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noxiatoxia · 8 months

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@pumpkinmetaphor HII ur asks are off and tumblr DMs are a nightmare to navigate so I will respond here to spare poor poor op

soo I have quite a bit written out actually, but idk if it'll ever come to be ...? I think I actually made a post abt it a bit back. It's just one of those many many things I write in my downtime for fun that will prob never get finished. Anyways the concept revolves around werewolves because I love stories of protags having some deep secret they cannot reveal for fear of rejection or worse. In the story, Kaoru has been infected with lycanthropy after being attacked badly by a werewolf. He lies about this encounter to everyone, doctors and his brother included, as he genuinely believes he must have saw wrong. He was attacked at night when he couldn't see well, the animal seeming to be a wolf...but there aren't any wild wolves in Japan. So Kaoru believes it must have been something else. (side note idk how the disease spreads as of yet. Think either saliva in the bloodstream like rabies or it's a thing of if you get killed by a werewolf you come back as one not knowing you technically died...)

Soso Kaoru beings acting strange after this event. After weeks recovering physically, coming back home, his personality shifts unknowingly to himself. He becomes a lot more restless at night, much more snappy and rude, generally kinda acting like his brother more lol. He just seems to be losing his temper easier and being more aggressive and physical, even with Hikaru, who he also becomes more snappy with. Obviously he doesn't understand why he's acting like this, neither does anybody in the club.

Then the big thing happens...full moon baybeeee. Up to this point Kaoru would feel more awake/elevated heartbeat when looking at the moon, but when the full moon comes around, he feels fucking crazy. Like manic and uncontrollable and he starts to freak out a bit. However he sticks it out because the club is hosting a prom event like episode 2, so it's like, whatever, go home and sleep later.

Until he makes the mistake of forgetting to keep himself busy, which leads to him compulsively staring at the moon, and then he finds he can't look away, and well.

And the transformation thing sort of has him black out. In my head, I imagine the werewolves look like regular wolves, just a tad bigger with bigger paws that may be more human-like. Definitely makes him lose all cognitive ability, and by the time he snaps back to normal, he doesn't know where he is, his clothes are tattered, he's in so much pain, and there's blood, and he's like whaaat the fuck happened here...

He's able to hide these facts, not wanting anyone to know how he found himself when he woke up bc that shit cannot be good. quickly through talk he finds that morning that haruhi got hurt last night, so of course hikaru (who is doubly worried about his brother who disappeared for a chunk of the night) urges that the two of them along with the rest of the host club check up on haruhi (who is at home trying to tell them "im fine guys gooddd")

but like, ofc its the club so they knock the door down lmfao. and tho haruhi plays it cool, she is obviously a little shaken about whatever happened. she has some bandages but nothing awful.

turns out, as she explains, an animal attacked her last night (cue tamaki wailing) and she scared it off by blindly slashing a pocket knife at it ("WHY ARE YOU CARRYING SUCH A DANGEROUS WEAPON AROUND!?!? IF YOU NEED BODY GAURDS KYOYA CAN DO SOMETHING IM SURE-" "i use it to open packages senpai.")

kyoya of course takes the idea of a wild, vicious animal on school grounds very seriously, and so inquires on the appearance of the animal. haruhi pauses but admits it looked like a wolf. of course kyoya tells her that can't be right, it must have been a stray dog, but haruhi insists it did NOT look like a dog.

anyways, the club are in uproar about this, arguing back and forth about this wolf-not-wolf that nearly killed haruhi, and kaoru is silently watching from the back as a terrifying realization dawns on him. he remembered waking up with there being blood. namely, blood on his hands and under his nails, and a nasty cut he got on his cheek which he assumed he acquired by tripping and hitting something sharp. But if he pairs that with what haruhi says, it seems INSANE, but also...it would make sense. everything to this point would make sense.

and it terrifies him. it terrifies him more that hikaru swears up and down that he's going to "kill that filthy mutt" that hurt haruhi, and it terrifies him that kyoya says he's going to bring this up with school staff about increasing security. he wonders if he told them that it wasnt just a wolf, it was HIM, that if they would be merciful, or if they would still hate him. if hikaru would want him dead still. and the fact is, he HURT someone. his friend. this is his fault and he cant even blame his friends if they wanted to go as far as kill him if they found out, now that he is literally a monster that can kill people.

this, finally, is where the carriage thing comes in (took long enough!) the story functions as an elaborate ass metaphor, where kaoru's lycanthropy is a physical metaphor for his anxieties about the person who he's supposed to be, the harm he thinks he's causing other people, the harm he's causing his brother. he's running around, trying to find a cure while keeping everyone in the dark, praying no one finds out before he can fix this and fix himself. and if he cant, his only option is likely a grim one, but he CANT let anyone know, it's too risky, he has to do this by himself. his self-destroying obsession with keeping everyone safe and doing the right thing for his friends causes him to push them away from fear of hurting them or getting hurt himself. there's that part of him that's convinced he won't be able to solve this.

it basically drives him to his lowest point mentally and physically. he avoids all his friends so he can't hurt them with his uncontrollable temper or possible transformation, he's doing tons of shady shit in an effort to cure himself. he goes to nekozawa bc if anybody knows how to solve this fuckery its nekozawa and nekozawa treats him like a little lab experiment lmao bc of course he is enraptured by kaoru's newfound form and the physical changes it has made to his body (sharper canines, faster-growing hair, possibly an inch taller, newfound silver allergy). but of course as news of the wolf attack on campus spreads so do rumors, some "crazy" rumors about werewolves being real, of course rumors that are mocked by most of the kids as being nonsense scary stories, but this does NOT help kaoru's paranoia...

as for how this story ends WELL it's unfinished so you can guess (i have no ending.) i do want some part of hikaru obviously finding out at the worst possible moment, probably a very unfortunate circumstance where kaoru is unable to escape transformation on a full moon and hikaru is there. and he probably begs and pleads for hikaru to leave him alone but of course his brother won't do that, and obviously he is fucking stunned to see his brother turn into ?? a wolf. like erm *marvel voice that just happened..... and since kaoru has no control in this form, he tries to attack and even kill hikaru. hikaru would obviously not fight back, bc he doesn't want to hurt kaoru. that and he is stunned silent.

there are other elements of the story i want. for example, if i ever finish this thing, i do have ideas of ayanokoji being involved somehow. probably a witness to kaoru's odd behavior/actual transformation and thusly being able to use this against him cuz Fuck Da Host Club. or even try to kill him herself bc he's a fucking wolf dude idk. i also had this scene in my head with arai being involved bc the night kaoru attacks his brother he wakes up far as fuck away from tokyo with no memory except knowing A) hikaru was there and B) there is blood all over him he can only think of the worst possibilities so he kinda wanders in an unfamiliar back road in a fugue state until some lady almost accidentally hits him with a car and is like. who is this child covered in wounds and blood......and very sane thing to do she is like. hey do u need like. a lift. you look like ur gonna die. you have like 3 stab wounds. and kaoru is like. floor it chief. anyways turns out it's arai's mother ! woah. which is funny because after helping Kaoru and hanging out with him she admits she's like, "oh i helped you cuz you remind me of my son. you seem about his age" and kaoru is like oh ha ha that's nice of you....and then fuckin arai shows up a few hours later and kaoru is like "ohhhhhhhhhhh............................uhoh."

to which since kaoru doesnt have his phone on him arai offers to phone haruhi for him since he has her number and of course 5 minutes later the host club is at their location in a fucking helicopter or some shit bc ZOMG KAORUUU WE WERE SO WORRIED ABOUT YOUUUUU WHERE DID U GOOOO (hikaru withholding information)

it's an incredibly "fan fiction-y" story i admit. but that's the fun of it. it could get soooo dramatic too. cuz like yeah duhh hikaru wouldn't want to kill kaoru ofc not but OTHER people ? there's a guy who is a werewolf. umm. can't see that going over well. and the general attitude kaoru would hold and the way he attempts to figure everything out on his own. the day he and hikaru reunite after hikaru finds out the truth could go so many ways, from silence to yelling to crying to awkward laughing to kaoru just blankly asking what hikaru plans to do with him now, like he's a prisoner accepting his execution. sorry i am a fan of introducing trauma between the toxic codependent twins. and like the other members of the club? i can see people like tamaki being quick to try and help kaoru (despite what he did to haruhi) and haruhi being like "this may as well happen welcome to Ouran Fucking Highschool" but people like Mori or Kyoya may be more hesitant, pointing out kaoru, while not malicious, genuinely CANNOT control himself in his canine state and has shown multiple times that can and WILL kill people, including his friends, and that can't be ignored or brushed off. maybe they put a muzzle on him idfk. either way, it's also a great metaphor for stigma bc once his friends start finding out, they are obviously treating him differently. Even (or especially) hikaru. he's being treated like a different person now. it makes him feel more inhuman than ever. they only see this awful monster he can become now, he feels, and honestly, maybe they're right. it's not all of who he is, but it's a part of him, a part of him that has hurt two people he loves most, and so he can't help but judge himself based off that too.

well ermmmm yes! that is my funny funny story that i have like 6k written down in a word document of that i may or may not finish who fuckin knowwws

#noxia and his cringe fan fiction #ive got another one that i ACTUALLY plan to finish that is the ''died and came back wrong'' trope....again with kaoru.....#not like ACTUALLY dying but its an amnesia story and *rubs hands together have i got SO many ideas.#again a good chunk is written already duhhh...#;shortstory #ohshc #;noxiatalksia

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handfulofmuses · 2 months

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i hate how well that goodbye was animated.

#ooc #no but look at her.#look at them.#look at her tears.#i still have mixed feelings regarding that ending but mostly because I dislike the amnesia trope #but i am just.#as much as i dislike the amnesia thing #can we talk about molly please #she was so willing to take that risk that her best friend might forget her if it means he can be whole again #she loves him so she has to let him go #the girl who is terrified of losing friends went like you have to take that risk #and she does not even try to get his memories back unlike the rest of the friends and family #she took that risk and accepted that this was the outcome #she did not force herself on him afterwards #look at the last picture barely holding herself together #it stings so much #i have so much to say regarding that ending even if i dont like it #it was still well done

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darcyolsson · 6 months

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normally I think undoing a sacrifice a character makes is a boring choice and a cop-out but NEVER when it's amnesia. my most beloathed trope ever let's just give them their memories back and pretend it all never happened. wish I could get amnesia for every time I've been forced to witness an amnesia trope

#i dont mind the way its done in tftsa partially bc i know simon gets his memories back and bc he acts... like someone with amnesia #dumped isabelle feels weird about clary and gets gaslit by jace. first time ive ever enjoyed the trope #personal

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malinaa · 7 months

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anyway. amnesia is such a tricky finicky trope to deal with in romance but person A and person B being best friends and they both love each other but won’t say anything about it and maybe A loses their memories and Falls In Love With B without the reservations of “oh god this will break our friendship because B is not in love with me” since A is literally getting to re-know B and A will just shoot their shot.. B being absolutely confounded by being flirted with and getting asked out on a date by A because they thought they didn’t love B. and then the GUILT B FEELS BECAUSE IF THEY SAID YES AND A REGAINS THEIR MEMORIES THEN IT’S GOING TO RUIN THEIR FRIENDSHIP BUT IF A DOESN’T REGAIN THEIR MEMORIES IS B TAINTING THEIR FRIENDSHIP??? DELICIOUS CONCEPT

#amnesia #tropes #text #tais toi lys #was in the middle of typing this post while listening to awyite. scrapped this post and posted about awyite. but now we’re back in business

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amos-reviews · 8 months

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It’s been 12 hours and I’m still wondering why they went with Amnesia, and not Shin aggravated his old back injury in the fall, so Shin and Akira need to work through how the injury (and whether it is temporary or more permanent) will impact the plans for their future.

#minato shouji coin laundry #it’s ep 9 so they needed to add conflict #but amnesia tropes are old and boring #the back injury keeps being mentioned #so that would at least be relevant #and consistent with the previous plot points

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inspectorspacetimerevisited · 2 months

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‘What’s your name?’

‘PC Shah.’

‘I didn’t ask for your name, rank and serial number. Oh, wait! I did ask for your name, after all.’

‘Suri Shah. And, who are you?’

‘I’ll have to get back to you on that.’

#Inspector Spacetime #Hypocritical Humour (trope)#Hypocritical Humour #Quotable Inspector Spacetime #The Woman Who Came Down to Earth (episode)#Suri Shah (character)#the Inspector (character)#I didn't ask for your #name rank and serial number #oh wait #I did ask for your name #And who are you #I'll have to get back to you on that #temporary amnesia #she didn't remember her designation #her name her rank or her serial number #the Inspector goes by a rank instead of a name

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fullstcp · 2 months

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@unitcd said: 🤕 - ej

The constant beeping of a machine is the first thing she hears while she's waking up. It's muffled, like she's underwater or something. She swallows, hoping maybe her ears will pop or something to unmuffle the sound. But it doesn't work, which is frustrating to say the least.

She pries her eyes open the tiniest bit, but regrets it immediately. She winces against the bright fluorescent light of the room. It takes a few more seconds for it to register that she's not at home. She's not in her room at Ashlyn's and she's not swamped by the thousands of blankets tucked into her bed.

She peeks her eye open again, starting to panic slightly. The lights are still harsh, but she needs answers. A clue to lead her to the most logical explanation. She's definitely in a hospital, that much she's sure of. But the rest of it is a little fuzzy. She groans, but it's a small thing. Almost under her breath, actually. And it's then that she realizes her heart is super dry. God, how long has it been since she had a drink of water?

She shifts in the bed slightly, and every part of her body screams from soreness. She's been here a while, hasn't she? She turns her head to try and find anything, really. Someone to answer her questions, a glass of water to cure her scratchy throat. She figures she's going to come up empty, but she doesn't.

EJ's cramped up in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs at her bedside. And he's fast asleep. She's not sure how he managed to find sleep in a chair like that, but she's impressed. It's almost endearing. But, then again, everything about him endears him to her lately. He shifts in the chair a bit, rubbing at his eyes as he tries to find sleep once more. But she figures this is her chance to strike, her chance to figure out why she's here in the first place.

