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charlies-gillespie · 3 years

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a quiet wedding | charlie gillespie

paring: fem!reader x charlie gillespie

summary: Charlie and reader get quietly married in an intimate ceremony with only their family and closest friends

requested: no

length: shorter

rating: PG

warnings: a few emotional moments (& very fluffy), a sexual joke or two

!! MY GIF - give creds if used !!

MASTERLIST

author’s note: prompts list is coming at noon est today. i got it done earlier than friday so it’s going up today

another author’s note: “je t’aime” means “i love you” in french. “je t’adore” means “i adore you” in french

It happened so quickly. From the day you got engaged to Charlie until today took about three months. It happened quickly but you know that you want to spend the rest of your life with Charlie. You wouldn’t have said yes to his proposal if you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life with Charlie.

The fans know of your relationship with Charlie, even though you both have kept your relationship mostly out of the public eye. After a slip up or two from you both, fans caught on so you both confirmed your relationship to stop the speculation. Neither of you said anything about the engagement or about your pending wedding. You wear the engagement ring on your necklace while in public and on your finger when alone with Charlie or your friends or your family.

It’s not that you don’t want the fans to know, but you’re both 22-years-old and really young. There’s nothing wrong with getting married young but there are a lot of people with harsh opinions out there, and you’ve always been sensitive to harsh comments even though you’re an actress and singer.

So, you and Charlie decided to get married in the backyard of your childhood home, away from any prying eyes. Your parents still live there and the backyard has a beautiful view of the mountain range since your parents live very close to the Pocono Mountains in Pennsylvania. The house is pretty big since your parents both make good money as doctors.

You get ready in your childhood bedroom. Your bridesmaids, who consist of Savannah and your sister, both stand in lilac colored gowns as Savannah curls your hair. She puts little white flowers throughout the curls to decorate the style a bit.

Your sister works on your makeup and you try to keep yourself composed. You’re marrying the love of your life today after a three month engagement but a four year relationship. You’ve waited so long for this day and it’s finally here. You can’t wait to say ‘I do’ to Charlie in a few moments.

“Okay,” Savannah says. “Hair is done.”

Your sister closes her eyeshadow palette and says, “And so is makeup. We’re ready for the dress.”

Curious, you open your eyes and look in the mirror. You smile at the sight. Your sister did a silver smokey eye look with a nude lip color. Your curls are loose with the little white flowers scattered throughout.

There’s a knock on the door as your sister lays the dress across your bed. Savannah goes and answers the door. “Mrs. L/N,” she says. “Come on in. We were about to put the dress on.”

You turn in your seat to see your mother in a light pink dress that ends at her knees. She wears a black belt around her waist and black heels. She smiles and when she smiles, you see yourself. You and your mother are practically twins. She holds a veil with a tiara on it.

“Wow,” your mother gasps. “You look so beautiful, darling.”

Your eyes are still on the veil with the tiara in her hands. “What’s that?” you ask.

She looks down and says, “Your something blue, something old, and something borrowed. There’s a little blue gem on the tiara. This veil was your grandmothers, mine, and now yours.”

Savannah takes the tiara from your mother, putting it in your hair and securing it with a bobby pin or two. “I love it,” you announce. “It’s beautiful.”

The girls in your room all smile at you. Your sister unzips the bag with the dress and says, “Okay. We have about twenty minutes before the ceremony begins so let’s go.”

The dress you bought is a white strapless mermaid style satin wedding dress, which means it hugs your body until it flares out at your knees. The fabric from your knees up is ruched, which makes it look bunched up in a way. A diamond belt sits on your waist to sparkle the dress up a bit.

You watch in the mirror as your sister works at tying up the dress behind you. The dress hugs your figure and shows off your curves.

“Look at you,” your mother says. “Charlie is a very lucky man.” You can hear your mother choking back a few tears.

With a little laugh, you say, “Please don’t cry because then I’ll cry.”

Your sister chimes in and says, “Please don’t ruin my masterpiece. I worked hard on that.”

All four of you in the room laugh when there’s another knock on your door. Your sister opens it. You look and see Owen in the doorway. “Everything’s ready when you are, Y/N. By the way, you look very pretty.”

“Thank you, Owen,” you say, smiling. “We’ll be down in a moment.” He nods and closes the door.

It’s a very small wedding. Your parents, older sister, older brothers, blood aunts, uncles, first cousins, grandparents, and their plus ones on your side. Charlie’s parents, younger sister, older brothers, blood aunts, uncles, first cousins, grandparents, and their plus ones on his side. Plus Owen, Jeremy, Savannah, Cheyenne, Booboo, Madison, Sacha, and several other cast members from Julie and the Phantoms that you and Charlie consider yourself close with were invited, plus their plus ones. There’s maybe fifty or so people here. Compared to the probably two hundred or so that would have come if you invited every single family member and friend the two of you have.

With a sigh, you leave the room with your mother, Sav, and your sister. You wait in the dining room. Owen, Jeremy, and your father wait in there already. You look out the window to see everyone making conversation in the backyard in their seats. The white arch decorated with flowers looks nice with the mountains as a backdrop. You can see Charlie speaking with the ordained minister that is officiating the wedding under the arch as he waits for you.

Your mother hugs you and says, “You look stunning, Y/N. This is your day. Enjoy it.”

“Thank you, momma,” you say, holding back tears of your own now. Your mom pulls back from the hug and kisses your nose. You smile and she walks away.

Jeremy pairs up with your sister and Owen pairs up with Savannah. Your father walks over with your bouquet of white and lilac roses. “You ready, Y/N?” You nod and look up at your father. He looks very nice in his suit and his hair neatly combed back.

The pairs begin to walk out and conversation dies down. Madison plays the piano because you asked and you thought it would make the day more special if she played you down the aisle.

Your father hooks his left arm with your right arm and begins to walk down the “aisle”. The aisle is a space between the two sections of seats decorated with white roses.

As you walk, your eyes are on Charlie. He has a big smile on his face as he watches you. His hair is in his naturally wavy state and he’s clean shaven. He looks handsome in his suit and tie with a little bouquet of white flowers pinned to his jacket. You can see his big eyes full of happy tears, which spill onto his cheeks even though he tries to hold them back.

When you get to the arch, your father hands you away to Charlie. Mads stops playing when you’re both under the arch and you hand your bouquet back to your sister.

The minister begins, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to celebrate the love of these two people. If there is some reason to why these two should not be wed, speak up now or forever hold your peace.”

Your eyes don’t leave Charlie’s as no one objects. The minister continues, “If the bride and groom have any vows, they can speak now.”

“I have a few things I’d like to say,” you say, smiling at Charlie. The minister nods and you continue speaking. “Charlie, we met five years ago. We were there for each other before either of us found real fame. I promised you when we started dating that I would be there for you after either of us found real fame. This is me renewing that promise. I promise to love you, to trust you, to be with you forever no matter what. I promise to support any role that you take, or don’t take. I promise to be there for you when you get frustrated at anything, and I promise to love you through your worst days.”

Charlie sniffles a bit and the crowd “awes”. Your fiancé smiles and says, “I don’t know how to top that but here we go. Y/N, je t'aime. Je t’adore. There are so many ways to tell you that I love you and that I adore you in every way possible, but there are not enough ways to tell you that I love and adore you. We met five years ago and I knew then that I’d be standing here with you. I knew that you were the woman I was going to marry one day. We’ve been together for four years now, and I have never taken any day out of the past four years for granted. We’ve created so many memories together. We’ve recently been creating music together. I’m going to be super cheesy when I say it but I’m going to say it anyway. No music is worth making, Y/N, if I’m not making it with you. No memory is worth making, Y/N, if I’m not making it with you. No regrets. Je t’aime, I love you.”

You were able to hold it together until Charlie pulled out the “no music is worth making” line. You loved that line when he said it in the show, and he just pulled it out as he said his vows. You grow antsy, wanting to kiss him already.

The minister says, “Okay, the rings.” Owen pulls them out of his suit pocket. Of course Charlie had to give Owen the rings.

“Repeat after me, Y/N,” the minister says. You nod. “I, Y/N L/N, take thee Charles Gillespie to be my lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, til death do us part.”

With a smile on your face, you say, “I, Y/N L/N, take thee Charles Gillespie to be my lawfully wedded husband in sickness and in health, til death do us part.”

You slide Charlie’s silver band onto his left ring finger. The minister says, “Your turn, Charlie. Repeat after me. I, Charles Gillespie, take thee Y/N L/N to be my lawfully wedded wife in sickness and in health, til death do us part.”

Charlie states into your eyes and repeats, “I, Charles Gillespie, take thee Y/N L/N to be my lawfully wedded wife in sickness and in health, til death do us part.”

He slides your silver band onto your left ring finger. Your engagement ring is on your right ring finger.

The minister says, “With the power invested in me by the state of Pennsylvania, I pronounce you husband and wife. Charlie, you may kiss your bride.”

Charlie doesn’t hesitate after that. He cups your face in his hands and pulls your lips to his. The crowd cheers as you seal the wedding with a kiss.

***

The backyard is quickly turned into a reception area with a tent and everything. You don’t ever leave Charlie’s side the whole night.

You have your first dance with Charlie as a married couple, dancing to Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran. This was the song you both first danced to when you started dating so to come full circle, you made it your wedding song.

Your head is on his chest as he holds you in his arms. He looks down at you and says, “You look absolutely gorgeous, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve told you that enough times tonight.”

“Just because you can be cheesy, don’t mean you always should be,” you say, looking up at your new husband.

Charlie says, “Well, then to make it less cheesy, I think you look beautiful but you’ll look even more beautiful when that dress is on the floor and you’re underneath me naked.”

You playfully hit his shoulder and say, “Charles Gillespie. Now is not the time for sexual jokes.”

He smirks and says, “You married me. You’ll be hearing them all the time now.”

With a laugh from you both, you lean up and press a light kiss to Charlie’s lips. Both of you share these types of kisses all through the night, until you’re alone in your hotel room in Paris for your two-week long honeymoon.

#charlie gillespie imagines #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie x oc #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie x y/n #julie and the phantoms imagines #jatp imagines #jatp imagine #fluff imagines #wedding imagines #wedding imagine #imagines #imagine #fluff #requests are open

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theonesthatiworship · 3 years

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A Quiet Love

You can find the ao3 version of this fanfic here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33703750

A/N: Yeah idk. I was just in an angsty mood today, and listened to a bunch of Marina & the Diamonds songs. Go check out this playlist for Marina songs to listen to while reading this: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIg5s3ZyD0q2AFig6b7d7AnkkHKxl1zzZ

If you can guess which Marina song on the playlist I wrote this to fit the theme of, I'll write a fanfic based on the rarry prompts you give me :)

Trigger warning: child abuse, very fucked up self esteem and mindset

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Ours is a quiet love, by the dark shade of midnight.

I have nothing else to think of during these moments, except of mirrored luminescence in the lake, sombre dark of midnight, and red hair a colourful contrast to my mourning.

You were an oddity, a refreshment to the long periods of dark in my life.

You, with your broken toys, hand-me-down clothing, large family, and even larger heart.

When your mother caught us by your pond behind the wooden swings, I remember her look of understanding as she silently crept back into the Burrow, leaving us in peace. I don’t think you ever even saw her. I did. I saw everything, every little detail as a child, and I continue to. I see too much.

I sometimes wondered, when I lay awake on silent nights, how my dearest Aunt Petunia would have reacted upon the same sight? She might have killed us both. Not like she hasn’t tried once before, though I suppose that had just been me. Another person, that isn’t your ward, is quite a different story. Perhaps she would have kicked us out? I don’t wish to know.

Uncle Vernon is less intelligent. He would have shot us with his rifle, only the latest model of course, on sight. The damn fags, I can hear him mutter. I almost feel fond when I imagine it. Family is family after all, I suppose. Though I suspect that my family has never even remotely thought of me with fondness in return.

Maybe they miss their slave, and Dudley his punching bag. Better than nothing.

You complain of how you feel overlooked by your family, how your achievements are nothing in the face of accomplished men as your eldest brothers. I would die to feel as you do, dearest Ronald. Your biggest problem in life is the dreaded middle child syndrome. It is remarkable.

You do not feel nearly as cold as I do, and it deeply shows in your actions. You do not hesitate when you show me affection, whether it be a kiss or a beautifully written love letter. Though you would hate to admit it, I know you are a romantic at heart.

I feel terribly jealous when I see this. You don’t even hesitate on things I will always be left questioning. You have never stopped providing your love, your boundless affection, to those that you care for.

I am a quite different person, my love. I know you feel unloved by me, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I do not show affection as freely as you, that is true. But I hope you can see love in my eyes when we walk together by the lake at dark midnight.

You are an open, honest person. You do not like secrets. To you, our love should be just as open, as free to the world as you are. You dislike a quiet love.

To me, love is as silent as a spring breeze, and as deeply contemplative as dark winter nights. Love does not need exaggeration or overt publicity. Love is just the primal connection between two people, the bond that holds life together, that can be found within the eyes of another person. No need for words or declaration. Seeing is enough.

You are different, and I respect that. You need open declarations of love, exaggerated gestures, and constant validation from your partner. Sometimes, I cannot give you that.

No one has ever loved me. Baggy Harry Potter, with the broken glasses and too-thin frame and horrible hair. I am far from beautiful. What am I, compared to people like Fleur Delacour? No one has ever liked me during my childhood, not even teachers, and I don’t think they would have even without Dudley’s influence.

You were different. You were new, special. You were the only person that had ever been kind to me. The most important person in my life, my everything. I am not foolish enough to believe that I mean just as much to you. It is not your fault. How can someone, surrounded by love and constant affection their whole life, to the point where they take it for granted, feel the ways I feel for you? The only person who cared. It will always be different.

As you have grown up, you have become a magnificent man. Smart, brave, and accomplished. Just as you always desired. You have matured in other ways as well, and quite handsomely I will say. When girls never paid any attention to you before, when you were lanky and freckly and just unremarkable Ron Weasley, they are practically throwing themselves at you now. You have not noticed yet, but someday you will. People do not remain oblivious forever.

I desperately hope, the day that you understand your own self-worth, that you do not throw me away in favour of other, better suitors, such as Lavender Brown. Maybe it’s selfish that I worry so, but I am not ashamed to admit that I am terrified of this happening.

The day might come closer than I anticipate. You have been asking me, every day, to make our love public, for strangers to gawk at us and form their own perverted, invasive conclusions about our relationship. I refuse. I hate attention, but you thrive on it.

Someday, you will get tired. Tired of ugly Harry Potter, with the broken soul and the broken heart. Someday, you will look for greener pastures, for better love that I cannot give you.

I try. I try so hard. It’s not enough, it has never been enough. Why am I never enough? Soon your need for an open love will eventually cloud over any fondness you might have for me, and we will be parted.

I will take the love I can get now. Perhaps it was foolish to believe that things could ever be different from when I was a child. No matter what, I will always be broken Harry Potter, unloved and unwanted by even his own family. No one has ever even remotely liked me. What made you any different? Soon you will realise the same as these people, and leave me as well. I just wish you didn’t pretend to love me first.

When you hold me, I know it is borrowed time that I keep you. The thought of you embracing another lover the way you did me tortures me inside, though I know that it will soon become reality instead of fantasy. That day will be several times more unbearable.

Though I suppose that it is selfish to want to keep you. You have a free heart, free desires, and open love. I can only restrict you, my love. The endless midnight walks will come to an end, the silent musings as we held each other will be no longer, and I fear that I will break that day.

But you deserve better, and what am I in the end? What do my desires matter? I am just the child soldier, meant to fight and die in battle. You deserve more. In the grand scheme of things, I do not matter. I never have, and I never will.

You do matter. You matter more than you think you do, and you will grow to be a wonderful man. And when you live your fantastical life, I will be nothing more than a memory. A dark, gloomy memory. Nothing more, nothing less. I just ask, that maybe, once a year, you spend a second to remember me with a bit of fondness. All I ask. I hope it isn’t much.

It is the day before the final battle, the day that will determine the times to come. I promise you, I will try my best to defeat Voldemort. If only for the sake of your future. I am no fool. I know I will die. But I hope, before I go, that I at least do some good for this world.

I suppose this is goodbye, my love, and I have little else to say. I will only think of our happier times, and hope that is enough.

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giftofwonder · 4 years

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The Tomb (Dabi x f!Reader) - Part Two

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all of the love and support! If you’d like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

WARNINGS: Slightly NSFW, Contains mentions of nudity, abuse, and brief foreplay.

TAGLIST: @mikasackrmann @missalicebaskerville @liitlesushi @bonemarroww @jamaisvusbitch @winchescumberholland @mira-mirach

You both left and walked through the city toward the large bath house. You stopped by small stands to grab fruit and fish for breakfast, and then continued on your way. The stares you had gotten yesterday were gone, but they still lingered on Dabi.

You took in the shift in structures. Where Dabi lived, the houses were smaller and plain. Many of them suffered from a bit of damage, the mud bricks crumbling over time. Now you had entered a much different part of the city. The buildings were large, the bricks of the houses were in much better condition and stained white. The homes had wooden doors instead of just hanging reed mats. You knew if you went inside, you would find beautiful pictures painted along the walls and ceiling in a wide array of colors.

Finally, you reached the bathhouse and entered, and it was absolutely beautiful. High ceilings painted in vibrant colors that put you in mind of a stained glass window, tall limestone pillars, and everything was lined with golden trim. When you imagined paradise, this was what came to mind. It came as no surprise that many people were inside to enjoy the bath.

You knew a lot from this era, the history, but it was still a bit of a culture shock to experience it for yourself first hand. Especially, in this specific case. Men and women were considered equals here, which you loved. Nudity was common and sex was not really a taboo. Really, the only prominent known things were they believed in consent and valued loyalty above all else. Beyond that, there wasn’t much information. Many researchers had offered that because the ancients views were so open, they just never thought it important enough to document. The restrictive world you came from was so different. Sure, some people and places had more open views, but overall there were usually unspoken rules of how to conduct yourself. What is deemed “inappropriate” is a long list.

It really was exciting to be in this time, to see the past and be able to live within it, but your mind was a constant reminder that you were not from here. That this was not your home.

You both undressed, and you tried to hide the shaking of your hands as you did, but Dabi noticed your trembling. He took your hand gently and led you toward the bath. He didn’t look at you, and that made you feel a bit more at ease.

The water felt nice, and you relaxed into it immediately. You smiled, wetting your hair.

Dabi handed you soaps to use, which you graciously accepted. You had regretted not being able to bathe last night, wishing you could have rinsed the sand and dirt from your skin before going to bed. You knew bathing was especially important during this time, the ancients believed the cleaner you were, the closer you were to the Gods.

You kept your body low in the water as you washed your hair and skin, humming in joy at the feeling of being clean once more. You felt warm hands on you and looked over your shoulder. Dabi stood behind you, his eyes trailing across the plains of your back. His hands massaging as they rubbed the lathered soap onto you, his fingers working out knots and kinks from around your shoulders. You figured his actions were meant to give you peace of mind in a situation you were obviously uncomfortable in, but for a brief moment, his touch had you more worried about the downfalls of falling in love with a spirit.

This was something that you could definitely get used to. You were sure that you could sit there forever and not be bothered in the slightest. Your eyes fell shut as you relaxed in his hold, all of your previous tension and discomfort now gone. His hands moved from your shoulders to your neck and down your spine. He kneeled as his hands caressed along your ribs and slid under the water to your stomach. Then they slid further, grabbing along your thighs, and pulling back just enough to grip your hips. He tugged you backwards against him, your back flush to his chest.

Your eyes opened at the feeling. The bathhouse had emptied quite a bit since Dabi had entered, no doubt his presence and their evident discomfort from him being the reason, but there were still people bathing here and there.

“Stop, someone could see!” You hissed out while trying to pull forward to put some distance between you, but his hands kept you in place.

He leaned forward, dipping his mouth to your ear.

“Who cares, let them look.” And then his lips latched just below your ear, and his hand moved between your thighs. The breathy moan you let out at the sudden contact only spurred him on.

