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you-are-my-joy · 3 years

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The Return of an Empress | 07

Title: The Return of an Empress

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Genre: Isekai, Angst, Romance, Fluff, Smut (Later on), Slow burn

Characters: Empress!Reader, Advisor!Jin, Advisor!Yoongi, General!Hoseok, Advisor!Namjoon, Assassin!Jimin, Knight!Taehyung, Knight!Jungkook

Word count: ~9k

Summary: After one fateful night, you find yourself transmigrated into your favorite novel as the Empress that shares the same name as you. As a bookworm, most would think you’d be happy, but how could you be happy when the Empress you’ve become is expected to be killed in three months. The only thing on your mind now is to learn how to survive.

Warning: May contain depictions of violence and mentions of abuse throughout the story.

Masterlist

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In the 380th imperial year, on June 9th, two days after the nobles were caught red-handed and thus apprehended, was the day of the largest massacre of high nobility in the history of the empire.

At 8 am in the morning, a total of 18 of some of the most well-known and influential nobles of the empire were executed by the city plaza.

With tired steps, you trudge inside your bedroom, immediately falling onto the comfort of your bed. You let out an exasperated sigh, tossing your head back until it rests on a nearby pillow. Despite getting rid of the duke and the rest of the nobles, you can’t help but still feel a sense of unease and tension. Would the original empress make the same decision? You don’t know the answer, but what you do know, is that you’ll most likely be haunted by the cries and screams of those who lost their lives today for the rest of your life.

It’s one thing to actually read of the graphic murders and deaths that occurred in the novel, it’s a whole different story when you actually experience and see first hand how gruesome the public executions truly were. Back in your world, you’ve never witnessed anyone’s death before, as it was the 21st century, public executions were prohibited decades ago. But suddenly you had to endure an entire morning witnessing the horrifying deaths of 18 people as their heads detached from their body, a large pool of blood staining the once clean pavement.

You weren’t keen on torturing people, so you were merciful in the sense that you chose to execute them through a beheading, with a fresh and sharpened axe to be exact. In this world, beheadings, although gruesome and bloody, were seen as the most ‘humane’ form of execution as the deed would be done in one swift motion, a painless execution to some extent.

You remember hearing many of the nobles and commoners who attended the public executions express their disappointment at your choice, thinking you were being much too kind considering the heinous crime they committed. Despite their disappointment, they were slightly relieved over your choice, many were still skeptical over the empress’s supposed changed behavior, but seeing you wince and grimace at each beheading finally convinced them otherwise.

News spread like wildfire around the empire about what had occurred at the party, news articles being published nearly a day later. The most popular topic of course being the Grand Duke himself drugging the empress, and so countless of nobles all around the empire scurried to watch the spectacle. Thus, the grand finale of the execution came when former Grand Duke, Lee Joong-Gu finally stepped forward.

Many people had looked at him in disgust, throwing rotten fruits and vegetables his way and cursed out his name. The entire time, he wore a solemn expression as he kneels down without complaint unlike the rest of the criminals who wailed pathetically until their last breath.

You remember that in the midst of it all, he had looked up at you, your eyes instantly locking with one another, and you swear from where you stood, you saw a hint of remorse and guilt in his face. Your mind reeling as he tearfully mouths ‘I’m sorry’ to you, but before you could even react any further, the axe gets raised in the air and in the next second is swung down with much force. His head rolling down the pavement as the cheers of the crowd rang out excitedly at the gruesome sight.

However, the cheers seem to fade from your ears as all you can focus on is the dukes rolling head. And somehow it stops, facing in your direction, empty eyes that were once so full of life, ingraining themselves in your memory forever. You blink away the tears forming in your eyes, confused as to why your body was reacting like this. You flinch as you stare at his body slumped over, but your view gets blocked when Jungkook steps in front of you.

The entire morning, Jungkook and Taehyung have been right beside you, acting as your escorts as you had requested. Always attempting to block your view when they noticed your grim and disgusted expressions at each beheading. Jin and Namjoon were also present, but they stood a few meters away from you, ensuring that the executions ran as quickly and smoothly as possible. Hoseok was present as well, but as the general, he was in charge of security and surveying the city plaza, prioritizing your safety over everything else.

The only ones who hadn’t shown up were Yoongi and Jimin. Yoongi, you had expected, though you had a glimmer of hope that he would make an appearance, but Jimin? You thought he would come to greet you after the party, but you haven’t seen him since he left you by the ballroom doors. You were extremely worried, thinking something bad had happened to him, but Namjoon reassured you that he was fine as he had ran into him the other day. He further informs you that Jimin wasn’t feeling good, which explains his sudden absence. Though you remained unconvinced, you choose to give Jimin his needed space, thinking it would be better for him to come to you when he was ready.

When the executions were over you stood up from your seat, ready to leave the area in a hurry as the overwhelming stench of blood nearly made you puke on the spot. But suddenly you heard loud cheers as everyone directed their attention to you, “All Hail Empress Y/n!” many of them yelled out, grinning at you as they praised your actions.

You hadn’t expected to be well received so quickly, since less than a week ago, some of these same people trembled in fear over your presence. You send them a charming smile to express your gratitude, but this only seemed to ignite something in them as they seemingly cheered your name even more.

Despite the cheering, all you wanted to do was go back to the palace and rest. So here you are, groaning as you lay flat on the spacious bed. You feel the bed dip slightly to your left, prompting you to open your eyes to see Jungkook looking down at you with a small smile. “How are you feeling?” he reaches his hand out to gently brush a strand of hair in front of your face.

“Absolutely exhausted,” you let out a groan, closing your eyes once more. And you weren’t only talking about the past few days. It seemed that you were never truly able to catch a break the moment you arrived in this world. You can’t even imagine the amount of work the past empress had to endure.

Taehyung, having found comfort in your couch situated in the middle of your grand bedroom, hums at that, “Mentally or physically exhausted?”

You scoff before letting out a yawn, “Both.”

Jungkook nods as he moves his hand away from your face to lazily trace shapes on the palm of your hand, “I'm sorry to hear that your majesty,” he replies, sending you a pitiful look, as he notices traces of stress and exhaustion written on your face.

Still with your eyes closed, you rest for a moment, “It’s fine. This is my duty as the empress.”

Jungkook nods, “I understand, but before you’re an empress, you’re a human. You need to rest, your majesty,” he says, concern laced in his voice as he continues tracing odd shapes on your palm.

Though after a while, you’ve come to the realization that rather than shapes, he was actually tracing your name on your skin.

You open your eyes to stare at Jungkook who was too distracted writing your name to pay attention to your gaze. You just stare when a sudden thought crosses your mind, “Hey Jungkook, can you try calling me by my name?”

Jungkook seems to freeze in his spot, his hand stopping right above yours as he stares at you with wide eyes, “Pardon?” this seems to gain Taehyung's attention as well when you see him from the corner of your eye snap his head instantly in your direction.

You shrug, sitting straight up now facing him. Both your faces nearly inches apart that Jungkook instantly blushes and shifts a bit further away from you to calm his racing heart, though you take that gesture as discomfort instead, “What’s wrong? You don’t want to?”

Jungkook stutters as he waves his arms in front of his face in an ‘X’ shape motion, “N-No, It’s not that I don't want to… but why are you suddenly asking that of me?” Both Jungkook and Taehyung stare at you in a mixture of confusion and interest since they haven’t addressed the empress by her name in nearly 3 years. Not after she had scolded the both of them until they complied to her wishes.

“I figured we might as well go back to our old ways you know?” you suggest, but after taking in their shocked reactions you quickly add, “Of course if you’re uncomfortable with my request then I don’t want to force you to do anything. But I do give you permission to call me by my name when it’s just us.”

Jungkook turns his head to Taehyung as they look at each other wearily, as if doubting your words and thinking this was all just one big test. He hesitantly turns back to you, “Is that truly alright?” he asks while fidgeting nervously with his hand.

“Of course it is,” you smile reassuringly, your eyes staring at him in anticipation, “will you?” You ask, you try to hide your excitement in order to not pressure him, but who were you kidding, it’s practically written on your face.

Jungkook’s lips curve upward slightly as he couldn’t deny your request, especially when your golden eyes shined brightly at him, “Yes…. Y/n…” though he had said it in a shy whisper, you still heard him loud and clear. You didn’t think hearing your name come out of his mouth would affect you so much but you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling widely. It’s times like these that you’re extremely grateful for sharing the same name as the old empress.

“Woah that’s not fair,” you turn your head to find Taehyung with his arms crossed, playfully glaring at you both, “why does he get special treatment and I don't?”

You chuckle as Taehyung's pout reminds you of a child who got their toy taken away and wants it back. Your amusement grows even more as you sit back and watch Jungkook be equally as childish when he sticks his tongue out at the older knight. And Taehyung, the ever mature knight, mimics his actions in return.

You grin at the older knight, wanting nothing more than to ruffle his hair, “this applies to you as well Taehyung.”

Taehyung finally turns to you after seemingly having a contest with Jungkook on who can contort their face in a mocking way better, “thank you… Y/n,” he replies softly with a gentle smile now on his face.

They’ll admit, addressing you by your name sounded strange coming out their mouth, but they couldn’t deny the nostalgic and warm feeling in their chest when they finally did. And your smile definitely brightened their day even more.

“Y/n.” you hear Jungkook call out softly, though he flinches when he gains your attention.

You furrow your eyes in confusion at his odd reaction, “Yes?”

You notice his cheeks glow with a tint of red, “Sorry, it’s nothing. I just wanted to say your name in front of you,” the ending of his sentence becoming a soft whisper as he was embarrassed to have been caught by you. But he should’ve known better than to believe your ears wouldn’t catch him.

You have to mentally slap yourself to stay calm and composed as to not squeal in delight to embarrass him further. So to spare him, you fight back a giggle as you beam back at him, “you’re more than welcome to call me by my name anytime you want Jungkook.” Gaining a wide smile from him in return.

“Y/n?” Taehyung suddenly calls out, causing you to face him now. Though he chuckles at your raised brow, “I’m not just calling out your name, I genuinely have a question.” You chuckle right back, nodding your head, gesturing to him to ask his question. “Are you still feeling sick?” You understand he wasn’t referring to earlier, rather he was talking about your symptoms from withdrawal.

Thankfully after properly taking medication daily or as suggested by the royal physician, you’ve been experiencing a lot less symptoms as the days go by. Joy reminding and ensuring that you actually took them definitely helped with the process.

You nod sending him a soft smile, “no, I’ve been feeling a lot better nowadays. Though, I’ll admit I kind of want to throw up. But I’m pretty sure the main perpetrator to that is the blood.” Despite having left the plaza awhile ago, you seemingly couldn’t get rid of the stench of blood in your nose. Even just the thought of it makes you involuntarily gag.

Jungkook softly chuckles, “from being in countless battles, you’d think you’d get used to the sight of blood,” he jokes with a teasing glint in his eyes as he grew bold enough to hold your hand after tracing on it for so long.

You stare down at your joined hands, his large ones nearly covering yours completely. You feel him squeeze your hand lightly prompting you to look up at his mischievous grin as he caught you staring. You playfully roll your eyes, “it’s been awhile, alright, I forgot,” you grumble.

Though Taehyung hums at that as leans his head back on the soft cushions of the couch, “you seem to be using that excuse quite often,” he mutters, not looking you in the eye, but instead choosing to stare out your window.

At his statement, you gulp nervously. You immediately take note from the corner of your eyes the prying look of Jungkook as his hold on your hand seems to tighten.

But before you could come up with yet another excuse, you hear a knock at your door. Someone was definitely looking out for you as you had no idea how to respond without you being even more suspicious than before.

You sit up straight, briefly glancing at your knights who refuse to look you in the eye before calling out, “come in.” You quickly let go of Jungkook’s hand causing the boy to snap his head in your direction before his shoulders seemingly drop. Though he doesn’t say anything more as the doors to your bedroom open wide.

Soon enough, the double doors reveal Hoseok, Namjoon and Jin. They bow out of respect before briefly making eye contact with Jungkook and Taehyung, to which they send a curt nod, acknowledging each other’s presence.

For some reason, you felt a shift in the air as the three men stepped into the room. As if they were... hostile? But that doesn’t make sense, you question. Shouldn't they be on good terms with each other? You thought, but you were so wrong when you could feel the tension around you. Something unspoken between the five males.

You understand that you haven’t known these men for long, but even you could tell that there was a sudden shift in their relationship. You saw it in the ballroom and now your suspicions are confirmed when you observe their body language in front of you.

After many moments of silence, Namjoon finally turns his attention to you, “more of those journalists keep requesting for your time your majesty,” he reports, only now do you notice his tired eyes. He must’ve been dealing with those journalists since he got back, and from what you know, they’re almost as ruthless as those in high society.

But before you could respond, you hear Taehyung let out an annoyed groan from where he sat, “They bombarded her all throughout the morning, can’t they give her a break?” he scowls when turning his head out the window as he caught a glimpse of those pesky reporters from the border of the palace walls. Their cameras steadily aimed at the palace, hoping to capture a lucky shot of the empress.

“It’s alright, I can handle them,” you reply, having already mentally and physically prepared yourself for this since you knew this would be a hot topic in the empire. A topic that the reporters wouldn’t let go of until they were satisfied. But just as you were about to stand from the comfort of your bed, you feel a hand gently rest on your shoulder, prompting you to turn and find Jungkook staring at you in concern.

“Y/n, you need to rest,” Jungkook says softly, “you truly did look sick early, maybe it's from withdrawals or maybe it's from the blood, who knows, but I think it’s best you rest for the day.” You knew it would be hard to go against Jungkook, especially when he had that determined look in his eyes. Though that wasn’t what everyone else was thinking as his statement piqued their interest.

“Y/n?” Jin questions loudly. He had thought he was hearing things, but by the looks on Namjoons and Hoseok's faces, he indeed did hear correctly. Jungkook had addressed you by your name.

The boy blushes, not having realized he had blurted out your name in front of them. But before he could explain himself, Taehyung beat him to it.

“Y/n gave us permission to call her by her name,” he boasts with his head held high as if he was bragging about some great achievement he got. Which in a way, it kind of was.

Hoseok raises his brow as he turns to look at you now, “may I know why?”

You clear your throat, “well, when I got rid of the alcohol and drugs in my system, I wanted to make things right and go back to how they were before. So I gave them permission to address me by my name like old times,” you reply confidently, having already prepared an answer for this question long ago.

Though after some time, Hoseok’s blank face shifts, “I see,” he replies with a smile, but you knew better than to trust that, you knew hidden in that expression was a man that still had doubts despite witnessing the downfall of the nobles before his own eyes. You had thought Namjoon would be the one you needed to be careful of, but it seems you were wrong in that sense as you become anxious at Hoseok’s judging stare.

Jin clears his throat, an attempt to get rid of the growing tension in the room, “we also came to discuss plans regarding the property of the nobles as well as what's to come with their families and who would be the ones to take their positions,” he pauses before nodding his head in Hoseok’s direction, “we brought along Hoseok in case military services were needed.”

You nod, though you couldn’t help but wonder, “Where’s Yoongi?”

Jin stills for a moment before tilting his head, visibly confused from your question, “why are you suddenly asking for him?”

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you furrow your eyebrows, “Because he’s also one of my advisors,” you answer as if it was obvious.

As if sensing your confusion, Namjoon responds, “pardon our rudeness, your majesty. You just don’t normally call on him for these types of things.”

Now you’re even more confused than before, “I don’t?”

Namjoon nods his head in confirmation, “I believe it’s because he’s not from nobility, that it may hinder and influence his judgment on these types of cases,” he explains in the nicest way possible.

Dumbfounded, you remain seated on your bed, “I see,” is all you could utter. You knew that out of the 8 of you, the only ones who came from nobility were Namjoon, Jin, and Hoseok. Their families were one of the few nobles who secretly opposed the former emperor, which made it easy for the main character to gain their support in the rebellion. There’s no doubt that Hoseok’s military family, Namjoon’s intelligence, and Jin’s abundant wealth, had an immense influence on the success of the rebellion.

Of course that’s not to say that the others are any less important. Jungkook and Taehyung were among the best of the best in terms of strength and fighting, not to mention Jimin being an ace when it came to agility and swiftness. They had the skills to go against opponents 10 times their size, and yet somehow win. The three were known to be the best fighters in the empire, after the empress herself of course. Afterall, they learned everything they knew from her.

Yoongi on the other hand, proved himself to be worthy to stand by the empress’s side as an advisor due to the fact that when it came to forming tactics, he always had the perfect plan to go along with every scenario. Much of the rebellion's success was derived from the various attack plans that Yoongi came up with.

He also knows how to handle her the best out of them all. He knows how to approach her when she gets mad or upset. And he is one of the few people who isn’t afraid to go against her if he needs to, only with her and the empire’s best intentions in his mind.

But when it came to politics, Yoongi had a harder time due to the fact that he was just a village boy who didn’t receive the same amount of education as Namjoon or Jin. Granted neither did Y/n, having been born from the same village, but she was so determined to become the empress that she worked strenuously day in and day out in order to fit the role. Having Namjoon as her teacher definitely helped the process run smoothly.

Sure Yoongi isn’t as book smart as Namjoon, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t smart at all. You know that despite things being said about him, his words and inputs at national council meetings have proven to be of great help to the empress and the empire in the past.

And so without another word, you stand up from your bed with a newfound determination.

Jungkook and Taehyung eye you in concern. “Y/n?” Jungkook asks, reaching out to hold your hand, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“I’m going to go and personally find Yoongi. Regardless of our differences, he’s still my advisor, and his presence is just as important as every single one of you.” You feel Jungkook loosen his grip on you, allowing you to slip away from his grasp.

“Shall we escort you there?” Jungkook asks tentatively, while Taehyung had already stood up, prepared to follow you on your command.

But instead, you shake your head, “Considering what transpired last time, I don’t think it’d be wise to bring either one of you two along,” Jungkook rubs the back of his neck while Taehyung turns away as they’re both suddenly reminded of the way they had behaved towards Yoongi. Although they were opposed to the idea of you going alone, they couldn’t argue with your statement, since even they don’t know how they would react if they were in each other's presence again.

“I’ll accompany her majesty,” Hoseok suddenly speaks up with a raised hand, resulting in everyone turning their heads in his direction, “I think it should only be fair after all,” he pouts, lowering his hand to cross both his arms across his chest.

Namjoon raises a brow at his claim, “Fair?”

Hoseok nods as he accusingly points at every man in the room other than himself, “Every single one of you have spent more time with her than me, that's why I think it’s only fair if I escort her,” he declares with a puff of his chest.

Taehyung scoffs at him, “Can you blame us? We’re her escorts, of course we’re going to spend more time with her,” he fights back a roll of his eyes due to Hoseok being of a higher rank than him.

“Exactly, so I hope you don’t mind me stealing your ‘Y/n’ for the time being,” and before you could even utter a word, Hoseok strides towards you, reaching for your arm and practically begins dragging you out the room, “see you boys later!”

Jin shakes his head disapprovingly as he watches Hoseok roughly pull you, “would you be more careful with her majesty!”

Hoseok scoffs, “She’s not weak,” he responds as he turns around abruptly, your chest nearly colliding with his if it weren’t for his arms steadying you.

“I agree, but she’s also not a ragdoll that you could just push around as you please,” Jin snaps back at him, eyes narrowing at the grip on your arm.

Namjoon nods his head at this, “Indeed. Be more gentle Hoseok,” he warns sternly as he shifts his body towards the both of you intimidatingly.

And you don’t even need to turn around to know Jungkook and Taehyung were both shooting daggers at the general.

Hoseok sighs and finally lets go of you with his arms raised above his head in defeat, “alright alright I get it. I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Though the men in the room only stare at him with unconvinced expressions as he smiles innocently right back.

You stifle a laugh at their reactions and begin to turn to leave, “we’ll be leaving then,” at this you turn to stare at each one of them, “while I’m gone. Behave.”

Taehyung scoffs, crossing his arms as he plops back down on your couch, “We’re not children Y/n.” But his pout tells you otherwise.

The corners of your lips quirk upward in amusement, “could’ve fooled me.”

He turns to you with an offended expression, mouth wide open and before he could give you a piece of his mind, you scurry out the door with Hoseok tailing right behind you.

“Y/n!” You hear Taehyung’s voice yells out as he appears by the doorway in a matter of seconds.

You turn around and almost laugh at his dumbfounded expression. Though, you nearly trip over your own two feet if it weren’t for Hoseok skillfully reaching out and steadying you. You quickly thank him before looking back towards your door to now find the rest of the men staring back at you.

“We’ll set up a proper meeting tomorrow! See you boys then!” You call out before you’re reaching for Hoseok’s hand. He widens his eyes for a moment staring down at your joined hands before he feels you pull on him in the direction you were running to.

You could still hear their protests coming from your bedroom as both you and Hoseok run away. But Hoseok can’t help but be more focused on your angelic laughter over everything else.

“So what did the general want to talk to me about so badly that he wanted us to be alone?” you say finally after creating a fair enough distance from your bedroom.

From the corner of your eye, you see him smirk, “What makes her majesty think I had ulterior motives?” he asks innocently, his pace matching with yours as you both walk down the quiet halls.

You shake your head with a smile, “because you’re Hoseok,” you reply with a teasing glint in your eye.

Hoseok lets out an offended noise as he dramatically brings his hand to his chest, “That hurts your majesty,” he pouts, “couldn’t I have just wanted to spend some time with you?”

You laugh at this, “Sure, but you and I both know that that’s not the case,” your mouth forming a smile, an attempt to show him you meant no harm.

Hoseok finally lets the innocent facade fall as a smirk begins to form on his face, “Our empress sure has a sharp mind,” you hum in reply, prompting him to continue speaking, “you’re right, I did want to talk to you.”

Though after some time walking in silence, he speaks up again, “But I had nothing in particular to talk to you about, I just wanted to see for myself whether you had truly changed or not,” he responds bluntly.

“Your verdict?” you question with your arms behind your back, a carefree aura surrounding you.

“Hard to tell for now,” he teases with a wink in your direction, “however, something tells me it won’t be long before I give you my answer your majesty.”

“Well let’s hope it’s an answer we both will like,” a wide optimistic grin now on your face.

Hoseok stares down at you, giving you a small smile in return, “Yes, let’s hope.”

You two don’t speak for a while, though you can’t say it was awkward. There was a comfortable air between the two of you that you actually didn’t mind walking together in silence. You took this moment to look around the scenery, admiring the window view as you don’t really have much time to do that since Taehyung, Jungkook and even Jimin would often preoccupy your attention, not that you were complaining about their company, you rather enjoyed talking to them. But you can’t help but be grateful for this moment to yourself. So for the time being, you just look out the window, little did you know, Hoseok was staring right at you.

Hoseok couldn’t help but admire the way the sunlight glows on your skin as if you were an ethereal being. Even the slight quirk of your lips mesmerizes him as he watches you bask in the sunlight. A picture perfect moment that he desperately tries to ingrain in his mind.

“You know, you’re more than welcome to address me by my name as well Hoseok,” you suddenly speak out, turning your head causing the male to widen his eyes momentarily at your abrupt attention.

But Hoseok’s eyes soften, giving you a small smile before turning his head straight in front of him yet again, “I’ll keep that in mind... thank you.”

Neither of you speak again after that, just enjoying each other's company in silence. And after everything that you’ve been through, you didn’t realize that this was exactly what you needed.

“Hey Yoongs”

The man hums, his eyes closed as he lays comfortably against the grass right beside Y/n.

“You’ll be with me forever right?” the young girl speaks up after some time.

At this, Yoongi opens his eyes as he stares at the far away look in her eyes, “Of course Y/n, where else would I go?” he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “why do you ask?”

She shrugs looking straight up at the passing clouds, “just making sure,” the wind softly breezing against her hair.

Yoongi nervously laughs as he turns away from her, “Sorry, but it’s gonna take a lot more for you to get rid of me,” Y/n chuckles at this causing the corners of his lips to curve upward at the sound. “Unless I got it all wrong. You’re not trying to run away from me once you become empress are you?” he questions with a teasing tone. Though he had a smile on his face, he couldn’t deny the feeling of anxiety at the possibility of her leaving him.

She scoffs before turning away, “Of course not, what would I do without you nagging me all the time, you’re practically my brother at this point.”

Yoongi feels a pang go across his heart as he faces away from her, “... right… you just see me as a brother huh,” he mumbles, more so to himself but she could still slightly hear him.

She tilts her head in his direction, “hm?”

Though he just shakes his head, “Nevermind,” now sporting a more cheerful expression as he nudges her shoulder playfully, “so suddenly I’m your brother huh?”

She nods her head, turning away from him, focusing her attention back to the sky, “Of course you are, what else would you be?” she genuinely asks.

