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backandimbamon · 3 years

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Bonnie playing with Damon's hair and he all sleepy 😊

this really took a while because… i was going to stop at the first half but i wanted to consider Bonnie’s perspective (: and then it got a lil spicy and i was like *sigh* why must you always take it there? but i mean- 👁- i always take it there because we were robbed!!! Damon is practically a self proclaimed sex god and i hate how they separated Bonnie from her sexuality, or really any form of intimacy for sooo long. and the scraps we got were NEVER enough. okay anyways yeah i’m finally done, like let’s get into it.

Damon notices that Bonnie touches him sparingly and really not because she wants to but because it happens accidentally every now and then, one of the perks about frequently invading her space.

Being stuck on the other side, there is less room for her and more for him, she’s in his world now which means it’s his duty to make her feel as uncomfortably comfortable as possible.

He notices everything; how her cheeks turn red when their knuckles brush against one another’s, how she takes in an exasperated little breath when their shoulders touch, how she rolls her eyes when he stands entirely too close. Damon hangs on to these moments because this may be his only form of female contact he’ll receive for a very, very, long time.

That is the only reason he hangs on.

Anytime she touches him intentionally, he feels a pride swell deep in his chest that he’s liked by Bonnie after a rocky road of ups and downs, fussing and fighting, he is finally deemed worthy enough for her to care about him even if it’s brief, even if it’s the smallest skin to skin contact imaginable.

And yes, he cares because if he has to spend the rest of eternity with one person, they might as well get along.

Movie night comes around so he rests his head in her lap, testing the waters, to see how she will respond to him. He senses her tense up a bit as predicted, but then she relaxes into it breath by breath like she’s doing a tricky yoga pose.

Bonnie’s body lotion makes her skin smell edible- cocoa and honey- she’ll never know but that’s why he nicknames her Bon Bon, she always smells good enough to eat. At this point, Damon can’t recall the VHS movie on the block of a television, his focus has been robbed by Bonnie and this new form of contact she allows him to try. Half of his smile sinks into the cotton of her leggings.

Her eyes never leave the screen when she laces her fingers through his hair, nails surfing through tufts of raven-black and the gesture is so shocking and embarrassingly arousing that a strangled groan gets trapped in his throat.

She panics, and he can tell by the change in her heart rate before saying. “Did I hurt you?” He has to clear his throat to speak.

“Hmmm mm, feels good,” he mumbles feigning casual so she can’t realize how he needs this so so bad that he’s fearful of it being taken away. In his mind he thinks about what if.

What if she wakes up and decides she doesn’t want to tap dance on the line between what is and isn’t acceptable for two best friends. What if she remembers that he’s actually a terrible person who has done horrendous things to her and everyone she’s ever loved.

She shouldn’t like him or try not to laugh at his jokes. Not at all. Bonnie should’ve killed him a long, long time ago because if anyone could do it, it’d be her. He can see her now, all badass and angry with a wooden stake in her hand, vengeance in her eyes, the very last thing he’d see before his lights went out forever.

Bonnie, the giver and the taker.

Bonnie, the only god he knew.

Damon finds himself thinking so intensely lately that he checks the mirror more often than not to make sure he has no brooding lines like his little brother. Stefan’s expansive forehead has the room for it, his perfectly shaped forehead does not.

She laces her fingers back through his hair again and his eyes flutter, that’s how good it feels. It’s sensational. And while he’s had his hair pulled in and out of the bedroom, the innocence of her touch makes him want to melt. He finds his lids growing heavier, like how they used to do a century-and-a-half ago when he was human.

Running through dandelion fields in the overbearing Virginia heat, the sun up above sending heavy gusts of sunshine beams, a moment he considers to be oppressive now, used to be magical then- miraculous -and despite sweating through his britches and overcoat he never cared enough to stop running through the fields. The sun was the greatest thing all those years ago, back when white was his favorite color.

And after drawing a long, hot bath, he’d sink deep into the water while the bubbles floated to the top. Damon would close his eyes, hold his breath, see if he could break his prior record. Then he’d get out and the sleep would welcome him like any drowsy being, with open arms. And there he’d fall.

Bonnie has that affect on him. She makes him think of home, his past, when times were simpler and he was human.

He feels that exhausted sometimes, a boy who’s never stopped running through dandelion fields, whether it snows or rains or burns him alive. Her fingernails rake through his scalp- orange leaves on browning grass. Ruining Stefan’s piles for the fun of it. His lids droop. Tired of being consumed by himself, by Bonnie, he admits defeat this time. When he finally drifts off, he remembers that the Virginia heat gave him this same warm and fuzzy feeling inside.

“You really don’t know how good this feels,” his final words are hoarse before he drifts off but the last thing he sees is Bonnie.

The giver and the taker, the only god he knows.

Bonnie refuses to relish in the magic of the moment, the fact that it’s so rare Damon ever completely lets his guard down around her. She can always feel his eyes on her, constantly watching because Damon has a presence that’s inescapable.

Being so close to him when he’s extremely vulnerable makes her realize that in all facets, he’s stunning. A stunning that’s almost suffocating but with the dynamic they possess, he only needs to know that he’s not that much of an eye sore.

Now, she stares with wide eyes while she can, memorizes the smooth expanse of skin, every strand of dark hair. Relishes in the feel of his arms around her waist, the weight of his head in her lap. It’s been a long time since she’s felt a body besides her own and as much as she likes to ignore the fact, she has needs, needs that have swelled from being in the presence of Damon for too long.

He’s sexy without any effort, she examines. His dark t-shirt has risen and his pants are low enough that she observes the waistline of (silk?) boxers, taut muscle, navel, happy trail, yeah. Bonnie drinks him in like a cool glass of milk before bedtime- never has this much pretty been in her lap before. Her hands find their way in his head again, tousles through and he nuzzles up against her in his sleep. It’s difficult to pull her eyes away from him, but when she does, the credits are rolling on the screen.

This is Damon she’s thinking about like this, her best friend and also her first best friend’s boyfriend. She repeats it again, not satisfied that the guilt isn’t drowning her like it sometimes does when she catches herself lingering on his attractiveness for too long but Mystic Falls, the real Mystic Falls seems so far away. Elena, Caroline, Matt, Alaric, her old life just seems unattainable, no bigger than a memory she occasionally mistakes for a bad dream.

There’s no denying that being away from it all, here with Damon as the only other person in the world, she feels…safe. Maybe even protected, it’s a stark contrast from the real Mystic Falls where her life is always on the line.

Bonnie starts to get up when she feels his hold on her tighten to prevent her from moving away. They play tug of war for a bit but she eventually stops fighting because Damon is a vampire after all, physical strength is going to get her nowhere. “Fine,” she grumbles, then plops down which causes the end of her top to ride up enough that she can feel the press of Damon’s nose on the curve of her waist. Despite trying to inch her shirt back down, she has no luck. Naturally Damon doesn’t mind.

He inhales her skin deeply, makes a sound of approval before groggily muttering, “Going topless now, are we Judgey?”

She grabs his hair again, yanks his head back as a rebuttal, and Damon bites his tongue so hard that it bleeds. He has to ensure that all of the blood in his body isn’t rushing south too fast but unfortunately, he would have to sever both his arms completely off to stop the blood flow.

Bonnie realizes the dazed look in his eyes isn’t one of pain nor is it from sleep, “Not the reaction you expected, huh?” He asks, gesturing for her to look down but she doesn’t, she can’t. She’s embarrassed, and to make matters worse, a teensy bit turned on.

“You scared, Bon Bon? I thought you were big and bad,” Damon mocks, pulling between his legs to make more room in his jeans, “it’s okay. I know Jeremy left much to be desired.” He sits up with swirls of longing still in his eyes, then grabs a pillow to place in his lap.

“Scared?” She guffaws. “Of what exactly?”

“Me…You.”

“And that means?”

“You’re a smart girl, Bon, figure it out.” Damon taunts, holding her eyes with his. “It’s awfully lonely here.”

She says nothing for a while, refusing to break eye contact first. “So.”

“Soooo, I won’t tell if you won’t.” It’s almost a joke, almost because she has a feeling if she says yes to whatever sort of ambiguous proposal he’s thrown up in the air, there won’t be any laughter. If she says no, it’s no different from his usual innuendos but boy, will she wonder.

“Wanna take a walk on the wild side?” He asks in a singsong tone, eyes dropping to her lips then back up to her eyes.

There are no alarms, no cell phones, no one here that can interrupt this moment. She has to answer, though she has no idea what will come out of her mouth. Bonnie shuts her eyes to make the moment less real, as if it will change the fact that she whispers, “Just one kiss,”

They’re nose to nose when Damon whispers back, “a peck.”

She swallows his breath. “Mhmm,”

“It’s nothing,”

“Nothing.”

“As light as air,” he presses his lips to hers for a brief moment then pulls back again. “See.” He peppers more kisses on her lips, down her jaw, the side of her neck, but they’re heavier. They have a density now. His tongue is on the flesh of her shoulder, teasing up her neck. She feels the light imprint of sharp canines, arousal surges through her like a power circuit, so intense that she moans. When he makes his way back up, their mouths both open in a feral kiss that robs them of air.

Bonnie holds his face in place though he makes no attempt to move away. The pillow falls out from between them when he grabs Bonnie’s leg to straddle him.

It’s nothing.

Nothing separating them from attacking each other’s mouths, nothing stopping Damon from gripping his best friend’s hips, nothing saving Bonnie from discarding his shirt.

His skin is cool enough that she can stream together some thought in between relentless kisses. “Damon,” she tries her best to sound admonishing.

“Please, not right now.” Damon cuffs both her wrists behind her with one hand and plants a hickey just above her cleavage. She sees stars. He already knows what the inflection in her voice means- the timing couldn’t be worse.“Let’s save the guilt for tomorrow morning.” His tone is octaves lower, almost as low as his lids. He drags his eyes up to hers, and they’re so shiny she can see her reflection. “I need this, Bonnie. Don’t you?”

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just continues on with his ministrations, hypnotized by the pheromones seeping off of her in waves, wanting to memorize the scent with his tongue. She whines his name, like actually whines his name, and the feeling that sits in the pit of his stomach scares him. Bonnie is so oblivious to the appeal she carries but if she sat in his skin for a day, hell, for a moment, she would realize just how long she’s been driving him insane.

“We can’t,” she groans weakly. “We can’t.”

Damon tries to breathe easier, but that feeling is lurking in his gut. She’s right. The things he’d do to her, he’d break her in half. He removes Bonnie from his lap, separates from her warmth, her scent. Backs away until the tv threatens to fall off the stand. Everything in him tells him to go back, to reenter the magnetic pull, to poke at her forcefield.

He backs away even further if possible. Her breath catches at the distance.

Bonnie’s cheeks are flushed, warm and red like fruit. If she was an apple, she would have already been eaten down to the core. If she was a peach, it would be easier to explain why he ate her. He thinks to himself that he’s officially off the rails, comparing Bonnie to fruit like he is, but he’s trying to rationalize his irrationality. Because if Bonnie never stopped him, he’d definitely be eating something by now.

“Nothing happened.” She says, ignoring his expression and the silent plea in his eyes.

“Nothing.” He deadpans, throwing his shirt back over his head.

Damon thinks of how different things would be if he had his way. Bonnie, spent, drunk, high off of him. Bleeding and wild, pretty and dangerous, yelling for God. He would plunge Jeremy right out of her, help her find her magic again. Give her everything she could dream of. He gulps.

She doesn’t sleep with him tonight, not in the same bed. She’s on the opposite end of the boarding house when he hears her slide under the covers.

The next morning, he thinks to himself, if she even utters a word about last night, he’ll pick up from where he left off. But she doesn’t, her eyes are far away again, and the only proof he has of their adventures is the wonderful, purple hickey.

When movie night comes back around, his head is in her lap and her hand is back in his hair, running to and fro like him in his lavender fields.

That’s all he gets.

Every now and then, it’s enough.

Bonnie gives and takes, then takes away some more.

She’s the closest thing to God he’ll probably ever know.

#bamon #bamon fanfiction #bamon fanfic #bamon prompt #prompt #my writing #mine #tvd ff #tvd fanfiction #damon salvatore #bonnie bennett #bonnie x damon #damon x bonnie

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onebizarrekai · 3 years

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v3′s art is comically terrible for a professionally distributed game in a series: a compilation

in this not-essay I will list all of the mistakes and problems I have spotted in v3′s art. don’t worry, it’s entirely for fun and I’m doing this on a whim, so please feel free to not take this seriously but also it’s hilarious and embarrassing how ridiculous this is like what happened did they speedrun the whole production or what

see, there are some things you can take as meta like “they made it bad on purpose to allude to the downfall of tv shows that have been on air for much too long” but I have a very strong feeling this is not the case due to the nature of some of these errors

disclaimer, the more I study this art, the more I fear that the artists were underpaid and underslept, so if this is in fact the case, I am so sorry to all of them but also I’m going to make fun of the art anyway

anyway let’s get started!

if you study this image for longer than 5 seconds, you will see that kaede is the only one fully shaded and keebo is literally just his normal sprite pasted into the image. every other character is just an ordinary ref, hence most of them facing the exact same direction with neutral expressions on their faces. it looks like a bad edit, and is probably one of the worst pieces of art in the game. it kind of gets better from here on, but my roasting will not.

with that out of the way, here’s the problem that officially bothers me the most and clarifies my viewpoint of “this is not meta and an actual lack of company communication”

this freaking cg, which seems normal at a glance, but some wiseass was like “oh, kaede is a girl, so obviously she’s going to be shorter than the Male Protagonist™” ah, that’s funny. because if you look at the character bios, kaede is, in fact, one inch taller than shuichi and not like 6 inches shorter as she is shown here.

also shuichi’s shoulder is disproportionate and horrendous and he looks vaguely like a jojo character, but I wasn’t even thinking about that until right now.

thanks guys, 50% of the fandom who has never bothered to check these bios thinks that kaede is like 5′3 (did the developers really put so little thought into her to the point where drawing her correctly in the game didn’t even matter??)

also I would like to point out that, even though this isn’t related to the art itself, yes, a character kaede’s size being only 117 lbs is unfeasible, but this applies to literally every character in danganronpa ever and it’s not new news that it’s unrealistic

update: someone in the tags informed me that in versions of the game that use centimeters, like the japanese version, kaede is actually shorter than shuichi, which just adds another thing to the list of weird decisions the localization team made for no reason. that said, after confirming this, kaede is 167 cm in the original, while shuichi is 171 cm, which are approximately 5′6 and 5′7 respectively, but one inch is still nowhere near as drastic as it is depicted above. (in spite of this, I would rather depict kaede as slightly taller, so I’m probably going to keep doing that.)

the journey continues!

bro if you want kaede to have shoulder length hair then stick to it to begin with

you can pretend this is at an angle all you want but they definitely committed the shorter kaede sin a second time

wait a goddamn second.

DO YOU SEE THIS

no………… it wasn’t kaede who shrank. it was shuichi who got taller

speaking of which, can we talk about how shady the perspective is in this elevator pic? look at shuichi and kokichi in comparison to kaede. kokichi, who is canonically 7 inches (edit: or 5, if you’re loyal to the original) shorter than kaede, looks taller than kaede. he’s growing too. what steroids are these gays taking

running into the room, electric boogaloo: I don’t think tsumugi is supposed to be the same height as kokichi

gonta… gonta you’re lookin a bit like a jojo character there

I love how kaito’s head looks kind of like it was pasted onto his body. why is he the same size as shuichi? shouldn’t he be high school bully size or something? his torso is teensy

ah yes, white angie.

I love this cg but why is shuichi’s right hand so much bigger than his left hand

I also love how this cg looks like they literally took pictures of trees and pasted them into the background, especially on the left. the shadows are so weird, especially closer to the ceiling, it’s difficult for me to believe they didn’t do exactly that.

return of Enlarged shuichi

puberty update: kokichi is now taller than shuichi in spite of shuichi never missing leg day. what crimes will he commit

I have to mention it, guys. this has to be one of the worst danganronpa cgs. kokichi’s facial proportions look atrocious. look at the way his face sticks out like his jaw is in the wrong place. his scarf is a pasted texture. that’s it. this moment was so iconic but the cg just looks so… so… off. like something is terribly wrong, but you can’t put your finger on it.

you know what? let’s get into that ‘pasted texture’ thing.

let’s imagine you’re an artist working on a professional game. you’re assigned to draw cgs of kokichi ouma, who has a checkered scarf from hell. sure, it will be terrible to draw, but you only have to draw it once at a time! plus, perspective is pretty important, right? can you be bothered? nah, actually. let’s just copy paste a checkered pattern into the cg, because I’m sure nobody will notice. it’ll blend right in with the other cgs that someone actually put effort into drawing his scarf in, right?

no. the answer is no and I very much noticed. this genuinely looks terrible and I would understand taking a shortcut like that in fanart or even an indie game but this is a full price pc and console distributed game

(an addition: look at kokichi’s TINY HANDS in that last one)

meanwhile, they straight up forgot to color in kokichi’s scarf in this cg.

dude. I forgot about whatever the hell this cg was. anyway look at keebo please just look at him

lovin kaito’s baby arms

real talk, maybe you could argue that he’s missing muscle because he’s deathly sick, but most of his cgs don’t line up with this, and his arms just look disproportionate to his torso size (granted this is a consistent problem across all danganronpa games and a lot of characters have this weird problem, like hajime, but also kaito is bigger than hajime so I kind of have higher expectations of him) maybe it’s his stupid goatee and the way he reminds me of yasuhiro?? it creates this illusion that he’s older than he is and so I keep expecting him to look more like an adult

oh, also rantaro is missing some of his accessories in that video he made–you know the one–but I don’t wanna go back and screenshot it

also you may have noticed that I’m skipping all of the monokub cgs because I literally do not care about them and I’m not even bothering to check and see if they have artistic mistakes in them

JIMMY NEUTRON???

hey um uh kaito you seem to be missing your neck

hey guys do you like my pregame fanart

so, that done, the sprites are also pretty terrible at times. they’re not as interesting to go through, however, and downloading the full sprite sets for every character and studying every single one of them will drive me insane, so I’ll just sum some of the ones I noticed up. I made things for kaede and shuichi before deciding I wasn’t going to get into it, so here are these.

that said, other mistakes include kokichi missing his purple highlights in all of the sprites encompassing a specific pose, stray pixels all over the place on everyone, and everyone also has heavily inconsistent shading, but literally all I think about is how pregame shuichi is unshaded and two of kaede’s pregame sprites have glaring outfit change mistakes in them

anyway, thank you for taking the time to read my ridiculous ramble. in all seriousness, there’s this looming presence of some lack of communication in the development team, like with all the art and design inconsistencies, pieces and sprites that look rushed, stray pixels, and missing basic proportional stuff. these are the kinds of things that you supposedly have to pretty much have in the bag in order to get jobs in professional businesses, so it’s really weird to me that this game suffers from so many of these problems. it’s like they tried to make the art so much more crisp than the other games, but it fell on its face as they realized it was going to take longer to draw everything and they started to rush. it’s weird, because the coloring itself looks normal–it’s just sloppily drawn, and the proportions are a mess once put into the context of perspective. many of the cgs look like they were drawn by different people, and I’m still not over the fact that half of kokichi’s cgs have his scarf pasted in as a texture.

the moral of the story is that if you’re selling a game at full price that also happens to be in a series that has had 3 very good games in it already the stakes should probably be higher than this. v3 has been out for more than 3 years and it’s still $40 (did it cost more than that before? I sure hope not), and the overarching quality of the game is just not as high as the other games. I’m not saying that the other games don’t have any problems with their art at all, they’re just not as glaringly obvious and every artistic choice in those games feels intentional.

regardless, I had a blast roasting the art at 2am, so maybe you got a kick out of all this chaos.

#god I keep telling myself I'm gonna stop rambling about v3 #v3 spoilers #drv3 spoilers #ndrv3 #random stuff #but making this… it sounded so fun #danganronpa

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aries-writingblog · 3 years

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Whatever It Takes

Summary: When Sam gets injured on a mission, YN will do anything to fix her mistakes. While she worries about fixing Sam, Bucky picks up on her guilt. Picking up the pieces of herself she dropped in her frantic efforts.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2322

Warnings: panic/ anxiety, mentions of blood and character injury

AN: This was one requested by the lovely and wonderful @cherry-season who gave me so much inspiration to write! I hope I did it justice. Happy reading!! GIF is not my own, credit to original creator.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, threatening to break free of its skeletal cage. Anxious adrenaline flowed in her veins as she paced. Hand rubbing across the back of her neck, impatiently waiting for answers.

