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sunnyville36 · 3 years

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First star I see tonight

Requested from anon

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Themes/warnings: **allusions to trouble sleeping, insomnia**, late night/early morning dates, Chan being a soft and tender boy™️, so much fluff like a LOT of fluffiness

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: This is not meant to be used as a model of behavior to support all those who have trouble sleeping or sleep disorders. Reader in this scenario knows what Chan's character deals with, knows he has treatment and support systems available if/when he needs or wants them, and behaves the way they do at the request of his character

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There’s something special about that time of night, where one day turns into another. You read somewhere once that people like you found comfort in it because it was the one time where everyone else was asleep, where you were free from the demands of others. The part of the day you had control over. And you suppose that theory was right in your case.

So you never have a problem waiting up for Chan. You know he loses himself in his work; comes home sometimes too restless to fall asleep right away. While you care deeply about him getting the proper rest, you never want to make him feel pressured by you. So the two of you venture out, him in his hoodie and you in your woolen cardigan, usually to walk the paths along the Han river.

That’s exactly where you are tonight, following the path lit up by the light of the lamp posts. When it’s this late (or should you say early) you never feel rushed, meandering arm in arm slowly down the sidewalk, taking in the city and each other’s presence. His busy schedule means you don’t get a ton of time together, so you appreciate every moment you do, whether it’s listening to him gush about his latest project or simply holding hands in peaceful silence.

You come upon a fork in the path, and the grassy spot between the two diverging trails is covered in tiny bunches of white and yellow flowers. Some might call them weeds, but you’ve always thought they were a sign of nature’s beauty, especially now, when the light from the lamp post is giving them a delicate glow. Your companion follows your gaze, catching sight of the little buds, and plucks a couple from the ground, holding them out to you. “Just like you,” he says, dramatically bringing the other hand to his heart, eyes glinting with mirth, “the light in my darkest of nights.”

“Channn,” you fake whine, blushing at his cheesiness and hiding your head in his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to put the little flowers behind your ear, placing a kiss on your temple and whispering a simple “Thank you for being with me.”

---

It’s 1 AM and you’re heading over to Chan, planning to surprise him with some homemade food at the JYP building where he’s been holed up all day. Making your way past the front desk and up to his studio, you knock lightly on the door, his head turning to see you raise your loosely packed bag of food.

“Up for a late-night snack?”

Down in the courtyard, you set out what you brought on one of the round patio tables, Chan sliding into the chair next to you with a blanket draped around him.

“Jjapaguri?!” he exclaims, eyes lighting up at the sight of your huge container of noodles.

“And mochi for dessert,” you answer, incapable of stopping the smile that takes over your face from his little fist shakes of excitement.

He scarfs up the noodles like you knew he would, raving about how good you’ve gotten at making them. You tell him about the class you’ve been working on all day, about how you’re excited for the date the two of you have been planning for the weekend. When it’s time for dessert, you each take your little mochi and hold them up, bringing them together to “toast” like you would champagne glasses. In his other hand, Chan records your tradition on his phone like he always does, saving the short looping video before taking a huge bite into his ice cream.

His mouth is still full when you whisper, “You know what Bin would say about this?” And after a moment of silence for him to swallow…

“You’ll get a stomach ulcer!” you declare in unison, both cackling at your rather poor impressions of Stray Kids’ resident wisdom-giver.

“I’d say these are worth it,” he says, extending the blanket to wrap around you as well.

You smile back, scooching closer to rest your head on his shoulder. “I would too.”

---

It’s especially late for Chan to be out, but the boys have the next few days off, so you’re not too worried. A few minutes later, you hear the sound of the door opening and his voice calling your name.

“In here!” you reply, and wait for your boyfriend to find you in the living room.

He comes around the corner of the hallway, and you’re immediately struck by how nice he looks, his loose white button up giving his skin a pretty glow.

“What’s the special occasion?” you ask.

“Oh nothing,” he replies nonchalantly. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

He leads you out into the hallway and to the elevator, punching in the button for the top floor of the dorm. You keep quiet, not wanting to ruin whatever surprise it is he has in store for you. At the top level, he takes you to another tiny staircase that you assume leads to the roof, his hands coming up behind you to cover your eyes as you reach the door at the top.

“Okay, no peeking!”

He guides you out the door into the warm night air and across the roof a little before removing his hands with a “Surprise!”

You open your eyes to see a tiny two-person table adorned with candles and a thin-stemmed vase with flowers. Two plates of food and a bottle of wine are set out, and soft music is playing from somewhere in the background.

“Chris…” you breathe out, almost lost for words.

“I got special permission to bring you up here,” he says, arms snaking around your waist. “So we could have a real late-night date.”

This is the most extravagant, thoughtful, and romantic gesture anyone has ever done for you. “It’s beautiful,” you manage to whisper as he walks you to the table, pulling your chair out for you.

“After you, my love.”

The two of you spend the next few hours on your special date, catching up on everything you’ve been doing and enjoying the serene quiet of the city at this hour. The food is delicious, and you can’t bring yourself to take your eyes off your boyfriend for any longer than a few seconds, absolutely wonderstruck by how lucky you are to be with him.

You’re preparing to head back downstairs when Chan moves his chair closer to you, holding out his phone. “I have a little something for you, Y/n.” He places the phone in your hands and taps the screen, your heart beating in anticipation.

What appears is a video, a montage of photos and videos of the two of you from all of your early morning adventures over the last year. The images are set to a soft instrumental, one that sounds very similar to one he played for you the other night that you mentioned was one of your favorites. And overlaid with the music is Chan’s melodic voice, quietly reciting...

Star light, star bright

First star I see tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might

Have this wish I wish tonight

Some of the pictures you recognize; the obligatory thumbs up selfie you’d taken with the similarly-formed sculpture in Olympic Park just as the sun was peeking over the horizon, the mochi “toast” from your impromptu meal a few weeks ago. But many are ones you’ve never seen before; ones of you. One of you looking out at the sunrise from a grassy spot you stargazed in one night; one of you walking along the river, your form framed against the backdrop of the city lights. You never noticed him taking these photos of you, and there’s something so intimate about having your partner catch glimpses of you no one else has seen, capturing you as a living memory.

As the video comes to a close, you hear Chan’s voice whisper one last line.

You are my wish forever Y/n

Near tears, you wrap him in the tightest embrace you possibly can, his arms circling around you to reciprocate. You’re overwhelmed by the emotion of what it feels like to love a man like him and be loved in return, so you let him hold you for a long while, cherishing every second. When you finally pull back, you take his face in your hands, wanting to make sure he hears what you’re about to say.

“Thank you, Chris. You are my forever wish.”

---

Is there really a thumb sculpture in Seoul's Olympic Park? Yes!

As always, happy to hear your thoughts, and thank you for reading!

#stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan fanfic #bang chan fic #bang chan x reader #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #stray kids fic #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #skz #skz x reader #skz fanfic #skz fic #skz imagines #skz fluff

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serahlink · 3 years

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Dancing in The Dark |Assassin!Reader x Royal Vampire Prince

Summary : In a world ruled by ravenous vampiric royals, you are sent to assassinate their new heir, only to have your plans suddenly go awry when you’re dragged into the ball by no one other than your Highness himself.

Word Count : 2,302

A/N : this is for a gender neutral reader or for anyone of any gender really. :) so I hope all can enjoy this enemies royal core thingy.

There were many nights where you took your resting spot at the top of your league’s tower balcony and looked down at the castle across the kingdom. Unlike the mangled dead forest you’ve grown up in, the lights were always bright, boisterous and proud around that damned castle. The people were no different either. Each year almost tons of high class and rich people would come gather for a ball. It was the most grand day of the year after all, as it was the only night where it is said the prince would come out of hiding for once to dine and dance with everyone else.

Just thinking about that pampered fancy pants boy made your blood boil. To think he can live it up in the glamour his castle had to offer while your own people can barely scrounge for scraps down here was enough for you to want to take your pristine knife to his throat. Needless to say, when you got the opportunity to do so, you clutched tightly to it.

You can’t remember much of your childhood. From what the people who took you in told you, they mentioned finding you abandoned at the end of the dead woods, where they were surprised you weren’t starved to death or mangled by a wolf. They took you in and from then on, they raised you to become the best assassin you could be. It was the least you could expect from being taken in by an underground assassin’s league, or as they’d like to call it, a revolutionary squad. A group of people who are destined to change the order for their own idea of good and who are frankly tired of bloodsuckers running it all.

They assigned you with the job the night before you were sent off away from the woods and from your home.

“Kill the prince,” You remembered them saying bluntly. Instead of using your own weapon, they provided you with a wooden stake. “Use this to kill him.”

You asked them why you couldn’t just slash his throat with your knife and be done for, but they instead scoffed. “It’s more efficient. Vampires do bleed, but a stake will surely do the trick.” Although you already knew this, you surely liked the idea of using your own blade. Still, you took the stake reluctantly.

With no more need to stall at home, they had sent you off with a proper disguise. Obviously you couldn’t show up to a grand ball in rags with a stake tied to your belt. Instead they provided you with a formal outfit that while anyone else would find grand, you found way too tight and fancy. Through a broken glass, you saw your reflection and fought the urge to barf. Never did you want to see yourself look like that ever again.

The castle was a long ways off, far away from the dead woods you claimed as home. Just as all royals do, you arrived in a carriage thanks to the courtesy of some other higher ups that actually were involved with the group. Out the window, you slowly saw the brightness of the castle and all other attendants too close for comfort.

This was it.

The deep breath you took in was clean, way too clean. You got out and as you began walking your way up to their royal highness’ palace, no one seemed to bat an eye. You blended right in. You couldn’t help but smirk just a little. None of these pampered bastards knew what was coming. That you were coming.

The inside of the castle was more grossly exquisite than you could’ve imagined it to be. The gold and white color schemes were nearly blinding, almost evangelical. Most others were dancing already while some were enjoying a feast or talking amongst one another. You didn’t really take notice to any specific people, as you were only here for one person.

“Your Highness, Astrid Federline.” One of the staff introduced.

Instantly, as if beckoned by his name, you snap your head around to see the smug prince in all his glory. Astrid Federline was sashaying down the royal staircase, looking over knowingly at the flustered maidens who were gawking over him. You didn’t get what their was to even look at. So what if he was pale as the moonlight? Who cared if his hair looked like blonde silk itself and draped just over his shoulders in the best way? What was there to see if his narrow blue eyes grinned over at you? Nothing. Nothing at all, as far as you could tell.

Soon enough, his gaze moved from the ladies and paused when it came to you. Those eyes, a mystery just as he was, narrowed at you. His face faltered, merely a second, before his lips quirked up again with newfound curiosity. All of a sudden, he was coming to you.

Your hand jolted to where your stake would be and thankfully, it’s small bump reminded you that, yes, it was still there and open when the opportunity was right. You relax, and just as he approached you, you forced a smile.

“Lovely ball, your Highness.” Speaking those words were the worst part of the job. You bow anyway, and when you pull back up, he’s smiled at you. You didn’t expect him to be so tall.

“Of course it is.” He proudly said. “Just like every ball before it.”

“I wouldn’t know,” You said truthfully. “I’ve never been to one.”

“I see.” Astrid hummed before he offered you a hand. “Care to let me show you the wonders the ball has to offer?”

You eyed his hand with much hesitation. Maybe this was his way of being a gentleman, each giving a maiden a certain special treatment before acting like it never happened. Not that you’d care, he’s falling easily into your plan. He’s only making it easier for you.

You took his hand then and he smirked, gently grasping it and then taking you into a different direction. You arrive at the food table, where a bunch of pristine foods you’ve never seen before and never thought you’d be able to taste were laid out in front of you.

Your mouth watered. The food was very tempting.

“Go on,” said Astrid with a wave of permission. “Take what you please.”

You turned to him with an arched brow, yet he only nodded. The food was still there when you turned back and did not get eaten any faster. First, you scan the foods until one catches your eye. Some long red thing.

“That’s crab.” He pointed out.

While you’d roll your eyes originally, you were indeed curious. You’ve never tasted this crab meat before. Straight from its place, you take a leg and begin gnawing on it. You jolt as the sharp shell hit the roof of your mouth, glaring down at the food.

“You need to crack the shell, you know.”

“I know that.” Wasn’t your fault that crabs had shells apparently.

Astrid sighed and took the crab leg after your couple failed attempts to crack it. He used what you could only guess was a metal opener to crack the shell, revealing its meat.

You snatch the leg away from him, muttering a thank you.

The meat better be worth while, going through all the trouble to embarrass yourself and nearly blow your cover like this. Just as your tongue and teeth bit into its flavor, you could easily confirm that, oh god yes it was worth it.

It was unlike anything you had eaten before. You couldn’t get more meat into your mouth quicker, savoring the taste as much as you could before it could leave.

Astrid chuckled, “Good, I presume?”

You turned back and narrowed your eyes once you saw the smirk. “It was fine, I suppose.”

“Good then.” He said and just as another dance was coming up, he turned to you. “You aren’t too full for a dance, are you?”

A dance? That was the only thing your league hadn’t prepared you for. Hell, you never really danced ever. “I,” You fumbled. “-Actually I think I am.”

“Come on.” Astrid insisted. “The night is ever so young. Besides, a dance would make your first ball, wouldn’t it?”

Not with you, or anyone. You wanted to say, yet you couldn’t pass up his offer. Something told you he’d keep on insisting. Besides, that would make for an awfully good dramatic death scene wouldn’t it? One and two and one and— STAB. Perfect.

Reluctantly, you do agree. The soft strings pluck, pianos ring and Astrid lead you to the dance floor with your hand in his. Although the dance was awfully simple, your feet couldn’t comply. You were outside your energy yet each time, Astrid strayed you back to where you were supposed to be. The swaying made you feel like you were on air, constantly being held upright by his hand. Yet you knew you needed to keep an eye on the ground and your weapons carrier place, you could only seem to look up.

Tilted downward, Astrid’s eyes look down at you. Something about it made you feel like the only person in that room. Everyone else was merely blurs to you, the only focus being you and him. You remind yourself then, of course it’s the main focus. You’re there to kill him, not live up some false royal dance.

The strings reach a higher octave and you are thrown into a dip. Your arms throw themselves to whoever they could latch on, which happen to be Astrid’s neck. He looked down on you with much amusement before throwing you back up, your body ended up bumping against his chest.

“I know what you are.” He said as his dancing led the two of you away from the crowd and near a balcony. Still in his arms, you scoff.

“Really.” You respond, yet he chuckled, much to your annoyance.

Astrid’s smile tightened. “You think I’ve never had an assassin placed on my head before? You’re wrongly mistaken.”

“And yet you send no guard on me. You give me the punishment of feeding me luxurious food and a dance. Do all of your assassins get the special treatment or am I lucky?”

A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. “Lucky, according to you.”

“Then allow me to apologize for calling the night short but I have a prince to slaughter.” You said, as you launched out from the dance and swiftly to take the stake you kept to your thigh.

Astrid himself grinned, his eyes holding a glint they didn’t have before. “This prince wouldn’t happen to be drop dead gorgeous, charming and witty, would he?”

You scoffed, watching his every move. “Not at all.”

The lunge you decided to take for him backfired, as he managed to dodge and slip you back into that dance, wooden dagger still in hand.

“Do you always dance yourself out of being killed?” You struggle against his grip, trying to remain confident. “I’ll have you know that I’m not as easily persuaded by good looks and swift moves like those maidens out there.”

“Then shall I dangle some crab meat above your nose?~” His teasing jab to your gluttony was enough for your anger to forcefully yank one of your hands out of his grip. You throw the dagger straight for his throat, yet you miss by what seems like yet another swift dodge.

How does this prince keep evading you?

“Temper, temper~” He grinned, throwing you back into another dip. The weapon you once held is tossed to the very edge of the balcony, where it hangs on by nothing more than an invisible thread. “To think the revolutionaries would send someone as hot headed as you are.” He smirked, “Pathetic, if I could say personally.”

You throw yourself out of the dip. “I’ll show you pathetic!” You snarl, and make a head start for the stake. It slid and in just a second to spare, fell all the way to the bottom of the castle’s yard.

Your eyes shot wide as saucers and your throat dried. Your fate was sealed. Either you were going to be killed or thrown in a dungeon somewhere. Either way, you’d die.

“With those eyes, you look like a distressed rabbit.” Astrid remarked.

He walked over to you. You expected him to throw you over the edge, just like that stake, except he doesn’t. He offered you his pale hand.

You eye him, as if he were crazy.

“Come on.” He said. “Up.”

When you don’t take his hand, he took yours instead and lifts you up to your feet. “You assassins are too serious nowadays. You’re at a ball of all things, might as well enjoy it.”

You look at him questionably. “I try to kill you and when I fail, instead of throwing me away in a dungeon or killing me, your answer is to throw me back into the ball? Are you as mad as they say?”

He grinned again. “Maybe I am. Plus, it’d be a pity if I did, wouldn't it? I’d hate to have to deal with the rest of your little club if they found you dead.”

“We are a league.” You correct him sternly.

“A hell of a one, for sure.” Astrid hid his chuckle. “Where were we last?”

“I was trying to nab that head of yours.” You recount, still freshly annoyed.

“Dancing.” He corrected your sentence. “We were dancing.”

He then took your hands and since you didn’t have any weapons on hand, you had all but none left to do but to follow his lead again.

“I’m surprised no one told you that you are absolutely brash when you dance.” He muttered near your ear. You roll your eyes.

“You won’t be saying that the next time I’m here.” You promise. “A stake would be deep in your chest before you could even get a word in.”

He chuckled. “I’ll be waiting.”

#monster x reader #monster x human #vampire x human #vampire x reader #x reader #astrid federline #yes I wrote this at eight in the morning #no I didn’t sleep lolol

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abbysfrenchbraid · 3 years

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Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 4

Masterlist 🌿 (check for previous chapters) / Playlist

In this chapter, the reader fully joins Eivor’s clan and takes part in the celebrations before the raid. Talking with Eda does not go as planned.

Content Warnings for food & alcohol, mentions of physical abuse, lesbophobia, light smut and vomit.

Inspo Picture by @anaakeart

The Sting of Rejection

You had already slept for a few hours when Eivor returned from her council meeting late at night. Even though she tried to be quiet and not to wake you, you were awake as soon as you heard her steps on the path outside.

Birna had curled up in your arms and raised her head when the warrior entered, not moving from her warm and comfortable spot. You remained still, your eyes closed as you listened to the woman’s movements. Her fur coat fell to the ground almost inaudibly, the wood of her trunk creaked quietly as she sat down to take off her boots, her leather pants rustled when she pulled them off and threw them in a corner.

Then you finally felt her motions, too as she lifted a corner of the quilt covering you and slipped in the bed, immediately scooting close to you. She gave Birna a few gentle strokes until the cat started to purr softly and Eivor lowered her head next to yours with a satisfied sigh. She smelled like beer and smoked meat, accompanied by that faint, wonderful scent of tree bark.

You must have stirred because Eivor lifted her head again, whispering: “Little bird… there are good news for you.”

Careful not to disturb Birna, you turned slightly and looked at her with raised eyebrows. She smiled.

“You are now one of us. Mine.” She watched your face attentively for a reaction. You closed your eyes and swallowed. So it was decided.

“Are you happy?” Eivor asked, drawing her fingertips over your healthy cheek.

“Yes, I am,” you answered, turning back around and scooting back against her.

“Mmhh. We’ll talk in the morn.” She wrapped her arms around you and pulled you close, then you both drifted off to sleep.

You were woken by Birna's demanding meows at the door. She had not left the hut since yesterday and was probably hungry and in need of a quiet corner. Eivor grunted, then she untangled herself from your limbs and cursed in her mother tongue when she stumbled over her clothes on her way to let the cat out.

“You won’t like it outside, little lady. The snow has stayed,” she grumbled as she opened the door. Indeed, Birna was not amused at the prospect of stepping into the cold, wet powder that painted the village in beautiful white and whirled into the room as soon as the door stood ajar. You pulled the blanket over your head to escape the stinging cold air, listening to Eivor and Birna bicker about the cat’s options for the day.

It really sounded like they were having a conversation, one that ended with Birna leaving with a last, angry cry and Eivor shutting the door with a thankful sigh. She let herself fall back on the bed and crawled under the covers. You stuck your head out.

“So, I’m one of you now?”

Eivor needed a moment to process your question, then she sat up and nodded.

“The council was thankful for your offer to help us prepare the raid and accepted your proposal. You’re going to come with me later so you can have another look at the map and tell us everything you know. In return, you will receive a wooden bangle declaring you part of this clan and my personal servant as soon as we return.”

You sat up as well and leaned against the headboard, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket as you tried to find the right words.

“I am very grateful for your trust. I know it normally does not come easy,” you said. “May I ask something else of you?”