Yoongi stills for a moment before responding with a long sigh, “Nothing,” he pauses, watching the clouds pass by both him and her as they lay on the grass in peace, “absolutely nothing.”

“Her majesty told me about it and left the job to me,” Jin responds in a tired voice as he lets out a sigh. If he had known accepting the empress’s orders would lead to this, he would’ve never done so in the first place. Because not only does he need to deal with a pile of work, but also a very pissed off Yoongi.

“Why would she give you all the work and not me?” Yoongi asks, tone slightly offended and irritated.

“I don’t know Yoongi, why don’t you just ask her yourself,” Jin replies tiredly as he massages his temple at his growing headache. It’s not that he wanted to get rid of Yoongi, but because he himself couldn’t provide him an answer to his question. He too couldn't understand why Y/n would give him all the work instead of him, frankly he wishes she would divide up the work evenly but alas, that doesn’t seem to be the case as every inch of his desk is nearly covered in piles of documents.

Yoongi lets out a huff of air before standing abruptly. Jin stares at him and widens his eyes when he notices that he’s about to leave. Nervously he stands from his seat as well, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to ask her myself,” Yoongi replies as if it was the most obvious answer, his hand reaching for the door handle.

Jin gasps, “I wasn’t being serious!” he moves around his desk to grab hold of the advisor.

But Yoongi shakes his head, stepping back from his reach, “I know you weren’t, but you’re right. If I want change to happen, I need to go to her myself,” he watches concern wash over the older male before placing a hand on his shoulder, “don’t worry, I won’t lose my cool,” he says in an attempt to reassure him.

Though both Yoongi and Jin knew he was lying. He was just telling him what he wanted to hear. Jin wanted to stop him, but in the end, he lets it go since he knows that once Yoongi’s got his mind set on something, it was nearly impossible to get him out of it, ”fine, but I don’t want to hear about you getting sent to the dungeons again Yoongi.”

Though Yoongi only chuckles, “I won’t get angry, don’t stress about.”

And boy was he wrong, because it hasn’t even been 10 minutes that he walked into her office until hell broke loose.

“Just let them handle it Yoongi, why are you so upset, I’ve given you plenty of work before,” she barks angrily.

“I’m upset, because you never give me the same amount of work as them!” He snaps back at her, tone equally as harsh.

She nearly growls at his attitude, “Would you relax Yoongi, it’s just pieces of paper! If I had known you’d get so fucking irritated over it I would’ve sent the entire pile to you if that’s what you really wanted!”

That’s not what he wanted. He wanted her attention, her trust, he wanted to be the first person she sought out when she needed help.

He wanted her.

“Y/n-” he gets interrupted when Y/n grabs a pile of documents and throws it in the air in front of him. He watches as the pieces of paper float down everywhere in the room, making it look as if a tornado wrecked havoc in the area.

“Here! Just do it all for all I care, they’re just damn pieces of papers anyway,” Y/n growls tiredly. Yoongi could not have come at the worst time. Not only did she have to deal with a raging headache, but now her own advisor was yelling in her face far too early in the morning for it to be tolerable.

She could feel her head ringing at the volume of his voice, but when she told him to leave as she wasn’t in the best mood to argue, he kept refusing stubbornly, insisting she listen to his complaints because apparently what he needed to say was so important to go against her orders. And so when she realized his important reasoning was because he was upset over his workload, her anger only rose from there.

With her already sour mood, him snapping back at her surely didn’t help his case either.

“I have way too much shit to deal with right now, don’t add onto it Yoongi,” she spats loudly, the piles of paper covering nearly the entirety of the floor around them.

His shoulder drops, finally coming to terms with everything as he stared into the once cheerful eyes narrow dangerously into tiny slits.

The girl before him, was never and will never be his.

For the past few days, Yoongi had been actively avoiding not only you, but everyone else. No matter how hard they tried, neither Namjoon or Jin could reach out to him. It was almost as if Yoongi somehow knew just when and where everyone would be to successfully avoid them.

In the beginning of the empresses reign, no one took him seriously because he wasn’t from noble descent like Namjoon and Jin. when they would attend national council meetings, no one spoke directly to him as if his previous status of a commoner was still intact. And so he had to put on this whole ruthless persona for people to show an ounce of respect for him. He had to exert more effort to prove to everyone that he was equally as worthy as the other two advisors. That he was capable of doing the same amount of work, even if he didn't receive the same strenuous education as them.

And because of the comparison between him and the other two advisors, insecurities were born and shattered his mind.

So seeing you put your trust in Jin and Namjoon hurt him a lot more than he would like to admit. The fact that they both knew and yet you hadn’t brought it up with him once was like a shot to his heart.

And yet throughout his time spent alone, Taehyung's voice echoes in his mind.

“When was the last time you ever treated her as one of her advisors? When have you ever truly cared for her majesty?”

He groans out of frustration at the entire situation. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he was right. When was the last time he treated her with respect. Even though the rest of the boys joined the rebellion with him, never once did they blatantly disrespect the empress the way he did.

And with the current situation, he doesn’t even think he deserves his position of advisor anymore. Never in his life did he imagine that someone was drugging the empress. All this time, he’s been bitterly blaming the empress about the current condition of the empire when in reality, it wasn’t even her fault. He pushed her away when she needed him the most. When she was suffering he unknowingly made things worse. And because of that, he doesn’t even know if he has the courage to face the empress ever again.

Yoongi freezes when he hears a tentative knock at his door. Slowly, he raises his head from his hands before responding in a loud tired voice, “who is it?” ready to curse out the person on the other side of the door.

“It’s me hyung.”

Yoongi widens his eyes at the familiar voice that he can’t help but rise from his seat. He carefully walks over and finally opens the door to reveal Jimin’s figure standing before him. For a moment, the two men stand opposite of each other in silence.

“I need to talk to you,” Jimin finally says. Yoongi nods and steps aside for him to enter, still in complete disbelief that he wanted to speak to him after everything that’s been said between the two in the past month.

As if reading his mind, Jimin turns to him with an uncertain smile, “You’re probably wondering why I'm here,” Yoongi only nods, unable to produce words at this point. Jimin stops at the center of his office before continuing, “I know we’re going through a rough patch right now, but at the end of the day, you’re still someone that I deeply care about. You’re my brother and I’m just worried about how you’re taking the situation,” he explains with a nervous expression.

Yoongi’s eyes soften, of course they weren’t on good terms at the moment, but Jimin was right, at the end of the day, they’re brothers. He could never truly hate or get mad at him, or any of them for that matter unless they truly betrayed him.

Jimin wasn’t certain this would be a good idea, unsure how the older male would react to his presence. And so when he hears Yoongi let out a chuckle, although not so enthusiastically, that alone causes Jimin to visibly relax.

Just then, Yoongi lets out a long sigh, “I’ll be honest, I feel like shit. But I know she’s probably going through it way harder than I am,” he finally replies as he rolls his neck.

Jimin nods, “I’m sure she is,” he mutters looking away.

Though Yoongi raises a brow, Jimim’s tone almost hinting at the fact that he doesn’t know about your feelings which was surprising to Yoongi since he knows how close he is to you. At that realization he furrowed his brows, “you haven’t spoken to her, have you?”

Jimin seems to stiffen at his claim, he contemplated lying but knew the older male would see right through him anyway, and so he just shakes his head, “no I haven’t.”

“Why not?”

Jimin lets out a low chuckle, “I wasn’t able to keep a promise with her,” he answers softly, running his fingers through his hair.

Now Yoongi was even more confused than before, he wanted to ask more questions but felt like now wouldn’t be the right time based on the downcasted look on the younger man's face. And so he only nods in return. Though Jimin’s lips quirk up, grateful that he doesn’t push the topic further.

Jimin leans against the back of his couch, crossing his arms, “I saw you that day,” he added, wanting to change the subject. “The day at the ball,” he clarifies when he saw the puzzled look on Yoongi’s face.

“You attended the ball?”

Jimin shakes his head, “no I was watching from above, her majesty wanted me to be her ‘eyes in the sky’, or something like that,” he pauses before chuckling, “she’s been saying some strange things recently.”

Rather than laughing along with him, Yoongi can’t help but feel annoyed, “Of course you fucking knew about it, too,” he mutters furiously under his breath.

Jimin widens his eyes at his sudden harsh tone, “Pardon?”

Yoongi scoffs, now stomping his way to his desk, “The empress told you of her plans,” Yoongi uttered with resentment, “everyone but me.”

And as if the world wanted to continue mocking him, here you appear through the open door, with Hoseok right beside you. You freeze in your spot, when you realize Jimin, who was now staring at you like a deer in headlights, was also present in the room. Despite his surprise, he bows out of respect. Though you can’t say the same about Yoongi.

“What are you doing here,” Yoongi curses at himself, he didn’t mean to take his anger out on you. You just happened to arrive at a bad time.

Though his cold icy tone doesn’t deter you in the slightest, “I came to inform you that we’ll be holding a meeting tomorrow,” you explain hesitantly, careful not to say the wrong thing to aggravate him even more.

He raises a brow in doubt, “you came here to personally tell me?”

You nod, “the rest of the men wanted to have a meeting regarding the situation, but I didn’t want to attend if you weren’t present.”

Yoongi scoffs, “I'm not some charity case.” Although, Yoongi can’t deny the warm feeling in his chest from what you said.

You stop, taken aback from his words, “Is that what you think you are?” you pause before continuing, “Why do you think you became one of the empress’s advisors?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes at this, “Because you think of me as a brother,” he spats bitterly.

“No, it’s because you’re one of the few people I trust most in this world, I know we had a bumpy road getting here, but you have to believe me when I say that I trust you,” you insist as you take a step closer into the room.

Though your statement seemed to have ignited a fire in him as he snaps his head to you with narrowed eyes, “If you trust me so much then why didn’t you let me know about this entire situation?!” You jump back at his tone, surprised by how angry he got.

Hoseok steps forward in an instant, “Hyung I had no idea about the drugs either,” he blurts out, trying to dissipate the tension in the room as he moves to stand in between you and Yoongi.

Jimin nods in confirmation, shifting his body to stand protectively in front of you as well, “he’s right hyung, Hoseok also had no idea what was going on.”

“That may be true, but she still sought your help, no? She needed military strength, she needed someone to hide in the shadows and she went to you two,” he snaps at them. Hoseok shuts his mouth, unable to form words to counter his claim.

Though it’s not like Yoongi was going to let anyone else speak, not until he was finished, “Where do I come into play? Jin hyung and Namjoon helped with the plan, Jimin looked out for you from above, Hoseok provided the military strength, Jungkook and Taehyung came as your escorts. But what about me?” At this point, Yoongi paces around the room frantically, you try to reach out to him but he jumps back as if your touch would burn him.

“Why am I always in last place!” He yells at the top of his lungs, “Is it because I wasn’t born into high nobility like Jin hyung? Is it cause I’m not some fucking genius like Namjoon? Or as handsome as Jungkook and Taehyung. Or as confident as Jimin. Or as reliable as Hoseok?” He continues his rant when everyone is too stunned to react.

“Yoon-”

“Why am I never good enough for you!” He shouts, slamming his fist hard on his desk. The room becomes silenced in an instant. The only sounds coming from the broken advisor standing before you.

“Am I not enough?” He sniffles, his voice cracking as he stumbles, grabbing hold of the corner of the table to stabilize himself. He bows his head low, an attempt to hide the tears forming in his eyes.

You turn to look at Jimin and Hoseok, giving them a solemn look as you nod your head in the direction of the door, wanting to speak to him privately.

They seem to understand your gesture as they begin to silently make their way out of the room. Although Jimin hesitates for a moment standing by the doorway. He takes one last look at Yoongi and back to you, his expression unreadable before finally closing the door behind him.

At the click of the door, you turn your head back to Yoongi, your eyes focused solely on him. Carefully, you take slow steps towards him, you don't know if he notices but if he did he didn’t take any further steps away from you. “Yoongi, you are more than enough for me, you have to believe me,” you urge as you stop a few feet away from him. Careful to not overwhelm and crowd around his space.

His silence urges you to continue, “I just felt like you didn’t want anything to do with me so I gave you your space,” you explain softly, “But you’re still one of my advisors, I should’ve communicated with you better on the situation. I'm sorry.”

You take a few experimental steps towards him, assessing his reaction carefully because if you saw any indication that he was uncomfortable by the distance, you would step away immediately. But he gave you none. Even when you were now standing in front of him, he didn’t make an effort to move away. Instead, he finally lifts his head, holding your stare as his tears now running down his face.

You don’t know what got over you, but at the sight of his tears, you find yourself reaching your hand out until they cup his face gingerly. His breath hitches when your hand caresses his cheek, your fingers wiping away the seemingly never-ending tears.

“Yoongi, you’re more than enough for me,” you repeat softly as you stare into his eyes. Almost mesmerized as his glossy eyes shined back at you making it look as though you were staring at the night sky.

You lean your body forward until your arms wrap around his shoulders, bringing him into a tight hug, “I’ll always need you,” you say in a soft whisper. But no matter how quiet you were, he heard you loud and clear.

He sucks in a breath as a sob escapes his mouth. He doesn’t try to fight you, instead, he wraps his arms around your waist instantly, tightening his grip around your body.

But instead of calming down, his sobs grow louder at the feel of your body against his.

Concerned, you try to pull away but Yoongi only tightens his grip around you as he shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he whimpers softly, clutching onto you tighter as if you would slip away forever, “please don’t leave me. Not yet,” he cries out. Your heart nearly shattering at the sound of his voice cracking.

Your eyes soften as you once again relax in his arm, your hands rubbing his back reassuringly as he continues to cry, his tears falling onto the nape of your neck. “I won’t,” you soothe gently, “I won’t leave you Yoongi.”

He sniffles once more, “You’re really back?”

You don’t have it in you to respond with a straight answer. You just couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him like that, especially in his current state. Lying to his face knowing that the empress he knew was no longer the owner of this body. That you were a completely different person, but who in their right mind would believe you.

So instead, you nod softly, reaching a hand to run through his hair. His tears stream down his face as he chokes back a cry at the feel of your nod.

You smile bitterly, as you have to keep reminding yourself, the girl he loves isn’t you, it’s the empress. He’s not crying for you, he’s crying for her.

You had seen this coming, but it still hurt a lot more than you had expected. The world for some reason just wouldn’t stop being cruel to you.

A young man approaches the darkly lit room slowly, the only source of light being the fireplace that’s barely holding onto life as it seems as though it’s about to die out at any moment.

“Master, I’ve come with urgent news,” the boy announced, news so important he fidgets in his spot nervously as he anticipates his reaction. It’s silent in the room, the only sound coming from the crackling of the fire as the wood burns.

There, sat in front of a large window was the boy’s master, he had not turned around to face him, instead, opting to stare up at the moon as it shines brightly down on him, “Speak,” he commands in a dominating voice.

The boy nods his head, “We received a report confirming the death of Grand Duke Lee Joong-gu as well as Sir Taehyung, Sir Jungkook, and Sir Jimin stepping down from the rebellion.”

The man hums, immensely intrigued by the sudden news, “and the others?”

The boy shakes his head, “there have been no reports being made of the others stepping down as of this moment master, though many speculate it’s just a matter of time at this point.”

The man bellows loudly at that, as he leans back comfortably in his chair, his eyes shining with mirth, “I told that damn duke not to get too greedy and look what happened. He got caught,” he scoffs as he turns fully around, hands crossed on his desk as he traces the letter he had received from the late grand duke a mere few weeks ago in a bored manner, “Seems what that fool said was of concern after all, her majesty has truly changed.”

The boy nods, “What do you suggest we do now?”

He turns back around, admiring the night sky, “tell my men to continue keeping an eye on her majesty. And report everything to me.”

The boy bows, “yes master,” he responds before turning away, ready to inform those of the new orders.

“Well I’ll be damned,” the man whistles as he leans back on his chair, “so you truly did succeed in changing the story,” he chuckles and with a dangerous glint he stares up at the moon, “I can’t wait to meet you, new empress.”

A/N: Hey guys!! I’m so sorry for taking so long to upload this chapter, I had to focus on my final exams and all the assignments my professors piled on me at the end of the semester. So I tried to finish this chapter as fast as I could!

I hope you’re all happy with how things went in this chapter. Also sorry for all the drama, I just felt like it would be better for the reader and Yoongi to make up instead of making more chapters of them avoiding each other when they could just communicate about their feelings.

Thank you everyone for supporting and reading my story! I also love receiving all your kind messages so thank you so much for that!

And as always, I hope you have a wonderful day!!

Tagslist: (those in bold, I’m not sure if it worked for you, I’m really sorry, I’m not sure how to fix it) (I also apologize if I forgot to add someone, just comment again and I promise to add you in the next one!!)

@reallysparklychaos, @unknownsageking, @casspirit0705, @fangirl125reader, @silscintilla, @serefara29, @chimtaesty-main, @xxqueenwxtchxx, @diamonddia-mond, @vishakhas-world, @purelyecstacy, @resticou, @woopetals, @magicsweetener, @splaterparty0-0, @daydreambrliever, @strangeobjectmaker, @luna-xial, @m0chilattae, @celaenaelentiyavox, @lindsayjoy444, @layzfeelit, @kimsaerom, @songtiddies, @untamedgrape, @sonnymii, @moonssuga, @kassandravictoria, @galaxyflab, @blank-et-noir, @nynhope , @midnight1199, @yessii-i, @protontippens, @gguktings, @borahebangtan, @katkrusade, @handsupanddropthepotato, @missseoulite, @cellula-staminale, @red-bow-tie3, @whateveritis616, @ggukkieland, @sbroces, @nnessworls, @yoonieebear

#poly bts #poly!bts #bts au #bts fanfic #isekai #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #hoseok x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 3

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an unexpected heart-to-heart about what it means to be Death and a Cupid on route to a planet where Din’s potential soulmate lives.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,500

Warnings: Pining, smidge of angst, more plot development, Razor Crest (RIP I miss you darling!), a made-up home world for the reader (yes, yes, there’s like a million I could have picked but my brain said NOPE)

Author Note: Ahhhh, the comments are so amazing from you all! Thank you everyone out there sparing time to check out my little universe, it makes me sooo happy you have no idea! As always, I hope you enjoy this new segment as I try to plot this story out and get these two idiots to acknowledge there just might be something between them.

Also special thanks to @codenamewitcher for including the first two parts on Weekly Fanfic Recs. Be sure to go check out the list for a whole bunch of fantastic stories!

Links to Part 1, Part 2 and Part 4

Photo Inspiration: (What I imagine is beneath the armor in this scene...*dreamy sigh*)

There is a distinct silence that can only be found in hyperspace when the stars outside resemble sparkling streaks of silver tinsel and your breath is trapped within your lungs as you’re awestruck by the sheer beauty of it all. You experience this silence aboard the Razor Crest, sitting in the cockpit behind Din as he pilots his beloved gunship. It isn’t the first time you’ve been a passenger, having traveled with Din on two previous ventures where your Cupid services were required on planets far away from your home on Umbriel.

Off-world assignments for you were generally rare since your bosses were more inclined to choose Cupids of higher ranking to handle those clients, but sometimes you were the only available option left. Which, come to think of it, is exactly how you became the one roped into meeting with Death every full moon. Your bosses decided someone needed to check up on him to make sure he wasn’t reaping anyone before their fated time and thus messing with the natural order of things. You privately have reached the conclusion it was a decision made during a fit of paranoia as you had yet to find any evidence suggesting Din ever broke a single one of the universe’s rules, let alone even considered the mere possibility.

When you did travel for assignments, you never stopped feeling like a goldfish being dumped out of your familiar little bowl and into a massive ocean full of strange oddities. You would often find yourself wasting time trying to successfully navigate the unknown world when you should have been focused on tracking down your client’s soulmate.

That’s why Din had offered to start traveling with you. Actually, in his own words it was because, “You think about love so much you don’t see trouble until it’s an inch in front of you. Someone’s got to be there to look after you.”

You’d tried to argue, told him you had never experienced trouble and that if you did then you could handle it with your bow. All Cupid’s were required to master archery for self-defense purposes, though Din’s responding snort of derision made you suspect he wasn’t convinced of your skills. You wondered if he thought, just as humans incorrectly did, a Cupid only used their bow to spread love and lust. Or maybe he just thought you weren’t capable of such finesse. It was an insulting assumption, fueling you with the burning desire to prove him wrong. One day, you keep telling yourself, a repetitive chant. One day you’ll show him just how capable you are with your weapon and you imagine his look of shock, whether worn openly on his face or hidden beneath the visor of his helmet, will be utterly priceless.

But in the meantime, you’re in no hurry to encounter trouble. Finding enjoyment in taking these trips with him on his ship instead.

The Razor Crest had actually been a complete surprise to you when Din first welcomed you on it; primarily because the notion of him using such a primitive form of transportation despite the powers he possessed as Death was too outrageous to wrap your head around. However, it took less than ten minutes soaring through space for you to discover just how many details of the universe you were missing by relying on your Cupid abilities to teleport yourself between locations. Never would you have imagined Death to be the one to teach you to love the slowness of travel, to let your eyes linger on all the beautiful wonders along the way. But that’s exactly what happened.

You turn your head away from the window to look at Din. From your angle, all you glimpse is the back of his helmet, reflecting the passing starlight. Soon you’ll be introducing Din to the first immortal on your list of potential soulmates.

Death, you quickly correct yourself. He’s only Din when he’s around you.

You initially thought he elected to wear his armor because you told him he could to ease his comfort, but now you think it’s because this is him meeting his potential soulmate as himself. It is easy to forget sometimes this is the image of Death—a warrior enshrouded in beskar, cunning and ruthless—that is recognized throughout the universe. And feared.

If the handsome face he concealed was known instead, you wonder if mortals would readily choose to embrace the ending of their lifetime, rather than foolishly seek to run from its inevitability.

“What is it?” Din’s baritone voice startles you as it shatters the quietness. The modulator within his helmet gives his tone a low raspiness that never fails to send a chill down your spine when you hear it.

“Huh?” You respond ineloquently.

“You’ve been staring at the back of my head for the last five minutes, angel. I figured you had something worth saying.”

“Oh, no. I was just thinking about you.”

Immediately you wish a meteor would collide with the ship, providing you with the necessary distraction to escape and find somewhere you can hide until the end of time.

“...What about me were you thinking?” Din wonders after a solid thirty seconds of pure silence, voice somehow conveying an equally blended mixture of intrigue and wariness. He flips on the ship’s autopilot and turns in his seat to pin you with his gaze, apparently unwilling to let you try and weasel yourself out of the conversation.

You roll the question around in your mind, wanting to give an answer that satisfies him without it also embarrassing yourself further.

“I was thinking how much of an enigma you are,” you murmur at last, leaning back in the chair with your arms crossing over your stomach. “You wield such incredible powers and yet you choose to wear a human face, to call this man-made ship your home and to also spend your spare time living amongst those you will eventually reap. Why are these your choices?”

He tilts his head, and you just know there is a little crease of bewilderment appearing between his eyebrows right now even if you can’t see it. For as much as he is a puzzle you can’t put together, he is also at times an open book that you will never tire of reading.

“I would think you, more than most beings, would understand the discomfort that stems from loneliness and the lengths one will go to ease it,” he says, not unkindly. He mirrors your position, maneuvering himself until he’s comfortable in his seat and totally oblivious to the dilating of your pupils as you observe every subtle shift of his armor-clad body. “Isn’t that the true purpose of Cupids? To spare individuals the ache of living a life of solitude by introducing them to someone to love so they no longer feel it.”

“That’s a poetic way of putting it,” you answer, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “My superiors would just quote our mantra back at me when I used to ask. Amor vincit omnia.”

“Love conquers all.”

You shouldn’t be surprised he’s able to translate such an ancient and obscure language, but your eyes widen regardless. “That’s right.”

His voice is unusually soft when he asks, “Do you like being a Cupid?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by how easily he’s changed the topic of the conversation from himself to you. You’re used to taking orders and being thanked for your services, but no one has ever asked you if you liked doing any of it.

“I’m good at it,” you finally say, even though it’s not really an answer.

He nods his head still, as if he understands. A part of you thinks he actually does.

You lick your lips, eyeing him hesitantly. “Do you...like being Death?”

“I’m good at it,” he echoes, but your words sound somber coming from his lips.

The cockpit fills with hushed silence again, but there’s a unique tenderness unlike ever before. Minutes seem to stretch on for entire seasons as you watch one another, content to simply coexist and revel in each other’s presences.

It would be so easy to slip off his helmet and kiss him right now.

You stiffen, stunned at your own thought, but you aren’t given the chance to analyze it further as an alarm on the ship’s control panel announces with a resounding beep you’ve reached your destination.

Din spins in his seat, reclaiming control of the steering to begin the ship’s landing process. You look out the front window at the large green-blue planet drawing nearer with every anxious tick of your heartbeat.

