting in one of the new long linen shirts which he tucked into a pair of the comfortable, loose trousers.

Ciri was lying diagonally across the bed on her stomach reading the first few pages of the book with her wavy brown hair spilling over her shoulders, most of it had dried it seemed with the furnace’s heat wafting out into the room. The vision brought a smile to Jaskier’s face while he shook a rag against his hair to rid it of as much remaining water as he could. This was the first moment of stability they’ve been able to share. Every other night was either on the road or just a single night spent in a room they couldn’t really move into. At least this stay came with the expectation of getting to at least get accustomed to it until they decided to make the change. Jaskier blew out the extra candles, until the only light in the room came from the caged fire, and laid himself on the bed, stretching out all his joints with a groan.

“Don’t get old, darling” he sighs like the warning was something she could actually heed.

She laughed a bit and closed her book before crawling under the blankets herself. After a moment of silence, as she looked upon the bard who was watching the flickering light move across the ceiling, she asked,” You said you came here for answers before. What answers were you looking for?”

Jaskier closed his eyes and took a breath before he turned to her and began,” Well, remember that first night when I told you about how the Witcher and I met? How we ran into a few Elves and I messed up the song?”

Ciri nodded to him and he looked back up to the ceiling as he continued,” When I wrote the song, I didn’t tell it right. I let the world believe in some mighty battle that sent them running to the hills. I had hoped humanity might let them be until they would be able to reconnect with the world. To find a way to live with humans. But I quickly figured that wasn’t how they wanted to live. They didn’t believe they could… I said I learned a lot. That I discovered the truths after meeting two elves and it reshaped my world view and suddenly I knew everything correctly. I wasn’t entirely truthful. I didn’t learn so much right away. It was honest that I’d learned that they were struggling and weren’t so complicit in their separation from the cities of Man as I’d been previously led to believe. But that simple correction didn’t teach me much. It started me on the right path, to curiosity about what really happened that I hadn't been told about.”

Ciri finds herself remembering her own similar moment. Dara told her in the Brokilon Forest of the horrors that her Grandmother’s army committed against the elves to smother the uprising. It felt so backward to be suddenly told all this terrible stuff happened against the claims of how everyone she knew described it. Like she'd been played a fool and everyone else knew.

“So I decided I wanted to know the truth. The real truth. The history between Elves and Men. I wanted to know as much about the events following the Conjunction of the Spheres as possible. I had this pipedream that I’d be able to write new songs to help their assimilation once I got properly educated. So that winter, I went to Oxenfurt. I poured into the library every day from dawn to dusk, reading. Trying to find first-person accounts, particularly Elven accounts of what’s been happening during the time until humans claimed the Continent for themselves. Of course, those would be rather old books, likely written in Elder which not many people read, and to own those books would be owning evidence of history in which humans are the bad guys. So I’ll bet it was no surprise that I didn’t happen upon such scriptures.”

Jaskier let out another sigh, remembering how when spring returned he felt like he’d wasted so much time rereading the same testimonies of men in armor “protecting the crown’s land”.

“So the next year when I returned I tried going through the old prose and poetry sections. I figured if the library didn’t have any historical writings, perhaps what they considered fiction might carry some clues. I would’ve felt relieved if I could find even just a child's storybook of men in metal clothes being scary creatures. And yet another year had gone and I was nowhere. The next year, I decided that the library wasn’t going to bring results. But there had to be people asking these questions. I sent letters to alumni, went to professors, new and retired, any scholar I could find, I asked. And again, my search was fruitless… For three years I tried to find answers among men. That’s when as the third spring returned and I was slumped against a tavern bar, feeling pitiful, the barmaid mentioned Bleobheris. She asked me why not ask the elves themselves what happened. In a place, they don’t have to hide and some might want to talk to people who want to learn about their lives and stories and histories.”

Jaskier smiled,” That year, my fourth year on the Path, I came here instead. And I talked to real people. They kindly shared with me their history and in turn, I decided that “Toss a Coin” wouldn’t be my only song in which they were mentioned. I’d villainized them for my own friend’s gain, but when whispers of an uprising began to spread… I wrote new pieces. Rallies. I tried at least. I sang of Filavandrel, still the King of the Elves. I sang of the Lioness, who would be left no choice but to relinquish them some space to populate. I sang of reclamation of lost lands, of elven kin spread all over the Continent able to come together again, of families being made whole again. I sang of a community, a race returning to glory and prosperity. Of coexistence and peace and comfort…”

With another lumbering heave on his heart, Jaskier finished,” And I was wrong though. Again. The uprising was squashed. Elven blood was spilled once more. And from what I’ve heard, Filavandrel no longer has the heart to lead his people. He feels he’s failed them I presume. I failed them as well.”

“Some part of me still believes there’s something I can do for them. Something I can do with this instrument I was given by Filavandrel. But music doesn’t work those miracles it seems. I tried for years and got nowhere. I’m a witcher’s barker and nothing more”

Another pang hits Jaskier. Because he has to ask himself if he is even that anymore? Is he anything now that he’s been told off and left behind?

“You’re something more.” Ciri assures through a yawn, Jaskier turns his head to look her in the eyes again,” I know it.”

Jaskier’s face softens into another smile, he almost can’t believe how much smiling he’s able to do while he feels Geralt’s a world away hating him,“ You’re too kind, dear heart, but thank you. Now it’s time to rest, we’ve got plans for breakfast in the morning.” he tells her, as the stutters the grates of the furnace to close more, making the room a comfortable, warm darkness.