It had been an hour since she and Sam returned from their mission. The mission that went completely and horrendously wrong. It started off fine- it started normal. Then it got twisted in a way YN couldn’t even comprehend.

She had been watching his back. She always watched her partner’s back. So what went wrong? What went so off rails- what did she do? How could she have let this happen?

“Miss LN?” YN’s head snapped to the source of the noise. A doctor- still in their surgery gear. She took a shaky inhale, her nerves were decimated. “Why don’t you take a seat- just… try to relax a bit.”

“How- how, where is Sam? Is he okay?” She demanded, moving a step toward the doctor. The woman eased her backwards, gently settling her into a chair. Latex covered fingers pried in between her own glove covered hands. Unclenching the tightly wound fists she had created.

The doctor gave a small, apologetic smile. It quickly fell, giving way to a pressed line of condolence. YN’s stomach plummeted, nausea crawling across her organs. Turning her stomach. Bile rising in her throat. She knew that look. It was the one she had to give to victims when they weren’t going to make it.

“There’s been a slight complication.” She reported quietly, her gaze soft as she studied the agent before her. She was unraveling and quickly. Hands shaking, goosebumps raising on her arms.

“I don’t understand,” YN swallowed, throat aching as her nose burned. Eyes watering from unshed tears. Blurring her eyesight. She blinked them back roughly. “You said you would fix him- what complication?”

“Both kidneys were compromised during the mission- he made it here just in time for us to stabilize him but he is going to need a rapid organ donation to survive.” The doctor informed steadily, keeping her voice even and low. YN’s fingers curled again, trapping her hands between her own. The doctor didn’t blink, unfazed by the strength in her grip. “It’s a difficult task but we have everyone we can working on finding at least one quickly. It’s more complicated due to his blood type- we haven’t been able to find anything available nearby.”

YN sniffled, her nose stuffing up as water slipped down her cheeks. She bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood. The coppery taste coating her tongue.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It had been an easy mission- what did she screw up? Why did it have to be Sam? It should’ve been her, she should’ve-

Her eyes snapped up, meeting the doctor’s concerned features. She could still do something. It wasn’t too late. YN released her hold, wiping across her face. Erasing the remnants of her distress. Her bottom lip trembled but she forced the sentence out anyway.

“What’s the type?”

“He’s O positive.” The doctor didn’t hesitate in a response.

A heavy weight began to lift from her chest, she swallowed back the rough, scratchy feeling in her throat.

“I’m O negative- does that work, can that match? I’ll give whatever he needs.” Her words tripped over themselves, rushing out. Any way to compensate. She was the one who got Sam hurt, she was responsible. She should clean it up.

The doctor’s face brightened almost instantaneously, her eyebrows lifting. Eyes wide.

“It can-“ She cut herself off, pulling YN to her feet. “We need to run a tissue sample test to make sure that you’re compatible. While it’s running, fill out the paperwork just in case.”

YN rushed after the woman, hurrying through the hallways. She could save Sam. The guilt burned in her chest, sinking to meet the rising anxiety in her stomach. Creating a turbulent, vile mixture of self loathing. It had to match… this has to work. Otherwise… she would forever be known as the person who killed Sam Wilson.

~~~~~~

The first thing she became conscious of was a tense pressure on her hand. Then came a muted, muffled noise. It was familiar, albeit distorted and distant. A small groan fell from her lips. In response, the pressure became more intense. A firmer hold. Her eyes blinked open slowly, her head felt light, as if it was floating a thousand feet above her body.

“There she is.” YN turned her head as far as possible, which wasn’t much distance, eyes cutting the rest of the way. She tried to clear her vision, blinking to wear the groggy remnants of sleep away. “How you feelin’?”

“Like shit.” She groaned, throat scratchy and dry. Bucky released his hold, standing to pour a glass of water for her.

“Well, it’s to be expected.” He sighed, stepping closer to her bedside. He grasped her chin gently, angling the lip of the cup to her mouth. Tilting the glass slowly, allowing her time to swallow the water down greedily. “Unlike a major surgery cause, there’s no need to tell the people you love you’re having surgery. Especially not if it’s emergent.”

YN’s lips quirked at the corners. She hadn’t really been thinking of anyone but Sam in the moment. It all happened so fast, the whole day seemed to have been but a blur in her memory. She couldn’t recall details, her thoughts crashed against a hazy wall as she glimpsed back.

“Sorry… didn’t really know what was happening until it did.” She spoke slowly, words felt like molasses on her tongue. Bucky didn’t seem to mind, gently brushing her hair back before returning to his previous seat at her bedside. He pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, giving a quick squeeze of reassurance.

“I understand…” He told her, a soft smile playing on his features. There was a melancholy glimmer in his irises. They betrayed him, as usual. “I was just scared that you… left.”

All Bucky had received was a phone call from the medical wing. Just that he was written down as YN LN’s emergency medical contact and that she had been in surgery. Granted, it had mainly been his fault- he didn’t listen any further for more details. The phone dropped from his hand and he bolted from their shared apartment. Rushing frantically toward her. Panic sloshing, ripping into his chest. Shredding his last hopes of sanity as his thoughts raced.

YN moved her fingers up to his wrist, the bass of his heartbeat thumped prominently into her own body. In response, Bucky’s fingers curled over her wrist, searching for the same feeling. It was slightly weakened, her heartbeat, but it was there. She was alive. A gentle, sleepy smile appeared on her lips. Eyes almost closed again.

“I’m never leaving.” She promised, applying pressure to his wrist. Bucky returned the smile and the gesture, the knot of emotion in his throat unraveling in steady increments. Allowing him to breathe easier.

He reached over, tugging her blankets back up with his free hand. Over her torso in an attempt to contain some of the heat the flimsy hospital sheets provided. He sniffed, clearing his throat. Turning his face away from her view.

“Get some rest, daredevil.” Bucky instructed, sliding his chair closer. Head resting beside their entwined hands. His blue eyes twinkled with tears he had kept bottled away. All YN wanted was to reach over and brush them away but she felt unconsciousness creeping up from behind. Waiting to drag her back into the darkness. Her mouth wouldn’t open, tongue wouldn’t move. Her eyes drifted closed; her last picture was Bucky’s beautiful face resting beside her.

~~~~~~

Bucky sighed gently, curling closer into the warmth she provided. They couldn’t sleep like they used to. He was accustomed to wrapping around her like a vine, keeping her body close to him. The weight, the pressure and warmth, kept him present. Kept him calm. Even if he awoke in a panic, which had eased in the past few months, the feeling of YN’s figure pressed to his always seemed to relieve his frazzled, frayed nerves.

But now, after the surgery, he couldn’t hold her the way he wanted. He couldn’t provide the comfort he craved to give her. And she needed it. He wasn’t blind. Bucky knew exactly why she had rushed into that surgery. The blame that she had placed on herself was too vast. Much too heavy for her to bear alone.

So he tried to convey the comfort in other ways. Helping her to the bathroom and to the shower. Making her meals and sitting with her while she ate. Reading to her, going through as many pages as it took for her to fall asleep. Keeping her distracted from her bed rest. Bringing her presents, mostly just notes that Sam had written and asked Bucky to deliver.

Sam didn’t blame her. Especially not after she saved his life like she did. Bucky had visited when he woke up, explained the situation. How she felt, how it was eating away at her. And he couldn’t get out of bed yet- he was still being heavily monitored by the medical staff. So, for the past few weeks he had resorted to video calls and notes to her. An attempt to cheer her up. Bucky was relieved to see it was working.

“Buck?” YN’s voice was muffled by their shared comforter. He hummed in response, not fully committed to the idea of waking up. His senses were still slightly dull, lulled into submission by the warm body at his side. “Your arm is really heavy and I really have to pee.”

Bucky grunted, shuffling to slide his arm away from her hips where it had lain. YN shimmied over to the edge of the bed, groaning as she pushed her weight over the side. She stumbled, her hand pressed to the gauze padding on her abdomen. Bucky scrambled out of the bed, sheets tangling around his ankles.

“You’re not suppose to do it on your own.” He grumbled, his tone was sleep- laden. His eyes weren’t even fully open yet. YN scoffed, accepting his arm anyway. Together, they crept toward the bathroom slowly, most of her weight against his side. “You coulda asked, doll.”

“I can handle going to the bathroom by myself, Bucky.” YN insisted, her side glare was fatal. Eyes narrowed and full of frustrated fury. “You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot.”

“But I want to.” He replied simply, leaning against the doorframe, gazing into the bedroom to give her privacy. He didn’t need to, he had already been witness to every inch of her skin. Every mark on her skin, every freckle and scar. But he figured she would appreciate it none the less. Give her a controllable amount of autonomy. “I like doing it.”

It was the honest truth. Bucky reveled in the fact that every ounce of his attention was placed on her and her alone. He liked to care for her. He liked making her coffee and meals, helping her up and down. It was something he knew the old Bucky did often. The old Bucky took care of Steve when he was sick, and Steve’s mother when he could help. When his sisters were under the weather. It was something engraved in his bones: caring for those he loved. Providing comfort.

“It’s rotten work.” YN’s voice was quiet, the running water almost drowned the words out. But Bucky heard them. He turned slowly, giving her a hand towel to dry her hands. Her eyes were down, staring at the fabric between her fingers. Taking her time, hoping he would move past her sentence.

“Not to me,” Bucky responded. His fingertip brushed against her cheekbone, wisps of her hair passing through his fingers. He tucked them gently behind her ear before tilting her chin up. Persuading her watery eyes to meet his. He smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes portraying the overflowing kindness he couldn’t vocalize. “Not if it’s you.”

YN chuckled, a weak smile on her lips. Shaking her head, she carefully shuffled forward. Wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his chest. Bucky’s response was instant. Instinctively holding her delicately to his body. Molded against the other. He inhaled deeply, the smell of her shampoo overwhelming his senses. YN pressed closer, the swell of his chest was achingly comforting. His t- shirt soft against her cheek.

“What do you say, I steal a wheelchair and we go up to Tony’s floor. We can bribe his chef to make some of those pancakes with the…” Bucky’s nose scrunched, brows furrowing. His fingertips that had been tracing shapes on her back stilled as he wracked his brain. Mouth twisting with frustration when he came up blank. “What’s the… those color things, again?”

“Sprinkles?” She suggested, pressing her chin to his chest. He glanced down, their noses almost pressed together. Bucky grinned, leaning forward to smack a kiss to her nose.

“Those. How bout we get some of those and we can meet Sam for breakfast?” He asked, squeezing her hips lightly. She nodded, successfully distracted from her thoughts that had been rampant in her head.

“Can he eat those yet? Isn’t he on, like, a hospital diet or something?” YN inquired, wrapping her arm around his waist.

Bucky hummed, helping her hobble out of the bathroom. He had tried carrying her places but she vehemently disagreed. Claiming she would never get better if she didn’t exercise. Eventually, as always, she would get tired and most of her weight would be on him anyways. He didn’t mind it.

“That sounds like a Sam problem.”

“You’re ridiculous, James Barnes.” He grinned at her laughter. His fingertips digging into her side teasingly.

“It’s all for you, sugar. All for you.”

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james barnes x female reader #james barnes x y/n #james barnes x you #james barnes x reader

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notsuchacleverboyq · 3 years

Text

00Q Prompt

James' daughter.

In which a woman and a girl pay James a visit right before Q comes back from work. Surprisingly, 007 knows both of his guests.

It wasn't rare for James to be home before Q, since the quartermaster had the usual habit to forget the time and stay at the MI6 more than necessary.

Still, every time the flat seemed quieter and oddly desert, without Q's steady typing or his chaotic and occasional outbursts of energy.

Waiting for Q to come home, James found himself preparing a dinner that he could have easily warmed up in every moment.

It was barely eight p.m. when he heard the bell ring.

James' first thought went to Q, but it was quite impossible, being the quartermaster in posses of a bunch of keys.

Immediately grabbing a gun, the agent went to the door, opening it.

He found himself in front of a woman with wavy, brown hair, staring at him with confidence.

The agent was more than sure to have already met her, he never forgot a face. He was sure to have a memory somewhere in the back of his mind that was related to her.

It was only later, as James hid the gun in the back of his trousers, that he noticed a girl, around fifteen, that looked exactly like the woman, less for her eyes, that caught James' attention: they were icy blue, almost glass looking.

A cold shiver ran down James' back at the sight.

- Hi, James - the woman suddenly said, pronouncing his name in a hiss.

Recognising the voice, the agent gave an heavy sigh, immediately realising who he had in front of himself: Rachel Brown, a relationship that lasted a few months before everything messed up.

- Rachel - James greeted her, giving another and quicker glance to the girl.

- May we come in? - the woman asked.

James nodded absently, still distracted by the teenager's eyes, an horrendous feeling spreading inside of him.

After the agent had slid to the side, Rachel stepped inside with the girl and James closed the door immediately after.

- I imagine there must be an important reason why you've payed me a visit - James said and Rachel nodded.

Not expecting an immediate explanation, the agent sighed silently and the bad feeling became worse as Rachel gasped, searching for the right words.

- I'll tell him - the girl snapped, rolling her eyes, but didn't have the chance to talk since her mother quickly turned towards her to shut her up with a glance.

James looked at his watch while leaving Rachel a moment to actually come up with a logical explanation, knowing that Q was about to come home in any moment only to burst into that scene.

- James, you see... - Rachel started and the girl gave in a vexed groan.

- I'm your daughter - the teenager snapped, causing the mother to turn towards her once again.

Leaving his guests to argue over the virtue of knowing when to keep the mouth shut and when to give voice to the thoughts, James hid his face in his hands, huffing loudly.

He wasn't totally surprised about it, he couldn't be after seeing the girl's eyes; still, the news hit him like a truck in the middle of a street.

As he returned to face the girl, still processing what he had heard, James was startled by the sound of keys moving in the lock of the door: Q had arrived home, exactly the last thing he needed at the moment.

The agent quickly slid away from the door and a second after Q walked in.

The quartermaster looked as he was about to say something, but then he froze together with the woman and the girl. The three stared at eachother, very similar confused expression on their faces (except for the girl, who was leaning against the sofa and just watching things escalate).

Q's gaze wandered from the guests to James, stopping on the agent for a few seconds, and then he looked back at the guests.

- ...Evening - the quartermaster managed, slowly closing the door.

By the look Q gave him, James knew he had understood, or at least he had a minimum suspicion.

Without giving him even the time to take off the coat, the agent grabbed Q's arm, which only caused the quartermaster to wince and look at James with a questioning (and suddenly worried) look.

- Give us a minute - the agent told to his guests with an harsh tone, dragging Q in the bedroom.

Once they were inside and the door was closed behind them, the quartermaster turned towards James, who was still squeezing his arm.

- You're hurting me - Q informed him and the agent quickly let him go, looking at his lover in regret as the quartermaster took a few steps back.

James sighed heavily and noticed how Q stiffed at the action, holding his computer bag as if it was an anchor.

- James what's going on? - the quartermaster snapped.

The agent puffed, trying to decide how to drop the news.

- The girl... - he started, but suddenly stopped.

- Yes, I saw her - Q blurted, with a sharp tone and a quick nod.

Due to his lover's answer, James regretted having let the girl and the woman in, knowing that Q wasn't going to be pleased about it.

- She's my daughter - the agent muttered, trying his best to stand Q's blank look.

- Yes, I figured: I have eyes - the quartermaster replied with a so neutral tone to give James chills.

Expecting a burst out in every moment, after seeing Q so calm, the agent took a step back.

- I assure you that this changes nothing... it's not even recent... - James quickly said, trying to prevent any argument.

When Q laughed, the agent blinked in surprise.

- Of course it's not recent: that girl looks half my age - the quartermaster chuckled, giving the agent a warm smile.

- Yes, right. I just panicked - James muttered, laughing a bit himself.

Q laughed louder, nodding and trying to keep from laughing further.

- Oh, I noticed - he replied, moving forward to kiss James' cheek.

The touch made James' muscles relax instantly and he dared to wrap his arms around the quartermaster's waist.

- Would you like me to leave? - Q then asked.

The agent quickly shook his head.

- Please, stay - James quickly answered and the quartermaster chuckled.

- Alright, but let me take off my coat, first - Q said and the agent let him go.

Waiting as the quartermaster carefully rested his beloved laptop on the bed, James heard the muffled words of the woman in the other room, sometimes followed by a few annoyed sounds from the girl.

- Shall we go? - Q asked, drawing James' attention back.

The agent turned towards the quartermaster, who was now in his cardigan and had abandoned the coat together with the laptop, nodding quickly before stepping out of the room.

As they walked back into the livingroom, Rachel turned to face them, while the girl was leaning on the headboard of the sofa, keeping her arms tightly crossed at her chest.

- Is everything alright? - Rachel asked and James just hummed in response.

- Rachel, this is Arthur: my boyfriend. Arthur, Rachel - the agent said and looked as the two exchanged a handshake.

Staring at them, the girl took a noisy step forward, as to remind everyone of her presence, and leaned her right hand towards Q.

- Matilda - she introduced herself, giving Q a solid handshake.

For the general surprise, Matilda leaned her hand towards James as well. The agent stared at her with frowned eyebrows, labelling the situation in which he had found himself as utterly ridiculous.

- It's called "handshake". You know, you need to grab my hand and move it like this - Matilda explained, right before shaking her own hand as a demonstration.

From his right side, James heard Q suppressing a chuckle.

As Matilda leaned even closer, the agent eventually decided to grab her hand and exchange an handshake, feeling how his daughter's skin was rather rough.

- It wasn't difficult - Matilda said and James looked at Rachel with an amused and shocked smile.

- I guess she took my temper - the agent noticed.

Rachel laughed and nodded.

- I don't know if I should feel annoyed or pleased by that - Q muttered and James playfully hit his shoulder.

Matilda, who was now completely focused on the conversation and not leaning against the furniture with idleness anymore, pointed her index in Q's direction.

- I like him - she adjudicated, winking at the quartermaster.

This time, James clearly saw Q's delighted expression, smiling brightly as his lower leaned closer to him.

- I've decided I'm pleased by it - the quartermaster muttered, causing all of them to laugh in unison.

James wrapped an arm around Q's waist, noticing how his own mood had gotten jollier.

- Did you two eat anything? - the agent asked.

Rachel was about to answer, but Matilda's eyes lighted up in hope as she processed the question.

- You've got food? - the girl asked.

- Don't be impolite - the mother immediately scolded her and Matilda crossed her arms with a groan.

James smiled about his daughter's reaction.

- Don't worry, Rachel: we still both need to eat - the agent told the woman, before looking at Q with a questioning look.

The quartermaster, realising that the agent's look was a silent question, smiled softly and gave a minimum nod.

- I think it won't be bad for us to stay a while longer - Rachel eventually decided and Matilda hopped in joy.

I'm gonna write a second part for this (likely) because it's getting long...like...really long.

#007 #00q #james bond #00q fanfiction #00q fic #ship #q james bond #writing inspiration #James'daughter

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bold-writing · 3 years

Text

The One With Whiskey Eyes || 18 || My Peace, Like Shattered Glass

Words: 3200+

Warnings: Trauma, Acts of Violence

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~18~

“Ow!”

“That’s why I wear gloves,” Iris teased gently as she smoothed a Band-Aid over the badly stinging cut that Jessica had obtained when trying to rip open a box—it was basically a papercut, but when it was caused by cardboard, the pain was considerably more; as was the amount of blood that had welled up to the surface of the cut.

“I thought that was to hide the mark,” Jessica admitted quietly, her low voice deliberately making sure that their coworkers didn’t hear what she said. “You’re always wearing them.”

“This is the fourth time you’ve cut yourself this week,” Iris pointed out in counterattack, causing the younger woman to flush in embarrassment before she simply shrugged her shoulders. There was no defense against that. Iris shook her head with a gentle smile, collecting the garbage from disinfecting and covering the cut, tossing them into the nearby trashcan of the office. “You should get a pair, you know. Boxes and books don’t just cause papercuts, but they dehydrate your hands as well. Wearing a pair of these will stop that.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Jessica grumbled half-heartedly. Iris just gave that same smile as she stood up.