“We’re here,” you say needlessly, forcing excitement into your voice. Fake it till you make it, isn’t that the human expression?

“Who is it we’re meeting on this backwater skug hole?” Din asks, pressing a series of buttons above his head.

You kick the back of his seat. “Be nice,” you scold when he shoots you a look. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath as he turns back around, prompting you to roll your eyes. “She’s a goddess of springtime and motherhood. The locals call her Omera.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @eleine-t1d, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #Mandalorian #soulmate au #my fic #my writing #death and an angel #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #din x you #din x reader

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achubbydumpling · 3 years

Text

(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66

Rating: Mature Words: 1901 Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Public stuffing, Roadtrip, Chubby Stiles

Summary: Stiles and Derek enjoy their first vacation together. Stiles suggests they take on various food challenges to save money while on the road. However, Derek's werewolf metabolism deals with the excess food a lot better than Siles' strictly human one.

(I tried a bit of a different approach to a stuffing, a bit more focused on the way it makes Stiles feel. Hope you enjoy it!)

“It winds from Chicago to LA More than two thousand miles all the way”

“Oh, my God. This is such a good idea! We’ll save so much money.” Stiles was waving the menu around while he talked and almost knocked over his glass of water.

“Right, Derek?”

“Right. Awesome,” was his clipped answer. Derek looked like his usual grumpy self, but with his hand on Stiles’ thigh and with how close he was sitting, Stiles didn’t worry about the slightly pained expression on his face. He’d soften up once the breakfast crowd died down a bit and there weren’t this many people around.

Read on AO3

“We just have to finish those three pancakes and then the food is free! Even if we can’t finish it’s 15 dollars to try and we can take the leftovers on the road.”

Stiles didn’t want to throw in the towel before the challenge had even begun, but it was probably for the best to not go into this completely blind. While waiting for their server to return Stiles looked up eating competitions online.

They did have 90 minutes in total to finish all the food, but Stiles hypothesized that eating as quickly as possible would be the best strategy. Derek argued that they should take advantage of all the time they were given. Now that Derek could focus on something else than his surroundings his hunched over posture slowly relaxed.

The banter eventually escalated into a bet that whoever finished first got to choose a punishment for the loser. Stiles was almost certain he would lose out against the werewolf metabolism, but he didn’t think Derek would go for a particularly harsh punishment. He would have never agreed to this with Scott because he always chose the most embarrassing punishments.

This was his and Derek’s very first vacation on their own after finally sorting out their mutual pining. The road trip had been planned for close to year. However, the exact date had always been pushed back by another monster of the week ruining their plans. Instead of making a round trip they had flown up to Chicago and rented a car instead of taking the Jeep like Stiles had initially planned. The old girl probably wouldn’t have made it anyway.

Another consequence of pushing their vacation back was the weather. Instead of driving in late spring or early summer, when the heat would have still been bearable, it was August—the hottest month of the year.

The AC could barely keep up and all the people that had just eaten breakfast here had heated the small diner up even more. Stiles poured himself another glass of ice water.

He was looking forward to when they would get far enough south to where diners started serving real sweet tea. Boyd had shared a few stories with the pack about the summers he had spent on his uncle’s farm in Georgia. How the only thing that could chase the sweltering heat away for a moment was the ice-cold sweet tea his auntie always kept in the fridge.

When their food finally arrived at the table the server could barely fit both plates on the small table for two. Each pancake was twelve inches in diameter, the stack was piled high with maple syrup, banana, and whipped cream.

“Wow, these are huge!” Derek stifled a laugh.

“There was a picture in the menu.” The server cleared his throat to get their attention before they could dig in.

“When this,” he held a tomato shaped kitchen timer up, “goes off and you have not finished the challenge you will be—” he sighed and made an unenthusiastic buzzer noise “—disqualified.”

“Thanks, pal.” Stiles grinned back. The server glared at him for a second before he wound up the timer and left the table.

“Man, that guy is in a bad mood.” Stiles tried joking around with Derek before they got serious about this challenge.

“You haven’t worked in hospitality before.”

“And you have?” He took another sip of water and waved the glass around threatening to spill all over.

“Summer job.” Derek shrugged and finally picked up his fork.

“Wait, you can’t just drop something like that and not tell me more details.”

“If you don’t want to pay for this mountain of food you better dig in.”

Stiles whined Derek’s name annoyed, but also picked up his fork.

“On three,” Stiles said, but Derek was already chewing the first bite.

“Cheater,” Stiles mumbled around a mouthful of pancake.

These were a lot flatter than the standard-sized pancakes. Probably deflated by their own weight, but the mixture of flour, sugar and oil tasted great all the same. Stiles hadn’t had banana pancakes before, but he welcomed the fruity sweetness in contrast with the straight up sugar of the rest of the meal.

Stiles surprised himself when he managed to keep up with Derek all through the first pancake. When he got started on that second one, he even pulled ahead for a bit, but he hit a wall as soon as half of it was gone. It felt like his stomach had suddenly closed down shop and he felt almost nauseous when he thought of eating even more sugar.

However, when Derek pulled ahead and finished off his second pancake without any trouble Stiles doubled down. He knew it was a loosing battle, but he wasn’t about to give up this easily. Yet, as willing as his mind was, his body failed him. With about three quarters of the last pancake left his determination flagged.

The food weighed heavily in his stomach. The vague nausea from eating way too much sugar curled up into his throat and had him sipping water to try and wash it down, which only made him feel even fuller.

Stiles could picture exactly what he looked like right now. He’d done this in front of his bedroom mirror. His stomach rounding out, like half a beach ball taped to his front. The curve of a belly looking out of place on his thin frame.

He had always loved to eat, not only for the sake of taste, but also because of how it made him feel. Sated. Heavy. Tethered down and not constantly in danger of floating away in his own mind. That moment when his thoughts finally ground to a halt and all he could do was to be overwhelmed by that feeling—almost on the wrong side of too much to handle.

However, he wasn’t at that point yet. This was more of a mental block. Unlike Derek, he didn't really have a sweet tooth. Stiles preferred salty, greasy substantial meals over dessert any day.

Stiles had been sat staring at his plate before Derek leaned against him to whisper, “You ok?”

Stiles groaned but picked up his fork again. Derek didn’t seem affected by the amount of food at all. Then again, the wolves always had to eat a lot just to keep their mass up. They leaned out quickly without enough food, preserving energy.

“Just taking a break.” Stiles could see Derek shifting in his seat, the wolf always craving closeness. They’d talked about this, whatever it was, after Derek had accidentally seen Stiles once afterwards. Stiles had tried his best to explain while still caught in that blissed out state. He didn’t know how but Derek had somehow understood.

Derek finally put that last bite in his mouth and then moved closer to Stiles. The entire side of his body was pressed up against Stiles. He was carefully draped over Stiles shoulders offering support, but not crowding him in. Stiles was still steeling himself for the next bite when Derek’s hand slipped under his shirt. Knuckles dragging against bare skin.

Stiles yelped and grabbed at Derek’s wrist. “What are you doing?” he whispered urgently.

“Helping,” Derek answered and furrowed his brows. Like always. Except they were in the middle of a restaurant and not locked in Stiles’ bedroom.

“Stop. Someone is going to see you,” he paused to search for the right word but then just flicked his eyes to where he was still holding Derek’s wrist.

“We’re not coming back here. You wanted to do the challenge.” Stiles wanted to whine and complain at Derek, but he was right. Stiles had suggested doing the food challenge. He’d honestly just thought about getting free food, only when they had already ordered, did he even think of this possibility.

“Plus,” Derek almost purred into Stiles’ ear, “winner gets to choose a punishment, right?”

Stiles’ “not really a punishment” died in his throat when Derek pulled him almost into his lap and his knuckles started digging into the roundest part of his stomach. They probably just looked like an overly affectionate couple, but that didn’t keep that searing hot shame from bubbling up. Stiles wanted to hide his burning face against Derek’s shoulder. He wanted to push Derek away. Stiles wanted to cram the rest of the pancake into his mouth to keep himself from thanking Derek out loud for getting his hands on his stuffed belly.

Derek hadn’t seemed interested in participating in Stiles’ peculiar activities but every time they had somehow ended up in that situation again, he had gotten more and more affectionate towards Stiles and his bloated middle.

“You’re gonna finish that, aren’t you?” Stiles shook his head, but he stabbed his fork into the pancake, nonetheless.

“Are you?” Derek asked again, a teasing edge to it. Stiles didn’t trust his voice and just nodded.

“Yes, look at yourself. The first chance you get to stuff yourself full of some food and you run headfirst into it.” Derek cupped his bloated stomach and lifted it up a bit.

“Look at that. All the food you stuffed in there making a nice little belly. Do you want to eat like this every day?” Stiles pushed another bite past his lips almost all whipped cream.

“Do you?” Derek prompted him. A whine caught in Stile’s throat, and he pushed it down with another forkful of food. He nodded and hummed agreeably.

“You’re just so greedy to be stuffed full.” Stiles was burning up but instead of reaching for his glass of water he gathered the last bits and pieces on his plate.

“You know what’s gonna happen if I let you eat like this every day?” Stiles was fast approaching the simple state of mind he was craving. He couldn’t decide whether to nod or shake his head. The motion of Derek’s hand on his stomach softened. Rubbing large circles into the stretched skin.

“You’re gonna get fat if you eat like this every day.” With that last mouthful Stiles had finished the challenge, but all he could think about was what Derek had just said.

“Feels so good,” Stiles said. Words slurred and a dopey smile on his face while he turned further into Derek’s body.

“Feels too good to stop, huh? Never had all that food just for free. That’s why you dragged me out here, off the highway. Not because you cared about what you’d eat, but because of how much. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Stiles whispered. “Every day.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’ve got four weeks on the road and me to take care of you.”

“Won't you get hip to this timely tip When you make that California trip Get your kicks on Route 66”

#Get Beached #Sterek #chubby!Stiles #cutting it really close with my self-imposed deadline

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cali-holland · 4 years

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Priceless- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: You’ve never liked people spending money on you or being at large parties, but Tom seems to forget that as he goes a bit overboard when celebrating your birthday.

Word Count: 3100

Warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol

Masterlist Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

A/N: I wrote this weeks ago and forgot to post it, my bad if it’s shit- it’s unedited; also I have no clue how much student loans are in the uk or if they even exist so i made it based off the us average and i’ll just stop rambling now oops

~~~

“Tom, this place is really nice.” You breathed out in awe of the dimly lit, but extravagant restaurant. While you felt almost embarrassed by your simple little black dress and non-designer shoes, your hands began to shake a little, thinking about how expensive this dinner must be.

“Anything for my special birthday girl.” Tom beamed, pulling out your chair for you to sit down.

“I wish you would’ve told me we were coming here. I would’ve dressed better.” You said quietly as you sat down in the chair, eyeing the women in fancy dresses at the tables surrounding you two.

“What are you talking about? You’re the best dressed person here.” He sat down across from you, adjusting his tux as he did so, and a sharply dressed waiter came up to the table, offering you two champagne immediately. Before you could kindly decline the offer, Tom insisted on the drinks.

“We’re celebrating tonight.” Tom stated, holding up his champagne flute out to you once the waiter had left. “To the best day of the year: happy birthday, Y/N.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, clinking your own glass against his before drinking the expensive liquid.

Being with Tom for the past two years, you were used to the sweet date nights and the amazing birthday gifts; today was just different though. He’d never taken you to such an expensive restaurant before, not one that is so pricey that they don’t even bother to add prices on the menu (which upset you because you couldn’t even choose the cheapest option). You loved your boyfriend very much and you were appreciative of all the romantic dates he took you on and of the incredible gifts he’d give you, but sometimes it concerned you how he’d so willingly spend his money on you. He’d give you a million dollars if you asked for it, no matter what day it was. That is exactly why he didn’t know about your student loans or any of your past due bills- you were a staunch believer in making your way on your own, and that meant not using your boyfriend’s seemingly endless cash flow to help yourself out.

Tom knew you weren’t a fan of him spending money on you, and he also knew you weren’t one for big parties or celebrating your birthday. The diamond necklace that sat on your neck from your last birthday was proof enough of how Tom used your birthday especially as an excuse to give you more expensive things.

“You know I’m paying you back for this, right?” You said as you looked over the menu. Tom laughed, shaking his head.

“You’re not paying for your birthday dinner.” He replied, taking your free hand and holding it in his.

“I’d let you pay for the full meal if we were at McDonald’s, not at some 5-star restaurant.” You stated.

“I think it’s only 4-star.” He joked, but his smile dropped when he saw your frown. Tom lightly squeezed your hand in his. “Let me spoil you tonight, please? Just for tonight.”

“You’re unbelievable, Holland.” You rolled your eyes at him, but still cracked a smile, your thumb gently tracing against the back of his hand.

“I love you, Y/N, but I’m paying for tonight.”

“I love you, too.” You smiled, and he leaned over the table to kiss you.

After a rather delicious five-course meal, you and Tom got into the car, and he took off his suit jacket. While he removed his tie, you took the opportunity to look at the dinner receipt from his jacket pocket.

“Wait, stop!” He reached to take it out of your hands, but it was too late because you had already seen the receipt.

“£400? Are you crazy?” You exclaimed, blinking to make sure you’d read the receipt right- that wasn’t even including his very generous tip (which you weren’t going to complain about that bit).

“Was it not a good meal?” Tom questioned, taking the receipt back from you and putting in his pants pocket this time.

“It was the best food I’ve ever had. I just wish you wouldn’t spend so much on me.” As he pulled out of the parking lot, you took out your phone, pulling up Venmo.

“No, you’re not allowed to pay me back.”

“Well, I said you weren’t allowed to spend that much money on me.”

“It’s your birthday, please let me spoil you a little.” Stopped at a red light, he turned to you and pouted. You sighed, locking your phone.

“For your birthday, I’m taking you to a ridiculously expensive restaurant too.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek before the light turned green and he had to start driving again. It took you a minute before you realized he was going in the wrong direction of your flat. “Where are we going?”

“I thought we could go for some drinks before going home.” Tom suggested, but something about his smile made you think it wasn’t a spontaneous thought.

“Yeah, why not?” You replied, not seeing the harm in just going with him. It’s not like you had a choice since he was already driving there anyway. You really just wanted to go home and have a nice night with him, but he was excited about whatever surprise he had planned for you and you weren’t going to ruin that for him- you already felt guilty enough about the dinner (although you did actually really enjoy it, all expenses aside).

“What are you up to?” You asked as he parked the car in front of a strange building. It was too dark for you to even try to guess what it was.

“Come on, love, you’ll see.” He smiled, getting out of the car and hurrying to open your door before you had the chance to. He held your hand, walking you up some sketchy looking stairs. It wasn’t until you got to the roof of the two story building that you really got confused. It was far too dark for you to decipher what was going on.

“Happy birthday!” A large crowd of people shouted, the lights kicking on to illuminate the roof. You smiled, speechless, seeing all the people cheering for your arrival. You weren’t even sure that you recognized a good amount of them.

“Happy birthday, darling.” Tom grinned, wrapping his arms around you. He gently kissed the top of your head, proud of his work.

“Wow, thank you.” You told him, sounding effortlessly enthusiastic about the party. Music started playing from the large speakers, and people started dancing along to the beat, getting back to their own conversations.

“Follow me.” Your boyfriend tugged on your hand, dragging you through the crowd to the far corner of the room, where a birthday cake was sitting in the middle of a large table. The cake itself was the size of a small table; in fact, you were sure it wouldn’t be able to fit on your own kitchen table. It was the most beautiful birthday cake you had ever seen for yourself. Covered in white frosting, it had your favorite flowers and lace all around it with “Happy Birthday, Y/N” written in your favorite color across the middle.

“Do you like it? I got it from the nicest bakery in town. My mum helped me with designing it, and I know we already had dessert at the restaurant, but you can’t have a birthday party without-” You cut off Tom’s nervous rambling by kissing him softly.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” You reassured him, giving him another kiss to calm his nerves and to calm yours as well. You already knew how expensive dinner was, and something told you this party and that cake definitely wasn’t on the inexpensive side of things. His heart was in the right place, but it was just too much for you. Needing another distraction, you spoke up again, “Drinks?”

“Right this way.” He led you over to the rooftop bar, ordering you both a couple cocktails. As the bartender worked on the drinks, Tom got a call and stepped out to the stairs for some privacy.

“If you’re the birthday girl, why are you looking so down?” The bartender asked you, a kind smile on her face.

“Is it wrong of me to say I’m not into big parties like this?” You replied with a small laugh, “I’m grateful for it, but it’s not my scene.”

“So I’ll make this extra strong for you.” She joked, but still had a heavy hand as she poured tequila into the mixture, “You know, you’ve got a pretty remarkable boyfriend there. I’ve worked here a long time and no one’s ever rented this whole place out.”

“I’m sorry?” You questioned, not sure what she meant.

“This is a rooftop bar. We don’t do individual birthday parties, but,” She trailed off whistling, “When someone offers up that much and they’re a celebrity, can’t exactly say no.”

She laughed and slid your finished cocktail over to you. You knew she meant nothing bad by her words, and yet you still felt your gut twist as you looked around the party at everyone socializing. It was a sweet gesture, yes, but did Tom really have to dent his wallet for it? With how much he was spending for today, you knew it had to have some effect on his wallet.

Just before you could take a sip from the cocktail, your phone dinged. You looked at it in confusion as a notification came through from your bank account app: “new transfer pending”. Your heart started to race, thinking someone was somehow scamming your money, but when you looked, you saw a ridiculous amount of money being transferred into your account with the memo: “happy birthday, darling”.

You shot up from your seat at the bar and marched off to find Tom. He was still at the stairs, having just gotten off the phone with a small smile on his face. He must not have processed the angry look on your face as he started, “Your birthday gift still isn’t here. I’m sorry, I really wanted it to arrive by today.”

There was a lace of sadness in his voice, clearly disappointed, but you couldn’t focus on that. Instead, you held up your phone, displaying the new transfer on your bank account. “What the hell is this?”

“That’s for your student loans.” Tom said, the happy smile returning to his face. “I don’t know how much you owe because you won’t tell me, so I just kind of guessed.”

“Tom, you can’t just give me 15,000 pounds!” You exclaimed in frustration.

“Is that not enough? I can-” He started, reaching to take out his phone again.

“No.” Tom paused at your harsh tone, “Stop giving me money. It’s suffocating me. The world already thinks I’m a golddigger just because I’m dating you and they know I can’t afford diamond necklaces.” You pointed to the shiny piece on your neck. “I know your heart’s in the right place, but I can’t keep feeling like this, like I’m your charity case first and your girlfriend second. I want to be with Tom Holland, the dorky boy from Kingston that I fell in love with, not Tom Holland, the celebrity that just flaunts his wealth every chance he gets. If you want to make me happy and make me feel special on my birthday, make me a cake yourself or something; I’d much rather have something priceless with sentimental value than have something expensive that you bought just because you could.”

It was Tom’s turn to be speechless now, completely taken aback by your words. You sighed lightly, stepping forward to give him a quick kiss.

“Thank you for tonight, but I think I’m just going to go home.” You left down the stairs quickly, calling for a cab as you did so, leaving Tom abandoned at your own birthday party as he tried to process how his genuine actions backfired so much.

You didn’t sleep well that night, too caught up in knowing you’ll have to talk to Tom about all this eventually. It wasn’t something that you wanted to break up with him over, unless it got too out of hand, like if another 15,000 pounds suddenly appeared in your bank account. As much as you needed the money and appreciated the thought, you couldn’t accept it. You loved Tom because he was so considerate and thoughtful, and you knew he was only doing this because of that loving personality of his.

It wasn’t until later that night that you started to grow worried about your relationship. Normally, if you two ever fought (which only really happened once and for some reason neither of you remembered now), it would take only a couple hours before one of you apologized, and it had been hours since you left Tom, hours since you last heard from him. You had texted him last night to let him know you got home alright, to which he replied later that he was also home, but there was no “we need to talk” text or call.

Just as you were about to go lose yourself in a pint of self-pitying ice cream, you heard a knock at the door. You were expecting Tom on the other side when you opened the door, but you weren’t expecting him to be holding a covered platter and a gift bag.

“Is it too late to celebrate your birthday properly?” Tom asked, hopefully. You smiled, stepping out of your apartment to give him a kiss.

“Come on in.” You replied softly. You opened the door further for him to step inside beside you. He placed the gift bag and the platter down on the coffee table in front of your couch.

“I’m sorry for last night. I overdid it. I just wanted you to feel special.” He said, sitting down on the couch and you sat down beside him.

“I don’t need a fancy dinner or a big party to make me feel special. You make me feel special whenever I’m with you.” You reassured him, and he picked up the platter, shakily handing it to you.

“I can’t promise it’ll be any good, but I tried.” Tom admitted sheepishly as you unwrapped the aluminum foil around the platter. You smiled in awe, looking at the two layer round chocolate cake on the glass platter, which you now recognized as Nikki’s. It was the exact opposite of the cake from last night- a messy frosting job with no flowers, lace, or letters. You could even see the cake sticking out from under the frosting when it was spread too thin.

“You- you baked me a cake?” You asked, looking over at him. You felt tears prick at your eyes and Tom let out a nervous laugh.

“You’re not supposed to cry. Does it look that bad?” There was a sense of worry in his voice, but he felt relieved as you leaned over to kiss him.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” You set the cake aside to come back to it later.

“I didn’t make the frosting though. I tried, but it was too runny.” He stated, making you giggle.

“That’s when you add more powdered sugar.” You explained and he handed you the gift bag next. “Is this what was supposed to be here by yesterday?”

“Yes. It arrived this afternoon. There’s actually two things in there.” He replied, a smile playing on his face while he wrapped an arm around your waist. You reached your hand into the bag and felt around. You didn’t need to fully unwrap the tissue paper to know it was a jewelry box, your eyes subconsciously widened at the feeling.

“It’s not what you think it is.” Tom laughed, knowing you’d think it was a ring.

“Not like we don’t know my answer to that.” You teased as you took out the gift. You opened the small black box to see a thin silver necklace of your birthstone resting against the velvet backdrop.

“Now, if you don’t want it because of last night, I- I can take it back.” He offered, scratching the back of his neck. “I know you don’t want me spending excessively, but I saw this weeks ago-”

“Tom, I love it.” You gently took it out of the box, handing it to him so that he could put it on you.

“Okay, so the last one,” He started nervously, before rambling, “I’ve been working on it for a couple weeks, I just needed the one last thing to actually finish it though, so I couldn’t really do it until today. I can always fix it if it doesn’t look right. And, yeah, just open it.”

“Well, now, I’m intrigued.” You laughed, slowly pulling the last gift from the bag. Tom tensed beside you, but you were far too overwhelmed, holding back tears, as you looked over the blue photo album. You turned through the pages, taking in each photograph he had put in it, reading each comment he’d written under it. It was like a story of your relationship over the years, and there was still plenty of room left in the back of the book for the future.

“See, the book was late, and that kind of set me back. I didn’t mean to ignore you today, but between the book and the cake, I was preoccupied.” He laughed lightly.

“You’re by far the best boyfriend ever. I love you so much.” You turned to him, letting a few tears escape. He wiped them away, cupping your cheek and kissing you.

“Happy belated birthday, darling.” He told you softly once he’d pulled away. You quickly got up to grab a couple forks from your kitchen before sitting on his lap on the couch. You balanced the photo album in your lap, so you could continue to go through it, while Tom held the cake platter.

“Let’s see how good this cake is.” You teased, clinking your forkful of chocolate cake against his. Tom watched as you ate your forkful first. The sweet chocolatey taste you were expecting wasn’t there; instead it tasted bitter and almost like bananas. You swallowed it and smiled, trying to play it off, but Tom could tell.

“It’s shit, isn’t it?” He asked, putting a forkful in his mouth before you could respond. He groaned at the horrible taste.

“Did you store it next to bananas?” You laughed.

“Only for like a hour!” He defended.

“I think you put too much baking powder in here. It shouldn’t be that bitter.”

Tom sighed, setting the platter down on the table. You smiled at him, still laughing a little at the cake, “You tried, and I love you for that.”

“I love you too.”

~~~

Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-holland @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer @hollandsamor

Tom Tag List:@quaksonhehe @tomkindholland

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland one shot #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic

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hellowkatey · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump Day 15

Prompt: “Run. Don’t look back.”

This is part 3/3 of the Hell on Hoth plot line, connecting to days 13 and 14. Part 1 | Part 2

Read on AO3

Coming Down From it All

It takes three months to find Zan Arbor. And even so, they aren't even sure if they found her or someone who is using her old theories. As good of news as it was to finally have tracked her down, Anakin's stomach dropped when he heard the location.