"EJ." She tries, but her voice is far too quiet due to her lack of hydration. She clears her throat, hoping she can muster up enough vocal energy to get herself out of the dark. "Eej. What happened?"

#unitcd #you said it was a great love. one for the ages (au verse feat unitcd)#when there was me and queue (queue)#tw: hospital #tw: coma #tw: retrograde amnesia #tw: car accident #( so like maybe she got in an accident on her way back from camp )#( and she wakes up with a slight tad bit of amnesia )#( because i love an amnesia trope )#( so she doesn't really remember camp and everything that happened )#( so she thinks they're still together )

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eviebane · 4 months

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Cannot believe the plot of S2 was:

Aziraphale's old boss shows up completely naked & with amnesia, Aziraphale wants to adopt him and Crowley says No, then shoots fucking lighting and it literally becomes the Locked Door trope for the lesbian neighbours

Crowley's old boss turns up and is like Have you seen my boyfriend the Archangel. btw Heaven has a Death Note. And Crowley goes Ah shit and drives back to his husband's shop, does a little apology dance, then they casually do a miracle with enough power to raise TWENTY FIVE people from the dead in order to turn the Commander of the Heavenly Host into the Bookshop Assistant

Heaven rocks up and goes Um Aziraphale what the fuck was that about? and he panics and says Ah yes, I made the lesbians over the road fall in love because one of them gets my favourite records

Heaven sends an angel to verify his painfully bullshit story, but they have literally never been to Earth before so Aziraphale just makes them tea and Crowley's winds them up by being a little shit as usual. Then Crowley goes Hey husband can we have a lil chat and Aziraphale goes Yes darling let's shut the door in the most suggestive way possible, then joke about how I'm a terrible liar, but also I want to roadtrip darling so can I borrow our car? And Crowley's like Fucking fine I guess I'll try and get the lesbians to hook up & look after our new children

He's a great terrible house-spouse while Aziraphale larps in Scotland for a couple days, then Aziraphale decides to get the whole neighbourhood to role-play Jane Austin while still trying to make the lesbians shag

Then Crowley's replacement throws a brick through the window, yeets the dude who's been crushing on Aziraphale. So Crowley goes Alright husband stay put, I'll take these loser mortals outta here. Then he has a little spy mission in Heaven with one of his new children, while Aziraphale declares war on Hell to avoid ruining the good books via yeeting them at demons

The whole gang arrive, Aziraphale’s ex-boss and Crowley's ex-boss High School Musical their way off the face of the planet, then S2 ends.

That's it. Credits roll right here

#badly explained good omens #good omens #we do not discuss the Final Fifteen #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow

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sfznyxio · 1 month

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❝ 𝐈, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐍 ❞

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. everyone says you’re the curse of your own legacy. dubbed “the worst ruler ever in history”, power is all you cared about. your selfishness leads to the downfall of your own kingdom, with you murdered at the hands of people you thought could be trusted. somehow the next day, you regress to the day you become the sole successor to the throne after the previous sovereign passed. can you prove your worth and show them you have what it takes to be the sovereign in this timeline?

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. argenti, bronya, dan heng, dr. ratio, gepard, jing yuan, ruan mei, sunday, trailblazer (caelus & stelle)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. f!reader. royal au, time travel au. angst, hurt/comfort, fluff. 1.9k words. inspired by billion manhwas that have this trope lol. the royal family is absolutely horrible and reader hates them. reader experiences dissociative amnesia due to trauma from said family and the previous timeline. lots of self-doubt. death is everywhere in this fic. a dark joke about betrayal (bronya). reader has hair (gepard). murder of a loved one and revenge (sunday).

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀. new year, new blog, and new fic but two months later! on spring break so i’m happy i got to write again, even if it’s just a little bit. watch me disappear for another six months or so because grad school’s a bitch.

𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈.

rumor has it among a group of chivalrous knights from a forgotten land that their deity, the god of beauty idrila, is in your kingdom. you happen to come across one of them when you snuck out of the castle. the knight introduces himself as argenti, a knight of beauty… a very strange one.

what person talks to objects as if they’re people and compliments them that they’re beautiful? as soon as he lays on you, he’s in front of you on one knee and kisses your hand, declaring that you’re beautiful, even as beautiful as idrila themself. surely you’re weirded out, but he seems sincere.

there’s a possibility that your advisor sent a search party after you. you generally hate being escorted on your outings due to your upbringing, but going back there isn’t where your mind wants to be, so you ask the knight if he could be your company. ah, how could he resist a beautiful lady like yourself?

will he still see you as such when you ascend the throne?

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐀.

house rand is known for their strong military leadership and is a unique case of nobility. majority of its lineage are commoners, going through a selection process as children to be adopted by the current leader and be trained as their successor. shortly before your ascension, former leader cocolia rand passed away. no one knows the cause of death, except her daughter.

marchioness bronya pays a visit to introduce herself as the new leader of the house. the two of you express condolences for your families, though you try not to flinch at how she praises the late sovereign like everyone else. she believes you can keep secrets well, which isn’t entirely wrong, so she asks to borrow you. you already know the topic of discussion: the actual cause of death of madam cocolia.

it’s me. her dialogue muffles into white noise. madam cocolia has made a deal with her daughter to kill her if anything happens. hm…? did you put trust in someone to stop you if you ever went insane? can you stab me in the back if that’s the case? your mouth runs on its own, and she’s in shock. you brush it off as a joke afterwards, saying she should ignore it. yet you can’t yourself as it’s been haunting you since.

do you trust her to end your suffering, for the good of the kingdom?

𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐆.

the archivist strikes you as someone who dislikes bothersome people, so you try not to spend too much time researching your condition. though upon meeting dan heng at the library, he appears courteous and doesn’t mind your company. what leaves you puzzled is that he doesn’t question your sudden interest in time travel and regression. instead, he leads you upstairs.

on the way there you trip and he grabs onto you, triggering a flashback of the mob capturing you with tight holds during your escape. realizing the intensity of his grip on you because your body’s shaking, he lets go and adjusts his hand placement to your back so you can get up. then he makes sure you’re alright before reaching the data bank.

he assumes that you’re still traumatized from your family’s death based on your reaction to that memory. everyone believes the same thing, and it’s definitely wrong. but you can’t magically convince them that you’ve seen the future where they’ll die because of you. however, his intentions make you feel at ease. he says he’ll be nearby for help. is it really okay to rely on someone else for once?

will he stick to his word and catch you when you fall to your death?

𝐃𝐑. 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎.

the intelligentsia guild believes that knowledge is a valuable resource to obtain various mediums of information across the world. having one of their own at the castle not only as a professor at the royal academy, but as the advisor to the next sovereign is quite an honor. dr. ratio may be a brilliant scholar, but his interpersonal skills… not so much.

there isn’t a day where you’re spared from his lectures. to be fair, you’ve done questionable things after your family’s passing: sneaking out of the castle, researching time travel and regression, and raising raccoons that almost destroyed your garden and your servants’ sanities. nevertheless, you’re irritated by his emphasis on your reputation as a ruler. does it look like i want to be one? you storm out without a second thought.

after calming down, you search for him to apologize. you should’ve told him about how you felt instead of letting out an outburst. unfortunately he has gone home, but leaves a note that addresses your “odd hobbies” - ways to not alert the servants during your escapades, literature of topics of interest that aren’t in the library, and interventions of minimizing the chaos of your familiars. you take it as an apology; he’s more considerate than you think even if he doesn’t admit it.

can he stay by your side if you decide to abdicate the throne?

𝐆𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐃.

house landau is the “shield” of the kingdom, serving the royal family for generations. their current leader count landau is a stern man from what you recall the several times you visited him as a child. now he’s forced to retire due to his illness, replaced by his eldest and only son gepard, your childhood friend.

the two of you haven’t interacted much as you reach the training period for succession, whereas his father drills him to be insubordinate to the royal family as they have been. with your parents gone and the count ill, you can see him whenever you wish. but how should you approach him? more importantly, does he still see you as a friend? you give up instantly, exhausted from your mental trip to the past.

amidst the flames, he yells at you to run as shadows consume him. you shoot up - bloodshot eyes, rapid heartbeat, and heavy breaths. a pair of arms engulfs you, one hand rubbing your back and the other buried in your hair. rest, i’m here, he whispers against your forehead. you start to lose it, sobbing uncontrollably on his chest.

is this what giving in to your selfish gains feels like?

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍.

the sight of citizens flocking to the plaza can be seen from your balcony.

three people emerge from the crowd, who you recognize as residents of the civilization in the sky: the xianzhou alliance. they have no reason to be here unless it’s important business, and that happens to be you. how forgetful you are.

earlier you test a theory that hopefully changes your tragic fate. it takes courage to act like a jester in front of the council, sending diplomats to invite various factions to forge alliances. the entire court and yourself are amazed that one of the arbiter-generals jing yuan is here in the flesh. the xianzhou rely on themselves for help rather than outsiders, so there must be something that he wants from you.

little did you know while you’re interested in the xianzhou’s manpower, he’s interested in you. his two attendants have never seen their general smitten over someone before; it’s obnoxious. his visits become frequent; his purpose of seeking specific resources is really an excuse to shower you with gifts. he appreciates how headstrong you are throughout the tragedies you faced, wishing you give yourself more credit. he has faith in your capability as a sovereign, even if you don’t agree.

he’s not here to play with your feelings, is he?

𝐑𝐔𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐈.

house ruan is revered by academia as geniuses of the century, yet rarely shows up in public as they care less about being in the spotlight. rather, they dedicate their lives to science. their daughter carries the household name with grace and elegance, though it can’t be said the same with her experiments in which she entrusts you to be her assistant.

lady ruan mei is interested in the concept of life. cycles of birth, growth, and death. existence of the living. development of cognition, emotions, and behaviors. they’re fascinating to her. creating lifeforms makes you feel some sort of sorrow; your creation is modeled after yourself. then you wonder how your family reacted when you were born.

soon you’re asked by the scientist about your existence, and whether you believe the gods can answer that. now that you think about it, were they involved in your regression? the human race worships the power of the heavens: creation and destruction. death is inevitable, but can the gods also rewrite reality? if they choose to send you back in time, did they want you to redeem yourself?

why bother going so far if you’re going to screw up again?

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘.

no one hosts festivities as grand as house oak. under the impression that you’ve been secluded in your room grieving over the previous sovereign, they’ll throw a small party to cheer you up and celebrate your upcoming ascension. the thought of announcing you want to abdicate the throne is tempting, but their efforts will go to waste so you scrap it. might as well keep up a front and plan your next moves.

you’re welcomed into the venue by the high priest sunday, the organizer of this party. you’re feeling nervous, not because of the amount of guests but because of his overwhelming presence. he doesn’t seem familiar, or are you misremembering? do you still feel unwell, your majesty? behind the high priest is a young woman who bears some resemblance to him, and everything all at once falls into place.

his sister is the precious sun of his life, executed by the eclipse. the high priest follows the royal family without hesitation, only for his loyalty to be questioned at her expense. he isn’t the type to act so rash, but for her he’ll go to great lengths to exact his revenge. you lie to the siblings that you’re fine and tell the high priest to take care of her. there’s more than meets the eye regarding your behavior, but he just agrees to not arouse any suspicion.

what secrets have your people been hiding from you?

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄𝐑.

there are twin raccoons that practically live in your garden and are your servants’ worst nightmares. somehow they’re kind of like you - living in luxury while rotten to the core. you remember ordering your servants to exterminate them last time, so you take them instead so you won’t freak them out, much to your advisor’s dismay.

later you discover that caelus and stelle are shapeshifters who lost their memories, with their only lead being a magenta-haired woman. to your surprise they love to gossip, which proves themselves useful to be your spies, gathering intel on the current news that could coincide with the ones in the previous timeline. they can also find information about that woman. killing two birds with one stone.

sometimes you worry about their work ethic, considering how chaotic they can be. for instance, their unhealthy obsession with trash cans. as much as you need them to get the job done, you realize you’re nothing better than your family. those two are extensions of yourself, learning about the world just as you are. so you step back and let them have fun with scraps. they’ll get to their missions eventually.

they appear to be loyal to a fault so there’s no way they’ll betray you, right?

#♪ .fics #honkai: star rail #honkai: star rail x reader #hsr x reader #argenti x reader #bronya x reader #dan heng x reader #dr ratio x reader #gepard x reader #jing yuan x reader #ruan mei x reader #sunday x reader #trailblazer x reader #caelus x reader #stelle x reader #honkai: star rail angst #honkai: star rail fluff #hsr angst #hsr fluff

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disneyprincemuke · 12 days

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i forgot that you existed * sv5

you didn't expect to run into your ex ever again, yet here you are and you find yourself pretending like you'd never met him before.