Your head leaned to the side and your hand braced on his wrist, ready to pull him away at any moment, but you didn’t.

You had dedicated your life to your work, and in doing so, you had missed out on a lot of the romantic opportunities that many of your friends had gotten to experience. You had boyfriends back in school, sure, but relationships were a sore spot for you as you had made your career your top priority.

You traveled often, you were gone for long stretches of time. Anything more than a quick fling was pretty much off of the table. Being held, being touched like this, it was new. It was nice. You couldn’t find it in yourself to turn him away, because truly you were craving the intimacy that he was offering.

Your breathing was ragged and more moans fell from your lips. Dabi’s teeth and lips brushed across your neck, leaving a trail of heat on your flushed skin behind them.

“Touch me.” He whispered against your skin, and slowly your hand reached behind you to grasp him. He let out a low groan against you as your hand moved on its own accord. Your mind was too lost to pleasure to stop yourself.

Dabi pulled your hand away and removed his fingers from you. He lifted you slightly to guide you over him, but you quickly twisted around and put your hand on his chest to stop him, the action of him shifting you had snapped you back into reality.

“Dabi, wait. Please. I can’t.” You begged softly. Your heart was pounding in your chest. Stopping him was incredibly hard for you as you wanted nothing more than to collapse into his hold. You were lonely and touch starved, and it felt so nice to be wanted, but you knew that if you were to give in to him now, your heart would get involved and it was a risk you weren’t sure you should take.

His hand quit pulling and he gave a slight frown, but reluctantly let go of you. You gave him a small smile and cupped his cheek with your hand, trying to convey your thoughts and feelings in a simple gesture. You weren’t trying to reject him, you knew this was much more common in his time, but for you it was too fast, too unfamiliar. You felt yourself let go so easily with him, and that scared you.

His blue eyes held yours, unwavering, before he suddenly turned his head to run his tongue along your palm. You squeaked and pulled your hand away quickly, smacking the water and splashing you both. You turned your back to him and sank back down into the water, trying to hide your blush as you called him a pervert under your breath. He snorted, obviously satisfied by your reaction. You were thankful for the change in atmosphere.

Dabi seemed like someone who took what he wanted regardless of what stood in his way. His tomb had definitely painted that picture. You were glad he didn’t push you or hold a grudge toward you, and that he had reverted back to playful and teasing. You couldn’t stop the small smile that stretched across your face as you thought of him. He was a mystery that you couldn’t wait to solve.

Not much later, you both finished bathing and left the baths together.

———————————————————————

As you walked through the city, he kept his hand on your lower back to guide you beside him. You carried your worn dress in your arms and wore one of the others that Dabi had brought for you.

You saw children running and playing up ahead and smiled. You leaned into Dabi, head resting against his shoulder. He glanced at you as his hand slid further to rest on your waist and keep you beside him.

“What was your childhood like?” You asked without thinking, eyes still focused on the kids playing. Dabi’s brown furrowed and you felt him tense beside you. You opened your mouth to tell him that he didn’t have to talk about it, but he had already started speaking.

“I was born from an arranged marriage. My father was a powerful man, he worked in the palace and was regarded the same as royalty. He was strong, and feared, but well respected. My mother was kind and quiet. She was chosen to balance him, to keep him grounded, and to help give him a strong heir.

I was the first born, the oldest son. I was expected to follow in his footsteps. To take his position in the palace and be just as strong, if not more.” He shifted uncomfortably before continuing.

“He started training me from a young age, but I was never good enough. Always falling short. His obsession with power and greed pushed him harder. My next two younger siblings were born and they were ignored by him, forgotten. All of the pressure was on me. And when I failed I was punished. But I always failed, my body wasn’t able to handle it as well as he felt it should.”

Your hand reached behind him to brush your fingers against his back, trying to provide what little comfort you could offer.

“Finally my youngest brother, Shouto, was born. At a young age, he took to the training well, though he hated it, and I was cast aside.

Over time, mother resented Shouto, he looked too much like father, and so she threw boiling water on him, burning his face. She was taken, kept somewhere in secret.

Father took Shouto to the palace with him to recover and continue training. He was locked away from the rest of us, and we were left to fend for ourselves in a small and empty home.” Dabi’s eyes narrowed at the memory, and he refused to meet your gaze.

“One day, when father visited, we fought. I was taken by palace guards, who had escorted him, and dragged to the dungeon of the palace to be taught my place. There I was locked up, tortured and burned. Eventually, I escaped, but the damage was done, and I looked...like this.” He finished, his tone dark as he stared down at his scarred arms.

Your heart was heavy, and you felt so much pain for him. Life had been so unfair, and you recalled in the tomb, how it spoke of great sadness and anger. Of him being alone. Hurt.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that. You didn’t deserve any of it.” You whispered, reaching up to turn his head to face you as his eyes locked with yours.

“It was just what the gods chose for me. My fate. At first I thought they betrayed me, that I was set to fail from the start.” He said nonchalant, his eyes breaking away from yours to stare ahead once more.

“What did you do when you escaped?” You questioned, looking forward again as he lead you further down the road.

“I ran, for a while, I lived in the desert, and would come back to the city and commit petty crimes for food and money. It was like that for a couple of years, just getting scraps. But then I met a group of people, we shared similar views. Similar goals. We wanted the society to crumble and rebuild it.” He said, a glint in his eye that you couldn’t quite place.

“In the time I had spent in the desert, I had prayed for a while. Then I had revolted and rejected the Gods. Blamed and hated them. But one appeared in a dream, and offered me power. They gave me a new fate, and it started with the League.”

#dabi x reader #dabi is touya #dabi #dabi my hero academia #dabi x you #dabi smut #dabi x y/n #dabi bhna #dabi boku no hero academia #dabi fanfic #dabi mha #dabi au #dabi angst #dabi is a todoroki #dabi league of villains #dabi lov #dabi todoroki #The Tomb (Dabi x f!Reader)

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

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Freedom

Prompts: Crossover, Distant, Safe and Sound | A03 link here | Connect with me on Twitter. Happy SS Month everyone! 🌸🍅🥗 @ssskmonth

Some confused drabble on Gundam Seed crossover with SS, referencing the scene where Lacus Clyne saved Kira Yamato from his fight with Athrun Zala. Technical notes at the end of the post!

The clanging of metals, the smell of burning wires, the endless beeping of the monitor, and the sickening slash of Justice’s sword through his cockpit. He remembered being exposed to the open air, hearing the waves of a nearby ocean, and seeing Naruto’s face in a Zaft uniform – his face constricted in extreme anger and hatred. He thought this was what he deserved for killing Hyuuga Neji, but he was caught in a crossfire and war was a matter of survival.

Then there was the explosion.

No matter which way one saw it, he should have been dead. Naruto’s Justice detonated after the blonde ejected out of safety. His stomach was bleeding out from a debris when they clashed into one of the PLANT’s areas. He should have been dead, but instead, he woke up to the gentle singing of a familiar voice.

Sakura Haruno, the famed icon and face of PLANT and the only child of the leader of Haruno Faction which was the primary peacekeeping force and bridge between the Zaft Forces and Earth Alliance. Long pink, wavy hair framed the sides of his face and tickled the bandages on his skin while striking green eyes try to follow the movement of his pupils. Some months ago, he rescued her while she drifted in space inside an escape pod, her escort having been mistakenly struck by Earth Alliance as an offensive party. Some months ago, he amicably returned her safely to her fiancé, Naruto, in a covert operation. Some months ago, he met her and got to know her kindness. And now, he was bound to receive it again.

“Sasuke? Can you hear me?” Her hands gently brushed the fringes away from his face. How long has he been out? Somewhere, he heard the waves go up against the same shore. “You can sleep, if you want. Sleep for as long as you want. I’ll be here.”

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

What was this place? It seemed devoid of war – pristine shores, blue sea, the quiet rustling of palm leaves, the warm sunshine. So far off from the neutral colony he grew up in – of the sudden attack and open fire from the skies, so far off from the open space where galaxy belts have been littered with gundam debris and frozen bodies.

She found him on the edge of the ocean, the waves lapping his wrinkled bare toes. He has been here for hours. She made her way to his side, followed by a small pink circular shape hopping across the sand.

“Haro! Haro! Haro!” The robot cried out after its owner; Sakura spun around and caught Naruto’s creation between her hands, nuzzling it as if it was her pet.

Sasuke hesitated for a while – she was a Coordinator after all, conceived with the most superior genes, and he was too, he was but he hated their kind all the same. The same kind who saw themselves far above the Naturals to the extent that they would wage war and kill.

“How tiring, isn’t it?” Sakura suddenly asked out of the blue, her green eyes arresting him in all their sincerity. “The senseless fighting when there is good in everyone.”

“That’s not true,” he rebutted…which was stupid because he hadn’t thanked her yet for saving him.

“Naruto is a good person even when you were kids, isn’t that right?” The circular robot was wriggling in her hands and she let it go, only for it to almost fall to the water and to its electrifying death if not for Sasuke’s quick hands.

“You also have some good in you,” she said with a smile. She took the fussy robot from his hands and went back to their family mansion.

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

Sasuke found himself drifting in and out of his own consciousness; he would always fall into a daydream, the collage of the civilian ship ejecting from their mother ship and getting struck by a missile keep replaying in front of him. Screams would often escape him, even during daylight, but the touch of her hands steadied him, and her green eyes would reel him back to safe ground.

He would allow himself to lean further into her skin, liking the warmth a little too much, but torn all the same. She was his childhood friend’s fiancé, and he stole too many precious people away from him already.

It was effective, the way she led him in walks along the shore, her hand in his, and haro following closely behind, filling in the gaps of silences with his automated voice. When the robot finally stopped chirping to recharge, she would let go of his hand and hum a random song. He might have heard it before, in a far away moment and now unfamiliar moment of peace, when he was still a student and led a normal life.

“I killed Neji,” he blurted out, unaware of the consequences, but possibly to rile her up, to make her angry at him, to make it easier to go away.

Sakura brought her loose strands to the side of her shoulder, braiding the length of it while averting her gaze from him. “When I was fifteen, the Zaft Forces struck the civilian plane my mom was in. She accompanied my father to a diplomatic meeting with the Orb Union while I was here in PLANT. But I caught a fever and I asked for her despite being surrounded by nurses. I really missed her that time, you see. So she went on board the earliest civilian plane in Panama. Unfortunately, it was also the day the Earth Forces skirmished with Zaft and a stray missile hit their engine. That put a metaphorical dent as well in the diplomatic discussions.” She returned her attention to him, her pink hair unfinished and already coming undone. “We all suffered deaths, one way or the other, and each loss only breeds hatred if the cycle isn’t broken.”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“Kindness,” Sakura extended her hand to him, and he subconsciously reached out to accept it.

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

“Sakura-chan!”

Sasuke avoided the throng of kids that suddenly surrounded Sakura. He found himself standing beside Sai, the reverend who pulled him from the wreckage some weeks ago.

“They’re Naturals, if you’re wondering,” Sai said. “Rescued and fostered here under a neutrality agreement.”

“Savior’s complex?” Sasuke asked, still defensive about the matter.

“Just common moral decency.” The reverend had this mysterious smile etched forever on his face, and while Sasuke learned to read people, he could never read him accurately.

When the orphanage visit calmed down, and they were left alone with biscuits and tea on the gazebo overlooking the ocean, Sakura received the video message transmitted through Haro. She instinctively angled her body so whoever was on the other side won’t see him.

“Ms. Haruno,” a voice started. “We caught wind of some news.”

Sakura nodded, a cue to continue.

“It’s Operation Spitbreak. The real target is the Alaska HQ.”

Sasuke hitched a breath – if he recalled correctly, his mother ship Archangel intended to refuel there and stock on supplies. All the big guns were in Panama, strategizing for the penultimate and inevitable battle. So why Alaska?

Ah, they were the remaining big ship with the firepower that could match them.

Sakura noticed the change in his countenance, and she immediately ended the call after a quick word of thanks. Arms engulfed him in a gentle hug. “I guess it’s time.”

His arms wrapped around her waist tentatively. “I want to stay a little bit longer in this place where everything is safe and sound.”

“Not for long.” She tightened her hold on him. “Not for long, Sasuke.”

He did the same, trying to savor her fleeting presence in his embrace.

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

That night, she and Sai led him to a facility under the Haruno family mansion. The steel doors opened after the usual biometrics – iris scan, hand print, and voice recognition. The sight astounded him when the lights started to come on. The gundam was bigger than his previous, Strike, and visually had more missiles and armaments.

Sai handed him a paper bag containing his new mobile suit. “It’s X10A Freedom Gundam, one of the two newest developments of Zaft. You’ll find that it’s much more lighter compared to previous models with faster mobility stats, and more devastating firepower. But you’ll be all right, you have the seed of the coordinator after all. What a dream it would be to see it used for coexistence.” He didn’t wait for Sasuke’s reply and quietly moved away to give the two privacy.

“Isn’t this too much?” Sasuke asked her. She hasn’t even asked him whether his views of the world have changed.

“I believe you’ll do the right thing.” Sakura leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Come back to me safely?”

Sasuke held her gaze, sincere in the uttering of his next words. “I will.”

TECHNICAL NOTES

GUNDAM – General Purpose Utility Non-Discontinuity Augmentation Maneuvering Weapon System

Coordinators – genetically enhanced human beings; improved traits e.g. faster learning, stronger bodies, more honed talents

Naturals – naturally born human being which did not undergo genetic modifications

Earth Forces/Earth Alliance – predominantly Natural

ZAFT – Zodiac Alliance of Freedom Treaty; PLANT’s national army, members comprised fully of coordinators

PLANT – space colonies

Orb Union – nation composed of neutral territories located east of New Guinea

Music used for this writing: Mizu no Akashi | Fields of Hope

#ssm21 #ssm21d8 #ssm21d10 #ssm21d11 #sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sasuke #sakura #crossover with gundam seed #kira yamato #lacus clyne #gundam seed #im so sorry im late huhu

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shortkingzuko · 3 years

Text

title: loves’ cold embrace

relationship: hama/kanna

mentions of canon typical violence

summary: She misses the chill of the tundra, the crashing of the ocean and the shattering screams of icebergs colliding. She misses the soft embrace of caribou fur and leather in her parka and the softer embrace of the woman she was stolen from. She misses the howling winds that used to sing her to sleep as they passed over the great iced plains, and the gentle voices of her family as they laughed and needled each other. The ocean that used to live in her chest is now a desert, barren and dry. -- OR;Like the moon in the sky, Hama's love never really leaves her.

this is the fic i wrote for @avatar-rarepair-exchange-2021 :~)

read it on ao3 (and get the rest of my tags and notes) or read it under the cut !!

Hama doesn’t think too much about her childhood. It makes her feel too mournful, too angry, too beholden to feelings that, at her age, her heart can’t afford to feel. What few memories that do creep into her consciousness are so wrapped in nostalgia and childhood innocence that Hama can’t even recall if they’re real or fabrications of what she wishes she lived. Certainly, she had caught fish with her family, but were the nets ever as lively as she remembers? Was her girlhood parka truly that soft and was that wind actually so forgiving against her cheeks? Hama doesn’t dwell on it, simply letting the fuzzy memories tumble in her head, comforting, warm, forgotten and ignored.

There are two memories, two days, which consistently force their way to the forefront of her mind, drawing her attention and draining her energy. One, of course, is the day she was taken from her hold, stolen, like an amputation performed without so much as a strip of leather to go between her teeth. And in contrast to the searing pain of that one, the other is much kinder. Softer, warmer, more friendly in its own way.

At the age of fifteen Hama was proud and kind and bored, days of choring and practicing and schooling all blending together into barely distinguishable slush, finally broken by the announcement that a girl on a boat with a blue sail was approaching. Almost half the village rushed to see the newcomer, and Hama pushed her way to the front of the crowd, only a few heads behind the chief and other warriors, just in time to see the girl pulling her boat up the icy shore.

Her face was sharp and her lips chapped from weeks uncountable at sea. Her clothing was familiar but strange, the patterns and beading not quite right, the shade of the leather just a bit off, but almost recognizable. Her boat was wrecked but its pieces would be salvageable for other things, and the chief softly told her that her trip was a one-way one. Hama could never forget the fierceness that laid behind the girl’s eyes, the determination in her voice as she said, “I know.”

She brought news of the location of Fire Nation ships, bags of leathers and dyes and scrolls that had been unseen in the South for decades, and perseverance that seems to infect everyone with whom she spoke. Her name was Kanna, she was from the Northern Water Tribe, and, to Hama’s delight, she was here to stay.

In the weeks that followed Kanna’s arrival, Hama can barely separate herself from the older girl. Everything about Kanna was just so interesting - the stories of her travels, the few morsels that she would share of her life in the Northern Tribe, her laugh, the way she styled her hair, the different ways that she tried to fish - everything about her made Hama want to cling to her and never let go, like the barnacle at the haul of a ship. To her delight, Kanna didn’t seem to mind. Anytime Hama called to her from across the village square, Kanna would always wait, smile back at her, unmoving until Hama caught up and they could both continue on their day.

She doesn’t recall when they shared their first kiss, or who first pressed their lips against the other. All she remembers is the warmth of her cheeks after it happened, how her lips tinged, and how excited she was when it happened again. Was the tone playful? Was it shy? Was Hama pretending to be cooler, more mature than she actually felt? (Hama knows, almost for certain, that the latter is correct.)

Hama knew that she was beautiful, knew that she was smart and impressive and that many other teenagers would fall over themselves to try and keep her attention, and yet it was Kanna’s sly smile and gentle gaze which made Hama feel weak in the knees and made her feel like the ocean lived inside her chest. They shared soft kisses, giggling in-between the press of their lips. They slipped each other’s hands into the sleeves of the other’s parka, embraced each other tightly and often when they were supposed to be working. Kanna’s hands were strong - as evident by her ability to haul even the most lively nets out of frigid water and by her tendency to make the string on bows just a bit too taut - and yet she only ever cupped Hama’s face with the utmost care, running a calloused thumb over Hama’s lips, and only ever playfully tugging on her ears to get her to hurry up. The gentleness itself was not uncommon - Hama remained beloved by her family, her friends, and her waterbending teachers, even with the exciting arrival of the Northerner - but when it came from Kanna it felt more special than Hama cared to admit.

It was a sweet, simple existence, one that Hama was tricked into believing could exist forever. Black snow may fall, fish populations may dwindle, and one by one, Hama’s teachers and family may disappear, but surely she would be next to Kanna forever.

Of course, that was a belief that Hama soon realized to be false.

The Fire Nation prison was a pain like nothing Hama had experienced before. Beyond the chains that dig into her skin, and the sharp sting of hands and batons against her flesh, and the endless jeers and insults that the scum that keep her confined throw at her, there is an ache, one that dulls with time but never leaves. The distance from the ocean, from her ocean, pulls at her heart and at her core, begging her to return, seemingly uncaring that if she could, she would. For the first months and years, the moon seems to taunt her through the skylight, staring down at her, unhelpful and cruel in her judgment.

The only pain worse than unbecoming, the twisting and dimming of self, is the reformation that follows it. The destruction of all Hama once knew about herself, the bending and breaking of who she was and its eventual obscuration. In a way, it’s freeing. In a way, it feels like damnation.

Hama thinks back to the girl who grew up in the South Pole and the girl who sat and rotted in a cell. She feels like a distant friend, a playmate she outgrew but loved dearly. The line which connects herself to that woman of the past is tenuous, well-worn, threadbare, yet still intact. She picks up the mantle that that girl left behind and carries it with her, ignoring the aches and pains that the weight of it gives her. When Hama escapes the prison, she’s so parched she can’t even cry as she mourns for herself.

She escapes, but she cannot leave. She has neither a ship to sail nor the sea legs that she once did. When the moon dips below the horizon it takes her strength with it and she is back to her weakened state. Even if she could get a boat, Hama wouldn’t be fit to waterbend home for many months, maybe years, and she knows that without it she will surely die at sea. The thought is almost tempting.

