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ja-lin · 3 years

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Taming the Tigress (Pride Month Writing Challenge Day 1, 2)

Fandom: Voltage Lovestruck Series: Sweet Enchantments Characters: Runa x MC Wordcount: 2200 Notes: MC’s PoV on how she feels about Runa. Warnings: Rough sex scene at end, but no vulgar language used.

I’ve forgotten how many days have passed since being confined to this magical cafe and bound to a magician. I’m a fawn lost in a jungle of predators. But, everytime Runa walks past me, the exotic spiced scent of her perfume makes my heart flutter, a butterfly towards the sweet bosom of a flower.

Runa has the ferocity of a tiger and everyone warns me not to approach her. All the taunting voices echo through my ears that my relationship with the tigress is unhealthy and punishable in the magic world. But, I know in my heart that the tigress is lonely and her ferocious roars are no more than drawn out weeps that echo through the night.

In the darkness, I hear the sound of a certain mysterious barista, like a one man orchestra working his magic at the bar. If anyone can give me advice about how to approach the tigress, it's Zain. Before I even sit down on a bar stool and begin to ask him a question about Runa, he gracefully turns around to face me, silken hair falling smoothly onto his shoulders, like ocean waves coming to a rest onto the sands of a beach.

Zain is holding a beautiful ceramic tea cup, the edges of the cup adorned with intricate gold patterns resembling flowers and butterflies. The scent of the tea hits me and I’m transported to a field of exotic wildflowers.

Not only is Zain a skilled barista, his knowledge on rare teas is impressive. He explains, "This is special floral tea made from the petals of the blooming monarch flower.“

I continue to sip the tea, each sip bringing me deeper and deeper into the field of wildflowers.

Zain’s voice is a gentle breeze in the field, “There is a legend about the origin of the flower's name. Ancient magicians say that during the monarch butterfly mating season, one butterfly could not find love. It was sad and had no energy left to flutter. After drifting around with the wind for several days, the butterfly landed on the petals of a beautiful, kind flower. The flower shielded the butterfly from wind, rain, and sun until it was strong enough to speak."

Yet, the flower noticed the butterfly was weeping one night and asked, "Why are you weeping my dear butterfly?"

The butterfly woefully responded, "Everyone around me has found someone to be with for life, but alas I will never be able to find love."

The flower decided to take a risk, "Take my nectar, regain your strength and you will surely find your true love."

The butterfly was shocked by the flower's sacrifice, "But, you will perish if I do so! I could not do that to a friend!"

The flower curled its petals as if embracing the lone butterfly, "I may not be a butterfly and I am from a completely different world, but I am doing this because I love you more than a friend. Please take my nectar and live a happy life, for if you perish I could not stand living another day."

The butterfly began to weep again, "I cannot take your nectar and live a happy life because my life would not be happy without you."

Zain continues to speak, voice smooth and smoky like dark chocolate melting against the heat of a kiss, “And, so there the monarch butterfly and the flower remained. Their love blossomed and grew -- seasons upon seasons passed and one spring, a magician stumbled upon a field of beautiful flowers that had petals resembling the monarch butterfly.”

As Zain finishes his story, the aroma of the tea draws me like a butterfly to a flower. He offers me the delicate cup and I take a sip. The tea tastes bittersweet with a strong floral finish that lingers in my mouth.

I ask Zain for another cup of the tea, “Runa would love a cup of this tea, maybe it’ll cheer her up.”

To my surprise, Zain already has a tray of tea and snacks setup as he speaks to me, “What a coincidence as I was about to ask you to bring this to her! She has barely eaten anything all day and even the turnips are worried for their mother.”

Zain winks at me as I take the tray up to Runa’s room.

I take a deep breath and enter the lair of the tigress. The room is dim, but I can make out the shape of Runa laying sideways on her bed facing the wall. Maybe this was a bad decision, I’m having second thoughts.

Before I can change my mind, Runa roars in a fiery tone, but her voice is cracked as if she had been sobbing for hours, “Get the fuck out and leave me alone. Doors were made for a reason. To be shut.”