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!reader

trope: fake amnesia

wc: 1.4k

(f1 masterlist) | (falling in reverse)

you hide behind a display in the middle of the supermarket, stacked boxes keeping you somewhat hidden from the man you’ve stalked the moment you got out of your car in the parking lot. you keep your head down to avoid getting recognised back.

an uncanny lookalike of the man you swore was the love of your life stepped out of the car parked next to yours and it’s like you’ve been in a trance ever since. you can’t tear your eyes away from the man now sauntering within the supermarket with a basket hanging from his arms loosely.

because you know that you packed everything up and moved halfway across the world when you thought you’d go crazy from the reality that he’d left you at the altar — on your wedding day.

it’s been 5 years since he watched you walk down the aisles of a church with your shared friends and families covered in a white dress that took you 2 months to choose. an entire lifetime ago since you had taken one last step up to the altar before he had run in the direction you came from and never be seen again.

in the back of your mind, you remember the way it felt like life had lost all its meaning after that day. life started to grey itself out as the living soul was sucked out of your body.

all for him to relay a message through his parents, thoroughly embarrassed to tell you that all the man could muster up was a pathetic and humiliating apology: ‘i’m sorry’.

he’s sorry? that’s all he could say to you after spending — wasting — 6 years of your life with him, planning your future and ending it abruptly on the day you were supposed to vow that you’d spend the rest of your lives together.

you’d daydreamed several times about the things you would say to him if you’d ever chanced upon running into him again. it went several different ways: sometimes you thought about throwing punches for making you question everything or falling to your knees in tears asking him how and why he could do this to you, and sometimes the scenario goes in a way that he’s the one begging you for an apology at your feet and saying that he regrets it.

the days seemed to pass by slowly and painfully after he’d left you. but you just remembered waking up one morning and hating the way your reflection stared at you in the mirror.

you were a mess.

so you packed your things and left everything behind — you moved halfway across the world and started anew. you haven’t regretted that decision.

and what are the chances that you’d run into sebastian in an obscure supermarket on the other side of the globe half a decade later? you had left your hometown for this very possibility only for it to happen much later in life at a time you would never have expected.

now that you’re stalking him (unstealthily), everything you’d sworn that you would say to him is thrown out of the window.

you follow him into an aisle and linger at the edge of the aisle, feigning interest in the baking goods displayed neatly on the shelves. you pick up an item and drop your head to look at it, though your eyes can’t help but trail up to the man standing on the other end of the aisle.

it really is him. no matter how much reasoning you do with yourself, there’s no denying that sebastian vettel is standing in the very same property as you for the first time since the unfortunate demise of your relationship.

you seriously consider walking up to him and clocking him in the face then bolting away. because you know — used to — him and he wouldn’t hesitate to throw back a punch.

sebastian turns his head in your direction abruptly, making you whirl back around to the shelf in front of you. and then it happens.

you hear your name being called out by a voice you’d longed to hear after all these years.

you start to panic. you consider all of the possible options to escape the situation. maybe you still have time to start running? it’s just a supermarket; there’s several others everywhere else. you can just start doing your grocery shopping elsewhere.

ah, but this is the biggest supermarket closest to you and it’s got everything you need.

but as sebastian slowly approaches you, you find your mouth speaking faster than your head could process. “do i know you?”

do i know you? where the hell did that come from?

sebastian stops a a distance from you, jaw hung as he tilts his head at your words. “what?”

you swallow the formed lump in your throat as you look at him, wide eyed and hands balled into fists by your side. perhaps you should just pretend that he’s got the wrong person.

yet it seems that your mouth will continue to run without your brain. “yeah, i got into an accident a couple of years ago. it affected my memory.” you smile slightly. “did i know you?”

you watch as he tries to find a response to what you’ve just said. and he’s better than you, you think, because he still managed to find something to say. “accident? i’m so sorry.” you wave off his concerns with a hand in the air and a shake of your head. “we, uh,” he sucks in a breath, “used to be really good friends.”

good friends. men really are liars.

“oh, what a shame,” you say with a grimace, as if you mean it. as if you don’t actually remember the way he’d made you feel small. “how nice that i run into a familiar — well, unfamiliar — face. i haven’t seen you in any photo albums.”

you start to think that your mouth has a mind of its own. you swear that you’ve seen a movie with this exact plot: feigning memory loss to avoid the real consequences of running into someone from your past life. or it could just be a result of all your panic.

because he is in every single photo album you’d brought along with you. there’s holes in those albums, photos with sebastian now sitting in a box in the store room of your little apartment, in the deepest corner where it cannot be acquired without hardwork.

you lie again with a soft laugh. “when i was told my memory was completely wiped from my accident, i took off in an attempt to start again. but how nice that i run into a familiar — well, unfamiliar — face again.”

sebastian stands there in silence for a moment. “i’d really love to catch up some time,” sebastian offers with a small smile. “find out about this new life you have and everything.”

you feel an insurmountable rage fill your chest. your chest feels heavy and your head starts to pound.

you should really just start running back to your car now.

“that would be a great idea!” what the hell. that’s literally not what you had meant to say. you were considering laying it on him and screaming at him in the middle of the supermarket. it’s just so unfair that he stands here acting like he hadn’t driven you to the brink of insanity in your 20s.

“fantastic!” sebastian grins fishing for his phone in the pocket of his jacket. “let me get your number so we can find a day we’re both free? i have to head back to finish unpacking my boxes — i just relocated here for work recently.”

“what are the chances,” you joke through gritted teeth, typing your number into the contact sheet he’d pulled up for you. you should just run now with his phone and throw it into the lake nearby. “well, it’s nice running into you. i’ll hopefully see you soon!” you perk up and turn around. “sorry, i didn’t catch your name earlier.”

he grins, “it’s sebastian.”

gen taglist: @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @localwhoore @namgification

series taglist: @vicurious28 @c-losur3 @lozzamez3 @haikyuu-carat @bicchaan @cinnamongirlontv

#sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 fanfiction #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke fir

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ddejavvu · 9 months

Text

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 4/FINAL PART) / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 4.1K / navigation / inbox

A/N: the real last part! i sincerely hope you enjoyed this series, it's very dear to my heart and so is all of the wonderful feedback you've given me on it. I love hearing what you think, it keeps me motivated to write more for you and I'm just so happy that I got to share this with you all. Thank you to anyone who's enjoyed this, I'm privileged to have shared your time and gotten your love in return. <333

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You feel like he’s gutted you. Like he’s plunged the hand holding the ring right into your stomach, twisted it so that the gem inside slits your insides into ribbons, and wrenched it back out dripping and glistening in crimson.

He looks so hopeful, eyes earnest and shining as he stares at you, that damn ring held between you like a life preserve. Like if you let him toss it over your finger, reel you in with his tender heartstrings, you wouldn’t drown. You’d escape the dreadful ocean of grief that’s been slowly filling your lungs since you’d left, you’d give your tired legs a break from treading water if you could just say yes. The word is on the tip of your tongue, and your achy heart begs you to say it, but you can’t.

Not when he doesn’t know.

“Bradley,” You whimper, reaching out to lay a gentle touch over his hand. You wrap your hand around both his own and the ring, squeezing tightly, “I have to tell you something.”

Bradley’s enthusiasm wanes. He hadn’t waited long enough. You’re not in love with him yet; he rushed into things just like he had before and he’d ruined it. How did he manage to ruin it two times? The best thing in his life, and he’s fucked it up twice in a row now.

You’re looking at him with eyes full of sadness, and he catches a flash of pity in them; just like he’d feared. His stomach sours and he balks, spooking like a startled horse.

“No, no. No, it’s okay, you’re- you’re not ready yet, sweetheart, that’s okay. We can wait,” He babbles, wrenching his hand out from your own and jamming the ring back into the drawer, like if he can just get it into a safe zone, it’ll hit undo on the entire fiasco.

“No, baby,” Your face screws up, a barely-withheld sob behind your frown, “Baby that’s not- we really need to talk. Okay? I promised we would today.”

“I- I know, but-” He stammers, trying to evade your gentle touch as you pry his hand back from his dresser drawer, the ring still clutched inside and lining his palm with a layer of sweat.

“Let me talk,” You plead, “Brad, I need to come clean. Please?”

He’s sure you can see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows what little saliva there is in his mouth, “Okay.”

“Two weeks ago,” You start, and the words feel leaden on your tongue; impossibly heavy. “-before your crash. You- you remember Javy’s crash, yeah?”

“Yeah,” His breath catches in his throat, visions of his teammate's poor girlfriend swimming in his mind. Visions of the woman he never wanted you to have to be.

“That really-” You choke on a sob, “That really freaked me out, Bradley. I realized that you could go down like that. I- I’ve always known, y’know, ‘cause of your dad. But I just- I was so young when that happened, and it wasn’t fresh, so when Javy went down… I had this revelation. That I could-” Your voice tampers down into a weak whimper, “I could lose you, Brad. I could say goodbye to you one morning and not get to say hello again in the evening. I just- lost it,” You admit, brushing away stray hair from over your red-rimmed eyes, “I’m sure you noticed I wasn’t the most pleasant to say goodbye to in the mornings. But- but baby, I was always so happy when you came home, because it meant I had more time. It felt like some awful time bomb,” You recall, “Like every time I said goodbye to you would be the last, and I couldn’t rest until you were back home. I’ve never felt like that before, I’ve always had confidence in your abilities. Even on deployment, I know you’re working with people who have your back,” You sniffle, “I’ve always known you could die, but it’s never felt that much like you would before. But then- Javy wasn’t the one who crashed,” You explain, voice thick with blubbering tears, “I mean- that was just his jet malfunctioning. And then all of a sudden I- it was like I remembered that I could lose you in some freak accident. Like it wouldn’t have to be your fault, it could just happen, and you could die. Like your dad, Bradley, I- I didn't wanna lose you like we almost lost your dad."

“That is,” You collect yourself, swallowing a heavy sob that leaves your throat achy and gutted, “My nightmare, baby.” You tangle your fingers with his where you’re still clutching his hand, squeezing tight enough to probably bruise the guy, “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you. I would die if I lost you, Brad. Even if I was alive, I’d be dead inside. I need you, I need you in my life, Bradley.”

What you’re saying sounds good to him. Terrible, of course, if he didn’t come home one day. But he is home, and you’re telling him you need him, and he can’t figure out why in the world you’ve said no twice to putting on the ring.

“You have me,” He vows, squeezing your hand right back, “Honey, you have me right here, right now. Why won’t you let me keep you?” He presses the ring into your palm, and you both feel the metal band burning your skin like it’s been superheated.

“You asked me to marry you before you crashed,” You blurt, and even though slamming a wrecking ball into your reverie of late feels like stabbing yourself in the chest, there’s something gratifying about telling the truth. About finally coming clean, about telling him exactly why you can’t say yes.

“You sat me down, and you gave me the sweetest speech in the world,” You recall with tears thick in your voice, “About how you loved me, and how you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, and- and you proposed, and I said no.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek, analyzing the grief in your voice. You sound anguished, like you’re upset with yourself for saying no, but you didn’t say yes this time around, so he can’t believe what he hears.

He takes a deep breath, cutting off whatever you’re going to say next, “I know.”

It feels good for him to come clean, too. Even if he's dreading what'll happen, even if he thinks there's a good chance you'll march out the door, he's glad to be done with the lies. He'd loved them while they'd lasted, but they went down in flames just like his jet.

“-and-” You stop, blinking twice, “What?”

“I know,” He admits, “I- I remember, honey.”

“You- what?” Your eyes widen, and you lean forwards, gazing imploringly at Bradley, “Brad, you- you remember? You remember everything now?”

“Yeah,” He nods, watching as you process the information.

You feel sick. You’re not sure why, because you’ve already told him the truth. But memories are different than retellings, and you both know that. No explanation on your part would have conveyed the crushed, betrayed look in his eyes when you’d declined his proposal; there’s not words in the english language suitable to describe how desperately he’d pleaded for you to stay, even in just the simplest of touches to your waist, trying to pull you back to him that night.

Now he remembers that, now you’re on the same page, and when you turn it, you’re not sure what you’ll see.

The end of a chapter? The beginning of a new one? Or the blank back cover of a book, perhaps, if your luck has run dry.

“When did your memories come back?” You ask, your voice sounding faraway and dazed in the back of your mind. You’re not even sure you’ve really said it, you’re too wrapped up in worrying about what he’s thinking. If your confession had spurred on his memories, you’re not sure you’ll ever get a chance to put on that ring.

Bradley swallows what little saliva is in his mouth, “A while ago.”

“How long?” Your brows furrow impossibly deeper, your brain running circles trying to figure out what’s real and what isn’t, “Like- like since this morning?”

“Since I woke up,” He confesses with a heavy heart, because lying to you hurt even if he’d loved the outcome, “In the hospital. I- I didn’t remember at first, but they came back, uh, in a few minutes.”

You feel like you’ve walked into a cloud of smoke. Everything around you is foggy, and your brain can’t process what he’s told you. It feels like he’s lying to you, like he’s tricking you and pretending that he’s known the entire time just so as not to feel foolish. But that’s not Bradley, he doesn’t need to be smarter than you, or faster than you, or better than you, so you know he’s telling the truth.

“But- why did you lie?” You stare at him with tears glimmering in your waterline, and he’s sure this is what he looked like when he’d asked you not to go that night. Betrayed, confused, heartbroken.

“Because you did,” Bradley whimpers, wanting nothing more than to swipe a thumb under your eye and gather the tears there on his skin, taking the burden away from you.

“You came in and you asked to kiss me, and- and I wanted you to. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened, because I didn’t want you to walk out again, so I just- I lied. And I let you lie to me, too.”

You think back, and you remember how you’d walked back into the hospital room, on the verge of tears with nerves rolling in your belly. And you’d asked to kiss him, you’d given him the perfect opportunity to lie, and he’d taken it. And you can’t be mad at him, because you’d lied, too. You’re slightly hurt. It doesn’t feel good knowing that your lover- or, ex-lover lied to you. It feels even worse to know that Bradley lied because he thought you’d leave him if he told the truth. Like you’d turn tail and run, whooping through the parking lot about being free at last. But you’re the one that put that thought in his head; you’re the one that ran away. So you can’t blame him for keeping you on a short leash.

You feel too many things at once. You feel like a monster, like a cruel heartbreaker that had shattered Bradley’s to pieces. You feel confused, because you’re still processing that the past few days were entirely fake on both ends. You feel slightly betrayed, like you wish Bradley would have just told you. But you didn’t tell him either, and that makes you feel like an asshole. Too many feelings are bottled up inside, and they gush forth in a messy round of tears, one worse than Bradley’s ever seen from you.

It sets him in a panic, and he’d already been misty-eyed before. Now his own tears roll in fat droplets down his cheeks as he muscles down his sobs for your sake, dropping your hand only to take up your waist. He drags you closer on the bed, but it’s uncoordinated and a struggle as your limbs don’t cooperate. You’re limp like a ragdoll, and once he finally has you positioned in his lap he buries his face in your shoulder to soak his tears into your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, his chest heaving and shaking with sobs, “I’m sorry I lied. I shouldn’t have, I- I know it was wrong. I just- I wanted you to stay, honey. And I thought it would be okay if we were both lying, because then I could make you fall in love with me again, and- and it was a stupid plan, I’m sorry. I should have told you, I’m sorry, I- I never wanted to make you cry. I’m sorry, honey, please don’t- please don’t cry. I love you, please, don’t cry.”