Being away from her home fills her with many emotions. Fear, shame, confusion, anger, longing. She misses the chill of the tundra, the crashing of the ocean and the shattering screams of icebergs colliding. She misses the soft embrace of caribou fur and leather in her parka and the softer embrace of the woman she was stolen from. She misses the howling winds that used to sing her to sleep as they passed over the great iced plains, and the gentle voices of her family as they laughed and needled each other. The ocean that used to live in her chest is now a desert, barren and dry.

The Fire Nation itself is as much a prison as the cell she escaped from, but as Hama decorates the house she built with trinkets and blankets and as many splashes of blue as she thinks she can afford. She convinces herself that it’ll have to do for now. She gains some of her strength back, bids her time as she forces a smile to the citizens who would hang her by the neck if they knew what she truly was. She gains their trust, even delivers a few babies that will grow up to slaughter the innocent. It’s not a home, not peace, the life she carves out for herself, but it’s enough to survive on.

Hama focuses on her anger, letting it simmer in her chest, flowing through her like the tides, waxing and waning with the moon. She has neither nation nor family in the destructive land that she lives in, has neither home nor comfort nor love to soothe the piercing ache in her chest and soul. All her joys are temporary, fleeting, ending when she feels the urge to turn to her mother or siblings or Kanna and has to accept, once again, that they are not next to her. Hama holds onto her anger like a beggar grips a silver coin, edges cutting into her palms and dirt getting into her wounds. She holds onto her anger because she knows without it all she has left is the stillness of the ocean after a storm.

Even the half-life Hama carves out for herself doesn’t last forever. The little waterbending master shows up, with a face so similar to her dear Kanna’s, and beats her at her own game. There is a whispering pride to any master that is bested by a student, but mostly Hama is tired. Burned out and smouldering. The Fire Nation takes her away in chains once again, and Hama disgusts herself with how quickly she resigns to her fate.

Guards spend little time with Hama, and she’s kept at a distance from the windows. Still, the stone tomb that they keep her in echoes, and soon she hears whispers of the war ending, the prospect of future peace out on the horizon. Hama doesn’t know how to feel, knowing that the world may enter a time of peace and that she is still locked away like an animal. Perhaps the Southern Water Tribe will be able to flourish again. Perhaps a small part of her spirit can finally rest.

She figures that whatever the future holds, she will not be privy to it. The Fire Nation was all too happy to lock her up and throw away the key, and Hama doubts anyone back home remembers her enough to ask after her - even so, anyone she knew who is still alive probably thinks she’s dead.

And yet, she gets a visitor, soon after the guards have whispered about a boy taking the throne. The visitor walks to her cell without fear, looks at her through the bars with sadness, not disgust. His eyes are familiar, and Hama knows that he is from the Southern Water Tribe before he announces it. She doesn’t dare call what ignites in her chest hope, even when he tells her that he’s chief. Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe. It echoes in her head, like the dripping of a tap that hasn’t been turned off.

He comes back more than once, all within a few days of each other. Each time with sadness and respect in his eyes, telling Hama about the political ongoings of the world, of their home, of Hakoda’s family. Apparently, the little waterbending master that sent Hama to her new cell is Hakoda’s daughter, a fact he tells her embarrassedly, asking for forgiveness.

Hama shrugs. It’s too hard to be angry without hope to do anything with it.

“Will you continue to visit?” Hama asks, instead of answering. “I hear that negotiations are coming to a close.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, you know. At the market.” Hakoda cracks a smile at her attempt at a joke.

“That’s actually what I was meaning to tell you,” He says, shifting on the stool that he sits on. Hama raises a thin eyebrow. “Part of the negotiations are about you.”

“...Oh,” Hama says.

“It’s… tricky,” Hakoda continues, either oblivious to or ignoring Hama’s silence. “The Fire Lord, Zuko, uh, is worried about what some of his new ministers will say if he allows your release, and it’s complicating-”

“Release?” Hama questions, furrowing her brows.

“What? Of course, release. We’re trying to get all the surviving Water Tribe prisoners back. Your case is just a little more… controversial, so it’s taken some time to sort everything out.”

Hama almost laughs. “And, supposing it takes much longer?”

Hakoda looks ashamed as he says, “If it takes much longer to sort out, then I will have to return home with the prisoners that have already been released, but I’m not abandoning you here. We have to leave delegates here to deal with other reparations, and we’ll make sure that you coming home is always a priority.”

Hama doesn’t know what to say to that. The prospect of returning home after so long, it excites her, fills her heart with a flurry of anxious joy that can’t be tamped down, regardless of her attempts to remain practical.

“Unless… you don’t want to come home?”

“Of course I do,” Hama snaps, despite her best efforts. “Of course I do… I want nothing more.”

Hakoda smiles, tiredly, and Hama feels her age when she looks at him and sees a young man who is worked down to his bone. “As long as you do, I’ll keep fighting for you.”

Hama smiles, and in the heat of her cell, she feels the comforting breeze of home. “Please, Chief Hakoda, tell me about Kanna’s beading again.”

The chill of the Water Tribe greets her like an old friend, long before she can see the land. It nibbles at her old joints, makes her nose and ears pink with delight, and Hama puts off slipping the donated parka over her head for as long as possible, relishing in the welcoming sting of the wind. The anorak isn’t hers, of course, and the fit is a little off, but Hakoda tells her that his mother - her Kanna - can help her sew a new one, and as soon as everything is settled the hunters will go out to hunt.

Hama spends as much time on the deck of the ship as she can, knowing that she’s certainly getting in the way of all the warriors and deckhands who are too polite or pitying to ask her to move. She doesn’t want to miss the first sign of land, the first sign of home in countless moons.

It feels like her heart is being returned to her chest when she spots the first mountain peak, the first thin trail of smoke from a friendly hearth, and then the first gleam of packed ice forming familiar igloos. When they finally reach the shore and, amongst the crowd of faces peering at her with admiration, confusion, sadness, anger, and joy, she spots the unmistakable face of Kanna, it feels like her heartbeat has finally been returned.

It’s a strange shock, to see the face that she thought of so often so different from last she saw it. Everything about her is different; her hair, her skin, her clothing, even her height has changed as a consequence of her more hunched form, and yet she is still the most beautiful woman that Hama has ever laid her sights on.

Hama has so little hope, she refuses to waste it on the implausible notion of returning to Kanna. It is clear that Kanna has lived a full life without her, she has a son who is chief, two lovely (if annoying and persistently optimistic) grandchildren, and the respect of the entire village. The girl in Hama’s memories is not the woman wrapping her arms around her, not the woman pulling Hama into her chest and crying into her shoulder, not the woman whispering thanks to the spirits as she exclaims how much she’s missed Hama.

Being back in Kanna’s arms feels the same as it did to see the glistening mountains from the sea. It feels like coming home. Kanna leads her back to her home, grasping her arm the entire time, and tells her that they’ll start building Hama her own house soon, but in the meantime, she is welcome to stay with Kanna’s family.

“I believe your granddaughter will object to that,” Hama says. Kanna nods.

“Yes, she will,” Kanna replies, the love in her voice unmistakable. “If her remarks get too snide, let me know and I’ll make her wash the dishes for a month.”

Hama is right- Katara displeased with Hama’s presence in their home, as is Sokka. But Kanna’s firm gaze and Chief Hakoda’s unsubtle attempts to pull them off to the side for conversations keep the children’s tone from getting too snippy and makes them bite their tongues most days. The anger and fear are mostly gone from their gazes and it is the memory of the last encounter in the Fire Nation that fuels their emotions. Sometimes when Hama wakes suddenly in the night, and patters out from Kanna’s bedroom trying to calm her heart rate, she’ll see Katara or Sokka, hunched by the fire. In those moments, they share a quiet moment of understanding, a moment of recognition, of being souls who are hurt and have hurt more than their bodies ever wanted, and the children seem extra conflicted when the day finally comes.

Hama doesn’t fault them for it. She’s a little pleased that they’ve latched onto the relief that comes with vengeance, how right it feels to dwell on past anger. Kanna scolds her when Hama explains her philosophy to her, says that it’s no good to dwell on the unchangeable past instead of the influenceable future.

“What good is looking towards tomorrow if you don’t remember the injustices of yesterday?” Hama asks, stretching out her hands that are stiff from sewing. The fabric of the Fire Nation was so thin and delicate - almost uselessly so - and it’s difficult to transition back to sewing the thick materials of the south.

Kanna hums as she considers Hama’s question. This is a new development, to Hama at least. The Kanna of her memories was quick as a whip, her words always at the tip of her tongue, ready to fly out as soon as anyone else had stopped talking. This Kanna, in contrast, tends to consider what has been said before speaking. She mulls things over before replying, taking her time to come up with important answers.

“There’s a difference between remembering and dwelling,” is what Kanna opts for. “You don’t need to keep the fire in your chest burning any longer.”

Kanna sets down her needle and reaches out to grasp Hama’s hand. Her grip is firm and Hama knows that it is full of love.

“You have me to warm you now.” And while that doesn’t erase the years of turmoil that Hama has lived, while it doesn’t uncloud her sight with cynicism, in this one regard, Kanna is right.

They’re both worn and weary, Hama knows, in different ways. Gone is the softness that used to surround them, the air of innocence that falsely clung to them, as it does to all children in a war, the optimistic spark in their eyes that betrayed the facade of realism that they tried to put up. They’re both old now, more cynical (Neither of them really trust the child that now sits on the Fire Nation throne, regardless of what Kanna’s son and grandchildren say), and there are so few worlds left for them to venture together. Sometimes, Hama wonders what could Kanna possibly think to achieve, with her gentle touches and kisses filled with light.

Still, Kanna walks with her, arm in arm, as they go through the village. Kanna sits with her in bed in the mornings as they wait for a pot of water to boil for their breakfast. They weave blankets and stitch clothing together, and each time Kanna makes sure to scoot her chair over so that they’re pressed close to one another.

Hama isn’t foolish enough to think that she and Kanna were fated, but she does concede that perhaps Kanna has always been it for her. The distant glow of the horizon, the glint way off in the future beckoning her closer, the sparkle of possibility, maybe it’s always just been Kanna.

Kanna’s lips are no longer plush and smooth; they’ve become wrinkled and thinner with age, but they’re no less soft, and they hold no less love than they did over fifty years ago. When they press against Hama’s own lips, they press with as much care and joy as they did when both of them were more youthful, and Kanna still sneaks kisses to Hama’s cheeks at the moment before they leave their home to go outside. As if Hama would ever try to stop her if she knew they were coming.

The tenderness, the softness, with which Kanna holds her is enough that sometimes Hama can fool herself into imagining that they’ve had a long life together. That they’ve never been apart since that day that Kanna dragged her boat up the shore and filled Hama’s heart with light.

Hama has lived an entire life away from her beating heart, an era where her love was not by her side. She holds no false illusions - Kanna has also lived a life without Hama. One that was full of love and tragedy and life and death. She has a beautiful and headstrong family to prove it, has the respect of the whole tribe and enough wit to make sure that everyone knows it. Kanna got the chance to share her love with others, while Hama spent years half-wondering what could have been, wondering if their love could have lasted, wondering if she truly loved the beautiful girl from the North or just loved the idea of being in love with her. An entire lifetime of wonder and worry and pain, only to be soothed by Kanna’s unspoken assurance that their hearts will henceforth beat as one.

She is too old to imagine a grand future of adventure anymore, too old to want that future as well. The future she wants is one of peaceful walks and holding hands until she has to let go because her joints ache. A future of asking for help to braid her hair, and of feeling Kanna’s rough, gentle hands as they caress her face and neck while collecting all the strands. Grinning when she feels gentle lips press against her neck before she finishes getting dressed. Feigning interest in the indecipherable speech of toddlers and impressing children with simple waterbending tricks. Laughing at the antics of young men with egos that are too large and laughing at the young women who still swoon over them. Cooking for a family. Being part of a family. Seeing a smile before falling asleep.

Hama is too old to be an optimist but she thinks she has a pretty good shot at finally living the life she wants.

#m #my fic #avatar rarepair exchange #hama/kanna #hama #kanna #atla

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ververa · 4 years

Text

Like Mothers, Like Daughter

A/N: You have no idea how nervous I am right now, but I said I’ll post the first part, so I’m keeping my word, even though I feel like it’s not good enough. It has been rewritten at least 10 times and this is only some kind of introduction. For now it’s just my precious little Ellie. There’s no Mildred and no Wilhemina yet. But they’ll appear soon, I promise. Just bear with me, please 🙏🏼 Many thanks to @awildgothappeared!!! Thank you so much for helping me with this series and thank you for convincing me to post this part!!! I’d probably never decide to do it if it hadn’t been for you Stevie <3 This story truly means a lot to me and all three of them - Ellie, Millie and Mina have a special place in my heart. They’re my new holy trinity. I put a lot of effort into this story - that’s why it’s taking me so long.

Anyways, I hope you will all enjoy it!!! And just in case, I am sorry if this is shit, cause I actually sort of feel like it is 🙈 Also if anyone has any thoughts/suggestions/opinions do let me know!

Words count: ~3k

Tag list: @midnight-lestrange, @natasha-danvers, @stopkillinglilyrabe, @welshdragonrawr, @saucy-sapphic, @yang12e, @xixxiixx, @pradababey

Seemingly nothing had changed. Life was going on as it used to before, its usual way. Some governess would wake Ellie up at 7am, it wouldn’t be the same one who was there the previous evening. No, because for some reason the former one wasn’t suitable for the position. None of them were, because it was truly impossible to measure up to Mrs Staple’s expectations. Ellie knew, because she had been trying to ever since she had learned to speak. It didn’t matter how many languages she mastered or how good her grades were or that she became a champion of the fencing team. The woman, she was supposed to call her mother, would never be satisfied, the same as she would never be happy with the work all those governesses did. Some of them were fired, because they truly were useless, others were just unlucky and had a horrible timing - it really was an unpleasant experience to get in a way of annoyed Mrs Staple‒

Ellie stopped getting attached to them a long time ago. Not that she actually had a chance to. In fact, she didn’t even bother to remember their names any more and decided to give them numbers instead. Though sometimes, she did wonder where they find all of them. How many well-qualified governesses could be there in town? Where did they all come from?

That morning, the governess was bearing a name “241”. Quite impressive. Ellie thought as she was brushing her teeth. But it wouldn't last for too long. Perhaps it was only until the evening or maybe afternoon - depending on Lillian’s mood. And then the poor woman would have to leave, quicker than she appeared, just like 240 other women before her. That's how it worked with her mother. The demonic, callous woman really knew no limits.

Ellie was barely twelve, yet she was well aware what motives drove her mother's behavior. Each action had a perfectly explainable reason. The desire for power, the need of being in control. Though, the truth was, Lillian wasn't in a place to be a decision making one. She had never actually had a say and she knew, for a fact, that she would never have. She wasn't even close to it. She wasn't Staple, not by blood. And yet, despite this, she always introduced herself using her husband's family name - being boastful and vain as ever, nearly driving her only child apoplectic each time.

Lillian wanted to matter so badly, even if just for a moment, but still her actions, words, commands meant less than nothing. Even Ellie, though still a child, had more power than the cruel woman. And that's why Lillian hated her. She hated her only daughter, because Ellie was born Staple, she was born to the purple and carried an incredible power within her small body–

And all that appeared to be a good enough reason to terrorize 240 babysitters, who would not be needed at all if Lillian could just bring herself to care about her only child in the first place. But she couldn't and she didn't. She never wanted to have children, definitely not a girl. Maybe a son. Maybe–

If Ellie was a boy… maybe she'd be able to care, to love her child. But even then it wouldn't be the unconditional type of love. It would be yet another transaction, the tying agreement, which would, of course, be in her interest. Just like her marriage and all the relations within the family. But Ellie wasn't a boy and she didn't matter as much as a male successor would and so Lillian didn't care. She did what was expected of her, she gave birth to the next successor, and that was it. All she was willing to do and there was no way she'd put any more effort into it. She gave her husband what he wanted and was the least bit interested in her child's future. Lillian was too selfish to care, too busy fighting for her own position to even think about Elizabeth.

Ellie's father always told her that everyone had a little bit of the light and dark in them. People were complex like a cosmic system, both inside and outside. She liked that comparison.

"None of us are just black or white, or always right and never wrong. We have a universe within ourselves. We all have a little bit of the sun and moon inside. Everyone has good and bad forces working with them, within them and against them"

She believed it, but as much as she tried - she couldn't find any kind of light within her mother. There was nothing, just coldness and hatred - guiding her through life, leaving her blind to everything, but her selfish needs and whims.

"Elizabeth," her teacher's voice would bring her back to reality. And the day would carry on, as usual.

Ellie would participate in her classes and then have lunch downstairs. She would eat alone, as her father would be still at work and Lillian wouldn’t even bother to join the girl, preferring her own company over watching her little defeater, a perfect copy of her husband. Or maybe if they were lucky enough, the governess would keep her company. Though even if she would, even if somehow lady “241” would manage to keep her position and call it a day - Ellie probably wouldn’t decide to talk to her anyways. Why would she, knowing that the woman would soon disappear from her life forever?

But Ellie didn’t mind being on her own at all. She already got used to it. She had been a homeschooler since… always. She had been under lock and key her whole life, because that was their way of keeping her safe. That’s what they told her at least and she accepted it. That was the only way of living Ellie knew and she completely settled into it. She didn't ask, she didn't question their motives. She let it be, because there was nothing she could do. She didn't want to do anything.

She liked her life, well, she thought so leastways. She had nothing to complain about. She was safe, warm, had her books and her piano. Her teacher, constantly-changing governesses and servants provided some kind of company - preventing her from loosening her grip on reality completely. Her life wasn’t all that bad. Yes. It could have been worse after all. And homeschooling wasn’t the end of the world, right? It had both positive and negative sides, as everything - just like her father said. And that’s what Ellie was focused on.

After lunch her lessons would continue. The teacher would ask about some mathematical equations and she would solve all of them, before unerringly answering all subsequent questions. Ellie was a clever child and a fast learner. She was also stubborn and aimed at mastering whatever she wanted to perfection. She had to be good enough, she had to measure up, prove herself. And she was doing her best, steadfastly.

Everyone was foretelling her a bright future. She could do anything she wanted, those who didn’t know certain things were convinced of it. And those who knew the truth, the reality, the true meaning hidden behind the Staple’s name and the family roots - remained silent. Ellie was only a child after all, besides no one wanted to have a problem with her father, or even worse - with her grandfather. But they didn’t need to talk about it. Ellie, as a highly intelligent girl that she undoubtedly was, knew. She knew her future was doomed, because she was a prisoner, just like her father and grandfather, even her mother and the rest of the family. They were all prisoners, shackled with invisible cuffs - the life-long deal their ancestors had made ages before. They were prisoners to the nonreversible decision.

It may seem quite dramatic, sad even to some people, but they didn’t understand it. They never cared enough to comprehend the deep meaning behind the family’s actions, perhaps too ignorant or narrow-minded to decipher it. But they didn’t matter. Their opinions were irrelevant.

Ellie never had a problem with that. She never truly allowed herself to think about the future, but she didn’t need to worry, not just yet. She had her father - her guardian and friend - who was there to keep her safe. He always knew how to make everything better. How to fix what appeared to be unfixable. And he was there at all times. He was there to hold his little girl, the apple of his eye. He was there to teach her and guide her. To grant Ellie the love and approval she couldn’t receive from Lillian. He was there, so that she could have a happy and peaceful childhood. And all that made Ellie feel lucky. Not all kids had what she did. Not all children were able to experience this kind of love. She knew. Elias told her about those children - left on their own, without anyone who would look after them, or love them the way he loved her. Whenever she remembered all those stories something inside her hurt. Her heart - it ached, every time Elias was telling her about that one little girl.

Ellie undeniably was compassionate and sensitive, her soul was still pure and free, untainted. She didn’t have to bear the burden of her decision, she didn’t have to carry it on her own like her father. That’s why she couldn’t understand his breaking down. She couldn’t figure out the reason for his tears, when she gave him one of her teddy bears, saying he should give it to the little girl. Ellie couldn’t know. Not back then.