The blonde raised her eyebrows with a questioning look.

“My- the people who came with me. How are they?”

“Oh, they are all well.” Eivor got up and started putting on her clothes. “Three of them have decided to stay with us freely and work in the stables and the longhouse. Two have yet to decide and your lady friend is refusing to speak to us. I hear she is eating, at least.”

A wave of relief washed over you. You were not the only one to change sides. You were fairly sure you knew who had taken up work in the village; the two remaining prisoners were probably the squires to Lord William. They had endured harsh treatment at his hands, but he had promised them a future as knights and held them in higher regard than his own daughters. It made sense that Eda was not willing to speak or change her mind. She blamed Eivor for the death of her entire family.

“Eivor?”

“Yes, little bird?”

“Do you think I could have a word with Eda? Maybe I can reason with her,” you suggested, holding your breath as you waited for her reaction. She considered it for a moment, then she shrugged and put on her coat.

“I guess it would do no harm. You can speak with her before we meet the others in the map room, maybe she will tell you something helpful.” She turned around. “Do you want to join me in the longhouse for breakfast?”

The question surprised you, but she was right. You were healing fast, and there was no reason for you to stay in bed any longer. You agreed and swung your legs out of bed, slipped into your wooden clogs and put on your new coat over the linen tunic. Hopefully, you would be able to acquire some more fitting and functional clothes soon, but now was not the time to worry about looks. Your face was still swollen and blue anyway, your bruises now starting to fade to green at the edges.

You quickly rubbed the salve Valka had given you on your tender cheek, then Eivor held the door open for you and you stepped outside into the snow. The air was hard and cold, but clear and when it filled your lungs, you could feel it chase out the last remains of smoke and illness. Walking down to the longhouse, two dogs ran toward you and circled you with excited barks and wagging tails, apparently delighted to see Eivor. She laughed and chased them around for a bit, then she told them she had other things to do and they let her be and ran off towards the stables.

When you entered the longhouse, Eivor was immediately greeted by cheers and excited comments regarding the coming raid. She smiled and acknowledged everyone’s words before leading you to a side part of the house. There was a fireplace in the center of the area, a hole in the roof directing the smoke outside. A kettle and a metal grid were hung over the fire and an old woman was stirring porridge with a gigantic wooden spoon. You both stepped closer.

“Sfáva, dette er Y/N,” Eivor introduced you, gently placing a hand between your shoulder blades. “She is from Williamsburg and has decided to join us. She is a cook, too."

The old woman slowly came closer, squinting her eyes at you until her face was almost directly beneath yours. Then she suddenly gave you a warm, almost toothless smile, deepening the crows’ feet around her eyes and stretching the leathery, weatherbeaten skin on her cheeks.

“Velkommen, Y/N,” she croaked and took your hand, patting it lightly. She chattered something in Eivor’s direction and the warrior translated: “She’s glad to have you here and hopes you can show her some English cooking. She does not speak your language, but she understands a few words and can grasp your meaning if you speak slowly. Our tongues are not too different.”

You smiled back at Sfáva, gently squeezing her hand.

“I’m honored to work by your side, Sfavá.”

The old cook let out a delighted laugh at your proper pronunciation of her name and gestured for you to take a wooden bowl. You and Eivor both took bowls and spoons from a table and Sfavá filled them with porridge. Eivor loaded up her meal with several sausages from the grill, to which you passed.

“I’m afraid we can’t eat together. My place is up there” - she mentioned to the table at the back of the room, standing orthogonal to the rest of the tables - “with my brother. I see your old companions have found themselves over there, maybe you would like to join them?” She motioned over to where the three men that had been released as well sat and ate their breakfast.

You nodded and wished the warrior a good morning, then you walked over and sat down with the others. Aelfric and Hal had been the stable masters back at Williamsburg and were excited about the variety of horses and possibilities here. Eivor had apparently put a lot of money and work into the stables, making them a much more enjoyable place than the dark, moldy ramshackle hut William’s old mares had spent their days in. Lewin was also content with his situation; he had joined the butcher and his son in preparing meat for winter.

They were all happy to see you, thanking you for your quick thinking and cautious behavior during and after the attack. Lewin was even convinced they owed you their lives. While they went on discussing the possibilities of hunting at this time of the year, you stared into your porridge and tried to find the words and the courage for a conversation with Eda.

What could you say that would explain to her your disloyalty to her name, your treachery to England, your betrayal against her after everything you had gone through together? How could you ever change her mind or her situation, what were your possibilities in this? Would she stay locked into a cell for the rest of her life? What would the Vikings do with her if she was nothing but a nuisance?

The others took their leave and you were still none the wiser. Absorbed in your thoughts, you let your gaze wander through the long hall. Your eyes finally got caught on the she-wolf at the elevated warriors’ table. She was deep in conversation with Sigmund and tapping her finger on the table as she made her point to him. He seemed to agree with everything she was saying, consistently nodding his head as he devoured his sausages.

Suddenly, Eivor caught your gaze and while she kept talking, her finger stayed pressed to the wooden tabletop. You could have sworn there was a hint of a smile on her face as she turned back to her brother to ask him something. Shaking your head, you got up and brought your empty bowl back to Sfáva’s side table.

Even though her eyesight seemed to be terrible, she immediately recognized you and repeated your name with a joyful fondness in her voice that made your heart swell in your chest. What a wonderful woman.

As you wandered around the hall to collect the dirty bowls people had left on the tables, you felt someone’s eyes on you. Smiling to yourself, you relished at the feeling a little bit longer before turning around to return Eivor’s look. To your surprise, she had stood up and turned her back to you, speaking with someone behind the table.

Slightly bewildered, you finished your round and carried the stash of bowls and spoons back to the cooking area. Just as you turned to ask Sfáva where you should wash the dishes, you saw something blue in the corner of your eye. You looked up and had to force yourself to keep your composure as you saw Randvi leaning against a wooden pillar across the hall and watching you from afar, her arms crossed and her face smooth and expressionless.

She did not move or look away when you saw her, standing perfectly still and continuing to look at you as you finally lowered your gaze and asked Sfáva about your tasks for the day. The old Viking explained her wishes to you with a mix of slow Norwegian and sign language, making it clear you should wash the bowls outside in a big trough and bring her another few sacks of flour. You felt uneasy as you left the longhouse to do your washing up, still followed by Randvi’s piercing gaze.

Eivor caught you outside, glad you had already settled in with your new work and thrilled for the raid. She was practically buzzing with excitement and her restlessness made you laugh, taking your mind off the strange moment with Randvi.

“What are you laughing at, eh? You are looking at a proud drengr, not a jester!” she exclaimed, furrowing her brows in feigned outrage and making you laugh even harder.

“You remind me of Eda and Delia on the eve before Christmas. They were so excited for the next morning, they could barely sleep.” Your gaze lost itself in the dirty water in the trough before you. You had some good memories with the two girls. They had been so innocent and happy. A hand on the small of your back drew you back to the present. Eivor had stepped closer.

“I will sleep like a bear in winter so long as you lie by my side,” she said quietly.

Her words and touch sent chills up your spine. Before you could reply, Eivor stepped back.

“But first, we will plan our glorious raid. And then we will celebrate. Oh Y/N, you will love it. Mead and food and great songs - we will be in good spirits tonight. And tomorrow will be even better!” Her eyes lit up at the thought of the joy and glory to come. “I need to look at a few things in the stables. Take this time to speak with your friend. I will come and get you when it is time to meet over the map.”

You watched her as she walked away, a spring in her step as she headed for the wooden building at the far end of the village. The dishes were clean, so you took them back inside and left them on the table for Sfáva. She was deep in conversation with two other Norse women when you filled another bowl with porridge and two sausages and quietly made your way to the cell in the back of the longhouse.

Eda sat on the floor where you had left her last. Her dress was dusty and stained, her hair was matted and her face looked grey and old. Dag, who was keeping watch again, let you in with a grumble and sat back down on his chair. Eda refused to look at you as you knelt down before her and offered her the food.

“Eda, please. You must eat. You look like death itself.”

“I don’t fear death,” she mumbled, still staring at her hands, “I fear traitors and backstabbing snakes.”

Her words knocked the air out of your lungs. You had not expected her to be this hostile. What now?

“I do not claim to know the pain you feel and the losses you are bearing. I am simply trying to live with dignity instead of wasting away,” you explained, tears welling up in your eyes. “Do you not see my face? Were you not there when I learned I was worth nothing at Williamsburg, nothing but dirt on your father’s shoe? Eivor has offered me a place in this world. She-”

“You and your precious Eivor!” Eda snapped, her gaze now burning right through your head and her face screwed up into a hateful grimace. “You fell to your knees the second you saw her, begging for her to take you. I will not be lulled into submission by a filthy little sapphic whore!”

This blow hurt worse than William’s fist. There was nothing left to say. You put the bowl down next to her, then you stood up and left the cell. Dag gave you a strange look when he locked the door again.

Just as you rounded the corner, you bumped into Eivor. She knew something was wrong right away, pulling you into her warm embrace and letting you cry into her chest for a long moment until she pulled back and lowered her head to look at you.

“What is it, my little bird? Will your friend neither soften nor think clearly?”

You just nodded and pressed your lips together, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Eivor turned to look over her shoulder for a moment, then she pulled you into an alcove.

“You stay here and collect yourself. I will tell them you got held up and will be there soon.” She pulled you in for a last, quick hug, then she vanished from sight.

You took a few deep breaths and slapped your chest and torso, trying to fully return to the present, to your body, and to your rational thoughts. If Eda wanted nothing more to do with you, so be it. You had other things to worry about now.

When you entered the map room there were five men waiting for you alongside Eivor and Randvi. One of them was Sigurd, Eivor’s brother and the official chief of her clan, even though you felt like a lot of people cared for Eivor more strongly. You had just found out today that he was also Randvi’s husband. The other four you had seen before but you did not know their names.

Eivor looked up from the map first, smiling widely and rounding the table to introduce you.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She was the cook at Williamsburg and has visited Fort Winton several times. She will tell us all she knows about the area and the castle.”

“What happened to your face, Y/N?” One of the warriors gave word to what everyone was thinking. You straightened up, trying to brace yourself against Randvi’s icy expression.

“Thank you for this opportunity to make myself useful here. My cheek made acquaintance with Lord William’s fist the day of your attack, but I am healing now and he is not, that is all that matters. And I have you to thank for it.”

Your answer seemed to satisfy everyone and you got to work. You spent the next hours telling them about every path and entrance to the castle you knew of, every person working there when you last visited, and everything about the Stewart that had taken over the shire. You even drew a plan of the order of the buildings and the rooms you knew of.

The Viking warriors warmed up to you quickly when they realized how much valuable knowledge you were giving them and even Randvi seemed to forget her hostility toward you after a while. The group even allowed you to stay for their debates on the right strategy, taking all your comments into consideration and thanking you for your help. Eivor reminded you at some point that you were still injured and told you to go back to the hut, put on the salve, and lay down. She would pick you up later for the feast.

Birna was already waiting for you at the door, mortally offended at having spent the day outside in the snow. She weaseled through the first crack in the door and was even more distraught when the fireplace was dead and the bed cold. You apologized sincerely and lit a fire to make Valka’s wonderful brew while you gently applied her salve to your healing cheek.

While your tea was steeping, you curled up with Birna and poured your heart out to her about Eda. She was a wonderful listener, snuggling up to you when you started crying and supporting your distraught words with agreeing meows. It was heartbreaking - the one friend you still had left did not want to be your friend anymore. You were all alone here. You had to admit that the Norse people were extremely welcoming to you and that Eivor would probably be very offended to hear you call yourself alone after two nights in her arms, but still. You were lonely. After you had drunk a cup of your herb infusion, you laid down, pulled Birna into your arms and cried yourself to sleep while the white cat silently watched over you.

A light grasp on your shoulder woke you and you opened your eyes to find Eivor crouching down before you, smiling softly at you. It was already dark outside and you had trouble finding your grasp on reality for a moment. Was it the next day? No. The feast.

Your mouth was dry and your eyelids felt heavy from crying. Eivor softly brushed the hair out of your face with her fingers.

“Good evening, little bird. Can I interest you in some excellent boar meat and warm mead?”

Birna answered in your stead, crying out as she stretched her little body on top of you. Eivor’s expression became even softer.

“For you, little lady, I have something special.” She took a small balled up bundle from her pocket and opened the stained cloth to reveal some fresh innards, probably taken from the boar. She placed the cloth on the ground in front of the fireplace and Birna jumped down from the bed to have her own royal feast.

You got up and followed the cat's example in stretching your limbs, feeling Eivor’s eyes on you as you put on your shoes and cloak and tried to comb your hair with your fingers. The blonde was next to you at once, holding your hands still.

“Wait. Let me.”

She opened her wooden chest and produced a beautiful wide-tooth comb. It was made from some kind of bone or fang. The warrior stood behind you and gently pulled all your hair back towards her. Then she began combing it out, starting at the bottom of each strand and carefully moving upwards, taking out any knots or dirt. Her fingers touched your scalp every time she took a new strand of hair, sending lightning down your spine and making the hair on your neck stand up.

“That’s better. I can braid it for you, too, if you’d like that,” Eivor said behind you. You brushed a hand over your long hair and felt its smoothness. You had never been allowed to wear your hair down at Williamsburg, always having to put it up in a knot and wear a bonnet or at least a cap. Today you had seen so many Viking women proudly wearing their hair down, some with intricate little braids and beads in theirs.

“I’d like that, yes,” you whispered, scared your voice would betray you. Every day, every hour here felt like a step closer to freedom and happiness.

“Sit down on the bed.” The blonde gently guided you to sit at the foot of the mattress so she could stand next to you. Then she began taking hair from your healthy side and braiding it along the hairline around your ear and down the back of your neck. She stepped around you to look at her work from the front.

“I think that is all you need. You’re beautiful.”

Your heart jumped into your throat, almost making its way onto your tongue. Your fingers followed the path of the small braid, admiring the perfect work of the warrior’s calloused hands. How peculiar, that these rough hands that wielded swords and axes bigger than your head could also be so gentle and precise.

A knock on the door tore you out of your reverie. It was Valka who wanted to take a look at your face and pick you both up for the feast. She was satisfied with your healing process and delighted to see Birna, having a little chat with the cat on the bed. You had to keep yourself from laughing when the thought of Birna being the true queen of this clan entered your head. She probably felt that the same way. The white cat was adored by everyone, and her demands were followed without question.

As the three of you made your way down to the longhouse, you could already hear loud singing and laughter. People were stumbling outside to relieve themselves in the bushes and others were just arriving, all being greeted with loud cheers and big jugs of mead. The same happened to you when you entered the great hall. A few warriors rushed to your side, greeting Eivor and paying you compliments and thanks for your help that day. Enthusiasm saturated the air like a humid day, filling everyone with joy and confidence for tomorrow.

Valka was quick to take the jug of ale from your hands and gave it to someone else who swore his love to her in return. She just smiled and pulled you towards the kitchen area. You had already lost Eivor in the mass of warriors jeering and singing praise to Odin. At the hearth fire, you met Sfáva sitting on a bench and enjoying a massive pitcher of mead. She cried out in joy when she saw you and hugged Valka tightly in greeting before squeezing your hands and grinning her almost toothless smile at you.

Valka asked you to stay with the older woman for a while and help her with the food; then you saw her talk to a red-haired woman and vanish in a dark corner with her. Maybe that was the woman she had spoken about with Eivor before? You wished her the best of luck.

There was not too much to do. The boar was on a spit over the great fire in the main hall and the men were responsible for cutting down the meat for everyone. You were grilling sausages and vegetables on the side and helping the boys open new barrels of ale that were consistently emptied within the hour.

Eivor came by soon, asking for more variety on her plate. It was obvious that she had already had enough mead to kill a boar, slightly swaying when she walked and getting extremely close when she tried to talk to you over the noise in the hall. Her face was red and radiating heat, her eyes had a drunk glisten to them and her laugh was rougher and dirtier than during the day. You were glad she was enjoying herself, although you could not help but wonder if this was the best idea considering her plans for tomorrow.

You spent some time outside cleaning plates at the trough and getting fresh air when you suddenly heard a noise around the corner. You debated for a moment whether you should risk a look but your curiosity got the best of you. As you stuck your head around the edge of the house, you weren’t immediately sure what you saw before you.

Two figures were leaning against the wall in close embrace, chuckling and mumbling sweet nothings to each other. As a cloud finally freed the moon and its light shone down on your village, you made out Valka’s golden headdress and the silhouette of the red-haired woman she had talked to earlier. Apparently, she had gotten lucky. You quietly moved back to your plates and smiled to yourself. Valka was a wonderful person, giving and loving and always putting others’ needs above hers. Eivor had spoken very highly of her trusted friend. She deserved to be happy.

When you came back inside and put the plates back on the sideboard in the cooking area, you noticed Eivor sitting at the front table surrounded by her men. And oh - there was Randvi sitting next to her. The two of them were leaning toward each other, their heads almost touching as they laughed about something Sigurd had said. It seemed that they had talked about their difficulties and made up.

You let yourself fall on the bench next to Sfáva and she patted your thigh, holding out her pitcher to signal it was empty. With a sigh, you got up to get her more mead and made yourself a plate of vegetables from the grid, seeing as you had not eaten since breakfast. Sfáva noticed you had not taken any meat and insisted you go get some boar meat. Upon the realization that she would not let you sit down again until you had tried the boar, you slowly went over to the big fire, hoping no one would notice you. The warrior there cut you a generous piece and you were almost back in your dark corner when someone called your name. God, no.

Aelfric, Hal, and Lewin were sitting at a table with some other stable boys and young maids. You gave Sváfa an apologetic wave which she answered with a loud, heartfelt laugh, then you made your way to your old companions. The boar was better than you had expected and you really were terribly hungry, wolfing down your food at an indecent speed and even going back for another portion. The others were talking about the two squires still sat in the cell; they were sure they would come around by the next morning. Who would really prefer the cold ground over these celebrations and the wonderful food that was shared fairly between everyone?

Looking over to the table at the back of the hall you could see Eivor and her friends conversing loudly, laughing and slapping each other's backs. At one point Dag danced on the table, but he soon lost his footing and went down in a wave of plates, jugs, rattling metal, and the yells of his fellow warriors. You stared at Eivor for a while, hoping she would return your gaze, but she was completely immersed in her conversation and never even looked up from her table. You finished your meal quietly, listening to the others talking about a new dice game they had learned and about a filly at the stable that was born in late autumn, a strange and dangerous time for newborns in the animal world. Together, they were sure they would get it through the winter safe.

Later you returned to Sfáva and leaned against the wall opposite her, warming yourself up by the fire and keeping an eye on Eivor, who was apparently in another drinking contest with one of her men. Randvi had her hands on Eivor’s shoulders and was cheering her on. A small figure stepped next to you, crossing her arms and following your gaze. Valka had returned.

You made no attempt to hide your feelings, you knew she had already seen through you. The healer put an arm around your waist and shook you slightly, looking up at you with a sympathetic expression.

“I know you saw us, Y/N.” The words took a moment for you to grasp their meaning, then you turned to Valka in surprise.

“Oh God, I swear I will keep your secret. I am a master at keeping my mouth shut.”

The smaller woman had to smile at your nervous reaction.

“I trust you. I am glad it was you that caught us and not someone else.”

“May I ask…” you hesitated, “what is going on between you?”

Valka turned her head to look at the singing warriors in the hall. There was a pain in her eyes that felt just too familiar.

“She is married. It was not her choice, but her father’s way of forging an alliance. Her husband is one of the hunters and away most of the time. When he beat her badly the first time, she came to me.”

The silence between you was heavy with meaning. When she began to speak again, her words grabbed your feet and pulled on them, getting heavier and heavier until you began to wonder why the earth had not opened underneath you and swallowed you whole.

“I know you wonder what happened between Eivor and Randvi. It is neither my place nor my ability to tell you everything, but I will say this, for fairness’s sake and because I think you already know in your heart. There was once love between them. Whether it still lives on, I cannot tell. But Eivor has told me that she is ready to leave this bond behind her because she feels something new, something far deeper and more intensive is coming. That is why she has pursued you. She felt something deeper the moment she met you.”

Valka turned to you and you fought to at least turn your feet so you could face her. Everything was spinning around you. The dark-haired woman gently placed her hands on either side of your neck and looked deep into your eyes.

“Follow your heart, Y/N. The gods will lead you. They have decided your destiny long before you were born.”

After recommending you should get some sleep, Valka left you frozen in place and dizzy. The noise that filled the room was now nothing but a single loud booming voice threatening to split your head. You needed to get some air. Maybe your bed was really the best idea.