"Hoth?" he looks up at Obi-Wan with utter devastation. "Seriously? Why would she go back?"

They left sensors in the lab they found within the ice tunnel, and yesterday those sensors were tripped. Their surveillance indicates there's activity still going on, which brings them to the ship descending upon a place that is quickly moving into the position of Anakin's least favorite planet.

"They have no way of knowing we were there. Zan Arbor probably thinks the location is safe."

Anakin crosses his arms. "You don't think she had surveillance on the place too?"

The Jedi Master sighs. Anakin eyes the dark bags that seem to stretch all the way to the line of his beard, and the hollowness of his tired gaze. It's been a rough three months. Obi-Wan took two weeks to recover enough to go back into the field, and even then he was barred from the front line for another month. If being sidelined wasn't enough, they've had to dig deep into Zan Arbor's history and well... Anakin thinks he understands why in his injured stupor he called out for Qui-Gon.

He'd heard the basics of the story when Zan Arbor kidnapped him, but never the details. (As talented a storyteller as Obi-Wan is, he doesn't like to draw from his padawan experiences-- something that always annoyed Anakin, but then again, every time he actually does get to hear a story it always seems to be tragic. Once he started training Ahsoka, he started to understand a little bit why Obi-Wan wasn't keen on sharing such details with him as a kid. But now that he's a knight, he wishes his master would tell him more about him and Qui-Gon's adventures.)

"I don't doubt she had surveillance," Obi-Wan says. "She is cunning and paranoid-- an annoyingly effective combination."

"So we're walking into a trap?"

"Possibly."

"Why don't you sound worried about that?" Anakin says, a tinge of outrage coming through his tone. He knows first hand the evil this woman can do. The memory of his poisoning by her hand is a haze at best, but somehow the lost time was far more worrisome than whatever happened when he was under the influence.

"The capture of Zan Arbor is the safety of the galaxy," Obi-Wan says, giving him a faraway look. "We're going to Hoth."

They land on the icy wasteland and head back through the destroyed Separatist ship, which thankfully hasn't moved in the last few months, only gained a thick layer of snow and ice. The cold is somehow even more unbearable this time around. His parka seems to do nothing to keep the cold out. Despite two layers of gloves his fingers still feel numb and tingly. Tatooine was bad, but at least it wasn't cold.

It feels wrong to be back in the tunnel, which is already lit up when they arrive. Like they're being welcomed. Anakin is constantly reminded of the last time they were here. Falling through the ship. The panic of watching Obi-Wan bleeding out on the ground. He shutters.

Obi-Wan's commlink lights up. A holographic Cody appears.

"Sir the lifeform scans are back."

"Very good, what's the reading?"

"Two lifeforms, sir. Minimal movement so far from both."

Obi-Wan strokes his beard the way he always does when he's thinking. "Hopefully the scientist is in, then."

"Do you think she wouldn't be?" Anakin asks.

"Zan Arbor likes having two subjects at a time when dealing with Force-sensitives. Allows for... manipulation of our values." Anakin suddenly recalls that Qui-Gon was being held with another Force-sensitive. Zan Arbor rigged a sensor that would release poison into the other if Master Jinn tried to leave. It would be against the code to allow harm to an innocent that could be prevented by inaction. "We will check it out, though."

Cody disappears. They have one more corner to turn. The 501st should be in position on the other entrances of the lab. Before taking the last turn, the Jedi stop, pulling out their lightsabers.

"Be mindful of your emotions, Anakin." his former master says carefully. Though he wants to argue that he isn't a kid anymore, he can also feel his nerves swelling in the pit of his stomach like they often did when he was a padawan. Zan Arbor captured and poisoned him. Captured and nearly killed Master Jinn. He has many feelings about what he'd like to do with this monster.

So maybe he does need to be a little more mindful. But she's not getting the nice-guy treatment from him.

"Yes, Master," he says in earnest, taking a deep breath and letting his frustration go into the Force.

Lightsabers ignite, and they run into the icy unknown.

It's larger than he remembers. Anakin was so focused on Obi-Wan, he didn't get a good view of the cavern the first time, but now he is honed into the focus of the Force, and can feel the tendrils of death and despair sullying the rather beautiful room. The lab is active, his eyes immediately drawn to the person strapped to a tilt table, head sagged into their chest and skin a concerning gray tinge. He reaches through the Force to find a presence, a sign of life. He doesn't find one.

As for the other lifeform they scanned, a blonde female comes jumping out from behind the bacta tank, her gray eyes glaring at the Jedi with manic intensity. Anakin's breath catches. Jenna Zan Arbor hasn't changed a bit since she captured him years ago. She holds something up in the air-- a device with a large button on it. It's enough for them to come to a skidding stop, Obi-Wan a few meters ahead of him.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," her lips curl into a smile. "and is that little Anakin all grown up? What a pleasure!"

"So it is you behind this," Obi-Wan says, motioning to the lab. "I thought you put this project behind you a long time ago."

She chuckles. Through their bond, Obi-Wan suggests to him to look for places she could have hidden explosive devices or ray shield fields... whatever the device must be connected to. Anakin is already on it, scanning every surface he can see.

"Oh Kenobi, the pursuit of knowledge stops for nothing."

"Not even imprisonment, I see."

"It's simple supply and demand," she steps out entirely from behind the bacta tank, the device still displayed in plain view. "and to understand the power of the Force is in high demand during such a war."

"And it was in demand when you took Qui-Gon?"

Anakin can't find anything that would indicate an explosive or ray shield generator. Is she bluffing? he projects through their bond.

Oh, would you like to find out?

Zan Arbor cocks her head to the side, looking at Obi-Wan as though he is an innocent child. "Qui-Gon Jinn, my dear Kenobi, was just to satisfy my curiosity."

Ever the sadist. Anakin takes a step forward. "Listen, lady, I don't know what leverage you think you have. Your prisoner is already dead, and we have you surrounded."

Her intense gaze flickers to him. It's a look he hasn't forgotten. "You think I wasn't expecting you?"

He glances over at the lab table. A mixture boils on the burner, the glassware now scorched along the bottom as it overheats. He looks at the body of the prisoner, not a Jedi he knows, but probably a Force-sensitive that was never brought to the Temple. The cuts are new, still oozing blood that also stains Zan Arbor's apron and hands. Anakin smirks and raises his lightsaber.

"No, you weren't expecting us," he says confidently. She was in the middle of her work when they arrived. Why would she begin experiments if she was lying in wait for them to find her? "And now we're going to take you in, Zan Arbor."

She looks stunned for a moment, but then it fades into a sinister grin. Wordlessly she holds up the button and presses it.

As it turns out, Anakin was wrong about it being a bluff.

He takes a step back, and then another, expecting a fiery explosion, but instead, the burners on the semicircle of lab tables turn on at once, and within seconds a blue cloud of gas starts to erupt. Anakin's eyes widen, his mind flashing back to the Zone of Self-Containment drug and then completely going blank with surprise. He looks from the menacing cloud to Obi-Wan, and his blood runs cold. As Obi-Wan was ahead of him, he now stands in the midst of the blue blur, his face buried in his elbow as he sways a little. His master's eyes meet his, and he drops his elbow.

"Run, Anakin. Don't look back," he yells, his voice choking.

"Obi-Wan, no--" but he isn't given a choice. A wave of the Force hits him like a wall and he is being pushed back, boots slipping with ease across the snow-covered ground. Another wave sends him flying now, and he slams into the ground, sliding back-first into the wall of ice. The blue cloud has taken over much of the room now, and as he searches the hazy room, he sees no sign of his former master.

"Rex," Anakin says into his commlink, bringing himself to his feet. "Come in, Rex!"

"General, do we engage?"

"Rex, listen to me, Zan Arbor is probably escaping. Stay on the exits. But I need you to blow a hole in the ceiling of this thing."

"Sir?"

"Possible poison gas has been released, I need a hole to air it out, now!"

"Right on it," He hears orders being barked. "Is the area clear?"

"It will be. Just do it," he says, putting his commlink away. Anakin draws in as deep a breath as he can, and plunges into the cloud of gas.

__________

A few things go through Obi-Wan's head as he is encompassed with a mysterious gas.

1. Of course she wasn't bluffing, Anakin, you cocky womprat.

2. What could she release that wouldn't affect her as well?

and

3. Perhaps she is bluffing.

The principles of biological warfare rely on mass panic-- a giant blue cloud of unknown contents certainly invokes a good amount of hysteria. While it certainly obstructs his view and has a horrible smell and taste to it, Obi-Wan realizes he isn't experiencing the symptoms of poisoning.

He smiles.

The faint outline of Zan Arbor making a break for it is just visible enough for him to run after her. He rams into a table or two, but soon enough the cloud begins to clear and he finds himself in another tunnel, the scientist close ahead of him.

"So it was a bluff," he says as he swings his lightsaber across her path, stopping her short. She pushes the strands of her blonde hair out of her face, panting hard.

"You just love ruining my work, don't you?"

"You experiment on unwilling participants!"

"It's the pursuit of knowledge and--"

"I truly don't want to hear your threadbare defense." He interrupts. "In the name of the Galactic Republic, you are under arrest for unsanctioned experimentation and violations of the sentient rights act."

To his surprise, she smiles. "You should ask yourself first, Kenobi. Was I bluffing?"

The ground and walls shake as an explosion resonates from the lab. Obi-Wan looks behind him for a moment, as the icicles atop the ceiling rattle menacingly and then calm, and then back to his captive. Except Zan Arbor is gone. The tunnel is empty, and not even a tunnel but the wall of a dead end.

Or the floor? He opens his eyes-- when were they closed?-- and he's lying on his stomach on the ground, his cheek numb from laying against the snow.

"What in blazes--" he mutters, pushing himself up.

"Is this five now?" Anakin's voice rings out with a smug tone.

"Five what?" he says, rolling onto his side and then sitting up. They're seated along the wall of the tunnel they came in from.

"The fifth time I've saved your skin."

He rolls his eyes. "What happened, Anakin."

"I saved your--"

"I'll be the judge of that. Details."

Anakin's smile fades. "You ever so sacrificially pushed me out of the gas. Not your best plan, because you collapsed pretty much instantly and I had to come save you."

"I'd say it was a good plan, otherwise who would have been conscious to come to get me?"

He considers this a moment and then shrugs. "Okay fine, fair enough. You didn't have to be so dramatic about it, though. Rex blew a hole in the lab to dissipate the gas, and it pretty much collapsed the entire structure."

"And Zan Arbor?"

"The boys caught her in one of the escape tunnels."

He blinks. "Jenna Zan Arbor has been captured?"

Anakin smiles smugly. "All while you took a lovely nap, yes, Master."

At that moment, Rex and a few other clones come around the corner.

"You need med?" he asks.

"Yes."

"No," Anakin and Obi-Wan say in unison before glaring at one another. "I'm quite fine now," Obi-Wan reassures him, using the wall to help him get to his feet.

"Actually fine, or hiding a broken rib and collapsed lung fine?"

Obi-Wan turns to give him another disapproving glare, but the world starts to sway a little. Anakin is at his side in an instant, looping Obi-Wan's arm over his shoulders.

"Right. Okay, Master let's go pay your favorite person a visit."

"I am quite sure I am Kix's least favorite person," he grumbles, earning a chuckle from Rex that only confirms his suspicions. Anakin just shakes his head, leading him back up the tunnel.

"Can we agree to never return to Hoth?" he asks as they near having to brave the outside elements once again.

"But what if there's a battle here?" Obi-Wan muses.

"We don't have to win them all."

The Jedi Master laughs. "Wait until the holonet finds out the Hero-With-No-Fear is afraid of the cold."

"I'm not afraid of the cold!"

"Then you will be the Hero-With-One-Fear."

They're in the evac ship, and Anakin deposits him in a chair.

"You're hilarious," he says facetiously. "I'm going to see what's taking Rex."

"Oh don't pout, Anakin, only one fear is still quite impressive," he calls after him, smiling widely. He hears him talking outside the ship, his words carried away by the howling wind. Obi-Wan looks out onto the landscape of swirling snow and mountains of ice. It is quite beautiful, but deceivingly deadly. He too would enjoy never having to return to Hoth if he can help it.

But to capture Jenna Zan Arbor once and for all? That comfort is worth all the numb limbs and broken ribs Hoth can offer.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday15 #run. don't look back #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #rex #cody #hell on hoth #finally catching up!#another snow day another double fic day #do i have homework?#probably

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hoffkk · 4 years

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Done Wasting Time

A Brightwell Fanfic

Story By: @hoffkk

Prompt: Gimme a question to start, and I’ll give you a brightwell fic that ends in a kiss!

Question given: Do you want to get out of here?

Summary: Malcolm is reminded by a recent case how unpredictable and short life can be. So, during a romantic walk through Central Park, he decides he's done wasting time and that forever starts now... or once Dani answers this one little question. Hopefully, Malcolm gets the answer he's looking for.

**********

“Do you want to get out of here?” Malcolm asked. It had been a long two days as they worked the murder of a bride killed the day before her wedding. The groom was gutted, going on about how he had wasted so much time, waiting to be promoted before proposing in order to give his love a better life and the wedding of her dreams. He had thought they had all the time in the world, except they didn’t. Malcolm found the whole thing completely tragic, and now that the case was solved, he was itching to get out of the precinct and spend some alone time with his own love. Dani and Malcolm had been dating a little over a year now, and every day was better than the last. Not to say, they didn’t have their issues. They had bad days along with the good ones, but they learned to lean on each other and talk out their feelings, especially after tough cases like this. So, when Dani said sure and suggested they take a walk through Central Park, he was happy to oblige.

Entering Central Park West, the couple walked arm in arm, making their way aimlessly through the park toward Cherry Hill to admire the Cherry Blossom trees that were now in full bloom, signaling spring was officially here. The sun was beginning to set and the air was crisp and cool this evening, so there weren’t too many people ambling about. That made it much easier to relax and enjoy the multitude of pink and white flowers that surrounded them. Every so often a light breeze would sweep through, stirring the trees and giving off a sweet scent that smelled of lilacs mixed with vanilla.

Dani inhaled deeply and commented, “I love the park this time of year.”

“You know you said that this past winter and the fall before that.” Malcolm noted.

“What can I say? Central Park is extraordinary in every season.” She shrugged.

“There is something magical about it, isn't there?” He asked rhetorically, taking in the sounds of the birds chirping and how the sun's golden rays gleamed softly through the branches of the foliage around them, emphasizing the radiance of the woods that lined their path.

The conversation lulled as the couple walked on, enjoying the serenity of an evening walk. Eventually, they happened upon the Cherry Fountain, flowing with life and effervescent with excitement, then moseyed past it and down another pathway across the way that was lined with more cherry blossoms, azaleas, and forsythia. The latter was Dani’s favorite. She had a thing for yellow flowers. They could cheer up any person and brighten up any room like little pieces of handpicked sunshine. After a few more minutes, the couple found themselves at Bow Bridge, a brilliant piece of Grecian architecture made of cast iron. Every other bridge in the park was made of stone. This one was different. Yet, somehow, it fit in and made sense in the middle of this great park. That’s why Malcolm loved it. He knew what it was like to be different, yet somehow fit... with both the team and with Dani. That’s why he made a point to visit this particular bridge every time he came to Central Park, and this time was no different as he walked Dani halfway across before stopping and taking in the view. Staring out across the lake, he noticed a single boat floating along, heading toward the city skyline that seemed to extend above the trees in the distance. The buildings were bathed in the glow of the sunset, a striking mixture of pinks, purples, oranges, and yellows swirling through the clouds. Malcolm raked his eyes over the scenic sight and sighed contentedly while Dani muttered, “It’s so beautiful.”

Turning to look at her, Malcolm took in the glimmer of the sun radiating against her bronze skin as a breeze lightly tousled her curls and replied, "Yeah, it is." Slowly, he moved his gaze back to the incredible view in front of him and proceeded to enjoy just how perfect this moment was.

A few seconds later, Dani looked over at him and admired the blissful smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. She couldn’t help but blurt out curiously, “What are you thinking about?”

“The city.” Malcolm answered, still staring out into the distance. “There are 8.4 million people in this city, and somehow I found you.” On the last word, he turned to meet her eyes then finished, “That makes me feel pretty lucky.”

“I’m feeling pretty lucky too.” Dani replied then, after a moment, elaborated, “After all, you trusted me enough to let me in.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t always give me much of a choice.” He reminded teasingly.

“It’s called tough love, Bright.” She quipped. “And believe me, you needed it.”

“No. I needed you.” Malcolm corrected, face completely serious. “I still do, and I always will,” Then, taking a deep breath, he added, “which reminds me, I have something for you.”

“Really? What is it?” Dani asked curiously.

Malcolm didn’t reply. Instead, he unlinked their arms to reach inside the front inner pocket of his jacket. Then, with a little flourish, he dropped to one knee and held out... a lollipop.

“Really a lollipop?” She queried. Malcolm did always have a flair for the dramatic, but this seemed a bit much. Even for him. I mean, it was just a piece of candy.

“Look again.” He said softly, the corners of his lips quirking upward once more.

Glancing back at the small sucker, she noticed it was a lemon lime Dum Dum. That made her think back to an old case of theirs where Malcolm gave her the same lollipop. It was the first gift he ever gave her and still sat on her desk at work. The memory made her smile. However, this one was different. There appeared to be a silver band around the wrapper. Then, as Malcolm slowly rotated the lollipop to reveal the other side, her smile fell. Dani was stunned as her eyes zeroed in on a two carat, emerald cut diamond, twinkling in the light of the setting sun.

“Malcolm, what—“

Cutting her off, he shrugged and grinned nervously, “I’ve always been a sucker for you, Dani. I’ve even been sucker punched by you. That’s just how amazing you are. You comfort me like no one else can but also aren’t afraid to smack me back into reality when I need it. Most importantly, you taught me that being myself is okay. From the very beginning, you never judged me or mistreated me because of who my father is or because of the trauma I’ve been through. You’ve always believed in me, been proud of who I am, and given me the love and support that I needed, first as a friend, then as my girlfriend, and now, I hope, as my fiancée... because I love you, and I’m done wasting time. I want to love and support you in return, not just for now, but for the rest of my life. So, Daniella Aurora Powell, will you marry me?”

Dani, who stood there still looking a little awestruck, beamed back at him as she nodded enthusiastically, “Yes. Yes, I’ll-

Instead of letting her finish, Malcolm hastily rose to his feet and pulled her flush against him, kissing her more passionately than ever before. It was short lived though due to the distracting applause from the pedestrians that happened to be nearby. Pulling apart somewhat abruptly, they glanced around, and Dani couldn't help but giggle while Malcolm’s cheeks changed color to match the local flora. Distracting him from his embarrassment, she eagerly held out her hand. Understanding Dani's signal, Malcolm lifted the lolly and carefully slid the engagement ring off of the candy and onto her finger. A rush went through him as he stared down at Dani’s left hand, seeing the ring in place. Then, high on excitement and drunk on love, Malcolm kissed her again, this time much sweeter and a lot longer, relishing the feel of holding his fiancée in his arms.

After a long moment, Dani pulled back to catch her breath and let her hands rest on Malcolm's shoulders. Using one to delicately brush a stray hair out of his face, she took in his euphoric expression and said, “It’s nice seeing you this happy. It's a good look for you."

"Yeah, well, If I look as good as I feel, then I must look like the happiest man alive." He asserted. "and I don't see that changing anytime soon... or ever."

"I'm glad to hear that. After all, you know what they say," she retorted cheekily, "Happy life, happy wife."

Malcolm's heart fluttered at her last word. He loved the way that sounded. So much so, that rather than correcting her on how the expression actually goes, he implored softly, "Say it again."

"Say what?" Dani returned, having a little fun with him. "Happy? Life?"

"Dani," Malcolm warned then more tenderly added, "please?" followed by a gentle kiss to the side of her neck.

The contrast of his warm lips on her skin in place of the cool air that had been there a second ago, made Dani quietly pull a sharp intake of breath through her lungs. Then, quickly collecting herself and gazing back into his sparkling cerulean eyes, she whispered, "Wife. I can't wait to be your wife."

With that, the flutter became a whole field of butterflies roaming his chest who only flew more erratically as he stroked her cheek with his thumb and replied, "And I can't wait to be your husband."

Once more, they shared a warm smile before, once more, sharing a kiss, a lingering, toe-curling kind of kiss. Not wanting to make a scene in the park, Dani ended the kiss sooner than either of them would have liked. Then, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm, she and her fiancé made their way to the nearest park exit, anxious to tell their friends and families the good news.

My Fiancé. My Husband. Dani thought to herself as she looked over at her hand that both wore the diamond ring and held tightly to the green lollipop. Then, shifting her glance to Malcolm who continued to exude joy with every step, she smirked. Yeah, she couldn't definitely get used to using those words. A lot.

#prodigal son fanfic #prodigal son #brightwell fanfic #brightwell #malcolm bright #dani powell #proposal #engagement #romantic #fluff #fluffy #fluffy fluff

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vulpinmusings · 4 years

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Letters from Buxcord #8 - Werewolves of Buxcord

The title says it all, really.

Samantha,

This one’s going to hit real close to home for you. There are werewolves in Buxcord.

Spring has officially arrived here, heralded by a popular music festival, and this incident occurred on the very day. I didn’t initially plan on attending, but in the days leading up to the festival I had gotten my hands on Simone’s book of magic family secrets. I went at it with too much confidence and not enough preparation, and the “no peeking” spell made the text totally illegible and so disorienting I felt my magic senses fall even more out of sync with the local ley-lines than normal. I eventually decided to attend the music festival to get some fresh air and try to clear my head.

Oh, and Lea has asked me to try and determine once and for all if she’s human or Fey, and help locate her family if the former. I don’t have much to go on with that task, but I couldn’t really say no.

Anyway, on the day of, I overheard a lot of stories about animal maulings being discovered around town, with the general consensus being that some kind of rabid dog was responsible. I didn’t consider it worth my personal attention, but I filed the news away in case something more came of it later.

Which, of course, occurred.

The festival wasn’t going to get started until that evening, but I decided to head over to the park after lunch to poke around for trouble. I wasn’t looking for anything particular, but large gatherings and party scenes can be good places for nefarious things to hide in plain sight. Among the stage crews and other early hangers-out, I noticed a pair of men in very crisp suits and an air of authority, and then spotted Lea wandering around with a look of being hungover on her face. When Lea saw me she came straight over, a mixture of worried and relieved.

Lea recounted her adventure of the previous night after she’d finished her bar hopping. She’d been wandering about looking for a place to crash when she entered an alley and found it full of thrashed garbage cans, broken fencing, and a substance like fresh blood on the ground. She also showed me a name tag she’d found stuck on the fence, bearing the name of Tyler. Lea said that was the name of a bartender who’d failed to show up for his shift.

Now that caught my interest, but before I could ask Lea to take me to the scene, those two sharp-dressed men approached us and identified themselves as agents of the FBI, the interstate police agency of the area. They asked us some questions about the spider-hive-man incident. After trying to tease the reason for the investigation now out of them and getting rebuffed by their strict professionalism, I provided a brief summary of the facts. They took it all in with no sign of finding it unbelievable, and then let us return to the business at hand.

We bumped into Mr. Penn on our way out of the park, and he also took an interest in Lea’s discovery as he’d seen local police investigating more animal maulings near Bayou Boating.

The alley was still a mess when we arrived, and one of the Sheriff’s deputies was checking it out. I prompted Lea to hand over the name tag to the deputy before beginning my own study of the scene. There was definitely blood on the ground, and our search turned up a fair amount of shed black fur and the distinctive claw marks of an active lycanthrope throwing a tantrum and not caring if they leave a clear trail to follow. The trail led us back to the park, where we lost it among the milling crowds.

Penn suggested that Lea fly up and study the crowd from the air to try and locate Tyler, but Lea refused flat-out since it was broad daylight and there were people everywhere. I had to agree with Lea; given the general attitude toward magic in this wold and the unknown disposition of our werewolf quarry, it was best that we try to keep a low profile. Unfortunately, that left us with the unenviable task of trying to spot one man among hundreds while in the midst of the crowds ourselves.

We saw Piper among the people, but she avoided us when Lea tried calling out to her. Lea then tried to pick out the werewolf’s aura and found two suspicious feelings too vague to track down. Penn then noted that Piper had missed her shift at the boat tours that morning, which was out of character for her. That seemed like a suspicious correlation, so we set out to track down Piper.

We caught up to Piper on an isolated path in the woods at the edge of the park, and she tried to get away from us until Piper caught a hold of her wrist, applied some Faerie charm, and got the story out of her. Seems Piper had been bit by a werewolf a few years earlier, the initial transformation had ended in the deaths of her parents, and she’d come to Buxcord seeking a cure. At this point, I stepped in and, without needing to name names, convinced Piper that I knew enough about her condition to be able to help her deal with it properly.