And then, when her lessons were over, their butler - Leonard would take her to the fencing classes. That was the only time Ellie was out, freed from the thin walls of the castle they lived in. She always cherished every second of it, because every moment of freedom was like an incredible adventure.

She had been training for years, because fencing made her stronger and showed a certain set of thinking skills. The classes would go great, as always. Ellie as a wonderful fencer would win some clash, but she wouldn't even think about it, already engulfed by anticipation of the evening.

Ellie’s favourite part of the day was dinner. No, not the dinner itself - the whole process of it. The anticipation and preparations. Their servants would be preparing everything, putting a lot of effort into details, so as to avoid getting in trouble with Lillian. She was fabled for her choleric nature and no one wanted to be reprimanded. That's why they always did their best, striving to meet Lillian's expectations and avoid unhinging her.

The table had to be polished until it gleamed. Table covers had to be clean and smoothed. Dinnerware and cutlery had to be polished to a high gloss. And napkins… napkins had to have the right colors, because colors couldn't clash. After all those years Ellie learned the process by heart. She remembered everything, every little detail and the order of all those actions.

A plate in the middle. A napkin on the left, then forks - salad fork and dinner fork. The right side was where a dinner knife, dinner spoon and soup spoon were placed. And then glasses - a water glass and wine glass - on the right, above the spoons. It wasn't all that hard to remember. It definitely was far more complicated when it came to the formal dinner place setting, but when it was just the three of them - Ellie and her parents - the servants didn't have to worry about it. Informal setting was enough, unless Lillian decided differently.

By the time the table was set, Ellie would be fully in on her anticipation mood. After all it wasn't about the dinner or setting the table, it was about her father finally coming back home. Elizabeth would wait impatiently - pulled up to comfortably sit on the windowsill of the living room window. She did it every evening. Awaiting her father's car to turn into the driveway. Waiting for him to cross the doorstep and take her into his arms as he always did. She anticipated having dinner with him and then spending hours on talking and listening to his stories.

Ellie waited. One hour passed. Then another. Lillian gave up and ordered someone to bring her dinner upstairs, as she wasn't going to eat with Ellie even under those circumstances. They complied, Lillian got her dinner and finished it, while Ellie kept waiting, not moving from her spot even for a second, so as not to miss the moment of Elias' arrival. She waited, but he didn't come back. She fell asleep eventually and Leonard carefully carried her to her room. His heart was breaking for the girl, because he knew exactly what was happening. He already knew what Ellie didn't or maybe she did. She did, perhaps, but refused to accept it…

She kept waiting. For hours, days, a week. Whenever she heard some car, she would rush to the window, hoping it was Elias. Ellie found it hard to focus on anything else. She barely ate and sleep, she just passed out from exhaustion basically every evening. Each time Leonard would take her upstairs and tuck her in bed. Though in the morning she'd be back downstairs, most likely wearing one of her father's hats or shirts - almost three times too big for her- but it didn't matter. She didn't care. If she could, she'd most likely not only wear his clothes, but also spend every minute of the day in her spot on the windowsill.

Where did he go? Why didn't he come back? Every part of her aching heart couldn't accept it. She needed him… who would protect her now? Who would be there for her? Where did he think he's going and why couldn't he take her with him? He always did. They always did everything together. And then he was gone, just like that–

Honestly, she knew he wouldn't come back. She knew, but she didn't want to let go, not yet. She wasn't ready to do it.

And it was okay. Ellie could say it by the way their servants looked at her - so sympathetically. They hurt too. Perhaps not as much as she did, but they did in their own way. The only person who seemed to remain untouched was Lillian.

Even then, all she could think of was herself. She didn't display any kind of emotions. She wasn't sad or hurt and she didn't even try to pretend that she was.

"Will you finally pull yourself together?" Lillian growled, sipping on her drink, not even looking at Ellie "He won't come back. Ever."

Ellie frowned a little. There were a lot of things she could tell her mother, a lot of mean and hateful things. Though it didn't feel okay. It didn't feel like her, so she didn't. She held it all back, responding with simple "Why do you have to be like that?"

"Like what?" Lillian asked, looking at her manicured nails, acting the least bit interested in what her daughter actually had to say.

"Why can't you at least pretend that you care?"

"Don't be pathetic, Elizabeth."

Ellie sighed. There was no point in continuing the conversation. She wasn't pathetic. It wasn't pathetic. Feeling was a human thing, right?

A few days later a tall man dressed in black suit brought Elias' stuff from his clinic. They packed it all in a box. Over 20 years of his research, his work, his life - were enclosed in just one box. Leonard carried it to Elias' office and Ellie followed. She needed answers that no one wanted to give her, so she hoped she'd actually find something in the box. And she did. Her father left her a note–

Seemingly nothing had changed. Her body was still susceptible to pain, still breakable. It had to eat and breathe air and sleep. It still shuddered, as it had shuddered before. She still had to learn and she did, as she had done before. Life was going on, its usual way. Nothing changed - and yet everything was different. People, manners, course of boundaries. And amid it all her soul traipsed elusively. It disappeared, then came back, drew nearer and moved away from reality. She hurt, she cried. Feeling like an alien - at times certain, at others uncertain of her own existence. Trapped in her own grief and pain.

Ellie had been raised in a box - her father's castle, a perfect world he created just for her. But life was more than that. Life was different and not at all perfect. In truth it seemed to be far more unfriendly and sinister than she may have expected. She found herself lost in the new reality. The reality without her father. The world she knew had been shattered, completely destroyed. And learning to live all over again wasn't all that easy, but she was strong. Elias taught her how to be strong and she knew she could face all the obstacles. She had to - for him.

She was born into this goddamn family and that was the only thing she couldn't change. Though all the rest, everything else depended on her. He hadn't taught her all the things she knew without a reason…

"In life there are only two permanent things - happiness and existential pain. Life likes to gratify and hurt. It's a venom that heals and a rose that pricks. At times it's pretty good, although sometimes it's quite bad. And future matters are unforeseeable…" Elias' note said.

And so despite the pain she still believed there was more good than bad in life. She just had to look hard enough - like her father said.

#ellie staple #dr ellie staple #wilhemina venable x mildred ratched #Mildred Ratched #wilhemina venable #sarah paulson imagine #sarah paulson fic #like mothers like daughter #part 1

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wreckofawriter · 4 years

Text

~Part 1~ ~Part 2~

Parings: Sirius Black x Reader, Regulus Black x reader, Remus Lupin x Reader, James Potter x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, fist fight, crude language

Summary: Everyone is lost in the world as the man soon to be called the Dark Lord rises to power. Your parents are already ready to give their life along with your own for this man. You spend your seventh year in Hogwarts being pulled apart by the expectations for you and the hope placed in you by your childhood friend Sirius and his closest companions.

A/n: I'm not a huge fan of this chapter, but here goes anyway. Sorry for inactivity, I've been struggling to focus. I hope you guys enjoy!

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James Potter was simply exhausting. His voice rang in your ears unpleasantly and each time he threw his arm around your shoulder you had to resist punching him in the nose. Unfortunately, there was no escape. The moment he heard you had accepted Dumbledore's offer he had taken the liberty of being your personal owl. Every bit of information you were given about the Order was passed to you through him. His preppy attitude became tiresome quickly and it didn’t take long for you to picture yourself breaking his glasses with your knuckles every time he appeared in front of you.

You knew it was really jealousy eating you alive not anger but the hatred remained the same. You had never much liked the head boy. He was privileged in a way no other was. You had the money he had but you got the pain that came with it. His full childhood and easy life made your blood turn green with envy.

He didn’t seem to catch on.

“You should come to my quidditch game on Sunday.” James mused beside you his arm rested on your head.

The thin thread of your sanity had been torn apart by worries and anxieties. You couldn’t seem to think straight recently as strange dreams you couldn’t quite remember ravaged your mind. You felt like you were thrust into a poisonous haze.

“It would be really fun,” He continued not noticing your unstable state of mind, “You could see what a badass I am on the pitch.” The wink he threw at you made all that uncomfortable envy you had been holding spill out in front of you. How dare he flirt with you while you were thinking about your very plausible death?

You stepped away from him fast enough to make him stumble, your books drawn to your chest, “Do you have anything related to the Order to speak to me about?” You spat.

James suddenly noticed the anger you exhibited, his doe eyes blowing wide for a small moment. He reached for his glasses fidgeting with them for a moment, “Only one thing.”

“Then say it.” You muttered.

James didn’t argue, “Dumbldeore wants you at the meeting tonight. No else one but Remus, Peter, Sirius and I know.”

“What time?”

“Midnight. You know where.”

You nodded curtly turning to leave. You stopped in your tracks turning back towards the curly-haired boy, “Just because I’m friends with Sirius doesn’t mean I’m friends with you.”

James felt his face crumble, you didn’t speak another word to him disappearing from his view as you headed towards your class.

Remus watched as you chewed on your nails, their polish chipped and uneven, “Are you alright?” he whispered.

You froze for a moment, “Oh I'm fine, just a bit nervous.”

He nodded, taking you half-assed answer and going back to side-eyeing you skeptically. A few minutes passed and you only continued to look worse and worse, your face seeming to pale as seconds ticked by.

Remus sighed, “Look if you’re worried about the meeting tonight, you’ll be fine. You’ve got James, Sirius and I at your side. Not to mention Dumbledore.”

“It’s not that.” You mumbled, “Look I’m fine okay, just…” your sentence trailed into nothing and Remus didn’t want to pry. So instead he watched you suffer, not sure what had you biting your lip raw but wishing he could help you.

You knew he would be waiting for you. He always was on Fridays, then the two of you would walk back to the dungeons for your little gathering with psychopaths and killers.

Regulus had his back pressed against the wall next to your classroom, his hands were stuffed into his pockets, eyes on the ground.

“Hey, Reg.” You grinned watching as he looked up to find you.

His smile was soft as he approached you, not even asking as he swept the books from your hands.

“I can carry them myself.” you huffed.

“I know.” He shrugged, “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

You felt a smile twitch on your lips, “You’re such a gentleman Reg! How do you not have a girlfriend?”

His face erupted with color, “Anyway. The meeting is canceled today.”

The rush of relief that you felt kept you from picking up the intentional switch of conversation. You felt suddenly at peace, the world had stilled. You felt comforted and safe like you had been laid down onto clean bed sheets.

“Oh.” You tried to remain stoic.

Regulus nodded, his eyes flickering around you, almost as if he was scared. You frowned but spoke nothing of it. The air was suddenly tense, the strange electricity of it almost startling you.

Regulus cleared his throat before speaking, “Actually y/n, I was wondering if you wanted to go on a walk with me?”

You scrunched your brows, “A walk?”

“Y-yeah, I heard it was supposed to be super pretty out with all the snow and everything.” He explained, “If you don’t want to it’s fine.” he added quickly afterwards.

You shrugged, “Why not? Sounds fun. I haven’t been out in a while.”

You felt a swell of joy watching his face blossom into a wide smile, his face seemed rosy with happiness. You momentarily forgot that he was your enemy, that he was on your opposing side. At that moment he was just Regulus. Adorable, smiling, happy Regulus.

“Great.” He spoke but you hardly heard him over the sudden admiration which took root in your stomach.

You giggled feeling light on your feet, “You’re so cute Reggy.” you cooed before disappearing into your common room.

Regulus almost dropped your books, his cheeks gleaming red.

It was beautiful out. You had never been one for cold weather but the soft blanket of snow which coated the castle and its ground made you reconsider. The sun was casting small shadows around you, it’s gleam turning the snow into rainbow glitter. You marveled at your surroundings, feet shuffling through the fluffy snow as you walked beside Regulus.

“It’s gorgeous.” You mumbled eyes flirting around the vast desert of white.

Regulus hummed in agreement, his gaze dancing between you and his feet.

You set out towards the lake, a few third years attempting to skate atop it, “This was a really good idea Reg.” you said bumping his shoulder with your own.

“Thanks.” He responded sheepishly, “How are your classes going?”

“I’m so bad at Transfiguration it's a miracle I'm passing.” You groaned, “How about you?”

He shrugged, “FIne, a bit more work than last year but it's not too much.”

You sighed, “You are way too smart for your own good, I think you took all of your brother’s brain cells.”

Regulus laughed, breath coming out in puffs in the cool air.

“I swear he is an idiot. I mean he slept with Pearl and then I had to deal with it. Can you believe that? Pearl. The kindest person alive.” You complained, lips pulling into a pout.

“What is your relationship with Sirius anyway?” the dark-haired boy asked suddenly.

You tilted your head slightly, “What do you mean?”

He looked away from you, “After everything he did you’re still friends with him, I just don’t get it.”

You felt your lips twitch downwards, “I’ve known him forever. I can’t just throw him out.”

“I could. I was his brother and I could.” Regulus spoke bitterly.

You felt your chest clench, “Don’t say that. He’s still your brother.”

He sighed, “You need to look at the future. After school, Sirius isn’t going to be part of your life anymore. I think you need to accept that.”

You stopped. A cold wind blew your hair from your face, the atmosphere was stiff. “Don’t tell me who will and won’t be in my life.” You stated plainly, “I will decide that.”

Regulus had turned back to look at you, his larger form guarding you from the wind which had suddenly picked up. “You’re right.” He said, “But it's something you need to think about.”

No matter how much you wished he was wrong, he knew he wasn’t. Your life was split in two, the straight path your parents had paved for you suddenly forked away. You were standing just before them, unsure which way you should walk. You needed to make a decision, you couldn’t linger too long and risk losing both options.

You straighten your shoulder, “I know.”

Regulus nodded and you both began to walk leaving the strange tension behind.

“Hows quidditch? You guys still practicing in the weather?” you spoke, the switch of conversation fast.

“We’re still practicing, I like it though.” He uttered, “It’s really fun.”

You hummed, “Well that’s good.”

Regulus paused for a moment, “I know you’re not big on quidditch but I was actually wondering if you would go to my match on Sunday.”

Your thoughts flashed to James that morning, “I don’t know, I mean-”

“You don’t have to.” He cut you off, “I just thought it would be nice to have you there.”

The gentle smile on his lips as he spoke of you broke the small walls you had built, “I’ll go.”

His grin widened, “Really?”

“From what I’ve heard you're pretty good,” You smirked, “You better win.” Just as you finished your sentence something cold and wet hit the back of your head, you shrieked as the snow melted down your back turning swiftly to see Sirius standing a few dozen meters away. It was clear he was cackling, his form doubled over in laughter.

“You bitch!” You hollered running towards him, hands scooping up some of the snow as you neared him. His laughter was cut off as you nailed him in the chin, snow spraying over his face. His eyes went wide and you giggled reaching for more snow. Before you could act he was lunging at you, body colliding with you as you hit the powder with a thump. Snow splayed around you, some landing on your face and beginning to melt. You attempted to move only to realize Sirius had pinned you to the ground.

“I win.” He grinned down at you, his hair speckled with white.

You frowned, “You cheated.”

“You’re just a sore loser,” he argued standing up and offering you a hand which you took.

You shook your head, “Shut up cheater.”

Your mind wandered back to the younger black brother quickly. You turned to find that he had disappeared, the only evidence of his presence the footprints he had left behind. For some reason the lonely prints made your heart squeeze uncomfortably in your chest.

Midnight came in minutes. It seemed like each time you blinked an hour had past and the sun had disappeared before you could even reminisce about its glow. The stars were hidden by deep grey clouds that night. Snow had begun to fall heavily as you made your way towards the room of requirement. The windows were iced delicately by jack frost as slopes of white hid in their sills. You held your robes close to your chest heart-thumping recklessly within. The empty corridors were cold as if you had walked through a ghost.

You climbed the stairs of the dungeon and beyond, the portraits murmuring and snoring around you. You felt yourself wishing for someone at your side. You missed Regulus’ comforting presence, his footprints still causing a small ache within you.

The seventh floor was just as dead as the rest of the castle, its silence deafening in your ears as snowflakes pelted the windows around you. You paced slowly, your heartbeat growing louder and louder with each echoing step. You continued to think of the secret meeting room, James’s advice ringing in your ears.

The stone began to move in an instant, a door appearing before you. It handle a rusted gold. You reached forward sucking in a breath and pushing the old oak open, its hinges creaked and you were bathed in a warm light. A dozen sets of eyes locked on you.

“Ah y/n, you’re here.”

You nodded stiffly, eyes flirting from your professor back to the faces of your peers. There was not a single green robe among them, red overpowering everything else. You gulped at the looks of disgust you received, lips turned into grimaces, and eyes narrowed or blown wide in surprise.

You searched desperately for Sirius, but his grey eyes were not among the crowd. Neither was the soft hazel of Remus. Even James’ deep brown was missing. You felt your hands begin to shake, stuffing them into your pocket before anyone could notice.

A blonde in red was the first to speak, standing from her chair she advanced towards you, fire in her gaze, “What the hell are you doing here you fucking death eater?”

You felt like you lost oxygen, you were there to help, didn’t she know that? Suddenly there was an arm around your shoulder.

You glanced up to see Sirius, his eyes narrowed at the girl in front of you. Remus fell to your other side, arms crossed lazily. James stood just behind you, a soft pat on your back telling you. Peter stood to Remus’ right.

“She’s here at great personal risk, not that it's any of your business Mckinnon,” Sirius spoke, his voice strong and unwavering as he stared down the glaring girl.

“She’s a purist.” The blonde hissed, “She’s a murder. She can’t be here.”

You stiffened, “I’m not a purist.” you spoke, relieved your voice wasn’t shaking, “And I sure as hell never killed anyone.”

Suddenly a Ravenclaw lept from her seat. She shouldered past Marleen and lunged at you, “Lair!” she shrieked.

You stumbled as she collided with you, hitting James and toppling over. The girl reached for your hair and tugged on it as her other hand scratched at your face. A nail digging into your skin as yells broke out around you. Sirius tackled the girl holding her to the ground as Dumbledore swiftly stepped between you.

“Your parents killed my brother you bitch! They are filthy murderers just like you!” her voice ringing loud in your ears you felt blood drip into your left eye, the world spinning in red as you tried to recall what had just happened.

“Murdering whore, fucking cunt!”

“Shut up!” Sirius hollard, his hand slamming roughly over her mouth and muffeling the cusses she threw at you.

You sat up attempting to wipe the blood from your face. You could see James beside you on the floor, his attempt to catch you only gaining him an awkward fall. Remus bent down to your level,

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice seemed far away like he was deep underwater.

Your hand went to cradle the back of your head and you winced, “My head hurts,” you mumbled.

Remus cringed, “You might have a minor concussion. You hit your head pretty hard.”

You could hear more yelling, you felt your senses slowly coming back to you like someone had wiped the fog from your vision.

“Y/n/n, can you follow my finger?” Remus asked and you nodded. His finger lined in front of your head, you followed it back and forth before the brunette was satisfied.

“I think I’ve got blood on my face.” You mumbled, each time you swiped your hand across your forehead it came back red.

“You definitely do, that girl scratched the hell out of you.” Remus leaned forward, his hand coming on contact with the fresh cut and you hissed.

You heard voices behind you

“We can’t trust her!”

“She’s giving up more than you could imagine to be here! To help us!”

“Except she’s not!”

“She’s lying! She is going to ruin us!”

Your head ached with each word the blood wasn't stopping, more and more dripping from the long cut in your forehead. You scrubbed at your eyes everything was going wrong. You were going to be thrown out, you were going to have your choice made for you. Again. The small amount of control you had gained in your life would be ripped from you. You pushed Remus away from you getting to your feet, stars blinking in your vision as the blood rushed to your head.

Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, the air stolen from your lungs, you gapped helplessly grasping at your stomach. You glanced up in time to see the boy who had punched you. His second stroke landed on your cheek before you could raise your hands and you hit the ground with a loud thud.

“That’s for my mother you bitch.” He spat.