He thinks he’s allergic to your tears. His chest hurts, his face burns, and the front of his shirt is slowly sticking to his chest where you’re crying against it. He’s not sure he can handle much more of this, he can barely breathe and if you don’t stop crying soon, his lungs might collapse. He doesn’t like that you’re crying; even though he knows its a messy situation, even though he knows it’s complicated beyond belief, he’s worried that lying to you fractured your trust in him, and that won’t look good on his permanent record, especially not when he’s waiting on a yes or no from you regarding marriage.

“Honey, please,” He knows he’s not the only one at fault, he knows you’re just as guilty for lying as he is, but you’d done it out of pity, and he’d done it out of greed. You’d played pretend with him so that he didn’t lay alone in a hospital bed, but he’d lied to you so that you wouldn’t leave. He’s kept you trapped, and he’s worried you’ll break free from the cage and run.

“I’m sorry,” He cries, clutching tighter at you when you try pulling away, scared you’re on your way out, “No, honey, please, I’m so sorry-”

“Stop apologizing!’ You beg, a raw quality to your throat that bleeds into your voice. You can’t take it anymore, you can’t let him blubber out sorry after sorry for something he’s not at fault for. You wish he’d been honest, sure, but you couldn’t possibly blame him for continuing the game that you started playing.

“Just- stop, please,” You breathe, quieter now this time. “I- You’re not the one that has to be sorry.”

“But I am,” Bradley gushes, clinging tight to you, still nervous you’re trying to leave. But you’re stationed to stay in his lap, smearing away tears with the skin of your wrists.

“Well don’t be.” You huff, frustration swirling in your chest, all self-directed, “Don’t- don’t apologize for my mistakes! Bradley,” You whimper, rubbing at your eyes hard enough to see swirls beyond your vision, “I left you. I rejected your proposal, and I left you, and then when you almost died, and forgot I left you, I lied to your face. You had amnesia, Bradley, and I lied to you, in what world should you be apologizing? You should hate me,” You decide, stomach churning at just the thought, “I’m so sorry, Bradley, I- I’m so sorry! You should be throwing me out, you should kick me to the curb, and-”

“I don’t hate you.” He says, his voice gruff. He says it plain and simple, like it’s easy. Like there’s no hard feelings, like he’s not perturbed at all by your dishonesty, your betrayal.

“I love you,” He continues, and oh, does that drive the nail into the coffin you’re trapped in, “I love you so much, honey, I just don’t understand you. Why did you leave?”

“I was so scared,” You’re getting tired of saying it, but you know you have to, “Javy crashed, and I realized you could, too. Brad, I’m so sorry, I was so selfish, I didn’t wanna go through that. I left you because I didn’t wanna get hurt. I- I left to save myself from mourning your loss. But it didn’t work, and- and you still crashed, and I still almost had to mourn your loss, and it still hurt, so- so bad, Bradley. It hurt so bad,” You blubber, and he pulls you back into his chest.

“I know,” He murmurs, and you can’t fathom why he’s still comforting you, why his large, calloused hand is rubbing sweet, soft, soothing circles over your back like you’re not a traitor, “I know, honey, I can’t imagine. I’m sorry you had to get that call.”

“Come on,” You plead, your fists clenched in Bradley’s shirt, nails digging into the fabric, “Bradley, this- this isn’t fair. You should be mad at me. Even if you-” You can barely say it, the thought sounding like a fantasy; too good to be true, “Even if you love me, you should be upset. That I left, that I- that I lied, you can’t do this. You can’t comfort me, and you can’t apologize.”

“I can, too.” He argues, his brows furrowed and his mustache turned down with his frown, “Sweetheart, I know you’re sorry about all those things, you told me yourself. I know you’re sorry you left, I know you’re sorry you lied, it’s okay. It hurt when you left, but I never hated you. I wanted you back,” He admits with a shaky voice, “I wanted to fix things. And when you asked to kiss me in the hospital, I chose to let you lie to me even though I knew the truth. I liked it, baby, I loved it, because I had you back. You’re sorry, and- and I’m sorry, and we’re both sorry, so let’s do something about it. Let’s fix it, baby, please.”

“I want to fix it,” You sob, “I really do, Bradley. I- I wanted to pretend forever,” You confess, “Because it felt like it did before I left, and- you have no idea how much I wanted that back, Brad.”

“Me too,” He agrees with a rough sniffle, “I- I wanted you to pretend forever, honey. I really did, I- that’s why I proposed again,” He cringes at the memory, at the second time he’d asked to no avail, “Because I just wanted you to keep pretending, and say yes, and I thought- I thought I might be able to make you love me again, so I went for it, but I shouldn’t have. I should- I should’ve talked to you first, I should have told you the truth, but I just- I was scared, and-”

“Oh, Bradley,” You gush, grabbing the back of his neck and tugging him down into a hug. You might be smothering him, you’re not sure if he can breathe where he’s buried in your shoulder, but he doesn’t care. He’s clutching you like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t, and you’re horrified that he might really think that, but you understand why he does.

“Marry me,” He begs, “Please, honey, marry me. I’m not mad at you, I love you, please, just- just marry me, please. I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t lose me,” You promise, tears flowing steady down your cheeks, “Honey, I promise, I won’t walk out unless you want me to.”

“I don’t,” Bradley shakes his head, his arms encircling your waist even tighter now, “I don’t want that, honey, please- please don’t.”

“I won't,” You promise, “But Brad- do you want to marry me for love, or because you’re afraid I’ll leave if you don’t?”

“I love you,” He croaks into your shoulder, and you know he’s not lying to you now, “I mean- I mean of course I’m scared to lose you. But I’m scared because I love you, and I still wanted to marry you even before this happened, before I was scared. I’m not trying to tie you down so you can’t leave, I’m trying to love you forever. It’s love, honey, I love you.”

“I love you too,” You wail, unperturbed by your messy, tear-stained, snot-streaked faces as Bradley lifts his head out of your shoulder to kiss you. It’s desperate, sloppy, and uncoordinated, but it’s the first real kiss you’ve shared in a long time, and you wouldn’t change a thing about it if you could. It’s all desperate, grabby hands and quivering breaths as you familiarize yourselves with each other again, remember what it’s like to be honestly, truly in love with each other. You’ve thrown the lies away like a hardened cast, and the bones beneath it have mended, still tender but whole again. You can’t get enough of him, you can’t take your hands out of his hair and you can’t press your chest up against his enough. He feels the same, he can’t possibly tug your hips further against his own, and he can’t dig his nose any further into your cheek or he might poke a hole there. But he wants to, so he tries.

You’re ravenous, not with desire but with love, the purest and sweetest form of it. You’re so glad to have him back, to really have him back, that you can’t care about your leg falling asleep where it’s bent awkwardly against his lap, or the stickiness of his tears on your cheeks. All you care about is Bradley, all you know is Bradley, all you ever want to know is Bradley.

He reaches for your hand while still engaged in the kiss, and you swear you feel your heart crack when you pull yourself away to stop him in his tracks.

“Wait,” You pant, wondering why he’s doing the same when he’d practically stolen the air from your lungs, “You’re absolutely sure you want to marry me? Even though-”

“Jesus,” Bradley huffs, keeping the ring in one hand and reaching for your face in the other. He squishes your cheeks together, until your lips are puckered and he can brace his forehead against your own, eyes wide and grin exasperated, “Yes! Yes, I really want to marry you, even though you left, even though you lied. I lied, too, honey. You left because you were scared, and that’s why I lied. I get it, okay? I’m not gonna turn on you, I love you. I want to marry you.”

“But- but we should work through this,” You propose, pointedly not swatting him away when he poises the ring over your marriage finger.

“Okay. We can work through it in marriage counseling,” He promises with a breathless smile, the expression wholly genuine because for the first time in three weeks, he’s confident you’ll say yes, “Because I want to marry you. Do you want to marry me?”

You’re not fucking this up a third time.

“Yes!” You gush, and you squeal when he jams the ring onto your finger, moving in for a kiss far more eagerly than you’re prepared for. It’s like being greeted by an overexcited puppy, one that’s a bit too big to be ramming into you, but that you can’t tell no. He kisses you voraciously, joining your hands together so that the metal band on your ring finger rubs against his own skin.

“I love you,” You pant, in a rare moment of being able to drag oxygen into your lungs, “And- I’m sorry. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” Bradley swears, kissing you again before you can murmur any more apologies, “It’s okay. We’ll be okay, baby. We’ll work through it. You were scared, so I’ll help you however I can so that you’re not so scared. And I was scared, so I’ll probably be a bit of a clinger for a while. That’s it, baby, we don’t have to break up.” He promises, “That’s all it is, honey. We can work through it. We love each other, we can do this.”

“We do love each other,” Saying it feels like a blessing you’re casting over yourselves, an affirmation that you want to say in the mirror ten times before starting your day, “I love you, Bradley.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” He hums, dissuaded very little when you turn your head to look for your phone. He presses the same frequency of kisses to your cheek as he had your lips, and you let him smooch away at your face while you hunt for the device.

“Here!” You find it tangled in the bedsheets, “Brad, let’s tell everyone.”

“Hm?” He glances sideways at your phone, “Oh. Yeah, my parents are probably worried.”

“My dad, too.” You hum, “I told him at the store earlier.”

“I told my parents then, too.” He confesses, “But- but they’re not mad at you, or anything honey, they understand.”

You marvel at the revelation, that that's the reason Carole had been so confident bidding you goodbye.

“I.. told your mom already,” You realize you still haven’t put all of his puzzle pieces together for him, “Uh, she knew before you woke up, actually. She was the one to suggest that I pretend nothing happened. She didn’t want you to be too stressed in the hospital.”

His brow furrows where he’s in the middle of kissing your jaw, and he pulls back to evaluate the new information. But he’s not angry, more exhausted. He chuckles weakly, “I told her today, she pretended she had no idea. Damn, that woman is a good actor.”

“Very good,” You agree, snatching Bradley’s hand out of his lap to curl your own over the back of it. Your hands are stacked palm-to-back, with Bradley’s resting on the blanket and yours overtop. Your ring glistens in the afternoon sunlight and snapping a picture of it is one of the most gratifying things in the world, second only to the feeling of it laying permanently on your finger. You’ll have to put this one in the photo album, the beginning of a new chapter.

Bradley doesn’t let go of your hand after you snap the picture, only flips his own beneath it so that he can hold it more securely. He puts his chin over your shoulder to kiss your cheek as you use your only free hand to type out a group text message to your family members. Bradley’s squadron will be next on the list, but for now, your family receives the shot of your hands intertwined, a ring glistening on yours.

I said yes this time.💗

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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star-girl69 · 3 months

Text

Don’t Delete The Kisses

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Aphrodite!Reader

—-

synopsis: after breaking someone’s heart as apart of your initiation into the aphrodite cabin, you don’t think love is meant for you after your cruelty. clarisse thinks you’re ridiculous.

a/n: my friend was talking about how like insane this song makes her and i was like oh so this is genius

Don’t Delete The Kisses - Wolf Alice

warnings: insecure and very sad y/n ☹️, so like yeah all of that stuff, very ooc clarisse but IDC, i hate everyone but you trope fr, more talking about our feelings which we know is very hard for clarisse, the usual mentions of death and weapons, all that demigod stuff, more clarisse wanting, clarisse is insane as always i love her my ladybug fr, swearing, mentions of food, crap ton of violence, broken noses, whole bunch of blood, teeth get knocked out, yeah, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

“Well, did you do it?”

You wanted to sneak into the Aphrodite cabin silently, hoping your pink jacket would blend into the walls and hide you. But that was just wishful thinking. That was just something you whispered to yourself on the walk back to comfort your shaking body, wiping away the tears.

This is your initiation. They’re all sitting on their beds, waiting with eager eyes, greedy for a taste of someone else’s suffering, the comfort of knowing it’s not their own.

“Yes,” you say, pretending tears don’t rim your eyes.

You stand stall, shutting the cabin door behind you.

“I did it.”

Your sister Drew stands up and grabs your hand. You think she might comfort you. You think she might tell you Carter was in it all along, you didn’t really hurt him, it was all some elaborate prank.

Instead, she raises your hand up in the air and turns towards the rest of your siblings.

“Y/N!” she says, “Daughter of Aphrodite!”

Your siblings clap and cheer, smiling widely- one of the younger girls runs right up to you and hugs you, face in your stomach.

“You played him so good,” she giggles, pigtails swinging in the air. She is so naïve, so young, so unknowing. You wonder if you can give yourself amnesia if you slam your head into the column holding up the cabin.

You would do anything to forget this night. To forget the look on Carter’s face. He fell in love with you and you let your siblings guide you on what to do, what to say, you let them dress you up and and put pretty bows in your hair that he reached out to touch.

He thought he would end the night with a kiss, but instead he ended the night with your hand in his face, scoffing animatedly and asking “How could he ever think a daughter of Aphrodite could like him?”

You could feel his heart break, and you could feel your mother ghosting around the wind, you could feel the muscles in your face strain as your eyes filled with tears.

You wrap your arms around your younger sister and force yourself to chuckle.

“His face was so funny,” you say, but there was an unintended action to your initiation. Your heart broke too. You saw the look on his face- if that is how losing love feels then you never want to give yourself the chance to lose it.

Besides, it’s not like you could ever deserve love after this. The love your siblings crave but never quite get. True, encompassing, all-consuming love. After this night, after the hatred coiling up in your stomach like a snake, it’s just not meant for you.

—-

Everyone at Camp calls you princess.

It made you feel like a baby, weak, like you were nothing but a pretty face. But no matter how much you flinched at the nickname, grimaced when you found yourself answering to its call, no one stopped.

Your siblings all cooed and said it was so fitting, saying with curled lips that you were most definitely Aphrodite’s favorite. Your hair always fell in the most beautiful way, your makeup always stayed and looked beautiful, you know you can’t walk through camp without someone looking at you.

Especially after your charmspeak developed, you became a shell of yourself, scared constantly like you are just a walking knife, doomed to cut anyone you come near.

You’re not that different from your siblings- the only difference is you won’t ever lead someone on. You won’t ever make anyone thing they have a chance. Because you’ll never break someone’s heart again.

You’re still Aphrodite’s daughter, you still like to look pretty. So, you do your makeup and your hair, you revel in the feelings of eyes on you but you choose your words carefully.