Of course, finding a peaceful pack of werewolves to take charge of her would be ideal, and creating an amulet to help restrain the wolf’s rage a close second, but our time was short and needs must. We took Piper back to her apartment and I fought through my magical malaise to weave strength into the walls and a seal on the door so that she wouldn’t be able to get out and run wild that night.

Returning to the park, we found that the festival was starting up. Time was getting even tighter, and I had to be ready for the possibility that the remaining werewolf wouldn’t be as reasonable as Piper. We needed to get our hands on some weaponizable silver.

Lea recalled hanging out with the festival’s main act earlier in the day and noticing the lead singer wearing a silver necklace, so she went off to work her magic on obtaining that while Penn and I tracked down the FBI agents to gauge their potential usefulness. They didn’t commit to assisting us, but one of them did remind me of how a werewolf’s eyes always reflect light back, even in their human form.

Penn and I spent several minutes discussing potential light sources and how to get our hands on them, until I realized Lea still hadn’t come back with the necklace. I went to look for her, leaving Penn to handle the light situation.

Despite my worries, Lea was in perfect health. She’d just gotten distracted with chatting up the member of Killer Thriller, drinking their beer, and making out with the lead singer. I made my presence known with a few sharp words, and Lea quickly got back on task, using her fey magic to charm Thrax into lending us his necklace. In the conversation that followed, I learned that the band’s groupie, Nightshade, had been missing for quite some time despite being all professionalism earlier in the day. Not wanting to leave anyone unaccounted for, Lea and I headed for the parking lot to check the band’s truck.

While I was fetching Lea, Penn had managed to sneak backstage in between the opening acts switching out. After some consideration, he grabbed a flashlight and proceeded to run out into the audience and quickly but systematically flash every person in the eyes. Naturally, this shenaniganery attracted the attention of festival security, and Penn narrowly escaped being apprehended after running back to the stage and checking Killer Thiller as they were setting up. Penn then slipped away and met up with Lea and me in the parking lot. Quite an impressive performance, I must admit.

So, with all but one person accounted for and cleared, and with the trail from earlier now easier to see, it was clear that we were approaching a large truck containing a werewolf on the verge of full-moon transformation. The truck was closed up when we found it, and we engaged Nightshade in conversation through the shut gate. Lea and I offered assurances and help, but Nightshade’s responses made it clear that she had embraced the monstrous and fully intended to cause mayhem at the festival. Still hoping for a peaceful resolution, I bespelled the truck’s gate to be immovable so that Nightshade would be locked up and harmless until morning, at which point I intended to turn her over to the FBI agents.

There were clues that things weren’t as simple as we’d assumed, but I can only see them in hindsight. There had been a moaning sound early in the conversation that I thought had just been from early transformation pain. Nightshade said something about running an experiment. The trail of blood leading to the truck, and Tyler still hadn’t been located. After the success with Piper, idealism had clouded my judgment a little.

The three of us still stood guard as the transformation took hold. I hadn’t become that idealistic.

I had focused my spell on the truck’s gate, trusting that the magic spreading through the rest of the trailer would be enough to restrain a single werewolf. Maybe it could have, but it was no match for two. They burst out of the side of the trailer and the more feral one – Tyler, recently turned and transformed – made a break straight for the festival. Penn, perched on the top of the trailer, produced a whip and caught the wolf by the leg, holding it back. Tyler swiped at Lea, triggering Lea’s panic response to animate a nearby tree. She managed to control the tree’s actions, sending it to slam and pin the feral beast to the ground, and then somehow caused the asphalt of the parking lot to flow up and around the wolf’s legs. I caught Nightshade in a Tangler as she pounced at me, and then I let out my frustration in a blast of fire.

Penn wrapped the silver necklace around one fist and leaped down to try and punch Nightshade into submission. He landed some solid blows, but got bit twice for his efforts. Lea also took a light bite to the foot in her efforts to get away from the feral Tyler and over to apply a light healing spell to Penn.

Penn broke off from his brawl with Nightshade, using some flash powder to stun her, and I threw a Tangler onto Tyler just as he broke free of the asphalt. I then went over to Penn and, realizing the necklace wasn’t suited for the job, Wove a spell to merge the silver with the bullets in my revolver. Lea tried to fly away to fetch help from the FBI, but she turned back when Nightshade broke free of her Tangler and made chase. Instead, Lea decided to fly about, taunting the wolves to keep their attention away from the innocent and blissfully ignorant crowds.

Penn took my revolver and shot Nightshade through the chest, but she was still kicking. In a momentary fit of insanity, I reclaimed the gun and made a shot of my own. I aimed too hastily, and the bullet appeared to go high, straight toward Lea. By pure luck, Nightshade chose that same moment to lunge for Lea and jumped right into the bullet’s path, which killed her. Penn and I then turned our attention to the other werewolf, restraining him and putting a silver bullet in his head.

We assessed the damage, and I promised to provide doses of the lycanthropy antidote (and boy do I hope I can remember how to make that stuff, since I’ve only read about it a couple times) for both Penn and Lea. I’m not sure if Faeries can contract lycanthropy and I’ll admit I’m curious to find out, but I’m not going to experiment on someone who was unwillingly infected (and may not even be Fey in the first place). Lea then went to fetch the FBI agents for help in concocting a cover story, while Pen and I dragged the corpses into the woods and buried them as best we could in a short time.

Yes, I know, but I am not going to lie and I do acknowledge that spreading word of werewolves in Buxcord would only cause a panic among the ignorant masses.

The agents returned without Lea, claiming she was too distraught by the events to want to come back, and then asked for an explanation. After we explained, the agents took us to a more secluded spot and brought out these strange little pen-sized devices. The devices produced a blinding flash, and I felt my mind reflexively reconfigure to deflect foreign alterations, although I think that protection Mnemosyne gave me actually dealt with the attack. They had tried to wipe our memories. Penn’s reaction to the flash convinced the agents it had worked, and they left after instructing us to return and enjoy the festival. Once they’d gone, Penn revealed that the devices hadn’t affected him either, which is… interesting.

We did return to the festival, but mainly to find and check on Lea. She had been memory wiped, recalling nothing after we’d finished helping Piper. We filled her in on what had happened, both to let her account for her wounded foot and to warn her away from interacting with Killer Thriller, seeing as their groupie was dead, Thrax’s necklace was gone, and their truck was a mess.

So, in the end we managed to help one werewolf come to grips (albeit that’s an ongoing project), took down one werewolf willfully intent on being a monster, and failed to save a third who’d only just been changed and never got a chance to understand what had happened to him. A mixed bag, but after some consideration I don’t think you’d be too disappointed in me. After all, I started from the stance of wanting to help them all adjust and make peace. That’s better than when we went through it, right?

-Ash.

#MOTW #Vulpin plays

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areluctantsblog · 5 years

Text

Music AU - part 1

Au where Tony Stark is a music producer & the owner of Avengers Entertainment, Peter is a multi-instrumentalist British jazz musician and War Machine is a progmetal band. In other words the starker fic in which Peter smirks a lot and Tony remains astonishingly oblivious for a long time.

All characters 18+

(If anyone’s interested, here’s what i was listening to while writing: https://open.spotify.com/user/tdaehi9xumogtle8iljnpahpi/playlist/00rIJxgBEZDRHV5dUh1iMB)

Enjoy :)

Morning

Waking up feeling drained and with a mild headache, Tony Stark half regrets having fallen asleep at all. He prefers an all-nighter to jet-lag anytime, even if he has an important business meeting in the afternoon.

Deciding that more sleep would only make him feel worse, Tony gets up. When, even through the haze of exhaustion, his mind manages to conjure up the image of the coffee shop he saw across the street last night, his worries that jet-lag seriously damaged his cognitive functions ebb away. The promise of almost-immediate caffeine intake and the possibility of avoiding the hotel restaurant – which Tony does most of the times – make it almost easy to drag himself through his morning routine.

As he walks toward the café half an hour later, Tony passes a music shop and sees a handsome young man enter. The sight almost wakes him up properly – something that a cold shower and the crispy winter air couldn’t achieve – but Tony shakes his head and goes for his coffee first. On his way back, however, he can’t resist entering the music shop. The young man’s still there, conversing with the shopkeeper. A regular, it would seem. He wears a suspiciously bespoke-looking deep navy-blue coat. Tony is more intrigued by the minute.

The shopkeeper turns towards him, but Tony waves a hand to signal that he’s good. The conversation picks up and Tony pays careful attention to every world he can hear. Meanwhile he registers the truly remarkable variety of vinyl, music sheets, instruments and accessories the shop offers. When Tony feels sure he’s heard enough to join the conversation, he picks up a random vinyl from the display table and walks over to the counter.

Both men look at him. Tony puts the vinyl down.

“I’ll take this, please.” Then he turns towards Peter. “And, excuse me, but I couldn’t help overhearing…” Tony thinks he captures the exact moment when his perfect charming smile starts working on Peter. It’s subtle, surprise flashing across his face and an almost imperceptible squint of his eyes, but Tony’s been around for a long time and had both reason and opportunity to learn to read people. “Do you propose, did I get it right? to put hammers? in a piano? It sounds remarkable, would you mind elaborating?”

Tony noticed him glance at the shopkeeper when he praised him, and for a second, they both looked amused, but Peter’s answering smile can’t be described anything but carefully polite.

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind, Mr Stark,” he says eventually, inclining his head slightly.

Tony’s surprise at being recognised by the young man must show on his face, because the shopkeeper chuckles.

“We know our music around here, Mr Stark, especially Peter. It’s an honour to have you here, ” he extends his hand and Tony shakes it. The man’s name is Yinsen, which Tony finds vaguely familiar but cannot place at the moment. He’s too excited to find out who the intriguing young man – Peter – is.

Tony remotely notices how good it feels to touch him while they shake hands, but he’s mainly struggling to get back on top the situation, because Peter Parker is definitely smirking now and Tony for the love of God can’t figure why. He comes to his senses when he hears Mr Yinsen speak.

“Will you be needing my assistance with anything else, Mr Stark?”

“No, let me just… how much?”

He pays for the vinyl – it’s one of his own productions, he notices, annoyed – and thanks the man. He’s not confident that his charm has worked exactly the way he intended, so instead of just walking away and expecting Peter to follow him, he actually looks at the man with an enquiring expression.

“After you, Mr Stark,” the young man replies and damn if his voice isn’t honey. “Goodbye, Mr Yinsen. Oh, and I’ll fetch those strings at around 6, if it suits you.”

They exit the shop and Tony inhales deeply. The woody scent of the shop still lingers and as it mixes with the chilly air, Tony gives himself over to the sensation. Then the moment passes, and he realises, they haven’t moved. Peter’s looking at him politely, but his gaze is otherwise unreadable.

“I avoid hotel cafés and restaurants if I can, so I’m open to suggestions,” Tony says.

Peter nods. “I think I know just the place. How do you feel about books, Mr Stark?”

“I’m sensing some serious European vibe,” Tony quips. “Show the way.”

Peter smiles and stars walking.

“So, what is it that you do?” Tony asks as they turn the corner. He can’t help himself, the boy’s idea is the most interesting he’s heard lately, and he needs to find out more about him. About it. Well, really, both if he wants him. To sign a contract, that is.

“I play music,” the young man offers. “I have a band for live gigs, but I mostly write my own music. I also collaborate with other artist.”

“What kind of music?” Tony asks. The boy’s appearance has classical written all over it, but his attitude suggests something unrulier. Something that would explain the cheeky confidence he emanates despite his ivory skinned, wide-eyed British exquisiteness.

“Mainly jazz, but I like experimenting with other things too.”

Jazz. Of course. Tony notices the young man looking at him, waiting for his reaction. So, Peter not only knows his name, but also is familiar with what he does. Sure, jazz isn’t metal, but honestly how could he not be interested?

“Just my luck. I’ll try to keep up though…” Tony smiles. Peter smirks, but doesn’t reply.

After a few steps – his lithe movement really is something to behold – Peter stops and enters a classy looking place. Tony walks in after him and immediately likes the dark panelled room, the deep cherry and blue wallpaper and the stuffed bookshelves. Even though it would never be his first choice, he understands at once why Peter likes it. Tony pushes back the frightening realisation that somehow in barely half an hour, things and places started to feel like this stranger.

The barman greets Peter politely and they take a seat next to the French windows. It feels oddly intimate, not exposed at all, yet Tony still chooses to sit with his back to the street. When their waiter arrives with two menus, Peter turns to him immediately.

“Thank you, would you mind just putting them down, please?”

Tony is speechless. He was mentally preparing to be handed something and wishing with all his might that he could resist flinching and then this, this complete stranger goes out of his way to save him from it. When the waiter walks away, Tony says quietly:

“Thank you.” The ‘How did you know?’ goes unsaid, but Peter seems to read it from his gaze.

“I noticed that Mr Yinsen didn’t hand you the change and since he knows everyone worth knowing better than anyone I know… well I took a guess.”

Tony feels a bit shaken, but Peter’s smile, that is gentle for the first time, reassures him.

“You guessed right,” he says finally. Then to steer the exchange towards safer grounds he adds. “We’ll see how quick our waiter friend is on the uptake.”

Peter hums. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that here.”

Even though the twinkle of Peter’s eyes is far too knowing, Tony lets out a relaxed laugh. They choose their drinks in silence and it gives enough time for Tony to go back from anxious to intrigued. Once they’ve placed their orders, he leans closer to Peter and says:

“Now, Mr Parker, tell me for real this time who you are and what you do.”

Peter chuckles. “While I’m flattered, Mr Stark, I really don’t know what else to say.”

It’s infuriating how he appears to be completely honest. It’s reflects the perfect mixture of modesty and confidence that Tony recognises from true and rare professionals. Tony lets out a frustrated groan but before he can say anything rash, their drinks arrive. Tony is grateful for the interruption, for it gives him a few moments to think. Strategy, he needs strategy. He might as well have stumbled upon some young prodigy, the next genius of jazz and if so, he simply can’t let him slip through his fingers.

“I’ll take it that you are a pianist?” Tony prompts.

“Well, I play the piano, the double-bass, the saxophone, the guitar, some percussion, but I prefer to edit my rhythms and noises on a computer.” He says it all so nonchalantly, that Tony needs to make an effort not to gape at him. Still, he’s a moment too late in responding and something both amused, and apologetic appears in Peter’s expression.

“So, when you said earlier that you write your own music, you also meant that you record it all by yourself as well, didn’t you?”

"Most of the time, yes, but sometimes my band helps."

“Do you have a name?” Tony asks unthinkingly and he realises his blunder as soon as he sees irritation flash through Peter’s face.

“Sorry if it’s not showbiz enough, but you already know it, Mr Stark.” He’s tone is mocking, but Tony feels there is an edge to it.

“It’s not a bad name. How come I haven’t heard it before? Young prodigy and all that.”

“Come now, Mr Stark, do you put such great trust in every no name stranger you meet?" The young man seems amused and there is also something very much like satisfaction in the hint of a smirk he wears. Despite his light tone, however, Tony still feels embarrassed. He almost started explaining himself. Almost…

“Only those whom I catch talking about hacking an instrument,” Tony winks at Peter but then turns more serious. “So what’s your story? Someone must have realised your talent early on.”

“Maybe they have, I don't know. In my family, it’s quite usual for children to learn to play an instrument. At first, I had music teachers, but then I've taught myself. Actually, I tried to avoid being discovered. I've spent my whole life surrounded by music and I've learnt early on to tell if someone still enjoys playing or have burnt out on their way to fame. I didn't want to burn out. Still don't."

Tony huffs, shaking his head in both disbelief and fascination. The boy is becoming more of an enigma by the minute. Rarely has Tony encountered such disinterested honesty and he hasn’t even realised that he missed it.

Peter just smiles at him and sips his tea. All of a sudden, Tony finds himself devoid of all disguises. His skin is tingling with some new and rousing sensation. For a few minutes he feels, rather than sees the young man before him and he’s still busy trying to unravel the effect Peter has on him when the young man speaks again.

"So,” Peter begins tentatively. “Would you like to talk some more about my plans for the grand piano?"

Tony nods eagerly. "Yes, please."

Their conversation lasts for over an hour. They discuss Peter's idea and Tony may not have been so excited since War Machine' s debut album. He can't refrain from making suggestions even though they don't work together. He hopes it’s only a matter a time before they do. Tony's engrossed and he's dying to hear Peter play and to see his ideas come to life.

He might even have forgotten his meeting, the one that was actually scheduled for him there, in London, if it wasn’t for Peter suddenly announcing that he has to leave. He stands up swiftly and before Tony can figure out a way to ask him to meet again, he’s already taken his coat. Before leaving though, Peter steps back to their table, places a note under his saucer then stops in front of Tony with hand outstretched.

Tony is breathless as he stands up – they are so close now – and accepts the handshake. They stand like this for a moment longer, eyes locked, excitement, curiosity and something more, something perplexing flicker between them. From a distant corner of his mind Tony hears the faint voice of his rationality tell him to ask Peter when they can meet again, but he seems to have become temporarily speechless. Peter lets go of his hand and walks to the door. Before stepping out, however, he looks back.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” the feigned innocence of his voice is betrayed by his smirk. “I play tonight at 8 on the Steamer. I wouldn’t mind if you came.”

He leaves and doesn’t look back to see the grin that spreads on Tony’s face despite the twirling mess of panic, relief, anticipation, confusion, desire, impatience and self-consciousness inside him.

[Disclaimer: Peter’s idea is not his, nor mine. I was inspired by the amazing duo called Grandbrothers. Check them out, it’s the perfect music for this fic.]

There's a part2 now (11-02-19)

#starker #music au #my contribution to the theme #part one #to be continued #confident peter parker #oblivious tony stark #playlist #mine #a reluctant writes

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insightfulllama · 6 years

Text

Batim Chapter 5: Theories, Observations, and Questions

OKAY. So there’s a lot to unpack with the new chapter and my brain feels a little bit like exploding. I don’t think the ending we got was bad, but I do think there’s a lot to unpack. People smarter than me will probably make better theories, I just really need to get these thoughts out. Questions in bold. Answers I could come up with bolded and italisized. Observations normal font. Be warned: There are spoilers everywhere.

Firstly, the largest question. What the frick frack snack was that ending?

I don’t believe that the game is a dream or a time loop. The dream is a tired cliche, and the time loop kind of just raises more questions than it answers. I think the ending scene with Joey is either an encounter Henry is remembering, or some sort of dream. Yes, I know I tossed out the dream thing earlier, stick with me.

The last thing we see before Henry appears in Joey’s house is white screen. If we’re going by trope logic, Henry is probably experiencing a vision of some sort, or he passed out. The scene in the house plays like a planned meet up between Joey and Henry, with the last line basically being the last line from the letter we see in the beginning. I don’t see why both the letter and the meeting would exist. I can only see one of them being the thing that prompted Henry to return to the studio. So which is real, the letter or the meeting? I have no idea, but I’m thinking the letter is more likely. If the letter is the only thing that’s real, then that scene could be some sort of dream that Henry’s mind created, basing it on the letter he received and filling in the cracks. Or maybe Joey has some sort of connection to the studio, and is trying to communicate a message to Henry as our protagonist lies unconscious. The dream/memory ends with Henry remembering the beginning. (And probably waking up right after.) Bottom line, the ending scene where Joey speaks to Henry in the house is either Henry remembering an event, Henry having a dream about why Joey would have sent him to the studio with the letter, or a mixture of both. After it is over, Henry will wake up in the studio and be able to return home, having freed the souls trapped there by defeating the ink demon.

On to the next several questions, which are smaller. Who is writing the hidden messages?

Anyone can guess. I read another post suggesting that Joey wrote them. Considering the drawings we see and the idea that Joey has some connection to how the studio is now, that theory has some merit. All we know for sure is that whoever it is has some sort of knowledge of the future, based on the message that knew Good!Alice would leave you for dead and the fact that the messages are instructions on what to do. We know that Good!Alice has been reading them, but does not understand their meaning. If you’re a fan of the timeloop idea, you could guess that Henry himself is writing them. The writer could be anyone, but Joey is who I instinctively blame, given his connection to the studio.

Why did Henry leave the studio?

Thanks to Henry’s podium in the archives and the picture we see framed in the house, we have at least a little information. Henry left the studio for unknown reasons at some point, before the studio shut down. My first thought was that he left because Joey took credit for making Bendy, but this doesn’t seem to be the case. The picture signed by Henry says “Your success”, implying that he already left. But it is signed, “your best pal”, meaning they were probably on good terms. So why did Henry leave if they were on good terms with each other. We can only speculate, seeing as Joey and Henry seemed to be on good terms based on the picture we see framed in the house. (Or maybe Henry is a super sarcastic person who decided to send a back handed message by saying “your best pal” when they clearly weren’t. But then why would Joey have it framed?)

What did Wally do?

In the last recording we hear form Wally, he explains that he found a chocolate cake while cleaning. Based on his language, he probably ate it. Then he says “I hope no one finds out what I did.” This could be referring to the cake, but it seems odd to word it that way. Could the cake be a metaphor for something else? Or maybe there was a cake, but Wally is talking about something else in the same recording. There aren’t many recordings in the last chapter, so the fact that it’s there means it must be important. Based on his recording, Wally must have done something that made him afraid he would get in trouble. We don’t know what it is yet, but it was definitely something. How related it is to a cake is also unknown.

Where is everyone else?

It doesn’t look good. We know that Tom is the Boris we work with near the end, and we can assume that Good!Alice is Allison. But what about everyone else? We haven’t been able to see many images of the secret messages in other chapter, but we do have some clear screenshots of the coffins (credit to @procrastinatorat), and you know what’s on them? NAMES.

Things aren’t looking so good for the employees of Joey Drew Studios. There is a very strong implication that they are dead. (Or worse, as in the cases of Susie, Bertie, and Norman.) Side note, we don’t actually know that much about the fates of Tom, Allison, and Wally. The letters in the Joey house sequence suggest a happy ending, but if that scene is a construct of Henry’s own mind, that might be him hoping for a happy ending that didn’t actually happen. Also, the fact that Wally is mentioned continues to point at him being extremely important story wise.

Is the ink demon evil?

This is a matter of speculation. When the ink demon in early chapters touches you, you die. However, this may not be intentional. We don’t honestly know enough about it’s nature to determine decisively. In the final chapter, the ink demon back hands you across the room after reaching his final form, but doesn’t actively attack you after that. You only die if you stand in his way, at which point he tramples you. When you insert the “the end” tape, you turn and see him reaching for you, but his intentions are unclear. It’s kind of hard to tell what a persons intentions are when they don’t have most of their face. The reaching could be interpreted as an intent to hurt or mere curiosity. The answer remains to be determined.

What was that whole part where you had the ink demon break some glass pillars full of ink?

Heck if I know. It was clearly important, but why, I have no idea. Bendy immediately showed up when you switched it on, so it may have been a summoning spell of some sort? Really, I have no idea.

(EDIT: Forgot this question, whoops.) What is Henry?

Sorry to be from the department of redundancy department, but there’s not really a way to say for sure. We never see Henry, not even so much as a shadow or a hand. The most we can gather about him is that he’s short. But based on interactions, we can guess at a few things. I believe that when Henry entered the studio, he was human. However, we know that the ink changes things. Pretty obvious examples are given in the form of Sammy, both Alices, etc. Henry has died like a billion times by the end, and is constantly walking through ink showers. I’m not sure how, but he has definitely changed him. This is further supported by Good!Alice saying, “We don’t know what you are.” Not who you are, what. Henry may have started out human, but I’m pretty sure he’s not anymore. What exactly he is remains to be seen.

That’s all for now. Whoo, that took awhile to type. This is disorganized word soup, but I hope it was somewhat helpful in getting brain juices flowing. I have a lot a feelings about the game, and most of them are good. Thank you so much to TheMeatly and all of the amazing people responsible for this game. I’m not going to forget about it in a hurry, I love it to bits, and I know it was an enormous labor of love for all of you. Stay amazing, all of you! Might come back and edit this later, not sure. You all have a good night!

(One more tiny thing. I have a niggling thought in the back of mind that while the studio and all that happened there is not a dream, it is somehow a construct of Henry’s mind. There was a screenshot I wasn’t able to get with a secret message on Henry’s desk saying “he was born here”. This could mean that the studio, at least the one Henry is in, is all in Henry’s head. As in, the version of Henry we play as was born there. There seems to be a lot of evidence pointing to this. Like, he defeats the ink demon by showing it “the end”. Maybe it’s a metaphor for how he is trying to let go of Bendy, let go of some anger or issue he has been hanging on to, to end it. This could also be the reason that no one can come with him into the machine. He has to let go of this himself. I’m not sure I particularly like this theory, but I can’t get it out of my head. So if someone wants to either prove me wrong or spin it in a way that isn’t as much of a cliche, feel free! It just now occurred to me that “he” could mean Bendy. Eh, I don’t feel like rewriting that whole paragraph. Cheers everyone!)