Your body collided with the floor in slow motion and Sirius’s vision went red. The Yellow robed boy standing over you with a triumphant smile making his blood run cold. He was across the room in record time, his fist connecting with the side of the boy’s face with a yell. Teeth and blood sprayed from his mouth and he fell to the floor. Sirius was on top of him in an instant landing four more punches on the unconscious student.

James lept into action snatching the dark-haired boy by the waist and tackling him off the other boy. Sirius fought him yelling incoherent sentences as he tried to shove the quidditch star away from him.

“Pads! Calm down!”

“He fucking hit her! He hit her twice, get the fuck off me, I’m going to make him pay.” Just as he finished his sentence his eyes got droopy, his head falling limp as the struggle stopped.

Lily stood next to him, her wand pointed at the sleeping boy.

James looked around, the daze of what had happened settling in uncomfortably. Three bodies lay on the floor, each leaking blood onto the carpet of the large room. The students turned to Dumbledore whose eyes were uncharacteristically wide.

“I think it's time I explain some things.” He muttered.

You stood motionlessly in front of the painting. Its colors seemed dulled and greyed. Your father stood behind the chair where your mother was seated, both wearing blank stares. You sat beside your mother, face chubby with baby fat, hair cut at your shoulders. Your hands were bandaged in white. The living room reeked of something you couldn’t quite place. The smell making you gag on the air around you. You could feel yourself slipping into some strange obscurity of the world. The scent suddenly became clear. Copper invaded your nose as you choked on blood. Crimson bled from the painting dripping down the expensive wallpaper and pooling on the hardwood floor. You hoped it wouldn’t reach the rug as you rushed to clean the mess before your mother saw. The blood didn’t stop as you scrambled to soak it up with your clothes, the white gown you wore stained with the liquid. Suddenly your hands feel through nothing and you were plunged into a pool of warm red.

You woke suddenly. Eyes popping open to stare at the white ceiling above you. The room was dark, your eyes slowly adapting to the lack of lighting. You sat up slowly, an ache in your stomach making you hiss. You glanced around you, eyes landing on a mop of black of hair which rested on your bed. Sirius was seated in a chair beside your bed, his head resting on his arms which were folded in front of him. You felt a smile twitch on your lips as he snored softly.

Your cheek felt numb and puffed, you raised your hand to it and yelped as a sharp pain shot through you.

Sirius bolted upright, “Are you okay?” He asked his voice gravelly with sleep.

“I’m fine Siri.” You mumbled eyes landing on the white bandages which wrapped his knuckles. You sighed taking his hands into your own, thumb running over the stark white. “What did you do?”

Sirius wouldn’t meet your eyes, “He punched you. Twice.”

“How many times did you punch him?” you huffed.

The room stayed silent, you looked up at Sirius to see his eyes locked on your intertwined hands. He hesitated for a moment more.

“Five times. James pulled me off him.”

“I’ll thank him tomorrow.” You murmured, “I’m tired.”

“Me too.”

You began to move, Sirius watched as you pushed yourself to one side of the small hospital bed, “You’re not sleeping in that chair idiot. The last thing I need is you bitching about your back.”

Sirius smiled, slipping off his shoes and crawling next to you. He could feel your thigh brushing against his as you shifted to face him. His eyes widened when he saw the gloss of your eyes.

“Why couldn’t it just be easy?’ You whimpered, “I just wanted something to work out for once. I can’t even do the right thing without getting punched.”

Sirius didn’t know what to say, his words caught in his throat as you looked up at him, a tear melting down your cheek. Sirius let the words he wanted to speak die and instead wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

God how he wishes things were easy.

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megan-is-mia · 4 years

Note

Hiya! may I please ask for 16 in manipulative for Yandere Cater please he's underrated

(I know this was requested before the Halloween outfits came out and I had this filled with a short drabble but I got bit by a plot bunny about Halloween Cater not respecting boundaries and it turned into something four times the length of the original fill. Please forgive me!) 16. “If you’re not going to talk, I’ll make it so that you can’t.” (Yandere! Cater Diamond x Fem! S/o)

As a young girl (Y/n) had heard the stories about the ghoulish gravewalker who roamed the church graveyard on stormy nights. How he was supposedly not entirely human, able to create duplicates of himself as easily as one might snap their fingers. The stories said that if you saw him that you better run and pray he didn't catch you else he bury you alive and screaming for mercy in his unholy domain. (Y/n) knew this yet she still ventured out to pay her respects to her dearly departed husband. They’d been childhood sweethearts, married for less than two years before a tragic accident stole her love from this world. Like clock-work, (Y/n) would visit his grave each week with a bouquet of flowers and tell him of her life without him. This visit would mark the one year anniversary of his passing and the stormy weather fit her mood perfectly. “Oh, Matthew the pain of losing you still plagues me every night. Some of your friends have offered to wed me so I will not live in disgrace as a young widow anymore but I cannot yet bear to become a happy bride again. Not when I still weep at the sight of the ring you gave me for our engagement after you finished your apprenticeship” (Y/n) spoke sadly as she set the lilies on her beloved tombstone and knelt to sit before the grave. “A beauty such as you should not be left to mourn so” A voice said from behind (Y/n), her head whipped around as she tried to blink away the raindrops that were blurring her vision. The speaker was obviously male by his voice but she couldn't make out any detail on his attire other than it being black as the night sky above them. “Pardon my interruption Ms (L/n) but I couldn't help but notice how down you looked. Even more so than usual” the man added. “Who are you sir? How do you know my last name?” (Y/n) said in a puzzled tone as she held a hand over her eyes to block some of the rain so she could see the man better and perhaps identify him. She was better able to see him without all the rain in her eyes but she could still not put a finger on who he was. He was wearing a hat with a veil attached to it making it difficult to see his face but a pair of green eyes stared down at her through the fabric. “My name is Cater Diamonds, my fair lady, I’m the gravekeeper of this cemetery among other things. And I assumed that (L/n) was your last name because it is Matthew (L/n)’s grave I see you visiting each week. You look too young to be his mother and you do not resemble the man enough to be his sister. So I must assume you are his late wife, correct?” Cater said with a wide grin that was visible through his veil. “Yes you would be correct in that assumption, I am his wife. And Matthew was the love of my life- is the love of my life even though he has passed. I know I must accept that he is gone forever and find myself a new husband but I cannot bear to do it. He is the only man I have ever loved, how can any new relationship compare to the bond we formed since childhood?” (Y/n) wasn't sure why she was rambling to Cater but it made her feel better. “Then I suppose the only thing you can do is find a husband who is more than a simple man. And in that pursuit I can assist you Ms (L/n)” Cater said, bending down and then sitting on the ground beside (Y/n). He stared at the young woman who only stared back at him with an owlish look and an agape mouth. “Forgive my forwardness but I have fallen madly in love with you over these past twelve months since your husband’s funeral” Cater added with a soft sigh. “But, we have only just met, I do not know you well enough for that” (Y/n) protested her face turning red with embarrassment at how abrupt this strange man’s declaration of love was especially when he’d also admitted to essentially stalking her when she was in her most vulnerable state of grief. She shivered at the thought that he might have heard her ramblings about how much she missed her husband and her desire to be reunited with him in death.

“Ah, but I know you (Y/n) I know you better than anyone else in this little town does” Cater said, leaning in close to the young woman’s face, making it easy for her to see the glow in his eye and the almost unnatural angle of his smile. “I know you even better than that foolish husband of yours. He did not deserve such a treasure as you, I will not be as foolhardy as him” he added grabbing (y/n)’s hand and holding it gently. “You go too far sir, I do not wish to speak to you any longer” (Y/n) said angrily, her face turning even redder now from fury as she yanked her hand away from the man and got to her feet with a huff. She would just have to come back to the graveyard another night when this rude man was not present and she could speak to her deceased love in peace. She began to walk towards the cemetery exit when she heard Cater let out a chuckle. “I wouldn't be so hasty (Y/n)” Cater said, making the young woman stop dead in her tracks before she forced herself back into motion to leave the graveyard with her dignity intact. “Don't ignore me, sweetheart. If you’re not going to talk, I’ll make it so that you can’t” this threat made (Y/n)’s stomach churl and she began walking a bit faster until eventually, she had broken into a sprint towards the cemetery gates.

Cater was right on her heels, easily keeping up with her as she tried to flee from him. She was so focused on keeping distance from him that she didn't see an obstacle suddenly pop up in the archway of the gate and she crashed into it with a painful thud. Whatever the thing was it was grappy and she was held in place by… Cater? When she looked back she could see him walking up behind her, but when she looked down there he was with his arms around her.

“Nobody can escape the grim reaper you know, and no one can escape my shovel once I’ve seen them transpassing in this graveyard” both Caters said in unison. “I cannot let anyone escape, not even a pretty soul like you (Y/n) it is my duty to collect the souls of those who break the rules” he added the sound jumping between the two versions of him and terrifying (Y/n) to such a degree she couldn't do anything but quiver. “Don't be so frightened love, every rule has a loophole after all” the Cater who’d been chasing her said as he reached his clone and (Y/n). “If I make you my wife, then you’ll be under the same obligations as I but also be granted the same protections from the grim reaper” the Cater who was holding her continued for his copy. “All the dead below are ready to witness our union and make it legally binding” the original Cater finished as he grabbed (Y/n) from himself. “All you got to do is say ‘I do’ and give me a kiss. But I warn you if you turn down this offer, I swear that I will spend the rest of eternity keeping that pathetic human whelp of a husband you had away from you in the underworld. So think carefully about what you want to have happen love” Cater said, hugging (Y/n) close as his duplicate faded into the ground below them as if he'd never existed at all. “I…” (Y/n) trailed off, did she really want to go through with this? Agreeing to be wed to a madman who wasn't even human? Was it better to deny him in this moment and try to escape his clutches again? No, deep down she knew the answer was no. She was outmatched and all she could do is try and accept that. “...I do” she finally said, feeling her insides clench as she did so. “Wonderful, now for a kiss to seal the deal~” Cater said gleefully moving one hand to his head to remove his hat and veil, giving (Y/n) her first real view of his ghostly white complexion and his heavily ringed eyes before he closed the distance between them by pressing his lips against hers. His kiss, was truly the kiss of death. (Y/n) could feel him draining the life from her and her eyes fell shut. She’d awake soon after deep in a coffin under the earth with Cater smiling down at her as he welcomed her to her new reality as an gravewalker's wife… THE END

#Yandere Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland #Yandere Cater Diamond #Cater Diamond

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monsoonblooms12 · 3 years

Text

Detectives By Chance: Chapter 5- Buried Remembrances

A/N: Hi, how is everyone doing? Honestly I don’t know how I am doing. I had a massive breakdown just now and my mom is still yelling at me. Everything has just been a mess. So, please ignore any mistakes, and I am really sorry if it is not good. I am just not in the best state of mind rn and if I don’t post it, I will never get it done. Sorry for the ramble and I hope you still enjoy reading whatever this is 💛

Series Summary: It was supposed to be a usual weekend for the four. Coffee, fun, friends and love. But an unexpected case changed their lives in a way they had never imagined. A mystery - a murder - many secrets… Will Ethan, Pooja, Alexandra and Mark, be able to survive? Or will the circumstances twist and break their lives forever?

Pairing: Ethan × f!MC (Dr. Pooja Sharma)

Disclaimer: PB owns most of the characters. I only own the OCs and my MC.

Word count: ~2K

Triggers: Mentions of blood, murder

But the memories that hang heaviest are the easiest to recall. They hold in their creases the ability to change one's life, organically, forever. Even when you shake them out, They've left permanent wrinkles in the fabric of your soul.

Ethan, Pooja and Alex were stupefied on seeing Mark's condition. He was the jolliest man they have ever known, his happy-go-lucky personality and on-point sense of humour acted as a charm on the surrounding people. This was one of the qualities which made him an amazing doctor because he could relieve patients from their sorrows and pain and make them open up.

But seeing him like this, so broken, so fragile made them realize that a smile sometimes hides a thousand scars behind it.

"Mark, listen to me!! I cannot see you like this. Please calm down. I am damn worried" Alex said, keeping tears at the brink.

"Lex, I love you. You are my strength, my power. Hell, you are my everything. Don't cry. If you cry, I won't be able to tell what I want to. And the pain will again kill me inside." Mark pleaded.

"Okay, I will try to keep as calm as possible. But, promise me, if matters start getting out of hand, you will stop." Alex said.

"Yes, Mark. If someone knows something about painful childhoods that is Ethan and me. So if you can't talk about it, you won't talk about it. We are heck worried about you, man!" Pooja said.

"I Promise. If I feel like having a nervous breakdown, I will stop. But please hear me out. These memories have stayed hidden for so long that now they feel like a burden. I need to get them out."

Then Mark began continuing his story,

"Remember when I told you in the car that I had a brother?"

"Yes, you said that. I suppose your pain was caused by your brother's death?" Ethan asked

"Ha Ha Ha" Mark let out a bitter laughter. "No, that man is not dead. Yes, my pain is caused by my brother but not by his death. By his deeds."

"He was my favourite person in the world. He was my best friend, my study partner, the person who would listen to my endless rambles. He was the only person who understood me and my thoughts. Or, at least that's what I th-th-thought."

Mark paused, face pale. Something was not right.

"Mark, are you alright? MARK!?" Alex exclaimed.

Mark was slowly losing consciousness. He said slowly, "P-P-Please t-t-take m-me-home... I-I c-can't stand b-being here."

The three sprang into action. Ethan helped Mark in the backseat of the car. Alex sat beside him, placing his head on her shoulder. Pooja sat in the passenger seat. Ethan got behind the wheel and drove to their penthouse.

After reaching, they seated Mark and tried to change the topic for him to feel better. The tension cooled down, and Mark felt better.

"You all are the damn best people in the world. I could never imagine anyone to be so concerned for me. Everybody used to see a happy face and think I am fine. But no one understood my pain like you three do." Mark said, gratitude and love shining in his eyes.

"But, I need to complete my tale. Now that I am feeling better and that we are home, I am sure there will be no more troubles."

Mark continued his story.

"Also, did I tell you that my brother was my inspiration to become a doctor? He was the first doctor in our family. When he was in Med school, he used to tell me the things he learnt. He built that interest for medicine in me."

"Wait a sec!" Pooja stopped him abruptly. "Stop me if I am over-stepping, but your brother is a doctor?! But, But-" She couldn't complete the sentence, but everyone understood what she was thinking.

"Baby, we should not jump into conclusions. Let Mark complete." Ethan stopped her from putting out her thoughts.

"Yes, my brother is or at least was a doctor. B-Before he, he..." Mark stuttered.

"Before he was arrested."

The three gasped. Mark's brother, was arrested?!

"Wait what, he was... arrested? But why? " Alex said, surprise in her tone.

"He, he was arrested for prescribing the WRONG DOSES OF MEDICINES TO HIS PATIENTS" Mark shouted, anger boiling and tears welling up in his eyes. "HE FREAKING MURDERED AT LEAST 3 OF HIS PATIENTS BECAUSE HE PRESCRIBED THEM SUPER HIGH DOSES OF THEIR DRUGS" The tears left his eyes.

"A-And he didn't stop there. He tried to k-k-kill our dad. He...He tried to inject a heavy dose of benzodiazepine to our dad." Mark completed. The horror and shock was evident on the other three's faces. Mark's brother, tried... to kill his dad? But why?

"But why in god's name did he ever do that?" Ethan asked.

"No one knows. The police questioned him for days, months, but got no reply. The only thing he used to do was laugh on their faces and tell them that he will get his revenge." Mark said.

"The day he was arrested, since that day he was considered dead by our family. But the news had a devastating effect on our family. Patients called, hurled abuses, threatened to kill. The neighbours threatened to throw us out. With my dad being sick, me and my mom had to bear it all. All this broke her. So once I got into residency, I took my mom and dad out of that horrid place and brought them to NYC with me."

"But their joy lasted less. My mom, she died within six months of transferring. My dad stayed a little longer. T-The last day of my residency was the last day of is life. And you know what were his last words?"

"What?" The other three asked in unison.

"Don't become Miles" Mark says, tears flowing down his eyes. But, as the three observed, a sense of calm spread through his face. As if a weight had been lifted, from his soul.

"So your brother's name was..."

"Miles, yaa."

"Mark, I hope you are feeling better now. Getting that all out, it must have been a hell of a pain." Pooja asked, remembering her painful childhood.

"Yes, it is. God, I needed to do this. Now I am feeling so fresh, so new. I can finally leave those dark times behind me and start leaving a new life." Mark spoke with a flicker of new hope, new life.

All the while, listening to Mark's story, Pooja was thinking about her pain. Her tale, her own story. She saw how calm and peaceful Mark was after getting it all out. Even after trying, she couldn't remember him being this peaceful, anytime before. She realized that today or tomorrow, she had to take it all out. No matter how hard she tried to bury it, it would come out.

"Mark, do you think, you-your brother could do..." Alex asked with a bit of uneasiness.

"Nothing impossible for a man who tried to kill his father. And also, I am damn sure if the card brought us to my childhood neighbourhood, it would lead to his private clinic. Only he had his practice set up there." Mark scoffed.

"We should look into that. But first we need to check on the questions we had written in our notebook. We need to complete the research as soon as possible. Mark, Lex, can you stay here for the night, we could finish it today itself if you two could be here." Ethan said.

"Yaa, we surely can. No, we would love to. You know, whose is a better tension-calmer than me, hmm? I am a humour boss." And with that, old Mark was back.

"Sure, Mark, sure. But maybe the points to the best sarcasm goes to Lex?" Ethan chuckled.

"Ohh, Ramsey. That's what makes me and Walton soulmates." Mark said, trying to pull Alex into a hug.

"Mark, SHUT UP! You know I hate hugs. I hugged you earlier because I was hecking worried. Now, hush!" Alex said, trying to hide a giggle and spectacularly failing

After a few more moments of laughter, the four set to work. They thought they would not find much about their questions on the 'net, but what they read shocked them more and more. As they got the information, they started writing it down below the respective questions.

1. Who is Mr Davis? Why was he targeted?

Richard Davis. 43. Investment banker. Originally pursuing Medicine, later went on to pursue his interest in investment banking.

2nd part: No answer

2. Why did no one from his associations never come to question about him?

No answers

3. Why did the murderer target Pooja and Alex? How does he know them?

No answer. But speculating that the murderer is Miles Danvers.

4. How was the murder committed?

Acute cyanide poisoning. Throat slit afterwards.

5. Addresses.

Address No. 1 checked, the MedMinders Store. Not checked Address 2 but is possibly Miles Danvers's private clinic.

6. MedMinders Drug Store

Checked. Valuable information received.

7. D.I.B.S.15

No Idea.

"So far, so less. We are beautifully lacking on information." Mark remarked.

"Agreed. Agreed. But wasn't this man supposed to be high-profile?" Alex said

"Maybe high-profile with full pockets. Not fame." Pooja said.

Ethan however, did not partake in the discussion. He was busy thinking something.

"Ethan? What are you thinking?" Pooja asked on seeing his furrowed eyebrows."

"I think I might know what D.I.B.S.15 means," Ethan said

"What? I mean, how? That could mean anything" Alex said, visibly surprised.

"No, not anything. I think it means, 'Davis, Investment Banker, Scam 2015" Ethan put out his thoughts.

"D, understood, I.B, understood, but S and 15? How did you deduce them to be scam 2015?" Pooja asked.

"I remember reading about it. It was one of the biggest investment scams ever. And it was speculated that some high-profile investment banker was behind it. But the real culprit was never caught." Ethan laid out his thoughts.

"So, this man is a fish of the deep waters. He is so much more than what we thought." Mark said

"And that also means that if somebody had come to know about it, then he had enough enemies. This mystery is getting tangled with every passing moment." Alex said.

While talking and discussing possible theories, they looked at the clock. 2 at night.

"Oh, dear! We have work tomorrow. God, let's get some sleep, otherwise we will be like living zombies in the halls tomorrow." Pooja said, giggling.

The four tidied up the living room, said their goodnights and went to sleep.

The nightmares began again. Pooja couldn't sleep an ounce. She was too afraid to close her eyes. The memories terrified her.