“I know it’s a bit earlier than usual, but why not take your break now?” Iris asked instead, briefly checking the time on the bottom of the office computer’s screen. Jessica agreed easily, happy to get off shift and eat something. The two women went their separate ways once they left the office, Iris making her way back into the store as she smiled to her coworkers and reclaimed her place behind the register.

She knew they were whispering about her, confused by why she was constantly smiling and always seemed to be happy. Not that she’d been doom and gloom before, but they couldn’t remember a time when she had smiled and showed her happiness so openly and constantly. Jessica was still the only one to know about her marks—or at least the fact that there is more than one—but they had all been able to notice the change in their manager in the past few weeks. She’d gotten worse, to the point that she had been forced to take time off, before she miraculously got better.

There were still days when they could tell she hadn’t slept well, for whatever reason, but they were few and far between.

Iris wasn’t able to see her soulmates every day, try as either of them might, but they spoke constantly. She would wake up to emails from whoever was in the light that day, but she would usually write to all of them every morning—she hated feeling like any of her soulmates were being neglected. Continuing to do this as more and more of them are met, she isn’t sure, but she knows that she will go out of her way to make sure they are all…loved. Welcomed and acknowledged for their individuality.

It was surprisingly difficult to focus on her work—she had never had anything in her life to distract her before. Even fear of her parents had bled away after a time, but her soulmates were ever present on her mind.

Absentmindedly, Iris stroked a fingertip over the mark on the back of her palm.

They were all so different, it made her wonder who else was in the body of Kevin Crumb. When would she meet Hedwig, the supposed child? Or Jade, a younger female than Patricia?

“Looks like the cold-front has arrived,” Sarah called from the front window, a box perched on her hip as she glanced back toward Iris. The young woman’s eyes turned to the window, blinking in shock at the white-out of flurries that had overtaken the view outside the storefront.

Her face pinched slightly uncomfortably, knowing that her walk home was going to be horrendous. “That’s gunna be so cold,” she mumbled to herself, but it was loud enough for Sarah to hear. It had been chilly enough on the walk in to work, heading home through the snow was going to be so much worse. Sarah gave her a pitying look before she turned to get back to work.

Instead of letting herself become distracted by thoughts of walking home, Iris collected one of the boxes that needed to be scanned through and took it to the main counter. Sarah continued to clean and organize the front displays—it was a quiet day and there was very little to do for the group without more customers coming in.

Iris herself had been there since five o’clock that morning, completing some of the reports that needed to be sent to the owners by the end of that week. Not wanting to wait and rush through it, she decided to come in a few hours before her usual time and get in a bit of silent work. She was feeling more exhausted as the day drew on, but at least her sleep the night before had been a fitful one until her alarm had gone off.

Of course, her day did not get any better when she got a call from David, who sounded like death, saying that he had tried but he wouldn’t be able to come in to work. As an old habit, she didn’t want to bother anyone else and just decided that she would stay for the full shift and close the store down as well. Jessica and Sarah both shooed her to the back for a long break, however, and made sure she ate the soup she had brought and even made her a tea with the kettle they had in the break room.

It made Iris wonder if they had gotten a lecture about how she was always doing things for them. Her boss definitely had not liked how she was always working, taking the weekend and evening shifts or filling in for the others when they did not or could not come in. It wouldn’t have surprised her if her employees had gotten a lecture during her forced days off.

“Do you want me to get you a tea? Or a coffee? How about-”

“Jessica,” Iris interrupted, her voice carrying an amused tone as she shook her head at the younger woman. “Calm down! I’m fine, I promise. There’s only a few more hours before close and the snow kept it quiet today. I promise I’ll head straight home and eat.”

“Remember, I’m opening the store tomorrow so I better not find you here early,” Jessica forewarned, pointing a threatening finger at the frail woman. “I swear, I’ll make you sleep in the break room.”

Shaking her head at Jess’s antics, Iris motioned toward the door. “Go home, Jess. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

She was given one more warning look before her new friend and old coworker disappeared out the door into the white flurries that had dominated the window most of the day. Supressing a yawn, Iris sat herself down at the main cash with some of the paperwork from the back office—she still had work that she needed to get done, even if she had to stay and help Sarah until closing.

The odd person or two would wander in throughout the day, making small or simple purchases that Iris handled easily and with little thought. Sarah kept up with cleaning and stocking to busy herself, giving Iris several assurances that she would take care of the aisles and to not worry. By the time the final hour rolled around, and it had been at least forty-five minutes since the last customer, Iris was tempted to send Sarah home early.

The shelves were spotless and there were no other boxes that needed to be put out, so there was nothing else for the young woman to do. Iris had even spent a good thirty minutes explaining to her how to run the computer programs that she used to manage all of the store’s books. Sarah just sat with a bewildered look on her face and they both decided that management was not something that she was interested in learning.

“It’s deserted today,” Iris finally declared, leaning against the counter as Sarah wandered by with a dusting rag. “You head on home, okay? I’ll stay and finish my paperwork and if someone does come by I can handle it.”

Sarah blinked at her owlishly. “Are you sure? I don’t mind staying!”

“There’s no point in both of us being bored out of our minds. Head on home, I’ll be fine.”

And then there was one.

Iris fought another yawn as she glanced at the computer screen. Just one more hour. Sitting back in her chair to rub at her tired eyes, the dark haired woman could feel them sting slightly with the effort she had been putting in to keep her eyes open.

She used to have no problem staying up for ungodly hours, but she’d been adjusting to a new way of living lately and now it seems going back to how things were would be impossible.

Sitting forward with a silent sigh, she tried to focus on the paperwork in front of her. Only a minute had gone by before her concentration was shattered, similar to the store window that exploded in a shower of glass as something was sent flying through it.

A shriek of surprise tore from her lips as Iris ducked behind the desk, too far for the object to reach but fear drawing the defensive reaction to the forefront. Her heart had rocketed into a galloping pace in her chest, hands shaking in fright against the edge of the counter. The roar of wind and the tinkling of glass hitting the once clean floors filled the silence of the store.

The rush of cold against her covered arms and bare neck made her shiver, skin already beginning to feel feverish from the sudden rush of adrenaline that flooded her system. Shivering and panting, Iris remained crouched and hidden as she waited and listened for any sign that the person who had broken the window might come inside.

However, even as time passed and nothing happened, she couldn’t bring herself to move. Trembling in fear and shivering from the cold, her hands gripped the desk above her head until her knuckles were white beneath her gloves. Eventually the distant sound of police sirens broke the silence, bringing her mind back to the present. She’d forgotten about the security system—if one of the doors were opened while the code was inputted, the police were alerted, but if a window was broken at any time the police were called immediately.

Trying to force her hands to relax on the edge of the desk, the sirens grew louder until the police cars came to a screeching halt outside of the store.

Taking in deep breaths of the cold air, Iris exhaled through trembling lips as she finally detached her hands from the desk. Shuffling out from her hiding place, she used the desk to support herself as she finally stood up and surveyed the damage. The front was a mess now, a combination of glass and snow covering the floor and surrounding displays.

The first thing that came to her mind was how the books were going to be ruined if they got snowed on.

“Police, don’t move!”

Iris jumped and choked back a gasp, hands shooting up as one of the officers stopped outside of the broken window. She was the only person visible in the store, so she could understand being suspicious.

“I’m the manager!” she shouted, her voice shaking. “My name is Iris Mayfair, my employers are Melissa and Gerald McIntosh. They would have been contacted as soon as the alarm was set off.”

“Please step out where I can see you, ma’am. Do you have ID on you?”

Walking around the desk on shaky legs, her hands still raised, Iris nodded. “My employee card; it’s with the keys around my wrist.” She shook her arm to demonstrate, causing the keys to jingle soundly and flash the little badge attached to it that had a barcode scanner for her to access the computers upon opening. Jess had one as well, for when she opened the store.

“Are you hurt?” the man asked as he stepped forward, some of the other officers entering behind him as they surveyed the damage and entered the store, checking through the aisles.

“No, I was behind the desk-”

“You have glass in your hair,” the officer interrupted gently once he had checked the ID on her wrist, comparing the information she had given to him with the name and photo on the card. Naturally, her hand lifted to her head to feel for the sharp projectiles. Thankfully, the officers caught her arm gently to stop her before she cut her hand. “No, don’t worry. It’s only a few pieces. Shake your head and they should fall right off.”

Iris did as instructed, shaking her head as she closed her eyes. She could feel when the fragments fell out, tapping down past her shoulders before they hit the already messy floor.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” the officers asked again—a glance at his shirt revealed his name was Montez—and Iris nodded her head dazedly. “Were you the only one working?”

Iris stood in the storefront with the officer as she answered his questions, giving him the time to write them down between answers. As the wind and snow continued to blow into the store, Iris steadily started to shiver more heavily. The adrenaline was bleeding from her system, causing her vision to blur in and out. Montez must have seen her sway on her feet because he abruptly stopped talking and reached out to claim her arm.

“Woah, let’s go sit you down. Is there a back office in this place? Somewhere warm?”

“Yes, just back down that aisle. There’s a door that leads to the stock-room at the end.”

The place was crawling with police by now, and one of them informed her and Montez that the owners were on their way down. There was a camera out front that might have caught the person who threw what turned out to be an old pipe through the window, but Iris didn’t have authorization to scroll back into the recorded footage so she was no help to them.

As they entered the back office to finish giving her statement, Iris found herself wishing that her soulmates were with her. Glancing at the nearest clock, she realized that they would be home by now and waiting for her to let them know that she was home safe.

Her shift had ended twenty minutes ago.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” Montez asked from across from her, worry clearly evident on his face as she trembled and stared blankly at the clock. “Is there someone you’d like me to call for you?”

Small and pale, Iris look like a terrified, small animal. The chair she was in made her appear that much smaller; her feet didn’t touch the floor and her boney frame was enveloped in the black leather of the chair-back. Montez felt like he was interviewing a terrified child. If she got any paler in her face, he’d be calling in the paramedics to check on her again. She looked on the verge of passing out.

The liquid gold of her eyes watered further as she gave a stuttered nod.

“Kevin Crumb,” she answered meekly. “His number is in my cellphone,” she answered, motioning to where she had left the phone on the office desk. She preferred not to have her cellphone with her when she was working, so she usually left it in the back office.

She was probably never going to do that again, not after what she had just experienced.

Montez nodded calmly, picking up the small phone and having her input the password before he stepped away. One of the other officers, a woman named Sinclair, came into the office briefly to inform Iris that her employers were here and she could leave once her statement was complete, they would help the police with anything else needed.

Iris just gave a short nod as she stared at the floor, yet to regain any colouring in her face.

Sinclair gave Montez a sympathetic look as she left, understanding that speaking to someone who was in shock could be a trying endeavor.

The ringing in his ear cut off, drawing his attention back to Iris’s phone. “Hey, Iris, you get home okay?” The casual question, filled with true concern, almost caused the officer to wince. He hated when he had to tell the unsuspecting spouse or loved one that something had happened. At least Iris appeared unhurt and he could offer that assurance.

“This is Officer Liam Montez; is this Kevin Crumb?”

There was a pause on the other end, silence filling the line for a long beat. “Where’s Iris?” the male voice demanded, upping in pitch as fear sharpened his words.

“Miss. Mayfair is fine; someone threw an item through the window of her store but she is safe and unharmed. It would be best if someone was with her right now, she’s in a bit of shock and will able to leave as soon as we finish getting her statement. She asked me to call you—are you able to come down to Pages of the World right now?”

“Yes, yea, I’m on my way. She’s alright? You said she wasn’t hurt?”

“She was far enough away that she only got a bit of glass in her hair, but no, she wasn’t hurt. I might recommend bringing her something warm, preferably tea or something that doesn’t have caffeine in it.”

“Can I talk to her, please? Just for a second?” the plea in the man’s words were impossible to ignore—Montez was certain, as he turned to hand the phone to Iris, that this was a soulmate he was dealing with.

Iris could barely hold onto the phone as she leaned her head heavily against the cellphone, into the pressure of Montez’s continued grip on the device. He was sure that she would have dropped it if he hadn’t helped hold it up. “Hello?” He couldn’t hear the man’s words, but Iris’s bow-tight body finally relaxed slightly at the sound of his voice.

Definitely soulmates.

“Hey, Sweetheart, it’s Barry. You okay? I’m on my way right now.”

“I don’t feel good,” Iris answered weakly, as though she was ashamed of her body’s reaction.

“That’s just the shock, Sweetheart. I’ll be there in ten, okay? Just try and take some deep breaths. Are you sitting down?”

“Mhm.” The conversation barely lasted a few seconds more before Iris suddenly dropped her hand, letting Montez pull the phone away. Glancing at the screen told him that the man had already ended the call, so he simply placed her phone on the desk as he reclaimed the other chair.

“Are you alright to continue?”

Swallowing thickly, Iris gave a tired nod as she met his eyes again.

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#The One With Whiskey Eyes #Split #Split 2016 #James McAvoy #Dennis #Patricia #Soulmate AU #Soulmate #Split Fanfiction

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years

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Evil Unmasked AU Part 3 - Lord Vader (aka Ahsoka learns the truth)

If anyone had, by sheer luck, missed the news or the announcement - every single broadcast via the holo networks made sure to either remind or inform people of the event. “Revered war hero and former Jedi Knight revealed as the Emperor’s right hand man”. Every single one left out the man’s birth name, the name by which he had been celebrated by Republic forces and maligned by the Separatists mere months before the revelation. The Hero with no Fear, he had been dubbed by the media. It was easy to see, in hindsight, that this too may have been a ploy constructed by the then chancellor, Palpatine.

Anakin Skywalker had been built up, like a fictional hero bestowed with charm, intellect and skill. His appearance had never detracted from the positive spin on his tale, his handsome features inviting people to buy into and accept the public image created for him. It was this man, this living legend, that had been retooled to masterly.

The man who had been cherished, with his wit and his cocky half smiles masking a perceived shy insecurity, was nowhere to be seen now. Once or twice, in the wake of major events during The Clone Wars, Skywalker had been projected on holo networks. The interviews had been brief, the young man seemingly uncomfortable by the attention, as if he struggled to live up to the public image tied to his name. For the past month, since he had been renamed, none of that persisted. While it was evident that the man cared even less for making public appearances or statements, he had been forced into giving a slew of them.

Every broadcasting network wanted a tout-a-tout with this reinvented icon. Little of the boyish charm remained, and all that persisted of Skywalker seemed to be his dry sarcasm and his inherent desire to act out in favour of his political and personal beliefs. As he had explained, with little interest, his “loyalty has always lied with Emperor Palpatine, and it will remain to do so.”

To those who had known Skywalker closely beforehand - those who remained alive to tell the tale, that was - were shook by the altered man, and the confusion this change left behind. His new persona was so vastly different, he might as well have been a new person altogether. Some would say that Skywalker had always been a snake in the grass, had always maintained a charade - acting out a falsehood to lull former friends and allies into trusting him. On the other hand, some were convinced something tragic must have happened to Skywalker, or that he had been bribed or manipulated by the Emperor into giving up on his morals.

Ahsoka reacted accordingly.

She had been lucky to miss out on the initial, official inauguration of her former master. She had come back from Mandalore, no longer a child but a woman. Forced to grow up at the age of 17, her and Rex had been the only survivors. And Maul, of course, who’d made his escape and remained cleverly hidden ever since. The fall of the Republic had been enough of a shock, in the wake of Order 66 and the death of Jesse and the entire 212th battalion. On top of that, the Senate’s power had been reduced to virtually nothing, restrictions and documentation of every single Galactic citizen had become mandatory; every ship was to be licensed and catalogued.

A long list of names had been released to the public with large bounties on their heads; names of those considered dangerous foes to the newly formed Empire. Most of them were former politicians, military deserters and Separatists; few were Jedi. Ahsoka didn’t take that as a good omen, seeing as the omission so many Jedi names probably came from the fact that Order 66 had already eviscerated the order. Ahsoka herself had been absent from the list, as had Rex, and as such they were presumed dead to the new government.

While Ahsoka had let out a sigh of relief to see master Yoda and Obi-Wan were noted as dangerous Jedi fugitives still considered to be alive; her stomach sank when master Plo and Anakin’s names remained absent.

Ahsoka had, thankfully, been left in the dark when her former master’s fate was concerned. She had assumed him dead, at first. Two months had gone by, she and Rex parting ways soon after they had buried their fallen soldiers and friends on the unrecorded moon where their Jedi cruiser had crashed. It was too dangerous to stay together, and while Rex had returned to Coruscant for supplies and to hopefully seek out further clones who may have avoided or resisted the command of Order 66 and the inhibitor chip’s programming - Ahsoka had lingered in the outer rim. A brief meet and greet - albeit unfortunate - with Hondo Ohnaka had granted her a false new identity as Ashla, before relocating to the mostly peaceful Thabeska. In the blink of an eye, two additional months had passed. Then another, and another. Settling into mundane life, building a new future; she had honed her knack for mechanics and turned it into a profession - making just enough credits to scrape by. Five months had passed since the end of the war, when the news finally reached her.

Ahsoka had been scouring one of the few off-planet affiliated trading shops for supplies and tools. She was in desperate need of spare parts for her comlink which had been dead since she arrived. She had promised Rex they would stay in touch somewhat regularly, and figured it was finally safe to reach out and catch up. Rex, Ahsoka presumed, was still located on or near Coruscant in hiding. She would have by-passed the slim offering of flimsiplast and data-tape prints, had a preview the issue of the day not been screened on the beat up, flickering holo screen poised on the wall above the aisle as advertisement to draw her attention. A reporter seemed to be enthusiastically interviewing one of the freshly promoted Imperial figureheads. The sound was muffled, the image grainy - but it was the voice that caught Ahsoka off guard.

“It has been just short of six months since the Republic was officially denounced, and the new Galactic Empire firmly installed. How do you feel this transition has affected you?” asked the reporter, eyes wide with awe and admiration as his face filled the holo-screen.

“Very little,” said a gruff, monotone voice - so void of emotion or excitement, that it came off as nearly synthetic. “I believe my position is quite similar to that of my pre-Empire self. While I am no longer, by profession, a knight or a general - I still carry out similar services. It is, naturally, expected of me to hunt down detractors and traitors. There is little difference in leading a war effort where casualties are a constant, and leading a judicial effort of assimilation.”

The words were big, foreign, and unnerving. Words Ahsoka had never heard uttered by that particular voice before. The voice itself seemed unrecognizable; twisted, and warped. But still, a familiar note to it remained - one that urged Ahsoka to keep watching, one that beckoned her, and compelled her naive curiosity. Her stomach sank before she even had laid eyes upon the screen, before the image that came with the distorted voice could confirm her greatest fears. As she focused on the screening, the reporter had come back into frame and Ahsoka’s heart pounded nigh painfully hard against her ribcage as she waited for the man that was the focal point of the interview to answer the next query.

“Do you struggle with any guilt, in regards to your unfortunate responsibilities? I understand it must have been difficult to carry out the order of persecution towards the Jedi order. Indeed, you were raised within those walls, were you not? Indoctrinated with their religious beliefs, did you ever doubt their teachings beforehand? Were you ever disillusioned by their cult before the assassination attempt upon the Emperor came to light? I am aware that you wish to distance yourself from the order, but I’m certain you understand the importance of your shift.”

“My own former master lied to me. That was the moment at which I was first privy to the mastery of manipulation that ran deep within the sect, as he had been required to carry out their dishonest schemes. I was not raised within the order, but I was offered training under the false pretense that I might free someone close to me from slavery once knighted. This was another malignant lie, as I was restrained from realizing these wishes.”

Ahsoka didn’t notice the screwdriver slipping from her hand, nor did she pick up on the clatter as it hit the durasteel floor once the man’s face came back into view; at once painfully reassuring, and horrendously frightening.

“I feel no guilt in the wake of my actions. I pity the Jedi order for their misinformed notion of the Force as a sacred yet passive entity. True power and understanding of its whims has thus evaded them. I pity their hunger for control, and their warmongering. I pity their attempts at kidnapping and brainwashing young children into following their flawed dogma, and any child present at the temple during the march is indeed better off becoming one with the Force, than continuing to serve a false doctrine. I was not raised entirely within the temple, and as for my morals, no person within the order served as a model or mentor me through true honesty,” said a begrudging Anakin Skywalker - and there was a prominent anger flickering beneath the drawled monotone.