#bendy and the ink machine #bendy and the ink machine chapter 5 spoilers #batim spoilers #batim chapter 5 #batim chapter 5 spoilers #bendy and the ink machine spoilers #theory #theories #susie campbell #alice angel #tom #batim #henry batim #batim henry #henry stein #joey drew #thoughts #seriously spoilers #the llama tries to be insightful

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fanfic-from-a-67-impala · 5 years

Text

Hope

Characters: Mary x reader (yes, in that way), Sam, medical examiner OC, angel OC

Word Count: 2958

Summary: Dean's been gone for two weeks. You’ve been through this with both him and Sam countless times, but Mary’s newer at this, and you know she’s hurting, even if she doesn’t know it yet. The two of you find an angel-related (possibly archangel-related) case. Set about one week before 14.01.

Warnings: Season 13 spoilers, Michael!Dean angst, canon-typical violence; this is obviously Mary-positive (if you don't like it, for the love of Chuck, don't read it!)

A/N: It's December 5th—Mary's birthday! Mary didn't get nearly the love and attention she deserved when Dean was missing. Consider this is my way of righting this injustice.

My first—and, I think, Tumblr’s first (hopefully, of many!)—Mary x Reader stories.

Also, this is for @spnfanficpond‘s SPN Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge: Week Seven! Prompt #5 is bolded. @mrswhozeewhatsis

You draw another line with your knife onto the base of a bullet, finishing another side of the devil’s trap.

Your eyes flicker up to Mary again. She sits across the kitchen table, her eyes narrowed in concentration, darting across the screen of one of your laptops. Maybe one of Sam’s. You’ve forgotten whose are whose after a while.

She glances up and catches you staring, but before she can say anything, a tall figure lumbers into the room.

“Hey, you’re back,” you greet. “How was it?”

Sam crosses the room heavily, still wearing a jacket to keep the cooling autumn air at bay, a bag slung over his shoulder, as if he didn’t have time to settle in before being pulled into another crisis.

“Just a routine salt-and-burn,” he says.

Mary offers her son a smile. “There’s some chicken on the stove. You must be hungry.”

“No, thanks,” he answers, plucking a bottle of water from the refrigerator and holding it up to show her. “I’ve got some work to do with the other hunters.”

She furrows her brows. “Maybe you should slow down a litt—”

“I’m fine,” he brushes off the concern, but then turns to her. “Thanks, Mom.”

Water in hand, he bounds out into the hallway.

Mary’s sad eyes follow him as he leaves. She rubs her temples with her fingers.

You reach across the tabletop to take her other hand in yours.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

She nods. “I’m just worried about him.”

You follow her gaze out the doorway where Sam disappeared.

“Yeah, Sam can get pretty intense,” you say. “He’ll be okay, though.”

She forces a small smile, but the words don’t seem to soothe her.

“How are you doing?” you ask.

“Me?” she shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She looks up at you. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I… I’ve been through more than a few search-and-rescues for the boys,” you say. “I know it can get rough, the not knowing.”

She turns her eyes down as if she’s guilty of something, but shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she repeats. “But take a look at this.”

She turns the laptop around so it faces you. “A small town in Indiana. Three mysterious deaths this week alone.”

You let your eyes linger on her, studying. You’ve all felt Dean’s absence since Michael took him over two weeks ago. You’ve all been forced to muddle through, pushing down the fear and the longing in your efforts to track him down. But you know she must be hurting.

“Well?” She pushes the computer toward you. “Are we taking this one?”

“Um—” you scan article on the screen— “let’s do it. Leave tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Sheriff’s real lucky to have you here, agents.”

The medical examiner leads the two of you across the morgue to the wall of metal drawers. The smell of formaldehyde invades your senses, but you buckle down your stomach.

“We’re punching above our weight class with this one, you ask me,” the doctor continues.

“Don’t get many serial killers out here, do you?” Mary comments.

“Serial killer?” She raises her eyebrows. “No, ma’am. This was a triple homicide. All three of the bodies were found at the same scene on the same night.”

She pulls out the slab in front of you, revealing the first victim. Two gaping holes have been burned into his head where his eyes should be. Then, she pulls out the next two drawers, where the other victims bear the same markings.

You meet Mary’s knowing gaze across the row of bodies.

After thanking the medical examiner, the two of you walk out to the parking lot and climb into her car.

She braces her hands on the wheel, taking a deep breath, but doesn’t start the engine.

“You think it’s him?” she asks.

You sigh. Since you saw the victims’ eyes, you’ve been wondering—hoping, really—these kills could be Michael’s work.

You shake your head. “I don’t know. This is careless for Michael.”

“But it could be him, right?” she prods. “This is the first angel activity we’ve seen since…” She trails off, lowering her eyes.

“I guess so,” you admit. “And Cas did say there are only a few angels left on Earth.”

You watch her eyes grow wide with hope.

“Well, should we call Sam?” she suggests.

“No, let’s just work the case for now. I don’t want to bother him until we’re sure.”

She nods. “Good idea.”

She turns the key in the ignition and pulls out of the lot.

After a visit to the crime scene, which turns up nothing of importance, you and Mary make your way back to the motel.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she holds a parchment whose words you memorized years ago in her hand. Her head bends down over the paper, letting short blonde waves cover her face.

Across the room, you open glass jars and sprinkle their contents into a large bowl.

“Are you sure it’ll work?” Mary asks.

You pour a splash of holy oil into the bowl. “If there’s an angel in town, this’ll find them.”

“Even an archangel?”

You avoid her eyes as you answer. “Let’s find out.”

She walks over to your side as you unfold a brochure you picked up from the front desk of the motel and turn it over to reveal a map of the town. You lay the map on the tabletop and pour the contents of the bowl onto the glossy page.

Mary hands you the parchment of Enochian symbols, and you mutter the spell. With the tip of a knife, you drag a cut through your palm, letting the blood drip onto the mixture of oil and herbs.

Once you’ve finished reading, the red dots congregate to form a small mass of blood. It slithers across the map and finally pools in an open area halfway across the map from where a star marks the location of the motel.

You watch Mary stare daggers at the pool of blood as if it took something from her.

“Didn’t we pass this place on the way into town?” she asks.

You nod. “It was some kind of farm.”

“Why would Michael be in Indiana?”

“If it is him.”

“It’s him,” she insists. “It has to be.”

“But if it’s not—”

“It is,” she snaps. “Why can’t you just trust me?”

“I trust you. I just think we should—”

“We should what? Accept that we’ll never get him back? Let two weeks turn into two months?” she demands. “Do you even care if we find him?”

Her last question throws you for a second.

“Of course I care,” you say firmly.

“Then, for God’s sake, act like it.”

You sigh. You can see on her face she regrets the words as soon as she says them, can hear the hurt in her voice, the frustration. You remember a time, years ago, when Sam went missing for a week. You tore Dean’s head off, called him every name in the book. This was before you knew, everytime they left, they’d be okay.

Mary’s outburst, in comparison, is mild.

“We should start packing,” you say, your voice calmer now.

You step into the bathroom and turn on the faucet, placing your hand under the water. Blood stains the water pink and sends red clumps to circle the drain. When the water runs clear again, you turn off the faucet.

Mary peeks through the open doorway and inches into the bathroom hesitantly. You glance at her through the vanity mirror as she reaches for the shelf behind you and brings down a washcloth.

You glance away before she can catch you staring again.

“I’m sorry I snapped,” she says softly, barely meeting your eyes, her gaze heavy with guilt as she presses the cloth to the red cut on your palm.

“I know,” you say. “It’s okay.”

“But it’s not,” she utters, “and I know that. It’s just…”

You lightly squeeze the hand she places over yours. “It’s hard. I know, Mary.”

She looks up at you now and nods.

“And I do care. I mean, I’ve been tying Dean’s ties for him since he was old enough to pass as a fed.” A smile forms on your lips at the memory.

She laughs softly. “I know you have. And I know you want to find him, too.”

“I just don’t want to get our hopes up.”

“I understand. I do,” she assures you. “But I know this is him somehow. I have this—” she motions to her chest— “this feeling that he’s here and that we’re so close.”

“Okay. Then, let’s get a move on.” You nod to the door.

The last of the orange sunset fades from the sky, leaving the farm dark as you and Mary drive around it. A chain link fence encloses the area, but any crops that grew here have been dried up or already harvested for the season.

“Do you think we got the location wrong?” she asks.

You shake your head. “No, it’s definitely… What’s that up there?”

A faint light from far into the property glows against the dim background. As she drives closer, you can make out the shape of a house.

“This has to be it,” you say.

She pulls up as close to the house as she can and parks. You’ll have to walk from here.

You pull your duffel bag from the trunk and unzip it.

“We have everything?” Mary asks.

“Holy oil—” you hold up the jar for emphasis— “angel blades, spray paint, and here.” You hold out a necklace with a silver charm. “There’s spellwork engraved into it. He won’t see us coming.”

She pulls it over her head, where it settles around her neck.

Yards from the house, after climbing the fence and trekking through brown, knee-high grass, Mary’s gasp stops you in your tracks.

“Oh, God,” she breathes.

Following her gaze, you peer into the window, light pouring out through a beige-colored curtain. You almost turn back to her, but a movement stops you.

A shadow wanders into view from inside the window. It has a tall frame, short hair, and a purposeful gait as it walks across your view.

Mary voices your thoughts.

“Dean.”

You turn to her. “Shall we?”

Minutes later, she has painted warding on the outer walls of the simple, single-story house, and you finish pouring a circle of holy oil in the dirt.

The chance to finally confronting Michael has your heart jumping out of your chest in a way it hasn’t done since your first hunting trip. At the last minute, you consider calling Sam for backup, but the trap has been set. You can’t wait any longer, not when you can taste it, when you can reach out and touch what you’ve found after weeks of searching.

Stepping in front of the holy oil line, toward the house, you hand a book of matches to Mary.

She strikes one against the strip of the book and lets it fall to the ground, encircling the entire house in flames behind you.

Moments later, the door bursts open.

A boot steps into view from the side, the hem of worn jeans pulled over the collar. An arm swings beside it, calloused and scarred from decades of labor. A blue plaid shirt covers the chest.

You glance at Mary in time to watch her face fall.

She realizes it before you do, that the man in front of you isn’t Dean. Not even Michael.

The force of your hope collapsing is crushing. You can’t breathe for a moment, only stare at the man as if he would become Dean if you stared intensely enough.

The hilt of an angel blade falls into his hand. “Hunters.”

A blinding rage overtakes you. Rage at him for not being Dean, at Michael for taking Dean from your family, at yourself for being so deluded as to confuse hope for belief.

You barely register charging at him, but a swift movement knocks you to the ground, forcing you back into consciousness.

As you rise from the dirt-packed earth, you see Mary swinging at the angel. His blade lies on the ground feet away from them. She pulls back the blade in her hand and stabs in his direction. He clamps onto her wrist, trapping her, and throws a punch at her face, then another.

You scramble across the ground, swiping the blade and holding it to his neck from behind him.

“There’s holy fire around you warding all over the house. You’re powered down,” you growl. “Let her go.”

Mary yanks her hand from his grasp. Blood runs from her nose and a cut on her forehead, but her eyes are filled with fervor.

The angel holds his hands up in surrender.

You shove him against the wall of the house, tip of the blade still pointed at his throat. A circle of red blooms across the shoulder of his shirt, where Mary must have taken a stab.

“Who are you?” you demand.

“My name is Sarathiel,” he says calmly. “I’m an angel of—”

“Angel of the Lord. Yeah, I got it,” you spit. “Why did you kill those people?”

He narrows his eyes. “The townspeople?”

“Have you killed anyone else lately?” Mary says.

“No,” he answers quickly. “When I kill, I kill with reason.”

“And what was that?” you snap.

“They bore witness to my descent, my occupation of this vessel. It is forbidden for humans to behold such an event.”

Mary steps forward from behind you. “That’s why you killed them? Because of some angelic rule?”

He glares at her. “This is a dangerous time we live in. The last thing I needed was for word to get around. It’s an effective way of attracting hunters, such as yourselves.”

“Well, dead bodies are pretty effective, too,” you comment.

“Why did you need a new vessel?” Mary questions.

“I needed to remove myself from my previous situation. Since the Fall, transportation has been… difficult. I’ve resorted to occupying one vessel to the next in order cross states. Oceans, even,” he explains. “I’m passionately peripatetic.”

You roll your eyes, glancing at Mary, who looks to you.

“Yeah, not anymore,” you say, removing the blade from his neck. “Next time you move house, you’re going to get a car and some work done and change your name like a normal person, or we’ll find you, and we will kill you. Got it?”

He hesitates for only a moment before nodding sharply.

Mary places a hand on your shoulder and pulls you to the side. “We’re just gonna let him go?”

You shrug, your exhaustion and tonight’s loss crashing into you, your energy leaving with your adrenaline.

“There are only so many angels left,” you answer. “If we keep killing them… I don’t even want to think about what’ll happen.”

She takes a deep breath and breathes out a sigh, nodding her head.

Neither of you speaks a word as you extinguish the fire, trudge back through the field, and drive to the motel. You don’t bother unpacking as you plod into the motel room, dragging around the heartbreak like a load of bricks.

As you close the door to the outside world, Mary creeps into the bathroom. Shrugging off your jacket, you follow her.

She inspects her face in the mirror. The blood has dried, but bruises begin to appear at her jaw and around her eye.

You run a washcloth under warm water and wring it out into the sink. You sit her on the counter and gently scrub the flakes of blood from the side of her face.

She sits with her eyes closed, wincing once.

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

She shakes her head but opens her eyes to meet yours.

“(Y/N), I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

You pause your hand moving down her face.

“You were right,” she says. “You tried to protect us, but I couldn’t let it go, and now we’re here…”

“That’s not your fault.” You resume the scrubbing motions, softer this time. “You thought it was your son. Even I did when we saw that angel in the window.”

As you finish with the blood that dripped from her nose to her chin, tears start to pool in her eyes. She blinks once, and they fall down her cheeks.

You catch them with the washcloth, which has been stained pink, despite your rinsing it.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

“I—” Her voice breaks, and her body shudders as more tears escape her eyes.

“I spent a year trying to get back to them,” she sniffles. “And when they found me, it felt like coming home, you know?”

You nod, setting the cloth on the table.

“And now, Dean’s gone. I miss him, and I miss the way Sam is when he’s with him, and I can’t— I don’t know how to…”

“I know.”

You pull her into your arms, feeling her body rack as she sobs into your shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay,” you mumble, running your fingers over her hair. “We’ll find Dean. It’ll be okay.”

You murmur the empty promises to her, realizing in this moment that they truly are empty. You can’t really know if you’ll get him back, or if this is the last loss at the end of the string of undoubted returns.

But you can hope.

Tags: @ellie-andthemachine @gaybrieljax @electraphyng @emerald-watermelon-199 @mersuperwholocked-lowlife

#Happy Birthday Mary Winchester!#Pond S14 Weekly Challenge #Supernatural #Supernatural x reader #Spn x reader #Supernatural oneshot #Spn oneshot #Spn #Mary Winchester #Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Mary Winchester x reader #Mary x reader #oneshot #crimson and clover #wlw reader #writing is hard #angst

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mustardyellowsunshine · 6 years

Note

Maybe Inuyasha’s reaction when Kagome tells him he’s going to be a father? If you could do the whole wait and birth too that would be great but it’s up to you. I love your writing!!

Thank you so much for your prompt, ‘Nony! It’s been quite awhile since you sent it, and I’m sorry for the delay; but hopefully you will enjoy this!

Also, I want to dedicate this story to my dear and lovely friend, @inunanna, as a belated birthday present. As soon as I read this prompt, I thought, “Nanna would love this!” So here you go, my love! And happy birthday!!

Kagome would always remember his face in that moment: the slow drift of comprehension lighting his features like the sun on leaves. It was in the cautious lift of his eyebrows, the widening of golden eyes, the way his mouth went soft with surprise. It was in his posture, how his entire body seemed to slacken all at once, his shoulders dropping, arms falling from their crossed position to hang limply at his sides.

And when he spoke, his voice was quieter than she’d ever heard it. “You… Kagome, you’re…”

She nodded, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

Something in his face changed. He took a step closer, lifted his hand to graze the pads of his fingers across her stomach.

“You…” He paused, swallowed. “I mean we’re…”

She reached for his hand with both of hers, holding it there against her body. “Yes.” Her smile, impossibly, widened. “It’s really happening, Inuyasha.”

And as he swept her off her feet, into his arms, she realized that what she’d seen in his face was joy.

In those first weeks, she felt a subtle change in her body. There was no external difference yet—Inuyasha couldn’t see any physical changes at all, and he seemed to make a point of looking for them. But even if she didn’t yet look it, Kagome felt different. Fuller, somehow. Anchored in her own body, like a soft weight rested in the very pit of her stomach, grounding her to herself. She tried to find the words to explain this to Inuyasha, but the closest she ever got was to say, “It’s like my body is… more.”

He’d only blinked at her, nonplussed. She sighed, cupped his cheek in her hand, and wished that some things were easier to say.

It didn’t take long for Inuyasha to start treating her like porcelain, like a raku ware bowl that would break with the slightest jostle. She’d fetch water from the river and he’d growl, “Don’t carry the water buckets, they’re too heavy!” She’d offer to help a village woman plant her garden, and he’d glare at her as if she’d suggested diving off a cliff.

He also took to following her everywhere. “What if a demon attacks?” he replied when she’d gently questioned him about it, “Or what if you fall and hurt yourself?” At first she didn’t mind it much, and even found it cute. So like a puppy, she’d thought with a smile as he trailed behind her. She couldn’t deny enjoying the extra attention. But it became much less cute when he made it clear that he intended to follow her everywhere—even when she needed to relieve herself. One early morning she’d gotten up to do just that, and as soon as she reached the doorway of their hut, she heard the telltale rustle of clothing; she turned around to find him standing next to their futon, pulling on his hakama to follow her out. She arched an eyebrow at him, lips pursed, and all he’d done was scowl at her, as if to say, “Well, what do you expect?”

She lost her temper with him several times, but it didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. “I’ve gotta protect you,” he’d say with a flippant shrug. “It’d be easier if you’d shut up and let me do it.”

She might have truly lost her patience with him—nearly did on a few occasions—if his flippancy had actually convinced her. But she heard the real concern underpinning the words, read the flickering worry in his eyes—the same fear that echoed in the deepest parts of herself. The fear of losing something unspeakably precious, something unknown and yet deeply cherished. And she remembered his other behavior, too: the tenderness in even his most casual touches, the way his hands seemed to linger, his hushed tone when he murmured her name in the night, how her nearness seemed to give him ease.

One day Miroku came to visit, and watched Inuyasha hound Kagome as she moved around the hut preparing tea. Miroku’s tone was laughing and good-natured when he said, “That’s a fine dog guardian you have there, Kagome.”

Kagome glanced over her shoulder at her husband’s reddening, scowling face. Before Inuyasha could bite out the insult he was clearly chewing on, she turned back to Miroku, handed him his cup of tea, and said, “He’s the best.” Grinning, she patted her stomach and added, “No one could be safer than us with Inuyasha around.”

Miroku smiled and tipped his head in agreement. A moment later, she felt the warmth of Inuyasha’s palm settle against the nape of her neck, his fingers brushing a caress across her skin. A thank you.

She could let him be overprotective, if it helped put his fears to rest.

By the second month, she was constantly exhausted. It was a tiredness like she’d never experienced before, bone-deep and insatiable. No amount of sleep seemed to help. She napped on and off all day, and slept like the dead through most of the night—that is until her bladder began working double time, forcing her to wake every few hours to relieve it. And if it wasn’t her bladder waking her in the morning, it was the nausea that would continue to plague her for half the day. Her fatigue grew even worse after that. Dark circles like bruised plumbs stained the skin under eyes.

Inuyasha was almost frantic in his attempts to help. He brought her to Kaede every couple of days to make sure she wasn’t ill, despite the old healer’s repeated assurances that fatigue and nausea were perfectly normal this early in pregnancy. He pestered Sango with questions about her pregnancies, despite her answers confirming what Kaede had already told him. Eventually, he forbade Kagome to do any physical labor and took over nearly every chore she normally did. Whenever she offered to help, or tried to do something herself, he’d shake his head tersely and tell her to lie down—and she was so tired that she usually did so without argument.

At night he held her against his chest, ran his fingers through her hair, and whispered in his gruff way, “Sleep, Kagome. You’re safe. I’ll take care of everything. Just sleep.” She would nod and burrow her face into his body, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m not.”

“… Kagome.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re sniffling.”

“It’s just allergies!”

“I can smell your tears.”

She scrubbed at her face with the back of her arm. “I told you, allergies.”

She had her back to him. Inuyasha gripped her by the shoulders and turned her around, but she dropped her chin to hide the tears still streaking down her face.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice was so gentle. When had he learned such gentleness? Kagome could only shake her head and press her lips together against the urge to sob.

Brows drawn low in a frown, ears flicking in agitation, Inuyasha drew her closer. “Are you sick?”

She shook her head.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“I-I’m not h-hurt,” she mumbled, wiping at her cheeks.

“Is it…?”

“The baby’s fine.”

His expression morphed into an odd mixture of relief and bewilderment, eyebrows half-raised but still contracted in the middle, pinching the skin between his eyes. “Then what the hell’s wrong?” Pausing for a moment, he added, “Do I gotta kill something?”

A half-laugh, half-sob burst out of her, followed by quick shuddering breaths. Kagome clenched her hands in the fabric of Inuyasha’s suikan and forced herself to inhale slowly. “N-no… everything’s fine. Really.”

His mouth slanted into a grimace, and he stared at her pointedly.

She breathed out a stuttering sigh. “It’s… it’s stupid, and not anything you can help with.”

His whole frame seemed to twitch before his shoulders straightened, and he uttered a low, barely-there growl, offended by the mere intimation that he couldn’t help her. One of his hands reached up, palm cradling her jaw, and tilted her face up to his. “Try me,” he said, eyes serious and focused.

She couldn’t help it—another sob burst out. It took a few more moments before she could catch her breath enough to say, “It’s j-just that… I miss my mom.”

His mouth opened on reflex, but then he paused, eyes widening a fraction. His mouth closed, then opened, then shut again. A silent moment passed. Then his hand gingerly squeezed her shoulder, clearly at a loss.

Feeling distinctly foolish as more tears coursed down her cheeks, dripping from her chin, she stammered, “I w-wish Mama was h-here… I d-don’t know anything about m-motherhood, and I wish she c-could tell me what to expect, or give me advice… I wish she could tell me about when she was p-pregnant.” Throat tight and aching, Kagome squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead against Inuyasha’s chest. “E-every time something new happens, I wish I could tell M-mama about it. I want her to be here through my pregnancy. I want her to be here when the baby is born.” She tightened her grip on Inuyasha’s suikan, shoulders trembling from the effort to control her sobs. “I just… wish Mama was here.”

Inuyasha’s arms slipped around her, one encircling her waist, the other her shoulders; he pulled her against him until her whole body was dwarfed by his, enfolded in his, as if he could somehow physically protect her from her sadness.

He didn’t say anything, or even try to—he just held her there, and stroked her back as she cried for the family that would never meet her child.

By the end of the fourth month, there was no mistaking the rounding of her stomach, its gentle slope forming just below her breasts. And by the start of the sixth month, Kagome felt the baby move for the first time.

It was sunny and warm that day, and Kagome had decided to make the most of it by hanging laundry over the low-lying branches of a tree (one of the few chores Inuyasha didn’t object to her doing). The smell of the freshly-washed fabric, its cool dampness against her hands, and the pleasant heat of the sun on her face and arms all combined to cast a dreamy haze over the afternoon. Kagome nearly rocked up onto her tiptoes to lean up into the sun’s warmth.

Smiling, she reached forward to drape a blanket over the tree branch when she felt a fierce jerk just under her navel.

“Ah!” she cried out, dropping the blanket and wrapping her arms around her stomach.

Underneath her hands, she felt another lurching motion, like a sharp muscle spasm.

She gasped, heart fluttering in her chest, and rubbed her hands across her stomach, hoping to feel more movement. Hoping it wasn’t her imagination.

There, another one! The baby was kicking! Or maybe elbowing?

“Kagome!”

She registered Inuyasha’s alarmed voice a moment before the hanyō himself appeared, dropping down next to her from an airborne leap. His eyes raked over her from head to toe, and his voice was low and urgent when he asked, “Are you okay?! I heard you yell.”

Now accustomed to his abrupt appearances—her husband was never very far from her these days—her only response was to grab his hand and press it flat against her stomach.