Enough. No more nightmares. No more suffering. No more sleepless nights. She was tired of feeling so powerless.

"Ethan, Ethan" She gave him a jerk.

"What is it, Poo? Are you okay, is it the nightmares again?" Ethan woke up with a start.

"I need to tell you. All about this. I cannot bear it any more." Pooja said.

"I am all ears, baby. Tell me everything. If this can make you sleep, I am ready to wake all night to listen to you." Ethan said, pulling her in his arms.

Enclosed in his arms, she laid it all in front of him. The way her mother was murdered. The way she was kidnapped when she was only 11. The terror she felt when she was all alone. The horror when she saw the bloody knife. And the heartbreak and pain she felt when it was found out to be her aunt, her mother's sister was behind all it. The disgust that she felt towards her when she revealed her sinister plans, her hunger for money.

At last, everything was out. As if she was free. As if now, there were no troubles in her life. But what happened till now was only the taste of a sinister plan. The actual dish was yet to be served.

PS: If you have come this far, I am truly grateful to you. I just hope to be at a better place the next time and be okay. But I will stop this ramble now and I hope you have a great day ahead💕

Tags: @bbrandy2002 @kaavyaethanramsey @ohramsey @hopelessromanticmonie @trrfanaddict @nervoussaladsludgeopera @imonlybibecauseofethanramsey @lovablegranny @bellcat2010 @gkittylove99 @kingliam2019@3riche @chetachisblog @starrystarrytrouble @arcticrivers @aylaramseycarrera @drariellevalentine @mvalentine @aestheticartsx@angela8754 @schnitzelbutterfingers @ao719 @choicesstan1 @nikki-2406 @neotericthemis @openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

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almondmilkygay · 4 years

Text

Reddie; Isolation.

Richard Tozier had been in and out of various hospitals for the majority of his childhood, slowly transitioning into his teenage-hood. His condition was described as terminal - a phrase of with Richie didn't understand. He longed more than anything for his pain to be over. Whether this was through the form of a miracle, or his death - he didn't mind. When describing these feelings to his mother, she was distraught. And so, among the tumultuous amount of doctors and nurses came a psychologist, and a therapist. They barely helped however, and merely prescribed Richie to a diary, in which he would submit a daily entry - in an attempt to let some of his emotions out. Richie couldn't have seen true love if it had stared him in the face, and one day it did.

Eddie's trip to the hospital was in a whirlwind of emotion and colour. One moment he was confessing his biggest secret to his mother, and the next she was collapsed onto her knees - sobbing aggressively. Then then, through loud sirens and bright flashing lights, Eddie found himself in a hospital bed. Crisp white bed sheets were pulled tightly over his petite figure. His vision was slightly impaired, and he could barely make out who was lying in the neighbouring beds.

"Hey," A voice chuckled beside him, before stopping abruptly and muttering, "Welcome to hell,"

"God?" Eddie replied back snidely as the voice let out another laugh before letting out an audible wince. As Eddie's vision reappeared, he looked from his right (to an old man who was clearly unconscious) and then to his left. A boy, tall and lanky lay in the bed - less pristine than Eddie's. A wide pair of glasses were propped against his nose, reflecting his eyes back drastically huge. His curly ravenette locks flopped over his eyes, as he pushed it away clumsily. In a word, he was pretty. Weak and fragile, but pretty nonetheless.

"Why can't you laugh?" Eddie asked softly, propping himself up onto his arm and giving his fullattention the mysterious boy in the neighbouring bed to him.

"It's my condition," he said, weakly, "What're you in for?" He finished, mimicking a prisoner. Eddie chuckled, and Richie glowed.

"Just woke up here, maybe for my phobia of germs - but who would go to that extent?" Eddie said wistfully.

"Ah I see," Richie said, struggling as he stretched his hand across the beds, "I'm Richie,"

Eddie looked at the hand and shook his head gently, which Richie laughed at before groaning slightly and retracting his hand.

"Eddie," He said, gesturing to himself. Richie nodded, lying slowly back into his bed and sinking into the plump pillow below is head.

"What do you mean by hell?" Eddie asked softly, after a few moments of silence.

"I've been here my whole life. Like the opposite of a miracle," Richie whispered, "If it wasn't here, it was the next one, if not there - the next. I just want this shit to be over, to be honest,"

Eddies insides turned to mush inside of him in sadness and sorrow for the vulnerable boy in the neighbouring bed.

"Mh, I'm sorry," Eddie muttered.

"It's alright, 'specially when cuties like you get sick," Richie said smoothly, to which Eddie choked on his own saliva. Richie had read his sexuality like a book, and a small one at that.

"Mh," Was all that Eddie could utter, sinking into the bed below him.

"People don't compliment you much, do they Ed's?"

Eddie shook his head, blushing profusely.

"Who are your friends, anyways? I might know them,"

"You've been confided to a hospital bed your whole life," Eddie snorted.

"Family friends, Ed's," Richie said, feigning his exasperation as Eddie tutted, "The Denbrough Family are my bitches,"

"Wait, Bill Denbrough?"

"Stuttering Bill, the one and only,"

"He's like my best friend," Eddie laughed, "Fuckin' Bowers gave him that nickname,"

"Ah, Henry Bowers. The downfall of my childhood as I knew it. That prick still not thrown in Juvie yet?"

Eddie shook his head, wide smile spreading across his face.

"Sadly, a negative,"

"Mh," Richie let out a breath before saying, "Where's your mommy, Eddie Bear?"

Eddie spat out the water he had been sipping on silently.

"How in the hell do you know about that?"

"Mommy wouldn't stop yelling," Richie explained, "'Don't worry Eddie Bear! Mommy's here! Mommy's always here!'"

Eddie snorted at the shitty impression.

"She is always there," Eddie said, "Oh, and shut the fuck up Einstein,"

Richie laughed, and his pain was numbed. His insides felt like mush. Not the bad kind, however, not the kind his illness made him feel - but a good mush. Like Jello - as he would write later on in his diary.

"Whatcha' writing?" Eddie whined playfully.

"Diary or some shit - therapist gave it to me,"

"Aw shucks, that's a bit sweet,"

"More like chucks, I ain't some sexually confused tween,"

"Well.."

"I beg of you to stop talking," Richie said softly, turning back to the diary. Eddie shushed , closing his eyes and eventually falling into a deep slumber. He woke peacefully the next morning, as the sound of a gentle chattering filled the hospital ward, and the sun bounced off of his face.

"Mornin', sunshine," Richie chuckled wheezily, "Best seat in the house,"

"Far out," Eddie moaned, throwing his pillow over his head - shielding himself from the blindingly bright sun.

"Richard?" A skeptical nurse said, in a feigned gentle voice. Eddie lowered the pillow a little, in fear.

"Just Richie, ma'am," He replied quietly.

"Richard, it's time for your injections," She said as another nurse snapped he curtains back quickly. Richie didn't say another word as he was shielded from Eddie's view. A mere, painful hiss could be heard from behind the baby blue curtains - before they were shunned back quickly, leaving Richie clutching at the inside of his arm, eyes glazed over with tears.

"You okay, 'Chee?" Eddie asked softly. Richie nodded in silence.

"Same thing as every day, needles man - I'll never get used to them," He sighed, "And, 'Chee?" He finished, grinning from ear to ear and facing Eddie now - letting go of his sore arm.

"It's cute, do not dare judge me,"

"You're cute," Richie muttered, smiling maliciously as Eddie turned a subtle shade of crimson, "Don't even try and hide your red ass face, Ed's - you know you love me,"

Eddie stared at him, wide eyed.

"Jus' pulling your leg, Ed's. Your face is a damn chuckalicious,"

"Shut up," Eddie giggled, covering his cheeks, "What is it with you n' that word? It's not even a word,"

Eddie was downright thankful for the change in subject, letting his cheeks return to their usual tan shade.

"Watch it become a word when we play Scrabble, though," Richie pointed out, to which Eddie frowned.

"When are we playing Scrabble, 'Chee?"

"This evening, my bed. Why, you got somewhere to be?" Richie feigned a pout before chuckling heartily and clutching his stomach.

"Fine, sook,"

"You," Richie said loudly in retaliation, before being shushed by an embarrassed Eddie, "Dumbass," He finished in a lowered voice. Eddie laughed - his trip to the hospital had not been too bad, indeed. As they finished their jokes, Richie's therapist entered the room - wooden clipboard clutched in her hand.

"Richard.."

"It's Richie, Miss,"

"Richie, time for your therapy session,"

"I'm okay, I promise Ma'am," Richie attempted to reassure her as she kneeled by the side of his bed.

"Just a check, honey," She said softly, to which Richie gave a little nod.

"Can we.. close the curtains?" Richie shifted in his bed slightly. The woman nodded and shunned them close - Eddie and Richie's eye contact being broken for the first time in minutes.

The woman and the boy spoke indistinctly for many minutes - hours, as it felt to Eddie. The curtains were finally shunned open again and the woman thanked Richie briskly, gave Eddie a small smile before departing.

"Hey, Rich?"

"Yes, M'Lord?"

"You never actually told me your condition," Eddie pointed out, "You're not allergic to laughter, are you?"

Richie shook his head.

"My bones are like brittle - like, really fragile. They're decaying over time. With my organs and shit. Started when I was younger and has spread ever since, I guess. I take pain meds and shots but they just slow the process,"

Eddie's heart broke in two.

"Holy.. shit," Eddie said finally. Unaware of it, tears were flowing down his face.

"Ed's, you're uh - crying,"

Eddie touched his face as his fingertips came back wet.

"Mh, fuck," He said, dabbing his face with the duvet cover. The tears continued to flow, and finally - a sob made its way out of Eddie's throat.

"Eddie, I'm fine - really," Richie tried to reassure him, wanting nothing more than to hold the shaking boy beside him. Wanting to hold him, press kisses against his head and lips-

Richie's breath stopped as the truth dawned upon him. Of course he would fall for somebody who he couldn't be with. Someone (according to Richie) out of his league by miles.

The days went on - and so did the relentlessly brutal and competitive games of Scrabble. It all fell apart one day, when a clipboard was turned upside down, in perfect view for a bored Richie Tozier to read. A small post-it-note sat, attached to the bottom of the clipboard. A small scrawled message was written precariously on it.

Sonia Kaspbrak states he is ill for being attracted to boys - agree and take cheque.

Richie's breath hitched. Eddie was sound asleep, and in a peaceful oblivion. Richie's heart ached with decision. Continue lying to the boy whom of which he had fallen for, or tell him the truth and possibly lose him forever. He lay back in his bed, dabbling the thoughts in his mind. Eddie woke eventually, gently. He sat up a little and immediately sensed Richie's discomfort. The clipboard had since been taken away by a doctor, who received glares from Richie.

"Rich, what's wrong?"

A lump in Richie's throat formed, and he pushed it down with an audible gulp.

"Mh, Ed's," Richie began, "You're perfectly healthy,"

"Excuse me?"

"The hospital, your illness - it's bullshit, Ed's. It's all bullshit,"

Eddie wiped sleep from his eyes before shooting a glare at Richie.

"You're bullshit, fucker,"

"I'm not kidding, Ed's,"

"Do not fucking call me that," Eddie spat, suddenly wounded.

"Look," Richie sat calmly, "Your mother payed these guys - bribed them, to keep you here because.."

His voice trailed of slightly.

"Because what?"

"Because you like dudes, Eddie!" Richie spoke clearly. The use of Eddie's real voice pained him, but he would have never showed it. As Eddie was preparing to retaliate, a nurse returned back to the foot of his bed.

"Excuse me, Miss?" Eddie asked, feigning sweetness. Richie rolled his eyes, but couldn't get enough of Eddie's voice.

"Yes, dear?"

"Is it true I'm perfectly healthy?" He asked quietly, fiddling with the duvet cover. The woman didn't say a word. Instead, she called over a doctor and had a quiet conversation with him.

"Edward," The doctor spoke, "You have to remain in the confines of the hospital, upon your mother's orders,"

Richie watched as tears began to well up in Eddie's eyes. He wanted to hold him, for the millionth time that day. Eddie shook his head, attempting to stand from the bed. The doctor placed a hand on his small wrist quickly. In a single movement, Eddie had slammed his left fist into the doctor's nose and sprinted out of the hospital ward - giving a fleeting, desperate look at Richie before disappearing in a flash. Richie sat still, his heart skipping a beat.

Months passed, and not a word nor sight from Eddie. Richie had begun to forget him. But the thought of him or the sound of his name hurt him more than his illness ever did. One day, a few days from his birthday - he was met by a strangely familiar sight. A petite boy stood at the foot of his bed. His rosy cheeks and honey brown hair glowed with the reflection of the sun in the hospital ward. Freckles were painted across his nose and cheeks, and his hazel eyes sparkled.

Richie practically fell in love all over again as Eddie stood at the foot of his bed.

"Ed's-" Richie began, before his face was smashed together with Eddie's. He immediately sunk into the kiss, and only began to pull away as he realised Eddie was standing in front of him.

"H-Holy fuck," He hiccoughed suddenly, as Eddie began chortling.

"I missed you, 'Chee," Eddie said, wide smile across his face. Richie couldn't say a word, instead sat stock still - face a glowing red. Eddie sat down on the bed and took Richie's head in his hand.

"I had to see you one last time," Eddie said gently, taking advantage of the silence, "I'm getting out of this shit hole, 'Chee!"

"Please don't leave me, Ed's," Richie managed to spit, before tears began to flow down his face. Eddie shook his head, as tears began to flow down his own face.

"Fuck.. 'Chee. You know I can't stay," Eddie chuckled slightly, despite the tears.

"I don't want to fuckin' die alone,"

"You're not going to die, 'Chee,"

"Who're you kidding, Ed's - look at me!" Richie said, weakly gesturing to his vulnerable figure, "I'm going to die, and I-I love you..”

"I don't want to watch you die, 'Chee," Eddie sighed gently, "I have to go,"

"You don't have to do anything," Richie finally said, before closing his eyes and stopping the flow of tears. He felt as Eddie pressed a kiss onto his forehead, down to his nose and finally his lips. Richie tried his best to not lean into the kiss, but ended up doing so - his hand resting on Eddie's cheek before Eddie pulled away, letting Richie's hand fall.

Years have passed since the two had their last conversation. Eddie left, contrary to Richie's belief. He came back months later, but it was all too late. Richie had passed, and buried in the nearby graveyard. Eddie still dwells upon their late night Scrabble sessions. He still dwells on the nicknames, sarcasm and jokes. The pain within the laughs, all that Eddie feels. Eddie's first, and only love. The love that would remain inside of his heart for centuries to come. The grave - littered with rose petals and flowers, all courtesy of Eddie. The sweet gifts that Eddie gives to Richie. The place he goes alone, always alone. Eddie never had the chance to say four simple words, four words that - for all Eddie knows, could've saved Richie's life.

"I love you too,"

With the second thoughtful;

"'Chee,"

51 notes · View notes

chapitre7 · 4 years

Text

The night with your dazzling name

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Yīng | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

Canon compliant, canon continuation

Inspired by this art

Soundtrack

Read on AO3

날 보는 두 눈에 나의 깊은 밤 그대는 나만의 연인이오

In your eyes that look at me There is my deep night You are my only lover

– Park Hyo Shin, Lover

The soft tapping wakes him almost instantly. Although he’s never been a heavy sleeper, his body tuned to changes and threats in his surroundings at all times, his home had always been a place of solace, of shelter, of peace. With the weight of the Stygian Iron heavy in his bones, Lan Wangji knows the time for peace is all but over. So when the tapping comes, he rises, reaches for Bichen, and opens his window at once.

The fight drains out of him, shoulders almost imperceptibly relaxing, at the sight of Wei Wuxian’s grin. A reprimand is ready at the tip of his tongue when Wei Wuxian says, “Lan Zhan, I know it’s past curfew, but there’s something you need to see!”

He touches Lan Wangji’s sleeve, giving a gentle pull. Lan Wangji is caught between wanting to pull back and wanting to be pulled forward. These perceptible changes in his feelings, his impulses, are unnerving to him. As if he came back from the Cold Pond Cave a man full of questions, his head full of images, of wars waged, of losing someone precious, living with nothing but regret in isolation for hundreds of years. For years, too, all he’s known is a life of cultivation, of ignoring whispers behind his back and focusing on becoming a better version of himself. But now his body knows and remembers the warmth of someone else by his side, and has discovered the colors that show in someone’s eyes when you’re close. He feels awake, from deep slumber, mind still stumbling, trying to catch up. He’s awake, looking at Wei Wuxian’s smile, in the dim light of the night.

He’s awake, and he can’t bring himself to cite any rules, not when he still feels the ghost pull of Wei Wuxian lingering at the ends of his forehead ribbon. So he raises his hand, lets Wei Wuxian take his wrist, and for the first time in his life, he exits the Quiet Room through his window, Bichen left behind atop his rumpled sheets. A storm is coming, but for a night, maybe, in the space between yesterday and tomorrow, between action and reaction, the Cloud Recesses are still his solace, his shelter, his peace.

Wei Wuxian leads him to his own roof and settles himself down on the tiles. On a different night, not too long ago, they had fought over impropriety under the all-seeing gaze of the full moon. Looking down at him now, sprawled gracelessly and looking rather proud of himself, Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to have changed at all. So maybe it’s Lan Wangji’s eyes that see differently, his heart that beats a different rhythm as he remembers Wei Ying’s promise alongside his own to Lan Yi. It’d be easy to brush him off as someone seeking his own glory, his own shameless promotion, but Wei Ying looks at the night sky with clear, open eyes. He gazes at the ageless stars and his smile goes from mischievous to solemn, to something honest, almost making Wangji’s core tremble. He mustn’t have awakened properly, still caught in restlessness and dreams. He never remembers his dreams.

“Lan Zhan, look,” Wei Wuxian says, hand stretching up, palm wide. “The moon is so beautiful tonight.”

It is. Tonight, it is only a sliver of light, only the promise of a full moon. But there are no clouds to hide it, and it feels close, big, symmetrically perfect, a proof that nature could never do wrong. The moon is a precise stroke of a brush, just like the grass is precisely arranged, and the coldest winter always sings of a colorful spring. The moon is calming, constant and infallible, and nothing at all like the human heart.

He was only just beginning to see it, eyes slowly opening, waking from childhood dreams.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

It’s late and there’s no sound at the Cloud Recesses but the huff of Wei Wuxian’s chuckle.

“We were stuck in that wet, cold cave for too long, don’t you think?”

Tied together, bound intimately by rules that Lan Wangji selectively attempts to ignore. And because he’s trying not to think about it, trying not to think about Wei Wuxian at all, he paradoxically sits down next to him, his gaze cast upwards, towards the celestial moon. It is beautiful. Always watching, even when you couldn’t see it. When will they be able to watch it again?

“Lan Zhan.”

He didn’t expect anything else; he doesn’t lower his gaze.

“Are you scared?”

He’s not scared of a fight. Not scared of committing, not scared of retaliation. But he thinks of Lan Yi, committed to her duty, a victim only to her own shortcomings. He thinks of his father, of what was whispered of his mistakes. And for the first time in years, he thinks of his mother, whose face is now but a ripple on the surface of his memory, thinks of her caged happiness, until there was nothing left.

If there’s fear in death, is there fear in living?

He doesn’t speak. The moon, for all her perfection, provides no answer. His choices are only his to make. What is he to make of his future?

“Of course you wouldn’t be scared,” Wei Wuxian replies to his silence, drawing his own conclusions. He doesn’t care to address him. “And if you’re not, how could I be?”

He blinks, shielding his eyes from moonlight, before drawing his gaze down, to look at Wei Wuxian. He’s looking back, almost as if Lan Wangji is the sight to behold, the unmovable force in the night. With his back straight, as it always is, and his legs perfectly folded in the lotus position, he holds the gaze of this ridiculous, impudent disciple for seconds, and he swears Wei Wuxian’s smile only grows under his attention. So he looks away, closes his eyes.