You looked around for Eivor, but she had vanished from sight. It did not matter, you would find your way into her arms later one way or another. You said your goodbyes to Sfáva and the other servants, then you finally exited the longhouse and inhaled the cool night air.

Rounding the corner toward your hut, you were suddenly startled by a noise that sounded like an animal crying out. Maybe a cat? You tiptoed around the dark cottage to your right and suddenly stopped dead in your tracks.

Your heart dropped to your feet and all the blood left your face.

Eivor had pressed her brother's wife to the wooden wall and was kissing her passionately while her hands explored Randvi’s body under her tunic. They were so immersed that they had not heard you coming. You could not move, your feet suddenly weighing you down like boulders again.

The blonde’s knee was between the other woman’s legs and Randvi spread them for her lover, moaning into her mouth. As Eivor started attacking her neck with kisses, the auburn-haired woman opened her eyes and looked directly at you. The surprise in her gaze was almost unnoticeable, fading quickly to be replaced by malicious pleasure as she continued to stare at you while whining Eivor’s name and burying her fingers in the warrior’s hair.

Finally, your muscles started to work again. You turned on the spot and quietly made your way to Eivor’s hut. You felt sick. Closing the door behind you, you kicked your shoes under the bed and threw your coat into the corner. The cat on Eivor's pillow just gave you a questioning look.

“Oh Birna, if only you knew.” You threw yourself on the bed next to her, then you started bawling for the second time today. You cried until there was not a single tear left and you felt completely empty inside. Then you scooted close to the edge of the bed, turning your back to Eivor’s side, and tried to fall asleep.

Even though you fell into a state of absence, sleep would not come. Dread filled you when you heard teps at the door. But before Eivor could enter, you heard her cough and retch, probably throwing up into the thorny bushes a few steps from the door. A slight feeling of righteousness overcame you but it quickly disappeared again, leaving only misery and desperation.

When the warrior finally entered, you could hear her stumble through the room and curse under her breath as she hit her foot on the bed frame. She seemed to only take off her coat and let it fall to the floor before lying down next to you and falling asleep in an instant. A part of you had still hoped for her arms around you, despite everything. Now you could hear her ragged breathing and smell the smoke and alcohol on her hair and breath.

The tears came again and you silently cried into your pillow while the warrior slept soundly next to you, oblivious to your sorrow. Only Birna proved her loyalty to you by getting up from Eivor’s side of the bed and rolling up in the crook of your bent knees.

You must have fallen asleep at some point because you were woken the next morning by another salve of mumbled curses. It was still grey outside, dawn had only just begun. You stayed completely still and listened to Eivor dress herself and collect her weapons and shield from her trunk.

To your surprise, the warrior suddenly walked around to your side, crouched down, and lightly stroked your hair.

“Have a good day, my little bird. I will bring you honor and victory today,” she whispered, then she stood up and swiftly left the hut.

Let me know what you thought ❤️ (it’s okay if you hate me, I promise I’ll make it up to you in the next chapters)

#eivor x reader #lady eivor #f!eivor #f!eivor x reader #lady eivor x reader #eivor fanfiction #ac valhalla #assassinscreedvalhalla #fluff #angst #im so sorry for the pain im putting you through #but it will be worth it in the end #never thought writing angst would be this much fun

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timextoxhajima · 3 years

Text

HOSTIS SPECIAL

Member: Lee Hyunjae

Genre: fluff and smut (because what’s a hostis special without smut)

Playlist: Literally a sex-playlist sigh

A/N: for vin, who feeds me with the ideas i need to write. the one who told me to write this piece and also told me what to include. so, though you already know what’s going to happen in this piece, i hope it curbs your hyunjae thirst ;) happy birthday love <3

Familiar fingers brush across your collarbone, tracing it as his lips are attached to the surface. The contact sends a harsh shiver through your body, but a smile of content parts your lips just as a soft sigh runs off your tongue.

He doesn’t say anything when your hands travel up his spine from his lower back, feeling his muscles shift under his skin. His shoulder blade protrudes out from his back as he repositions himself, giving him easier access to your neck and jaw. Your hand travels up further, thumb stroking the line where his hair goes under his scalp, then tangling your fingers through his brown locks on the back of his head.

The treatment on your neck is more than adequate when you feel yourself getting hotter; more uncomfortable, in your home shorts. Shorts that you’d think Hyunjae wouldn’t give a second thought about but all he’s done the entire day was stare and grope at the flesh peeking out from beneath.

Hyunjae’s pressing on your hip bone pulls you back to present; he’s keeping you from squirming too much.

“Hyunjae--”

“Mm? What do you need, kitten?” The whisper hits your skin in the form of a soft breath just before he starts trailing more kisses under your ear and along your jaw.

“I just-- I don’t think I want to look like I just got fucked out at dinner--”

He finishes with a few more kisses and pulls away, eyes still refusing to shift away from the little, though not obvious, marks he’s left under your ear.

Pushing himself off you, he lets his torso loom over yours, but puts tension on his upper arms and shoulders. HIs hair dangles off his forehead, eyes obviously clouded with some sense of lust but not enough for him to shut you up so he can finish whatever he wanted to do. “Aw, why not? Would be a fun story to tell.”

“Really?” You snort sarcastically, digging your thumb and index finger into his cheeks on either side of his face, trying to rid the desire in the air. “You really want me to tell Juyeon, your very hot pilot friend, that I was just screwed over--”

“Maybe I do,” An eyebrow raises itself. Something flips in your stomach, because no matter now many times Hyunjae does it, he’d still be able to push some button inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

Definitely doesn’t help that his upper body was on display for you to gawk at, and just a minute ago, was pressed against yours, shirt already strewn on the floor.

“Maybe...” He lowers himself, knees now on either sides of your hips, and traces your chin. His touch oozes with an unhealthy amount of disciplined desire, and it puts you on edge since it places you at a more disadvantageous position. “I want you to tell him that so he’d know I’m the only one who can make you feel the way you do.”

Then he presses his lips into yours. A gentle, yet somehow claiming kiss.

“But sure, I’ll let you have your way. I’m in a good mood today, thanks to those shorts of yours,” He smirks and tucks your hair behind your ear lightly. After kissing you on the cheek, he removes himself from the bed and pulls his shirt off the edge, leaving you against the pillows and admiring the shape of his hip hiding under the joggers he was wearing.

The lines by the side of his abdominal muscles would disappear under the rim, leading to where his--

“Hey,” The shirt covers your view as he calls out to you. “You have an hour to get ready, don’t go back on your word now. We do what you want to do, so you better make it worth it and not make me wait.”

Hyunjae disappears out of the room, leaving you lying with your stomach and chest exposed to the cool air of his room.

The restaurant was beautiful, with a helipad just right out the door to the side and you had the honor of watching some rich director walk out of a helicopter, and be escorted to a table nearby.

Juyeon thanks the person waiting on your table, who happened to be the outlet manager, leaving you in absolute awe at the food and at Juyeon.

“So, why isn’t the Missus here with us?” Hyunjae starts the conversation just after Juyeon hands the two of you the utensils you needed.

“’Missus’?” He snorts. “We’ve been dating for a year, unlike some people, who’ve spent half their lives fighting with one another.”

Juyeon was wearing a white button up top with a dark blue, almost black, blazer with matching pants. His hair was done up and it’d be a lie if you said he wasn’t one of the most attractive people you’ve seen in your life.

“To each their own; I didn’t pick her up from some random bar.”

“Ooh,” Juyeon squints. He knows it’s a joke. “Low blow.”

Hyunjae receives a smack from you on his arm, shooting him a look of disapproval.

“It’s fine, he’s only being such an ass because you’re around. Otherwise, he’s the sweetest guy you’d ever know,” Juyeon’s defense in favour of Hyunjae surprises you a little, then you realise you’ve never really seen him with his friends. Maybe with Younghoon back in college, but otherwise, you’ve just been too busy avoiding him or plotting his murder.

“Then again, you of all people would know how sweet he is.”

“Do I?” You turn to Hyunjae, wine glass in your hand as you take a sip. “Last time he was sweet to me, he was on one knee.”

Juyeon smiles, but you are only looking at Hyunjae, who has his lips pursed when he almost throws his napkin across the table.

“Don’t you dare--”

“Hyunjae spent a week looking for the ring. He looked online, in physical stores... he even asked me if I could give him a plane ride to India.”

“Will you shut up--”

You are at a loss of words, for it is not like Hyunjae to ask anybody for a favour. It meant putting down his pride and asking for help, which he, of all people, isn’t accustomed to.

“I wish I could stuff that chicken thigh down your throat.”

“He flew in this ring he’s been staring at for so long -- well, not that long, since it took him like five months to decide he wanted to propose to you--”

“Flew in?” Your eyes travel down to the ring on your right, middle finger.

“From Paris.”

Hyunjae winces and presses his forehead into his palm, refusing to look at you but definitely shooting daggers through Juyeon.

“You flew in this ring from Paris?”

“We do not talk about this here.”

“Aww,” You coo and hug Hyunjae’s arm, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You are sweet.”

Hyunjae rolls his eyes, using his teeth to jab the inner side of his cheek. His eyes travel from the food to yours, now soft and all gooey after finding out the effort he put in into finding you the gorgeous silver ring with a crystal sitting in a floral wrap.

Then Hyunjae leans forward and kisses you infront of Juyeon, stunning you because most of the time, he’d be into little ministrations under the table-- but this? This was just for display.

Juyeon groans and scoffs, obviously looking embarrassed and slightly annoyed that the dinner he’s hosted has turned him into more of a third-party. Hyunjae pulls away and kisses your forehead before turning to Juyeon, knife in the air.

“I’m gonna kill you, just so you know.”

“You can try but I’m sure she won’t let you.”

You smile, eyes definitely shimmering with all the love you’ve grown to embrace for Hyunjae as you plant a kiss on his cheek.

The night grows fondly, with the sun setting then the night sky being lit up with the city lights you see in the distance from your table. By the time Juyeon has walked you both to the carpark, he is well aware of the mutual, simmering, warm affection between you and Hyunjae.

He would’ve said it’s disgusting to watch, especially after watching your duet fight till death so many times over, but he didn’t want ruin his own view of Hyunjae being so happy.

He’d smile every time he looked at you, even if you weren’t looking back at him.

“So,” Juyeon stops before Hyunjae’s car as the headlights beeped on. “When am I seeing the both of you again? Or am I expecting a call to be your best man?”

The car door unlocks just before you pull it open. You snort, knowing that Hyunjae’s idea of a wedding was too far away; both of you were too busy with work to even start planning one.

“Doubt it’d be anytime soon,” Hyunjae gets the driver’s door open. “But I’ll see you again, that’s for sure.”

Juyeon grins and shoves his hands into his pockets, nodding. “Bye, safe trip home.”

“Bye, Juyeon.”

Your fiance glances across the roof of the car upon your bidding goodbye, flashing you a tiny look of disapproval when he notices how your voice went up a few pitches.

You help yourself into the car and Hyunjae shortly after, Juyeon moving away for him to drive out and waves goodbye to the both of you.

When the car hits the streets and the lights alternate themselves, your eyes are so accustomed to having them plastered to the outside world, taking all the sights in. It wasn’t a usual drive to the tower you just had dinner at, so all the views were different.

The buildings were taller, brighter, no hospital in sight.

But old habits die hard and Hyunjae decides to disrupt your peace, albeit already used to it.

“This is your first proper meeting with Juyeon, right? How was it?”

You notice him turning to your in the window, and it wasn’t tough to read the look in his eyes.

He’s scared you saw something in Juyeon that he doesn’t have.

But Hyunjae will not cower and admit, he’d put up a fight to protect his pride even if you did assure him otherwise.

“He’s alright,” You pause. “A sight to behold.”

“I was worried I was imagining things when I noticed the way you looked at him.”

It snaps it into your head that this insecurity is turning into jealousy, and Hyunjae’s jealousy is a force to be reckoned with.

“He is gorgeous, you can’t deny that.”

“I’ll deny it because I’m straight and he’s got enough going on for him.”

Hyunjae’s now slightly-harsh tone surprises you, though not alarmingly.

“Just because you’re straight doesn’t mean you can’t say he’s gorgeous.”

“Is that the only thing you can say about Juyeon?” He turns to you, eyebrow raised as the car comes to a stop at a red light. “‘Gorgeous’?”

Leaning your head back onto the car seat, you eye him from the corner of your vision, a soft smirk coming on your lips.

“You’re jealous and you’re not even trying to hide it.”

The arrogant scoff that tears through the air with a roll of his eyes back to the road is an enticing sound to your ears. With his right arm on the steering wheel, he displays all the strained veins on his arm, because that’s just how hard he’s gripping it.

“Surely I have some credit for feeling jealous over my fiancé calling my best friend ‘gorgeous’?”

It is seething out from him pore to pore, and there isn’t a single strand of hair on Hyunjae that’s trying to hide it.

No longer surprising the way Hyunjae handles you -- careful but harsh and claiming -- he doesn’t hesitate to cup your jaw and cheeks in his hands while using your body to shut the front door of his house.

“My God,” He breathes against your lips, pulling away only to speak, otherwise his lips are attached to yours. “You’re already mine but I can’t stand the way you call someone else ‘gorgeous’.”

His blatant admittance draws a thick chuckle from your gut, motivating you to wrap your arms around him to tighten the gap between your torsos.

“I know you don’t like it, but it’s never boring to see your reaction.”

Hyunjae doesn’t stop, only allowing the kisses to get harsher according to his needs and the desires filling his veins. He picks you up by your thighs, one arm supporting your rear while he pushes both your shoes off and removing his own with just his feet.

It doesn’t take too long for him to get the both of you to his bedroom, clothes already pulled out from under your skirt and his pants and on the brink of coming off your skin altogether.

Hyunjae dips his nose into your neck, shutting your eyes despite your fingers desperately trying to find the buttons of his formal wear. His skin feels stretched and feeling his muscles shift under your fingerpads alleviates all your senses.

Never gets old.

He pulls away only to remove his shirt, returning to your gown and holding you up to pull down the zipper on the back and letting the straps fall down your arms to your elbows. Distracting you by returning to your lips, he gives himself space to remove your clothes, letting the cool (but now slightly warm) air kiss your exposed skin.

Every breath he leaves on you is light but needy, and every kiss feels like it was timed; like it was meant to happen. It doesn’t show the ten years of fighting you’ve been through with him.

Hyunjae loves your body the way he said he would, and even if he would never admit it or write it out explicitly in words, he would never hurt you more than he intended.

He doesn’t remove any of your lingerie besides your underwear, which is strange because he usually likes to see all of you, for he likes to revel in the fact that you are his and his only.

So when he reaches under the bed and pulls out a small, newly opened package, your attention is being sought after by that mysterious box.

“What the Hell is that?”

Then that smirk returns from the depths of Hell, just like you asked.

“Why in the world do you-- no, wait--”

“Come on, kitten,” That devious smile makes you wetter, against your liking, but your brain is yelling ‘no’ because you know this is just another way he can snap you like a twig. “You’ve had your fun, now let me have mine.”

You watch with a mixture of terror and lust as he removes the device from the package, and it is almost embarrassing to watch him turn it on without even checking for the batteries.

He’s planned this.

“Hyunjae--”

“Trust me, kitten,” His warmth breath hits your neediness, clenching your jaw to prevent the moan from escaping your mouth. Then, he presses the device to your skin, the most sensitive point on your body, and it sends you over an edge you didn’t even know existed.

Your back archs off the bed, head thrown back into the pillows when you feel the vibrations pulse through your abdomen and then throughout your entire body. Hyunjae slides two digits in with ease, tongue also busy flicking all the space where the device wasn’t being ruthlessly pressed against.

The blanket gets tangled in your right hand, and your left finds your teeth to bite.

His fingers increase their speed while the dangerous, circular device still running innocent, yet gut-clenching sensations through your nerves.

It was a mistake to look down, for Hyunjae looks up at your through his lashes and his slightly sweaty fringe, eyes clouded with lust and desire to ensure you were getting all the pleasure he could offer.

And the eye contact flips a switch somewhere inside, and his finger finds the spot alongside the constant vibrations from the device.

“Oh-- fucking Hell-- Hyunjae--”

The silence is painful, and he lets you near your climax, fingers coated with your lust and whimsical whines.

Then just before you release, he removes the device and his fingers, causing a frustrated groan to erupt from your chest and your bloodshot eyes ready to shoot daggers through him.

You sit up, forgetting about your needs and only wanting to choke him to death. But Hyunjae beats you to it, hand flying out to hold you back down to the bed by your throat, and silencing you with a harsh, messy kiss.

“I know you don’t like it, but it’s never boring to see your reaction.”

The words boil and fuel your love for him, for this is why you are his and he is yours.

You are half of Ares, and he completes you the same way you complete him.

He captures you by the lips again, allowing your hands to undo his belt and remove his pants all too impatiently before he gets rid of it with your aggressive pushing.

You can feel his smile against your lips, and it makes the kiss all the more sweeter. Knowing that he breathes and sighs into you, giving you all that he is makes you yearn for more.

His uneven shifting tells you he’s gotten rid of his underwear, then you feel him prodding at your entrance as he’s removing your bra.

“I love you so much.”

He stares into your eyes, not a spark of hatred or resentment the way he’d look at you just months ago, and it feels like the Hell you’ve promised to live with him, if not better.

“I love you too.”

The bliss when he fills you perfectly erupts goosebumps all over your skin, and his nose dips into your neck while your palms find his shoulder blades, nails ready to dig into his skin. His scent is toxicatingly addictive, where the mixture of his sweat and leftover cologne from the dinner appointment forces you to drink all of the pleasure he’s offering you as he grinds his hips into yours.

The remnants from the vibrator has already given him some leeway, so it doesn’t take long for him to find that spot again, above all the nibbling he was doing to your neck and collarbone.

Your nails must’ve left a mark on his back, though you were too pre-occupied with the violent spasming from your climax.

Hyunjae helps you ride out yours while chasing his, and his breathy growls in the back of his throat tells you he was nearing his as well.

“Don’t pull out.”

“What?” His hair sticks to his forehead, and the view of his pelvis ramming against your already max-ed out core turns you on again. “Are you-- sure?”

“Do it before I change my mind.”

The veins on his arms by your head were about to explode, and the view of him above you becomes too much for you to handle, so you push him down by the back of his neck to meet your lips again.

The thrusts don’t stop, and he helps you find that climax again within an unbelievable amount of time.

Then he abruptly offers a harsh jerk, then another, and you hit your second climax with him groaning messily into your lips. His hips and thighs are shaking under yours, giving him seconds just before he slowly pulls out and removes himself off you.

The panting, the smell of sex in the air and the trickling of his release down your legs make you feel like a satisfied mess, with an absolute void of complaint.

Hyunjae is spent, but he still finds the strength to pick you up and bring you into the bathroom, helping you wash all of him that was still dripping out of you, every now and then giving you a kiss on your skin where he could reach.

The bed feels extra comfy, now that the both of you were spent from your love-making. And being cuddled up against his chest in your pajamas makes it all the more worth it.

#timetohajima hostis #the boyz hyunjae #hyunjae smut #the boyz smut #the boyz fanfic #hyunjae #hyunjae fanfic

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dollsonmain · 3 years

Text

I also have like... I helped That Guy abduct some dudes from the village to his library prison thing that he’s set up to try to get mending books, and it sucked because every time something didn’t go exactly his way he’d throw a tantrum and I was like dude fucking chill this is not an easy task it takes time and patience if you’re not doing powered rails.

It also sucked because every time I made a suggestion that would have made it easier he’d say WHATEVER NO I JUST WANT THEM TO MOVE FORWARD I DON’T CARE HOW BUT NO NOT YOUR IDEA, which honestly my ideas were the only ones that worked and once he stopped being so damned obstinate, things moved along much more smoothly.

But then he got everything set up the way he wanted and is now pissed because the way he wanted it is very tight and spartan and the little dudes can’t get to their lecterns.

Also merchants are spawning inside and that’s annoying.

And he’s like “Now I have to rebuild the whole damn thing.”

So I think I’ll load up a copy and fix his mistakes by moving the sugarcane farm up onto the roof and opening up the inside area to the villagers so they have room to do their work stuff.

Or putting the lecterns in the floor at the foot of each bed instead of as a headboard. Which I guess I could try that, first but it wouldn’t help with the overcrowding.

Or building a connecting building to put the beds in. Or a proper village with a handful of little houses.

He also wants a bigger sugarcane farm to get more emeralds more quickly and needs a decently sized cow farm AND wheat farm to farm leather but instead of sitting down, planning that out, and doing it, he whines and complains and puts it off until I do it.

But that would be me doing all the tedious stuff for him, again, and him doing nothing but reaping the rewards, again.

Which he would say is reasonable because he bought the game system and game.

But that does remind me of something else I’d wanted to type out and keep forgetting this morning, and that’s nitwits.