But other than that, you despise love, your mother, everything about the Aphrodite Cabin.

But you suck it up, you let boys fix your posture, let them teach you to fight while they dream of kissing you, and you work silently and you wait to get out of this hellhole Camp.

You stay silent and you let them realize that you’re just simply not interested in a relationship. They’re sad, but their hearts aren’t broken.

Everybody calls you princess. But Clarisse says it differently.

Clarisse La Rue is probably the bane of your existence. She’s drop dead gorgeous, you would kill to run your hands through her curls, and she is the most talented person you know in battle. You’re pretty good, after all this silent training and the tips and tricks shared in vain, but she is a force.

She’s the one guilty pleasure you let yourself have. If only because you know she’s too strong to get hurt. So you let yourself look, keep a secret crush tight in your chest- only bursting out when you can’t stand it, and you just have to stare at her and revel in that for a second.

The thing about Clarisse is that she likes you. Which would be fine, you just tried to stay away, but she kept coming back for more and more until it became impossible to ignore her. It’s like you two were just doomed to forever be in love with each other, and you have to live with that and eat it like crow.

It’s not like she outwardly flirts with you. She just says your nickname differently. She caresses the words and says it softer. She doesn’t stare at you like everyone else- she looks at you. It feels amazing, your one guilty pleasure is to revel in her love from far away, but you make it clear that you don’t want a relationship and you never will.

Clarisse seems intent either to ignore that or wait you out. You don’t let her get close enough. You won’t break someone else’s heart.

Everyone calls you princess. You only like it when Clarisse says it.

—-

“Hi, princess.”

You don’t look at him, focusing on tying your shoes instead. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, I thought I could help you.”

You finish tying your laces, taking your foot up off of the bench and onto the ground. You grab your sword, hair tied back, tank top and stretchy pants. He looks you up and down. You do the same.

“Uh… Van, right?”

“Funny name so you won’t forget it, huh?” he winks, and you very obviously grimace.

“Ha, yeah.” You set your sights on a dummy currently not being attacked by a sword or spear and take a step forward.

“I noticed,” he starts, arm in front of you, stopping you from moving. “That the only weapon you don’t know how to use is the spear.”

You finally look at him. He’s wearing cargo pants and the orange camp t-shirt. His hand is plain and blonde, cut short, and his cheeks seem to be permanently flushed. He’s a son of Ares, pretty good fighter, but nothing else to speak for. Clarisse, at least, is the absolute best at almost everything she does- and she puts in the work to show it.

Van looks like he trains the minimum amount and gets by on his natural abilities as a demigod.

“Okay?” you say, wanting nothing more than to get away from him and go back to training. “I don’t get what you’re saying. And don’t flirt with me, either- one of my siblings would be happy to make out with you in a shed somewhere.”

“I’ll teach you,” he says, slightly exasperated. You finally notice he is, in fact, holding a spear. “Huh?”

You squint at him.

You do have a reputation in this camp. Part of the reason you’re called princess is because you’re standoffish and cold- people mistake it as you thinking you’re better than them. Really, you’re one of the worst people at this camp. You’re saving them from being tainted by association.

But every once in a while, someone will get it in their heads that soulmates do exist, and they’re the right person for you- and you’re mean and you shut them down, but that’s way before they fall in love. It hurts them, but not as much as it hurts you, not as much as it would hurt them if you gave them any ounce of attention.

The only person who keeps coming back for more sticks her spear into the ground next to you, fingers drumming against the wood.

“Van, you look fucking stupid.”

“Clarisse,” Van hisses, glaring at her. She glares right back, unimpressed. “Can you just go? Fuck.”

She raises her eyebrows. His spear hits the dirt before you can even comprehend that Clarisse kicked it out of his hands, and you have to admit- Clarisse is quick. Clarisse is good at what she does.

She pours everything she’s got into training- and pursuing you. You think it might just be a joke at this point, or something she finds fun, been doing it too long that stopping feels wrong. You would be lying if you said it wouldn’t be weird for her to stop. For both of you to stop whatever this is. This silent wanting.

“First of all, you are mediocre with a spear. Second, if Y/N wanted spear lessons she would come to me, right?”

“I don’t know,” you huff, walking away.

“Clarisse,” you can hear Van groan. “She was going to say yes until you ruined it.”

“Bro, she was not going to say yes. You’re welcome for saving your ass from even more embarrassment, Gods.”

“You’re just mad she doesn’t like you after you’ve been pining for years.”

She laughs, loud and boisterously, but there’s an edge to her voice, one of doubt, something like she’s scared.

“Oh, you’re fucking funny,” she says, and you can hear her slapping his shoulder. You stretch, risking a glance over your shoulder- Van is walking off and she’s looking at you.

But when your eyes meet hers, she quickly looks away. And you notice. You notice, but you do nothing about it. The way it’s always meant to be.

—-

The strawberry fields is the most beautiful place at camp. It’s where you feel something for your mother, because while gardening and plants are Demeter’s thing- finding beauty in the way the strawberry sits in your hand, the way the sun turns the sky into purple and oranges, the way the bright green trees stand out against that- it’s all your mother.

You can appreciate beauty here.

You see beauty everywhere, and you see love everywhere, but not the kinds your mother is famous for.

You’ve been picking strawberries for what seems like hours now, but it’s bearable under the setting sun and when you think about how good it will feel to finally sink into your bed.

“Y/N!” someone calls. “Princess!” you roll your eyes but stand up, turning around and putting your hand over your face to protect from the setting sun.

“Yeah?!” you shout back, squinting. You realize you’re alone in the fields.

“We’re heading back!” a Demeter girl, Sasha, says.

Your eyes flick to your basket that will only take a few more minutes to fill up.

“I’ll go back later!”

“Okay!” she shouts back, running off after everyone else.

You crouch back down, taking a deep breath before you begin ruffling through the leaves of the strawberry plant to find the juicy berries. You sneak a few as you work, shuffling down the line of plants. It’s so calm here. There’s no one to hurt. There’s nothing to be scared of.

When you stand up, there’s four figures standing by the shed. You gasp, bringing your hand to your chest, but Clarisse takes off her helmet.

“Princess?” she asks. “What’cha doin’ out here all alone?”

“Collecting strawberries,” you snort, full basket hitting your knees as you walk towards her.

“I see that,” she huffs. You notice Van behind her, and another sister, Carrie, a brother named Matty. “But what are you doin’ out here alone?”

You shrug, coming to a stop in front of the little group of Ares kids.

“Everyone else left.”

“It’s almost dark.”

“Not yet, though,” you smile sarcastically.

Carrie and Matty continue walking after they realize nothing fun is going to happen. You’re not gonna entertain them, so why would they care? But Clarisse and Van stay. You stare at Clarisse for a moment longer before finally looking away.

“You don’t have a weapon,” Van notes. “Smart to be out here alone?”

“Oh, relax,” you sigh. “We’re still in the barrier.”

You tighten your grip on the bucket and turn left, walking towards the shed. Clarisse is hot on your heels.

“And how do you know that? What if it had spontaneously, like, failed and shut down, or something.”

“Then I think everyone would be running around and screaming, because monsters would be crawling through camp. I would know.”

You place the bucket next to all the other buckets collected today- you’ll keep the good ones here over night, away from the animals and bugs and someone will collect them in the morning.

You stand up, rolling your wrists, wiping the sweat from your brow. You take the small cutters for the thicker branches from your pocket and throw it into the bin with the others.

“Well, if it makes you feel better, you can walk me back.”

“I jus’ think it’s stupid to be out here all alone,” she shrugs. You stare right past her, watching as the door slams shut. Was it windy?

Clarisse whips around, but sees it’s just the closed door. You frown, Clarisse steps forward.

“Sorry, Clarisse!” Van shouts from outside, and that’s when you hear the lock sliding into place. Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s done.

“Van, what the hell?!” Clarisse shouts, trying the knob. The door stays firmly shut. She slams her shoulder into it, but this place was built strong to protect from the elements, from all the little animals hungry for strawberries. “Let us out right fucking now, I swear, Van!”

“I can’t!” he says back, sounding sort of pained. “I just couldn’t get her alone!”

“Me?!” you yell, feeling increasingly trapped and claustrophobic. You shove Clarisse out of the way and rattle the doorknob, but it really is locked. “I didn’t do shit to you! Let me the fuck out!”

“For Carter!”

You take a step back. Your face falls from anger and anxiety into pure and utter turmoil. Your chest squeezes like it does every time you think about him. You carry the pain and the regret so heavily you doubt you’ll ever get rid of it. You’ll always be like this, rotting in your head, watching your beauty fade away and everyone give up on you.

Will you finally be free then? If you scream and take a knife to your face, make yourself unrecognizable, will everyone finally leave you alone then? Can you be something other than this stupid camp’s stupid princess?

But it’s wishful thinking. You’re a daughter of Aphrodite, and you were born to be beautiful, and you were born to be alone.

“Van, I’ll fucking kill you. Let. Us. Out.”

“Sorry!” he shouts, and you hear his footsteps in the dirt, running away while Clarisse screams for him to come back here.

You take a deep breath but it all comes crashing down like a dam breaking. All of the anger, the regret, the fear, it all comes pouring out until you’re sobbing into your hands in the middle of the shed.

Clarisse stops trying to break through the door. It’s painfully tense for a moment, nothing besides the crickets and the sounds of your sobs. You end up sitting on half-empty bags of fertilizer and mulch in the corner- although it’s not really used much, sometimes the Demeter kids like to experiment- it’s the most comfortable thing in this shed.

You’re 17 now, and you broke Carter’s heart when he was 13 and you were 12. You wake up and you feel your guilt like you feel the sun on your face- it’s your morning routine to stare at yourself in the mirror and know that you are the blessed one who doesn’t deserve it. You beg to be free, but this is your punishment.

“I’m sorry,” you cry out, “How does he not know I’m sorry?”

You never said it to him, of course- your siblings had told you Aphrodite would curse you if you said you were sorry, and you were 12 and scared so you shut up and you stared at him from afar, your first love and your first heartbreak. Could he not see the way you hated yourself? The way you hated everyone?

Why couldn’t anyone see that you weren’t a princess? You were a demon, so wicked you were worthy of being Hades’ right hand minion.

Clarisse sits down heavily next to you. She doesn’t say anything. She waits until the sobs start to ebb like a wave, until the worst is over.

“I’m sorry,” you say, one final time. Maybe the wind will take pity on you and carry your words to him. You wish it would, but why? Why do you deserve it? Your nails dig into your palms, leaving blood red moons.

“Why are you sorry?” Clarisse breathes, seeming more genuinely curious then demeaning. “Who’s Carter?”

You miss the way her lip curls around the name.

“I can’t tell you,” you moan, because Clarisse is the only person who actually gives half a fuck about you, and it feels so nice to have her eyes on you- not in the way everyone else does. They admire you, despise you, she appreciates you. She stares at you from afar and you both know that you want more, but she’s content to stare and you’re content to let her.

She laughs. “Yes, you can. I wouldn’t even care if you killed someone named Carter. But seeing as you escaped punishment from Chiron, and you only got locked in a shed, it’s probably not that bad.”

When you look up at her you can feel the mascara streaming down your face. You’re sure you look like a raccoon, and you can see how unnerving it is for her to see you- always so calm and put together- reduced to tears by a single name.

“I’m a daughter of Aphrodite, Clarisse.”

“I know,” she says, although it sounds like a question.

You stare at her, not able to say it, trying to convey to her with your eyes. You can practically see the cogs turning in her head as she thinks about the Aphrodite cabin.

“Oh,” she says. A few tears fall down your face. “The initiation thing- you have to break someone’s heart, right?”

“Yes,” you say, bitterly, resisting the urge to throw something and have a tantrum. You press your hands into your eyes, breathing heavily. “That stupid, stupid initiation. I hate being her daughter. I hate being like this.”

The hug starts out awkward. Clarisse places her arm lightly around your shoulders, starts mumbling apathetically that it’ll be okay. It’s not that she doesn’t care or anything, you’re both just foreign to what it’s like to feel this way for someone.

And it feels good to have someone touching you, so before you can stop yourself you’re shoving your way in her arms. She stiffens, sits up straight as your tears stain her orange camp shirt. But after a moment she hugs you back just as fiercely, with just as much desperation. She doesn’t say anything, probably because she doesn’t know what to say, and you can’t even comprehend your embarrassing, secret, unrealistic guilty pleasure of a crush is hugging you right now.

You’re too focused on the way she shushes you softly, her arm against your waist, the other around your shoulder- thumb drawing circles on your skin.

You’re too focused on the way she feels against you to even care about how awkward this will be later.

Finally, when night has really fallen and the wind starts to howl, you let go of Clarisse.

“Sorry,” you mumble, body locking up, staring firmly at the ground. Your face is caked in runny makeup- you feel as disgusting as you’re sure you look.

“It’s okay,” she says, hesitating for a moment before she stops touching you. “I, uh, I don’t think you should hate yourself.”

You scoff. Both at the ridiculousness of her stuttering and what she’s saying. “Whatever,” you mumble.

“No, I’m being serious.” She seems a little firmer now, like she really believes what she’s saying. But she doesn’t know you. “You shouldn’t hate yourself. Like, what do you even mean, you “hate being like this?’ What’s this?”

“I’m a monster, Clarisse. Literally, a fucking monster. I’m a horrible person, and yet everyone walks around and calls be princess because, what? I’m pretty? You can still be Aphrodite’s favorite and a monster. Maybe I am her favorite for a reason. Because of what I did.”

“A monster? Really?”

She looks at you like you’re the stupidest girl in the world. And Gods, coming from someone like Clarisse does that hurt.

You stare her down like you’re not about to cry. You squint so the tears won’t come, digging your nails into your palms to distract from the feeling in your stomach.

“I asked him to meet me at night. He told me he thought he loved me, and I laughed in his fucking face and said how could he ever think that I would love him? Who does that? Who is so fucked in the head?”

You look at her face, slightly twinged with disgust, and it feels good. It feels good to drive someone else away. To save them from yourself.