Outwardly, Anakin appeared nearly the same as he had the day Ahsoka had said goodbye to him before she set off to capture Maul, and he went to rescue the kidnapped then Chancellor Palpatine. Anakin had offered a forlorn yet gentle smile as they parted ways. His wavy hair had been long and unruly, but his eyes were bright, and blue, and warm. Full of hope. On the holo screen, despite the inevitable blue tang to the recorded session, his face seemed pale and gaunt; fine lines were traced around his eyes, at the corners of his lips, and dug into his forehead.

His sockets seemed dark and sunken, as if sleep had evaded him for weeks. His expression was a perpetual scowl, his arms folded across his chest as he stood nonchalantly beside the armchair that had no doubt been offered for him to settle into. He was taller than Ahsoka recalled - even with the limited props of the room the conversation was being held in, he towered over every single piece of furniture.

The reporter, Ahsoka recognized him as Mas Aqui - he’d been present at her trial, waiting with bated breath to record her conviction - had been tall and lanky then, but seemed almost frail and miniscule while standing next to the former Jedi he was now bothering.

“It is my belief that the order had a singularly negative effect on my character, and it is impossible for me to harbour any remorse towards a sect that so thoroughly stunted my growth. In the wake of Order 66, and the subsequent termination of the Jedi sect, I have had sufficient time to consider the events. I believe the Jedi were inherently incapable of showing humanity. It is for this reason, first and foremost, that I am determined to distance myself from any remaining ties I may have to the order. I consider myself enlightened, and do not wish to be associated with the negative connotations of the cilt that so maliciously affected the Galaxy.”

Ahsoka couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The words coming out of Anakin’s mouth seemed pre-scripted in their delivery, but still genuinely professed. They sounded nothing like the man who had nurtured her, and cared for her as an older brother - but the conviction behind them was similar to the one that had backed every lesson he had taught and passed onto her. She felt cold and numb, hands trembling and eyes wide as she stared at the unsettling display.

Anakin’s dark blonde hair was trimmed and combed back, a few fresh battle scars lining his brow and his left side cheekbone. His robes seemed a mixture of de facto Imperial garb, armour, and sacred Jedi robes twisted to mock the order's very existence. But his eyes were the biggest detractor. Their colour could not be discerned, but their iridescent, glowing quality carried through. The blood vessels were visible, lining the irises like an intricate work of haphazard artistry. Cruel, calculating, animalistic. Ahsoka had seen those same eyes too many times, and had been confronted with their unhinged quality in the Sith Lord Darth Maul’s every expression. In Maul, they conveyed a deep seated insanity - in her former master; they spoke of a fury so overt, it seemed to reach right through the screen with their oppressive glare.

“I see. As to sum up our brief rendezvous, Lord Vader, I am obliged to aim a few final questionnaires at this past connection of yours - I aware that this is to be the last time, as of now, that you speak out on the matter - and am thus mandated to collect a few loosely affiliated tidbits,” Aqui cautiously pointed out.

“Make it a quick affair,” was Anakin’s only reply; gleaming eyes narrowed in a disgruntled surrender that matched his threatening cadence.

“Very well. There have been some questions frequently asked by our dedicated viewers. As such, I’ve picked out the topmost three. They may be a bit personal of nature, so feel free to dodge them if you are uncomfortable with their direction,” the reporter reassured.

Anakin’s dramatic eye roll at the implication was grand and demeaning, but served as the only, silent reply. Aqui shrunk back, no doubt feeling embarrassed by the disregard of his patience and attempt at pandering.

“Do you miss any of your connections within the fallen Jedi order, and if so, whom?”

“No,” was Anakin’s direct response, a sharp warning of a hiss. “Every single one of them was a traitor and a liar. I pity their ignorance, but I do not mourn them. I rejoice in their fall, and I would aid the Imperial efforts to eradicate their kind all over again if need be.”

Ahsoka swallowed back the lump forming at the base of her throat; her eyes burning as they watered against her will. The Jedi had cared deeply for Anakin. Master Yoda, Master Plo, Obi-Wan. How could Anakin not have seen their love? They may have practiced a no attachment policy, but Obi-Wan had clearly contradicted the rule to his own detriment. So had Ahsoka, one of the reasons behind her decision to sever her ties with the order - something she knew that Anakin too had longed for.

“Is there any hope for a Jedi on the run to reform and thus evade persecution?”

“No. Some have attempted to reform, but it is in the grand scheme of things, useless. The Jedi are the sole reason behind the detriment of the Galaxy, and their hubris is the foundation upon which the war was built. No man or woman raised within the temple walls is unaffected by their harmful teachings. As such, few if any may break the vicious cycle. I have yet to meet a truly dedicated Jedi who would admit their fallacy and turn away from the sect. The few reinvented Force wielders I have come across, have all doubted the order before its inevitable fall, and were thus given the tools necessary to break away,” Anakin simply stated, still as arrogant in his stance; his tone premeditated but with a sincerity that made Ahsoka feel sick to the stomach as a lone tear escape and trailed lazily down her cheek.

“Alright. Finally, what is behind your change of persona?”

Anakin’s expression shifted for a brief moment, the rage behind his eyes laid bare and unveiled. His eyes burned, their glow predatory and unadulterated. He seemed to heave a sigh, his mouth drawn into a repulsed sneer. When he spoke, his voice was calm and calculated, but his eyes were dangerous and intimidating.

“Anakin Skywalker is dead. I do not associate myself with this man, whom the Jedi were attempting to shape me into. I reiterate, and hope to never need state again, that I denounce my past as an act forced upon me. In severing my ties to the order, I have found freedom with the true facets of the Force. As such, the Emperor has bestowed upon me the title of Darth Vader. Lord Vader is the only title befitting of my stance within the Empire. Lord Vader is the name by which all Galactic citizens are expected to address me, as is my right. There is no Anakin Skywalker, and there never was. The Jedi order destroyed the weak child bearing that name. I am Darth Vader, and that is all that there is.”

Another tear followed the first, and Ahsoka bit back a choked sob as she covered her mouth. The Anakin Skywalker she had known was no more. Barely a trace of him remained. In his place, stood Sith Lord Darth Vader.

Vader, who would stop at nothing to keep his promise and reaffirm his loyalty towards his Emperor and master.

****

Because I was inspired by the commenters of the second chapter to explore how Vader may be used for propaganda, I wanted Ahsoka to find out about Anakin's turn through one of the many media Palpatine would no doubt promote Vader through. Vader could be used as a tool to strengthen the notion of the evil Jedi, and his breaking free from their brainwashing. I figured this was a fun spin on it, and included it! There will be more coming!

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029582/chapters/79572163

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3pirouette · 3 years

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Fic: Say You’ll Remember Me (1/1)

Title: Say You’ll Remember Me By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 3599 Distribution: AO3

Story Summary: The first time he heard it, it triggered a flash back just as bad as any he’d ever had before. Later, Natasha told him he stood stock still, a sweat broke out on his forehead and his left hand shook just enough that she was concerned there was something medically wrong with him.

Chapter A/N: I’m… sorry? I have ALWAYS thought this was a Steggy song, and this just seems… angsty. But… I needed it. About/inspired by Taylor Swift’s Wildest Dreams. Wildest Dreams came out in 2014, so this is set just before the events of Winter Soldier, in 1945 just prior to the train incident, and post End Game.

If you know of any other Wildest Dreams inspired fics, please tell me where I can find them. I NEED THEM.

I know that I am VERY vague in how I reference this song in the story. I don’t want the story to be about the song, but rather Steve’s reaction to it. Also, I wrote some HORRENDOUS song-fic back in the day- lyrics before sections, italicized in sections… crazy references throughout the story text. And not that there’s ANYTHING wrong with that- but I’ve been there, I’ve done that, and I ain’t going back. So… this isn’t song fic- it’s just inspired by. However, if you haven’t ever heard Wildest Dreams, 1. How did you manage that? And 2. PLEASE go listen to it before/while reading because it will change this for you.

~*~

The first time he heard it, it triggered a flash back just as bad as any he’d ever had before. Later, Natasha told him he stood stock still, a sweat broke out on his forehead and his left hand shook just enough that she was concerned there was something medically wrong with him. He stood there with his eyes boring a hole into nothing for so long that she worried other people were going to start noticing.

He remembered Natasha’s voice pulling him out of it, the way she drifted into his consciousness, the way the vision faded from his reality to the world around him, the way her face stayed calm but her eyes were concerned.

“Where did you go?” she asked gently, just as acquainted as any of them with the traumatic effects of the lives they lived.

Steve had to clear his throat before he could speak, the memory left him choked up and just a little heartbroken. “A long time ago,” he managed to get out, low and hoarse.

“Want to talk about it?” Natasha asked, the mask of the ever-adaptable spy slipping, revealing the friend beneath.

He shook his head, squared his shoulders, and started moving forward on the street again, the sound of music coming from the store next to them fading away, the song now different and far less triggering. “No.”

“Offer stands,” she tossed out flippantly, the mask sliding back into place as she kept pace beside him.

He managed to make it through the day, and their mission, without opening the pandora’s box of emotion that one silly song had caused, but that night he dreamed, vividly.

~*~

It was rare, to get leave. Even more rare to get leave at the same time.

Bucky stole a jeep, and the Commandos piled in, heading to the only pub in driving distance that was remotely open after a bombing raid a few weeks ago.

He didn’t know she had leave, she hadn’t mentioned it, but Peggy knew he had leave, and it wasn’t a mistake that she just managed to be at the pub, waiting at the bar, manicured nails tapping the wood nervously as he walked through the door.

He knew it wasn’t a mistake when Bucky pushed him towards her, the guys laughing and raising their eyebrows good naturedly, Peggy smiling at them like she was in on it all along.

They had been, and she had been, and Steve thought it was the best surprise he could have asked for. “You look beautiful,” he started, still a little off balance. “Nice to get out of the uniform.”

Her smile lit up the room. “Well, it was the nicest dress I had for the occasion.” She reached out, letting her hand fall over his shirt. “You clean up nice, as well.”

Steve laughed nervously. “Best I could manage. Most of the clothes I have are uniforms or from before…”

“Probably a tight fit,” she joked, letting her hand ghost over the arm of his shirt. “Though this fits well.”

“Bucky’s.” He looked past her shoulder at the guys who were looking back at them. Dum Dum raised his glass and his eyebrows suggestively, and he shook his head at them, looking back at Peggy. “Why didn’t you tell me you had leave?”

She shrugged, her curls bouncing over her shoulder. “Quite frankly, I thought Phillips would pull it any minute, right up until I left.” She turned and took a long sip of her wine. “I’m surprised he let any of us go, really.”

He was entranced by her, seeing her away from the base, seeing her seem so much more relaxed, so much happier, gave him a sense of purpose. They’d stolen kisses behind tents and held hands when they thought no one could see them in the dark, but they were still dancing around one another in a way that was both frustrating and enticing. This seemed like the first real chance they had to be themselves, to be more than Captain and Agent, and solidify the stolen moments as something much more meaningful. It was, very nearly, a real date. “Maybe… maybe we should get out of here.”

She didn’t need convincing. “Alright.”

Steve knew he’d made the right choice as the sounds of catcalls and whistles came from the Commando’s table in the back. Outside, where the air was just a little fresher and a little cooler, and he felt safe twining his hand in hers away from prying eyes that would gossip the next day.

They walked slowly up the little road, not knowing exactly where they were or where they were going, they managed to come across a small bridge on the edge of a park, just the barest hint of water trickling over the rocks beneath it as the sun started to sink in the sky, bathing them in a bright golden light.

She pulled him to a stop, looking out over the edge of the bridge. “Seems untouched, don’t you think?”

He stopped, watching her come alive in the lushness of the space. She seemed so happy to be away from mud and ranks and tents, that it almost physically hurt to know he’d have to bring her back. He took in the little park, the first hints of spring starting to bloom in the grass and trees surrounding what he was sure would be a lovely little creek once the spring rain started. “Beautiful.” He smirked, “But not quite as lovely as you are.”

Peggy rolled her eyes, unable to take the compliment. “Cheeky.”

He didn’t let her spoil it, though. “I wish I could draw you, just like this.” He looked her over, surrounded by the bright greens of the new spring, her dress and hair bouncing in the light breeze, her red lips standing out and begging to be kissed, the light in her eyes seemingly untouched by the war. His heart thudded in his chest with how beautiful she looked, how bright and vibrant. “I want to remember you like this forever.”

His words surprised her, and her smile softened. “You’ll remember me. That photographic mind of yours won’t let you forget, I’m sure, and then one day you can paint me, just like this, and they’ll hang it in the Louvre.”

He chuckled, taking a moment to look over every inch of her, hoping it would really commit to his memory like she seemed to think. “If they ever hang anything of mine in the Louvre, it’ll be because I was Captain America, not because it’s any great work of art.” He leaned on his elbows on the rail next to her, changing the topic quickly before she could form a rebuttal. “Rare to find anyplace out here that looks like this,” he mused quietly.

She wound her arm around his, leaning her head on his shoulder as she gazed out at the slow sunset. “It will take years for some places to recover… decades, even.”

Steve nodded, the feeling of her warmth against him comforting. “People are resilient. We’ve seen that already.” He reached over, letting his hand cover hers, gently moving the pads of his fingers over her bright red nails for long, quiet moments. “After the war—”

“After the war,” she sighed, cutting him off. Peggy leaned away, turning and taking his hand in hers. “There will be an ‘after the war,’ Steve.”

“I know,” he nodded, a soft smile on his lips, though her change in demeanor from soft and happy to serious and concerned did catch him off guard.

She almost laughed, huffing a bit then squaring her shoulders just like she did when she had to tell Phillips something he didn’t want to hear. “No one’s ever accused me of being overly sentimental,” she started, fighting to keep her eyes on him.

Steve just smiled, giving her hand a soft squeeze. “I think I’ve come to appreciate your… Britishness.”

She did laugh at that, and he watched just a little of the anxiety fall from her shoulders. “What I’m trying to say, what I want to say…” Peggy laughed again, a bright burst of nervousness. She turned away, mumbling to herself, “Good lord, why is this so difficult?”

Steve gave just the barest tug to her hand, bringing her back to him, eyebrows knit in confusion. “Just say it, Peg.”

She took a deep breath, and it all tumbled out. “I haven’t seen futures with people before. I haven’t wanted to… or, or needed to. Even… even with Fred it was just… I just expected it was what I was supposed to do. And then with this war, it was harder and harder to see past what tomorrow might bring. But Steve…” Peggy smiled, like she finally knew exactly what she needed to say. “Steve, I see a future with you. I see tomorrow, and the day after, and next month, and next year. I want…” She took a deep, steadying breath. “I want there to be an ‘after the war’ with you, even though I know I don’t show it much. Even though I know I can be hard to read sometimes. Even though I don’t write you long love letters when you’re away and I don’t spritz my perfume on your pillow for when you get back. I know I don’t always show it, but I want that. I want an ‘after the war’ with you.”

He knew he was grinning ear to ear. He couldn’t help it. “I want that, too, Peg.”

Peggy took a deep breath, smiling. “Good. Good. Yes.” Though she fought to keep it inside, her relief showed in how her eyes sparkled. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Steve looked down at their hands, then back up to her. “I want to grow old with you, Peg, if you’ll have me.”

The sun was setting, shading her pink and purple, more like a dream now than anything. She squeezed his hand tight. “Yes, I think that’s quite a good idea.”

He kissed her, soft and gentle at first, but they quickly found themselves carried away and breathless, with her pressed up against the rough rock of the bridge.

Steve pulled away, her red lipstick staining his mouth, branding him as he tried to catch his breath. “Sorry, I…”

“No,” she whispered, equally as breathless. Stolen moments always seemed to end like this, and she was having none of it tonight. “No, don’t be. In fact, I’ve rented a room not far from the bar.”

“Peg…” He still hadn’t caught his breath, one hand still caressing over her ass as the other untangled itself from her skirt. He wasn’t sure if he was declining her offer, or simply asking her to rethink it. So much of their restraint had been to keep her reputation safe, to protect what little credibility she had with some generals who felt she shouldn’t be where she was in the SSR. It was a reaction to say they needed to stop, to pause, to protect her.

“I’m not waiting until after the war to love you,” she retorted, taking his chin in her hands. “Not when I have you right here, right now.”

He kissed her again as the sun set behind them. “You’re right,” he whispered against her lips, taking her hand tight and pulling his handkerchief out to wipe the lipstick from his face. “Which way?”

~*~

When he woke up that next morning with the feeling of her lips still on his and her skin beneath his fingers, Steve hoped to never hear that song again.

It was popular, though, and it felt like everywhere he went he heard the lilting soprano: in grocery stores and walking on the street and on the radio. Most of the time when he heard it he was in public, and had no choice but to grit his teeth as the lyrics cut him to the quick, his mind supplying an image like a movie that looped over in slow motion, that distracted him and slowed his body down and made his heart beat quicker.

By somewhere around the twentieth time he heard it, he sat down and found the lyrics online and read them word by word, ignoring how his eyes welled up and how he felt an emptiness deep in his gut.

At least he knew the enemy now, knew the words that had snuck past his conscious mind and triggered what should have been a happy memory but was now only a signal of lost opportunities… lost time…

Lost love.

~*~

“I do wish you’d stop coming, Steve.”

Her words seemed at odds with the way she cradled his hand in both of hers. He lifted his other hand, setting it on top of hers gently, gripping her hands so, so softly. Sometimes, he was afraid she’d break under his touch she seemed so frail. “What do you mean?”

She laughed, and he saw the spirit that, no matter how her body failed her, was tough as nails. “I’m barely lucid these days.” The laughter was less frivolity and more self-pity, though, and he felt her fingers grasp at his as she kept their gazes locked, serious. “I don’t want you to remember me like this.

“Peggy,” he whispered, his words failing him.

There was no reassuring smile left for him. “I don’t want anyone to remember me like this.”

He looked away, hiding tears that had formed in his eyes. “I can’t just leave you here alone.”

Her whisper was soft and resigned. “I won’t know the difference.”

He left her, hours later, unsure if he should heed her request or hope she forgot it by the next time she showed up. He sat on his bike, trying to force himself to re-center, when a car stopped on the street a few feet away at a red light, windows down, the only song he didn’t want to hear at the moment blaring from its speakers.

He shoved his helmet on, knowing that at the very least, people wouldn’t be able to see his tears through the face shield.

~*~

Weeks later, the song had been replaced by some innocuous pop hit on replay on radio stations, and he started to breathe easier in public when there was ambient music playing. He thought maybe, just maybe, he could hear it and not think of her, of that day in 1945, of her lying in the bed at the nursing home, and be hit like a freight train with pain and loss.

Which is why, when the familiar heartbeat started to play one morning as he was cracking an egg into a frying pan for his breakfast, he was surprised to find the radio in pieces in his hands, the smoke of the burning egg breaking him out of the trance that had taken time, and the radio, from him.

He supposed it was safer if he stuck to his records. At least with those, he knew what kind of memories and melancholy he was in for with each mournful trumpet. He’d never imagined a song could cause physical pain before, but as he cleaned up the burnt egg and pulled the sparking end of the radio’s cord out of the wall socket, he couldn’t doubt that there was something about that song, something about the way this woman sang those words, that broke him just a little bit more each time he heard them.

~*~

He let his hand run over the cloth, just as soft as he remembered, though he didn’t remember the line of neat stitches at the hemline. He hadn’t known, until right this moment, she still had it.

“Steve?” Her voice floated through the hallway and back to him in the bedroom. He looked up just in time to find Peggy peeking around the door frame, smile on her bright red lips. “Find me something suitable to wear for this mystery date?”

A different him, a younger him, would have been embarrassed at being caught going through her dresses even though she’d asked, despite all that they shared now, but he was neither embarrassed nor bashful about it. “Sorry, got caught up.”

Peggy never seemed anxious about his little moments here and there, when a memory or loss hit him and he needed a minute to shake it. She was just as well acquainted with those moments, and those kinds of losses, herself.

Just like so many friends he’d lost, so many people he’d left both by circumstance and by choice too many times over now, everyone he seemed to know had lost something to the ravages of war.

She stopped, slipping into the room quiet as a mouse in her bare feet and robe, her voice calm and gentle. “No matter. I just need to get dressed. A preference?” She moved to him, the violet scent of her powder still hanging around her from just finishing her hair and make up for their dinner out. She took the dress from his hands and smiled fondly. “Oh, I remember this one. And our little… walk… that night.”