The nitwits are interesting to me. Why were they added to Minecraft? They can’t work, they can’t breed, they can’t trade. They’re essentially..... disabled.

I think the way people react to and manage nitwits says a lot about them.

Realistically, they don’t exist. They’re just data in a game. They don’t have feelings. They don’t have needs. If you kill them off you’re not really hurting anyone.

You get someone like me and those are my little people, right? I take care of them. If I need more people to fill more job roles, I build more beds and supply more food so more breeding happens until I get those jobs filled.

That Guy plans to evict them and let them be killed off by monsters because they’re useless.

Neither of us is right, really. They don’t exist so there’s no morality to either treatment of them.

But anyway I think I will go check and rotate the window ponies (I haven’t been rotating them because I can’t see them, now, and forget about them!) and then decide what to do from there.

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thelittleredheadedmusician · 4 years

Note

Halloween prompt: Alfred is getting increasingly annoyed at whoever is eating the halloween candy. No one will confess. (Bruce is sitting in a corner somewhere with a bag of... [insert Batfamily appropriate candy here])

Three Musketeers

Rating: G 1,844 words Gen AO3

Bristol was technically in Gotham City limits. Though the gilted mansions and private woods with pastures and stables seemed like a whole other world in comparison. The residents liked to think so too, especially because – despite Gotham’s robust public transportation system – it was almost impossible to reach the rich suburb from the city proper. It was because they lived in this separate world that Bristol’s wealthy residents often fought to receive special treatment or even secede from the city all together.

Except when it came to Halloween.

The residents of Bristol were more than happy to hold their trick-or-treat night during the same time as the rest of Gotham. Mostly, because it discouraged the city’s poorer residents from coming out to ask for literal handouts from them. The time it would take to sit in train stations and bus stops to get there ate up a large chunk of trick-or-treat’s two-hour window. And the walk from the last stop and between the houses took up the rest.

Despite all this, many made the trek out to Wayne Manor and its residents always made it well worth the work.

It was known that the Manor didn’t simply give out full-sized candy bars, no, they gave a whole bag of king’s sized bars. And from the entrance way to the ballroom off to the side were decked out and fitted to be a haunted house with games and entertainment and even more snacks. There was no reason to go anywhere else when you went to Wayne Manor.

Except, this year the seemingly endless supply of candy was mysteriously missing in the week leading up to the big night. Which was ironic considering the Manor was populated by detectives.

Alfred was suspicious. And annoyed. But mostly suspicious. He had raised the world’s greatest detective and then helped raise the current world’s greatest detective. In addition to the other seven vigilantes he’d actively cared for over the years. And countless others who hadn’t lived under his roof. Which meant that he was extremely hard to pull something over on. Extremely.

Yet, his stockpile of trick-or-treat candy was gone. Completely. And his list of suspects was long and skilled.

First, was Barbara because he loved the young woman dearly but she was a bit of a chocolate fiend. Also, if he could rule her out then he could enlist her assistance. It was easy enough to make her coffee just the way she liked and message her to come to the kitchen when she was working in the Cave one evening. She was happy enough to come up, thinking it was just for a chat but knowing something was up when Alfred passed her the mug.

They studied each other from across the long wooden table that took up the far side of the kitchen. Alfred sipped his tea from the good china that after the last family debacle was his alone to use. Barbara narrowed her eyes as her glasses slipped down her nose. They were playing a high stakes game of chicken and they both knew it.

Barbara broke first. “Is there something you wanted to talk about, Alfred?” she asked sweetly, setting her coffee down and pushing her glasses back up in the same movement.

“Now that you mention it, yes. I was wondering if you happened to know where my trick-or-treat supply is disappearing to?” Alfred’s lips turned up in kindness, but his eyes were hard and steady as he held her gaze.

An adult, a seasoned crimefighter, an honest to god superhero and yet Barbara wanted to wriggle in her chair, knot her fingers in the hem of her t-shirt, under that look. Pure willpower was the only thing that stopped her. Though it didn’t extend to her mouth. “No, I’ve been out of town most of the week.”

This was true, Alfred knew, but not necessarily an airtight alibi.

“Besides,” Barbara continued, “I have a Costco card. The Birds and I split it. If I wanted to eat a whole bag of candy, I’d just buy my own.”

Alfred nodded, lifting his tea to take another sip. He accepted that answer, she knew better than to lie to him. “In that case, might I enlist your skills to uncover the real culprit?”

This was what Alfred had truly wanted to ask, they both knew, and Barbara smiled in delight at the prospect. “I’d love to.”

The next suspect was Tim. He knew exactly how to cover his tracks and misdirect their attention. Tim was sly, smart, and still technically a teenaged boy so sugar was irresistible. Barbara set the trap, crashing the Batcomputer one afternoon when everyone else was out. This forced Tim up, out of the Cave and to Alfred lying in wait in the kitchen.

Tim had climbed up onto a kitchen chair to get at the stash of poptarts on the top shelf of the cabinet above the stove. Proving that he had means, motive, and a record.

“Master Timothy,” Alfred drawled as he stepped out of the shadows. Bruce had to learn the skill from somewhere.

Startling, Tim whirled around and nearly fell from the chair. Dropping the silver packet in the process. It landed on the tile with a crunch. “Look I need the brain power to get the computer back up,” he said hastily, glancing guiltily between Alfred and the fallen junk food.

“I am not here to reprimand you about the poptarts,” Alfred said and Tim immediately relaxed, shooting him a relieved little grin. “But I may have to reprimand you for sneaking something else,” Alfred continued, causing Tim’s face to fall.

“I swear, I only had the one Monster the other week. And I split it with Kon ‘cause we were trying to keep Bart from drinking it. Me and him on an energy drink bouncing round the Tower is way better than a speedster on an energy drink.” Tim’s eyes were wide and the blood that had drained from his face made the boy almost impossibly paler.

Alfred lifted an eyebrow at the confession. Not what he was looking for but good to know all the same. “And what of the candy for trick-or-treat?”

Tim’s brows drew together in confusion. “Uh, I don’t know? I suggested we get milkyways but if you got snickers again then I’m not going to complain.”

“So, you did not eat the supply?” Alfred confirmed, though the fact that Tim was already feeling guilty and hesitant to lie on top of the fact that he had no idea Alfred had purchased boxes of three musketeers cleared him of the crime.

“No?” Tim shook his head as he shrugged.

Satisfied, Alfred nodded. “Enjoy your poptarts, Master Timothy. I shall be moving them shortly.”

“It wasn’t Jason,” Barbara said over the phone. “I have a couple different angles of him being in Paraguay all last week.”

“I never suspected him to begin with,” Alfred admitted as he pushed the shopping cart, restocking for the big night tomorrow. “He never liked three musketeers. Dark chocolate kit-kats are a separate story.” He smiled at the memory of a young Jason carrying a huge box of the candy bars to drop in the cart during his first Halloween with them.

“Cass and Dick are out too,” she continued. “Cass laughed at me when I even suggested it and then confirmed Dick was telling the truth when I questioned him.”

Alfred hummed. Richard had been his next guess, though he was more likely to take them to hand out while on patrol or pass on to his friends’ children than to eat himself. “Master Damian is innocent as well. He scoffed at the implication he would, quote, ‘stoop so low as to steal candy from children.’ He also vouched for Master Duke and neither were anywhere near the spare pantry recently to begin with.”

“Security cameras confirm that.”

“That leaves Miss Stephanie,” Alfred frowned. Stephanie tended to decline any offers of assistance from the Manor’s residents that weren’t directly related to masked vigilantism. Though she recently had allowed Alfred to slip her gas money when she visited during daylight hours. The thought of her taking the Halloween candy just did not sit right with him. It was almost as impossible to imagine as Damian taking it. Cassandra was more likely to be playing a trick on them all, having hidden it for some soon to be revealed reason. “Are you positive Miss Cassandra is not the culprit?”

Barbara chuckled. “I mean, not really. But at the same time why would she? Though why would Steph either? I don’t think it was either of them but I can vouch for Steph. She hasn’t been anywhere near the Cave or the Manor since last month. What with school she’s been staying close.”

“Which leaves us back to the beginning,” Alfred sighed and got in line. “We could create a sting operation though I’d loathe to lose this supply as well. There’s nearly no candy left in the entire state.”

“That I believe. Alright, I’ve got the feed from the events kitchen running on one of my screens. I’ll keep an eye on it for the rest of the night, see if anyone stupid enough to try it again.”

“Thank you, Miss Barbara. I really appreciate your assistance in this matter,” Alfred told her before exchanging their goodbyes. He had plans for a little stakeout of his own.

Placing the boxes in the spare pantry, Alfred settled himself on a stool next to the industrial fridge in the dark. He typed out a careful message in the family’s groupchat informing them all that the missing candy had been replaced and politely asking that it not disappear again before the next night. They would all be getting ready to go out for the night so there is no doubt they would see it. And he would have plenty of time to wait for them to strike.

Hours later, the family was returning and Alfred was still lying in wait. A creak echoed in from the ballroom where decorations were mostly in place. The light padding of rubber soles on the marble tile came closer and closer. Alfred leant further back into the shadows as the door swung open. He held his breath, waiting as the guilty party walked into the kitchen proper, headed directly towards the pantry. Alfred slipped from his hiding spot, keeping low as he crept around the island to come up behind the culprit.

Alfred contained his gasp of shock and annoyance as he flipped on the light. Forcing the candy thief to whirl on him. “Master Bruce!” Alfred scolded. He hadn’t thought his first charge would do such a thing and hadn’t even considered him as a suspect.

Having the good sense to look ashamed and like a ten-year-old boy again, Bruce offered a wavering grin in apology. “You bought three musketeers,” he said as his only defense.

Alfred frowned as he crossed his arms. “And your penance will be handing them out tomorrow night.”

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angst-fairygodmother · 3 years

Text

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 6: LAID BARE

Word Count: 4970 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader Rating: M Content Warnings: childhood poverty, discussion of theft/thievery, discussion of death, discussion of childhood illness Cross-posted to AO3: here

Previous Chapter: Revelations || Masterlist

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Your eyes traced the flicker of headlights through the narrow half-window as you tried to gather your thoughts into some sort of sense. You wanted to tell him everything. But what did that even mean anymore?

“So what is it you want to talk about?” Diego asked finally, cutting through the waiting silence.

“Actually,” you looked down at your fingers where they rested on the tabletop, tracing anxious shapes against the laminate. “I know a lot more about you, by virtue of your very public childhood, than you know about me. Which I think, is part of the problem here. So the better question is, where do you want to start?”

“Alright,” he was silent for a moment, jaw twitching as if he was working the words over in his mouth before he said them. “Why do you get so defensive when I say you could do more with your powers, and your skills?”

“Because it’s judgmental, it relies on untrue assumptions, and I don’t like having other people’s will imposed on me,” you explained, face twisting wryly.

“Tell me the truth then.”

“What?”

“If my assumptions aren’t true, set the record straight.”

“You aren’t going to like what I have to say.”

“Now who’s the one making assumptions?”

You sighed. “It’s a long story, especially if I start at the beginning. So you might want to make yourself comfortable.”

He shifted in the hard plastic chair across from you, leaning back with his arms folded across his chest, waiting expectantly.

“Your ‘father’ tried to buy me too, when we were babies,” you couldn’t help throwing air quotes around the word and he smiled at the gesture. “But my parents were stable. They both had jobs; they already had one child and were thinking about trying for another anyway. So they said no. And then my dad died, in a workplace accident, because his boss cut corners to save time and money, and things got hard. And the bastard never got punished for it, or even had the decency to pay for the funeral.”

He looked like he was going to say something, some comment of pity or sympathy and you held up a hand to stop him, knowing that if he did, you would fall apart and never finish telling him what he needed to know, what you needed him to know.

“Your dad showed up again, offered her literal millions to let him have me. At least twice that I know of, but there could have been more. But she was as stubborn as they come. I was her daughter and he wasn’t getting me over her dead body. But a florist’s salary really isn’t enough to raise two kids on. Eventually, I realized that my abilities were things no one else could do, and figured out that I could use them to get things. So when money was skint, Daniel and I could still eat properly; rice and beans can only get a kid so far you know. Or we could have clothes that fit and didn’t have holes without bothering her.”

You shrugged, looking away from the growing ache on his face to stare at some spot on the wall. It had just been the facts of your reality.

“And then I found that bigger risks meant bigger rewards. I could give her money or things, nice things like she deserved. She would cry and get so mad at me, but she always took them and life seemed to get better.”

“Y/N….” he reached out across the table to take one of your hands, which you hadn’t noticed was getting more and more fidgety as you spoke.

“I grew up. I realized it wasn’t just us. I figured out how to take care of myself, got a job that let me keep a roof over my head and food in the cupboard. Daniel had his own shit figured out, so I didn’t have to worry about anyone else. But all those other people needed someone to look out for them. And if the people I happen to take things from are the kind that exploit their workers or cheat their taxes instead of paying their fair share, who…cut corners and skimp on safety, who’s it hurting?”

You finally turned your eyes back to him, a challenge sparking in them to tell you that you were wrong.

“So it’s what? Karma with you as it’s righteous deliverer?” He asked.

You pursed your lips. He still wasn’t getting it.

“Even with what I take, those people have more than they need. And now, kids get proper care; families don’t have to decide between going hungry and getting the lights turned off.” You shook your head. “I don’t know how to put it any simpler than that.”

He frowned. “I don’t...get it. I’m sorry, I’m trying to understand but…”

“Okay, how about an example then. When I stole from that museum, you know the one…”

He smirked at the memory.

“There was this kid. Rare terminal something, something. I don’t remember the details of it. Just that I was able to anonymously pay for the experimental treatment that he needed and he got to live to see twelve. His foster parents and the social worker didn’t have to worry about going bankrupt or applying to the state and praying they’d get funds. And all it cost was one less shiny rock, that some exploited worker probably died to fish out of the ground, wasting space on display.”

“You know,” he said off-handedly as if it wasn’t an obvious attempt to deflect, “the kinds of people that can afford to buy those things aren’t any better than the people you’re stealing from. In fact, they’re probably worse if they’re willing to buy from a fence.”

You rolled your eyes. “So? I’ll just rob them blind to fund a school or whatever later.”

“There’s got to be a better way,” he sighed. “One that isn’t criminal.”

“You find it for me then, Diego,” you snapped. “I’m doing the best I can to help as many people as possible with what I’ve got. And sure maybe there’s a little bit of a revenge angle but who cares? Every one of those assholes deserves it.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, certain that you were losing him, that even after you had ripped your chest open and exposed your bleeding heart for the taking, he was going to ask for you to choose between him and your morals, your passions, things that made up the very fiber of your being.

He stood up, circling the table to kneel in front of you again. His hands came up to cup your face and he brushed away the moisture that leaked down your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

“Okay,” he said softly, eyes boring into yours.

“Okay? What does that mean, ‘okay’?”

“I still don’t like it,” he started and you growled in frustration before he stared you down. “But...I understand. And I’ll try to stop fighting you on it, judging you for it.”

“Do you actually?” you asked.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he pulled back, not moving away completely, but enough that his hands were no longer on you and you felt cold in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

“I don’t know. It’s just this feeling I have. Like I can say whatever I want and tell you my life story in every explicit detail, but…I’m scared that you’re just saying those things to placate me. And that doubt is going to eat me alive.”

“What do you want me to do then, Y/N?”

“Work with me?” you suggested.

“I’m trying,” he countered, frustration leaching into his tone now.

“No. I mean….Work one job with me, start to finish. Let me show you.”

“You want me to help you steal something?”

“Steal it. Sell it. Put it to good use. Together, as a team, the whole way through.”

“I…” he swallowed before nodding. “Alright.”

Plowing onward, not even registering his answer, you rambled, explaining that you weren’t expecting him to give up being a vigilante or go rogue and that if at any point he wanted out you’d let him, that you would even let him turn you over to the cops, as long as it wasn’t Eudora, if that was what he wanted, you just couldn’t take the doubt anymore. And then your mind caught up to reality and came to a screeching halt.

“Wait, really?” you asked incredulously.

You had been expecting him not only to say no, but to get angry at the suggestion, bracing yourself for the inevitable complete rejection of it, maybe even of you, and trying to counter it preemptively.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “If you come with me for a night in return. Try things my way too. I…I want there to be an us, and if this is what it takes for there to even be a chance of that, I’m willing to do it.”

You stared, stunned.

“Sounds like a fair trade,” you murmured eventually. “I had no idea you felt so strongly about…this…” you gestured between the two of you, indicating what you meant.

“Of course I do, I l—“ he cut himself off, looking away with a clenched jaw, nervous tension practically vibrating his whole body.

“One other thing?” you said, biting your lip.

“What?”

“We’re both terrible at communication, and trust,” you observed. “I don’t want it to be like that anymore.”

He caressed your cheek once more, smiling softly. “I’ll try to be better if you will.”

You leaned in. “Deal.”

He closed the last gap of centimeters between you, pressing his lips to yours. You slowly sat back up, guiding him into a position hovering over you in the chair as his mouth chased where yours led, refusing to be parted from you. His tongue trailed hesitantly over your bottom lip, and you parted eagerly for him, losing yourself for a blissful moment in the kiss.

“What time is it?” you mumbled reluctantly between kisses.

“Why does it matter?” he countered, trying to shift you into a position more comfortable for you both.

“I have work. And you have streets to patrol. Although I know that’s far less exciting without your ravishing nemesis about,” you teased, breaking the kiss completely now.

“Mm...ravishing…” he muttered, eyes closed and face dazed. “I’d like that.”

You laughed. “You weren’t listening at all were you?”

He shook himself, blushing slightly as he opened his eyes to look at you.

“I appreciate your careful nursing, and this talk was...good, necessary, important. I don’t know. But I really do have to go.”

He sighed, sulking. “I know. Fine. I...I’ll see you later?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” you smirked. “Maybe we can revisit the whole, ravishing idea.”

Several days later, Diego came over to your apartment. You had suggested it under the guise of, at least partially true, a need to start planning for your heist together. But really, you just wanted to see him again, to spend some time with him now that there was, properly, something between you.

Your stomach twisted nervously in anticipation, realizing that this was another big step, one quickly after the other, letting him into your home. It had always been your safe place to hide, your sanctum, and you were disrupting that with a new presence.

But, you reminded yourself, he wasn’t the first (though the total number was incredibly small), and he had already let you into his, even so far as to let you stay there. And you trusted him. More than anyone, save maybe your brother. So it wouldn’t be so bad.

You were just putting the finishing touches on the pot of cheesy mashed potatoes you had made when the intercom buzzed, indicating someone was at the building’s outer door and wanted to be let in. You hastily crossed the room to press the unlock button and the talk button at the same time.

“It’s open,” you called through the speaker.

There was no response but you heard the odd echo of the door opening and shutting and clicked off the box. A few moments later, someone knocked on your door. Despite knowing there was only one person it could be, you stood on your toes to look through the little peephole before sliding the chain aside and letting Diego in.

“Do you always just unlock your door for strangers?” he asked.

“Hmmm, no. Only the tall, dark and handsome ones.”

You threaded your arms around his neck to greet him with a quick kiss, shaking your head and laughing when he responded with a hand on your backside.

“Something smells amazing,” he said as you pulled away and returned to the stove to finish the rest of dinner.

“Well, I figured since you were coming over, and our little...project was probably going to take a while, I should make food.” You shrugged, placing two steaming plates on your coffee table and gesturing for him to come sit beside you on the couch. “It’s not Michelin star or anything…”

He shoveled up a bite of the garlic-roasted vegetables and groaned in satisfaction.

“It’s perfect,” he countered around the mouthful.

“You eat raw eggs, so I think the bar’s pretty low,” you countered jokingly, "but thank you.”

After you had eaten and cleaned up from dinner, you decided it was time to get down to business. You led him over to one corner of the broad, open space that served as your ‘office’ of sorts, drawing the thick curtains shut as you passed, just in case any of the neighbors were out smoking on the fire escape tonight.

“So, you said, planting your hands on the work table dramatically and looking across to him. “Any initial thoughts?”

His eyes grew wide, like a panicked deer. He opened his mouth and then closed it again several times, but no words came out.

“Relax,” you said, smiling reassuringly, eyes sparkling. “It’s not like I expected you to do any homework. It was just a question. I have a few ideas, but we’re supposed to be partners, so I didn’t want to launch into them without giving you a shot first.”

‘Partners.’ He thought he liked the sound of that, but he still found himself wishing it was doing what he was used to, instead of this. It felt wrong, like he was going against everything he’d been taught. But then, he supposed he had been taught by a man so rigid and set in his ways that he would never have even considered that there might be other options. And the last thing he wanted to do was be like Reginald Hargreeves. Besides, it was a one for one deal, and there was still a chance to change your mind.