I know I can’t back down, so despite the tigress snapping at me, I approach and sit next to her on the bed, “Zain wanted me to bring this tray of tea and snacks. It’s a rare tea, from the petals of the monarch flower.”

Runa lets out a snort and a short mocking laugh before shifting and sitting up in bed next to me. Unable to contain herself, Runa bursts out laughing, “Oh, that dumb story he always tells. Zain’s always a big fanboy of fantasy stories with romance and legends. Lately, he’s been telling me about this novel he’s reading, of a girl from Chicago who gets dropped into some fantasy world and she managed to help save a knight and sorceress escape the wrath of an evil queen.”

I set the silver tray onto my lap and mention to Runa that the novel was made into a movie a couple summers back.

“There was a movie called The Void’s Embrace, it was pretty popular and the audience was so disappointed when the knight sacrificed himself to save the girl and the sorceress. The sorceress lost her memory, but at the same time that also meant she forgot about years of war and abuse. The girl was heartbroken, but wanted the sorceress to live a peaceful life without memory of war and abuse. At the end of the movie, true love’s kiss brought the memories back.”

Runa rolls her eyes and grabs a biscuit from the tray to pop into her mouth, speaking as she chews. Some turnips sneak out of the crate, curious about the sugary crumbs dropping to the floor. Runa flicks pieces of biscuit down to the curious turnips.

“Silly humans. To hell with true love’s kiss. Fantasy romance is such bull crap because the writers make it so poetically perfect, but in reality that’s not how it works. You're such a hopeless nerd for fantasy romance. Nothing in reality is that perfect, second chances and redemption don't exist. Once you fucked up once in real life, there's no fixing it. Everyone will look at you like you're a monster that belongs in some deep, dark pit or locked up forever in a dungeon. True love doesn’t exist.”

Challenging the tigress in her lair proves difficult, but I know need to take a risk.

“But, fantasy stories like that give us hope to keep trying. The sorceress knew she did horrible things in the past, so she didn't feel like she deserved to be loved. I think that everyone deserves a chance. Whatever happened yesterday can't be changed, whatever's going to happen in the future is uncertain, but today...we can control what we do today in the present. I want to take control of the present. And, I just wanted to know your honest feelings. Everytime I try to ask you about our relationship, the door slams shut in my face.”

Runa turns to face me so fast, bracing both my shoulders with such ferocity that it knocks the tray off my lap. The sounds of the silverware and tray dropping wake up some more turnips that had been sleeping in a crate nearby. They wobble out, some of them yawning -- and they begin to help their mother clean up the mess. I'm momentarily distracted by the cute, sentient root vegetables and don't notice that Runa's face is only inches from mine. I only snap out of my turnip pantomime trance when I feel her hot breath against my cheeks, but I don’t cower as she roars at me, bearing her teeth.

"Like I said. Doors were made to be shut. Stubborn humans. You don't fucking understand anything about about me and my past! Nobody understands me, yet everyone judges me and tries to help me. I suggest you stop trying and just give up now, just like the rest of them gave up on me and left me hanging. Stop giving me false hope, the light is unreachable from where I am deep in the lair. You don't fucking know shit. I wish you'd have never shown up at the cafe!”

The words Runa spew at me are harsh, but I know that’s just her way of shielding herself from her emotions. Following her outburst, she uses her arms as a physical shield, crossing them over her bosom as she turns her back to me. Even as Runa's hands drop from my shoulders, I can still feel their heated presence like footsteps on hot sand that only slowly wash away with the cold ocean tide. I gently place my hands on Runa's shoulder to comfort her, but she jerks around to face me, freezing from the sudden touch, eyes wide with surprise that any prey would dare challenge the predator.

I take a deep breath and lock my eyes with Runa's.