She held it up against her and shifted side to side, a vague model of it, as she smiled brightly.

The memory still punched him in the gut, even with her right there in front of him. He knew the singer wouldn’t be born for decades yet, and still he could have sworn he heard that damn song ringing in his ears.

She let the dress fall to her side, reaching out to take his hand. “Something wrong?”

He’d been back for months, and yet he still worried that she didn’t understand. “I remember,” he whispered, looking away. “I remember you on that bridge, smiling at me like we had our whole lives ahead of us.”

She held his hand tight, her voice low and serious, “We do.”

“But we didn’t,” he whispered fiercely, turning back to her. “Not when I was there- in that future or that timeline or whatever it was.” He shook his head and lifted the fabric of the skirt in his free hand, looking at the cloth as if it held the mysteries of the universe. “All I had left was this memory of you, standing on that bridge, with your hair waving in the wind and your bright red lips smiling at me like you didn’t have a care in the world. I had that memory so clear it felt like I could touch it, and it was everything I’d lost.”

She dropped the dress and it fell from his fingers between them as she moved closer, cradling his face in her hands. “I’m right here, right now, Steve.”

He couldn’t stop the heavy weight of his voice. “I’d lost you, and I’d lost my future when I woke up there.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I lost my ‘after the war,’ because when I woke up there was just one fight after another and the war was never over.”

“It’s over now.” Her voice was thick with her own emotion as her thumb traced his cheek. “And you found your way back to me.”

“Peg,” he didn’t like the way his voice cracked when he said her name, but there was little he could do to stop it.

She pulled him close, kissing him fervently. “You’ll never have to remember me again, Steve.” She nuzzled her cheek close to his, pulling him even closer. “I’m right here. And God himself couldn’t tear me away from you again, do you understand?”

He clutched at her, holding her tight, as he nodded against her neck.

“We’ll stay in tonight, yeah?” She pressed her lips against his neck, and not or the first time he was struck with how thankful he was for this second chance.

~*~

He thought it was fitting that the first time he heard it again was right after her funeral, right after he was done shaking hands and consoling grandchildren and was still half dressed in his suit with no tears left to cry.

He hadn’t been avoiding it, truthfully hadn’t thought about it in years. But as soon as he heard that lilting soprano again, he stopped in his tracks.

This time, he sat and turned the radio louder.

This time, he could remember not only that moment of her on the bridge, telling him she wanted a future with him, but that night in her house, only months after he’d shown up on her doorstep.

He remembered the way she looked when they got married by the Justice of the peace.

The way cuddled next to him on the couch, scowling as soon as the Captain America Adventure Hour came on the radio.

The way she smiled at him when she told him she wasn’t deathly ill, but rather pregnant.

The way she looked with their daughter at her feet and their son on her hip, playing dolls as she talked with Phillips about national security over the phone.

He remembered all of these things and more: ever blinding smile, every tear, every laugh in their time “after the war” together.

He didn’t shake, didn’t freeze up, but rather felt a small, warm feeling in his chest: happiness tinged with just enough loss that the song still felt like an old, unwelcome friend.

He waited until the last, breathless notes were sung and snapped off the radio, done with music for the night.

If her were lucky, he’d see her in his dreams tonight, and that would be no bad thing.

#Steggy Fic #3P's Fic #ANGST #Tissue warning

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damonsvftie · 4 years

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𝑼𝒏𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 💔

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary; Forced into an arranged marriage, y/n is marrying Draco Malfoy and this is by far the most emotionally depressing day for both of them since she is aware that he will never love her like Astoria Greengrass.

Warnings: depressing, very emotional, lack of self love and yuh also this is 1.1K words

Note: this will include some pictures with it because lmao idk and also if I’ve mixed up the ceremonies then I am truly sorry <3

"That looks so gorgeous on you, oh my merlin you've grown so much y/n," gasped my mother while she wiped the tears that were travelling down her face.

"Indeed, you look beautiful," chimed my father as he rubbed my mother's back in circles.

Deciding that I needed some time to myself, they exited my room silently as I stood before the large mirror staring back at my horrendous reflection. My face looked as if I had just met death at my doorstep. My skin pale as ever and my dark puffy circles, under my eyes, heavily concealed with a hefty amount of concealer to try and hide the dark marks that were visible from crying myself to sleep. My bony skin looked more transparent as I lost my appetite making me lose a ton of weight.

Staring at my horrific reflection, tears unexpectedly streamed down my face as I broke down hysterically crying. I tried my hardest to muffle my cries making sure no one heard me as I sank to the floor, near my bed, gripping onto my bedsheets whilst I buried my head into my knees.

I never asked for any of this.

Today was the day I was going to be marrying Draco Malfoy against one other's will. But something about getting myself married to him made my heart pang, making me feel an emotional type of pain. Maybe it was because he was still in love with the girl of his dreams, Astoria Greengrass. Maybe it was because i knew he would never love me the way he did with her. Maybe it was just me.

I heard someone softly knock on my bedroom door as I scrambled to my feet, smoothing out the small indented creases on my wedding dress and fixing my makeup as I patted away my wet tears. "Is everything okay y/n?" Called a familiar voice which sounded like Draco's mother, Narcissa Malfoy.

"Yes, I'm fine.. I'm coming," I replied modestly, trying to swallow the thick lump at the back of my throat.

Once I heard footsteps walking away from the radar of my room, I gave one last glance at the mirror before turning away heading for the door. I quickly fixed my posture and headed out to meet my parents.

—

Locking arms with my Father, I proceeded to head outside to where the ceremony would take place. The setting was beautifully decorated as the seats were filled with a few family members from both our sides ,since our families agreed to not make the wedding such big deal. Miles away, I could see Draco in his dark black suit while his platinum blonde hair was styled to perfection. He looked breathtaking.

Tears pricked into my eyes as I almost started breaking down then and there but I had told myself that in the end of the day, this was what was supposed to happen. This was my fate. This was my destiny.

As I walked down the aisle, everyone's eyes were on me. My hands were beginning to get clammy the nearer I was headed for the podium, and any minute I felt as if the dark, blood coloured bouquet of delicate roses would slip out of my hand ,while I would faint on runway.

Draco's eyes didn't dare meet mine while he hung his head in shame, toying with the silver slytherin ring that was wrapped around his finger. Once I got near the alter, I walked up the tiny steps making sure I didn't lose my balance and fall down somehow.

My breathing became more heavier when I now faced the gorgeous boy who stood before me. The ceremony started to begin and my eyes were beginning to well up. The 'father' went ahead and explained that we now had to exchange our wedding vows to one another.

I felt myself hyperventilating as I struggled to compose myself together as I gripped onto the soft material of my dress. I felt a pair of cold grey eyes glance up at me before reciting the vows making sure no eye contact was involved.

"I, Draco Malfoy, take thee, y/n y/l/n, to be my wedded wife," he exhaled deeply before saying the next line as his eyes blurred with tears. I noticed he was trying to hold back. Crying was a sign of weakness for Draco Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy wasn't perceived to be weak and fragile.

to have and to hold from this day forward...for better...for worse...for richer..for poorer..in sickness and in health,...to love and to cherish," his lips were now quivering and I could tell he didn't mean anything he was saying. It was visible that he was finding it difficult to say the last few words as he swallowed the lump at the back of his throat.

till death do us part," the last of his words crushing him on the inside.

according to Merlin’s holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge thee my faith..." he finished the last of his vows before pursing his lips into a tight line, drawing his eyebrows into the middle.

I bit my lip making sure I didn't let out my cries.

It was my turn.

I, y/n y/l/n, take thee, Draco Malfoy, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish," I spoke in my lifeless tone while a tear drop slipped out of the brim of my eyes, travelling down my face until it lingered on my lips.

My stomach churned and and I shut my eyes tight before saying the next line.

till death do us part," my voice slightly broke towards the end while I bought my lower lip between my teeth, sobbing silently, letting out a few whimpers or two.

according to Merlin’s holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge thee my faith." I cried as I looked down at the ground, shifting under my weight letting my emotions take the best of me.

Draco's hands were trembling as he placed the beautiful diamond ring that he originally bought for Astoria, on to my finger.

Exchanging rings, I slipped his ring onto his finger before the 'father' ended with the last few words

"You May now kiss the bride,"

Hearing upon them words, Draco stormed off into the other direction leaving me sulking all alone at the alter, while the bouquet of roses fell out of my hands hitting the stone cold floor hard.

I was married to Draco Malfoy and there was nothing I could do about it.

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twilitty · 3 years

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Waiting pt.2

Waiting

@twilitty

Part 2/?

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: none

Read this first! Bella is away while Rose and Emmett are watching Nessie. This fic is centered around Bella.

It took everything out of Bella to not draw attention to herself. She had dressed in sweatpants and a ratty sweatshirt that she had to hide in the back of her closet so Alice couldn’t find it. Yet still people stared at her. This was one thing Bella doubted she would ever get used to: the attention.

She liked to lay low, fly under the radar, get lost in the crowd. But, that hasn’t happened to her since her human days. Well, it hasn’t really happened to her since Phoenix. It seemed that Forks high school thought she was the best thing around and quickly she had a band of boys vying for her attention.

She’s walking down a busy side street in Port Angeles, she hadn’t lied about where she was going. The entire family knows she is in the city, they just don’t know why- except for Alice- and decidedly choose not to ask her about it. She appreciates the faux privacy they give her. It’s difficult living with a family who had supernatural hearing abilities, every whispered argument with her new husband was put on display for all to discuss in private.

Port Angeles is her monthly retreat from the Cullens, who seemed to be her only socialization after she awoke as a vampire. It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy spending time with them, she loves them all dearly, but most conversations revert back to time periods from before she was born. She was never a fan of history class.

Port Angeles was nowhere near as large as other cities, but it was close to home and she doesn’t like leaving her daughter for long periods of time.

The street is littered with tourists in heavy backpacks, maps under their noses. The maps are unnecessary, each street has clear signage and you can always cut through alleyways to the next street over if you need to move fast. She can’t imagine how anybody could get lost among these streets and then scolds herself immediately. She had gotten lost in these streets. Her human self was used to getting lost and falling into the lap of trouble. She hates forgetting about her old self.

Her shoulder bag bumps her hip with every step, inside her car keys, wallet, and a hardcover book. It’s a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice, the edges of the stiff covers frayed with time and use. The words inside bore the stains of past tears, tears she would never shed again. She remembers the last time she cried over these pages, sitting on Charlies beat up couch with her wet hair tied up in a towel atop her head. She couldn’t stop thinking of Edward. This was before they had come together and stayed together. She had hoped that his behaviour was an imitation of Mr.Darcy’s. Hopefully he was just pretending to dislike her because he didn’t know how to work through his true emotions, ultimately her hopes came true, but at the time she felt empty.

Empty from caring too much and empty from being let down yet another time. A new town she didn’t want to be in, and the one bright side seemed to hate her, how is she supposed to cope with that? She had treated herself with a bowl of ice cream after her hot shower, curling up in a quilt that seemed older than her and reading Jane Austen yet again.

Everytime Darcy entered a scene another fat tear would drop onto the page, marking the exact spot she thought of the cruel bronze haired boy. A boy so beautiful her heart wanted to sing, yet every time he looked at her with that same disdain she couldn’t help but feel torn apart all over again. How could one human stand so much torment?

A part of her, small and insignificant, sits in her gut and wishes for tears. Wants some physical expression of her emotions. But, that won’t happen.

The street winds to the right, groups of teenagers clustered outside of an indie coffee shop and giggling amongst each other. Idly she wonders, how is Angela doing? But the thought disappears as quickly as it comes and she finds herself at the end of the street with a four-way stop in front of her.

She takes the right turn, sneakers scuffing as she lets her heels drag a little with every step. Humans never walk evenly, there is always something to unbalance their gait and mark their shoes. Alice would rather die a million deaths than see Bella purposefully mistreat her shoes, even if they’re knock offs she bought at an outlet mall.

A couple buildings down, all cement and brick, is the public library. It’s poorly funded and the lighting inside is horrendous. The windows need to be resealed and the doors squeak like mice. She loves it. She enters into the drafty lobby, a bulletin board shows all the events this month, a book club is scheduled for today at noon. She checks her watch, 11:47.

The next doors lead into the children's section where parents and toddlers sit in a semicircle at the back wall, a poorly constructed stage is used to recreate a story with hand puppets. “Save me!” She hears one of the socks yell out, a few children gasp and her steps slow to a stop. A child sitting up close to the stage has brown hair braided down her back in uneven strips. Her giggles stand out from every other childs gasps of horror. Beside her sits an identical little boy, his brown skin shining just like his sisters.

“Don’t worry,” the little girl whispers into his ear, “the princess has a happy ending.” The boy looks up at her with big doe eyes, his nose sniffling. “I promise,” she says. Then, as if feeling that someone is watching, she turns around and faces Bella from across the wide room.

They look at each other, the human and the vampire, the child and the woman, the hunted and the hunter. Her, Bella thinks absently, her senses slow to a dull, focused only on the soft thudding of the little girls heart. She is so beautiful. The girl watches her, wide eyes blinking as she takes in the woman staring at her without seeming to notice it. Then, she raises a dark palm, waving it at the woman.

Bellas senses surge back into her, noises and colours and scents slam into her like a wall and she almost feels the need to take a steadying breath. The girl continues to wave, her little brother looking over his shoulder to see who she’s looking at.

Walking quickly and a little dazed, Bella makes her way to the staircase and closes the door behind her. She takes a deep, unnecessary breath which does nothing more than fill her lungs. Her chest sits hollow, no movement unless she forces it and no beating of a heart. She wonders idly what would happen if she was opened up, would they find her heart still intact? Did the venom solidify it like the rest of her or is it just simply gone?

“Isabella!” It’s Nancy, she’s at the top of the stairs holding a book to her chest. She’s an older woman, maybe sixty five, with beautiful grey hair cut into a sleek bob at her shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here, and looking stylish as always!” Bella just nods with what she hopes is a warm smile, she had heard and smelt Nancy above before she heard her but still widens her eyes to make it seem surprising.

Coming from anybody else, calling Bella “stylish” for wearing sweatpants would have been sarcastic. Maybe a joke about how she always looks beautiful. But not from Nancy. Nancy is too kind, she likely has never said a poor word to anybody.

“Thank you,” Bella responds. Taking the stairs up, Nancy has already started talking again. Bella's mind has a difficult time abandoning the little girl in front of the stage. The girl's heartbeat thuds in her ears, carrying through the thick metal door and up the stairs. She isn’t sure if she can still hear it or if her mind is just playing it back on a loop.

“All the ladies are already here, you’re the last to join us.” She continues to talk about who is here and who can’t make it. Someone brought lemon squares and someone else had snuck in orange juice and a bottle of champagne for mimosas. It’s a wonder the book club hasn’t been kicked out of the library permanently, it seems every month they are receiving another infraction for bringing in food and drinks.

The book club meets once a month to discuss the book they were supposed to read, this week it’s Pride and Prejudice. The room they reserve is tucked into the back left corner of the library, the carpet is dingy and the walls that were once white are closer to yellow. Bella loves this room.

The ladies are all already sitting in a semicircle, a low table in the center is covered in treats and large glasses filled with a sweet smelling drink. A large bottle of champagne sits next to it. “Isabella!” A few of them call out as she enters the room with Nancy. She greets them happily, smiling widely.

“Alright, so this month we read Pride and Prejudice!” A few women whoop at that, giggling and whispering amongst each other. “Now, now,” Dhruvi chastises lightly. She’s the club leader, she makes sure the discussion doesn't get carried away. “Who wants to share their first reactions to Mr.Darcy?” Bella's mind runs faster than any computer, her words and actions are usually well thought through before she reacts, which is why she takes herself off guard when she responds so quickly. She hadn’t even known she had something to add. “I think he was acting a little cruel.” Bella’s voice says without her knowing. All eyes are immediately on her, apparently none of them agreed because their eyes are wide as saucers.

“How could you say that?” A woman pipes up, her bushy eyebrows knitted atop her wrinkled forehead. “He loves Elizabeth.”

“Yeah,” Bella says slowly, her mind whirring but not producing anything. “But that doesn’t mean he can treat her like he doesn’t care for her. He should have been open with his feelings at the start, not play stupid mind games with her.”

The room is quiet, the air dripping in what can only be suppressed judgement and mild concern from the old women. Bella notices this, takes a few looks around the circle and swallows her pride. “I’m sorry,” she enunciates, each syllable crisp with her obvious discomfort. “I guess I’m just projecting my life onto the story.”

“Is it your husband, dear?” It’s Nancy, sitting three women down from her and giving her a soft smile. Her skin is wrinkled, her eyes creasing in a motherly way. Bella’s vocal cords refuse to work, and even if they were functioning she has no idea what to say. None of the women speak and instead watch Bella work the question over in her mind.

Even though Bella could have thought this over in the bare breath of a second, she takes a minute to truly think it over. Was it her husband? Edward who loved her, who she loved? They had a child together, they were both immortal. She served up her human life on a platter and asked him to throw it away. No, it wasn’t her husband. Their relationship was perfect, picturesque, the happy ending everybody always knew they would get.

“My wife,” starts Dhruvi with a heavy sigh, “does this to me sometimes, too.” Bella had met Dhruvi’s wife before, she was a kind woman with long black hair streaked with silver, her skin a nearly identical shade of brown to Dhruvi. “She will go days treating me like a guest in our home, not holding my hand or kissing me. We will eat breakfast at opposite ends of the table and make small talk. The entire time I think, ‘did I do something wrong? Has she abandoned her feelings for me?’ But, no.” She leans over onto her knees and the scent of her floral perfume fills Bella’s head. “The next night she will cook me dinner and kiss me and tell me I’m beautiful. And, yes that is nice but it is also sad like you said-” Bella never said that what Darcy did was sad, but in her head she can see now that that word fits into her sentiment perfectly. “- because for a moment I questioned my wife’s love for me and that is very painful.”

The room nods and murmurs in agreement, Nancy giving Bella a sad, pitying look the entire time. “I- I’m sorry about your wife not always being open about her feelings,” Bella starts, feeling like she’s being forced into giving confession. “But that’s not my Edward.”

“Not mine either,” Nancy says quickly. “But when we met that was him. He was my Darcy in the way you described him. I love Patt now but at the time he would take me out on a date only to show up for class the next day with some new broad.” She shrugs her shoulders, “and that was cruel. He played mind games with me.” The grey haired woman doesn’t seem upset by this, instead she seems content with it. Stating it with a resigned indifference.

“But you’ve got him now!” A woman exclaims and that sends the room into an uproar of laughter. Bella’s is noticeably absent from the mixture.

The group finishes their discussion about the book in just over an hour, a few women sneak snacks into their purses as they depart, giggly from all the champagne. Bella packages her novel into her bag and puts it over her shoulder. Dhruvi stands at the door, with a styrofoam plate of lemon squares, only three left.

“Isabella, I’m sorry about your experiences with this month's novel.” She says it kindly, but also as if she’s digging for more information. Trying to reopen the discussion from earlier.

“No, I enjoyed the book, really. It was quite romantic.” The words rush out of Bella, the last thing she wants to do is start this conversation all over again. Dhruvi laughs off her comment.

“I’m considering hosting dinner at my home, I will be inviting a few of the women from this group and a few others you don’t know.” Bella’s silent heart has jumped into her throat. “Would you be interested in joining us?” What does she say? That she will go but won’t eat a single damn thing? Oh, sorry, I ate just before getting to your house for this prescheduled dinner. How awful is that, there is no way that she can go.

“I don’t think I’ll be available that day.”

“I didn’t mention the date,” the older woman says slowly, eyelids leveling down over her pupils as if searching for something in Bella. The vampire has no response to this. “Bring your husband,” she says finally, “I would like to meet him.”

#twilight #2008 #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn #bella swan #bella cullen #carlisle #edward #alice #rosalie #emmett #jasper #renesme #nessie #head canon #headcanon #hc #fic #fanfiction

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shiteatinggrin · 4 years

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Hi, so this is my contribution to my first jilytober, I wrote some canon fic, it is kinda sad so I guess you could call this angst? I don’t know, I’m not that good at categorizing fic. Anyways, here is a love letter to James Potter from Lily Evans because he just died under her eyes. Wrote this fast, so I can’t vouch for the quality of this. This is almost 3k of Lily being a sap, so enjoy! Find it here on Ao3.