He smiled at you. “You lead, I’ll follow. For this one.”

“I like the sound of that,” you muttered, smiling back, before settling back into a more serious mode.

“Some oil tycoon’s private collection is being temporarily hosted and displayed at the art museum. It’s a pretty soft target at night, easy to get in and out. Shockingly minimal security in general, and paintings are easy to move,” you offered.

Diego nodded vaguely, wanting to hear everything you set out before agreeing to anything.

“Or, there’s another place I’ve been staking out for a while. A warehouse. Owned by D.S. Umbrella Manufacturing Co. Nothing to do with actual umbrellas, or manufacturing from what I can tell.”

Diego flinched, but you didn’t notice, having turned around to pull out a file of information you had been gathering.

“It’s all shipping and receiving. Mostly receiving. Some stuff I think is probably stolen antiques; I think I saw a couple guys opening crates of straight cash at one point, and there’s definitely stuff labeled with shit like ‘caution: explosive’ which usually means weapons or some kind of chemicals and either way is bad news. Those don’t stay in the warehouse long, and I don’t tend to mess with that shit anyway…” you trailed off, noticing Diego’s strange expression. “What? Why are you staring?”

“That…that’s my father’s company.”

“Wait what? Really?” you couldn’t help the shock on your face.

You knew that Hargreeves was a very rich man but somehow it had never occurred to you that he might actually own anything, other than the massive Academy. And you supposed in theory the seven babies he had bought. You bit the inside of your cheek to distract yourself, cutting off that train of thought before it went to dark places.

“Do you know what specifically he’s got there?” you asked hopefully.

“No. I...sorry I don’t.”

“Nah, that’s alright. And you’re sure it’s his? Not just a similar name or coincidence?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s definitely Dad’s company.”

“All the better then,” you smiled wolfishly, all teeth. “Vengeance and helping people. If you want? I mean, I’m not going to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with. We could always hit the museum. Or start listing some other options...”

He hesitated a moment. Then he nodded resolutely. “Let’s do it.”

You grinned. Maybe this would turn out even better than you’d hoped.

The two of you spent the next several hours working out the details of your plan, pouring over warehouse blueprints (that he didn’t ask where you’d gotten them from) and road maps, talking entry and exit strategies, rendezvous points, likely potential pitfalls, including the possibility that Hargreeves would send in his brother, Number One to try and stop you if he got wind of the break-in. Diego assured you that he was prepared to fight Luther if it came to it, and you frowned, heart clenching at his cold acquiescence to the idea.

Exhausted, heads drooping and necks and shoulders aching, you finally decided to call it quits for the night. There was still more to go over, but you had time, and tonight you weren’t going to get anywhere useful with the fog that was settling into your minds.

“I guess I should go,” he murmured as you both turned toward the door.

“Do you want to?” your face felt hot with a blush and you looked away from him as you asked.

“What else would I do?” he stepped in front of you, turning your head to look at him again.

You knew that he knew what you were offering, but he wanted to hear you say it anyway, to make sure the invitation was explicitly there. God, just when you thought he couldn’t get more perfect, he went and did a thing like that.

You bit your lip, the words feeling heavy in your throat, every nerve suddenly hyper-aware.

“You could stay?” you offered, tilting your head slightly to one side.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“I mean, I spent a week freeloading off you at your place. The least I can do is offer tonight, especially with how late it’s gotten. It’s dangerous out in the city alone at night you know.” You chuckled, trying to break the tension that crackled between you.

“Y/N…”

“It’s a really nice couch to sleep on,” you continued nervously. “I’ve fallen asleep on it before, pretty often actually when I come home and I’m just too tired. Or if I’m watching a movie or something.”

“Is that what you want?” his voice was soft and he was so close that his breath ghosted over your face.

“Is what?”

“For me to stay, and sleep on your couch?” He made sure you were making complete eye-contact with him, voice serious. “Be honest, and don’t just say something out of feeling like you’re obligated.”

“It’s not an obligation, Diego,” you assured him, hand cupping his face in counterpoint to the one he still had resting on your face. “I want you to stay.”

“On the couch?”

You shook your head. “Not unless you want to sleep on the couch.”

He opened his mouth to ask again if you were sure, to try and get you to say instead of dance around the invitation you were making. You rolled your eyes, kissing him fiercely.

“Christ Diego,” you groaned against his lips. “I am trying to say I want you, as much of you as you’re willing to let me have.”

That seemed to finally be good enough for him, as he kissed you back with just as much ferocity as you had used. Your lips parted eagerly before he'd even had the chance to act, and your tongues danced together. The hand you had on his cheek slid back to grasp his short-cropped hair, raking your nails across his scalp in a way that made him shiver. Your other gripped tightly to his shoulder to hold yourself steady. He continued to cup your face, his thumb running slowly back and forth over your cheekbone in tender circles, his other arm wrapping around you to hold you close to him.

Carefully, without breaking contact between you, you led him in a sort of dance, crossing the apartment, circling the edge of the dividing screens that formed your bed“room”, stepping over laundry piles, and finally tumbling backward onto the already rumpled sheets.

Pulling back to give you both a moment to breathe, Diego shifted, taking off his boots and socks. He bit his lip, staring down at you, your hair splayed around you like a halo, lips reddened from his kisses, skin practically glowing in the dim light (or was that just you?).

“What?” you asked teasingly. “Have I got something on my face?”

“You’re just…” he found himself at a loss for words, every one he could come up with seeming insufficient.

“Beautiful,” he finally breathed, brushing a finger reverently across your cheek once more, continuing on to trace up your temple before threading back, into your hair.

“Diego,” you sighed, reaching again to draw him close, needy and wanting.

He leaned down, tugging lightly on your hair, to expose your neck, placing teasing kisses along the column of your throat. You pressed your lips together to stifle a moan as his teeth grazed over the sensitive skin of your pulse point. You felt him smirk against your skin and had only a few seconds before he redoubled his efforts, biting down harder on the same spot and causing you to cry out. He glided his tongue over the mark he made and his free hand trailed over your stomach, fingers slipping beneath your shirt, shockingly cold against your heated skin. You gasped at the contact, melting into his touch and moving like a marionette for him as he released your hair and lifted your arms above your head to pull the offending garment off, tossing it aside. You thought you heard the clatter of something being knocked over by it, but you couldn’t be bothered to care as his lips reconnected with your own.

The next kiss was languid and tender, his arms pulling you close, yours curling around his shoulders, fingers dancing mindless patterns over his bicep. You tugged unceremoniously at his own shirt which he was quick to shuck off. A shiver ran through you at the feel of his skin on yours.

His lips continued their journey downward and you arched into him as they found the swell of your breast. You couldn’t help the whine that slipped out of you, hand dropping from where you clung to him to clutch the sheets beside you as he sucked an obvious mark there, just above the line of your bra.

Your chest heaved as you struggled to regain your breath or senses when he suddenly withdrew. Your face flushed hotly as you caught his eye and he flashed you a wink, swiftly kicking off his pants. He crawled back up the mattress to you and you pulled him into another kiss, your tongues tangling together almost immediately, as if you were made for it.

As his hand slipped down to your waistband, deftly undoing the button there, you couldn’t help trembling under his touch, gasping when he slipped inside to run teasing fingers over the soft cotton of your panties.

Suddenly, the reality of what was happening crashed over you like an icy wave and you felt like you were suffocating. It was too much. Everything was too much.

Planting your hands firmly, you pushed his shoulders to put some space between you.

“Diego, wait,” you said softly.

Immediately he froze. Seconds ticked by, somehow agonizingly slowly and impossibly fast all at once, before he moved again, drawing his hand away and shifting his weight off of you completely. He locked eyes with yours, fear and misery staining his face as you both sat up. You reached for him, and he flinched away. You let your hand drop.

“I-I’mmmm,” his breath hitched painfully and he closed his eyes. “I’mm s-sorry.”

“Diego,” you sighed. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Why would you think…”

Your brow creased in confusion and distress that he was so upset.

“I...w-ww-went too far o-or hurt you or…”

You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that slipped out.

“No you didn’t. You have been nothing but good to me, and you’ve done nothing that I didn’t absolutely want you to do. I’m just...not sure I’m ready to take things any further. Not tonight at least. Let’s just take it slow, okay?”

He nodded, finally opening his eyes, looking down at you again and letting you brush a light caress against his face. There was still some hesitation, like he didn’t quite believe that you weren’t hurt or upset, so you curled your fingers against the corner of his jaw, pulling him to meet you. Your lips moved slowly against his, watching carefully for any sign that he wanted to withdraw.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, if anything,” you said reluctantly.

“What?” his eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What for?”

“Leading you on?” you said, stating what you thought was obvious.

He pressed his forehead to yours tenderly. “Sure, if you had done that.”

“I did. I mean what else would you call inviting you to stay the night like this and then...not following through…” you bit your lip, trying to look away from his earnest gaze.

“Y/N,” he said seriously. “Setting a boundary, or changing your mind, is not the same thing as leading me on.”

“But--”

He sighed heavily, the sound cutting you short.

“I’d be lying if I said there’s not a little disappointment. But you’re more important to me than sex. And I don’t want to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, that you don’t want just as much.”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, relief and love mingling with embarrassment and guilt, no matter what he said.

“I’d have even been fine if you really had, or do, ask me to sleep on the couch, Y/N.” He brushed away a stray tear that rolled down toward your chin. “As long as I still have you, in my life.”

“You only have to move to the couch if you want to,” you said, trying to fight down the small smile that threatened to break out on your face. “I’d like it if you stayed. We could maybe keep kissing? Or just, sleep together? Actual sleep…”

He chuckled. “Sleep sounds pretty nice. It is late. And I can’t remember the last time I got a full night.”

“Well in that case, make yourself comfortable,” you laughed, awkwardly extracting an arm to gesture at the rest of the bed.

Diego returned the laugh and flopped over to the side, stretching out on his back as he settled in for sleep. Briefly he marveled at the softness of the way the mattress sank around him. It was like sleeping on a cloud compared to his lumpy old thing.

His eyes followed you as you moved around the space, shimmying out of your jeans and trading your bra for an overstretched and faded t-shirt, stamped with some university logo. He watched one hand reach behind you to quickly undo the clasp, the two sides practically springing away from each other when you did. You slid the garment off and for a brief moment you were naked, or nearly so - the soft smooth expanse of your skin even from behind making his pulse race with desire again - before you pulled the soft fabric down over your head, the hem trailing across the tops of your thighs, and hid yourself from view again.

You quickly flicked off the lights throughout the little studio apartment.

Any lingering thought, any regret that all he'd gotten was that brief peek, was immediately wiped from his mind as you padded back over to the bed and crawled into it with him. Curling up in almost a ball, you tucked yourself into the hollow of his side, head brushing against his arm as you nestled further down into the bedding, trying to get as comfortable as possible. You breathed in deeply, the scent of him - sharp and spicy and mingled with leather and the cleaning oil he used on his knives, so oft exposed that they had become a natural part of his smell - filling your lungs and spirit with comfort.

“Goodnight Diego,” you whispered, breath tickling his skin.

He brought his arm down, drawing you closer against him.

“Goodnight.”

You brushed your lips across his cheek in a fleeting kiss that he thought he might have imagined before settling back in your original position. He smiled, the feeling of your warmth lulling him into the best sleep he’d had in ages.

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@mysterydisposition I think you said that you wanted to be tagged in new chapters?

#ok this is kind of a heavy chapter but it's all important developments #and setting up for a lot more things happening #backstory exposition #Light Fingers #Diego Hargreeves x Reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #pre-canon #I was very stressed about this chapter but I'm posting it anyway #because I don't think it's going to change if I just keep sitting on it

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lazylazyhowl · 4 years

Text

A work in progress— (sasusaku oneshot)

—because the Sharingan may let him copy a lot of things, but skills of the heart are not amongst them. [Sasuke. On, accepting himself. And her.]

AO3 Link

—

"Maybe next time."

His words are calculated.

Maybe, he's said, and given himself a way out. Given her a probability that, should the odds fall through later on, he can point at and absolve himself of responsibility. The same shit Itachi pulled when they were younger, really, except he won't apologize for it.

He sees the way her face lights up with hope and feels a mirroring force of optimism inside him that he has to clamp down to keep from bursting through the surface and muddying the reality of what he's doing.

His journey cannot involve her no matter what. He's not ready to be with her in any capacity of the words. Perhaps never. But he also doesn't want his last—but only for a while, he adamantly tells himself—memory of her to be a frown.

She's been burdened enough where he's involved. So he'll let her see him off with a smile, even if it's only self-gratification.

There is no guilt when he leaves her with his own smile and gratitude and goes on his way.

The day before his departure, she demanded a spar. He was bleary-eyed squinting at her, in her ninja gears, standing in the damp cold of early morning in front of his door, the flush of her cheeks of strange particular interest to him for a moment before he simply nodded.

She cited professional purposes ("I want to make sure you're in proper conditions for travel, Sasuke-kun.") even though he had already agreed. Even though her reason was crap and made no sense whatsoever.

He wondered if that was the only reason she thought he would accept, even if not believe; and if her request the only one she thought he was least likely to turn down.

He wondered if she was right.

Thanks to her he never had to find out. He only had to hurry and leave for the training ground with her, knowing Naruto would appear soon after, demanding the same of him. But not for the same reason. (Whatever that might have been.)

He helps people during his travel, but otherwise generally stays away from them. It's for both his and their good.

More for his.

People ask too many questions, and even the simplest ones dredge up far more than he's willing to deal with.

"Who are you?" they'd ask. "Just a shinobi," he'd answer.

But he's not just a shinobi. Avenger. Missing nin. Akatsuki. Terrorist. War criminal. The list goes on and he cannot in good conscience cross off any one of the items. Those personas, damned as they are, are still a part of him, and if he closes his eyes, he can recall them all in sickeningly vivid details.

"What's your name?" they'd ask. "Uchiha Sasuke," he'd tell them.

And then it's a coin toss on whether recognition and fear flit past their expressions. For the first few times, he's even considered using an alias, but that would have been such a meaningless thing to do in a journey of redemption.

And cowardly.

He's done with running away.

Or so he tells himself.

It's a calm, sunny day when he stops at a dango stand in a village near the border between Fire and Rain. The decorative flags caught his eyes, he supposes, but he still can't quite pinpoint what has possessed him to purchase a stick of dango for himself.

Itachi loved these (his chest tightens the way it does whenever he's reminded that he can only refer to his brother in past tense), and maybe that's it. But then what?

He isn't one to waste food (though it's debatable whether this is 'food') so he brings it to his mouth and slides the first ball of dango from the skewer.

And he flinches, not from the taste but from the smile that flashes through the front of his mind, innocent and genuine.

His throat runs dry. Too sweet. He makes it through the second ball of dango before leaving the rest behind on the table.

The night before his departure, Naruto finagled him into joining the rest of team 7 for ramen as his farewell party. There wasn't just team 7 at the party.

She was there, of course, with same the dark rings beneath her eyes that he'd noticed rather belatedly during their spar in the morning. Those hadn't kept her from giving him a few bruises and grazes, but he'd be a little less bothered by them if she hadn't also healed him up afterwards.

("But you don't like the hospital, Sasuke-kun.")

She was out like a candle before they even got to the main course.

Being enthusiastic neither for the people nor the ramen, he jumped at the opportunity and volunteered to take her home.

As he left the shop with her, Naruto called after him not to try anything funny and the table erupted into laughter and catcalls. He did not dignify any of that with a response.

She was completely malleable in his arms (Susanoo), her warm breaths seeping into the chest of his shirt, and he didn't dash through the air and over the roofs of civilian houses to get to the shinobi side of the residential district.

Abrupt movements could wake her, and she would fight to stay awake again.

Susanoo used enough chakra already and he needed to be conservative for tomorrow.

Reasoning ironed out, he took a leisure stroll to her apartment, occasionally glancing down to ensure her eyes remained peacefully closed.

He supposes he did attempt something funny that night. He called upon his Sharingan and committed to memory things that rightfully should be of no consequence to him.

He enjoys the long stretches of solitude in his travel, even if his voice will croak from disuse once he hits civilization again.

He likes forests best, especially after rain. The musk of earth and tree sap reminds him that clean air exists, and there is no curious gaze on his Rinnegan, no whispering except for the rivers and trees.

A heavy flapping of feathers reaches his ears, and he holds out his arm to receive the messenger falcon.

Letters from his team.

Naruto rambles, illegible at places, about everything and anything that has happened and then some more; and Kakashi includes some personal postscripts after a mission briefing.

He reads hers last, after feeding the bird and sending it away.

He's forgotten if he was the type to save the best or worst for last.

It's the first time she's written to him, and she's surprisingly succinct. Perhaps reserved. A greeting. Comment on the weather. Well-wishing. Her name. And that was all.

But against all logic, he felt her longing for him.

He isn't sure if it's the way the ink seems to tremble at certain strokes, or how the creases where the paper was folded adds a depth to the spaces she's left between the sentences, that seem to be filled with unspoken sentiments. Or if it's just his inflated ego.

He burns every letter he receives, as the information might get into the wrong hands, but can't bring himself to do the same for hers.

Fortunate, then, that she's written nothing that would be of interest to anyone.

(But him.)

The feeling of her eyes on him was calming, almost spiritual, like a brush of warm smoke at the back of his neck, downy feathers on his skin. He could have pretended sleep forever if she wasn't likely to figure him out the longer he kept up the charade.

It occurs to him one night, looking out the dirty window of an inn, that he has no idea who he is, if not war criminal, not terrorist or Akatsuki or missing nin; if not an avenger.

He's certainly no hero.

The more people he helps, the less he feels himself. There's a disconnect between what he's doing and what he knows himself to be. More often than not, he'd ask himself—what would Naruto do? What would Sakura do? What would Kakashi do? What would Itachi do—have done? (Damnitdamnitdamnit.)

And whatever he'd think they would do he'd do just that. It makes for surprisingly simple problem-solving.

But at his core he's not selfless like Itachi. Not faithful like Naruto. Not loyal like Kakashi. Not kind like Sakura.

At the end of the day, he still doesn't know what he would do.

He scarcely acknowledges it, but he keeps chasing after the back of these great people. He's running himself ragged trying to catch up, but he's so aggravatingly slow that it's a wonder he hasn't lost sight of them all.

He fears it's only a matter of time. And then he will once again be lost and directionless.

He's Uchiha Sasuke, and he no longer knows what that means.

"Oniichan, you suck." This statement is followed by chattering agreements of the other kids crowding around him on the dirt floor of the orphanage.

Children are vicious creatures, he's beginning to learn. He struggles to recall if he was ever this much trouble to Itachi as a kid. They are also incredibly unhygienic, and they incessantly tug at his clothes and hair, poke at the stub of his arm with such disregard that he almost misses the fangirl treatment from way back when in the village.

By the fifth time that they make him redo the voice for the rabbit-dog-cat-looking thing in the story, he's teeteringly close to setting Amaterasu-fire to the worn book in his lap.

His rescue comes in the form of the old matron appearing in the doorway announcing dinner. The children abandon him like one would a sinking ship.

"Thank you for playing with them, Uchiha-san."

He nods noncommittally as he receives his own bowl of food from one of the older kids. It was hardly his choice when the little ones ensnared him within their circle of skin and bones, threatening to cry if he didn't comply, so he thinks her gratitude is therefore unneeded.

None of these is needed. The feeding him, the lodging. He's only sticking around for at most a few more days to take care of the group of mountain bandits that has been harassing the orphanage. He would have been fine setting up camp nearby and not having to deal with the children growing attached (because he knows they will), but the matron insisted.

He's always had this inexplicable soft spot for the elderly, and he wonders if it's not in parts due to the fact that so few in his world get to be old and grey.

"So Little Piggy went to ask Mommy Pig."

The matron's lilting voice floats to his ear as he perches atop the roof of the orphanage, miles and miles of moonlit forest spanning out before him.

"'What is happiness, Mommy?'"

"'It's your tail, sweetie,' said Mommy Pig, and Little Piggy looked at her wiggling tail."

For the longest time, he's had an idea of what happiness should be.

It was the firmness of Itachi's back. His mother's warm meals, and his father's approving grunts. It was a compound brimming with powerful chakras, and memories of children play-training in the clan's private training grounds; and red tomatoes getting snuck out of his mother's garden.

"Little Piggy looked at her tail and began to chase it around in circles until she was out of breath. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn't catch it at all!"

Happiness was home, when home wasn't yet piles of bodies and dark corridors and slipping on cold blood.

He has no idea what happiness would look like now.

"'Mommy, how can I ever catch happiness?" asked Little Piggy."

"'Well, sweetie, your tail will always be there. Why don't you keep walking and let happiness follow you?'"