“This is my punishment. My life. And I hate it, but I know it’s what’s meant for me. I’ll never be loved. No matter how beautiful I am. I won’t let myself, I won’t hurt someone else. I don’t deserve it.”

She grabs your hand. You look at her, and she’s still so disgusted, so why is she touching you? Why is her face morphing into concern? Why does she still look at you like you’re this precious thing? Why do you like it? Why do you crave her like air?

“You don’t deserve this,” she says.

Why isn’t she listening to you?

“I don’t, Clarisse. Just- jus’ stop, please.”

But it finally hits you why she’s so disgusted. It’s not what you did, it’s the way you think about yourself.

“You came to camp when you were 12, right, so that’s when you completed your initiation? So, you were 12. You were 12 and listening to your older siblings. You were 12 and you made a mistake, and you’ve spent years and years punishing yourself over it. Most of the people at camp are blind, Y/N, but I’m not. I see the way you treat yourself, and that- you just don’t deserve that.”

“Fine,” you mumble, feeling a little breathless. “Maybe I was 12. But it’s too late. Everyone at camp thinks I’m a bitchy fucking princess.”

She smiles. “Well, you are.”

You throw her hand off of you and pretend to glare at her, but you’re smiling.

“You are a princess, Y/N, let me help you see it.”

Clarisse is your secret crush. She was a comfort for lonely nights, someone to think about when you were eating alone at dinner. And it didn’t help that she would stare at you while you imagined her sitting across from you. Clarisse is your secret crush, locked up in your chest and waiting to burst out like a cuckoo clock.

Clarisse is your secret crush, unrealistic and wishful thinking- but the way she looks at you right now makes it real.

The door clicks open.

“Oh,” Sasha, the girl yelling at you earlier says. “Sorry- I forgot my… uh…”

You quickly stand up, pushing Clarisse away from you. Sasha moves to the side and let’s you through the door. Against your better judgement, you stop and look over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, princess.”

—-

The next day, after waking up and realizing what happened yesterday wasn’t a bad dream, Clarisse is really doing something this sweet for you, you’re ready to forget it all ever happened and sit alone as you usually do.

You stand at the edge of the pavilion, searching across the tables for an empty one-

“Y/N!” Clarisse yells. She looks at you expectantly, and you notice the empty seat next to her.

Oh. She wants you to sit with her.

As beautiful and sweet Clarisse is, you still can’t let her be anything more than your secret crush. But you can sit with her for one meal. You can pretend, and maybe that will hold you over when you eventually succeed in pushing her away.

Your head was clouded by her touch, her smell, her voice- you weren’t in the right state of mind to be making decisions about “seeing Clarisse tomorrow.”

You stop at the fire pit in the middle of the pavilion.

“Please, Mom,” you mutter, dumping almost all of your plate into the flames.

This is probably the first time you’ve really prayed to her since the day you broke Carter’s heart.

You set your tray down next to her, swinging your legs over the bench and under the table, settling yourself in. Her siblings don’t even look up, all busy eating identical bagel sandwiches- you squint, resisting the urge to laugh at the cheese, bacon, sausage, and eggs. Ares kids are always eating the most gluttonous foods, seeing as they train 24/7.

Clarisse glares at your plate.

“What?” you say, shifting awkwardly in your seat.

“That is not enough food.” And while your plate mostly is empty space, you’re really not that hungry this morning.

You shrug. “I was in a praying mood today.”

“Don’t care, go get more.”

You roll your eyes, but you’d be lying if you said her concern didn’t make your stomach twist in a good way.

“Okay, I’ll grab something on my way out.”

She hums, turning back to your sandwich. All of her siblings are intent on eating their big sandwiches, a few people at the end of the table talk in between bites- but the Ares kids take breakfast very seriously. They’re a bit more rowdy at lunch and dinner, but breakfast is always such a sordid affair, like someone died.

Someone else sits at the table. You look up from your plate, watching as Van digs into his sandwich, sporting a black eye, a bruised cheek, and a busted lip.

“Oh,” you mumble, cringing at his bloody, messy face.

You look over at Clarisse, notice her knuckles are split open. She feels you looking at her and turns to you, a bite of half-chewed sandwich in her mouth.

“Wha-” she starts, but catches Van out of the corner of her eye. She giggles, just a bit, and it makes your stomach twist. “Oh, Van, you are one of the funniest people I have ever met.”

Everyone at the table turns to him.

A few giggle at his busted up face, Clarisse smiles at him in that demeaning way she’s famous for.

“Move.”

“I’m not fuckin’ movin’, Clarisse. Go fuck yourself.”

One of her siblings laughs loudly. Matty, you recognize him. “Dude, you’re seriously going to get beat up- again.”

“You are,” Clarisse shrugs. “I’m serious, move.”

Van rolls his eyes and sets his sandwich down.

“Listen, Carter’s my friend, he never wanted to get revenge, but I wanted to get it for him. I know it’d make him feel better. I was tryin’ to convince him to go fuck up her bed or something when… well, yeah. I didn’t mean to trap you in there with her, Clarisse, okay? I know you’re fuckin’ obsessed with her, whatever, but she’s a serious bitch. And not even that hot.”

Matty puts his head in his hands.

The table is deathly silent. He looks around.

“Come on. All those Aphrodite kids are stuck-up bitches, but she’s just got a particular rudeness about her, huh? And, really, I don’t think I could fuck her even if the world was ending.”

“What the fuck,” someone across from you, Max, mumbles. A girl adjacent to you coos softly, and you realize that there’s tears falling down your face.

Clarisse puts her hand on your thigh.

“Van,” she says, her voice calm and even. She breathes in and out. “I am going to fucking kill you.”

Van looks over to Clarisse, and that’s when he finally notices you sitting next to her.

“I-” he starts, but doesn’t get to finish, not when you pick up your tray and throw it across the table- hitting him directly in the nose. “Holy fuck!” he shouts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Gods, fuck-”

You stand up and make your way around the table, tears clouding your vision, and he quickly stands up as well. No one makes any move to hold you back or protect him.

“Bitch,” he hisses. “Huh? Come at me, princess.”

And you meet him, attacking like a feral cat, all scratching and kicking and hitting, a fury fueled fully by your anger and the beauty in letting it all go. He grunts and tries to hit you back, but they barely touch you.

You can see Clarisse out of the corner of your eye, watching closely, arms crossed over her chest. It takes you a second, but for some reason, you can see her face so clearly. She’s slightly worried. She watches the fight with an intensity, like she’s happy to let you fight him- but if he actually hurts you, then she’ll jump in. But more importantly, she’s proud.

Gods, does it make you feel good.

“Fucking- bitch!” he shouts. “Get off of me!”

He pushes you back, you steel yourself. When he sees you coming at him again, he punches you hard. You swear you see stars. You swear you almost met Hades, just for a second.

Blood runs down your face, gushing like a geyser- you groan, one of Clarisse’s siblings making you pinch your nose and tilt your head back. Matty puts his hand on your shoulder, and mutters something encouraging about keeping your head back.

It’s all a daze.

“Clarisse!” her sister Carrie shouts, trying to hold her back while Van scrambles away on the ground, yelling incoherently about his teeth. “Clarisse! Clarisse! You got him, you got him, c’mon.”

It all comes rushing over you. Adrenaline kept you sane just for moment, but all the pain comes rushing back, and you almost scream with how much it hurts. You double down, chest pressing to your stomach while Matty and someone else try desperately to pull you back upward.

“Oh, Gods, why does it hurt so bad?” you say, more blood gushing forward, even through your fingers. It’s running down your neck and chest, permanently ruining your shirt.

“Van has a good right hook,” Matty winces. “Ass at everything else, but.”

“Y/N,” Clarisse says. She’s in front of you in a moment, hands under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back. You can feel your face is absolutely covered in blood. “Hey, it’s alright,” she says, so softly that you’re the only one who can hear. “Okay, I’ll take you to the infirmary, okay?”

Matty let’s go of you, Clarisse replaces him, arm wrapping around your waist, fingertips still keeping your chin up. You walk in silence until you reach the infirmary.

She chuckles a bit. “You’re good,” she says.

“At what?” you groan, eyes screwed shut. “Getting punched?”

“No,” she says. “Just… you’re good.”

One of the healers rushes over before you can even think of an answer.

—-

After your nose was reset, your shirt was changed, and all the blood was cleaned- you sat in the empty infirmary. Van was in a private room with most of the healers who were having a fun time trying to fix his face and do something with the teeth Clarisse knocked out.

She finds you slipping your shoes on, face puffy, a bag of ambrosia in your hand.

“Princess,” she says. “I told them it was all me. So, you’re fine. I made up some shit about you getting caught in the crossfire.”

Your chest deflates a bit. You were sort of looking forward to the punishment. “You didn’t have to do that, Clarisse.”

She shrugs. “I wanted to. And I do whatever I want.”

You smile, and she sits down next to you on the creaky bed.

“What’d you get?”

“Oh,” she sighs, hands on her knees. “5 months no dessert. 3 months of teaching sword practice to the little kids, that’s gonna be like Tartarus come again.”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “It’s all my fault.”

“I could have easily let the two of you beat each other to death. But I didn’t. You were too busy winning that fight to care about what I was doing.”

“I didn’t win,” you scoff. “If you didn’t jump in, the way he punched me, he got me.”

“You didn’t know about Van and his right hook,” she shrugs. “It’s okay. I fucked up his face a bit, but you did so much better.”

You’ve been permanently on the edge of tears because of the pressure in your nose, so when they spill over, it’s no surprise.

“W-why are you crying?” Clarisse asks, turning slightly towards you, placing her hand on your arm.

“Still a monster,” you remark, sarcastic smile on your face. “I shouldn’t have done that to him. I… I was just mad. And look, here I am escaping with no punishment yet again.”

You go to stand up, feeling like your heart is a hole in your chest.

She puts her hand on your thigh to stop you.

“I think… just the fact that you feel so bad means you’re not a monster. I don’t feel shit for Van. I’m glad he got hurt. I would do it again. I hope I get to do it again.”

“You’re horrible, Clarisse,” you smile. She smiles back.

“The only person I feel bad for is… you. You’re the only person I’ve ever felt bad for. Everyone else in this camp is blind, Y/N. But I’m not. Not when it comes to you.”

And it’s like you’re seeing her for the first time. The way her curls always stick up in that one place, the way her eyes reflect the sunlight streaming through the window, the way the rough skin of her hands is nothing compared to the bones inside that hold you so softly. The way her lips look. The way she calls you princess. The way she sees you.

You’re both leaning forward, you’re both just teenage girls learning to love themselves, because you’ve always loved each other.

When her lips finally meet yours it all comes rushing back to you. You gasp and pull away after just a moment.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that-”

Clarisse grabs your face and kisses you.

“You’re not deleting that. I don’t care what you think of yourself right now,” she whispers, lips against yours. “Because you’re wrong, and I’m going to show you.”

And against your better judgement, you let her show you. She shows you with her hands in your hair, her hands on your neck, on your face, her lips against yours. You let her teach you love with just one kiss, and you decide you have a newfound appreciation for your mother.

If love feels this good, this beautiful, then you’ve been missing out.

This goes against everything you’ve been preaching for years. But you’ve found a new religion in her, you promise to listen to her and to feel what she makes you feel- no matter how wrong you think it is. Clarisse shows you it’s not wrong.

She finally pulls away for air, searching your eyes, but you can’t breathe when she’s not kissing you. She seems to like what she finds, because she smiles.

“You’re beautiful, princess,” she mutters, and kisses you again. “You’re beautiful, and you’re so kind, and I’ll show you what I’ve seen for years.”

Everyone calls you princess. But Clarisse says it differently. Clarisse says it like she’s caressing the word, pretending to caress you. Clarisse says it in the way you want her to say it, in the way that selfishly makes you feel so, so special. Clarisse says it like she knows you.

You were right. You’re not meant for love, it’s not meant for you. You’re meant for Clarisse.

—-

carter watching literally everyone fight over smth ridiculously stupid that happened when he was 12 and he got over 2 weeks after it happened: uh 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

—-

clarisse when she realizes y/n hates herself: WHAT????? HOW IS THIS???? HUH????? like she just doesn’t even understand she can’t comprehend it

y/n after hating herself for like 5 years and pretending she’s chill: 🤗

—-

van after he loses his teeth: 😞

clarisse when van loses his teeth: LETS GO FUCK THAT BITCH

—-

clarisse being y/n’s new religion btw 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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fanaticsnail · 6 months

Text

Remember Me

Hello Shanks fans!

This work was requested by @aishabbbb, which I linked back to here for the full description of the prompt. This is my third (technically fourth because my thoughts ran away with me!) requested work that I've completed.

I'm not currently taking requests, but if you do want to see my writing style depict a specific idea, I will honestly most likely hyper-fixate on it until the idea consumes me if you do ask me nice enough. I do appreciate a good prompt! And seriously, who doesn't love an amnesia trope!

Word Count: 6,636

My Masterlist is here!

Echoes of gruff laughter lingered in the air as tankards of ale clanged against one another. It had been a while since the Red-Hair Pirates had made port and as they viewed a rowdy port full of lively music, contagious laughter and bursting at the seams with a variety of pleasurable company; they could not resist.

This port had been known for some time to be a lawless town, accepting of any journeymen as they resupplied their vessels, sailors selling their wares and even the odd Marine here or there had graced the town with their presence. The World Government paid no mind to the comings or goings, knowing should the port be shut down; their supply of rum would slowly dwindle away.

The Captain of the Red-Hair Pirates sat upon a stool at the rear of the room as he stared into the bottom of his tankard, watching the amber liquid slosh from side to side. He withdrew into himself; his former joy and carefree attitude no longer present on his features this night.

A woman with a painted face sauntered over towards the captain, swaying her hips as she overemphasized her intentions.

“Care for some company, sweetheart?” she asked him in a sultry tone as she took his hand in hers that still clasped the tankard. He made eye contact and smiled from the corner of his mouth before withdrawing the hand from her grip and drew his drinking vessel to his mouth.

“Not today, love,” he said, taking a drink from his tankard, “but I can point you in the direction of someone who would be more than happy to share your time.”