“Yes. You got that right! I am a stubborn human, but this means I will never, NEVER give up on you. My entire life, I've known the pain of loving someone, but needing to suppress it, to hide it deep in my heart because others around me won't accept it. The fear of rejection, the fear of the one I love leaving me because I'm not worthy enough or I'm not real enough. It's like drinking poison everyday. You're not the only one with monsters within you. We all carry that burden, but at the same time we dream that one day we'll find someone who will accept us for the monsters we truly are.”

Runa opens her mouth slightly about to speak, but her lips become sealed again and she averts her gaze away from me. The tigress knows she’s been challenged --she’s never been challenged before by prey and she doesn’t know how to counter it.

So, I continue to advance, “Everytime I see you, hear your voice, feel your presence, and smell your scent -- it's like drinking more poison. I know it's killing me, but I can't stop drinking it.”

I shift my hands up her shoulders until I’m cupping her warm, flushed cheeks and turn her face so we’re gazing into each others eyes. With confidence that prey never had against a predator I attack, “Runa Amberthorne, true love is the antidote. But, I'm content to drink all your poisons until the day I die.”

With that being said, I draw her face towards mine until our lips meet. The tension, like sparks, suddenly ignites a fire I’ve never seen before in Runa’s eyes. The tigress is finally awake and I’m vulnerable as the prey. She wraps her arms around my body and returns the kiss with ferocity, deep and passionate -- her tongue dancing in my mouth as she explores and tastes me. As the dance ends, she playfully rakes her teeth against my lower lip and gently bites down before sitting back to catch her breath. Runa rolls her tongue across her lips and teeth and I know she's hungry for more. Offering myself, I fall back onto the bed, my hair sprawling out on either side of my head -- my quickened breaths and gasps only fueling the flames of her desire.

Like a tigress she pounces on to me, framing my body with both her muscular arms, nails digging into the bed like claws -- I’m frozen like prey staring into her intense amber eyes, but soon heat spreads through me like a wildfire out of control as she rips my clothing off -- nails digging into my skin as she does so. The slight sight of blood trickling from where her nails streaked down my tender skin releases her ferocious inner beast. The tigress, starved for eons begins to devour me from head to toe.

I can feel how toned Runa’s arms are against my inner thighs as she lays fiery kisses down my body, lower and lower, until I gasp her name. Strands of Runa’s pink bangs stick to her face, now slick with the sweat. Runa slightly tilts her head up and our eyes lock. She sets my flames of desire ablaze with deliberate, relentless strokes of her tongue. I don’t dare break my gaze with her amber eyes, for I want the flames to keep burning hot throughout the night.

I am hers now and forever, as she claims and marks me with her mouth.

#runa amberthorne #sweet enchantments #lovestruck #my writing #...goal is to write a short fic a day for pride month #this is for personal practice #i want to make a visual novel game thats similar to missed messages #this is day 1 and 2 cuz this fic is so long and i drew something #imma have to think of something for day 3

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pkducklett · 3 years

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“The Friend Of My Enemy...Is My Friend” - A DST Fanzine Fanfic

Now Available on Ao3!

Fandom: Don’t Starve Description: Wurt unlearns some prejudice regarding the tribe of scale-less living in the Constant, and makes some new friends along the way. Rating: Gen. Characters: Wurt (Don’t Starve), Webber (Don’t Starve), Wendy (Don’t Starve), Abigail (Don’t Starve), Wickerbottom (Don’t Starve) Pairings: n/a Author’s Notes: This was my part of the Don’t Starve Together fanzine, this effort was a labor of love for the Don’t Starve community and its creators. I thoroughly enjoyed doing this piece on a character which, until recently, I had overlooked. Wurt is now probably among my favorites in the cast, and it was really through writing this that I came to love and appreciate her as a character. I hope you enjoy this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Wurt was small, but she would grow. She was young, but would age. She was different, and…

She clutched the object in her claws. A series of papyrus pages with words and illustrations on them bound together with pigskin and string. The object was her fascination, something she had never seen in her marsh village. The scale-less left the object behind when they were chased out of merm territory.