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National Enquirer, April 5

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Meghan Markle's secret psych analysis

Page 2: Heather Locklear has put on a lot of weight since she got out of rehab last fall -- she looks to be carrying 170 pounds on her five-foot-five frame and she looks to have gained 35 pounds

Page 3: Miranda Lambert has taken another swipe at ex Blake Shelton and Gwen Stefani by dissing their upcoming nuptials -- Miranda has been urging mutual friends to skip the wedding and she's got everyone in Nashville and beyond all riled up and either you're Team Miranda or you're Team Blake, and if you're with him you can forget about being friends with her and she's forcing people to choose sides and she'll have no qualms cutting off anyone who attends Blake's wedding

Page 4: Alex Rodriguez struck out with fiancee Jennifer Lopez after she discovered his hot-and-heavy direct messages to a long string of women -- their four-year romance went foul after Southern Charm's Madison LeCroy publicly admitted she'd been in touch with A-Rod and Jennifer found out he'd reached out to other beauties through social media and Jennifer had had enough

* Concerned mom Jennifer Garner is struggling to cement her relationship with daughter Violet now that the 15-year-old is barreling through the turbulent teens -- Jennifer said the heartbreak is just that she's growing up at all and it's heartbreaking for the mom and for the teenager, needing to have that kind of severing of this baby-mama tie

Page 5: Chris Brown's spacey social media posts about aliens have close pals concerned about the R&B crooner, including his once-battered ex Rihanna -- Chris is obsessed with conspiracy theories and all things supernatural

Page 6: Disgraced Felicity Huffman is fuming about scuffling for plum parts while rumors swirl fellow felon Lori Loughlin has already been invited back into her old TV series and Felicity can't understand why she is being forced to go through the whole audition process while Lori seems to be welcomed back with open arms -- though she hates to do it, Felicity feels the only way she can get attention is to do a tell-all interview about her humiliating part in the scandal -- Felicity has scored a part in the ABC pilot Sacramento River Cats, though there is no guarantee the project will make it onto the air, but insiders and fans of the hit Hallmark series When Calls the Heart have all been filling the internet with talk of Lori's rumored return -- Felicity believes the only way to get public sympathy is to spill her guts, even though all she wants is put the scandal far behind her

Page 8: Stressed Tonight Show host Jimmy Fallon has been packing on the pounds as his talk show continues to battle with Stephen Colbert's Late Show and Jimmy Kimmel Live in the late-night ratings and Jimmy has been partying and pigging out to find any comfort he can as Tonight continues to trail the field in total viewers and Jimmy is over 200 pounds for the first time in his life and it's because he's overindulging to compensate for the show's struggles and Jimmy and the gym do not mix even though he had a full fitness center installed at his New York apartment years ago

* Debilitated diva Liza Minnelli's 75th birthday party turned into a disaster when her frail physical condition alarmed friends -- celebrity pals also joined a virtual bash for the legend, even though Liza insisted she didn't want a big fuss and Liza's manager threw the small dinner party on her birthday and about eight people, including Joan Collins, attended in person and several other friends, including Barbra Streisand, recorded video messages and performances for Liza but before the party, Liza was in such bad shape she told friends that she didn't want to participate or be seen on camera -- in the end, Liza, who's undergone multiple surgeries and struggled with substance abuse for years, agreed to join the gathering at the L.A. home of her longtime protege Michael Feinstein and Liza sang but she didn't look well and her voice is shot to pieces and she was propped up in a chair and barely moved from it because she can't walk well anymore and during a live chat during the party the hashtag #FreeLiza started to pop up and not everyone meant it as a joke and there's a feeling certain people have taken over her life and longtime friends have been frozen out and they fear she'll never appear in public again and they won't see her again before she dies -- when friends saw the videos the next day they were upset and very worried, saying Liza really appears to have declined

Page 9: Angelina Jolie has fired a shocking new salvo against ex Brad Pitt over custody of their five youngest children and her latest court documents allege domestic violence and even worse, some of the nearly dozen papers Angie just filed offer up a few of the kids to testify against their dad and Angie is now claiming she can offer proof and authority of domestic violence but Brad's lawyers are expected to respond with a vehement denial -- with the newest court filings, all of which are sealed, Angie is determined to get full custody of the kids and Angelina has fought tooth and nail to get what she wants in this divorce and when it comes to her kids she won't back down

Page 10: Hot Shots -- Farrah Abraham in a bikini, 50 Cent chased away his thirst with a drink at an Atlanta eatery, Natasha Lyonne of Russian Doll was on her game while playing chess on the NYC set, Selma Blair met up with a pal in Studio City, Reggie Bush showed he's still in fine form during a Mexican vacay

Page 11: Gwyneth Paltrow isn't above using a little goop to smooth out the age lines -- the lifestyle guru recently admitted to resorting to a teeny drop of Xeomin, which claims to be a uniquely purified choice for frown lines, to help her look less pissed off but she also admitted her history with fillers hasn't always been happy and she had a midlife crisis when she turned 40 and she went to see this doctor and it was a disaster and she was bruised and her forehead was completely frozen and she didn't look like herself at all -- she also admitted she believes there is still a lot of shame around surgery or injectables or fillers and it's like admitting a vulnerability -- she said she thinks aging is hard and when you see your face start to change, you don't necessarily feel your most beautiful, externally, but the irony is it's that time in your life when you actually really like yourself and love yourself