“Kagome, what the—?”

“Just wait!”

A beat passed, and then another spasming sensation. Not painful, but a distinct jabbing motion around the navel.

Inuyasha’s face went blank for a moment. “Is that…?”

She grinned up at him, guiding his hand along her belly. “Baby’s feisty today.”

They felt another burst of movement, and Inuyasha let out a barking laugh, lips tugging up at the corners. His ears stood to attention atop his head, his whole being focusing on the activity beneath his hand. He swiftly laid his free hand against her stomach, too. “Did you feel that? This kid is gonna be strong!”

“It’s definitely your child,” Kagome teased, feeling a rising lightness and warmth in her chest, expanding with every second. She felt so light she thought she might start levitating any moment. “The very first time I feel it move, and the baby’s kicking like it’s trying to pick a fight.”

Inuyasha’s smile was so full, it made her breath catch. When was the last time she’d seen him smile like that?

“All right, runt,” he chuckled under his breath, claw tips faintly tickling her as his hands trailed over her belly, “don’t be too rough in there. Your Mama’s got a temper, y’know.”

She had the perfect retort to that, but a sudden lump in her throat kept her from saying it. It hit her that what she was feeling was her daughter or son. A person, whose real living presence was moving against their hands, proof of a new someone in the world. Someone she longed to meet. Someone she and Inuyasha had formed between them, brought forth from their love like a sapling from soil.

Inuyasha looked up from her stomach, eyes connecting with hers. She wished, yet again, that some things were easier to say. All she could do was cover Inuyasha’s hands in hers and squeeze, blinking against the prickling at the back of her eyes.

As her pregnancy progressed, and her stomach continued swelling (reminding her more and more of a balloon attached to a helium tank), she experienced new and less-than-enjoyable symptoms. Her lower back and abdomen started to ache, her ankles and hands to swell. She always had heartburn, and some form of digestive trouble—if it wasn’t constipation, it was the other problem. Stretch marks striated the sides of her stomach and her breasts; but worse than that was the appearance of a thick dark line that ran vertically from her belly button to her crotch. If that wasn’t enough, small patches of darker skin began developing along her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

She consulted Kaede about this development, who confirmed that although not all women experienced it, it was not an abnormal part of pregnancy; Kaede then very kindly rubbed Kagome’s back when she burst into tears.

Kagome had never felt uglier in her entire life. And she’d been covered head-to-foot in demon guts more than once.

But at night, when they were alone in their hut, Inuyasha would press his lips against each of her stretch marks, across the dark patches on her face. He would part the edges of her sleeping yukata and trace a finger down that dark line stretching from her belly button, his touch slow and intent, as though he was on a pilgrimage to a holy place. His hands would map her body, every lump and dimple, every discoloration and spider vein, all while kissing her so feverishly her body would catch his burn.

It was hard to feel ugly those nights, because Inuyasha made her feel more known than she’d ever been.

“What do you want to name the baby?”

Light and shadow dappled Inuyasha’s face; above them, a breeze ruffled the foliage of Goshinboku, and Inuyasha’s nose twitched, no doubt reading the scents carried on the wind. His eyes were closed, his arms stretched behind him, pillowing his head.

He didn’t even open his eyes when he replied, “Haven’t thought about it.”

Kagome reached over, idly stroked one of his ears. “So think about it now.”

Content silence fell about them. The day was hot and muggy, but the breeze helped cool the sweat on their skin. Birds called in the distance, and nearby a cicada began to chirp. Inuyasha lay stretched on his back along the ground, his head next to Kagome’s thigh; she sat with her back propped against Goshinboku’s trunk, hands folded across the top of her stomach.

“… what do you want to name it?” he mumbled after a few minutes, cracking open an eye to give her a sidelong glance.

She thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “I’m not sure, really. I’ve thought of a few names, but I’m not sure how much I like them. That’s why I asked you.”

Inuyasha yawned and stretched, then slowly lifted his torso up until he sat in a cross-legged position next to her. He watched her, eyes intent on her face. She smiled, tilting her head in question, but he only answered by reaching over to grasp a tendril of her hair between his fingers.

“Well,” he said, thumb and forefinger rubbing her captured hair, “if… if you don’t have your mind set on a name, then maybe…”

“Yes?”

“I was just thinkin’,” he said, “if it’s a girl, we could… name her after your mother.”

She went entirely still, and he panicked, dropping her hair and holding his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “It was just a thought, is all! We can name it whatever you want, okay? It’s not like I care anyway. Don’t go gettin’ all—”

She started pushing away from the tree trunk, and he went from panicked to scolding quicker than a blink. He rose up onto his knees, reaching to push her back down by the shoulders. “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Don’t try to stand up by your—oof!”

She fell against his chest—the best she could do while hampered by her huge belly—kneeling between his knees and hugging him around his waist, her stomach cushioned between them. He tensed at the initial impact, but pretty quickly wrapped his arms around her in return.

Her voice was choked and distinctly watery-sounding when she asked, “And if the baby’s a boy…?”

His large hand cradled the back of her head. His own voice was thick when he answered, “Always thought ‘Sōta’ was a good name.” She laugh-sobbed against his chest. “But,” he added, “guess we could name him after your batty old gramps, too.”

She nodded, squeezing his waist.

The hand on her head gently tugged at her hair, and she followed its cue, pulling back enough to see Inuyasha’s face. His eyes were somehow both gentle and blazing all at once. “Whatever you want, Kagome,” he rasped, “okay?”

She nodded again, cupping his face in both her hands. “I like your plan. Mai for a girl, Sōta for a boy.”

He brushed his fingers along her cheeks.

“Whatever you want, Kagome.”

As the months passed, Kagome started to befriend one of the young village women, Chōko, who was also pregnant. It was nice to talk to someone who was experiencing everything she was at the same time she was. The mothers and grandmothers in the village were well-intentioned, but they tended to give Kagome more advice than she really wanted—usually by way of horrifying anecdotes.

“When I was that far along, I started vomiting blood!”

“Mark my words, you’ll be living in the outhouse.”

“My breasts have never gone back to normal. You’d do well to rub yours with this poultice every night.”

“You think it’s bad now? Wait until the baby is born—you’ll forget what it means to sleep.”

Sango was better than most at keeping this impulse in check, but even she would slip into it, being the battle-hardened mother of three that she was. Once, when Kagome complained that the smell of vomit was becoming too normal, Sango arched an eyebrow and said (with a tone unsettlingly similar to a certain monk’s), “Motherhood will make you an expert on every body function imaginable.”

Kagome was more careful about which complaints she voiced after that.

But Chōko was a safe harbor of sympathy in the middle of that maternal halestorm, and Kagome was grateful for it. The two of them would often commiserate together about their latest symptoms, chatting by the fire as they sewed or chopped vegetables—the perfect camaraderie of pregnancy without the terrifying stories.

“You should let your husband pamper you while you can,” Chōko had once said with an impish grin after her husband, Jirō, insisted she sit down while he finished washing their dinner dishes. Chōko’s brown eyes gleamed downright wickedly when she added, “It’s good for them to get it out of their systems.” Kagome had only laughed, thinking that ship had long ago sailed, and probably circumnavigated the entire globe by now.

One day, Kagome was sitting by the hearthfire, working on her latest sewing project—an infant’s kimono—when Kaede came with the news.

“Chōko went into labor late last night,” Kaede said, her mouth a flat, grim line, “but neither she nor the child survived the birth.”

Kagome’s sewing dropped to the floor.

“The midwife did all she could, but…” Kaede rubbed a hand over her aged face, sighing deeply. “There was nothing to be done. Childbirth is always risky.”

It was some time after Kaede left that Inuyasha entered the hut, eyes hooded and face tight. He took one look at Kagome, huddled by the hearth with her arms wrapped around her stomach, and said, “You’ve already heard, haven’t you?”

Kagome nodded numbly.

He walked over, dropped to a crouch next to her. His hand came to rest on top of hers where it clutched her stomach, but he otherwise did nothing.

They sat there, staring into the fire for a long time.

“Inuyasha?” Kagome mumbled after what seemed like years of silence.

“Yeah?”

“If… if that happens to me…”

His fingers tightened around her hand. “It won’t.”

“But if it does—”

His grip on her hand became nearly painful. “It. Won’t.”

“Kaede said that… that childbirth is always risky, and—”

“Nothing is going to happen to you. Ever.”

“—we s-should… we should at least think about what to do if…”

He yanked. She lost her balance, falling sideways, and suddenly found herself sitting in his lap, his arms around her shoulders and his face buried in her hair.

“Nothing,” he growled, low and rough, “nothing is going to happen to you, hear me? Nothing. I won’t let it.”

“But—”

“I won’t!” His breath was harsh against her neck. “I won’t fucking let it happen that way!”

“… Okay,” she whispered softly, tonelessly. She leaned into him, clutched his sleeve with her fingers. “Okay,” she said again, needing to say it as much as he needed to hear it. Needing to believe it was true.

In her ninth month, they sat together under the Goshinboku, looking up at the star-studded sky.

“I wonder who’s in there,” Kagome murmured, stroking her stomach.

“Keh!” Inuyasha poked a finger at her protruding belly button, earning an annoyed slap from his wife. “We’ll find out soon.”

Then one day there was pain. So much pain. Pain like every part of her insides was trying to claw its way outside.

There was the darkened, thatched roof of their hut above her head, all she could see as she screamed and groaned and grunted out her agony.

There were voices, many women’s voices, Kaede’s and Sango’s and the midwife’s and other women from the village. There was Inuyasha’s voice as he cursed at the women trying to keep him out of the hut, and Miroku’s calm reasoning voice in reply. She heard a loud “Keh!”, the flutter of the reed mat, scandalized huffs from the village women surrounding her.

Then there was the cool press of Inuyasha’s hands on the side of her face, lifting her head and resting it on his leg.

“I’m here, Kagome,” came his voice. “You’re doing great.” She caught the silver gleam of his hair around her, the gold of his eyes above her. “You’re doing great, Kagome,” he said again, stroking her temple, “Keep it up.”

There was more pain, longer contractions, squeezing the very breath out of her.

Pain pain pain, the muddle of voices—whispered encouragements, stern commands to breathe—all clouding the air around her, suffocating her, making her want to scream even louder. Then her entire body seemed to clench around a fierce contraction of muscle, she thought she must be dying, warm liquid flooded against her thighs, dampening the bedclothes, and—

A single, high-pitched cry rang through the hut. Clear as a bell, it drowned out every other sound. It was all she could hear, all she wanted to hear, the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard.

And then a tiny, flailing bundle was pushed into her arms.

Her child.

Tiny, screaming, red and glistening. A thin tuft of black hair above the forehead. Tiny triangular ears, curled down a little at their tips. The smallest nose she’d ever seen, wrinkling as it worked, taking in smells.

Then Inuyasha’s hand came into her field of vision. Slowly, cautiously, the pad of his thumb stroked along the baby’s head. His fingers lingered in the air above the baby’s ears, as if too awed to touch them.

Eyes watering, Kagome tilted her head back, glancing up at her husband, the father of her child, just in time for his lips to crash against her forehead and a tear—not her own—to drip onto her face.

And after—when everyone had cleared out of the hut, and Sango and Miroku had hugged her, and Kaede had congratulated them—Inuyasha gathered her in his arms, their child gathered in hers; she touched her forehead to her child’s, and whispered, “Welcome home.”

#ask #prompt #inuyasha #Inuyasha fanfiction #InuKag #Inuyasha fanfic #my writing

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channiespeach · 6 years

Text

Volume 3: Jisung

genre: STRAY KIDS HOW TO TRANSITION A FUCKBOI SERIES (college! fuckboy! stray kids au) ~gif: @sstraykids

word count: 1.8k

prompt: You’ve been assigned a partner project, which is the biggest grade of the year, that’ll either benefit you or destroy you. To your dismay, you’ve been assigned with no other than the biggest fuckboy on campus, himself, who’ll contribute in absolutely nothing. You have one of two options; throw your life down the drain and fail, or have the project become more bearable by making him fall in love with you, somehow. Follow these steps and you’ll be guaranteed in having the fuckboy swooning over you.

Step three: Make them apologize

In attempt to relieve some stress, my roommate suggested to hop some on-campus parties. I just about took her up on her offer, because maybe I’ll loosen up a bit by getting a few cute university boys’ numbers and the alcohol taking off some of the edge, will prevent me from being so pissed off all the time. I was pretty optimistic, up until I spotted a wild, Jisung across the room from me. Of course, only the biggest fuckboy on campus would be found in his natural bound habitat.

“I think it’s time to find another party” I nudged Eri, motioning her towards Jisung’s direction. I felt the mixture of components in my cup leaving a flavor distaste in my throat, when I’d caught the sight of Jisung making out with a random girl beside him.

“Oh, lighten the fuck up! You need something stronger in your cup” Eri rolled her eyes at me, snatching away my cup and handing it over to Chanyeol, for fixating. I nodded in agreement, sipping the cup’s stronger elements eagerly, when it had returned. I winced, reeling back from my cup and truly began feeling it’s sinful effects, taking over me. Sobriety disappearing itself from my body, I re-observed my surroundings. My glossed-over eyes sparkled, landing on a handsome stranger, appearing to be one of Jisung’s friends. The silver-haired cutie didn’t appear to be having a good time, swishing around the liquor in his red cup, blandly. He was disengaged from his active friends, standing several feet away from them and shooing away a few intoxicated, overly- stimulated females, nearing his direction.

“You’ve been staring over my direction for an awfully long time, love. Need something?” Jisung purred in my ear. I must’ve been in a daze for quite awhile, for him to dismiss the girl from earlier, in order to approach me.

“Just two things” I’d caught the lonesome boy’s attention from across the room, but reverted my roaming eyes over to Jisung, irritably.

“Which are?” A smirk played across Jisung’s pink lips. He rested his weight on the wall behind me, arms on either side of my head, as he lent over my drunken form, at an uncomfortably close distance.

“First off, did you end up finishing your part of the entries?” I pushed away his arrogant form, almost spilling my drink.

“Unfortunately, yes. I hope you do know that you got in the way of my time with Jihyo” Jisung’s tone was laced with amusement at my actions, as he raised his eyebrows at me with his given statement.

“God forbid, coming in the way of Jisung’s meaningless little hook-ups! Even though, there’s responsibilities that need to be taken care of outside of that” I retaliated. “Anyways, what I’m mainly concerned about is your lonely friend over there. Is he single?” I turned Jisung’s body over towards his solo friend.

“Who, Chan? Yeah, he’s got nothing going on” Jisung flatly stated, taking a swig from his drink.

“Sweet!” I fist bumped the air, in an overly joyful manner, getting ready to near Chan’s direction.

“I wouldn’t go for him, if I were you. He has a lot of girls on his tail” Jisung stepped in front of me, halting my movements.

“As if you’re any better! I just saw him dismiss over five girls within the hour” I spat at him, shooing him to move aside.

“Believe me, he’s just like me. I just happen to be more discreet with my intentions. Either way, he’ll just chew you up and spit you out” Jisung shook his head at me, continuing to defend his argument.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Since when does a fuck boy like you, take women’s feelings into consideration, especially mine of all people?” I crossed my arms, inquisitively.

“Everything has a warning label” He threw his arms up defensively, stepping off to the side and allowing me to continue my administrations. I happily strode past him and asked the unaccompanied boy, by the name of Chan to dance.

Long story short, the rest was all a blur, but I succeeded in getting his number.

sexy mf from the party: Had a great time with you last night! Thanks for accompanying me, btw. I thought I was just about to go crazy, until you came! Hope to get to know you more in a quieter and sober situation, sometime soon? :)

A loud ding sounding from my phone, had awoke me. Prying open my eyes, I groaned from the faint sunlight seeping through my curtains, attacking at my irises and adding more tension to my headache. I reached for my phone, checking what the commotion’s all about, seeing a text from the cute boy last night and a few irrelevant messages from Jisung, about meeting this evening. Yikes, I needed to update his name. I sent Chan a quick text in agreement and to let me know a day he’s free. Feeling satisfied with my previous response, I read over Jisung’s messages, that had a mandatory ring to them for us to meet this evening. Choosing not to respond to him, since he was pretty dead- set on meeting at a specific time and place, I began getting ready for the day.

Jisung planned for us to continue our revisions at a nearby cafe, down the street from our university. Coffee sounded idealistic for my hungover state, so I was more than content with Jisung’s proposition.

“What do you want?” Jisung greeted me, when I’d entered the cafe and gotten in line, shifting his body towards the menu.

“I’m a strong and independent woman, that needs no man to pay for me!” l disregarded his offer, shuffling through my things, in a hunt for my wallet.

“Ladies first, then” Jisung chuckled, stepping back and swaying out his hand, in courtesy.

“Hm, I’ll have to take you up on that offer” I trudged past him and placed my order.

chan: Will do, love :) Can’t wait!

“Y/N!” The barista called out, indicating my drink’s ready. I left behind my things at the table with Jisung, and scampered to get my coffee. I came back, nearly being gone for a split second, seeing Jisung hunched over the table while glancing at my phone.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I stopped in my tracks, standing in front of the counter-top and catching him off guard.

“I’m telling you, don’t fuck with him. He’s saying the same things to several other females” Jisung warned me, continuing with his crazy assumptions about Chan.

“My personal affairs don’t concern you!” I snapped at him, my grip tightening on my cup.

“Delete his number!” Jisung commanded.

“Or what?” I scoffed, my tone coming across bitterly. I was quick to snatch my phone off the table and stuff it in my jacket pocket, before he could think twice.

“Jesus Christ, why do you have so many pins?” Jisung exclaimed, referring to my bag filled with numerous overly-priced feminist pins. I studied his movements wearily, preparing for an impulse of his actions to occur. Before I could stop him, he reached for one of the pins, in attempt to remove one swiftly. Instead, he ended up breaking it, snapping the metal hook in half. Knowing my luck, of course it had to be my favorite one.

“You idiot!” I threw my drink down, taking the tiny pin out of his grasp to examine the damage. “Say you’re fucking sorry!” I demanded. As dramatic as it sounds, when I heard the metal clip snap, I felt my heart shatter with it. So when I say that I’m devastated about my favorite pin being broken, it’s an understatement, because my little sister gave it to me and it was the first gift she’s ever given me, so that tiny pin had lots of value to me.

“Calm down, it’s just a pin! It’s not that big of a deal!” Jisung defended himself. “I mean you can always buy a new one, just like it” He continued, shrugging off towards the fact that he’d been destructive towards another’s things.

“You know, the things that people have to say about you are more than accurate. You’re incredibly self-absorbed and the little care you do have for the world is only towards yourself, it’s honestly nauseating. You need to grow the fuck up and get over yourself!” I threw the fragmented pin at him, reverting attention from the other customers in the coffee shop. “And don’t worry about the entries. I’ll take care of them, since you did all the work last time” I concluded, while gathering the rest of my things and storming out.

me: hopefully, you won’t be too busy for me this upcoming week :)

I’d successfully avoided Jisung’s presence for the past few days, by leaving class early and not initiating into his eye contact. I wasn’t going to brush him off for forever of course, but I intended to only associate with him, unless absolutely necessary. Today, being no different, I packed my things ahead of time and stumbled out of the classroom frantically, when dismissed.

“Y/N! Wait up!” Jisung called for me, grabbing a hold of my wrist, seconds later. He must’ve caught onto my game.

“What do you want from me?” I yanked my arm from him, blowing my hair away from my features in a desperate manner. I piped myself in again, before he could remark, “–Just save it! I think it’s best we just associate with one another, only when necessary, until we’re finished with this goddamn thing. So here’s the journal, it’s–”

“Won’t you listen for just this once in your life?” Jisung shut me up. “Look, I owe you an apology. I had some time to think and I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry for being so careless and destructive with your things, it was wrong of me. I’m also sorry for upsetting you, so much. I know it’s not quite exact, but I looked in every urban outfitters around, including online. I even resulted to searching on craigslist. But, this was the best I could find” Jisung dug deep into his jean pockets, pulling out a pin similar to the one he’d broken. He reached for my hand, placing it in my palm, while enclosing my grip around the small gadget. He bowed and gave me a heartbreaking smile, before disappearing.

Now, it was my turn to be the one left stumbled in their own path.

masterlist 🍒

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javistg · 7 years

Text

Runaway Katniss - Epilogue

Here it is! The epilogue I promised. I wrote this for @hookmatchmaker who sent me the prompt : Katniss/Runaway bride! :)

Here’s PART 1. You can also find it on AO3 and FF.net.

Enjoy!

“Perfect,” Katniss thought looking at the freshly baked loaf she had just pulled out of the oven.

With tender care, she placed the bread in a basket lined with an embroidered linen napkin.

Katniss smiled. Everything was ready.

It had taken her a little more than a year, but she was finally going to marry Peeta.

XXXXX

A couple of days after Katniss canceled her wedding to Gale, Peeta had been called back to the Capitol.

His editor wasn’t satisfied with the article he’d written.

“This was supposed to be a human-interest story with a happy ending,” Alma grumbled. “People want to read about a girl marrying groom number 4, Mellark. Nobody cares that she failed to follow through with her plans, yet again --especially since she didn’t even have a wedding this time.” Taking another look at his notes, she stated, “We might run the story if she somehow manages to find groom number 5. But, until that happens, the piece is out.”

Peeta had immediately bristled at his boss’s words. He hated the implication that Katniss’s struggles could be minimized and broken down into a bite-sized blurb. The woman he knew --the woman he’d fallen in love with—hadn’t set out to hurt those who loved her. She acted the way she did because she was scared and confused.

Katniss had spent her life taking care of her family, she had earned the right to be treated with respect, and the men who had proposed to her deserved to be treated as more than just comic relief in a fluff piece on the Sunday paper.

He was about to start on an indignant rant about respect and common decency when his boss looked up from her desk.

“I still need a feature piece for the weekend edition,” she said. “Think you can whip something up?”

Peeta immediately snapped into action. He stormed out of his boss’s office and, after throwing away his notes on Katniss’s love life, he turned his attention to a topic he had begun to research during his visit to District 12. A matter he felt was far more important to expose.

Peeta’s new project would do more than entertain the crowds by making them laugh at the expense of someone else’s suffering.

He didn’t know it yet, but his article about the security protocols in District 12’s mining industry would, in time, even help save people’s lives.

XXXXX

The first months weren’t easy for Katniss.

She was still in District 12, surrounded by her friends and family, following her old routines while she tried to figure out what she wanted to do with her life.

Jumping from one relationship to the next had left her feeling hollow and confused.

Most people seemed to have an idea of who they were and what they wanted to do with their lives. But Katniss had been too focused on other people’s futures and well-being to pay much mind to her own. She wondered if she had ever really known what she wanted to be when she grew up.

True to his word, Peeta didn’t abandon her. He traveled back and forth as much as he could to keep their relationship going.

Stuck in her small, sleepy town, Katniss felt time stretch endlessly between Peeta’s visits.

She had never minded the quiet life of District 12, but the stories Peeta told her about the Capitol intrigued her.

The hours they spent together were never enough; especially when she compared them to the long, dreary days they spent apart.

Peeta’s steadfast presence grounded her. By his side, she felt safe. Sharing her fears and hopes with him imbued her with a strength she’d never had before.

Gradually, between frequent visits and phone calls, Peeta became her friend, her confidant, her lover.

Being with him was an intoxicating mixture of passion and comfort. Katniss had never felt as alive and wanted as she did when he was around. She had never been so comfortable in her own skin.

Peeta had a way of listening to her that helped her clear her mind, and make sense of the world and her place in it.

As hard as it was, spending a few months on her own was a good thing. It gave her the space to evaluate her life without pressure.

Before long, Katniss realized that, in her need to take care of others, she had neglected the things she truly loved. Like wood carving, the trade her father had taught her, which lay abandoned in the dark recesses of her mind.

When she spoke to Peeta about it, he suggested she went back to it. “You could give it another shot,” he said, “I know you like working with your uncle at the hardware store, but this could be something that made you truly happy.”

Determined to get a fresh start, Katniss found a small workshop where she could practice her trade.

With Prim’s help, she went back to school where she took a few courses aimed at small business owners and craftsmen.

By the end of the first semester, she had already built a couple of dressers, a bow, and a beautiful desk.

Her heart raced anxiously in her chest as she snapped a few pictures of the pieces she’d created.

With trembling fingers, Katniss packed a small suitcase and hopped on a train bound for the Capitol. The thought of the binder with the pictures, safely stored inside her backpack, kept her smiling all the way.

Night had fallen over the busy city when Peeta found Katniss waiting at his doorstep. His face lit up as she explained about the stores she had visited during the day and the orders they had placed.

Three months later, Katniss moved to the Capitol.

Johanna Mason, the shop owner who had bought her furniture, helped her find a workshop on the outskirts of town.