She smiled as Shanks gestured to his senior officer, who had a black bandana featuring a white jolly roger insignia atop his lengthy blonde hair. His expression was one of a displeasing grimace, black glasses concealing more of his irritation behind them.

“See if you can bring a smile to his face, would you?” he laughed slightly as she nodded as she made her way to her next target.

Plonking two fresh pints down on the table before him, Benn Beckman sighed as he sat on a stool facing his Captain; taking one of the pints and gesturing for Shanks to do the same.

“You turned her away?” Beckman questioned his Captain, “I thought you’d enjoy a pretty blonde giving you attention this time.”

“I’m not as open today as I have been any other day to the company of a painted lady,” Shanks laughed in response raising his pint and clanging it against his First-Mate’s, “or any other man or woman you’ve since such sent my way. You know this.”

“Oh,” Beckman uttered, eyes widening before looking down at the table, “I didn’t realise it was today. Sorry Cap’n.”

“Don’t apologise, Beckman,” he smiled at him before drinking from the tankard. He moaned slightly as the cool, bubbling liquid hit his lips and he tasted the bitter flavour of the hoppy amber ale.

“How long has it been since-?” Beckman began, halting his words in search for the more appropriate way of phrasing it.

“How long has it been since my bride was claimed at sea?” Shanks offered to complete his First-Mate’s sentence. Beckman nodded in response, gesturing with his pint for Shanks to offer his answer.

Shanks sighed and leant back in his stool, his back thumping against the small railing at the back.

“This day marks ten years,” he added with a sad smile. A silence fell between them as they reminisced the day the Captain of the Red-Hair Pirate’s wife was lost to him.

After a brief pause, they commenced their drinking as they surveyed the movements of the patrons and crew interacting with one another.

Beckman raised his tankard to his lips and begin to gulp with gusto at the frothing liquid. He trailed his eyes throughout the bar as he did so; looking to Limejuice as he grit his teeth tightly at the blonde woman’s incessant and unrelenting flirtation was thrust upon him.

He continued his assessment of the room before his attention was caught by a group of sailors laughing amongst each other, a woman throwing her had back at the joke uttered by one among them. Benn Beckman spluttered into his tankard, coughing as the amber ale entered into his wind pipe and corrupted his lungs with it. He continued to draw in his breaths while maintaining visual contact on the situation unfolding before him.

“Benn,” Shanks addressed his choking crewman, “you alright?”

The First-Mate continued coughing and spluttering, managing to relieve his lungs of the bitter substance and gasping in a long breath. His pigment all but fled from his face as he continued staring blankly at the bar in horror.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Shanks laughed, placing his tankard down on the table before clapping a hand against the upper arm of Beckman’s shoulder.

“I-I think I have,” Beckman stuttered slightly before bringing his attention to his captain, “look to the bar and tell me if you can see her too, Captain.”

Shanks furrowed his brows in confusion, laughing lightly at the confession of his crewman before turning and immediately having the playful expression pulled from his lips.

“You see her?” Beckman asked him in a voice just above a whisper.

The Captain wordlessly rose to his feet, almost toppling the stool over in the process as he made his way to approach the woman. His bride, his queen. His whole world was carelessly and unaware of his presence as the melodical laugh fell from her lips; a sound Shanks never thought he would once again experience.

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

You tapped the chest of the older sailor in front of you as you continued to laugh at his joke.

“Harold,” you gasped, wiping a tear from your eye, “and that’s the reason you only have three toes on your left foot?”

“Honest to goodness, lass,” he continued to rumble laughter, his eyes twinkling with utter mischievousness, “the bloody crab nearly carved the whole lot off, if not for my quick thinking!”

He imitated the pinching movements of a crab’s claw and crooked his head to make himself look as crab-like as he could, prompting another roar of laughter to erupt between the sailors and yourself.

“Alright, I’ll get you that drink then,” you teetered your laughter and turned to address the bartender you had come to know, “Mary, give us a couple schooners of ale- the pale stuff if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Right you are, my love,” she acknowledged your order and began pouring the foamed liquid into two smaller cups.

It had been ten years since you found yourself lying upon the shore with no recollection of who or what you were before your arrival. Thankfully enough, your body was strong. You knew how to hold your own when it came to unwarranted and unreciprocated attention, often brawling with men to assert yourself among them.

As you needed a job to afford food, you managed to bully Captain Harold of the Angelfish Shepherds Fishing Crew and would accompany them out to sea, bringing in several catches a day and selling their many items throughout town. It was only when the sun would disappear behind the horizon, you would come home to the tavern: "Mary’s Resting Track" and make yourself comfortable with your crew at the bar; drinking well into the night.

Just as Mary had finished pouring from the keg, you felt an arm placed upon your left shoulder, prompting you to turn to face it's source.

“My bride,” a tall, red-headed man gasped in a voice above a whisper as he drew you in to place his lips against yours. You squealed at the tender impact, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth at the sudden softness and passion you felt from the unknown man. You pushed on his chest slightly before creasing your brows in confusion.

“Steady on, Sailor. Save it for your wife,” you laughed at him, collecting the two schooners from the bar and placing one into the hands of Captain Harold, “or at least buy me a drink first!”

You laughed, prompting your crew to do the same as they raised their glasses and took a drink. You rose yours to your lips and drank from it, keeping playful eye contact with the sailor before you.

He was handsome, his red hair immediately drawing you in. He had a black cloak shrouding his left arm from view and a three-point claw mark over his left eye. His face held a shocked, sobering expression on it as if he was staring at something extra-terrestrial in make.

“Y-You,” he stuttered out, “Y-You’re.”

The words caught in his throat as he again reached his right hand up to attempt to secure a fallen strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You swatted his hand away from completing the action.

“No,” you said firmly, playfulness leaving your face as your eyebrows collected themselves with a frown, “no one touches my hair. It’s out of bounds to even those who know me, and know me; you do not.”

You swiped his arm away fully away from your face while keeping a warning, reprimanding look on your features. He continued to stare at you, his eyes swelling slightly as they fluttered between your own; pleading with you and searching within them for a small shroud of recognition.

“She’s saving it for her beloved,” your crewman mocked you in a high-pitched tone, bringing humour once again to the room. You laughed at his jest, prompting you to turn away from the red head to scold his imitation.

“I don’t sound like that,” you laughed at him, prompting your crewman to again mock you by wobbling his head from side to side and scrunching up his face.

You turned back around to see the man again gazing with a fierce intensity born deeply into your eyes and managed this time to tuck a strand of your hair behind your left ear with his right hand. At this, you brought your own hand firmly up and struck the side of his face, all humour once again leaving you.

At the crisp strike, chaos erupted at the bar. A crew of pirates drew their pistols, pointing it towards you; while your crew of sailors pulled their own from their belt and aimed it at them in response. You kept your eyes completely fixed on the red-haired pirate as his face continued to hold a yearning expression.

“She gave you a warning, Sailor,” your Captain spat at him, “I don’t care how much ale you consumed, you respect the wishes of a lady.”

This seemed to shatter whatever illusion was held on the redhead in front of you as he looked to the assortment of pirates behind him. He held up his hands in defence of himself, taking a step back from his proximity near you and nodding his head in a deep bow.

“Easy, lads,” he smiled, “put them away. We don’t bring out our guns at one little slap.”

The crew focussed their attention on you as you shook your head and creased your brows at his address. He again turned to you, and bowed his head slightly deeper as an apology.

“You’ll have to excuse me, miss,” he uttered, “I didn’t mean to cross your boundary. It was reactionary, and for that I offer my most sincere apologies.”

Your gaze softened at his words as you gently used your pointer finger to raise his chin to look at you once more.

“Apology accepted on the condition of buying me and my friends a round of drinks,” you scrunched your nose with a small wink. He laughed at your remark, shaking his head and smiling once more.

“I would have to agree, miss. Definitely the next one on me,” he continued to gaze into your eyes as you withdrew your finger from his chin and tapped his nose with it playfully.

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

You didn’t remember him. That must be the only reason you didn’t hoist yourself into his single arm and cling yourself against him. Why you didn’t lean into the kiss and allow him to lace his hand into your hair and relieve your face from it shrouding your vision. The act so intimately solidifying your relationship in the early days, holding onto it as you spoke your wedding vows.

No-one was to ever touch your hair apart from yourself and your beloved were the words you spoke while dressed in your white, lace dress aboard the Red Force; Beckman performing the ceremony all those years ago.

You were married in your youth, relationship blossoming from friendship to something more on the Oro Jackson under the watchful gaze of Gol D. Roger. The subtle glances turned into subtle touches, turning into kisses stolen from within the hidden halls of the Oro Jackson as you would press each other against the walls and roam your hands along your bodies.

He was obsessed with your hair, and with each caress, each embrace, he would find himself absent-mindedly playing with it. You vowed alongside your commitment in matrimony that only he and he alone would be allowed to tuck your hair behind your ear in adoration; and you be the only one permitted to place a kiss atop the crown of his head.

Shanks had to contain himself as his soul screamed within the chasms of his chest to embrace you, to hold you against him and cry out in joy at your return. He didn’t touch another woman in the ten long years it had been since your last departure; the notion turning to ash in his mouth at the mere suggestion. It had only been until recently that Beckman prompted him to seek out someone to relieve his tension, but he felt it would’ve been an insult to the beautiful memories you shared with one another.

You were even in the process of early conversations on what starting a family would look like aboard the Red Force with his assortment of rowdy crew.

You would bicker at having the ship make birth permanently at a port, returning every two weeks to the solid shore as Shanks refused to halt his travels. He wanted you and the children aboard, rearing them alongside his crew; an idea you immediately shot down as you understood infants waking and crying at every interval and the disruption would not be fair to bring to the crew.

Shanks remembered Beckman adding to that conversation with: “We’re already getting sleepless nights from the sounds echoing the halls originating at your quarters!”

He chuckled at the memory before he remembered the fear on your face as the storm threw you overboard in your attempt to raise the sheet from the topmast and secure it in place. The black sky and torrential winds making it impossible to see your form as you struggled against the waves. He didn’t see what happened, only noticing your departure once they successfully made it through the storm and into the central eye of it.

The roar-like scream rumbling throughout the chest of the Red-Haired Captain still reverberating within the ears and memories of the entire crew as they recollect it every year. The pain shared amongst them as their captain bore his grief openly; drowning in rum every night before Beckman pulled him out of his rut with the reprimand: “this is not what she would have wanted.”

It mattered not what happened to him from that point. The pain of loosing you was far greater than any earthly injury could bring forth. He didn’t even bat an eye as his arm was claimed by a great Sea-Beast; consuming his flesh within it’s belly. He was more upset by the fact his golden wedding band perished at its disappearance.

And here you were, not a scratch upon you; laughing as if you had not a care in the world.

You had no memory. That was the only explanation Shanks had as he gazed lovingly at you, drinking your free ale at his expense.

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

You shook your head at a comment made by one of your crewmen as they suggested to hold a drinking competition between the red-haired pirate’s crew and your own.

“I don’t think I have enough booze in the house for that,” Mary laughed from behind the bar.

You smiled at her comment, turning back around to see the far off look in the red-head’s eyes.

“You know,” you nudged him with your shoulder, bringing his attention back towards you, “for someone that leads in lips first, you’re awfully quiet.”

He chuckled at your comment, expression softening but with a hidden depth you couldn’t quite understand.

“I’m not usually like this,” he scrunched his nose up with a smile.

“Rough time at sea, then?” you asked him, gesturing to Mary with two fingers to indicate your intentions of purchasing the next round for you and the red-head.

“Not particularly, its just-,” his words trailed off, prompting you to gaze your eyes; flittering them between his own two deep brown orbs before he took a deep breath and looked forward at his crew interacting with your own.

“You gestured for the good stuff, right?” she asked, placing two short, round glasses down on the counter; spiced rum swishing in the base as she did so.

“That I did, love,” you replied, placing down your berry on the counter and taking the glasses from it. You went to place the glass into the red-head Captain’s hands, noticing it was already occupied with a half-drunk tankard of ale.

“You keen on a rum?” you asked him, bringing his gaze up. He gasped out a quick hum, raising the tankard and downing the remainder of his ale with haste and placing the empty vessel atop the bar. He rose his hand to accept your offer and his fingers brushed against your own as he claimed the drink from your hand.

He looked down to your collar bone and noticed a single gold ring hung from a piece of fine leather around it. He furrowed his brows at it as to inspect it from his great distance.

“The gold band around your neck,” he gestured down to your left hand, “are you married?”

“Not to my knowledge, Sailor,” you laughed at him, “I was found with it.”

You sipped at the rum and creased your brows as the heavy alcohol entered your system.

“I apologise for slapping you,” you uttered, “I, uh. I made a promise, you see. I don’t really know what about or to whom, truthfully.”

He hummed at your comment, fixing his eyes on your face as you spoke. He trailed his eyes over your body, looking at you with an expression completely unreadable. Somewhere between: bewildered, surprised, great sorrow, relief, curiosity and apprehension.

“I don’t actually have a lot of that – knowledge, I mean,” you reiterated with a smile, “For the better part of ten years, I’ve been building back what I think I used to be like. I have no idea, though. I could’ve been some prissy young lass with a string of twelve children; or some standoffish, uptight cow-.”

“-You were never like that,” the red-head interrupted you, prompting you to snap your gaze up to meet with his.

“Do you know me, Sailor?” you asked him, your brows creasing together.

“Shanks,” he corrected you, “my name is Shanks.”

“Alright, Shanks,” you corrected yourself, “Do you know me?”

He sighed, drinking a small amount of liquid from his glass and looking to the rowdy crowd as their boisterous laughter echoed throughout the walls.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m going to need two things,” he said, downing the remainder of alcohol from his glass in one quick swell, “another drink, preferably a bottle this time.”

You laughed at him, before asking; “and the other thing?”

“Privacy,” he uttered with a small hint of sadness. You expressed concern within your eyes before patting him on the back and rubbing small circles in comfort to him.

You weren’t sure why you brought your hand up to comfort him, it seemed almost reactionary. A natural instinct of familiarity; organic.

“Alright, Shanks,” you began, making eye contact with Mary once more, “I’ll buy you a bottle under one condition.”

“And what might that be?” he chuckled warmly.