* Wendy Williams' handpicked hunk Mike Esterman has better buckle up because the daytime diva has already mapped out their future, and he's in for a wild ride -- Wendy boasted she chose her Maryland-based beau after receiving hundreds of submissions to her Date Wendy segment, but she's aiming to renovate the contractor and it's all about image, stylists and bodyguards for Wendy right now and she's already got a reality show in the works for them, a TV crew and photographers trailing them everywhere and his-and-her makeovers too -- she's gone from zero to 60 with this guy in a matter of days

Page 12: Straight Shuter gossip column -- Miley Cyrus is going country after her last two albums tanked -- Miley offended her core audience with her outrageous behavior and punk sound and she's signed with a new record label and the plan is to reintroduce her to the country audience that loved her dad, Billy Ray Cyrus, and once loved her -- Miley's behavior has overshadowed her talent for years and her new team will guide Miley back to her roots in the world of country and finding the right sound should be easy but can Miley find the right behavior

* Gayle King owes her glow on CBS This Morning to a new makeup artist and after being tended to by a fill-in makeup artist and told she looked better than ever, Gayle quietly dismissed her longtime makeup man but there's an unspoken code of ethics in the pro makeup world that if you're asked to replace a longtime client's makeup person, the appropriate answer is no

* The Sex and the City reboot isn't all cosmos and roses -- Sarah Jessica Parker was the show's executive producer, giving her much more power than her co-stars, but Cynthia Nixon and Kristin Davis will also executive produce the reboot and there's already tension -- sharing power is hard for anyone who's been the boss for years and it isn't one big happy family

* Rachel Brosnahan gets some puppy love on the set of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (picture)

Page 13: The knives are out for self-appointed queen bee of The Talk Sharon Osbourne after she was exposed as TV's meanest host -- the salty motormouth has been accused of a barrage of racist and anti-gay zingers, forcing the gabfest to go on hiatus while CBS investigates the claims -- former host Leah Remini claimed Sharon would frequently refer to then-co-host Julie Chen, who is Chinese American, as 'wonton' and 'slanty eyes' and Sharon also reportedly referred to her out lesbian co-host Sara Gilbert as 'p--sy licker' and 'fish eater' -- in a tweet, Holly Robinson Peete implied Sharon's racist comments led to her leaving the show -- Sharon also chased Marie Osmond on the show last fall and tried to take it over after Julie Chen quit in 2018 -- Sharon has denied all claims against her -- Sharon's big personality is central to The Talk, but some of these allegations, although none have yet been proven, are the kind of remarks that could be career-ending

Page 14: Crime

Page 16: Demi Lovato's shocking admission that she continues to puff pot and swill booze after multiple rehab stints and a near-fatal drug overdose has pals and addiction experts convinced the singer is courting disaster -- she dropped the bombshell in a recent interview and claimed indulging in those vices has helped her fend off more serious addictions and the chronic depression that has dogged her entire life -- Demi came very close to dying three years ago after she overdosed on opioids and it triggered three stokes and a heart attack, and a lot of people were terrified she would never recover and her friends are convinced she's put herself right back on the same self-destructive path -- Demi claimed she was sexually assaulted by her dealer on the day of her almost-fatal OD and when her assistant found her unconscious and surrounded by vomit following the wild binge, she was naked and she was blue and she was left for dead and she had unknowingly taken heroin that was laced with the powerful drug fentanyl

Page 17: Devastated Lisa Marie Presley is finding comfort in the arms of her first husband, Danny Keough, after their son Benjamin Keough's suicide -- Danny has given her a shoulder to cry on and he's the only one who can understand the despair she feels after losing Benjamin -- Lisa Marie has been inconsolable since Benjamin died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound and she's moved in with Danny in Woodland Hills, California and she's also struggled with substance abuse and the stress of an ongoing divorce battle from fourth husband Michael Lockwood -- although her marriage to Danny ended in 1994, he's remained close to the family, working as a driver and handyman for their actress daughter, Riley Keough and Riley couldn't be happier that her dad has been so helpful to her mother and it's taking a full team to keep Lisa Marie together and Danny was definitely proven he's still on her team

* The sudden death of Bobby Brown Jr. remains shrouded in mystery as the 28-year-old's autopsy report was placed on a security hold following a request from the LAPD -- the namesake son of Bobby Brown and his ex-girlfriend Kim Ward lived with his famous father in Encino, California, where the singer found him responsive -- Bobby Jr. has been doing drugs with pals and insiders suspected he was deliberately dosed with a fatal cocktail of booze, cocaine and painkillers

Page 18: American Life

Page 19: Tina Turner is using a new documentary about her life as a final farewell to fans after the R&B icon was rocked by a string of physical and mental health woes including the crippling effects of a 2013 stroke -- the eye-opening documentary Tina is a love letter to her millions of supporters and the punctuation mark to a life defined by startling professional success and heartbreaking personal catastrophes -- Tina admitted she's had an abusive life but at a certain stage forgiveness takes over -- in the documentary Tina confessed she suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder and has frightening flashbacks of being savagely beaten throughout her hellish 16-year marriage to the late Ike Turner and Tina's current husband, German music producer Erwin Bach, even compared his spouse to a shell-shocked soldier -- more recently, Tina has been battered by health crises after suffering a stroke in 2013 and being diagnosed with intestinal cancer three years later, mere months before her kidneys failed and Erwin donated one of his own to save her life -- Tina knows the end is near and this film is truly her last encore