Peeta’s open arms welcomed her into his home.

Months flew by as Katniss adjusted to her new life in the big city.

There were times when she missed her friends and her home.

She missed Prim, most of all. But her sister was always a phone call away, and her happiness, whenever she heard of Katniss's new projects, was enough to soothe all her anxieties away.

At night, Peeta’s embrace and company made all her struggles vanish into thin air.

One morning, after clearing up the breakfast table, Katniss dropped to one knee and asked Peeta to marry her. Again.

The tenderness in his eyes was just as sweet as it had been back in District 12 but, this time, he said, “yes.”

Fearful of the stress of organizing yet another wedding, Katniss had suggested to put pomp and circumstance aside and to follow her district’s humble tradition.

Peeta had agreed on the spot. A private toasting ceremony was all he needed.

XXXXX

Katniss married Peeta on a crisp autumn afternoon, just as the sun dipped under the horizon painting colors in the sky.

There would be no church, no witnesses, and no fuss. Just a bride, a groom, and a loaf of bread.

The fire of the hearth and the strength of their love were all Katniss needed to say, “I do.”

#runaway Katniss #things I write #thanks for the inspiration

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dawnofvillains · 7 years

Text

Ever so Charming

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Prompt: This is another one that I don't really have a proper prompt for. I just sort of started writing and this is what happened. It's a random Saturday night and Peter decided to swing by to the reader's apartment. Some silly stuff ensues.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,618

AN: I'm sorry that this is so long! I didn't intend to make this story over two thousand words, but I just started writing and couldn't stop. I hope you can manage to make it through all my terrible writing. Enjoy! P.S. I'm also sorry for all the Star Wars references. I can't help it. I'm a huge Star Wars fan too.

It was a summer Saturday night in Queens. The mid-July air was warm and humid. Large skyscrapers and constant traffic only helped to increase the stickiness in the air. There was a minor heatwave going through the area. During the night however, without the sun's relentless beams of light shining down on the asphalt roads, the temperature dropped just enough to make the weather bearable. Just barely though.

This particular night, you were mindlessly spinning around in your desk chair. Scattered all along the surface of your desk were some random notes for an essay that was due by the upcoming Friday. There wasn't much of a rush to get the thing finished, but you liked to get things done in advanced anyway. Nonetheless, you still found yourself avoiding the essay like it was the plague. You weren't normally like this. You normally could pump out at least a mediocre paper in maybe a day, but tonight your mind was not having it.

Something was keeping you restless and alert. You weren't entirely positive what though. Nothing out of the ordinary happened today. You woke up, you ate some food, and you watched some Netflix; everything seemed normal. You racked your brain to try and think of anything that could have possibly caused this random tension, but nothing came up. Sighing, you stopped spinning around in your chair (you were starting to get dizzy) and just stared at your bedroom ceiling. Eventually, you started to calm down.

It was dark in your room. The only light source was your tiny desk lamp that didn't really illuminate much. You had your window open to try and feign the heat that was stuck in your apartment. Or rather your parent's apartment, but they were away on some long business trip and left you to your own devices for the week. Stupid mistake, really. The open window didn't help at all though. All it did was allow the humid outside air to mix with the stiff apartment air. The result was a mixture of stale and oppressive. The only reason you didn't close the window was because of how purely lazy you were. You were here and the window as there. No matter the distance, it was always too far. So, needless to say, you were not very comfortable.

You glanced back at your notes and made a sour face. At this rate, you were more likely to close the damn window than finish the essay. You finally conceded and sat up a bit to switch off the light. Your room went from dimly lit to almost completely dark. The only source of light now was the faint glow of the city's shops, cars and street vendors. You closed your eyes and sat in the dark for a while. There was something peaceful about just sitting there and listening to the sounds of the car horns and the clamor of the people. It was all so familiar and calming. You had grown up your entire life in this city. There was no place you'd rather live than here. You were so lost in these thoughts that you failed to hear the subtle movement of someone entering through your open window.

You were just about to drift off to sleep when you heard a loud thump and a muffled groan from behind you. You jumped instantly out of your chair, ran to turn the overhead light on, and quickly grabbed the nearest thing to you to use as a weapon. That item just so happened to be your Millennium Falcon Bluetooth speaker that you got for Christmas one year. You knew it was geeky, but you didn't really care what others thought about it. You found it to be awesome, and so did your best friend Peter Parker. Not that his opinion mattered any more than everyone else's. Obviously.

You held the speaker up, ready to swing at whomever had come into your room, and looked down to see a body laying face down on your hardwood floors. When you saw who it was you froze in your spot and your jaw dropped.

"Hey, Y/N," your best friend, Peter Parker, said as he strained his neck to look at you. "Were you about to just hit me with the Millennium Falcon?"

You shook your head and quickly sat the speaker back on your shelf. You looked down at your best friend with a mixture of shock and horror. He was wearing his infamous red and blue suit, but had the mask off and in his hand. His hair was disheveled, as per usual whenever he took off the mask abruptly, and there was a light bruise forming on his cheek.

"What the hell, Peter?!" you yelled at him.

He chuckled from where he still lay on the floor. "I know, I know. I probably scared you half to death, but the lights were off, so I thought you weren't in here. Also, believe it or not, I didn't actually mean to fall flat on my face."

"You're damn right you scared me! I though I was about to get murdered or something!"

"Murdered? By whom? You live on the eighth floor of this building, Y/N. Who else do you know who can magically climb through a window that high up?" said Peter sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes before you replied with, "Listen, this is no time for your sarcasm, as charming as it is. I was legitimately scared!"

Peter finally got up and casually leaned against your wall.

"You think I'm charming?" he said with a suggestive look.

Your could feel your cheeks start to flush, so you quickly responded, "That's not the point! Just... don't do that to me ever again, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

There was a pause as neither one of you had anything else to say. After a while you asked, "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Oh, no reason," said Peter. He looked down at his feet before mumbling, "I guess I just wanted to see you."

You weren't quite sure if you were seeing things or not, but you could have sworn you saw Peter's cheeks turn a slight shade of pink. Was he... embarrassed? No, Peter Parker wouldn't be embarrassed in front of you. You two were so close, you were practically joint at the hip. You were probably seeing things.

"So just a regular visit from the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man?" you asked jokingly.

"Or a very special visit from your geeky, yet charming best friend, Peter Parker," replied the boy.

"When exactly did I say you were charming again?" you scoffed.

"Um, just a few minutes ago, I'm pretty sure," Peter tossed back.

"Are you sure? I don't recall that."

"No? Shame. Guess I'll have to prove it then."

"Oh, that won't be necessary."

"No really, not a problem at all."

"I would prefer you didn't. Wouldn't want you to make a fool of yourself."

"Even if I did, you'd be too busy swooning over me to notice."

"Wouldn't count on it, buddy."

"Oh really?"

You didn't know how it happened, but the next thing you knew your back was pressed firmly on your bedroom door and Peter was right in front of you. His nose was practically touching yours. Your breath mingled with his. You looked into his eyes. They were so close that you could see the independent flecks of lighter and darker brown as they mixed together. There was a playful glint in his eyes too. Where had that come from? The Peter you knew was playful, sure, but never to this degree. This was almost... suggestive. He must be feeling quite bold tonight. You wondered why. Was he planning something?

His voice cut through your thoughts as you heard him say lightly, "Hey."

"Hi," you replied.

You both smiled then. This was probably the closest you two had ever been, physically. You always tried to avoid being this close with Peter in fear of your ridiculous feelings for the boy causing you to do something stupid. You don't know when it started, but somehow you had developed a serious crush on your best friend. And didn't that just sound so messed up? Your best friend for goodness sake! It was a challenge, but you somehow managed to teach your brain not to indulge too much in anything Peter did around you. The cursory glances during class, the brushing of arms or hands whenever the two of you hung out, the adorable smile Peter always gave you when he saw you that never ceased to make you smile too. Those were all just things that normal best friends did, right?

Even with all that mental trickery, you couldn't help but feel some very strong emotions with Peter this close to your face. You knew that if the roles were reversed, you would have definitely backed away by now, but Peter stood as if he feet were glued into place. It had to have been a long time, standing like this (you noticed that you lost track of time a lot when around Peter), so why hadn't he moved yet? Was he waiting for you to say something? Or did he want to be this close to you? No, that was ridiculous. You knew for a fact that your crush was definitely one-sided. Peter joked around with you all the time when it came to romantic feelings between the two of you, but you knew none of it was legitimate.

"Um..." you finally said.

That seemed to catch Peter's attention. He evaluated the situation and then retreated a good five feet. He looked to the ground and started swaying on his feet. You instantly missed the warmth that radiated off his body, but you shook your head and took a deep breath to calm yourself down. It was time to start being rational again.

"So.. what was that all about?" you asked.

Peter looked up and laughed awkwardly. "What was what all about?"

"The whole getting up in my face thing as you joked about being unbelievably charming," you chuckled. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were actually flirting with me."

You expected Peter to scoff and say that that definitely wasn't what he was doing, but instead the boy remained silent and once again looked to the floor. You let your confusion show on your face before realization hit you and you took a quiet, but sharp intake of break.

"Wait, you weren't actually flirting with me, right?" you asked in disbelief.

There was a small pause as Peter shyly looked back at you. This time he looked you directly in the eyes and said, "Would you be so opposed to it if I told you I was?"

His words were barely audible. Your heart was suddenly pounding in your ears as you stared back at your best friend. This couldn't be happening. Peter Parker, the Spider-Man, liked you back? All you could do was stare back at the boy with wide eyes.

Suddenly, Peter looked away and started to pace the length of you room. He groaned as he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"So stupid!" you heard him mutter.

His words seemed to be enough to awake you from your state of shock. You watched as Peter rushed back and forth from one end of your room to the other. He kept mumbling to himself, but you could no longer hear what he was saying.

"Hey, Pete," you said, trying to grab his attention.

He continued to pace.

"Peter," you said a bit more forcefully.

Nothing.

"Peter," you repeated again with more force.

Still nothing.

"Peter Parker!" you all but shouted.

The boy finally stopped mid-pace and stared at you. God, he looked adorable like that. Disheveled hair, nervousness written all over his face. You couldn't help but smile at him.

"Yes?" he asked with a hesitant tone of voice.

"No," you said bluntly.

"No?" asked Peter as his brows furrowed in confusion.

"No, I wouldn't be so opposed to it if you said that you were flirting with me," you said with another smile.

This time, Peter was the one to stare at you with wide eyes. You tried your best not to, but the longer it continued, the harder it was to resist. You started to shake your head and laugh at the boy in front of you.

"You are a complete idiot, you know that?" you said while laughing still.

Peter laughed awkwardly before turning it into a genuine laugh. The two of you stood there laughing at each other's ridiculousness for quite a while. Eventually, your laughter died down and you were left both staring at each other from across the room. There had been a lot of staring happening tonight. It was honestly getting out of hand. This wasn't some kind of Twilight movie, after all.

"So... you like me?" Peter asked, stepping closer to you once again.

"I never said that," you answered playfully.

"Didn't you?"

Peter took another step closer.

"I don't know, did I?"

Another step.

"I'm pretty sure you did."

Another step.

"Oh, really?"

Another step.

"Yep, and I can prove it."

With a final step he was back inside your personal space. His face mere inches from yours. Your breathing quickened slightly, but you told yourself to remain calm.

"And how is that?"

The next thing you knew Peter was kissing you, and you were kissing back. The kiss was sweet, nothing too dramatic, just enough to embody the silly romance of two teenagers. Peter was the one to pull away first. You stared into each other's eyes. Again, with the staring! Maybe this was turning into a Twilight movie. The smile on your face was so wide that your cheeks were starting to hurt.

"Now... get out," you said, trying to remain as serious as possible.

"What?"

"Get out," you repeated simply.

The confusion on Peter's face was hilarious, but you kept your laughter in.

"I have an essay to finish for English," you elaborated, "and if I'm not mistaken, I believe you have the very same essay to complete as well, Mr. Parker."

Peter rolled his eyes jokingly as he caught on to what you were saying.

"Come on, Y/N," he begged. "That essay isn't due until next Friday!"

"And you know very well that I like to finish things in advance."

"But wouldn't you like to spend the evening doing," Peter stepped closer to you, if that was even possible considering how close you were before, "more enjoyable things?"

The look on that boy's face was so smug, you wanted to slap it right off of him.

"And what exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Parker?" you chuckled, deciding to amuse yourself by playing along with his little game. You really did want to finish that essay.

Peter tapped his finger on his chin and pretended to be thinking. "Empire Strikes Back and some cuddling?"

God, you loved this boy.

"Fine," you conceded. "Go make us some popcorn."

Peter backed up and spun around the room triumphantly. You rolled your eyes are you watched his form exit your room and enter the rest of your dark apartment.

"You might want to–"

You were cut off from your sentence when you heard something heavy, undoubtedly Peter, hit something else in the hallway.

"–turn on the lights," you finished.

"I'm good!" you heard Peter yell from down the hall.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that evening, you sighed to yourself and left your room to go help your ever-so-clumsy best friend. The rest of the night sure as hell was going to be interesting. You couldn't wait.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #marvel x reader #marvel #marvel studios #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagine #marvel comics #mcu #spiderman #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man x reader #spider-man #spider-man imagine

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 4 years

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24th May >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Matthew 28:16-20 for The Feast of the Ascension of The Lord: ‘I am with you always’.

Feast of the Ascension of The Lord

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Matthew 28:16-20

Go and make disciples of all nations

The eleven disciples set out for Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had arranged to meet them. When they saw him they fell down before him, though some hesitated. Jesus came up and spoke to them. He said, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go, therefore, make disciples of all the nations; baptise them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teach them to observe all the commands I gave you. And know that I am with you always; yes, to the end of time.’

Gospel (USA)

Matthew 28:16–20

All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me.

The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had ordered them. When they saw him, they worshiped, but they doubted. Then Jesus approached and said to them, “All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, until the end of the age.”

Reflections (3)

(i) Feast of the Ascension of The Lord

I came across a story in a book recently of a little girl being shown around the Church of the Ascension. Looking up at a large painting of the Ascension in the church she asked, ‘Why is Jesus up in the air?’ Children have a way of asking direct questions. The little girl’s question put me in mind of the question that is addressed to the disciples in today’s first reading, ‘Why are you men from Galilee standing here looking into the sky?’ The question suggests that the Ascension of Jesus should not prompt us to look into the sky, as if Jesus had somehow left us. Today’s gospel reading highlights not the absence of Jesus but his presence. The risen Jesus declares to his disciples, ‘Know that I am with you always, yes to the end of the world’.

The language of ascension expresses the change in the way that Jesus became present to his disciples. The ascension marks the end of that period when the risen Jesus appeared to his original disciples in a bodily, visible, form and the beginning of that period when he would be present to all disciples of every age in other forms. The ascension of Jesus did involve an element of departure for the original disciples but, more fundamentally, it ushered in a period of enduring presence for all future disciples which would last until the end of time. We know from our own human experience that departures can often create an opening for a new form of presence. Someone moves on from us but they remain present to us in another way. The relationship changes rather than ends. We come to discover that the ending of one phase of the relationship makes possible the beginning of new and more significant phases.

The risen Lord wanted to be present not just to his original disciples who had journeyed with him from Galilee to Jerusalem, but also to all future generations of disciples. For this to become possible, he had, in a sense, to take his leave of his original disciples, but only so that he could be present in a richer way to them, and to all those who would become his disciples through the missionary work of those original disciples, including all of us. Because of the Ascension, the risen Lord is as present to us now as he was to his first disciples. The promise of the risen Jesus in the gospel reading, ‘Know that I am with you’, is addressed not only to the first disciples, but to us all. Jesus speaks there of being present ‘always, to the end of time’. He was looking beyond the original disciples to the generations of disciples that would follow them. That is why the feast of the Ascension is a feast that all of us can really take to heart. It is very much our feast, the feast of the Lord’s presence to us, today, in this place and at this time. Saint Paul expresses this sense of the risen Lord’s presence to all generations of believers at the end of today’s second reading. He speaks of Jesus as the head of the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills the whole creation’. The risen Lord fills the whole creation, says Paul, but the church, the community of believers, is the fullness of his presence. That is why, for all its imperfections, we need the church, we need each other, because it is there above all, in the community of believers, that we meet the risen Lord in all his fullness.

We need each other as disciples, we need the church, but more than that, we need to make disciples of others, we need to help the church to grow. This was the commission that the risen Lord gave to his first disciples according to the gospel reading, ‘Go, make disciples of all the nations, baptize them… teach them…’. That commission is given to us all. We all have some responsibility for making other disciples, for helping others to meet the Lord. As we engage in that task, we have the Lord’s promise that he will be with us. He will be working through us, if we give him the opportunity. We have another version of the Lord’s promise to be with us in today’s first reading, ‘you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you, and then you will be my witnesses’. The Lord is with us through the Holy Spirit and the Spirit works in our lives to empower us to be the Lord’s witnesses to others. We will each witness to the Lord in a different way, because the Spirit empowers each of us in a very unique way, in accordance with our own distinctive gifts, temperament and personality. The Spirit will empower one person to witness to the Lord perhaps through their gift of poetry, another person through their gift of song, another through their gift of practical service of others, another through their artistic gifts or their gift for discovery. In that sense, the Lord, through the Spirit, is at work and present all around us. We don’t have to look into the sky, although we can get a wonderful sense of the Lord’s presence there too. We just have to look beside us, before us, behind us, within us, on our right and on our left, all around us, in the words of the well-known hymn, Christ be beside me.

And/Or

(ii) Feast of The Ascension of The Lord

It can be difficult to appreciate the wonder of a starry sky in the city. The lights of the city prevent us from seeing the sky in all its beauty, even on the clearest of nights. A clear night sky is much more impressive when viewed in the countryside. When you see a night sky in all its clarity you can easily appreciate why the stars have exercised a fascination for people from earliest times. It is understandable why people came to think of heaven and the abode of God as somewhere beyond the stars.

At the heart of our Christian faith, however, is the conviction that we do not have to look upwards to find God. In today’s first reading, the disciples are asked the question, ‘Why are you men from Galilee standing here looking into the sky?’ Jesus had gone from their visible sight, and they were looking into the sky after him. However, today’s feast of the Ascension is not primarily about the departure of Jesus to some place beyond the stars. Instead, it celebrates the presence of Jesus at the heart of his church and of our world. The earthly Jesus was present to a small number of people in a very confined area at a particular moment in human history. The risen Jesus is present to all men and women in every area of the world and throughout all time.

In that sense, the real meaning of today’s feast is well expressed in the promise of the risen Lord to his disciples at the end of today’s gospel reading: ‘Know that I am with you always, yes, to the end of time’. The risen Lord spoke these words to his first disciples, who were the nucleus of the church. The Lord promises to be with his church until the end of time. Earlier in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus had spoken the parable of the wheat and the weeds, suggesting that the church was a mixture of the good and the not so good. Jesus understood that his church would never be a perfect society. It would always have an ambivalent quality. Something of that ambivalence is captured in the response of the disciples to the risen Lord in today’s gospel reading: ‘they fell down before him, though some hesitated’. That core group who were to be the nucleus of the church were characterized by both a readiness to surrender to the risen Lord and great hesitation before him. That ambivalence would remain a feature of the community of believers that the Lord founded. The people who make up the church are far from perfect; they are sinners striving to do the will of the Lord. That is as true of the Pope as it is of the child who has just made his or her first communion. It is to this flawed group that the Lord promised: ‘Know that I am with you always, yes, to the end of time’. We the church need to hear that reassuring promise again and again - especially in those times when as church we are aware that we are not yet all that the Lord is calling us to be.

It was to this ambivalent group of disciples that the risen Lord not only made a promise but also entrusted a most challenging mission: ‘Go, make disciples of all the nations, baptize them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teach them to observe all the commands that I gave you’. How extraordinary that this small and ambivalent group of eleven disciples should be given the mission to make disciples of all the nations. Yet, they set out on this mission, not in their own strength, but in the strength of the Lord’s promise to be with them until the end of time, and in the power of the Spirit, mentioned in today’s first reading. It is because the eleven were faithful to the Lord’s call to make disciples of all nations that we are gathered here today in worship as followers of the Lord. Jesus showed tremendous trust in this rather limited group of disciples. He had faith that, once they were filled with the Spirit, they would work effectively for the coming of the kingdom.

In that sense, the feast of the Ascension celebrates the Lord’s faith in his disciples, in his church, in us who are his church today. The mission that was given to the first disciples by the risen Lord is given to the church today, flawed as it is. It is not just the ordained who are given this task to make disciples of all nations. All who are baptized are called to share in this mission. Part of what it means to be a disciple of the Lord is to make other disciples. Parents who bring their children to be baptized are responding to this call of the risen Lord to make disciples of all nations. Jesus states that those who are baptized are to be taught to observe all that Jesus commanded. Those who have been baptized need to be helped to grow in their relationship with the Lord, and the primary location where this happens is the home, not the school or the church building.

Those of us who are not parents are called to make disciples in other ways. In practice, this will often mean supporting those who are already disciples, nurturing their faith, by our prayer, our witness and our service. We are called to support each other, to help each other to become better disciples. This is the wok that the risen and ascended Lord entrusts to all of us. As we set about this important work, we draw strength from the Lord’s promise to us, ‘Know that I am with you always, yes, to the end of time’.

And/Or

(iii) Feast of the Ascension of The Lord

We are probably all fascinated by the sky at night. Even when the sky is clear, in the city it can be difficult to see the night sky in all its glory. There is too much light from the city. In the country where artificial lights are much less in evidence the night sky reveals itself to us more fully. Undoubtedly, the best place from which to view the sky at night is the desert or some completely remote place. It is then that the sky in all its wonder reveals itself to us. It is only in total darkness that the full panorama of the night sky can be seen. People have always been fascinated by the stars, by the immensity of space, by how it all came to be. It is easy to understand how, from the dawn of time, people have come to worship the sky and its stars and planets. Yet, the Jewish Scriptures have always insisted that the night sky in all its glory is only a reflection of the greater glory of God. In the words of one of the Psalms, ‘the heavens proclaim the glory of God’.

In this morning’s first reading, it is said of the disciples that ‘they were staring into the sky’ as Jesus took his leave of them and ceased to be present to them in a visible, bodily, way. They looked to the sky instinctively as the place above where God dwelt. Yet, the question put to them by two men in white is, ‘Why are you men from Galilee standing here looking into the sky?’ It is a question that suggests that Jesus whom they were seeking will not be found by looking towards the sky. He has not disappeared above and beyond them. As the two men went on to say to the disciples, ‘Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven, this same Jesus will come back’. We might be tempted to ask, ‘When and how will he come back?’ That question can be answered in more than one way. It has always been the church’s belief that the risen Jesus will come back in power and glory at the end of time. Yet, at the beginning of this morning’s first reading, Jesus himself suggests that he will come back in another form, in the much more immediate future. He calls on his disciples to stay in the city of Jerusalem waiting for what the Father has promised and he assures them that they will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on them. Jesus will return to them in the immediate future in and through the coming of the Holy Spirit. He will be as present to them in and through the Holy Spirit as he had been prior to his ascension. This is the promise that the risen Lord makes to his disciples at the end of this morning’s gospel reading, ‘I will be with you always, yes, to the end of time’.

The feast of the Ascension is only one week before the feast of Pentecost, and both feasts are very closely related. Today’s feast celebrates the ending of one form of Jesus’ presence to his disciples, a bodily form, and the beginning of a new form of his presence to his disciples of every age, in and through the Holy Spirit. If it has always been part of the church’s belief that the risen Lord will come again at the end of time, the church has believed equally strongly that the Lord is present to us all until the end of time. The readings this morning suggest that the nature of the Lord’s presence to his church until the end of time is one of empowerment. It is a strengthening presence. Saint Paul in the second reading marvels at how infinitely great is the power that God has worked for us believers through the resurrection of his Son. In the first reading, the Lord assures his disciples that they will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon them, power that will enable them to become his witnesses. In the gospel reading it is because the risen Lord has promised to be with this disciples in an empowering way that he can call on them to make disciples of all the nations, by baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and then teaching those they have baptized to observe all the commands he has given. Those words are spoken to us all. The Lord asks a lot of us but only because he assures us of his empowering presence. He has placed his mission in our hands and he has promised us all the resources that we need. There is a strong message coming through in today’s feast that the church must be a community in mission, guided by God’s Spirit and confident of God’s protection. Individually and collectively, we are called to make disciples and the Lord empowers us to do that through his giving of the Holy Spirit. Disciples are made by other disciples, by the Lord working through his disciples. We bring each other to the Lord. We need each other’s witness if we are to become the disciples that the Lord is calling us to be.

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

Email: [email protected] or [email protected]

Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ie Please join us via our webcam.

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

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