At first she told herself she was on a mission to return it. Drop the object outside their village and sneak home; she’d never have to face them. The scale-less couldn’t be trusted. That’s what she was told since she could remember. Afterall, scale-less allied themselves with pigfolk. By trading with the pig “king”, they had placed their kind in direct opposition with mermfolk. Wurt knew this, the scale-less just destroyed when they came into the swamp. It was for this reason, she set out to have as little contact as she completed her mission.

The object slipped in her claws and she was snapped from her daydream to catch it. The midafternoon sun above barely touched the evergreen forest floor where she was standing. She looked around to catch her bearings, all traces of swamp had been left behind hours ago. How far was the scale-less village? At least there was some semblance of a path; she could only hope it led closer to them.

Walking allows for time to let the mind wander - which is why she felt another idea pushing through her brain. Perhaps scale-less had more paged objects, and maybe she could trade to get more. If she established a trade with the scale-less, maybe more merms could as well. Then the scale-less wouldn’t need to rely on pigs ever again. Wurt could be the first merm to reach out to the scale-less and usher in a new era for mermkind. It was ambitious, but she felt the responsibility of all her young years on her shoulders.

Shaken again from her daydreams, she heard movement come from the bushes. She stiffened, placing the object safely on the ground next to her and adopting a defensive stance. “Stay back, florp!” she was woefully aware of how defenceless she really was all alone in the forest.

The movement stalled slightly before some… thing popped up to face Wurt. They floated above the forest floor, completely transparent and unblinking. The apparition bore no difference to the specters that occasionally wandered into merm territory - except the flower atop its left side.

Wurt felt the green drain from her face. An angry ghost was likely to rampage and destroy anything in its path. On the other hand, a neutral ghost was like a stalker, following just close enough waiting for a chance to strike. It was an ultimate darned if you do situation. She shook her head, no she couldn’t back down now. She was going to save mermkind; she had to be brave. “You...nice?” her voice faltered, but she managed to stay standing.

The apparition blinked and twisted around to get a closer look, brushing their ghostly tail against her side. Shivers rose from the spot and she had to push herself to keep standing. “Hey! Stop that.”

They stopped, surprised and cocked a ghostly head in confusion.

“You understand me?”

A nod.

“You know where scale-less is, glort?”

They cocked their head again. Looking Wurt up and down before focusing on the object at her feet. She noticed and rushed to grab the object tightly against her chest.

“No, this not yours!” She growled “This belongs to scale-less. Me going to return it myself!”

Once again the ghost looked confused. They maintained eye contact with Wurt for a brief moment before turning back toward the bush.

“What is it, Abigail?” a voice called before pushing out from the bush. A scale-less girl brushed leaves from her shirt. She was pale with round expressionless eyes and long yellow hair tied in symmetrical pigtails. The flower pinned on the right side of her head matched the spector’s. She regarded the ghost briefly before turning attention to Wurt. “Oh. A merm.”

Wurt could feel her heart pounding against the object and tried to readjust her posture to appear confident once again. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by-

“-Wendy! Don’t run too far ahead!” from the bushes came another figure, covered in a thin layer of fur and eight blinking eyes. They were a spiderfolk but apparently someone forgot to tell them that they had to walk on eight legs, not two. Like the first scale-less, they almost immediately noticed Wurt, who was beginning to think meeting scale-less was a bad idea.

“Oh you’re a merm!” They spoke in an excitable manner and waved one of their spider arms in greeting. “Are you friendly? My name’s Webber, and this is Wendy,” they pointed to the other scale-less “and this is Abigail” they pointed to the ghost.

“What are you doing away from your swamp?” the other scale-less, Wendy, questioned.

“Wendy!” Webber reprimanded. “Be nice, she could be lost.”

“Am...not lost flurt.” Wurt’s voice shook more than she cared to admit. She breathed, here goes nothing. “Me looking for scale-less village. Wanted to know-” she paused and held out the object for the scale-less to see. “-Wanted to know if they had more of these.”

Wendy and Webber shared a look before Webber broke into a big, fangy, grin. “Oh that’s one of Miss Wickerbottom’s books.”

“Book?”