Page 20: Match Game -- a round up of male and female celebs who look astonishingly similar, despite their opposite genders -- Sophie Turner and Boy George, Miley Cyrus and Justin Bieber, Timothee Chalamet and Natalia Dyer, Tom Cruise and Tig Notaro

Page 21: Melissa McCarthy and Ricky Gervais, Eva Marcille and Terrence Howard, Bret Michaels and Fergie, Josh Hartnett and Clea DuVall

Page 22: Katy Perry sparked rumors she had finally taken the plunge with longtime love Orlando Bloom after she was seen sporting a suspicious gold band on her left ring finger while vacationing in Hawaii

* Scott Disick has confessed baby mama Kourtney Kardashian is the reason his relationships fail -- the reality TV slacker revealed his now ex-girlfriend Sofia Richie felt neglected because he spent more time with Kourtney and their three kids, saying it's definitely not easy that they see each other, work together and are friends but he's always been clear that his priority has been his kids and he even put it out there that taking care of Kourtney is one of his priorities

Page 26: Reality star fixer-uppers Jonathan and Drew Scott are sweating bullets over a lawsuit filed against their Property Brothers show by unhappy clients and the stress over the scandal is wreaking havoc with their personal lives -- Las Vegas couple Mindy and Paul King filed suit against Cineflix, the company that producers Property Brothers, and Villa Construction, a local contracting company, alleging they did a shoddy job repairing their home after the couple forked over $193,000 for renovations -- though the twin brothers aren't named in the lawsuit, they were concerned it could smear their reputations and upset their ladyloves -- Jonathan is close to marriage with actress Zooey Deschanel and Drew is wed to Linda Phan, who is the creative director for their company, Scott Brothers Entertainment -- they're both mortified by these allegations and they don't know what to tell Zooey and Linda, other than they will be cleared when the truth comes out but they're terrified that the bad press could derail the show -- Paul and Mindy answered a 2018 casting call and said they were assured all the work would be HGTV quality but Paul said that the place looks good from afar, but it's far from good and the Kings griped to the Nevada State Contractors Board, citing more than 90 complaints with the work ranging from unmatched baseboards to potential hazards -- as the case plays out, the brothers have been rattled by the controversy and they are stressed that this very public case is calling their work into question and there's a fear more people will come forward with similar charges

Page 28: Cover Story -- a top-secret psychological profile of Prince Harry's wife Meghan Markle paints the former actress as a mentally unstable ticking time bomb who couldn't cope with playing second fiddle to senior royals -- the explosive evaluation unmasks Meghan as a pathological liar and bipolar narcissist with histrionic personality disorder but the jaw-dropping findings about Meghan, who's pregnant with a sister for son Archie, don't surprise palace sources as Meghan's tears, tantrums and extreme mood swings had staffers terrified what she could do or say next and she was consumed with ambition and jealousy -- she married Harry expecting to be the royal superstar, but instead learned she'd always be second to his brother Prince William's wife, Duchess Kate and Meghan couldn't stand that she and Harry would always be in their shadow and wanted to destroy her in-laws but no one expected her to lob a nuclear grenade into her husband's family in a no-holds-barred TV special

Page 32: Health Watch

Page 34: Cara Delevingne confessed she used to be disgusted by same-sex relationships and was suicidal before coming to terms with her sexuality -- the model, who has dated actresses Michelle Rodriguez and Ashley Benson and singer St. Vincent, said she was trapped in a dark place and afraid before she publicly admitted to liking members of the same sex -- she said she grew up in an old-fashioned household and she didn't know anyone who was gay and she didn't know that was a thing and growing up she wasn't knowledgeable of the fact she was homophobic and she continued that the idea of being with same-sex partners, she was disgusted by that, in herself -- Cara, who identifies as pansexual, explained her sexual orientation is constantly changing and added she was so unhappy and she wasn't following her truth, that whole thing of having to fit into the box, she's an androgynous person

* Don McLean wants his decades-younger girlfriend to have the wedding of her dreams and he's set aside $1 million for the big day -- the American Pie singer has been dating model Paris Dylan for five years after an ugly divorce from second wife Patrisha Shnier -- Paris is totally unconcerned by the enormous age gap between the 75-year-old singer and 27-year-old model and wants to spend the rest of their lives together -- Don's going all out making sure she has the wedding that's fit for a princess and he's spending an absolute fortune, giving Paris the best of the best in terms of the venue and the food and the one-of-a-kind dress and Don's given her carte blanche to plan it however she wants, and people are expecting a seriously over-the-top affair

Page 36: Singer Andra Day turned to method acting to play jazz icon Billie Holiday, and it's paid off with an Oscar nomination -- Andra revealed she dropped 39 pounds and took up drinking and smoking to prep for the title role in the biopic The United States vs. Billie Holiday -- Andra doesn't recommend smoking and drinking, but she did it because she was just desperate for her first role -- Andra, famed for writing and performing the song Rise Up, also sings in the movie as Holiday, and changed her singing voice to reflect the music legend's pain