There’s a stray thought, born of overthinking, perhaps fatigue, sleep clinging to his eyelids, to his conscience. That lying down and falling asleep, bathed by the moon, in Wei Wuxian’s company, wouldn’t be so bad.

In the years that come, he doesn’t remember what he says to him before he leaves, jumping down from the roof and climbing back through the window before sealing it shut. He just remembers that that night, and so many nights after that, Wei Wuxian enters his dreams uninvited, and he stays. Even after he can no longer listen to his laughter, he still remembers it clearly, pristine in the Cloud Recesses silence.

He’s always there, like the moon. Unseen, but ever-present.

***

The Quiet Room, after a lifetime, has known sounds other than rustling of paper and the melody of a guqin. After a lifetime, after the fall and rebirth, it’s known chatter. The sound of alcohol swirling inside a jar; heavy footsteps, full of purpose and poise and character; and laughter, resounding, chiming laughter, coming from one’s core, forever golden. After a lifetime, it remains unbroken. After a lifetime, Lan Wangji’s soul, like his heart, moves again, alive, under fingertips that play his song. Their song. Permeating the Quiet Room like incense, like air, like happiness.

It is, however, quiet again that night. Like a blotch of ink on otherwise fairly good days. Lan Wangji prepares for bed in movements that he doesn’t even register, perfected over the years, perfectly proper. The accessories in his hair aren’t removed lazily or with haste, but at the right pace, in the right angle. The layers of his garb are folded and put away without a wrinkle. His sheets are unblemished, without any stains, and cold as he settles under them, back perfectly straight, fingers perfectly laced together. And in the stillness of the night, Lan Wangji lets out a sound from deep in his throat.

It could hardly be heard by anyone, even if they happened to be in the Quiet Room with him. It’s not a whine or a cry. It’s something small, and carrying just a little bit of pain. If that’s what it is. Lan Wangji has felt a great number of things over the years, over sixteen years of silence and empty dreams, like a moonless night, but he doesn’t bother to name them all. They all bear a single source, after all, and they used to contradict each other for so long. Nowadays, he just allows them to come, now that they’re bearable and not suffocating, all encompassing. Closing his eyes, he thinks about how much he wants to see him. In the colors that play behind his eyelids, he thinks about how he can come back any day now. He can come back. He’ll come back.

The tapping comes seconds after he’s laid his head on his pillow. With his heart already soaring above his physical body, Lan Wangji opens his window, and basks in the smile of Wei Wuxian.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, and his voice fills the empty halls of Lan Wangji’s body like the warm sun. I want to see you, I miss you, his heart recognizes, even as Wei Wuxian stands in front of him. “Good evening.”

“Wei Ying,” he says, because he can, because he missed him. “What are you doing here?”

“Huh?”

Wei Wuxian blinks, once, twice, opens his mouth to reply before following Lan Wangji’s gaze to the window frame. So he laughs instead.

“I was moon gazing!” He says, smile wide and bright, even in the semi-darkness. “Join me?”

His gives him his hand, fingers open, inviting. It’s just the same as it once was, just like that smile, just like his eyes. When he looks up at his face, Lan Wangji sees him the same way he did twenty years ago, even if his mole is gone, and the scars, and his golden core. He’s Wei Wuxian, a sun shining the night. Wei Ying, no longer fifteen, but still impossible to cage, impossible not to love. The days he’s spent away feel like a lifetime, so Wangji’s grip on his arm is firm. Wei Wuxian only smiles wider, gripping back just as tightly, and together, they jump on the roofs of the Cloud Recesses.

The moon seems to have come to greet Wei Wuxian, after days of hiding away. It’s crescent and bright, shining after the gloomy full moon, a smile after the darkest days are past. Did he really use to think the moon was proof of perfection, a symbol of the symmetry of the world? But the moon is just like Wei Ying, restless, ever-moving. A gentle touch of light when you wake from nightmares you can’t remember, but still feel. The moon is memory, and the past, and the present, and tomorrow, but moody, coming and going as it pleases. He smiles under its gaze, his shoulder touching Wei Ying’s. He’s sleepy, finally relaxed, in the peacefulness of their reunion.

“Oh, Lan Zhan, didn’t you miss me? Are you going to sleep on me?”

He hums, letting his head fall on Wei Ying’s shoulder, because he can, because he allows himself to crave contact with him, in any and every possible way. “I missed you,” he says, eyes closed, inhaling his scent. He smells of journey and freedom, of the road and Little Apple, and like Qinghe. He touches the fabric of his robes, and thinks they must complement him well. Nie Huaisang’s appreciation for well-balanced beauty is known to all. He runs his fingertips through the patterns on Wei Ying’s robes, letting his hand rest on his waist, just as Wei Ying’s arm move to support his shoulders.

“Lan Zhan, are you drunk? Did I leave you alone for too long? You’re really honest tonight.”

He doesn’t bother with a reply. He’s been awake for too long, aware for too long, consumed with himself for too long, so he lets go. Before another lifetime passes, he takes another step in the dance he’s been dancing with Wei Ying since he returned to him the first time. Always parting and reuniting. He’s done with regret, doesn’t believe there’s space for it between their hands. Wei Ying supports his shoulders, holds him close to his side, and the sound that leaves him is just content.

“Lan Zhan, you can’t sleep here, it’s too cold,” Wei Ying says, and it’s less playful, less loud, spoken just for him to hear, his free hand brushing a few strands of hair away from his face.

“Wei Ying will keep me warm.”

There’s a hitch in Wei Ying’s breath, and he can’t help how it lifts the corners of his lips. With his eyes closed, he can’t see what sort of gestures Wei Ying does, he can only feel his movements in his privileged spot against him. Then he recovers, huffs a laugh, and says, “Yes, I’ll keep you warm, Lan Zhan.”

They don’t sleep on the roof. It’s already too cold at this time of the year, and too open, and even to his indulged heart, it’s not exactly what Lan Wangji wants. They jump down, enter the Quiet Room — from the window, like teenagers — and Suibian comes to rest by Bichen. There’ll be time for a bath, for stories and for unhurried, proper dressing later. But now, there’s only time and space for Wei Ying to shed his travel-worn clothes and climb onto Lan Wangji’s bed, to cradle the Second Jade’s head against his chest and let him breathe into his skin, cold noses and fingers warming with their contact. He thinks Wei Ying kisses the top of his head, thinks he runs his fingers through his hair, but the intensity of his longing has tired him, so he keeps his eyes closed and his arms secure around him, until dreams of his eternal company overtake him.

He needs to tell him in the morning, is his last thought. No, his last thoughts are words, mismatched still, of all he feels for him. In the morning, he’ll know how to make them work. He’ll tell Wei Ying, so he knows, so he’s sure, so honesty isn’t just a fleeting moment in unwelcome inebriation. He should tell him in the morning, and the morning after that, and the one after that as well. And in the evenings too, right before they fall asleep, in all the months that Wei Ying is there, right there. He’ll tell him what Wei Ying already knows, but needs to hear. He deserves to hear. How every night, since the first full moon, has only had his name.

In the morning he’ll pour him his heart. But right then, there’s only the moon, shining down through the open window on their tangled limbs. Where does one begin and the other ends?

The moon smiles in the sky.

#The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #fanfiction #Wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #Canon Compliant #post-canon

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yikestripes · 5 years

Text

Once

a/n: OKAY here’s the losers club x dead ghost reader request!!! sorry it took so long to get up anon, but i really really hope you like it!!!

“I just wanted to call this meeting of the Loser’s Club to order, and raise my glass to the two greatest friends and happiest people who unfortunately couldn’t be with us tonight.” Bill said, raising his glass with a shaky hand. Everyone at the table looked at the two empty seats, feeling somewhat guilty. One was intentionally left, the other definitely was not, and was even less planned. Bev wiped away a small tear, and took a long sip of her beer. The moment each of the Losers besides Mike had moved out of Derry, all the memories from their childhood had been forgotten. Especially the summer of 1989. That was something not a single one of the losers’ had ever planned on delving back into, if they had a choice in the matter. (Y/N) (Y/L/N), a kind-hearted person with their soul on fire, had passed that fateful day in the sewer, at the hands of the goddamn clown.

“Beverly!” (Y/N) screamed upon seeing their best friend floating among the trash of the cistern. They looked frantically to Bill, Richie, and then Ben, searching for some sort of support in the way of getting Bev down.

“Here, climb up on my shoulders!” Bill said finally. (Y/N) looked skeptical, as if they were afraid Bill wouldn’t be able to do it, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and Bill was a lot stronger than he appeared. He hoisted (Y/N) onto his shoulders and they were able to grab Beverly’s ankle. They pulled her to the ground, her eyes iced over in a milky white fashion, her irises barely visible.

“Bev?” (Y/N) whispered, their voice cracking. No response. “Bev!”

“(Y/N) stop, shaking her isn’t working.” Richie put a gentle hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder, and guided them away, where they sat miserably. (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel this was all their fault. They should’ve kept a closer eye on Beverly, she was their best friend. (Y/N) shouldn’t have left her alone after the day of the fight. Richie left (Y/N)’s side, and rejoined the others in their efforts to wake Beverly up. They were all completely distracted, leaving an unsuspecting (Y/N) vulnerable. She watched as Ben kissed her, bringing her back to life, just as Pennywise was able to grab (Y/N).

Bill gulped down about half of his beer, and grimaced as he sat back down. The tension in the room was almost suffocating; being surrounded by strangers who were once your entire world, two lives stopped in the middle of a sentence, and six others that felt immense guilt that they could never quite shake, even before returning to Derry.

“Well, now that things are awkward, how is everyone doing?” Richie joked, attempting to cut the tension back a bit. Eddie just kinda looked at him, while the others stared into their quickly emptying glasses.

Everyone was not only remembering (Y/N), but Stanley Uris as well. Stanley, the Jewish boy with a strange sense of humor, who was extremely bright and very shy, and was the most different after the encounter in the sewers. He was separated. The only one who was separated. They found the woman who had been haunting his nightmares for a very long time preparing to eat his face, and was in the midst of it when they found Stanley, crying and shivering, screaming about how they had left him, and they weren’t really his friends. Patty Uris, and later Beverly, had confirmed he had in fact died at his own hands, after the phone call he received from Mike.

As the evening bore on, and more drinks and food began circling around the table, the Losers quickly became re-acquainted. Bill was a famous author, who couldn’t write a book ending for shit. Beverly was in fashion with her abusive husband, Ben was a rich architect, and Richie did was Richie did best, telling jokes. Doing voices. All of the Losers were moderately successful, but none truly happy in their own lives. Eddie had married a woman who was exactly like his mother, constantly worrying about him and his safety, not to mention coddling him. Mike had stayed behind in Derry and became the town historian, never leaving behind the traumatic memories as the other Losers had been fortunate to do.

“Yeah,” Ben grinned as he took a bite of his dinner. “(Y/N) was the best. She was always looking out for us.” The other Losers smiled fondly, and as you watched from a distance, you smiled too.

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

As the 6 Losers’ descended into the cavern, they each felt sick to their stomachs. Richie had violently thrown up not long ago, after sinking a hatchet into the back of Henry Bowers’ head. They’d made it this far, what did they have to lose?

So much more than they expected, unfortunately.

As they group got closer and closer to the face off with the demonic clown that had been terrorizing them since they were just 13 years old, each member couldn’t help but feel as though they weren’t alone, besides being surrounded by 5 other people from their childhood club.

The truth was your spirit had been trapped in the caverns for 27 years, unable to be at peace until Pennywise was destroyed, and you saw that your friends had made it out safely.

“Are we all ready?” Mike asked, looking to the others. “Did you all get your tokens?”

“Mine is something I’ve kept with me every day for, uh, 27 years.” Ben said quietly, tossing the old yearbook page with solely the signature of Beverly Marsh into the flames.

Eddie took a quick final puff from his inhaler, and threw it in without a word.

“Yeah. I, uh, got a token from the Capitol Theater.” Richie sighed, throwing the token into the small fire.

“Dude, that’s metal, that’s gonna take forever to burn.” Eddie said, turning to Richie.

“Well yeah but so will your inhaler, plus the fumes from the plastic and stuff.”

“Same for Mikey’s rock, it’s-” Mike cut Eddie off by reaching out to join hands, just as they had when you were children, that day at the Quarry. The blood oath.

You stood behind Richie and allowed your hand to come to rest on his shoulder. You felt him tense up a little bit under your touch, but he kept his eyes closed and chanted with the others, quietly.

Slowly, they got louder and louder, as the deadlights began descending into the ritual box.

You removed your hand from Richie’s shoulder and stayed back, waiting with bated breath to see if the creature would finally be vanquished.

“Why isn’t this working?!” Someone screamed out.

“Keep chanting!” Mike yelled back.

They continued chanting, but to no avail. The Ritual of Chud had not worked.

The sound of someone -or something- snickering came from the misshapen shape behind the Losers, and out came Pennywise mixed with some sort of spider creature.

Mike looked like he was ready to cry, and the others immediately turned to him angrily.

“Tell them why your silly little ritual didn’t work!” Pennywise was saying, slowly circling the Losers club.

“Fuck Mikey, you lied to us again?!!” Bill rang out, sprinting in the opposite direction.

You narrowed your eyes, prepared to do everything in your power to help your friend’s one last time.

Holding your nonexistent breath, you watched as the Losers scrambled and avoided Pennywise’s claw-like daggers and pincers.

Everything was happening so fast, no one was sure what was happening. One minute everyone was running, then they all disappeared, hiding. Pennywise was getting frustrated and bored, they weren’t putting up the sort of fight he had been hoping for.

“Wanna play truth or dare? Here's a truth, you're a sloppy bitch! Yippee ki yaya mother f...” Richie yelled to distract the clown. Pennywise whipped around and opened It’s mouth, revealing the very deadlights that had entrapped Beverly all those years ago.

“NO!” You screamed, not prepared to watch the Loser’s lose anyone else, the way they had lost you.

Eddie looked down at the jagged piece of metal in his hands and repeated to himself what Beverly had said to him probably not even an hour ago.

“It kills monsters if you believe it does.” Eddie heaved the jagged thing as hard as he could, hitting Pennywise directly in the throat, and releasing Richie from the deadlights.

Richie hit the ground with a thud, rendering him unconscious.

“Richie, wake up! I did it, I did it Richie!” Eddie was grinning, shaking the man beneath him.

“EDDIE WATCH OUT!” You screeched, launching yourself in place of Eddie to distract the clown demon from his initial target.

Eddie rolled out of the way as Pennywise, though confused and angry, still aimed directly for Eddie’s chest.

“(Y/N)?! (Y/N)?!?!” He spluttered, not believing his own eyes.

He’d seen a lot of things in his life, but not once did he ever expect to see you after the funeral.

Hell, he hadn’t even remembered you until a few days ago, let alone recognized you from another world.

Richie was finally semi-conscious, and didn’t believe his eyes.

“Man, I must’ve really hit my head hard, I’m seeing (Y/N) again!” He said, rubbing the spot where he knocked his head on the rock.

“MOVE!” You screeched, attempting to stop Pennywise’s dagger attacks as best you could. He was still sputtering some fiery substance from where the metal pole had made contact, but that hadn’t stopped him quite yet.

From across the cavern, Bill rubbed his eyes incredulously. He thought he had seen you, with your (Y/H/C) hair flowing and your eyes burning, the same way they had when you were 13 years old.

Bill thought he had hit his head, or was seeing some sort of Pennywise-induced vision, or maybe some after effects from whatever root Mike had slipped into his drink a few days prior.

Mike smiled next to Bill, fully knowing you’d been around for quite some time. You’d visited him in a few different dreams on a couple occasions, reminding him that the 27 years had almost been up by the time Mike was seeing you again.

Beverly and Ben had been separated from the rest of the Loser’s and were wandering around a different part of the cavern.

Eddie still looked confused, trying to ask you several questions as you fended off Pennywise.

“Mike! You know exactly how to defeat this bitch, PLEASE! Wrack your brain, I can’t hold him off forever! I’m sorry!” You cried, quickly losing leverage.

Mike’s eyes widened as he recalled something very, very important that the Derry Natives had imparted onto him; “All living things must abide by the laws of the shape they inhabit.”

As Pennywise was still trying to get around (Y/N) in an attempt to gain access to Richie and Eddie, Mike stood up from his hiding space.

“We have to make him believe he’s small,” Mike said as the others joined him.

“Me? SMALL? I’m the eater of WORLDS!” Pennywise laughed.

“You sure about that, big guy?” You asked.

“I’m the EATER OF WORLDS!” He repeated, shrinking back slightly, snapping a pincer in Eddie’s direction.

“No you’re not, you’re just a clown.” Mikey said, advancing.

“EATER OF WORLDS!” Pennywise said again, a look of fear flashing across his features.

“CLOWN! CLOWN! CLOWN!” The Loser’s chanted, getting closer and closer.

“You’re just a stupid fucking clown.” You said from behind the Losers. Pennywise crumbled quicker and quicker, making feeble attempts to make the Losers stop. Mike proceeds to rip out his heart, and as they finally unite, the Losers crush the heart of the demonic clown together, and their nightmare is over. Finally.

Especially (Y/N).

The Losers’ turned from Pennywise’s smouldering ashes to face you, who began to glow.

“Thank you, guys. I’ll see you all in the future,” You said, tears streaming down your pale face.

They all smiled in a sad, confused sort of sense. None of them understood how they were able to see you again, or process the fact that you were able to help them by distracting Pennywise, then remind Mike of the missing piece.

You scanned the Losers over one final time, committing them to memory as you finally, and joyously ascended; only to be met by one Stanley Uris.

#it #it chapter two #it chapter two imagines #it chapter 2 imagines #it chapter one #losers club #the losers club #the losers club x reader #the losers club imagines #bill denbrough #richie tozier #mike hanlon #eddie kaspbrak #stanley uris #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #you

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ncstings · 4 years

Text

#7 having a phone call from the non sexual from of intimacy list - luke & charlotte

It’s been a long time since he’d been in this spot. Maybe in his early twenties when he’d be away from Scarlet, he’d find himself here. But there’s something about the open planes and the smell of the grass that makes him nostalgic for something wholesome.

“Hey bud,” There’s a voice behind him, and he turns around.

His dad’s finally looking like he’s aging. For a long time he’d looked like he’d been preserved in a glass case, forever thirty-three. But maybe it was the loss that did that. Froze him in time to the moment Mom got shot and he didn’t age until he found peace with it. Moved on.

Moved on in the shape of a six foot tall woman named Terry who looked a little bit like Sandra Bullock. She knits and goes to church every Sunday and calls her kids once a week to tell them everything they’ve missed in this bum-fuck town. She also sends Luke brownies on his birthday and he has no idea why they taste so good, or what she puts in them to make them hold up so well through postage.

But Dad’s happy and that’s all that matters.

“Hey,” Luke’s got his hands in his pockets, squinting from the light shining in from the hallway.

It’s not his childhood house. Dad moved out of there a long time ago. Both he and Terry work pretty good jobs, they were able to find some contemporary place on the edge of town. Big windows, hardwood. Modern. But how they built modern in the eighties.

“We’re all going to watch a movie downstairs. The kids picked.” He smiles. “I made the mistake of telling them about your famous popcorn and now they wont stop begging for it.”

Luke can’t help the lopsided smile on his features when his dad brings it up. Both of Terry’s kids have kids of their own. They’re cute. They call him Uncle Luke which makes his chest ache in a way he never thought it would. And his step siblings are nice. They don’t ask too many questions. The last time he saw them was when he went home after getting out of the hospital. Terry hovered a bit too much and her kids came by for dinner. One of his first meals in years he hadn’t cooked himself. It wasn’t too bad.

“Maybe in a bit.” He nods, looking at his dad. It’s hard to resent the man for years of neglect when really, he was doing what he could with the pain left at his front door. It’s not his fault Mom died. Not his fault he couldn’t handle losing her.

“Okay, bud.” He pats the door frame. “Happy to have you home.” Luke catches his smile in the light. It’s good to see it.