Bastard with a shit eating grin

Do you remember our first kiss? I can still feel the cold air of winter seeping through the walls of Greenhouse Number Three and you and I laughing together. It was not an unusual thing anymore, but some people could have been surprised, because we had had some big feuds over the years, the Dormitories Dashing and Destroying Disagreement, the Inflating Inner Ear Incident, the Flying Fiona Fight and the Severus Snape Saga consisting of the big highlights. However frustrating it was, we always had fun together, didn’t we?

Now we were falling in love dutifully without realising we had always been meant for each other in some way. I was all colors: glorious red hair, pink cheeks, pale green eyes and horrendously yellow socks. You were all teeth: shining smiles, arrogant smirking, belly-laughing in a silent room or grinding them in concentration for the task you were committing to (hyper-focusing on) at the moment.

‘Oi, Evans, can I copy your homework?’ You would say that practically every day.

‘How about a please, Potter? Might do you some good.’ You watched me smear some soil on my neck when I scratched it and said nothing. I discovered it in Transfiguration two hours later. Crazy how we can only remember the smallest details years later and the big things just go right over our heads. I could only ever remember the small details with you, because whatever we said to each other was never important, only the talking to you part was.

‘Oh Lily, dearest flower to my heart that I worship beyond any rainbow, might I please please please see your diligently done homework so that I can rewrite it because, being the idiot that I am, I was off gallivanting with Sirius yesterday instead of being a good student.’ You added pouts and made doe eyes for good measure as if I wouldn’t already have grabbed the moon from the sky’s grubby hands every night if you had asked it.

I would stifle a smile and put some piece of parchment in your extended hand without even looking, sometimes it was the homework if I was feeling generous, if I were more in a creative mood I might give you a stupid doodle or some kind of letter that would say something like: ‘Dear Prongs, you are an asshat. Looking forward to our rounds tonight so I can kick your ass in Gobstones. Now listen to Sprout, will you? Lily’ with a stupid heart over the i that basically meant PS: I love you. Finally, I’d say something like:

‘I would have laughed, but your head might inflate so much you’d have neck pain for a week.’

You let yourself smile then and continued to jest me, hoping to wrench a smile out of the beast (you always did it literally two minutes later, it is funny how easy it is to win when you give yourself such small tasks).

But that day, amazingly, we broke out of our routine.

At night we would always hang out together in the common room with our friends and slowly the people would fizzle out, having gone up to their dormitories and I would stay on the couch with the urge to kiss you with some dumb excuse not to leave on the tip of my tongue. I painted my nails or read some book or talked to you extensively about something I’d learned recently and you would listen with concentrated eyes and a much too easy smile.

Then you would start talking and when you started some story it would never finish, even now you can’t even recall something as simple as Harry’s first smile without going on for five full minutes without stopping. In these nights I would try to look like I wasn’t paying too much attention to you, like I was detached from everything pertaining to your person, but being young and in love doesn’t exactly give you the best skills in subtlety and so you would ask me if I was paying attention and I would blush and you would make some quip about redheads and their skins and everything would go back to normal.

And out of the blue, when I was talking about getting some sugar quills next time we were in Hogsmeade and how difficult the Ancient Runes paper was, you kissed me. Your hands flew to my hair and mine to cup your face and you pressed your body hard against mine. I’d never seen you so hungry for anything before, it seemed like you had been starving for a thousand years before our lips found each other. I had kissed three boys before you, and none of them could compare to the feeling of ecstasy of your mouth against mine. No one will ever compare to James Potter, right? That’s what you used to say in fourth year when you made a particular lucky goal in Quidditch or when you caught the Snitch in mid-air even though you were a Chaser and we were in Potions classf. Is it weird that I miss that?

I don’t think there ever was a time when I didn’t love you, all electric hair and much too quick brain and hundred stupid nicknames that didn’t mean anything unless you explained them in excruciating detail and you would smile too much and talk too loud and walk too fast and I wouldn’t feel so out of place with you because I did the exact same things. Petunia was always prim and proper and I always tried to be like her and please everyone but you taught me how to be myself and how to blossom into my personality without even knowing it. With you I’ve never been too much, I was always just enough.

Everything always came so easy to you, and I’ve always hated you for it. Now I think that I can’t appreciate enough how you could always share that with everyone around you, that incredible luck that could get you out of the worst of predicaments. I guess it all caught up to us today, but I don’t mind now. I’ll love you forever, come what may.

My heart is full of wanted posters of you: dead or alive.

I can’t remember the first time I’ve really noticed you, because you were always in the periphery, doing stupid things and getting in trouble and beaming for no reason at all and the memory of your presence was impossible to shake, but I still remember the first time we really became friends. We were fifteen by the lake and my best friend betrayed me under the glistening sun, the following day I had the worst grade in Transfiguration I’d ever gotten. You found me crying by a window on the fifth floor and apologized a hundred times (which I couldn’t have cared less at the moment), but you still went and talked to McGonagall and she agreed to let me retake the test in the afternoon and offered me a biscuit.

In seventh year, a girl told me that she was so jealous of the fact that I was the only one that could make James Potter change and mature. As if your life revolved around me. I thought of your sick father and the fact that Sirius had appeared on your front door one day and never left your house and with a twinge in my heart thought of the war coming and I couldn’t believe my ears. With all this going on, and she still thought you’d only change for a girl?

I’m not proud of this, but I might have shouted at her and maybe, perhaps I was the one that sent a silencing charm her way, but who could really tell? Not her, because her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

I wonder if I ever told you that. Probably, because you know everything interesting there is to know about me. You even know the most boring facts about me, because they amuse you just the same. You know I like peonies the best in spite of my name and that my first kiss was with Snape when I was eight, you know that I wiped my mouth right after and didn’t know yet what love was. You know that my favourite band is Hate Potion and that my guilty pleasure is Celestina Warbeck. You know that I wanted to name our son Harry because of a muggle TV show I used to watch with Petunia when I was seven on Saturday mornings and that when I fight my favorite charm is Expelliarmus. You were at my side when I killed my first (and last) Death Eater and that I cried for a week afterward. You comforted me for five hours when Marlene and her entire family were massacred in their own home, the same one where I had spent a good chunk of my summers to avoid Petunia. You know that I only ever paint my toenails blue and that my favorite flavour of ice cream is mint chocolate chip. You know all about my relationship with my sister and how she used to be my best friend and that we used to dance in bathing suits around the sprinkler and fake being witches to make potions out of mud and flowers and how she never forgave when this dream became true for me but not for her. You know all about my failed relationships, with Tuney, Sev and my ex-boyfriend who left me because he didn’t want to be associated with a muggleborn. You know I’m absolute shite at drawing and that I can’t dance to save my life and you laugh at me when I’m drunk and try to follow Peter’s choreography to some dumb song I don’t know. Last year, you helped paint flowers all over my bookcase because I wanted it to be unique and just mine.

When Harry was born, you refused to sleep for two days because he was so cute when he slept against your chest, but you finally fell asleep while cutting onions for dinner and I had to intervene.

One of my favourite things about you is that I have never seen anyone so full of life. You smile like nothing has ever gone wrong in your entire life and you are more loyal than any Hufflepuff I’ve ever seen, you would die for any of us in a heartbeat and we would do the same for you anytime. My love for you is so big I wonder how it even fits in our little house in Godric’s Hollow. You painted our walls burnt orange because you said it reminded you of my hair and I wonder if it is weird to fall in love with you even more over some colour choices. You complete me because as much as you are a complete idiot, you still recommend the best books and are smart enough to plan the best pranks, but too smug to make anyone else take the blame. You had always been my favourite person in the whole universe until Harry arrived, but he is so much like you that it is like meeting you at a much earlier age. He has the same laugh as you, you know?

I cannot believe how brave you are, because traditional courage requires you to go into battle and protect everyone you love like a lioness does her cubs, but you have found the energy to keep going even trapped in this house with an infant without being able to help your friends outside. You go everyday against your most basic instincts and you manage to have so much fun with us, but I see the tired bags under your eyes and the fact that you lose your train of thoughts sometimes and I know that you’re thinking about the war and the security of the boys, I know they are your family and it would kill you if one of them ever fell into battle, yet you never complain, yet you never lose hope. I love you so much my feeble heart can’t contain it all. My love for you is as inevitable as the blue of the sky, as the oxygen in our lungs, as the passage of time, I love you so much that when I see you it is like coming home, your wild hair and round glasses and mischievous eyes and soft voice and much too long limbs and wide chest and calloused hands and smile like an answer to all my problems.

No one has ever made me feel as secure as you and now I know I have to be strong for you, because you are the one that’s fallen, like a marionnette whose strings were cut. The coffee stain on the right arm of your shirt is the last thing I will see of you, or maybe it is a bit of your wild inky hair. I will never be able to look at the night sky the same.

I can hear him in the stairs, and all I can think about is you and Harry this morning, my two favourite people in the world, sat on the carpet and puffs of colour coming out of your wand, your laugh coming out of his mouth, one single tooth poking out, little chubby legs shaking from laughter, the wand you stupidly left on the carpet (the wand you didn’t care wasn’t in your hands because you didn’t care if you died, you just wanted us to live). Your last gift to me was the most precious of all: you gave me the time to say goodbye to Harry.

‘Mama loves you. Dada loves you, Harry.’ That is the only thing I find to say, because it is true and my heart is breaking, I can hear it thundering, collapsing like a dying star, you are dead, I will die, Harry has to live. I cannot withstand the thought.

I have never loved anyone better than the two of you. Apparently I never will, but at least I have known real love, the one that comes from daily life, that never dies because it is kept alive by stupid little things that make us who we are. Crazy how we only remember the little things and the big ones just go right over our heads.

I will remember the smallest things about you, like the little scar in your left eyebrow, the weird placement of your thumb on your wand, the feel of your skin against mine and the way it tanned in the summer while mine just became redder and redder, the sound of your laugh when Sirius said something funny and the way you always pushed your glasses up your nose with your middle finger, the way you sit in any chair like it’s a throne, the way you answered questions in class without raising your hand, the way you held a book open when you were reading it, your last day where you wanted to make pasta and I wanted steak, the way you would mess with your hair not because you thought it would make you look like you just stepped off your broom, but because you were nervous or restless. On your good days it would stand flatter on your head and I had to pass my hand through it because otherwise it just didn’t feel like you. You laughed too much when Sirius decided to read Crime and Punishment to Harry as a bedtime story and your son wouldn’t go to sleep. You would tell him stories of your childhood disguised as muggle magical adventures and I became a knight, Sirius a prince and Snape a dragon. You would call my cat Fiona the ginger cat, as if Fiona wasn’t enough and she needed an extra title. I guess she was royalty after all. You always tried to make me believe that she loved you more than me, even though I’d had her since I was eleven and you once made her fly across the common room just to annoy me.

Do you remember this morning? The last time you ever kissed me? You made me eggs and tea for breakfast and sang some Beatle song for me in the most off-key voice. You stole the bacon from my plate, laughing from across the dinner table. I was so happy because you were in a good mood today, you didn’t seem to feel so trapped and it was Halloween and you were trying to convince me to dress Harry up as a muggle magician, which I thought was the worst joke you’d ever made. You kissed me on the mouth and we settled on a pumpkin costume. Your lips tasted of stolen bacon and orange juice (you’ve never been much of a morning tea person).

I have never loved anyone better, and apparently I never will.

The house is so silent now that you are gone. All I can hear are my own ragged breaths. Harry seems to think this is some kind of game. He is all that we have left now. All that will ever be left of us. To love is to create, right? We have created the most beautiful person in the world, it should be the only thing that counts.

I love you. I could try to make this poetic, the love thing, but I think the most poetic way it can be is on its own. I don’t know any words more powerful than I love you. I love you and you are dead. I love you and I will die soon. I love our son and he will live. Life is as simple as that. I love you and soon we’ll be together again. Miss you already.

#jilytober 2020 #lily evans #james potter #jily fic #canon ending #sad #evey writes #james x lily fanfiction #hp fanfiction #hp #jily

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sometimesiwrite · 3 years

Text

Sick of This

A/N: Modern AU inspired by a random piece of dialogue from TW2 (Roche’s Path) in Vergen when Geralt and Zoltan speak with Yarpen and Burdon (I think). We hear a story about how Geralt took care of Triss while they were travelling together and she had a horrendous illness. I’m working with hybrids of these characters, but primarily drawing on game dynamics with a bit of book influence for Yennefer and some Netflix influence for Triss.

Summary: Geralt and Yennefer are in town for a an important political dinner when Geralt learns that their friend, Triss is down for the count with a terrible stomach flu. With some time to spare, he visits her, intending to stay a short while, but her condition worsens to the point where Geralt feels he can’t leave. Internal and inter-personal conflict arises as Geralt vies to skip dinner in favour of caring for a friend in need. tl;dr: Going through a relationship rough-patch (again) and realizing you might have feelings for a close friend makes for a difficult night.

Characters/pairings: Geralt x Triss; Geralt x Yennefer; Yennefer x Istrid; Jaskier

Warnings: Infidelity, verbal abuse/toxic partnership, detailed descriptions of vomiting/severe nausea/stomach pain.

MASTERLIST

Triss looked down at the illuminated screen of her phone: “In town for a few days,” the text read. “Long story. Yen has a work thing. Anyway, let me know if you want to grab a drink.” The number didn’t belong to a name in her contacts—but then again, Geralt’s number never did. Every few months, he’d get a new pay-as-you-go so that old clients wouldn’t try to contract him under the table. It only took two calls from the same tight-assed, penny-pinching hypocrites who’d tried to low-ball him on his first case to make him realize an ever-changing phone number was a good idea. So: burner phones. As a nice added bonus, it made it harder for the Redanian Secret Service to keep tabs on him which meant a little more… investigative freedom when push came to shove. The few people he ever contacted regularly—Triss, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, Jaskier (Vesemir didn’t text)—never bothered putting his number in their contacts. By the time they got around to updating his number, he was changing it within a few weeks anyway. Besides, he insisted it was safer for all of them if they didn’t have his name in their phones in the first place. By now, everyone knew that if they got a text from an unknown number, there was a 99.9% chance it was Geralt.

The toilet gurgled as Triss returned to the sofa with a groan, scrunching her knees up against the pain in her stomach. She checked her phone again: “Only if you’re free, I know Foltest keeps you pretty busy…” She rolled her eyes and replied, “Thanks, Ger. Ordinarily, I could use one right about now, but I’m feeling pretty sick. Think I should stay home </3” She smiled weakly as the text fwiipped its way up the screen. Too bad she was laid up. Would’ve been nice to see him. Her friends always said he was too grumpy and moody to be any fun, but Triss always thought of him as being quite mellow and calming to be around. He never imposed expectations on their time together, unlike her other friends who were always scheming, gossiping, or bitching about their bosses. Just easy conversation and a few good laughs as they caught up on the past few months or years or however long it had been since they last saw each other.

She checked her phone again and fired off a few brief “not today, babes, sorry, I’m just so sick” texts before her mouth started watering again and she headed into the bathroom: a routine by this point. A few girlfriends had offered to keep her company with rom coms and ginger tea, but she was already feeling so exhausted and it was only 1pm. Besides, Triss wasn’t sure she was prepared for anyone other than her cat (who was hiding under the bed) to see her like this: tawny cheeks flushed with fever, tight brown curls haphazardly bunned on top of her head in a pragmatic attempt to keep them out of the toilet and away from her face, frizzy ringlets falling loose down the back of her neck… and she was acutely aware that she smelled of sickness. Her body’s best attempt to rebalance itself meant that her underarms would overpower even her best deodorant. IF, that is, she cared enough to put any on which she Did Not. She was also, like any sensible woman in her current state, not wearing a bra.

Nope. Today was a day of horrendousness. Her phone pinged. “You need anything?”

“A new body might be nice. If you happen to see one that would suit me… 😝”

The fwoop! came in before her screen went dark: “LOL, I’ll see what I can find. Any preferences?”

Triss smiled despite the pain in her stomach. “Hmmm I did always want to be a physiotherapist. Oooh! Or a gymnast!” Fwiip!

Fwoop! “Still at your same place? I can send it by courrier. Should get there before 3:00”

Triss was trying hard to come up with a witty enough comeback, but her head was starting to ache. Hmmm. Yes, body, I would love to hydrate you, but you keep rejecting everything I put inside you. “Ugh,” she groaned again and made her way to the toilet. When she got back a few fruitless minutes later, she checked her phone again. Nothing. She just replied, “Thanks, Ger. BRB, going to go die now. When the courier gets here, just tell him to transfer my soul into the new body. I’ll leave it under the Welcome mat.” The TV flipped on as its owner began the endless Netflix Scroll of Indecision. She finally settled on Blue Planet for the 50th time hoping that slow-moving sea blobs would be soothing in some way.

It didn’t. Another excruciating hour of bathroom visits every ten-to-fifteen-minutes had her googling ‘pressure points to relieve nausea’ by 2:30. She had just pinched a spot on her wrist between her thumb and forefinger when she heard a soft knock on her door. “Ugh, no, GO AWAY! LEAVE ME TO DIE IN PEACE!” she called out from her nest on the sofa. It was too late. The she heard the door brush against the spongy beige carpet as someone poked their head inside, “Triss?” It was Geralt.

“Oh gods, no, Geralt, stay back, save yourself!”

He gave a low chuckle and Triss already felt a little better. How does he always manage to do that? “I don’t have a new body for you, but I might have the next best thing. Permission to enter?”

Triss let out a rueful groan, “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She heard him step in quietly and toe off his shoes as the door closed. A second later, he came around the corner with a Rexall bag in hand. He’d been to a barber recently, and his silvery hair was looking more stylish than usual—cut shorter on the sides and stylishly swept back from his face. Paired with his dark-teal flannel shirt and grey denim jeans, Triss thought he looked unusually striking.

Geralt tilted his head sympathetically at the sight before him. Triss was bundled on the sofa in an oversized sleep shirt and sweatpants, fuzzy socks bunched around her ankles, and what looked like any and all home remedies gathered around her: hot water bottle, cold pack, three mugs of tea (ginger, peppermint, and chamomile by the smell of them), a glass of ice water, a barely-touched bowl of chicken broth, a mangled bag of oyster crackers, and a thermometer.

“You’re really down for the count, huh? Got a fever?” before she could object, the back of Geralt’s hand was on her forehead. It felt cool and refreshing against the dry heat of her face as he assessed her condition. “Meh. Could be better, could be worse.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Triss retorted with a halfhearted smile. “Ugh… sorry, um, I have to…” she pointed towards the bathroom and Geralt raised his hands (‘say no more’) as his friend scuttled exhaustedly around the corner. He busied himself with watching manta rays gliding through the open ocean until he heard the toilet flush and Triss emerged again, looking ragged and a little sheepish. “Sorry,” she said, pouring herself back onto her nest of blankets and stuffed animals.

Geralt shrugged, “No need to be, you’re sick. Here,” he reached into the pharmacy bag and brought out a box of ginger Gravol tablets and a medium-sized bottle of Cherry Punch Pedialyte—she was allergic to most over-the-counter cold and flu medication.

“Geralt, you didn’t have to do all this for me. How did you even know I had the stomach flu?”

He looked over her shoulder at her laptop which was still open to the page of various nausea-relieving pressure points, “Hm. You should have this stuff around anyway,” he paused as Triss swallowed heavily and went to the bathroom again. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to take care of herself, her mother had been a nurse practitioner for heaven’s sake. Still, Geralt was never one to leave a friend in need if there was something he could do about it. A particularly visceral sound drew him from where he was perched on the arm of the sofa. Triss was crouched on the bathroom floor, shivering with her forehead resting on her elbows over the toilet bowl. She spat. Geralt sat on the edge of the bathtub. “How long has it been like this?”

“Since about... 10am,” she managed to get out before her entire body heaved. Geralt instinctively reached out to place a hand on her back. She didn’t object. She never objected to these little shows of affection from Geralt. There was always something reassuring about them, and it felt particularly nice to be reminded that she wasn’t alone just now.

Geralt rubbed slow circles across her back as he coaxed her through retching and dry heaves. “You know you could've just asked.”

“I know but—”

“Stubborn?”