* Hollywood Hookups -- MTV reality stars Jenna Compono and Zach Nichols secretly tied the knot and their first child is due in August, Larsa Pippen is dating Myles Kronman, Ashley Jacobs and Mike Appel engaged

Page 38: Cindy Crawford said posing for Playboy was a snap compared to acting in movies -- Cindy said she really regrets starring in the 1995 bomb Fair Game, where she played a lawyer fighting a former KGB spy -- she said she never wanted to be an actor, but a producer begged her and he kept upping the price until she thought she'd be an idiot to say no, but she should have said no, or prepared herself better -- the experience taught her she's very comfortable in front of a camera, but only when she's being herself

* Former American Idol judge Randy Jackson is half the man he used to be and he couldn't be happier about it -- Randy has dropped a whopping 130 pounds to head off potentially deadly effects of his type 2 diabetes and did it in the healthiest ways -- he wrote in his book Body with Soul, it's a curse to be saddled with a disease that's life-threatening, but it's a blessing to get that huge wake-up call -- Randy admitted to crushing the scale at 358 pounds before getting gastric bypass in 2003 but now exercises and eats right and he's ditched sugar and gluten and he wants to be an example for other obese folks and show them they can get healthy and stay that way

Page 40: Tom Brady did an end run around fuming wife Gisele Bundchen by signing a four-year contract extension with his new Tampa Bay Buccaneers team after winning the Super Bowl -- the 43-year-old quarterback promised Gisele he would hang up his cleats after the upcoming season since winning last year's championship but changed his mind after snagging his record seventh NFL title with the Bucs -- Gisele is both angry and astonished because they had spoken about him finally settling down to be a full-time father and husband, but he can't stop chasing glory on the field and Gisele was stunned by his decision to re-up for another four years while the two were discussing expanding their brood and they had planned to have another child after buying their dream house on Indian Creek Island in Miami and they were even drawing plans for a nursery, and now that Tom's done a complete turnaround, everything is up in the air; it's caused some serious tension in their marriage

Page 42: Red Carpet -- Grammy Awards -- Billie Eilish, Megan Thee Stallion, Dua Lipa, Noah Cyrus, Lizzo, Taylor Swift

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aphrodites-law · 4 years

Text

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (9/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8]

When she opened the café the following week, Clarke didn't expect the first customer to be Gustus. He walked toward her with a slight hunch in his shoulders, holding a large paper bag in front of him.

"Hello, Clarke."

"Hi, Gustus. How are you?"

"Lexa said you were looking for help in the kitchen. Am I too late?"

Clarke blinked in surprise. "Not at all."

Gustus set the bag on the counter. "I don't have much of an education and I don't know proper baking terms. I haven’t worked for anyone in twenty-five years, but I have made and sold baked goods on my family's apiary since my childhood."

He pulled out several containers. "I've brought honey muffins, blueberry tartlets, and a chocolate-walnut pie. Please, have a taste when you can."

"You're… applying to work here?"

Gustus nodded. "I'd like to help in the kitchen."

It was certainly unorthodox, but they had yet to find anyone and Clarke's mouth had already watered at the smell of the pie.

"Gustus, are you sure this is what you want? The hours can be long and we can't afford to negotiate on salary for now."

"Money doesn't matter to me. I have my own land and grow my own food."

"What about your apiary?"

"A hobby more than a business these days. The market made me realize how much I miss…" His eyebrows furrowed as he thought of the word.

"People?" Clarke guessed.

He stroked his beard. "But not so much that I would leave the kitchen."

Clarke chuckled. "I see why Lexa likes you."

"She may pretend otherwise, but Lexa enjoys company too. She would not write the way she does if it weren’t the case."

"No, I don't suppose she would."

They both looked toward the entrance when a customer walked in. Gustus moved to the side.

"I won't keep you longer. Thank you for humoring an old beekeeper."

"Wells will have the final word, but he's badgered me to get more of your honey so the odds are definitely in your favor."

Gustus inclined his head gratefully, a heartwarming sight given he was a foot taller than Clarke and quite intimidating at first glance.

"Have a good day, Clarke."

"You too. And thanks for the treats!"

* * *

Clarke walked over to Lexa's table later that afternoon, finding her deep in research on her laptop with her half-eaten croissant on her plate. They hadn't been able to speak much between orders, but Lexa had looked her way at times and Clarke had managed to catch her eyes. Each time made her stomach swoop, but Clarke was determined to be the one to surprise her for once.

She put her hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

"Hi, you."

Lexa turned her head with a slight blush. "Hello."

Clarke sat in front of her, propping her chin on her hand. "Oh I get a hello today. Very formal."

"Is hello formal now?"

"With that tone and those glasses? Yes."

Lexa took off her reading glasses. "Am I being kicked out?"

"Not at all. Stay as long as you want. You can even stay after closing hours."

Lexa's eyes fell to her lips- Clarke's knowing grin. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Mm probably not."

Lexa closed her laptop. "So. Saturday. Doors open at 7pm."

Clarke sat up. "I'm excited. Though Wells has already warned me he'll poison my coffee if I drop any spoilers."

Lexa had offered tickets to Lincoln's play again, though this time she had made it very clear she intended it as a date. Clarke was thrilled to go to the theater after so long, especially since the play was fully booked for a solid six months. Nowhere Ground was a critical darling and word of mouth had worked like a charm.

"I was thinking we could hit Cocoa Street after," Lexa suggested. "Try some of the food trucks?"