The man turns the corner and slides the door so it’s half shut, light still leaking in. Luke turns back around to sit on the edge of the bed, looking out the big floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the massive flat planes in front of their property.

He digs out his phone. He stares at the screen for a moment before he taps the button, holding it up to his ear.

It rings four times. By the fifth, he wonders if he should just hang up.

“I can’t come over.” It’s the first thing she says, and he can tell she’s tired. “It’s eleven-thirty.”

“Have you ever been the Wyoming?” He doesn’t answer Charlotte’s question, he just stands back up, stepping closer to the window.

There’s silence on her end, and she speaks. “I haven’t. Why?”

“I grew up thinking it was the most boring place on earth. Now I think I’m sort of getting the appeal.” He leans his arm against the window, watching the wind blow through the long grass.

“So you’re going to be moving out to Wyoming then?” She speaks the words slowly, still confused.

“No,” He presses his lips together. “I think I’m just appreciating things differently now.”

“Why are you calling me, Luke. I have to be up early in the morning.” She’s getting impatient with him. “Are you drunk?”

“I’m not drunk.” He looks down at the driveway where his rental car is sitting. Terry only keeps wine in the house and they drank it all last night. If he wanted some, he could get some. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“To tell me you appreciate Wyoming?”

“To tell you I appreciate you.” He finger presses into the glass. He knows in his career life he’s moved at a mile a minute. But with Charlotte everything’s been so slow. So chaotic. There’s been yelling and bitter words and cold shoulders from both of them. But he likes when she speaks. Likes when she lays in his bed, or comes up next to him to try his breakfast in the morning. She likes her honesty and the way she laughs at his jokes. She doesn’t touch him with fear. She’s not repulsed by his body. She’s touched his scars not with some patronizing romanticism but with certainty.

“Oh,” She says after a few beats of silence. Luke’s not really sure what he’s trying to get out of sharing this. Maybe it’s that he’s not trying to get anything at all.

“I’m back home right now.” He continues, deciding not to wait for some type of answer. “I maybe come back once a year. Figured I’d come other than the holidays and see my old man.” He finger traces patterns in the glass, still a bit taken by the moonlight over the grass. Of being in the middle of nowhere. No cars. No trains. No people. Just this house. “I just spent all night wondering where you were, and what you were doing. I don’t know why. I think you just occupy my brain sometimes. And then I got back to my room after dinner and I kept looking out the window and--...” For once, he doesn’t know where his words were carrying him. “You ever just get the feeling of wanting to share something with someone?”

He can hear her swallow on the other end, followed by a, “Yes.” Which comes out a bit shaken, a bit breathless.

“I’ve had that feeling all weekend.” He steps back, sitting on the bed. Silence hangs between them. It’s thick. It holds onto them by the collar, and he wonders if her breath is caught just like his is. “I didn’t want to keep you long, you should go to bed if you’ve got an early morning.” He looks down at his lap. There’s a stain on the edge of his shirt. One he hasn’t noticed. How long has that been there? He always notices those right away.

“Yes,” She clears her throat. “I have to try Gianno’s Breakfast Diner in the morning.”

He hums. “I’ve heard they’re good.”

Silence wraps them again but this feels a bit more soft. It’s a touch to the cheek and he’s shivering.

“Will you call when you come back?” She asks, his hand shaking.

“If you’d like that.”

“I would.”

“Then I will.” There’s a lot of empty promises he’s made in his life time. But this was one he planned to keep. “Have a good night, Charlotte.”

“You too.”

When he hangs up, he sits there and stares out the window for what feels like hours. Watching the grass dance back and forth, it feels like it steady’s his heartbeat.

He gets up finally, squinting at the light from the hallway when he leaves the room. But he walks down the hall and slides open the door to the deck, where he steps out. It’s quiet. The crickets are loud in his hears and he’s pretty sure there’s owl somewhere, making itself known. The wind passes through the grass and the sound of green against green could put anyone to sleep. He lifts up his phone, turning on his camera, and capturing the moment for ten seconds. Stationary. With the grass moving in patterns to get lost in, and the bugs singing undying tunes to hear. He turns it off, and pulls up his chat box. He doesn’t send any caption with it. Just lets the shared moment speak for itself.

He goes back inside, tucking his phone into his pocket to be forgotten, and he trots down the stairs where the others have started their movie.

#> ◦ luke & charlotte .

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thetoffeefox · 5 years

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Bénédiction de Dieu dans la solitude [Timid! Reader X Vergil]

Hey guys! So I am so excited that I could write this chapter finally. I wrote it because a good friend of mine who encouraged that I continue that cute, random, out of the blue one shot that I wrote become a series. I meant this idea to be for Chapter 2 but I decided against doing so and I’m happy to be using it now. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do!

The title of this chapter is actually the title of a piano piece, Bénédiction de Dieu dans la solitude Compased by: Franz Liszt.

The title translates to The Blessing of God In Solitude

The peace of the afternoon was something Vergil was taking great pleasure in. After a series of days where the heat was unbearable a day of overcast made it where it was not just the orphans, Kyrie, and Nero were caring for were going outside but all the adults. He didn’t mind the children they were a change when he first started living here. Not only did he have to get used to being a father and adjusting to the human way of life again but he had to adjust to in some ways being a grandparent. It was frustrating and downright irritating. The boys didn’t take to him well at first and the feeling was mutual, but he would not show his son or brother than he couldn’t handle a couple of children. That was then, and this was now and he sometimes enjoyed their company and found himself partial to Julio. Closing his book Vergil scanned the patio and again for what felt like the hundredth time this week he found himself drawn to the piano sitting off the side. It had been forever since he had played. He couldn’t recall when the last time was, which suggested he had to at least have been a teenager, maybe even as far back before his mother died. She loved when he played. One of her favorite things to do was sit in the formal living room on the couch and watch him, praising him even when he messed up. Lifting the lid he plays, and it doesn’t go unnoticed because he wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the house being empty. You were currently working on a crochet hat for a child. It was a quick and efficient way to make money to help Kyrie and Nero.

Most of Fortuna’s residents especially the elderly did not like outside goods and preferred handmade ones’s so you had a steady clientele that liked your work. When the melody filled your senses, a gasp slipped from you and your work fell to the floor. The tune was one you were very familiar with; you heard it for a good part of your childhood. You knew Kyrie could play a little, but this piece seemed to be something above her skill level. That wasn’t something you'd say in front of Nero though, he was defensive about her musical abilities. Then again he was defensive about everything with her. It showed he wasn’t a straight-up punk, only a little bit of one. The tune rang throughout the house and it carried you all the way downstairs and why you were surprised at who was sitting at the piano was beyond you. The way the sunlight was hitting him made your heart skip a beat. How could one person be so beautiful was beyond you. It almost made you jealous at how good looking he was. At this point surely he knew you were here, or that’s what you thought until you took a step down on the patio the floorboards creaking. It halted him as his head turned in your direction. Shit, he didn’t know. The look on his face was anything but pleased, you couldn’t blame him though because after seeing the way his nimble fingers moved over the keys you could tell that it was indeed a complex piece. Red rushes to your cheeks, somewhat out of embarrassment and due to once again he just looked so god damn beautiful.

“S..Sorry, the piece sounded familiar... And...Uh, I wanted to see who was..pla-playing.” Stuttering out you look at the floor as the finish on the floorboards suddenly becoming one hundred percent more interesting than what it really was.

“Do you play?” He asks his features no longer showing any trace of his earlier irritation.

“Uh, oh um no… My grandmother tried to teach me, I couldn’t get the hang of it. I mean she played the piano...She played that piece a lot.” You stumble on your wording and all it does is make your face heat up more and your heart race.

I should just dig a hole and put myself in it and let Dante kill me. That thought rings in your head because of the sheer amount of embarrassment you felt by stumbling over your words. It was just one of those days that you could not communicate well with Vergil. You hated days like these; it felt like your anxiety was in overdrive. It wasn’t just Vergil you would have trouble with it would be everyone and everything. Tasks that you would have no trouble performing at all any other day would be overwhelming. Right now though being alone with Vergil was really making your brain scream at you. Confusion raises in you as he stands up and stays next to the seat looking at you with an expectancy until it clicks. He... wants me to play? The amount of flush your cheeks were gaining was making them pulse and hurt. Did he not understand what you said? You couldn’t get the hang of it. No, you amended he did, but you can tell he didn’t care. Gulping you make your way to the bench and sit at it, and you once again find yourself chewing on your lower lip. Honestly, he should pay for the amount of chapstick you use because of him. The only thing you remembered was twinkle twinkle little star, and you didn’t want to play that with him nearby, but what else could you play? Taking a deep breath you place your hands on the keys and a second later you hear a huff of... amusement? You knew that sound anywhere; it was something you looked for when he was still training you. It was something he used to taunt you and poke at you. Cheeks puffing up and most of the pink leaving them your head snaps up and your challenging gaze meets his amused but soft one. It makes you deflate and cock your head to the side before his hand presses against the middle of your back. Instantly you straighten it, used to his touch ques on how your posture should be.

Well at least it was just your back that needed correcting. Before another thought can pass through your mind, he moves behind you and you find his hands going over the top of yours it feels like a jolt of electricity goes up your arms. His frame looming over you from behind as his cheek brushes against your forehead. The nervous pit in your stomach doubles in size and you suddenly feel light-headed, if you don’t pass out it will be a miracle. Surely he hears your rapid heartbeat, surely he sees just how much of a nervous flustered puddle you are. His fingers press down on yours making the keys strike along the strings in the piano's soundboard. Oh... Oh, he’s helping me play… This continues for what feels like an eternity him guiding you to play the piece you adored and looked forward to each Sunday afternoon after you went to church. The feeling of wanting to faint disappeared but it was replaced with a giddy feeling that felt as if you were intoxicated or high. It might have something to do with the way he smells because damn whatever cologne he was wearing suited him. Vergil also would be lying if he tried to say that he wasn’t doing this to be close to you. Over the course of the past few months especially after each night he had a night terror there you were in the kitchen wearing the most ridiculous cartoonish pajama bottoms with a cup of chamomile tea waiting for him. It was an unspoken agreement. One he was uncertain about how he should feel. He wanted to ask Nero about it because lord knows he wasn’t going to talk to Dante about it, but he decided against it. He decided against asking Nero about the foreign feeling of serenity and peace he felt when in your presence because he craved it. He craved being near you and close to you.

Right now he was in a sort of bliss like state as well because of your scent melded in with your shampoo, he so deeply wanted to just bury his nose in your hair. It took all his self-restraint and focus on not to do so. All the while in the back of his mind he was wondering what in gods name was going on with him? Why did he enjoy the closeness? Why did he feel what he was feeling? What was he even feeling? Once the piece was done he pulled away reluctantly and noted how he felt this feeling of loss by not having your warmth. You turn and look at him a small smile on your face. “Thank you..” It’s a low whisper and he almost doesn’t hear it over the rapid beating of your heart. Vergil doesn’t know why but it finally clicks he doesn’t know if it was the calm peacefully look on your face or the smile paired with joyful and admiring eyes, but it clicks. Because even though your heart is beating faster than it should the look on your face tells a different story. It is not one of fear and that holds him in place. Before he can delve any further into it a knock on the door startles both of you.

“Um Mr. Vergil, Nero needs your help with something. He asked me to get you.” Kyrie’s voice was light and even.

He nods at her and dare you say it he leaves quicker than what he normally would. Almost as if he is desperate to leave the room, to get away from you because the silent look you both would give each other to excuse your presence is not given. In fact, he doesn’t look at you all. The only thing you can do now is sit at the piano throughly confused with Kyrie who seems to have a confused look about her as well.

#devil may cry #post devil may cry 5 #devil may cry 5 #Vergil #reader insert #vergil x reader #timid reader #Things are getting serious guys #Im going to try and steer this ship #becasue i built it so its my responsibilty #lets hope it doesn't sink like the titanic

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taronfanfic · 5 years

Text

Fast Forward

Chapter 4

Your days seemed to run on automatic pilot as a hazy numbness occupied your mind. You kept telling yourself that the wait was the worst bit, but every time you did you remembered the crushing pain that hit your chest when you were first told it was a tumour. Wednesday was results day. The news could come through from your Mum at any minute and it left you checking your phone religiously. Your boss wasn’t too happy with the amount of work you’d produced, but considering the circumstances she wasn’t about to pull you up on it either. Instead she sent you home early.

Music could be heard blasting out from your flat as you walked up to the door and placed your key in the lock. Taron was singing along, completely oblivious to your presence as he spread out a range of ingredients and then pulled a chopping board from one of the cupboards.

“What are you doing back so early?” You questioned him as you turned the volume on the radio down sharply.

“Shit! When did you get here?” He jumped and spun around, wielding a sharp knife in your direction. “Sorry, let me put this down before I kiss you.”

“You’ve not answered my question.” His kiss was loving and warm, an obvious attempt to distract you from the conversation but it didn’t work.

“I erm, worked through my lunch hour so I could leave early today and surprise you by cooking tonight. Gonna make us a curry.”

“Urgh, perfect boyfriend strikes again. You’ll have to stop this one day, else I’ll be expecting too much from you forever!” You teased him as you poked him gently in the ribs.

“I’m just trying to make things as good as they can be for you at the moment… I take it it’s good news as you’re back early and don’t seem too upset?”

“No news actually. I got told to leave early because I was doing fuck all other than staring at my phone and waiting for it to ring.” Taron laughed at that one and then turned back to carry on prepping the food.

“So, we’re going with no news is good news for now then?”

“Well… not bad news, yet.”

“If it was bad news, surely they’d have got on with things and told him already? Acted more urgently and taken him in to operate or something.”

“Maybe. I don’t know how these things work. Mum said she’d call as soon as they hear anything, so the wait continues.” You left the conversation there as you plugged your phone in to charge and crashed out on the sofa. The sound of Taron singing along to the radio continued and the smell from the curry he was making started to fill the flat as you did your best to relax and think about anything else but your parents.

Before long Taron had joined you on the sofa, sliding in beneath your legs and then lifting them back over his lap whilst he waited for everything to cook. You could feel his eyes on you but you didn’t want to meet his gaze. He’d only start up again with his positive attitude, telling you it would all be fine and to stop worrying. It was easy to say from his position. Your Mum was right, they weren’t his parents and this wasn’t his problem.

“Are you seeing the boys tonight?”

“Nah, I was gonna swerve this week and stay in with you. We can watch a film or something.”

“You should go.” You pulled your legs out from his lap and drew them in against your chest as you sat up.

“No, it’s alright. I wanna be with you.”

“T, have a night off. Please? I’ll be fine and you’ve done more than enough already.”

“You sure? I don’t want to leave you on your own if you’re not feeling good.” He reached his hand out and placed it on top of your knee.

“I’m alright, honestly. I’d rather things carried on as normal and you shouldn’t have to miss out on going to the pub because of me.” You sighed as you started to get annoyed that he wasn’t taking you up on it.

“I don’t mind.”

“I know, but I do. So please go and enjoy yourself tonight.”

“Only if you’re sure?”

“I’m sure!” You snapped slightly.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go to the pub… You’re sweet.” He left a quick kiss to your forehead as he got up and returned to the kitchen to plate up the food.

***

An evening to yourself was exactly what you needed. The peace and quiet gave you time to think properly without having to worry about zoning out on someone else’s conversation, or have Taron thinking you were upset and keeping it to yourself. Which in all honesty was exactly what you were doing. Sometimes you don’t want to talk about it though, you just need to think. It was all very nostalgic, looking back on your childhood and the time you’d spent with your Dad in the garden, or singing along to the radio in the car as he drove you to school. Life was so simple back then. Everyone seemed happy. All of this happening had shone a light on how little time you’d spent with your family in the last 5 years and you suddenly felt so guilty. If it came to the worst and your Dad didn’t have long left, you’d regret not spending more time with him. You’d regret wasting it getting drunk in clubs and spending your weekends trying to get home from the next random guy’s bedroom. Even some of the weekends spent with Taron in the past 11 months seemed unnecessarily selfish.

Your moment of reflection was broken by the sound of your phone ringing. You jumped up off the sofa to answer the call from your Mum and hear the news you’d been waiting for all day.

“Oh thank god.” You sighed heavily as your legs gave way and left you sitting on the floor at the end of the sofa. It was good news. It took a moment to sink in and you’d zoned out on what your Mum was saying, but knowing the tumour wasn’t cancerous was all that mattered. “I’m going to come and see you again this weekend, we need to celebrate even if it’s just us two sharing a bottle of wine.”

“I’d like that.” Your Mum replied and you could hear her smiling for what was probably the first time in a while. “We don’t see enough of you these days.”

“I know… I can change that though, I want to.”

“I’ll leave it up to you, but you know where we are, and you know we always love to see you and we miss you.”

“I’ll be up on Saturday. Give my love to Dad.”

“I will do, see you at the weekend, love.”

You found yourself bursting into tears as you ended the call. It was mostly relief, but you knew there was some sadness and guilt still swirling in the mix. It felt good to cry though. You needed it.

“Y/N, Y/N, where are you?” Taron called out before you’d even heard the door close behind him. He rushed through to find you on the floor at the end of the sofa with tears still streaming down your face. “Oh love, I could hear you crying from outside. It’s alright, I’m here.”

“I’m okay.” You managed to smile at him through your tears before he placed his hands to your cheeks and wiped the dampness away with his thumbs.

“You don’t have to be, not for me.” He replied sympathetically as you reached up to his wrists and pulled his hands away. “You should have called me, or text, and I’d have come back sooner.”

“Taron, it’s fine. It’s good news!” You laughed slightly knowing it must have looked like the complete opposite to him. “It’s not cancer.”

“Oh my days, that’s brilliant,” He sighed in relief as he moved from crouching opposite you to sitting with his legs crossed beneath him. “So these are happy tears?”

“Mostly.”

“Talk to me.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just relief mainly.” You thought you’d managed to sound convincing in your reply but as Taron sat in silence, holding your hand and waiting for you to continue, you knew he wasn’t going to let it drop. “I was just thinking… before my Mum phoned, like… if it wasn’t good news then I’d regret not spending more time with my Dad. You only get one set of parents, y’know?”

“Mmmhm, and when they’re gone, they’re gone.”

“Exactly. So, maybe I shouldn’t have spent quite so many weekends getting drunk and should have gone home more often.”

“Yeah, but do you not think they’d feel guilty if they knew you weren’t living your own life? You’re allowed to do your own thing and you needed that time to find your feet as an adult… and find me!” Taron lifted the back of your hand to his lips.

“True.”

“Life’s a balance, you’ve just realised you’d had it tilted too far one way and now’s your chance to tilt it back to the middle again.”

“I’ve said I’ll go up again this weekend. They’re letting Dad out of hospital for a week before his operation.”

“That’s good… I know why you said no last time, but seeing as things are a bit different now… how about I come with you?”

“Taron.” You sighed and looked away from him.

“What? What’s so bad about me meeting your parents?”

“It’s just. It’s not a good idea.”

“But why?”

All his questions were driving you mad when you didn’t know how to phrase your answers. You stood up from the floor and went to get a glass of water to buy yourself some extra time.

“Because… it just is! You trust me, don’t you?”

“With my life!” He replied forcefully as he followed you into the kitchen.

“So trust me when I say it’s not a good idea.”

“But I don’t understand, Y/N. We’ve been together, what… nearly a year now, officially, longer than that if you count the rocky start.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“It’s like you’re not taking our relationship seriously.” He replied quickly.

“Wow! You really think that?!” You looked back at him, wide-eyed, and shook your head in disbelief.

“Oh, come on. You know I didn’t mean it to that extreme so stop exaggerating things.”

“Me? Exaggerating? Why would I need to do that if I wasn’t taking our relationship seriously?”

“Y/N...” His eye roll was the last straw for you. After the day you’d had the last thing you wanted to deal with was accusations and attitude from the person who’s meant to always have your back.

“No, no Taron. I’ve had enough. I’m going to bed.” You stepped around him and didn’t look back as you made your way through to the bedroom.

“Y/N, don’t.” He called after you, but it didn’t change your mind.

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