“Uh-huh,” Triss admitted, sitting back on her heels and flushing the mostly-empty toilet. “Besides, the last thing you need is to be taking care of a gross friend right before getting ready for a fancy business gala.

“You clearly don’t know just how little I’m looking forward to this evening,” Geralt grumbled, passing Triss a cool glass of water to rinse with.

“Not looking forward to talking the talk, Mr. Slick P.I.?” Triss’s eyes gave a twinkle as her freckled cheeks pulled into a cheeky smirk.

Even when she’s a mess she still finds a way to light up. Geralt furrowed his brow at his own thoughts. Where did that come from? “You know how it is, all this high-society stuff, rubbing elbows, laughing at tasteless jokes. It’s just not me. But Yen—well…” he sighed heavily, “I dunno. She’s right in that it’s a good way to get the information we need, stay visible to the right people but… I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I know she’s your friend.”

Triss raised an eyebrow, “Oh, go on. Trust me, there’s nothing you can say about Yennefer of Vengerberg that will surprise me. Besides, you’re my friend, too.”

“Hm.” Geralt stared down and fiddled with his crossed thumbs. “Lately I can’t get anything right. I’m always asking the wrong questions, or I’ll try and talk to her about something I want us to work on and it’s never worded the right way and then it just turns into a fight which is what I want to stop doing in the first place. And then I’m either too sensitive or not sensitive enough and… it’s like she has a set of rules inside her head she won’t tell me about. Feels like it’s harder than it should be. But who am I to know?”

“I’m sorry, Geralt. Yennefer can be so unfair sometimes. I don’t think she understands how much she can push against the people she cares about. It’s one thing to be a friend, at least I can take a breather every now and then if I need to. But it’s different for you. You don’t like taking time apart.” Triss offered an apologetic smile before groaning and leaning back over the toilet and Geralt’s hand took up its place on her back again as he worked her through another round.

Geralt’s phone rang as Triss flushed the toilet. “Sorry, it’s Yen. I should take this. Be right back. Yen? Yeah, I’m with Triss, got a stomach thing, I stopped by to bring her some...” his voice disappeared around the corner as he went into the bedroom. Triss couldn’t make out their whole conversation, but it sounded tense. The phrase, “...just trust me to dress myself, I’m not a—,” came through the drywall. Triss sighed sympathetically. It certainly hadn’t been smooth sailing for the two of them. Geralt had his own flaws and foibles in the romance department—he could be callous and insensitive in favour of honesty at times, and never shied away from pushing buttons—but Yennefer was mercurial, brazen, rash, and brutal; all excellent qualities for a powerful and influential chief advisor. But as much as Geralt was his own handful, she’d never known him to willfully hurt someone he cared about, and was quick to apologize when he did.

When Geralt came back, Triss was trying to push herself to standing. He caught her as she swayed on her unsteady legs. “Whoa, whoa, Triss, easy. Here, sit back down, wait here for a second.” Triss did as she was told and settled miserably back onto the bathroom floor. Geralt immediately returned with two blankets before disappearing again. A few minutes later, he returned once more with a tea tray on which was balanced Triss’s laptop, a small glass of Pedialyte on the rocks, the pack of gravol, and the box of oyster crackers.

Triss let out a soft giggle, “What is this?”

“You need to try and get something in you. Might not be pretty at first, but if you don’t get some fluids soon, you’re going to be in bigger trouble.”

“Really. I had no idea. I can take care of myself, you know… sorry that was,” Triss sighed. “It’s been a long day

Geralt hunkered down next to her on the floor on top of a throw pillow, “Hey, I get it. But that’s not why I’m here. Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. So take this, with a sip of this,” he handed her a blister pack of the Gravol and the glass of Pedialyte, “and let’s see if you can keep it down.”

“Cherry Punch. How did you know this was my favourite?” Triss could no longer hide the fondness that was welling up despite her unrelenting discomfort and growing exhaustion. Geralt gave a muted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How’s Yennefer?”

The lines on Geralt’s face became more pronounced, “She’s… fine.” Triss tilted her head (‘really?’) and Geralt relented, “There’s a chance Istrid will be there tonight.”

“The head of the Archeological Association? I don’t get it, what’s he got to do with you and Yennefer?”

Triss could guess the answer from Geralt’s pause. His words merely confirmed it, “They have history.”

“You don’t think that Yennefer will—I mean, she wouldn’t—”

“She has. She doesn’t know that I know, but…” Triss’s heart sank. “I don’t know why I’m waiting for her to tell me. Guess I don’t want her to feel like I went out of my way to find her at fault—which I didn’t, by the way. I found out by accident.”

“I’m sorry, Ger.” The weight of Triss’s head against his shoulder brought Geralt out of his daze and he looked down at the messy updo of mahogany hair. He smiled again, a delicate, private, unconscious thing that sparked from an unconscious uplifting somewhere in the middle of him and pulled the corners of his eyes. He thought about ignoring it, not wanting to have to go digging inside himself for what it meant. Instead he wrapped an arm around Triss’s shoulder and pecked a chaste kiss to the top of her head.

“How’re you feeling?”

The answer to that question proved complicated. Triss’s spirits were a bit better thanks to Geralt’s stubborn-yet-easygoing caretaking. But the introduction of contents into her contrary stomach was yielding less-than-desirable consequences. Painful cramps persisted between more frequent bouts of vomiting—which by this point was mostly dry-heaves followed by the occasional expulsion of bile. Meanwhile it was 5:30 and Geralt’s phone beeped a notification. He checkecked the screen with one hand while he soothed Triss with the other: Where are you??? Yen. Who else could it be? He’d have to call her.

“Geralt, go! Really, I’ll be fine I promise. You’ve got to rub elbows and laugh at bad jokes, remember?” Triss propped herself up on wobbly elbows over the toilet bowl, not trusting the wave to be over.

Geralt was already dialling. Triss heard the faint echo of her friend’s voice on the other line as she answered with, ‘Where the HELL are you?’

“I’m still with Triss, Yen. Things aren’t looking good here, she’s just gotten worse. If I can’t—Yen, listen if she doesn’t—if she doesn’t get any fluids in her I’ll need to take her to the hospital.” Geralt pulled an apologetic face and Triss gave him a reassuring wave that she’d be fine if he stepped out for a minute. “Yen, please, I thought we talked about this, please don’t use that tone, it makes me feel…” The conversation continued, though this time in the living room: “I know this is an important night for us to both be there, Yen, you’ve been reminding me for the last month, but I can’t just leave until… what’s that supposed to mean? That’s not—no, hang on, that’s not fair, Yen… Well if you already don’t believe me I don’t—Okay, then you tell me what I’m supposed to say! I’m tired of this, Yennefer, I am so. Exhausted trying to figure out exactly what to say in order for you to not react like this every time I… can I finish?...”

Geralt was pacing back-and-forth now, and Triss could tell from the tone on the other end of the line that Yennefer wasn’t backing down anytime soon, “Geralt, if you don’t leave Triss’s apartment and come back here and get dressed this instant, I swear I will—”

Geralt paused outside the bathroom door for Triss to flash a wilted thumbs-up as she tried to drink more Cherry Punch Pedialyte, “Or you’ll what, Yen? Count to ten and then chuck me in the coi pond? I—you know what?” he moved back into the living room, “No, you know what? How ‘bout this: I’m staying here with our friend who needs help, and you can go to this big event, embarrassment free, and do what you do best without the big idiot holding you back. Whatever needs to get done at this dinner tonight, I bet you’ll do better on your own than worrying about me screwing something up.”

Triss heard his phone flip shut followed by a heavy sigh before his sock feet padded back into the bathroom. Unfortunately, just then, her suspicions about not being finished proved correct as her mouth, once again, began to water. Thankfully Cherry punch wasn’t nearly as bad coming back up as other flavors were known to be. In less than a second, Geralt was there with a warm hand and a blanket around her shoulders. They didn’t talk much over the next little while as Geralt continued his attempts to soothe Triss’s stomach enough to hold something down. After an hour, Triss finally was able to rest a little, albeit still in quite a bit of pain. But with the toilet no longer an ongoing necessity, the sofa once again became a viable option. Geralt scooped up the blanketed bundle and carried her back into the living room to continue their journey under the sea, complete with cold compress and bendy straw.

By 7:30 Triss hadn’t needed the toilet at all in the last hour, and some of her stomach pain was starting to diminish. However, she was still shivering and achy, and not interested in food. She kept insisting that Geralt had time to meet Yennefer at the gala, that she would be perfectly fine on her own, but Geralt wasn’t convinced. Showing up now would not only put Yennefer in the awkward position of having to save face by not murdering him in cold blood in front of a dozen or more foreign dignitaries, but it would also mean having to face Istrid who, if he wasn’t already, would doubtlessly be very interested to hear Yennefer’s thoughts on a great number of things before the night was over. Geralt didn’t trust himself not to do something he’d regret—or at least that Yennefer would regret.

Another hour in and Triss was starting to perk up: minimal stomach pain, and she was making a decent dent in her Cherry Punch. Geralt decided it was time for a little chicken soup. He made a freezer pizza for himself and cracked a beer while he warmed up a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle, ladelling out all the broth into a mug for Triss so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat more than she could handle. Geralt had only one goal for her tonight: keep everything down. If she could do that, then he had at least been able to do something for her. If not… Geralt tried very hard not to listen to the voice that said, ‘then you’re no use for anyone’ in the back of his mind. Thankfully, Triss finished her broth without concern and he didn’t have to worry about that voice for the time being. Instead, he settled a little deeper into the sofa cushions as Triss resumed a comfortable spot against his shoulder.

After another little while, a miracle happened: Triss started to have fun. That characteristic sparkle came back to her eyes, and the two friends quickly began to actively enjoy their evening. They watched The Fellowship of the Ring and took a drink of beer or Pedialyte every time Frodo had a dramatic closeup, was stabbed, or rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. Geralt microwaved a bag of popcorn, and Triss cautiously had a few oyster crackers as they laughed and caught up. Finally. It may not have been the original vision for what drinks and casual hangs would look like, but it was good. It was nice. Relaxed, and pleasant. Easy. Geralt’s mind wandered as the Fellowship fled the Balrog, and he didn’t notice the little line his thumb was leaving on Triss’s blanket as it traced up and down her shoulder. He also didn’t think twice when she shifted, half-asleep, to lie her head in his lap and his hand moved to the curve of her waist. It wasn’t until he looked down in the direction of soft snoring that he was reminded exactly who was lying in his lap.

His initial thought was, ‘shit,’ as he slowly removed his hand from her waist, not wanting to wake her, but also not knowing what to do. It was suddenly all so intimate, though he didn’t quite know why. As he watched her, peacefully asleep in his lap, he realized he didn’t want to break away. Didn’t want to wake her to adjust to a more ‘appropriate’ orientation. He touched her shoulder again. That was nice. That felt… nice. She stirred, and Geralt wondered if she was comfortable as he brushed a tight ringlet behind her ear. She smiled in semi-consciousness and his heart sang. This was bad. This was very very bad. He reached for the remote and flicked the tv off. It was after midnight, and high time everyone went to bed. Alone.

That was the only option. Right? In theory, no. There was another option, and a significant part of Geralt wanted to go with that one, stay in this soft warm place where everything felt easier… where he felt happy. But a louder part of him knew that wasn’t right, wasn’t fair; that even if he was unhappy—even if Yennefer had spent the night with Istrid (Geralt tried not to think about that). The bottom line was Triss felt well enough that he no longer needed to stay with her to make sure she was alright. That was why he’d come. If he stayed for other reasons, it wouldn’t be fair to anyone. End of discussion.

“Triss,” Geralt murmured, rousing her as gently as he could.

“Hmm?” Her eyes fluttered open to see Geralt staring down at her. She didn’t remember lying down in his lap, but she must have just before she fell asleep. “Did I fall asleep on you?”

Geralt’s eyes crinkled, “Hm. Yeah. You were pretty out of it.”

“Ah, shit, I’m so sorry!”

“You needed the rest. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s passed out on me, and you’re significantly easier to deal with than Lambert.”

Triss bunched her blankets around her shoulders and shivered sleepily, “You should go. Yennefer’s probably waiting for you.”

“Hm. Yeah, probably,” Geralt heaved himself off the sofa as Triss released her hair and gathered her nest to head to the bedroom. Geralt waited until she was bundled in bed. “All set?”

A little smile peeked over the tops of the covers, “Mmmhmm, thanks.”

“Need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Goodnight, Ger.”

“Goodnight, Triss,” Geralt flicked off the light. In the entranceway, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and left, locking the door behind him and putting the key back in its usual hiding place. Enough now. Done. He was determined that whatever he had felt, whatever warm, unexpected thing had bubbled to the surface, would forever exist behind that locked door, frozen in time. A blip. The important thing was nothing was acted on. Not really. At worst, they wandered into a grey area by accident. These things happen. The key now was not to dwell on it, to move forward.

Geralt’s stomach soured as he slid his keycard into the slot of room 622. The lock clicked open as the little light on top flashed green and Geralt turned the handle, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He toggled the dimmer switch next to the door; the lowest setting would give him enough light to get changed without waking up—Yen? The bed was empty, still freshly turned-down, with his pre-approved evening attire laid out as he had suspected. He fucking hated that tie. He put the suit back in the garment bag from whence it came and checked his phone. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. Might still be out. It wasn’t unusual for these events to turn into afterparties which was where most of the juicy information was gathered. He hit speed-dial.

“Hi, Jaskier? It’s—yeah, hi. Listen. Are things still going over there? I just—hm? Yeah, she’s doing okay now. Took awhile for me to get anything in her, but no hospital visit so… yeah, she finally got to sleep just as I was heading out, made sure she was hydrated and had a little something… I’m sure she’d appreciate that… Actually, that’s why I’m calling, I just got back and she’s not in, I was wondering if you knew where she…When?…Okay…No, archeology… Mmm no, they’re very different fields. Nevermind, thanks, Jas…Yeah, no it’s, um, I just wanted to make sure that she was okay. Didn’t want to bug her in case she was in the middle of—something. Yeah… Well don’t let me interrupt that. Okay, all the best. Go get ‘em tiger. ‘Night.”

Geralt tossed his phone on the bed and flopped heavily on top of the duvet and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Goddamnit, Yen.”

__________________

@the-space-between-heartbeats

@just-a-sad-donut

@oxenfurt-archives

@thirstyforred

@titaniafire

@belalugosisdead

@lonelygayz

@awkward-turtles-world

@iloveyouyen

@criminaly-supernatural

@friendlybelladonna

@enkelikauneus

#geralt x triss #witcher au #Modern AU Witcher #Takin' care of Triss-ness #morethangeraskier #rarepairs #off-canon #tw partner abuse #tw2 #tw3 wild hunt

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ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

Text

Eidolon 16 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Chapter warnings: Hospitals, mentions of abduction

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr

16. Information

"So, do you believe him? And, since when is a ghost a 'he'?" Tucker asked Sam as he lounged on the plush carpeting in her room after she told him of her ghostly encounter the previous night.

Sam sighed as she tried to put her thoughts together. She had called the boy as soon as she had gotten home from the cemetery to inform him of what happened. It had been too late for him to come over at the time, but it didn't stop her from demanding him to come over as soon as he woke up.

"I really don't know," she finally admitted. "He didn't seem like he wanted to hurt me and even offered to help me up after I fell. And, he really did just seem like an oddly dressed boy who happened to be glowing." Unsure how to continue, she stood up from her spot near Tucker to retrieve a picture from the dresser. She had taken it the day prior to Danny going missing, and it was the only picture she had with him in it.

Bring the picture back over to her seat, she showed it to Tucker. "This ghost did look incredibly like Danny, save for the difference in hair and eye color. Tucker… I don't want to believe it, but he seemed too familiar with me. He even knew about the day we found that old picture. It… it really did seem like he was Danny…"

Tucker was silent as he examined the picture. "I wasn't there, so I'm not able to draw any conclusions. But, this ghost did give you something, right? If this is a clue as to what's going on, we might as well use it. Have you glanced at it yet?"

Sam bit her lip as she once again rose, only this time it was to retrieve the book and the old picture they had found. "To be honest," she stated as she placed it on the floor, "I haven't been too keen on opening it. The phantom from last night gave a rather vague warning about its contents." Even if he hadn't warned her about it, she probably wouldn't have opened until Tucker came anyways. Something about the very appearance of it was unnerving.

"Wait, the master of all dark and creepy is having second thoughts about a simple book? This has got to be a first!"

"Tucker, will you be serious for once in your life!" A faint blush crossed her cheeks as she pushed her friend over. She hated admitting when something bothered her which Tucker knew. He loved calling her out on it when he could which did little more than agitating her more. "The thing's written on animal leather for crying out loud! How else am I supposed to act?"

"Alright, alright!" Tucker just raised his hands as an attempt at an apology. "I get it. If it makes you feel better, I'll handle turning the pages as we look at it."

…..

Sam just couldn't believe what she was reading. The book… no, it was much too disturbing to actually be called a book; grimoire might be a better designation. The writings contained within it were a strange combination of mystic writing, images, and stories. Though it might seem like a bunch of nonsense to someone just hearing about it, the tome itself was rather grotesques with its depictions. Parts of the text had become too faded to read, but what could be gathered was disturbing enough.

The main part of the tome spoke of a family which who had incurred the wrath of the spirits. A curse had been laid upon them in punishment for their deeds. The best Sam could gather (and Tucker would look into it more later), the curse would cause the family to produce a son who would be trapped between the spirit and material realms. This son would use his accursed powers to bring about the end of the world. The other writings either went into more details about his appearance or abilities or suggested spells to summon spirits which could be used to assist in darker deeds.

Placing the book as far away from her as she could, Sam just wrapped her arms around herself as she tried to digest the disturbing information. The ghost had told her it would give them an idea of what Vlad was planning, and if Vlad was really using the book as a guide than he must be planning to use the boy the book described. Did that mean he was still looking for the boy? Or did he actually have him? Wait… it couldn't be!

"Does… does that mean Danny's the boy this thing described…?" Sam exclaimed in a hushed voice.

Tucker looked at her sharply causing her to look away. She hadn't meant to speak out loud. "It would explain a lot," he said in a dry voice. "I mean, we knew the day he saved us he was something other than human."

She nodded as she allowed herself to recall the memory. Nothing about what happened had made sense at the time. Danny had managed to fight off the ghost who was threatening them and somehow transport them back to her house. His appearance had also changed some as his power over took him. A gasp escaped her as she recalled his appearance. "Tucker…! That night, Danny's hair had become white and his eyes were green, just like the ghost from last night! But, how! Danny saved us! He's not evil! There's just no way he could be!"

"Sam, just calm down! You're jumping to conclusions here!" After waiting a moment to see if she would have another outburst, he continued to speak. "I'm going to do a little more digging, but I think we can safely assume Vlad seems to think he can get a hold of the person… ghost… thing described in this book. As for Danny… it's difficult to say for sure. We know he is something other than human, but it doesn't mean he's the same." He paused again as he tried to adopt a comforting expression. "Besides, if that picture you found is anything to go by, Danny doesn't look a thing like him."

It took her a moment to understand his last sentence, but she couldn't help but chuckle when it came to her. It was true; Danny didn't look a thing like the terrifying image they had found. Even if the ghost she had encountered was Danny, he was still just as scrawny as ever. The depicted creature was bulky and flaming. The boy's hair may have turned white, but it certainly wasn't on fire. "Well, at least it's better than having nothing," she told her friend."But, now what? We're back at square one."

"Not necessarily," Tucker countered causing her to stare at him. "At least we now have a place to start looking. We might not know why exactly Vlad took Danny or what Danny really is, but we know what he wants. I'm going to head home and starting poking around. I'm also going to try to see if I can hack Masters' estate again. I'll call you later tonight to let you know what I found."

"Sure…." Confusion was noticeable in her tone. It was rare to see Tucker so determined to do something which didn't directly involve his technology. It just went to prove how worried he was about Danny.

The boy quickly picked himself up and moved towards the door. Before he went through it, he glanced back at her with a serious expression. "I'd hide that book if I were you. That ghost apparently went through a lot to try and get it to you. If it really is Vlad's, I'd hate to see what happens when he finds out it's missing."

"I hadn't thought about that," she admitted as she hastily closed the book and stood. The two friends then said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Tucker headed towards the front door of the large estate while Sam sat on her bed and wracked her brain for ideas of where to hide the tome in her hands. She had to make sure she would be able to locate it again, but no one else, especially her parents or Vlad would be able to find it. She stood as an idea came to her. She would just ask her grandmother. The woman had a knack for hiding items her son and daughter-in-law could never find, so she was perfect to ask.