"A woman after my heart."

Lexa smiled, her hand inching toward Clarke's on the table. "I figured I'd keep the upscale restaurant for our third date."

"Oh there'll be a third date?"

Lexa looked up from their hands, fingers not quite yet touching. "I would hope so."

"Well I don't know, I'll have to see if you have game."

"I thought you'd gotten a preview already." Lexa's fingers brushed against hers.

Clarke bit her lip. "Not that kind of game."

"What kind, Clarke?" Lexa asked smoothly as her thumb brushed over the back of Clarke's hand.

Clarke shook her head and sat back, letting go of Lexa's hand. "Nu-uh. I'm not falling for that again."

"What's that?"

"That- look. And your voice. You know what."

Lexa let out a small laugh. "I really don't."

"It's like a switch you have. It drives me crazy. But I'm not falling for it. I see you."

"Alright, I'll just be broody and quiet then." Lexa cleared her throat, amused. "Did Gus stop by today?"

Clarke brightened. "Yes. Speaking of, very sneaky of you. Wells is already raving about the chocolate-walnut pie."

"I'm glad. Gus kept asking me if he should make more. I'd never heard him so nervous."

"I didn't even know he baked."

"Never in a professional setting like this, but I can vouch for his impeccable manners. And his food."

"How did you meet him anyway?"

Lexa picked up the last bite of her croissant. "When I was doing research on the Mountain Men, I found out his property is the closest to the bunker site. A few miles down the mountain but still - I figured he had some information that could help me. I introduced myself; said I wanted to honor their story…"

"And you charmed your way into his life," Clarke guessed in a fond tone. She still had a few minutes before Gaia started side-eying her for flirting on the clock (not that it was a regular instance, but Lexa did come in often these days…) and then got Harper to ask endless questions to fuel their gossip mill. "I'm glad you did. I think he'd fit right in."

Lexa nodded, giving her a soft smile while they lingered in their last few seconds of privacy.

* * *

When Saturday night finally came, Clarke thought she might burst from the anticipation. Lexa lived close to the theater, so Clarke had suggested she be the one to pick her up before they walked over. She'd settled on her fancier boots, tights and a red dress, ever aware of the increasingly cold nights. She had her coat on but left it open when she finally arrived, fully leaning on the power of her own cleavage tonight. Slow didn't mean she couldn't have her fun.

"Wow. Um. Hi," Lexa breathed out as soon as she opened the door, eyes darting south of Clarke's lips.

"Now I get a hi," Clarke replied with a grin. She extended the flowers she'd brought on the way. "For you."

"Oh they're beautiful," Lexa said, genuinely surprised. Clarke wondered if she’d ever gotten flowers based on that expression alone. "Thank you," Lexa murmured.

"You're welcome," Clarke hummed. She waited for Lexa to come closer to reach for the sleeve of her shirt. "This is new."

"You don't like it?" Lexa asked.

Clarke almost scoffed. She was fairly certain Lexa knew exactly what she was doing, with her tight slacks and her dark green shirt just a hint sheer enough to see the outline of her bra. Paired with her loose curls and faint perfume, Lexa was already making her dizzy and it was incredibly unfair.

"I didn't say that," Clarke replied, pretending not to notice Lexa was going to kiss her. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Lexa frowned briefly, only to smile a second later as she realized what game Clarke was playing. She'd asked for slow and it seemed like Clarke was taking it to heart. Perhaps a bit too much.

"Please, come in."

While Lexa went to find a vase, Clarke looked around. The apartment was on the small side, but during the day it was most likely brightly lit thanks to the two large windows. The balcony was filled with plants and flowers just as Gaia had once told her, but she hadn't mentioned the various hanging pots throughout the living room. Of course she couldn't have known. Clarke wasn’t sure if she was the first date Lexa had invited here since moving, but the progress in their relationship wasn’t lost on her. She’d never imagined being inside Lexa Woods’ apartment; not even when they’d started their little dance. It had seemed like another world.

Lexa came back with a vase that she set on the table by the window. "They're lovely," she reiterated.

"If I'd known you were so into plants I would've gotten a succulent or something."

Lexa looked around. "Oh those - the hooks were already there when I got here. Indra said the woman before me used to hang candle lanterns. I think she's relieved this place isn't a fire hazard anymore."

"Gaia said you're her favorite tenant."

Lexa smiled sheepishly, but didn't further comment. She glanced at Clarke's neckline before clearing her throat.

"Are you ready?"

Clarke nodded. "Very."

Lexa stepped closer. "You know… I sort of imagined this going differently."

"Oh?" Clarke asked, rooted in place.

"I figured after we'd kissed things would become easier," Lexa explained as she stopped inches from Clarke.

"You imagined us kissing?"

"Yes," Lexa answered honestly. "But I told you that before."

Clarke remembered the confession Lexa had made that night at the café and felt desire pool in the pit of her stomach again. How she’d thought about her; how she’d wanted this- them. She reached for Lexa's shirt, pretending to toy with one of the small buttons.

"It seems like we imagined a lot of things you and I," Clarke replied, swallowing.

Lexa brushed her nose against hers, testing her. Clarke felt her warm breath on her mouth and nearly tasted sweet mint. Her heart beat loudly in her ears until finally she gave in, tilting her head and pulling Lexa in.