He closes his eyes and taps into the warm hum of collective chakra inside the orphanage, the tiny sparks flickering dimmer and dimmer as sleep slowly claims the children.

"And so Little Piggy listened to her mother. She walked forward without worry, for she knew her happiness is always wiggling right behind her. The end."

"Goodnight, my dears."

Matron closes the book and gets up from her squeaky chair to stand by the window right beneath where he is, likely to stare out into the forest.

"Goodnight, Uchiha-san."

If he didn't have his shinobi hearing he never would have caught the whispered words.

He's turned the bandits in to the authorities and said all goodbyes in the afternoon. She doesn't know he's there, and he's all the more puzzled.

He stands guard for the rest of the night and silently slips away from the orphanage's grounds at the break of dawn.

The weather in Tea is shifting into spring when he arrives at its border. After a few days of travelling in silence, he stumbles upon a cherry blossom tree that has flowered early, its cloud-like plumage colourful in a sea of solemn green; low-hanging branches swaying in invitation.

He tells himself it's as good a resting spot as any, and feels a decided sense of betrayal that the spilling flowers don't smell the way he thinks they should.

A letter arrives suddenly, informing him of her kidnapping, and he doesn't remember another time that he's been more desperate. She's not someone who'd just let herself be taken, and he fears the worst.

Her letters that he's saved in his pocket weigh like a ball of lead near his heart. He's running as if his life's at stakes. Perhaps it is. For the first time since getting the Rinnegan, he wishes he knew how to control it better.

Then, watching her take down her captors, he learns these:

She's grown so much, has come so far from that little girl she once was and no longer needs to be rescued, least of all by him.

He's the very reason why she's been taken in the first place, her weakness, just that kind of toxic existence to her.

After making sure she will be safe, he leaves and doesn't look back.

Just as she has been born into this life to love him, he must have been born with the sole purpose of bringing her pain.

He only needs all of two weeks in Konoha to have her crying before him again. The weather is grey as if matching the storm in his heart. They're standing in front of that bench where he's left her once upon a time, and he can't say he doesn't notice how history is dangerously close to repeating itself.

Every muscle in his body is coiled for battle, ready to cite the 'maybe' in his promise and gain the slightest semblance of equal moral grounding with her.

She's chewing on her lip in an attempt to bite back her emotions (probably more for his sake than hers. She needs to stop making things easy for him). The tears haven't spilt yet, but they are there, glazing over jewel-like green eyes.

"I thought this time surely—" She cuts herself off when her voice cracks and chews on her lips some more, breaking eye-contact. "What went wrong, Sasuke-kun?"

Before he could stop himself, he'd already slapped her hand away, shouting at her not to touch him.

She simply smiled, like a mother dealing with the tantrum of a child, and calmly finished changing his bandages while guilt still had him in its vice.

He went wrong, but what else was new? With her, he's both a madman and a smitten fool, angry and frustrated and thankful and disgusted and confused and elated and most of all scared. Terrified.

The way she hugs herself and seems to be on the brink of falling apart is nauseating to look at. He's getting worked up over what was supposed to be a simple goodbye. But that's the problem, isn't it? Nothing's ever simple when she's involved.

"You know that this is your home, right? You've never needed to earn any right to stay in it."

"…I know."

She raises a doubtful eyebrow. "Do you?"

It had taken him two years and countless good deeds to finally find the resolve to forgive himself and return to Konoha as someone he thought would be worthy of his friends.

Yet all it took was one smile from her to undo all the confidence that he'd built up like it was a house of cards. He realized immediately that no amount of atonement would ever redeem him enough to be worthy of her.

"Welcome home, Sasuke-kun."

And the worst part was that he wanted to stay regardless.

"Don't be annoying, Sakura." And he can see her visibly shrink back like she's been hit. He might as well have. His fist curls at his side, itching to do something just to stop her from further torturing her steadily swelling lip.

Instead of leaving him alone as he expects her to (and how senseless it is to keep expecting something that will never happen), she steps forward and grabs gingerly onto his mantle.

"Are you…unsatisfied in Konoha? With m—with us?"

He doesn't respond, and she seems to take his silence as agreement and starts to cry in true. Big, fat droplets roll down her cheeks as she matches his gaze. The raw hurt in her eyes startles him.

"What will make you happy, Sasuke-kun?" She tightens her grip, pulling him infinitesimally closer, choking on her words. "Please, please tell me how I can make you happy."

"That's not your problem." That's apparently also a wrong thing to say. She looks resigned now, and the sight somehow claws at him even more. The wind picks up suddenly, nearly drowning out her next words.

"Do you even want to be happy?"

He thinks for a length and honestly cannot say for certain he does. He can hardly picture what his happiness would be now that the old one is so drenched in blood, and misery is a lot harder to take away from a person.

It's ironic, then – or perhaps apt – that he would chase after something he doesn't really want. Because he's full of greed and self-gratification.

She once again takes his silence into her own narrative and lets out a long sigh. Meeting his gaze again, her eyes are already dry, red-rimmed, beseeching. Her voice is but a whisper.

"Is there something you want, Sasuke-kun? Anything?"

If she puts it that way, he wants a lot of things, as a greedy man should. Full control over the Rinnegan. Restore his clan. A tomato garden. Her. To name a few.

But he looks at her, her red eyes and tear-stained cheeks and bruised lip, and sees that she is all wrong compared to everything he's etched into his memory; and blurts out the single thing that floats up to the forefront of his mind right then.

"I want you to be happy."

It takes her a second to react to his words, her large eyes becoming impossibly larger as her mouth opens only to close again. He's not sure why she's so surprised. Of course, he wishes her happiness, even if that will be independent of his own.

A million emotions seem to flicker past her expression in a second, of which he only identifies disbelief, suspicion, melancholy and finally exasperation before she inexplicably bursts into a short fit of giggles. She lets go of his mantle and, before he can miss the anchoring hold, reaches for his tight fist and brings it up between her palms, squeezing.

"I can do that."

She's smiling that smile that unravels him to his core again, her eyes glittering. And he can blame his carnal desires for overriding all of his faculty, but he finds himself ensorceled.

"How about we work on it together, Sasuke-kun?"

His chest is strangely free of heaviness as he uncurls his fingers, almost in a daze, and encases her callused yet delicate ones.

"Hn."

A few days before his departure, he asks if she would come with him and she agrees easily, if not a little exasperatedly that he'd waited so long to ask, and he's mystified as to why he's stayed up all night worrying that she wouldn't.

Three months into their journey together, a newly formed part of him is startlingly assured that she will always have his back, and nothing—nothing can ever change that.

It takes a while longer, but the day finally comes that he figures it out.

He's Uchiha Sasuke, and he means everything to Uchiha Sakura.

—

Notes: I do not own the children story.

#sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #uchiha sakura #haruno sakura #blank period #pseudo character study #hurt/comfort #pining #denial of feelings #light angst #self-deprecation #Sakura just needs to give him a hug

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rainydaysofspring · 4 years

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My first ever fic on here...

Prompt: She had a bad day and just needed something to make it better. Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Dr. Liliana Summers) Trigger warnings: mentions of death, poorly written medical procedures, Angst and fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

All Liliana wanted was, for this day to be finally over. Ever since she got up this morning in her bedroom, the day has just been getting worse and worse. It seemed like every minute, something went wrong.

It all started with her favorite light blue pair of scrubs, with her name embroidered, getting stained when she spilled her coffee this morning and her, not having enough time on her hands to get changed again. When she left her apartment, she noticed she had forgotten her keys, but of course, after she closed the door. Her only option was to go home with one of her roommates later on or to get there after either Aurora or Sienna went to their flat since both of them had shorter shifts today. The T was hopelessly overcrowded, the guy behind her eyeing her as if she would be a raw slice of meat. If only he knew she had a boyfriend much, much better than him. The thought of Ethan, already at work, made her grumpy state a little bit better, the thought of seeing him in a few minutes even more. She left the train and walked to the hospital, however it started pouring rain the second she stepped off the roofed area. She had the choice between being late and staying dry. If Zaid ever found out, she was late, he would be chewing her out again. So, she took option b: Getting soaked, but being on time.Steeping foot in the atrium of Edenbrook, Liliana was completely drenched in water, her scrubs ruined even more. She somehow got to the locker room without drawing too much attention to her by waiting patients and their families and changed into a fresh and, more importantly, dry pair of scrubs.

Luckily the resident survived rounds, without any further disturbances, so she almost thought her bad day would take a turn for the better. That thought was made way to early, how she noticed later.Liliana saw, that all her regular patients were stable and taken care of, she decided to put in a few hours at the free clinic. The halls were full, as always. When she got to one of the nurses, she assigned a few patients to her, the first one was a nice kid with a high fever. The child's mother also described that the toddler couldn't keep any food down. Liliana quickly diagnosed the girl with the stomach flu and was on her way to the next patient. That's how the hours went by, stepping from one patient to another, nothing majorly dramatic.

But then, her last patient proved again, what this day was: horrible.As Liliana entered the room and introduced herself, she wasn't greeted with the patient telling her what's wrong, instead, he complained about almost everything." I came here three hours ago, I'm an emergency, I need to be taken care of immediately." Liliana tried to reason with him and to explain to him, that their nurses decide who sees a Doctor first based on the severity of the case, not on the time the patients have spent waiting. "Then your nurses are either blind or didn't get proper education! Don't you see that I'm an emergency?" The resident remembered Mr. Platt, the giant PITA she had to treat in her intern year. The man in front of her had a great resemblance to him, in how he spoke to her. When asked, what his symptoms were, her patient just showed her his hand, where she saw a light burn. So much for the emergency, she thought. While treating the injury, the man complained several times more, either about how something the Doctor did wasn't to his liking or how Liliana didn't look like a doctor, more than a nurse. When he brought that up, in combination with the words "hot" and "sexy" she was disappointed that Ethan was not around, his response might have made the patient shut up and learn some respect for the work of both, nurses and doctors. She finally finished his treatment and left the free clinic for today.

Walking up to the diagnostics floor, she thought about Ethan and how she hadn't seen him the whole day long. That fact alone made her mood go down a few inches more. After she checked all of her other patients again, she decided she would visit someone.She eventually made it to the pediatric wing to see on one of her former patients who she formed a bond with, a 9-year old girl named Amelia. Liliana diagnosed her a while ago with cancer, staying with her through her first chemotherapy was certainly the start of a great friendship with the little girl. Anytime she swung by, even just to say hello, a smile formed on the lips of the 9-year-old, she was happy to see her favorite doctor in the hospital. Liliana's main goal was, to cheer her up a bit since hospitals and chemotherapy were certainly scary for a girl that age.She went to her usual room, Number 159, just to find the bed empty. An uneasy feeling crept up her spine on her way to the nurse's station. She asked Lynn, her favorite nurse on the pediatric team, about Amelia and the answer could've made her cry right there, in the middle of the ward."Amelia died last night. She fought so hard, but the cancer was too strong, poor thing." Crushed, Liliana quickly thanked Lynn and excused herself.

She eventually reached the locker room and was relieved, when she found it empty. Enough time to calm down a bit and then finally go home and lay in her bed. The moment she sat down on the bench, her pager went off. "What on earth now? I wanna go home!" she exclaimed. The message on the pager read: "Car Crash, multiple vehicles. All hands on deck." With a groan, Liliana stepped out in the halls again and made her way down the pit. When she arrived, all she found was controlled chaos. Paramedics wheeling new patients in, many of them in critical condition. She sprung into action and commanded her intern, Esme, to do triage, just like she had to last year.

The resident took a patient herself, a woman in her late 30s, with a shard of glass stuck in her abdomen. She was unconscious, intubated, but stable, for the moment. The resident, along with several other doctors begun to treat her, when suddenly, she heard a loud beeping sound echo through the room. Someone yelled "CODE BLUE, CODE BLUE!" ´, while Liliana already sprung into action and began chest compressions on the woman. Another doctor grabbed paddles, in the team they tried to get her heart back to beating.After 62 Minutes of doing CPR and trying to bring the patient back, they gave up. Someone called the dreadful words "Time of Death: 10.17 p.m.” and slowly, the room got emptier until it was just her in there.

The second loss this day hit her hard. Harder, then it should, she knew that herself.She heard the door open but didn't care who entered. Ines' voice spun her out of her trance, slowly getting her back to reality. "Liliana, how long have you been here? You look tired." Her voice, filled with concern rang out. Liliana did not answer, she just shook her head. "Go home. We've got the situation under control, you can end the day." Ines told her. While muttering a quick "Thank you", Liliana left the room and didn't even care to change out of her work clothes, just grabbing her things and getting on the T.She drove a few stops further, then she needed to for her apartment, since the only thing she wanted after this day, was to see Ethan.

While getting off the T and walking to Ethans Home, Liliana couldn't hold her tears in anymore.She finally reached the apartment complex he lived in and rang the bell. A confused voice answered, but when he was greeted with your sobs only and a quiet "It's me.", he opened up immediately. Liliana took the stairs and finally stood in front of the man she loved, whos presence she needed so much after the day she has had. "Lili. What happened?" Hearing the nickname only made her cry more, her sobs limiting her ability to breathe. Liliana stepped into the flat, being greeted by a happy Jenner, who jumped at her legs. Ethan closed the door, approaching his girlfriend cautiously, he didn't want to startle her. After Jenner was done with his greeting, Ethan slowly came nearer and just engulfed Liliana in a hug.

On that feeling, the young doctor in his arms almost crumbled. They both fell to the ground, when Liliana's legs gave out under her, the exhaustion and sadness of this day taking over her body completely. Ethan pressed her head against his shoulder, stroking her hair gently, muttering things like "It's gonna be okay." When she didn't seem to calm down and started hyperventilating, even more, he picked her head up from his shoulder and cupped it with his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Lili. Calm down, breathe with me, okay? I need you to take a deep breath." As she tried her best, Ethan continued to encourage her, watching her slowly calming down. A while later, when the tears stopped cascading down Liliana's Cheeks, he picked her up bridal style and carried her over, into his bedroom, slowly laying her down on the soft mattress. The feeling of the soft fabric under her made her realize how tired she was. Ethan got into bed next to her, watching his girl as she drifted away, into a peaceful sleep she desperately needed.

So, what do you think? My first upload with my own writing, I finally did it. I apologize if any grammar errors are in there, I tried my best and English is not my native language.

Love, Lili

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan jonah ramsey #mc #prompt #angst #fluff #romance

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patrickstargang · 4 years

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To Heal (Shadow of Kyoshi fic)

Chapter 1: The Other Side of Peace

Chapter 2: Master and Student

Chapter 3: A Cause for Celebration

Chapter 4: Taking Off The Mask

Chapter 5: Call to Action

Epilogue

*Disclaimer: this entire fic is a massive spoiler for Shadow of Kyoshi so if you haven’t read it I would recommend doing so before reading this

The great rain that had poured over the Fire Nation’s crops seemed to have traveled all the way to Yokoya. Luckily the strength of the storm had died down since then, as it could have brought caution for flooding the town’s harbor. The patter of water droplets against the wooden boards of the Avatar estate was a calming ambiance, a perfect sound to continue sleeping if it hadn’t leaked through the ceiling. One leak, in particular, was right above Rangi, becoming a nuisance as she slowly woke up.

Her eyes squinted, rubbing them to clear her vision. Once she came to her senses, she noticed something was off. A different air to the room. She glanced at the other side of the bed to find Kyoshi wasn’t there. The lack of an impression on the cushion signaled that she had been up for a while. At the same time, while Rangi noticed the change in the room, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence either. Kyoshi had been up earlier than practically everyone since they agreed to reside in the estate. But she also noticed that Kyoshi would stay up later than everyone else, a new concern added on for Rangi to worry about. She sighed deeply, hoping today would have been a change of pace.

Rangi stood up firmly from the bed. She didn’t require her walking cane anymore, as the progress on her health was faster than anyone would have expected considering how serious the injury was. She solemnly dressed in the usual Fire Nation military attire and arranged her hair into a topknot. She made her way through the hallways of the estate, some still battered after their fight with Yun. They were painful reminders of the events that conspired many days ago, but also for a time where they were blissfully unaware of the deception Jianzhu had enacted.

Rangi came to an open space in the estates, a space without a roof that would have been used as a garden one day, but for now, was just a big patch of grass for visitors to enjoy the outside air. This was where she usually found Kyoshi, trying to converse with her past lives or prepping the negotiations for Fire Lord Zoryu to admonish the Saowan clan of their charges. But she didn’t find her here. All that was left was a tea set, with a cup filling with rain that poured out onto the grass, and a half-peeled orange.

Skipping meals again? She thought to herself in disappointment. She stared out through the wall of rain that separated the creaky wooden coverings from the soft dirt of the grassy patch. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the door to a room that was slightly open with light peering out of the crack. Rangi straightened her eyes and made her way to the room, ignoring the tea set for now.

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

Rangi slid the door open with hesitation, mostly due to how jittery the frames became over numerous months without being replaced. She found Kyoshi, hunched over a table with an ink canister to her left, a lit candle to her right, and a letter containing Lao Ge’s updates on the Fire Nation in her hands. She broke her attention from the letter to see Rangi standing at the doorway.

“Hey,” Rangi wore a slight but sincere smile on her face. Kyoshi returned it back. She made her way to Kyoshi’s side, focusing her attention on the towering woman while she brought her attention back to the letter. “What's new today?”

“Not much, it seems that Zoryu’s keeping his end of the bargain, but we’re still keeping an eye on him just in case he decides to throw out the plan. So far he's been talking with a few of his chancellors to remove some of the Saowan clan from house arrest, but there's still those that were put in prison. Lao Ge will let me know if he gets out of line. And if he does, well…..you know.”

The warmth that Kyoshi radiated when Rangi first walked into the room quickly faded away. She knew that disposing of Zoryu was always going to be a possibility, but the thought of having to kill again to keep some perceived form of “peace” was continuing to strain her mind. This feeling transformed her face to a mask, one that was stoic and devoid of emotion.

Rangi’s concerns came back in full force. She would be lying if she said that she was truly behind this plan. It went against her own code of honor that she has been following since childhood. In fact, it went against her own basic morals. But she knew that the situation was dire, many people's lives might be on the line. She also knew that it wasn’t the easy solution, Kyoshi knows the ripple effect this would have across the Fire Nation. It was a last resort and nothing else. With time, Rangi started to understand why Kyoshi worked in the ways that she did. But it still felt wrong to her.

Rangi turned her head to the side, trying to hide her face. Kyoshi’s lips parted as she was about to say something to her, but decided against it. Then a different thought came into her head.

“Also….your mother will be here later today. Along with Sifu Atut.”

Rangi huffed, reverting back to a familiar expression, that of annoyance. “Great,” she said sarcastically. “I can’t wait.”

“I’m not excited to see your mother either, but it means you’ll get the proper healing for your wound.” Kyoshi then took a curious look at Rangi, examining her more sturdy posture. “But come to think of it, you’ve bounced back a lot more than I thought you would. I said you might catch a fever but I haven’t seen any signs.”

This relaxed Rangi from the previous topic as her annoyance quickly subsided into playfulness. “Maybe my strong will has been keeping me alive.” She gave her a cheeky glance as Kyoshi rolled her eyes at the firebender’s comment.

Then Rangi slipped her hand into Kyoshi’s, softly entwining their fingers. “Or maybe its that I have a great healer.”

Kyoshi tried to hide her slight embarrassment before Rangi gave her a kiss on her temple. For this point in their relationship, a gesture like that might have appeared childish, but it broke the tension with a bit of sweetness. They both laughed, enjoying each other's company as they let their current responsibilities be set aside for just a brief moment.

But it didn’t take long for reality to set back in for Kyoshi. Something else was on her mind, something that wasn’t the future of the Fire Nation. She thought about what might become of the woman she loved. Her recovery has been steady, but there was still the pressing question of permanent internal damage. The thought began to fester deeper into the back of her mind. She began to grapple with the thought that maybe she didn’t really save her. Her mind began to drift to those she tried to save, but couldn’t. She felt like she let her guard down again, allowing fate to take another jab.

Rangi was still smiling, she was caught up in the moment. But her face changed as she remembered why she came to her in the first place. “Well, I’ve actually got something I need to ask you. Have you been skipping meals again?”

Kyoshi stayed silent for a good while, eventually bowing her head down.

“Kyoshi, we’ve been through this! You can’t keep doing that, it's not healthy. Especially for someone under as much stress as you are. You need to eat.”

Kyoshi sighed, but tried to conceal it. She wished stress was all there was, but it was much more than that. Her sigh quickly became a chuckle. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry so much about me.”

“But I do! You’ve been like this ever since we met back at the palace. I’ve been trying to help you get back on a normal eating schedule, but now I think it's only gotten worse.”