After carefully placing the grimoire under her bed, she quickly went to go find the old woman. Even though she had an idea where to find her, there was always the chance she was not there. Though her grandmother was confined to a wheelchair, it did not stop her from managing to find her way to places which were supposedly off limits to her. It always infuriated Sam's parents, which was probably the main goal.

xxx

Everything was fuzzy as he opened his eyes. After blinking a few times, an unfamiliar white ceiling came into focus. Confused, Winston glanced around to his side, noticing his body felt stiff as if he had remained still for far too long. The room he was in was not one he had ever seen before, but judging by the lack of decorations and the faint hint of antiseptic in the air indicated he was probably in some sort of hospital.

Why exactly was he here? Why wasn't he at home?

Knowing he would not get any answers by continuing to lie still, he tried to sit up. It was going well until he noticed a strange pulling sensation on different parts of his body. Concerned, he looked down at his body to find various tubing in his arms. That was bad enough, but pristine bandages were notable on his arms and the small bit of his torso he could actually see. Whatever happened to him must have been horrendous. At least there wasn't a tube sticking out of his throat; that would be overkill.

At least it now made sense why he was in the hospital; now he just had to figure out what caused all of it. He leaned back as he tried to recall what happened before everything went black. Flashes of colors and sounds quickly came and went without much definition. Did this mean he was going to have to recover more before he would be able to properly recall it? He hoped it wasn't the case. He was a military man who prided himself on recalling details.

His frustrations were put aside as a shriek penetrated the silence of the room. The next thing he knew at least ten different medical personnel were surrounding his bed and staring at him. What started next was a barrage of questions and tests which took up the next several hours of his time.

…

While the tests had been frustrating, at least he had a better understanding of his condition. He had been found with numerous severe injuries on his body in his home. When he was brought in, he was in critical condition, and the staff was honest enough to admit they were very surprised he was recovering. Most of them did not believe he survive the first few nights. His body was covered in odd burns and one of his lungs had been punctured. In truth, the staff couldn't really explain what had caused the injuries. All they knew is what the police had told them: he had been attacked by an unknown person using an unknown weapon one night several weeks ago.

Knowing they would not be able to help him piece together what exactly happened, he changed tactics and asked them about Danny. Any person he asked would just give him a strange look and tell him someone would be in to discuss what he had missed later. It was unnerving. If this continued, he was going to have to corner someone. Danny was his ward, and if something happened to the boy, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

Several more hours would pass before he received any answers, and those answers came by means of a stern-faced police officer. After introducing himself and assuring the hovering medical staff he just wanted to ask some routine questions, he sat down near the bed and tried to explain what the police force knew about his attacker. Irritated, Winston interrupted the man and demanded to know Danny's location.

The officer took a deep breath before he spoke again. "The day you were brought in, we took Daniel down to the station to question him."

"You what?" Winston demanded, wincing from the strain placed upon his damaged throat. While he was in surgery, the doctors had placed a breathing tube in his neck. Sure procedures usually did damage, but it would be a while before he knew how bad it really was. "Danny wasn't even home when I was attacked! He was at his friend's house!"

"I understand that. It is standard procedure to question family members after an attack for any information which may help us."

Winston relaxed slightly at the explanation, but he narrowed his eyes. "There's something else you're not telling me."

"You're very astute," the officer complimented with a slight nod. "Though I hate to admit this, your ward went missing shortly after we released him from questioning. From what we can tell, the last place anyone had seen him was in the police station. We have records of him making a phone call to one of his friends… and the trail goes cold from there."

"Danny's missing? How could you let him go like that?" Anger coursed through him as he tried to rise out of bed, which immediately alerted the medical staff. Several of them ran in and tried to restrain him as he continued to yell at the officer.

"Sir, my department takes full responsibility for what happened. We keep trying to find some sign of him, but there is very little evidence to go by. It's almost as if he just vanished from the station!"

Winston stopped struggling as the officer's words sparked something within him. Images flooded back of the strange creature who could disguise himself as a man who appeared to him that night. It was Vlad! He had attacked him so he could get to Danny!

His eyes widened as another thought came to him. If he had been asleep for as long as they said, then the boy's birthday had already passed. Did that mean the little boy he had raised had turned into the foreseen monster? If it was true, than he had failed in his duty both to the boy and to his missing parents. How could he have allowed this to happen?

The medical staff realized he had finally calmed down, but there was talk of them retrieving a sedative. After warning the doctors to leave him alone until he finished talking to the officer, he looked the uniformed man directly in the eyes and told him what he remembered about when he was attacked. He left out the paranormal parts, as what rational man would ever believe such words unless he had seen it for himself.

The officer sat in a stunned silence after Winston finished his story. "That's quite an accusation," he eventually stated after he jotted something down in the notebook he was using. "Are you positive it was Masters who attacked you?"

Winston nodded vehemently. "He's a difficult man to mistake. About a month before all this occurred, his company started contacting me about Danny's situation. Some of his adoption papers had gone missing… and Vlad had tried to gain custody of the boy when his parents first disappeared, so it seemed like he was trying again. Danny had even mentioned he had found the man standing in our kitchen when he returned home with his friends the one day."

A frown crossed the other man's face as he made another note. "Daniel's friends had also mentioned something about that, but we had just set it aside. But, I don't think we can ignore that anymore." The officer asked a few more routine questions before he excused himself after promising he would return at a later time.

…..

A day or so later, he wasn't exactly sure due to the disorienting nature of hospitals, he received some unexpected visitors. When the nurse told him about them, he immediately assumed they were just more police officers and quickly agreed to have them come into the room. He was immensely surprised to see two teenagers, one boy and one girl, approach his bed. He recognized them at once; they were Danny's friends.

"How are you doing?" Sam asked gently as a form of a greeting as they approached the bed.

"It looks like I'll live," he replied in a semi-cheerful tone. "So, what have the two of you been up to?"

The two teens gave each other a look. It was almost as if they were having a silent discussion on how much they should say. "Well, we're doing our best to try and figure out what happened to Danny," Tucker told him as a serious look crossed his face. "We think Vlad Masters had something to do with it."

"I'd say so." Winston's dark tone received two startled looks. "I guess you weren't expecting me to agree with you. Vlad… or should I say Plasmius… has been trying to get his hands on Danny for years. After attacking me, it must have been smooth sailing for him to grab Danny."

A surprised silence filled the air before Tucker spoke again. "Wait… Vlad was the one who attacked you? But how…?"

Winston smiled despite of himself. Though Danny's friends were still children, they did appear to have a genuine concern for him. After debating how much he would say to them for a moment, he decided to tell them the whole story of attack, including Vlad's duel nature. It was possible they would think he was insane, but something told him they had already gotten a taste of the supernatural. How couldn't they? They were friends with Danny.

….

"Wait, so Vlad's this super powerful, crazy, half-ghost villain? How did I miss this? He has all the signs seen in the comics too," Tucker muttered to himself as he accepted the information. "Wait a minute! Sam, doesn't his description sound kind of familiar?"

"Now that you mention it… Vlad's 'ghost form' does seem similar to what Danny and I saw in the cemetery that one day." The goth girl's expression had gone rather contemplative. "But if that was really him, why didn't he just take Danny? I mean, he… it… whatever it was could easily have just taken him."

"Your guess is as good as mine. I won't even pretend I understand how that man's mind works," Winston admitted. "He's been planning this for years, so I assume he wanted to take Danny when the situation was perfect. He really doesn't seem to like witnesses. But, that's just an assumption on my part."

"Um… Mr. Wolfe, sir... this has been bothering me for a while, but why does he want Danny anyways?" Tucker hesitantly asked.

It took a moment for him to answer. "You've probably noticed that there was something different about Danny. Now, I'm not exactly sure how much you know or saw, but Danny's situation isn't much different than Vlad's… well, at least that's what I was told."

"I'm not exactly sure what you mean… but if it helps, we did read the creepy old book a ghost gave me the other night," Sam supplied.

Winston gave her a searching look. Did she mean what he thought she meant? "What book?"

"The ghost said it would help us figure out what Vlad was planning."

The man ran his fingers through his hair as he gave a wary glace towards the teens. "Then you read the story of the monster." Without even waiting for an affirmative, he continued to speak. "Everything points to Danny becoming the thing depicted there. His parents… they somehow knew he would be cursed and did their best to research a way to prevent it… which clearly failed."

"Whoa! Back up! You're telling us that Danny's parents knew what he was… or is…?" The boy's concern was understandable. Winston felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. It must be hard to accept such a story, especially when it involves a friend.

Winston nodded. "Something tells me you had your own share of odd experiences around Danny." He released as sigh as he leaned back against his pillow. "We need to exchange information, but that's going to have to wait. Knowing the doctor's here, they're not going to allow much more time for us to talk."

"But…!"

He held up his hand as a way to silence the two teens. "Trust me, I'm just as worried about Danny, but there isn't much I can do about my current situation right now."

There was a little more argument between the three before a handful of doctors and a rather angry nurse burst into the room. As the nurse scolded him for getting so riled, the teens excused themselves and promised they'd be back at a later date. They needed to exchange information, but there was no way anything would be able to get anything done until the doctors were convinced he wasn't going to fall over dead at any moment.

A sigh escaped him as he started to tune out the doctors' murmuring. He needed to help rescue Danny from Vlad, but how was he going to do that? He was rather incapacitated at the moment. On top of that, Danny was probably already going through changes. Who was to say he would still be the same person when they finally got to him? It was a terrifying thought. If the boy did become that monster, than it would probably become his responsibility to stop him.

If that possibility became fact, would he really be able to handle it? At that point in time, he didn't have an answer, and there was the distinct possibility he probably never would.

===

Notes: A grimoire is traditionally just a book of spells or immense knowledge which can either be directed towards good or evil. There are many legends about them, but my mind has decided to turn towards the darker side. Some were said to contain so much evil they had a life of their own and could devour the memories or lives of their owners.

And, the reference of the damage of the breathing tube is a real thing. When a person is having severe trouble breathing or during certain intense surgeries, a breathing tube will be surgically placed in the throat by making an opening in the neck. Since that's the area of the vocal cords, it has a bad habit of causing damage to them. A person's voice can be altered by such surgery.

I'm also a day late with updating because of sleep deprivation.

#Eidolon #danny phantom #danny phantom au #dp #dp au #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #vlad plasmius #au #alternative universe #fantasy #supernatural #paranormal

17 notes · View notes

skylights2000 · 3 years

Text

Blush (Kazuichi x Fem! Reader) Part 1

This is my first story with a Female Reader, but if you guys don’t like it that way, I can rework it to make the reader Genderneutral. Let me know what you think 💜

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Kazuichi had only agreed to this stupid ritual because Sonia asked him, and Miu said she’d drag him here herself if he didn’t show up.

He’d gone through the motions, trying his best not to panic, but that all went out the window when the lights above their heads burst, showering, Miu, Sonia, Gundham, and him with sparks.

He stood there, frozen in horror, as smoke swirled from the center of the salt circle they’d made. A figure slowly appeared as the mist began to vanish. The lights flickered back on, and standing in the middle of the circle was what appeared to be a woman.

She was wearing a dark purple t-shirt and black jeans. She would look like a regular person if it weren’t for the dark spirals that curled up her arms, and the pair of curled, dark purple horns that protruded from her head.

She looked around the room before her eyes settled on him. She moved silently and at a speed his eyes couldn’t keep up with. In a heartbeat, she was standing at the edge of the salt circle, her dark purple eyes boring into his.

He jumped, stumbling backwards. She held out her hand, frowning when her hand met the barrier created by the salt circle.

“Mm, that’s unfortunate.” Her voice was soft, slightly deeper than most women he’d met.

She hooked her thumbs through her belt loops and turned to face Sonia and Gundham. “You called?”Gundham nodded calmly. “We wish for you to imbue this mechanical being with a living soul.”

She moved back to the center of the circle where Kiibo laid. She crouched down beside him, inspecting it quietly.

“No.”

“What?!” Miu screeched. “You have to! Please!”

She turned to Miu with an exasperated frown. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I can’t.”

“How is that possible? Your power is quite immense from what I can tell.” Gundham asked curiously.

“Even with my power, giving this robot a living spirit would take too much of my energy. I’d be completely immobilized. If I went back to my world in that condition” She scowled darkly. “I’d be ripped to shreds.”

“Then stay here until you’re strong enough to go back!” Miu countered fiercely.

The demon ran a hand through her hair, frustration written across her face. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?!”

“I’m a demon. My energy doesn’t replenish on its own. I gain energy from others through physical touch.” She explained.

“Then touch one of us!”

“No!” She snapped, finally losing her cool. “Taking that much energy from a human at one time would kill them!”

Miu finally went silent as she processed the words. “Then can’t you take someone’s energy a little at a time?”

“I can in theory, but it’s hard to find a human that’s willing to agree to something like that.”

“Take Kazuichi!” Miu offered, ignoring Kazuichi’s sputtered protests.

The demon glanced at him, a ghost of a smile dancing at the corners of her lips. “As tempting as that is, I don’t think you should be volunteering your friend without asking him.”

Every head turned to Kazuichi, and he instantly stiffened under their gazes.

“I..” He looked at Kiibo, the metal robot that he and Miu had painstakingly made by hand. They’d spent months building and improving the robot until it nearly looked like a real person. He glanced to Miu, who was watching him with a painfully hopeful expression.

He swallowed thickly, squared his shoulders, and locked eyes with the demon woman. “I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded stiffly, trying to hide how nervous he actually was. She shot him one last doubtful look before shrugging and turning away from him. He watched in shock as her fingers grew into long, black claws. Just as she was about to dig them into the ground, Sonia spoke up quickly. “Wait!”

The demon paused, head raising to look at Sonia from where she stood. “Yeah?”

“You can’t carve anything on the ground. We don’t own this building.” Sonia explained.

The demon glanced around the room before nodding. “Take me somewhere where I can.”

She leaned forward and picked Kiibo up as if he weighed nothing. It had taken both Kazuichi and Gundham to move Kiibo the few feet to get him in the circle, but she carried him with ease. She stood at the edge of the salt circle, and Sonia kicked some away to make a path for her.

The demon woman nodded gratefully and moved to stand beside Sonia. “Lead the way.”

Gundham led them outside the building and into a grassy area outside. “Put it here.”

She laid Kiibo in the spot Gundham was pointing to and told them to back up. She used her claws to draw a large circle around Kiibo, carving several strange symbols inside as she went.

When she was done, she crouched down next to Kiibo and took one of his smooth, metal hands. The symbols she carved began to glow, softly at first but rising until the light lit up the area around them. He could hear her talking, her voice carried by the wind that swirled around them, whipping his hair into his face. The words were different, spoken confidently in a language he didn’t understand. Her body began to shift, the spirals on her arms began to curl all the way up her neck, framing her face and branching across her cheeks. A pair of large, dark wings protruded from her back, shielding their eyes from the blinding explosion of purple light that followed. The light slowly began to fade until all that was left was a soft glow coming from Kiibo’s chest. Once it faded, Miu rushed forward, cradling Kiibo’s head in her lap.

The demon girl shifted to sit on the ground, using one arm to hold herself up while the other was clenched in the center of her chest. “..He’ll wake up..tomorrow..” She choked out, each word strained and laced with pain.

“Are you okay?” Sonia asked worriedly as she crouched down beside the horned woman.

She nodded stiffly. “Just..took more than..I thought it would..” She glanced back at Miu. “You need..to take him..inside..” At the curious looks she received, she clarified. “A storm..is coming..”

“You can sense the shifting of the weather patterns.” Gundham spoke up, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“Whatever, just help me with this, man.” Kazuichi said.

He and Gundham worked together to carry Kiibo back into the garage while Miu and Sonia worked together to cover the markings in the dirt before returning to her side.

The demon had clambered to her feet, swaying dangerously when she moved. Sonia and Miu rushed forward to catch her, supporting as much of her weight as they could. She was taller than both of them, so it was a bit difficult, but they managed to help her into the building.

By the time they got inside, her wings had vanished and the spirals on her skin had receded back to their original place. They helped her over to a bench nearby, and she sat down, leaning her head against the wall.

Miu glanced over at Kiibo and smiled softly. “Thank you.”

She laughed breathily. “You better enjoy that damn robot. Nearly killed myself for it.”

Miu grinned at her excitedly. “Hell yeah, I’ll enjoy it!” As if to prove her point, she ran over to the robot man and began excitedly tinkering with several things to get him plugged in. She assumed it was so that he could charge.

“Oh my, how rude of me!” The demon glanced at Sonia when she spoke. “My name is Sonia Nevermind.” Sonia held out her hand happily, and when the demon woman hesitated, Sonia took her hand instead. “What’s your name?”

“...Call me (Y/n). That was my human name.”

“You have another name?”

The demon, (Y/n), nodded but didn’t specify what that name actually was.

Sonia squeezed her hand gently. “You can have a bit of my energy.”

(Y/n) turned to her sharply, eyes narrowing skeptically. “You’re sure about that?”

Sonia nodded seriously, and after a second, she felt a spark at her fingertips. When (Y/n) removed her hand from Sonia’s she still didn’t look great, but she no longer looked like she was in pain. “Thank you.”

Sonia smiled sweetly and headed off towards her friends. (Y/n) watched as she tapped the pink haired man on the shoulder. What had they called him, Kazuichi?

(Y/n) watched Sonia’s mouth move, tempted to use her stronger hearing to hear the conversation, but she decided against it. She shouldn’t be eavesdropping.

She really wished she had though when Kazuichi started walking towards her.

He approached her hesitantly, like she would suddenly rip out his heart. She was honestly a bit offended by his reaction, but she supposed she couldn’t blame him.

The portrayal of demons amongst humans, both in writing and in word of mouth, was quite horrendous. Most of the things said about demons were actually wrong.

Many people claimed demons were monstrous beings that were created by and served Lucifer, but that wasn’t entirely true. Every demon was once human, but only the vilest, most horrible demons served under Lucifer.

She was not one of them. She had been born a human, though her father was, indeed, a demon. Her father was a truly wretched demon. Being his daughter had plagued her from the beginning, filling her head with horrible thoughts and desires for destruction.

In the end, it started to become too much to control. The only way to fix it was to perform a ritual that would denounce him as her father. The only problem was that the ritual would kill her.

She’d done it knowing that, and for that, she was to be locked out of heaven for one thousand years as her punishment. She was currently 999 years old. One more year and this hell she’d suffered would be over. She would be allowed into heaven and have any remnants of her father cleansed from her soul forever.

That thought had been enough to keep her going, to keep her hoping.

She was so lost in thought that she didn’t realize Pinky had reached her until he was standing right in front of her.

He pointed at the spirals on her arm that had begun to shift, almost like they were flickering. “What’s goin’ on with those marks?”

“Since I’m only half-demon, it takes a certain amount of energy to keep up my demon form. Soon, I’m gonna have to switch back to my human form.”

“You’re half-human?”

“Yeah. My mom was a human.”

He shuffled awkwardly. “So what now?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Aren’t you like” He waved his hand as if that would answer her question. “feeding off me?”

Her eyebrows drew together. “You say that like I forced you to agree to that.”

“You did!”

She glared at him, not even caring when he flinched. “I didn’t tell you to do shit. In case you’re forgetting, I even asked you a second time if you were sure about it. The second you said ‘yes’, it became your problem. I don’t know about here, but in the demon world, a promise is a binding contract.” She scowled at him, irritation written across her face. “You think I wanted to be here? The only reason I showed up is because I owed the on-call demon a favor. If I knew I’d be knocking on death’s doorstep for the second time, I woulda said no.” She snapped angrily.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, telling herself to calm down. Her father’s spirit came through much worse when she was angry, and that was the last thing she wanted. “Listen, I’m not here to start a fight. Figure out what you wanna do. Until then, leave me alone.” With that, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

She wished she was still human. If she was, maybe no one would look at her with such disgust. She was tired of the fear in people’s eyes when they saw her.

‘Just one more year, kid’ She told herself.

Just one more year.

#danganronpa goodbye despair #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa #multi chapter #kazuichi imagine #kazuichi x reader #kazuichi souda #miu iruma #kiibo #gundham tanaka #sonia nevermind

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