The kiss was slow at first; Lexa's full lips pressing firmly against hers. Then Clarke felt her hand cup her neck and Lexa angle for something else, something deeper. She moaned when their tongues brushed and Lexa played with hers, chasing, teasing, while the lingering smell of the flowers mixed with her perfume and saturated Clarke's senses. It felt like she was drunk.

It wasn't the small hello or goodbye kisses they'd exchanged in the week; the hesitant pecks that had preceded the date that had seemed so far away on Monday.

"Are you sure this play is good?" She asked, slightly dazed.

Lexa shook her head, kissing her once more. "It's horrible. Mediocre. Let's bail and stay in."

Clarke let out a small laugh before kissing her again, deeper and slower, wondering if her heart would ever calm down tonight.

"If only."

[part ten]

#clexa #f: a bit of clarity #clarke x lexa #short chappie to get back into it #w

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yerrrabitch · 4 years

Text

A Ride Home

Y/N - Your Name

Y/B/N - Your Boyfriend’s Name

Y/UNI/N - Your University Name

Y/M - Your Major

C/Y - Current Year

It was a normal night. Well as normal as it could be. You and your boyfriend had a fight earlier in the car because your shirt hung “too low”. It wasn’t your fault that your breast spilled out of your shirt the way they did. However, Y/B/N hated that. He actually hated every time you wore clothes that showed any skin. It was suffocating. You compromised and wore his alumni sweater.

“Y/N!” a blonde from your 8AM yelled, ”Come dance with me!”

You put your red cup down and took her up on her offer. It wasn’t like you were doing anything but brooding anyway. Y/B/N had went into the house with some friends and you were in the backyard waiting. You hated this part. You’d come out with him every weekend to appease him. Truth was your feet, back and head hurt and you craved nothing more than your bed and the feeling of your fan blowing against your cheeks in the moonlight. But, like every weekend Y/B/N would make you feel bad for wanting rest. You went to school full time and worked part time at a local diner so that you could afford to stay in your apartment. He had graduated during your sophomore year and was living his best life while owning his own bar.

It wasn't like you hated being out; you were just tired. He didn't understand that. Despite hating your hours and your dedication to work and school, he never offered to help with your bills or spend the night in. It’s not like you’d accept anyway but, the thought that he would consider would’ve been nice.

“Y/N!”, she yelled while latching on to your arm. She had grown tired of waiting for you to come to her. She threw her head back and laughed as she grinded on you to the beat of a popular pop song. You could smell the alcohol on her breath and began to laugh. This was actually fun. You two began to dance together more provocatively and you hated being out less.

Two songs later and you needed a break. You both decided to get something to eat inside. You took off the sweater and put it on the counter. The house owner, Ralph, had laid out all kinds of cheap food. You gravitated towards the fruit while she dove at the pizza. You looked at your phone and saw it was 12:08 AM.

You had to be at work at 7 AM.

Y/B/N knew this and was still doing God knows what in the house. Irritation set in and you immediately felt your mood sour. You considered ordering an UBER and going home on your own. No. He brought me here, he needs to bring me home.

You called his phone twice and then sent him a text message.

Y/N: Hey, it’s late and I have work tomorrow.

Seen 12:15 AM

“You good, ma?” A tall man asked.

You didn't recognize him. He must be from out of town.

“I’m fine, thank you”

“You don't look fine.” He said eyeing you and the way you shifted from one foot to the other, “you need a fix or sum?”

You couldn't help the laughter that shot out of your mouth and filled the kitchen. He cracked a wide smile at you. He’s fine.

“No, I’m actually waiting for someone to come downstairs. I need to leave.”

“Who?” He asked raising an eyebrow, while leaning against the table and staring into your eyes.

“My boyfriend.” You deadpanned

“Yikes.”

“What?”

“If I was your boyfriend, I would've never left you alone.”

There’s no reason he shouldn't be answering his phone. Let me see where he is. You moved around the table and the man in front of you to find Y/B/N.

“Ma, let me take you home”

You stared at him for a minute.

“I need to find my boyfriend.” You said, putting an emphasis on the boyfriend part.

“If he’s in this house, right now. You’re single.”

You stop in your tracks and you feel tears well up in your soft, brown eyes. It had to be the liquor, you aren't sensitive.

“Excuse me”, your voice completely icy and your hands shaky. The blonde grabbed her pizza and went back outside, glad to escape whatever was happening in there.

“They're up there playing a stripping game. When I left nobody had pants on so if he's there now I can't imagine.”

You turned on your heel and flew up the stairs and followed the sound of the crappy 2008 hits into a game room. There he was, sprawled out beneath a girl while she sucked on his left nipple. You cleared your throat and everyone in the room paused, knowing who you were.

He opened his eyes after a second and jumped up in realization. His face morphed from fright to anger.

“Where’s the sweater?”

The nerve and audacity of this man. You caught him with a bitch sucking on his tiddy and he had the balls to ask you about what you were wearing? You started to laugh. You were borderline hysterical at this point.

“Die.”

You turn back around and go down the stairs opening your phone. You could handle that in the morning but, right now you needed to go home and go to sleep.

You sighed loudly and pulled your hair up into a bun. You didn't care that it'd have to stay like that until next wash day. You were overheating and irritated.

A low whistle broke you out of your blank stare into the street. You looked up and it was the man from the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” He asked, while sitting next to you on the steps.

“I will be. Once I get home and shower this off of me.”