Kyoshi slowly turned to face Rangi. She looked like she was struggling to keep the mask on, pretending that everything is okay. “Its fine. I don’t want you to worry about my health, not when you haven’t gotten proper treatment for your wound.”

Something about the way Kyoshi said those last few words unsettled her. Before she might have said that in a somewhat combative tone, but now she sounded soft and withered. It wasn’t just her voice either, she looked tired. Not the kind of tired that could be cured with a good night’s sleep, something more than that.

“Besides, I don’t mind being hungry.”

Rangi didn’t know much about Kyoshi’s childhood in the streets but hearing this gave her a different perspective on everything. She knew what it was like to live off of rations from her time in the Academy, but she never knew what it was like to not know if you could even find a morsel for the next day. This was a feeling she never had the displeasure of knowing.

And it filled her with anger. The same kind of anger she had back at the lake in Hujiang. Part of it was anger at Kyoshi, for feeling like she might deserve any of this. That she deserved any of the horrible turns that have taken outside of her own control. But another part of it was at the world, for making her believe she deserved this pain. To say she got a real deal on life was a gross understatement. She didn’t deserve to punish herself for what the world had done to her.

But Rangi had to conceal that anger. Expressing her outrage wouldn’t help anybody. It was a feeling she would have to tackle someday soon, but today wasn’t that day. What Kyoshi needed was food. “Well, who's taking care of who now? Like it or not you need something to eat-”

Right as Rangi was getting up, she felt a tug at her wrist. Kyoshi was holding on to her tightly.

“B-Before you do that, could you stay here. Just for a little bit. I’m almost done with the letter, then you can make me eat whatever you want.”

Rangi looked down into her eyes, comforted by the sincerity of her words. She wasn’t putting on a mask right now. Without hesitation, she sat back down next to Kyoshi and laid her head against her shoulder. Kyoshi let out a long, breezy sigh as she returned to the letter.

Kyoshi was once again enveloped in a warmth that she missed for some time. Even after they reunited, they didn’t always get the chance to be alone. It felt like something she dearly needed right now. But moments of peace caused suspicion and worry in Kyoshi. Her life had always taken a turn into tragedy right in the middle of peaceful moments. A sinking feeling crept up on her, a sinking feeling about nothing she could identify. Her mind went to Rangi’s injuries again. She thought about the news she might get from Atut once she heals her. What would it mean for the rest of their lives? She wished she could silence these thoughts. That they could all just fade away.

As she finished the letter, Kyoshi attempted to calm her senses by focusing on Rangi’s breathing and the sound of rain coming from the open doorway.

#avatar #atla #the rise of kyoshi #the shadow of kyoshi #kyoshi #rangi #hei-ran #atuat #fanfic #to heal part 1 #to heal chapter 1

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localminstrel · 4 years

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Medieval SKZ ! Where their crush being noble and they being from another class.

Warnings: basically almost all the reactions are sad, slave!Changbin (but no describe of any specific treatment)

Tag: gender neutral reader

Words: 2 100

Notes : First of all, i wanted to say that keeping it gender neutral with all the codes from the medieval and the noble class was EXTREMELY difficult. Also, i’m sorry if this too short, i try to write just a reaction and not a scenario ^^’’. But if you want some of them to be develop into an entire scenario, feel free to ask (being gender neutral or another gender, i don’t mind) !

Notes 2: sorry for the typos and grammar issues, I try to fix it but grammar is always my biggest flaw in languages! (even in my mother tongue).

Gifs credit to owners !

Chan :

Chan can’t but always looks at you from the training field, while you walks pass the walkway above, between the two towers, wearing your royalty outfit. You are the child of the ruling king and queen and he is just a knight in the army, maybe the highest one, so the chief, but compared to you, just a knight. He was training to be a knight from an early age and used to see you grown as well, because you are around the same age.

But you never looked at him. You never look down the walkway. This day, as always, he just sighs and refocus on the young knights to form when you walked out of his sight.

Minho

Minho loves to be the center of the attention, getting hundred of amazed looks and cheers. He loves to wear colorful clothes and being the troubadour of the court. The king, your father, was really nice to him and paid him also to teach you some poetry. So he’s very happy with his life, getting to spend hours with you, just talking about art and get to admire how smart you are.

But the shadow were still here: the fact that he’s just miles away from your class – you’re gonna be the future monarch for god’s sake – and the throne next to you never gonna be filled with him.

But the tragedy doesn’t stop here: he was just happy to be your friend and sees you everyday but he can’t do that anymore. Because one day, during one of your lessons, you kiss him and for a second, he was happy. He was happy for a couple of weeks being your secret lover but your father finds out and he gave him the choice: be killed or leave. So Minho goes on the roads again, never forgetting that one day, he had the attention of the most important person to him: you.

Changbin

Changbin believed he never gonna knew love in his life. Being a slave for his entire life, sold away from his parents at 6 and buy by your family at 16, he just believed everyone told him: that he was nothing. But you came into his life, child of a duke and duchess. Your family was rude to Changbin but you was the only one who care about him. You fighted your father several times to give him at least a room (with the minimal but a bench and a roof) and a proper meal by day (you managed to sneak and give him more food).

You basically save his life and his mental health. The amount of his love for you was only equal to the amount of despair he have because he knew he never could love you like you deserved.

Hyunjin

Everyone knows Hyunjin in the city: he was the town crier’s son, the bright kid who follow his father everywhere and helping him at his job. Hyunjin thinks his father was the best at his job and when he finally be able to do it on his own, he tried to be the best too.

One day, he sees you, the second child of the king and queen, looking at him with bright eyes, surrounded by your guards and servants, while he reads his text. He was starstruck, it’s was love at first sight. But he can’t approached you, the guards make it very clear. So everyday, he continues to do his job loud and louder, so he hopes you can hear him from your arrowslit.

But sooner or later, a news he needs to communicate break his heart: your in-coming wedding.

Jisung

At a young age, Jisung was always outside the bar his father hold. He knew the streets of the town by heart and everyone loves him. So when one day, he runs into you and collapsed into the ground, he can but ask himself who the fuck a little kid he never see are running at night without looking.

“_Hey, who are you and what are you doing in my town?”

Like the little boy he is, he believes he rules the city.

You look at him, scared, little scratches on your hands. But it was too late to say something because before Jisung can think about running away, a bunch a guards appears from the closest alley and a man wearing a long coat emerged from the armors.

“_Your Royal Highness! You need to stop escaped from the castle! I’m going to punish you!”

Jisung saw you glaring furiously at him before being pulled always by your chaperon. Chaperon who just throw at him a haughty look before turning away with the guards.

This wasn’t the last time Jisung saw you. You was the fourth child of the king and queen and you don’t give a fuck about your statutes so you’re running away almost every month, time to prepare a new plan. So you two end up being friends because you love to refer at yourself of the ‘street’s kids’”. You discovered everything together: the first hangover in his father’s basement, the first tobacco with the herbalist’s son… also the first kiss and the first time. But the reality makes up for you when you turns the age for marriage. Being the fourth child, you don’t have a high place in the hierarchy but you can be used for diplomatic reasons with the neighborhoods.

Your father knew your love for escaping, so he trapped you in the castle and make the public announcement of your wedding. Jisung was devastating. For some weeks, he was a mess, doesn’t know if you are lying to him or if you are trapped. He must knew. He must knew a royalty kid never gonna be with him forever, him, the son of a bartender.

But after 3 weeks, he heard your code on his window and saw you, covered in dirty water and mud, a little bundle on your shoulders and a smile on your face.

“_ I think it’s time for us to go”.

Felix

Felix loves cooking and he was really happy that he’s finally be accept in your family’s castle, the home of the duke and duchess. Well, he’s not the chief yet, just a clerk but he have a good room and a good salary.

At first, he don’t like you, way before seeing you before he always heard how picky you are towards your foods and pissed all the cooks around. Well, especially the new ones because the old knows you and were just used to it.

One night, Felix was cleaning the kitchen alone after a huge banquet and he heard sound behind the closed door before someone opens it. Leaning on the floor with water and duster, he just popped behind a counter and you almost scream at him in fear, almost blow up the candle you have in your hands.

“_What are you doing here? The kitchen’s close.

_ I know but… I… I’m a little bit hungry and…

_ Sorry, I can’t do anything for you, I’m not allowed. Please get back to your room.

_ What? You don’t know who I am?

_No? Should I?

_ Well… I’m like the heir of this castle.”

Felix opens his eyes and freeze.

“_ Oh! Oh… Your Grace, I’m… I’m sorry… I-

_ Haha, calm down! No need, you’re doing your job”.

You end up talking during a long time this night and Felix learns your love for food. You show him some dishes and when you’re talking more and more about your passion, he can’t but develop a crush on you.

Unfortunately, he knows his crush never gonna be mutual, as he sees you smiling around with you childhood friend, some child of an another duke.

Seungmin

Seungmin loves to be a monk, to be on every road, talking to different people, sleeping in a bunch of various places. But he have one rule: never stay in a place too long. Why? Because in the boy’s history is his biggest regret: you. In some random village, he falls for you, the child of a really high merchant. You was so kind and so dedicated to others than the crush was irremediable. He never knows if you feel the same way as him because your interactions were simply professional and because your family doesn’t like him.

Not because he was a bad person but just because he was a monk, a wealth-less person, always walking on bare foots with shady clothes. And their reputation thing was high, so he left.

Jeongin

Jeongin comes from a serf’s family and you were the child of the baron and baroness who ruled the land.

His crush on you was no immediate but slow burn. Working on cereal field, he sees you everyday on the road, in a luxurious cart, going to the local town to see if there were new books in the library. The first times, he just thinks that rich people got really a lot of time to play. But in the few months, he used to saw several things that contribute to his crush: your smile, your laugh, the day you help some old woman who was falling, the day you give some extra gold to a very young kid, the day you give your servant a book as a birthday gift…

He can just watch them for a long distance but he sees how your heart was big. And seeing this everyday makes him happy and almost died when you smiles at him one day.

//////

Notes: I’m so sorry, some of them are so sad ;;;;

#stray kids #stray kids reactions #medieval!straykids #medieval au #chan reactions #changbin reactions #minho reactions #jisung reactions #hyunjin reactions #seungmin reactions #felix reactions #jeongin reactions

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teethsies-chompies · 3 years

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Toy Soldiers

ITS MY LAD!! MY FUCKED UP LAD!! I love him very much he doesnt know how to express emotions properly and hes trying his best look at him go :) he babey!! But yeah also this ones one of the darker ones ive wrote, and ill tag them as well BUT!! hes my babey.....

TW: Child abuse

It sucked in a breath while its dad screamed in front of it. He had his little brother behind him, and he could feel as he shook. It was standing in front of his little brother so he wouldn't get hurt. If it got hit, it knew it could take it, but his little brother can't. He's not used to that after all, whereas it is used to it. It was only eight years old, his brother being four. Their mother had ran off as soon as she could, she wanted nothing to do with them.

When it came to school, it came with its head up high. It didn’t care that it still had a black eye from last night, it was proud. It had taken the beating, and was still going. It ignored the stares from classmates and horrified teachers. When a teacher did pull him away, he simply explained what happened. The teacher had him put ice on it and sit down. When it asked what was going to happen, the teacher said that she would fix this for him.

When he got home from school that day, he watched as his dad got dragged away, kicking and screaming. Screaming things that at the time, it only had slight knowledge of, but knew they were nasty things. It didn’t know the meaning of most of them until it was much older. If only he did know, because he most likely would have lunged at the man that sired him, and would have gone for his throat. No one speaks about it or its little brother like that.

Once that was dealt with, it helped his brother pack. They were going to stay with their aunt for some time, until proper arrangements could be made. It didn’t mind after all, they were getting a roof over their heads, a nice place to sleep, and at least one warm meal. It wasn't going to complain about this treatment. It was already better than what its dad did.

Living with their aunt wasn’t bad, in fact she was a pleasant enough person, but she didn’t know anything about children, especially ones that need special adjustments. So it learned to bury that all down, to not be a problem. And it’s lived like that for years since. As soon as it was 16, it got a job, to help support. It still did good in classes, but it was hard, school was hard, and work was more important to them. But they managed both.

As soon as he turned 18 he enlisted. Into the army, and he gave years for what it considers to be a good cause. It was mainly to provide for his little brother, but it worked out in the end regardless. Both him and his brother got what they needed, and they were mostly happy. Its focus was still on its brother, even after years had passed. Something something, what it learned years later is, “brotherly love” they don’t quite understand how people don’t just want to help the family that they love.

While he was serving he also did online school, balancing them both. Over the years he just kept getting promoted, rising up until he eventually did retire. Or at least he tried to retire, when an old friend of his reached out, with a suggestion. It was skeptical after all, because it hasn't spoken to this person in years. And he was told that he was dead, so that didn't help. This erked it, alot. It didn’t like this, people don’t just come back to life! But his suggestion was something simple.

That suggestion was that it go work for the Foundation, after all, the council believed he would be a good fit. And it agreed, and the next thing it knows, it's been declared dead, and been given another name. It sighed, this wasn’t what it wanted exactly, but hey, it works. Once again, it wasn’t going to explain. It had a bed, food, and people it somewhat trusted. This was better than most of its living conditions in the past.

The council decided to just stick with his rank, and it was fine with that. It didn’t like change, let alone sudden change, so this helped with getting used to its new job. It still didn’t like that it wasn’t on the front lines, but it could live. At least it got a good name and a good number, its favorite number, coincidentally enough. This made him extra happy, well, he wouldn’t use happy as his word of choice. It would use proud, if it was to be honest.

Daniel Mortimer sighed, and he finally let himself relax, for the first time in years. He let his guard down, for the first time in forever. He was calm, and he also felt safe for once. He wasn't on edge, and he was content with this feeling. It was a jarring to him, to feel like this. It wasn’t used to these feelings. But more importantly, he had made it in life. He was proud of himself, and it was letting itself feel that.

But he also was proud of his number, he liked being known as Four, “The Commander.”

#chaos council #o5 council #o5 4 #the commander #tw// child abuse #my little lad............ he care u

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graylinesspam · 5 years

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I’ve had this idea for a Soul Eater Drag racing AU for going on a year now, the problem is I have no plot line. Like literally I have an evil corporation, integrated antagonists, protagonists, backstory, and life goals. BUT NO DAMN PLOTLINE. So I’m gonna drop my notes below and see if anyone wants to adopt the idea, partner with me to write it or even just encourage me to do so, I just feel like this idea has to be out there.

Blackstar (Blake Estrella)

drag race rookie called monkey. Reps gas monkey hardcore. Drives barefoot and uses both feet. Big ole ears. Works at Sid’s shop. Drives a bike named Nebula. Low key Maka named it and painted it. A beutiful galaxy design with a gaudy burning star searing the right side. Also building a classic truck from the ground up. Notorious for wearing out his brake pads and smoking the track. Also called mouth for obvious reasons. Spends his free time working in a food truck.

Kid (Dean Mortimer) A rich boy comes down to the slums for some thrills. Tries to establish himself as a racer but doesn’t want to take the risks to win. Has a record of coming out of every race scratch free. Calls himself Grim and his dodge challenger is electric calls it Beelzebub. Blue underglow lighting for that good esthetic. keeps his ID on the low but like doesn’t even change out of his suite to race.

Patty Kid’s personal mechanic. Runs around covered in grease stains. Helps out other racers too, mostly when not asked. Some kind of megalomaniac mechanic genius. Literally builds random shit. Amazing street artist too. But mostly just sticks to illegal graffiti. carries snacks in her pockets. is never seen without her pack. people are straight terrified of her. Sometimes makes offhanded comments like “don’t be afraid to disagree, I don’t leave bodies in ditches anymore.” or more likely “you look just like that guy I shot”

Liz kids personal “trainer” slash girlfriend. Keeps patty in line and runs off anyone trying to figure out his identity. Runs interference with the feds. Also acts as a personal assistant. Works for death tech during the day and spends her nights with kid downtown. Lives on energy drinks. Usually seen wearing shiny or patterned fitted tops. Dark or leather pants and a fur-lined jacket hanging off one shoulder. With cowboy boots. Also proper secretary wear. Used to race bikes and was a bookie before kid got ahold of her. Still has some major respect down in the slums. used to work the neighborhood across from Madusa’s territory.

Tsubaki Bike racer. Hits up drag races sometimes for extra cash. Works as a small-time business owner. Sells clothing to drag girls. Hand made and good quality. Organizes an annual DRAG race. as in for all our crossdressing racing queens.

Maka Works in bike maintenance. rolls around the bike and car shows. Mechanic. Self-taught to fix just about anything. Builds custom pieces in Sid’s shop. Literally takes a couple days to study up for custom requests. Had to start to pay bills when her mom left. Races very occasionally when she really needs the money. Some call her broadway cause she’s got a thing about musicals. Acts part-time in local shows. Uses her winnings to pay off her dad’s gambling debt. Also just to keep a roof over his head. Trying to fund her way thru nursing college. Doesn’t realize death tech is crooked when she applies for their scholarship. Arachne ends up using it against her. mostly loves painting cars. you need a good paint job you hit up Maka. lives in her overalls. literally owns like two drawers of clothes so she has her racing clothes, school clothes, or work clothes.

Sid Owns a garage on the low side. Gets paid really well to keep his mouth shut about races. Keeps his business real legit. Doesn’t gamble or ever get directly involved in the races but most riders know if you need something you go to Sid. Both Maka and Blackstar work in his shop with Hiro and Harver. He’s Ox’s usual mechanic. No criminal record but is always on the radar since he’s got straight scary connections. Members from both gangs who happen to participate in races go to Sid. It’s a no conflict zone. In fact, there’s a drop-off, pick-up, policy. No loitering.

Nygus

parol officer. Married to Sid. Lives above the shop with him. She spends most of her time working with the kids in the area that have gotten themselves into some bad shit. Is really against the gangs. Is real serious about cleaning up the neighborhood. Anyone trying to get out of the life goes to her. Additionally, she has a don’t snitch policy with the gangs. She watches her kids and dead-end druggies but doesn’t get involved with the politics. The bosses leave her alone and she keeps her mouth shut.

Soul Lives out of his brother’s studio downtown. Trying to get a place of his own. Takes the train down further into the dregs to make money. Not good at holding a job but he can race well enough. Has a classic Harley Maka eventually supes up for him. Keeps his bike in Kid’s garage so he doesn’t have to lug it around with him. Wes doesn’t know and definitely wouldn’t approve. Is pretty new to the scene. Childhood friends with Kid and the only one besides the twins who knows his ID. Calls his bike Etta but not many people know. Mostly refers to her as baby. Also has some serious art skills. Maka tries to talk him into becoming a tattoo artist but he can’t afford it right now. Refuses to take any more of his parent’s money.

Stein Old drag race legend ends up the illegal doctor everyone goes to see when they aren’t hurt enough for the hospital. Definitely crazy. Dabbles in mechanics. Drives around in a crazy truck that looks like six different vehicles welded together. Some call him the butcher. Damn can that monster race too. Sometimes he just shows up to races to crash them. Doesn’t bet or make money, just shows up and destroys everyone else. Is a voodoo doctor. Will literally give you a bag of chicken feet to out under your porch. But also good at stitching up cuts.

Medusa A bookie who fixes races. Gets Crona on the track with his twin Ragnarok. Their bikes are Apocalypse and the end. Lives in the territory of a gang called the witches. Used to be an active member. You can’t really leave the gang but she’s not contributing. Wasting her time trying to cheat people out of cash.

Arachne Medusa’s boss. Brought her into the gang. Keeps people off her back but calls in favors she cannot refuse. Is chairman for Death tech, one of the world’s leaders in medical technology. Has doctors on back order. Technically funding stein’s research but doesn’t know he’s experimenting on kids. Gives poor people free treatment in exchange for being a guinea pig for new tech. Lots of people in Death City work for branches of death tech. Racing on the tracks and drags ways is perfectly legal but gambling or making money off the races is not. Also street race cross over and gang involvement makes it all more dangerous.

#Soul Eater #Au #Dragrace #up for adoption #concept #idea #please do something with this

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brokenchinadolly-blog · 5 years

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Have you been re-introduced to DOLORES “DOLLY” UMBRIDGE? last we heard, the HALFBLOOD was most familiar with TIMELINE THREE. I don’t recall if they were always a SLYTHERIN, but I’ve heard the SEVENTH YEAR is still DRIVEN, ANALYTICAL, ENGAGING and HIGH-STRUNG, MANIPULATIVE, AND DECEPTIVE, so that’s familiar. at least SHE remembers their way around the castle.

Personality Expanded

[ + ]: Analytical: Every line of every conversation and every action she sees another person take is broken down into its minutiae and studied for hidden intent and insight into the picture of the person. It’s measured against what is already known and applied to planning future interaction and assessing strengths, weaknesses, the likelihood that the other party will become a problem or an asset, and how to handle them if they manifest as one or other—leaving room for if they turn out to be one then the other.