“That you give me a small glint of information before we proceed to the beach,” Mary placed the bottle on the counter and you placed down more berry in response, “I need to know if you are threatening me with a good time, or if you plan on executing me to reclaim some debt.”

“Were we enemies?” you asked him, bearing your gaze at the wall behind the bar.

“Sometimes,” Shanks shrugged his shoulders, prompting you to snap your gaze back to his. He erupted a full belly laugh from his diaphragm at your reaction. He let out a deep sigh before he suggested; “let’s make to the beach and I’ll fill you in.”

Mary smiled, looking between the two of you before the beckoning of Captain Harold and several bottles of the cheapest rum called her from her place before you.

You nodded, neglecting to collect glassware while you grasped the neck of the bottle; not once removing your eyes from the red-head next to you.

You made your way down towards the beach, walking in step with Captain Shanks, as the crew bid him goodnight. You noticed several members of his crew gawked at you as if they had seen a phantom or something of the make.

Once gazing into the open sea, the Captain plonked himself unceremoniously on the sand, legs spread wide as he sat with his knees bent upwards. You smiled at him before crouching down to sit beside him, uncorking the fresh rum bottle in your hands and offering it to him. He smiled as he took it from your grasp and brought it to his lips.

You trailed your eyes over his form, trying to conjure a whisp of memory from the recesses of your mind. After having no image return to you, you rose up your voice.

“So-,” you began, only to be cut off my Shanks.

“You were – are,” he started to relay, laughing at the fact he spoke over you. You nodded to him to continue.

He paused, sighing before again voicing what he was attempting to confess to you.

“It’s been ten years to the day since I lost you,” he sighed, looking down to the sand near his knees, “and not a day went by that my thoughts were not drawn to you.”

You looked at him, puzzled at what he was telling you.

“Your gold band,” he gestured with his hand towards your neck grasping the bottle, keeping his eyes fixed on the sand below him, “was gifted to us by our former Captain we served under: Gol D. Roger. He had a lot of love for you and I.”

“The King of the Pirates?” you asked him, eyes wide before adding, “and us. What do you mean, us?”

He sighed again, this time bringing his head to slouch back as he gazed at the dark and cloudless sky above you.

“I can’t tell you what happened right now. It’s-,” he paused between the words, prompting you to inch forward and look at his face. He turned his face away from you as you attempted to gaze into his eyes; “-it’s too painful today.”

You frowned and instead reached down to the hand placed upon his hand, and swiftly reclaimed the rum bottle from within his grip. He turned his head towards you at this and trailed his eyes up to yours as you placed the lip of the bottle and downed two large gulps of the liquid. You squeezed your eyes as the strong alcohol burned its way down your throat and into the pit of your belly.

He laughed at your actions, finally the forlorn expression eclipsed by glee.

“You haven’t changed,” he uttered, reaching his hand up to your hair before recoiling it back again. You watched him do this, as processing the boundary you expressed earlier still lingered within his thoughts. Instead of reaching your hair with his hand, he fell his grasp to your hands as they held the rum bottle.

“Is there truly nothing you remember of me?” He asked you, looking down to where his single hand rested upon your own. You furrow your brows and search your mind through closed eyes, willing yourself to remember any aspect about him. You hissed out a growl in frustration as you found no recollection.

“I want to,” you whispered to him, “you seem a decent kind of man, if not a little forward with the kiss and all.”

He chuckled at your comment, his laughter building to a rumble. His shoulders began to quake lightly as his laughter died and morphed into soft sobs. He attempted to conceal them from you by raising his hand up from where it rested atop his knee and turned to face away from you. You were overwhelmed slightly by this man becoming wrecked with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, bringing yourself to rest on your knees as you pulled yourself closer to him.

You opened your arms and shimmied your legs forward, hoisting them over his bent knees and found a comfortable spot on the sand to rest between them. Your arms circled his shoulders as you felt his right arm wrap beneath your waist and hook up your spine. He held his face flush with your stomach and squeezed his hand to grasp at your body as if you were to slip away at any moment. You felt his shoulders begin to relax into your embrace while inhaling your scent. You looked down the top of his head before absentmindedly bringing your lips down to place a chaste kiss against his hair. He flinched slightly at this impact, tension building in his shoulders before he slumped them forward.

You heard him sigh into your diaphragm as you did so, bringing his face away from its hidden position against you and resting his chin atop your chest to bring his sights to look up at you. For some reason, this man as he held you in an intimate proximity did not have you thrusting him away from your with excessive force as you did with so many others.

You unwrapped your left hand from around his shoulders and set it against his cheek. His youthful smile returning as you caressed him. You warmly smiled in response, feeling the gruff of his stubble against the palm of your hand before he turned his head and placed a brief kiss atop your inner hand.

“I am willing to dedicate the rest of my life to getting you to fall in love with me once again,” he whispered against your hand before turning his head to meet your gaze, “this I swear.”

Your eyes widened at the comment with a small smile toying at your mouth.

“I gather my undying devotion is overwhelming for you,” he chuckled, prompting you to move your hand away from his face and place both hands atop his shoulders.

“It is, to be perfectly candid with you,” you giggled at him, smoothing your arms over his shoulders and tracing circles against them with your thumbs, “I have tried everything to bring a small fragment of the person I once was to the forefront of my being.”

He trailed his hand from its place at the small of your back and rested it atop your left hip, grasping it firmly within his palm and kneading the flesh beneath it.

You brought your attention to the gold ring on your leather necklace as you held onto his shoulder, narrowing your eyes at the metal slightly; pleading within your own mind to bring forth any memory of the man cradling himself against you.

“To put myself in your hideous sandals,” you uttered, prompting him to quirk his head slightly to the side, “you found me, and it’s almost as if you did so only to lose me again.”

“Aye, it is,” he nodded, looking down again and meeting his eyes with the flesh of your forearm. He ghosted his lips over your left arm, dragging it higher within the crook of your elbow. Your hair follicles stood on edge under his ministrations, as he continued to not kiss your skin; but rather feel the way your body tasted below his lips.

“And you looked lovely in my highly practical sandals, last time you wore them,” he smirked his lips against your flesh before placing a kiss against it. He trailed kisses varying in intensity back down your forearm and against your wrist, prompting your breath to hitch in your throat.

That comment was it. After a variety of interpersonal and intimate words shared regarding your prior relationship with the man beneath you; it was the ugly sandals that brought a flitter of memory to grace behind your eyes. Any other comment; the hand in your hair from earlier, the wedding ring gifted by Gol D. Roger before he was executed, anything else; it was the ugly sandals he found in the run of the mill town that he purchased and, much to your horror, wore in public.

You remember taking them from his room and fleeing above deck with them in an attempt to throw them overboard to rid yourself of their ugliness forever, only to have your waist caught by your husband as he twirled you around to face the deck again with playful reprimand in the process of doing so.

At the request of your husband, you placed them on your feet and experienced the absolute comfort they bore you; almost shrieking in disgust at yourself for relishing in the feeling; as he belly-laughed at you.

“We’ll get you some at the next port” you heard his voice within your mind, “then we can be matching.”

You remembered him wiggling his eyebrows, prompting you to place your closed fist against his chest and tap him slightly.

“We can even get tiny little ones for when you relent and let me put a child in you,” you remembered his tone, causing a blush to rise presently to your cheeks.

“Something the matter, love?” Shanks' voice brought you from your singular memory and back into the present moment you were sharing so intimately with your husband.

No other memory sprang forward, only a few whispers of certain smells: sea water, spiced rum and stagnant drinking water with the natural smell men aboard a boat. You circled your arms around his shoulders and again pressed him against yourself, smothering his face against your sternum between your breasts. Your mouth fell slack as you pressed your face into his hair and inhaled the aroma of the fragrance he favoured to utilise in his red locks: sandalwood and ginger prominent with his natural scent lingering beneath it.

You began to feel a rough flurry of taps from the man beneath you as he indicated for you to release him. His laughter was unrestrained as his eyes twinkled with mischievousness.

“As happy as I am to once again have my face pressed between your breasts,” he heaved his laughter, “I do require air to sustain me.”

He brought his eyes to meet yours as you stared your eyes on the crashing waves of the beach as the tide began to come in further. Your eyes remained wide as you continued to will a semblance of recollection to come to you.

Once you offered no rebuttal at his comment, he again reached his hand up towards your hair only to halt it once more.

“What is it?” he asked you, now placing his right hand atop your left arm, holding it lovingly.

“I-,” you began, the words now halting between your lips. You brought your eyes down to look down and you continued to flitter them between each of his own.

“I-,” you again said, leaning in closer to him; prompting him to have a sense of seriousness overcome his features, “-will never own a pair of those ugly sandals.”

Immediately his seriousness fell away and his face split into a wide grin as his laughter rumbled within his chest one more.

“Yes, you always hated them. I think they’re wonderful,” he gasped while stifling his laughter. You continued to hold his shoulders as his laughter teetered off into a dull rumble.

“I tried to throw them overboard,” you uttered almost inaudibly, “and you threatened me with buying more of them.”

“You remember,” he gasped out a breathy sigh, “you remember me.”

He brought his torso up further to bring your foreheads to rest against each other. He nuzzled your nose slightly at the impact and squeezed his eyes shut with delight. He began to lean in to graze your lips with his, only to be halted by your gentle touch to bring him back.

“I don’t remember anything else aside from your disgusting sandals,” you whispered, closing your eyes before reopening them again and looking at him half-lidded, “and the way you looked at me when you suggested we begin trying for a child.”

A small gasp left his lips as a single tear fell from his right eye. Immediately he pulled your head against his further, seeking out your lips with his own. He moved his hand from its place at your hip to snake around your waist and hold you firmly against his lap. You felt him moan against your lips as you reciprocated his enthusiasm by lacing your fingers into his hair and tugging lightly at the new growth at the back of his neck.

As your proximity was so flush against one another, you had no choice but to press your full weight against him as he laid with his back against the sand; his hair sprawling out atop the course surface. He expertly maneuvered his right leg beneath yours without breaking the kiss, gasping into it as he darted his tongue out to meet with your own.

A soft whimper flung itself from your lips as he relentlessly attacked your mouth with his own; flittering deep and hungry kisses while trying to taste as much of you as he could with his tongue. You unlaced your fingers from his hair and raked them down his shoulders to his chest, massaging the hard muscle beneath them as you continued in your exploration. He gently rose his hand from its place around your waist and drew itself beneath your shirt and groaned when he felt your tender flesh beneath the material.

Placing your right hand below his cloak, you raked your fingers further along his ribcage and drew them up towards his left arm – halting your movement as you found none residing there.

You squealed into his mouth, feeling him smirk against your lips. You attempted to break from the kiss, only to feel his hand climb higher beneath your blouse and lie flat against your spine between your shoulder blades and continue passionately exploring your lips.

“Shanks,” you murmured a warning reprimand against his lips. He smiled while maintaining his lips against your own, feeling the soft pearls of his teeth as they made contact with your mouth. He continued to chase your lips each time you attempted to flee from his embrace.

You brought your hands up to ball the material of his white shirt within your fists and held him further against yourself, prompting him to let down his guard as he whimpered into your lips at your sudden domination. As soon as you felt him relinquish a small spectrum of control, you pushed hard on his collar bones and pried him from your lips. He first groaned in frustration before his body was wracked with uncontrollable laughter. He collapsed against the ground, prompting you to roll your body from above him to onto your own back in the sand as his laughter became contagious.

And as earlier, the heaving of your shoulders in fits of laughter evolved into heavy sobs from the both of you as you mourned the time lost between you.

“My bride,” Shanks called from beside you as he placed his right hand upon his eyes in an attempt to control his emotions.

“Yes, my groom,” you said as more of a whimper than an address.

He rolled over onto his side and hovered his face above yours, as the tears freely fell down the faces of the two of you; the moonlight cascading over your lover’s hair. Hesitantly, he reached his right hand up to your hair and slowly brought some loose strands from your face and wove it behind your ear. He sighed in relief as he watched you close your eyes and lean into his touch, taking your quivering lip between your teeth as you did so.

“You are as beautiful as the day I lost you,” he whispered with a slight hitch of his voice. You reopened your eyes to watch him smiling through his sorrow. You returned his expression and caressed his chest and ghosting your fingertips over his left shoulder.

“And you are one arm less than I remember,” you beamed a wide smile and giggled a little at your prod. He joined you in your laughter and pressed a chaste kiss against your hair before rising to his feet and offering you his right hand to hoist you up to meet him. You took his hand and allowed him to hoist you to your feet, before he dipped his shoulder down to make contact with your waist and lifted you over his right shoulder. He secured you in place with a crisp slap upon your left ass-cheek as he effortlessly crouched down to retrieve the forgotten, half-drunk rum bottle. He rose again to his feet and began to walk with you over his shoulder, using his teeth to uncork the rum bottle and spitting it against the sand.

“Is this quite necessary?” you asked him, mock annoyance in your tone.

He laughed and took a long swig from the rum bottle and gasped in joy as the liquid burnt its way down his throat.

“Not only is it necessary,” he called to you over his left shoulder, “it is also compulsory.” You laughed at him as he almost jigged back towards the tavern, him joining you in your laughter upon arriving at its steps and flinging open the door with his feet.

The arrival of the two of you had cheers erupting and reverberating from every corner and crevasse of the wooden building. Tankards were thrust into the air, foam sloshing carelessly from the top and onto the floor; much to the many protestations of Mary.

Shanks placed you on the floor after setting aside the bottle of rum atop a cylindrical raised bar table.

“Alright lads,” he addressed the room, “let me reintroduce you to my wife!”

He extended his right hand out for you to place your left hand within. As soon as you did so, he effortlessly spun you into him, your left arm laced over your front as he cradled you against himself.

You looked up to his face, your neck laying against his shoulder as he brought his lips down to meet your own for the first time publicly in a decade. Applause, shouts of glee and delight, more sloshing of ale and verbal reprimands from the tavern keeper echoed the hall as you smiled against the lips of your beloved. Your husband, and his bride.

#one piece #opla #x reader #shanks opla #shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks #one piece live action #opla fic #amnesia trope #my playlist broke me #angst #angst with a happy ending

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