“I can take you if you want.”

“It’s ok. I don't want to bother-”

“I offered. It’s not a bother if I offer.”

You eyed him weirdly. Why did this man have an interest in you?

“Ok but, windows have to be down the whole way there and you have to drive with one hand out the window” You stated firmly.

He chuckled.

“Ok shorty. I’ll do whatever you say”

*******

He drove a C/Y Acura with red interior. The car was well kept; it still smelled like a new car. You stared at the inside, instantly falling in love with the car and the way it felt.

“It’s just a car.” Your eyes snapped to his, warmth spreading across your neck.

“Sorry, it’s beautiful though”

“It was a gift.” He said while checking his shoulder and pulling away from the curb. A gift? Who’s he friends with? “From my aunt and cousin.”

“Cool. Usually I get books or dinners.” He cracked a smile.

“They’re overcompensating. They weren't around when they could've been.” He stopped at a light. The red illuminated his face and made his teeth look even whiter, if possible. You noticed for the first time that he had gold bottoms in. His long eyelashes brushed against his brown cheek as he cut his eye at you to gauge your reaction.

“Shorty.”

“Yes,” you said blinking out of your trance. He was delicious.

“I asked you which way”, he said smirking at you. He knew that you liked what you saw.

“Keep going straight.” You turned to the road, you wanted to keep an eye on your surroundings not only him.

“So why’re you in a rush to get home?”

“I have to work in a few hours.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. An action that turned you on more.

“You knew you had to work and you still came out? You’re wild.”

“I thought I would have left hours ago to be honest. Y/B/N and I got into a fight and I was distracting myself downstairs.”

“I saw you at like 9. You were nursing one cup man.” You felt stupid. You should've left after the argument. Matter of fact, you shouldn't have came.

“Did I ask you?”

“Look, it is what it is. I’m just saying I don't think you came here for you.”

He was right. Your entire relationship with Y/B/N wasn't for you. It started off to appease him and stop his antics. He had been following you around campus trying to get your number for weeks after spotting you in the cafe. You stayed with him because you found comfort in routine. Fuck him. You were tired.

“That doesn't matter.” You said closing the issue off from him.

“Ok. So tell me about something that does”

“Huh?”

“Tell me about yourself.” You left out a small laugh. He wanted to get to know you right after you walked in on God knows what with your ex.

“I just walked in on my ex cheating on me. Man let me be single for a second.”

“All I asked was for an introduction.” He cut his eye at you. You felt bad. All he wanted was conversation and you assumed he wanted you. I’m such a bitch.

“I’m a senior at Y/UNI/N and I am a Y/M.” You said quietly.

“All you do is study? I go there too.”

“I’ve never seen you around.”

“You’re too busy trying to help the world,” He smiled. “It’s admirable though.”

“Not the whole world. Only the brown part.”

He let out a earthquaking laugh that warmed every fiber of your being.

“I respect that. But, why?”

“I grew up with only my mom around. And I saw how it was for her, a single women, to help feed and raise my sister and I. Turn right at this light. I want to help women like that get the tools they need to succeed. It shouldn't be that hard to live a basic life.” You reminisced about all the late nights and early mornings your mom had just to make sure you kept food on the table. “I’m trying to get an internship with this youth outreach program this summer so I can get more roots in the area.”

“I can get you an internship but, it won't be around here”

You stared at him like he had three heads while he passed your street. You quickly told him to take the other way to your apartment to avoid the embarrassment.

“What do you mean?”

“My cousin built this outreach center in Oakland. I work there when I’m not in school so I can help my community. If you want I can connect y’all.”

You damn near jumped into this mans lap.

“Of course I want to! Thank you so much!”

“I’m gonna need your number then, sweetheart.”

He pulled into a parking space in front of your building and passed you his phone. You saved yourself and handed it back to him.

“What about you?”

“I want to help black people worldwide loosen the chains of their white oppressors.”

“Any progress?”

“I’m actually making a lot in Oakland right now. I think it’s important to help each other and lean less on the white man and his government. Only then can we truly break free from them.” His eyes were fiery as he explained his goal. His passion oozed out of him and captivated you.

“That sounds like a few generation long project.” You mused. You wanted to help.

“That’s fine. As long as I help my people. I don't care how long it takes.”

You wished you had met him instead of Y/B/N. This man had humor, looks, and layers and you'd just met him. All Y/B/N had was a strong name.

“You're passionate about this.”

“You should understand.”

“I do.” You looked at his arm still hanging out of the window. “Sorry about that. I just have to make sure you won't kidnap me.”

“Girl, if I wanted to kidnap you a few windows and an arm out the window wouldn't have stopped me.”

“Sir. Please.” You laughed.

“You should buy a taser. Those are more effective.”

“I’ll think about it.” You said while opening the door and climbing out.

“I could've gotten that for you.”

“After all you've done for me tonight?” You shook your head, “Thank you for the ride...” You didn't know this mans name.

“So this is dumb but, what’s your name?”

“Erik. What’s yours, bright eyes”

“Y/N.”

“Well go inside Y/N. You need rest.” He pointed at the clock in his car. It read 1:45 AM. Damn. You would've traded anything to keep talking to him. “Don’t make that face. I know you’ll miss me but, don't worry you'll see me soon enough.”

#erik x reader #erik stevens #black panther #erik killmonger #erik kilmonger x reader #college au

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