Engaging: There is nobody short of Gilderoy Lockhart that can weave a more dramatic or entertaining tale when they desire then Dolores. The believability could be questioned and increasingly so considering the frequency with which Dolores raises a fuss and turns a small event into a public spectacle, but the added spice of moans, groans, shouted accusations, passionate denials, and the occasional forced tear or fainting spell create impressions that are not soon forgotten all the same.

Dedicated: Once she has set her mind to something there is no dissuading her. She may not be loyal to very many people, but she is unfailingly loyal to herself and her goals and no amount of hardship will make her forget what she is really working toward.

[ - ]: High Strung: All the people she has already wronged or wounded as well as the wounds already done to her, both real and imagined, have made Dolores paranoid. That, her innately nervous nature, her near solitary existence during school breaks, and her own budding propensity to lies she then worries about being found out at, and increasingly warped worldview about dangerous muggles and halfbreeds have joined together to keep Dolores consistently with one foot hanging over the abyss of a breakdown to the point where loud, unexpected noises and the like rattle her regularly.

Deceptive: Dolores’ current life is built on lies, from the pureblood parentage she began to profess, to her attempt to convince each side she harbors sympathy for their cause, and there will only be more lies as she now does something much similar with the visitors from different tiemlines. She lies near every time she breathes and with the same automatic response as well as frequency until even she believes what she says.

Manipulative: This is where the weaknesses and strengths Dolly assesses in friend and enemy alike come into play. The point of knowledge for her is exploitation and exploit she does. She is not above blackmail in the slightest, but it’s such an ugly concept and she prefers to fill her life with beauty, so her preferences are to play on sympathy, good will, charity, sense of duty-- the better natures of people--though she’s quick to move on when this tactic does not work, the person she is trying to move is much lower than her and assumed to have no reliable better nature to appeal to, or her target’s sense of what’s right differs from hers and refuses to be altered. Still before blackmail there is the harsher beauty of the very rewarding art of intimidation to get what you want.

Boggart: Used to be people milling around in clothes like they had just been to her funeral and talking about how she had never accomplished anything worthwhile in her life, but currently re-enacts her mother and brother leaving (albeit a version where they say things far more caustic than they did in real life about how she drove them away, how unloveable she is, and how glad they are to never have to see her again). She would muse that her boggart may have actually shifted again after witnessing that and fretting over how mortifying it would be for anyone to see that those dumb creatures the boggarts think she’s broken up over those stupid muggles she doesn’t miss at all.

Amortentia: Freshly bound books, sugar cookies, and cilantro

How she spent the summer: Interning at the Improper Use of Magic Office, a position her father got her by agreeing to do some private maintenance work for the department head who is hopeless at household spells, but Dolly thinks she got on her own merits. Since she still had the trace on her for much of the summer she was relegated to little more than fetching coffee and organizing files the muggle way, but in her mind and even more prominently in how she would spin the story for others, she was an invaluable asset to the department and the workers there learned to trust her instincts and take her advice until she was practically running the place by time the summer came to an end and the unfortunate incident at the Department of Mysteries occured.

Her Name: She hates her name. Dolores sounds like a sixty-year-old spinster. She used to like Dolly but lately it has seemed infantilizing and it is too much of a reminder of her muggle bitch mother who started the nickname before Dolly could even choose for herself whether she wanted to be anyone’s “sweet faced little china doll.” She would go by her middle name, but she can’t seem to train herself to answer to it, and she wouldn’t want to be mocked as “Plain Jane” either. She finally chose to transition from Dolly to Dolores over the summer, introducing herself as Dolores to her supervisors at the Ministry so they would take her seriously, though her stupid father ruined it the first day--ruined her day twice actually since she had forbade him from talking to her in front of other people. She planned to keep it going once she returned to school, though now everything is confused and it’s hard to know whether insisting on her full name marks her as belonging to this timeline, will make people think she’s from a different timeline, or whether they won’t care either way and it’s the perfect time to slip in one extra change

In Timeline One: Dolores is very similar to timeline three’s, excepting her sorting into Ravenclaw, but has learned to be much more subdued about her anti-muggle opinions and has, in fact, truly become much more moderate while faking it because there are less people who reinforce the idea that muggles and squibs are inferior and undeserving or at least are thought so by all “proper wizards”

In Timeline Two: Timeline two’s Dolly would be horrified by timeline three’s as will “Our” Dolly once she learns about her counterpart, a hufflepuff who is vocal about muggleborn and squib rights to the point of foolishness no matter what hardship or treatment she has to endure. Dolly’s alternate does have the close friend group and significant other “Our” Dolly craves, but they are hardly what she would call suitable people. You see, In timeline two, the increased urgency of the losing war, far more violently anti-muggle public opinion of those in power in mainstream wizard society existing for years, and the recent blood status registration instead of hastening the decline of Dolly’s parents’ marriage or preventing it from happening in the first place, drew Orford and Ellen much closer together. Orford clung to and protected his muggle wife instead of blaming her for his shortcomings and Ellen saw Orford as a knight out of storybook instead of a struggling failure. Dolly was taught family over self, everyone as a part of a loving whole that banded together all the more in adversity. They tried to hide that Ulysses, Dolly’s little brother, could not perform magic as long as they could. Dolly even offered to follow him around, faking spells for him, but when his Hogwarts letter never came, they couldn’t anymore. Dolly’s mother and brother still left when she was fifteen but they were sent away to a secret keeper guarded safe house run by family friends for their own protection. The vastly different home life created a vastly different Dolly who diverged even more during her Hogwarts years in Hufflepuff.

History Facts

Dolores likes sweets to the degree she does because sometimes she experiences a bitter taste flooding her mouth and clinging to her tongue even after she scrapes it against the roof of her mouth and either extremely sweet or almost too spicy to tolerate foods can cover it up--and she’s always had a bit of a sweet tooth naturally. The bitter taste now comes any time she trying to maintain a calm facade while feeling emotional, one day she feels it will linger all the time, though originally it only came every time she felt the urge to use particularly vulgar language. Her father used to wash out her mouth with soap when she was younger. Nobody ever knew when he was doing it either, not even her mother. Soap bubbles he could do wandlessly. A discreet wave of fingers inside his pocket and she would be struggling to not vomit frothy, bitter bubbles. She can never forget that taste. She’d swallow, her stomach would churn, and her father would ask her later if she’d learned her lesson. He didn’t like correcting her, he’d always make that clear, but naughty children must be punished. Naughty daddies who had other secrets too and were mean behind everyone’s back must be punished too—and one day he would be--but that was how the preference for having everything sweet enough to mask the flavor of lye (or coppery blood in her mouth as she bit her tongue to keep from calling after mother when she walked out the door for the last time, not because she wanted to say she made a mistake and beg to be taken with her. Not the way she remembered it now. The stupid muggle bitch had made her so mad and insulted her so gravely by suggesting she may want to go with her in the divorce that Dolores had to bite her tongue to avoid cursing her into oblivion, since she was the more evolved creature and couldn’t strike a dumb animal that way) began.

Dolly loved to garden when she was younger despite the risk of dirtying her clothes, but it certainly isn’t an option anymore ever since her father moved them to a small flat in London. Her cat Vesuvia, before Dolly had to get rid of her, would knock about pots and track through window boxes and make a frightful mess. Plus something so small and limited as a window box makes a room dimmer not more lively for the disappointed heart of someone who grew up used to a full garden to tinker about in. The smell of freshly turned soil also reminds her of her mother who taught her both how to tend a garden and how to sing (and how the two were meant to be mixed), which is every reason to avoid it. She does still sing, however, though her songs of choice are not the upbeat, silly muggle songs her mother raised her on until she spurned them, but lofty opera selections as she imagines herself one day not awing a packed auditorium as a star but entertaining a small but appreciative crowd who didn’t know their Minister of Magic possessed hidden talents.

Dolly never knew she was allergic to cats, through years with Vesuvia and adopting several strays that came and went, until her father revealed to her after she shouted in a moment of anger that he was so useless she might as well have left with her mother for all the good he ever was to her, that he had been charming away her cat allergies her whole life. It was one of the only times Dolly could remember ever hearing him say he loved her--that broken hearted, stunted man who had mistreated and lost everyone who he loved but her. She didn’t say it back. She got rid of Vesuvia the next day. She wouldn’t be beholden to anyone. Besides, cats are too messy and too fussy. She didn’t love them that much.

REACTION:

At first, she didn’t believe the story of those that claimed to remember a different version of history other than the “proper” one. It was some sort of large scale trick or publicity stunt that she didn’t approve of one bit. She could only thank her lucky stars that her father, as much as he failed in other areas, was not part of this mass hysteria. He was still very much himself as was she. Then, once the Ministry statements supported these outlandish claims, and she saw the chaos it was devolving into when she next went into her internship after a few days off, she quickly got over her suspicions and disbelief...and started to think of how she could twist events to further herself.

Her first though was to parlay the amount of workers who didn’t remember who they were into stepping into one of their positions, but those that remained in power at the department just saw her as a girl only just barely over seventeen that still had a year left of school and she saw quickly she would have to come up with an alternate plan. So she offered herself as a spy after convincing her department head one was needed. Who knew what really had happened in the Department of Mysteries or if these newcomers to the timeline had some nefarious purpose? There were official Ministry inquiries but who would share information willingly if they were actually on a sabotage mission to derail the natural world into one of their “dark timelines?” Veritaserum was known not to work on everyone and the Ministry couldn’t use torture so there was no way to trust even information given under interrogation--and they hadn’t even gotten that far, just trusting friendly interview and treating these timeline jumpers like victims. Honestly, Dolores wasn’t sure of she did think the timeline travelers did have ill will or that they had traveled willingly, but weaving a story of paranoia could only help her. She claimed someone as quick thinking and skilled at reading people, gleaning information, and winning trust as she claimed to be could easily get in with those that had been displaced from their timelines, pretend to be one of them--take on whatever personality each person expected of her and stop those that knew conflicting versions from talking to each other about her or come up with some excuse of why she was lying to others but not them--and find out more about not just where they came from but what their true purpose was in crossing over, details that would not be shared with anyone they knew was trying to get information from them. She would only have access to students and school staff, but once should never underestimate what such people could know or accomplish, and think of what would happen if there was evil-doers infiltrating Hogwarts? She would see it didn’t happen. She could report all findings back to the Ministry, her own special position. No need for pay, just the promise of a job once she graduated. The department head agreed to her proposal. Dolores wasn’t sure if it was because she had won him over or if he was just trying to humor her and get her out of his office, but, either way, she was now working for the Ministry while at Hogwarts. The timeline confusion may just be the best thing that ever happened to her.

#backgroundbits #about dolly

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free-martinis · 6 years

Link

Words by ROBIN SWITHINBANK

Photography by MATT HOLYOAK

Styling byGARETH SCOURFIELD

“It’s not the kind of thing you’d expect to hear a movie star say, at least, not one who has starred in some of the highest-grossing films of all time. ‘I’m not part of the Hollywood A-list,’ says Martin Freeman, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I’m genuinely not. No. Nowhere near.’

That might sound unduly modest, but the thing is, despite appearing as the titular figure in Peter Jackson’s $3bn Hobbit super-franchise; despite being part of Marvel’s universe (twice, most recently in Black Panther); despite appearing alongside the likes of Billy Bob Thornton (as Lester Nygaard in the Coen-brothers-inspired TV hit Fargo) and Benedict Cumberbatch (as Dr John Watson in Sherlock); and despite being an Emmy and BAFTA-award winning actor (both for Sherlock), he’s not.

‘For a lot of people, the Hobbit was played by Bilbo Baggins,’ he says, that familiar look of knowing resignation writ large across his face. Surely playing the heroic halfling has transformed his career and spun him into the red-carpet superstar galaxy? ‘I don’t know how many people after that thought: “Get me that guy.” I genuinely don’t know. It didn’t feel like it made a massive difference to me. Honest to God.’ Perhaps that will explain where he keeps those awards. ‘On my roof,’ he quips. ‘So people can see them.’

It’s tempting to cast Freeman as unhappy. There’s certainly a tension in him. In person, he’s courteous and engaged – he says words like ‘genuinely’ and ‘literally’ often and fervently – but there’s a sharpness to his opinions, and there’s plenty that riles him. That said, he seems at one with his lot. Mostly. ‘I will allow myself to be proud of that,’ he says of his awards, clearly trying not to big himself up. ‘I do alright. I do OK.’

Martin Freeman might have done some blockbusters in his time, but his first love is independent film. His latest vehicle is Ghost Stories, a proper spooky, throw-your-popcorn-in-the-air fright fest. It’s also an anthology – the fashionable format of our time – featuring the mercurial talents of Paul Whitehouse, Alex Lawther and Andy Nyman. Freeman appears in the third and final act as a wealthy city trader with a ghost problem no prominent psychiatrist has been able to explain. It’s a bleak piece, but it’s funny, too, particularly when Freeman’s natural comic talents are front and centre.

‘People are being hit badly. I’d happily vote for someone who’s going to tax me more’

It is also, for reasons that can’t be explained without spoiling the film, another reminder that the 46-year-old is one of our most versatile actors (‘To be a good comic actor means you’re a good actor, right?’). We spend 10 minutes discussing the film, which Nyman co-wrote and co-directed with Jeremy ‘League of Gentlemen’ Dyson, before it dawns on us that we can’t really talk about it. Not on paper, anyway. One salient detail gets the full treatment, before Freeman jumps in: ‘Don’t give that away, for f**k’s sake!’ he implores. ‘This is my first interview for the film and I’ve already f**ked it up…’

Freeman is not known for his candour. He doesn’t do a lot of interviews and he’s no self publicist (he’s not on social media), only letting it slip that he and Sherlock co-star Amanda Abbington had split after two kids and 16 years together in an interview with the FT a year after the event. Is he with anyone now? ‘Well,’ he says, folding his arms. ‘I would never tell you if I was.’

Conversation about his background and family is therefore a bit stilted. He was born in Aldershot and grew up the youngest of five siblings in Teddington (‘yes, those are the facts.’). His parents split not long after he was born, but he recalls a happy home. ‘We kissed a lot and hugged a lot,’ he says. ‘I mean, it wasn’t The Brady Bunch – we also f**king screamed and shouted a lot.’

They were creative, too, a ‘showy-offy family, no wallflowers’. He’s the only career actor, a path he was encouraged to follow, particularly by his mother, who never got the chance. ‘I was only met with support,’ he says. ‘I didn’t have to leave home, I wasn’t booted out. I know people who faced active hostility from their parents, because it’s so unsafe and it’s in the lap of the gods whether you’ll be able to feed yourself or not.’

These days, Freeman is certainly able to feed himself. Over the past 20 years, his talents have served him well. His big break came in The Office, the mockumentary cringeathon that also made household names of Ricky Gervais, Stephen Merchant and Mackenzie Crook. ‘I’m very proud of it,’ he says of the show that in 2004 became the first British sitcom to win a Golden Globe for Best Television Series – Comedy or Musical. ‘I still think it’s a phenomenal show. And I still think the central performance [Gervais’s] is one of the best things I’ve ever seen, let alone acted with. I could not have wanted a better break.’

The apocryphal stories surrounding the show are legion, but the one about him originally auditioning to play Gareth, Crook’s character and the butt of all the jokes, rather than Tim, is true. Gervais and his co-creator Merchant spotted something in Freeman audiences have come to know him by. ‘The Office is basically a room full of Laurels and one Hardy, which is Tim,’ Gervais once told The Sun. ‘Tim’s character is pretty common in comedy – that person who thinks they’re better than everyone else, but it doesn’t seem to get them anywhere.’

For a time, it seemed Freeman might suffer the same fate. He became known as the guy that did ‘that face’. He once appeared on Never Mind the Buzzcocks and was invited by host Simon Amstell to do a ‘sigh-off’ with Gavin & Stacey’s routinely put-upon Mathew Horne. Did he worry he’d never lose that tag? ‘Yeah, I was nervous about that,’ he admits. ‘The thing is, I can do that face. But that face, it’s Oliver Hardy’s face. Not my face. He did it 70 years before I did. That’s just me channelling Oliver Hardy.’ Gervais was right, then.

During the mid-2000s, he picked up roles in Love Actually and Hot Fuzz, and played the lead in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Then came Sherlock, The Hobbit, Fargo, the awards and a lot more public attention. ‘I was out last night, having a drink with a friend, walking around town. There are people following you around with camera phones in your face – it’s not pleasant.’

The public is never far from Freeman’s mind. He’s openly political, not exactly in a ‘Ladies and gentleman, the next President of the United States of America’ kind of way (we’ve established he’s not Hollywood – he doesn’t even own a home in the US), but he did front a party political broadcast for the Labour Party in 2015 and endorsed Jeremy Corbyn’s successful leadership bid later that year. A question about fairness opens the floodgates. ‘I do genuinely think this Government is f**king up. I really do,’ he says. ‘And that’s not to say that a Labour Government would be doing much better. But I think people are being hit genuinely really badly, who shouldn’t be. That’s why I’d happily vote for someone who’s going to tax me more.’

Pardon? ‘I think I should be taxed more. I’ve got more money than a lot of people. In my lifetime, there have always been homeless people. Now there’s even more. Food banks, and people being made homeless by not being able to afford their houses, and not enough social housing being made or built, and austerity on and on and on… I don’t know what we expect to happen, but if you’re doing that and cutting the police, what the f**k do you think is going to happen?’

‘We’re getting more polarised. The inability to see the other side is a problem. Social media has helped do away with nuance’

He’s only too conscious of the conflict in being a very wealthy movie star who thinks more should be done to support the disenfranchised. ‘I get it,’ he says. ‘I get why people say: “Who is this prick?” I get it. Most people aren’t as lucky as me. That’s just the truth. So I can see easily why it comes across as pontificating, why it comes across as being champagne socialist. Which is what we’re all called, as soon as you’re not on the dole. If you’re vaguely famous and say anything left wing, it’s a very easy stick to hit you with.’

That’s the natural framework of popular discourse, though, surely? A binary response is easiest. ‘But we’re getting more polarised,’ he retorts. ‘Definitely. The inability to see the other side is a problem. Unless someone is actually driving down your street in a Panzer, then I think you have to keep dialogue. Social media has helped do away with nuance. If me and you have a disagreement here, we can still have a cup of tea. But we do it on social media – then you’re a Nazi.

‘We can’t go on like that. I will easily say I think Trump is a vile pig, but I don’t think every single person who votes Republican is a vile pig. That would be crazy. And I certainly don’t think that about everyone who votes Conservative. It’s not my team. It’s not my party. But do I know Conservatives? Do I like ’em? ’Course I do. Can I not stand some Labour people? Yeah, I can’t stand some of them. So, my hope would be, genuinely, that we start to put our phones down for a minute, and actually not get involved in these f**king wars, which are so safe to have, and so self-righteous… It costs you nothing to be an armchair activist.’

In Ghost Stories the themes of guilt, good and bad and choice run through the piece, holding it together. In one particularly chilling scene, Freeman’s character utters the deliciously portentous line, ‘I didn’t believe in evil until that night…’ He was brought up a Catholic, but isn’t ‘card-carrying’ now. Does he think the film is a modern parable, a wake-up call to burst our secular bubble?

‘Maybe,’ he says reluctantly. ‘I’m one of the only people who I know in my world who isn’t an atheist. I like the questions. That’s where the interesting stuff happens. I’m equally uneasy with hardcore unquestioning atheists as I am with born-again Christians with their hands in the air and their eyes closed. In the same way that yes, I’m of the Left, but there are people and things about the Left that make me very uncomfortable. The sort of unquestioning, demonising of anyone who doesn’t agree with you, kind of thing. I see that in atheists – if you don’t agree with me, you’re intrinsically a moron. And that isn’t helpful. The older I get, the more I realise you need dialogue.’

This, it seems, is the real Freeman. Vocal, ardent, yet nuanced. But he’s not claiming the soapbox. ‘Let’s face it, I wasn’t a very good omen in 2015,’ he says of his virtual doorstepping days. ‘I don’t want my voice to be a political voice. I’m not some political genius. There’s one thing I’m good at, and it’s acting. I have absolute faith in my ability to do that.’

Like it or not, he has a voice. Thank goodness, it’s not the hashtaggable, awards-season friendly voice of many of his fellow actors. He’s more balanced than that. More open to argument. That’s what we saw – and loved – in Tim. In Lester. In Bilbo. In Freeman, we see life’s ambiguousness, its ludicrousness, its ordinariness.

Freeman has to go. He’s got ‘kiddy things’ to do. He’s an active father when he’s not working, and frankly, I’m holding him up. In a flash, he’s gone.

#Martin Freeman #Jackal magazine #interview #link

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