“She writes them herself.” they further explained.

“How did you find it?” Wendy asked.

“Was in swamp. Scale-less left it when village chased them away.”

Wendy and Webber exchanged a glance and Wurt’s heart dropped. Had she said something to provoke them? If so, it was all too clear who would win this fight. Merms fight best in groups, and Wurt was far from home.

Webber was the first to make a move, pulling Wurt’s arm further into the evergreens. “Come with us.” Their voice sounded almost too cheery if killing her was the objective.

Despite the growing feeling of dread, Wurt obediently followed at the spider kid’s insistence. Wendy took a spot behind, with the ghost following alongside. Wurt kept pace between the scale-less, but kept her eyes elsewhere. At the first sign of trouble, she had to try and escape. They had her boxed in. The path wound further into the forest, bushes and underbrush lined the sides of the path.

“So,” Webber’s excitable voice broke the silence that had hushed over the group. “I don’t think we actually caught your name. What is it?” The spider was walking backwards now to face Wurt.

Wurt looked away, keeping her gaze off their multiple eyes. Her nerves were fraying by the second, and with it her bravery ebbed away. She wasn’t sure if she was visibly shaking, though she felt like she might be.

“Hey, are you okay?” Webber lowered his voice.

“Fear is an unnecessary reaction.” Wendy’s tone was flat.

Wurt continued to stay silent. The piney forest floor was soon ending into a grassy path. The world was cast in an orange glow as dark was soon approaching. Away from the trees, Wurt felt less claustrophobic, but not completely safe.

“Hey,” Webber pulled Wurt’s arm, the concerned look on their face was top acting. “Are you okay?”

Wurt didn’t respond, she couldn’t. Her chest was tight and it locked up her voice. She was positive she was visibly shaking now, and close to tears.

“Children, is that you?” a separate voice called. “Get back to camp before it gets dark!”

The voice provided just enough distraction that Wurt took no time sprinting away from her kidnappers. She charged back into the evergreens. Her thoughts raced as she desperately tried to remember the way back to the swamp. Dusk was giving way to night and the forest floor looked darker than ever. The shadows expanded and through her petrified mind Wurt remembered what the elders had said about going out at night. She remembered the stories of a shadowy night lady that had scared her so much she still occasionally had nightmares. Looking up, she could see the last of the sun’s light wane into the night sky.

Now she could feel something; she was no longer alone. Tears blurred her vision, she continued running; her swamp was still so far away. She heard whispers from the shadows, and now she felt something grab her. It pulled her foot, and Wurt collapsed onto the pine needles, the book sliding into the bushes. She whipped around and caught the creature’s eyes. Pale white against the blackest black. The eyes illuminated some of its face. Sharp teeth aligned into a malicious grin opened and Wurt could feel the creature’s claws against her stomach. She let out a shriek; the creature’s mouth opened wider and its claws dug harder. She closed her eyes; she didn’t want to die.

Then the creature’s weight was gone. Its claws lifted from her belly and she could no longer see its evil smile. There was light, a torch.

“That’s her Miss Wickerbottom!” Webber’s loud voice proclaimed.

Wurt could see the two scale-less that held her captive earlier had come back with a third, older woman. Her gray hair was tied tightly in a bun on top of her head. She had sharp features, wrinkled some with age and dark beady eyes. The torch in her grasp was extended towards Wurt and she was intently watching her. “Oh dear.” She breathed.

“Stay back.” Wurt warned hoarsely. The older woman had bent down to her level. Webber and Wendy following suit. Every muscle in her small body ached and her throat felt like she had been eating spikes, yet she still tried to look somewhat threatening. “Keep away from… me, florp.” It hurt to speak.

“I’m just going to make a fire, dear.” the woman responded calmly. She set down the torch in her hand and pushed the kids away with the other. She worked quickly and soon the forest was illuminated by a small campfire.

Wurt pushed herself to sit up. The spots where the creature's claws dug into stung. She tried to not look at it. Instead she kept her eyes on the three scale-less (and one ghost) who were keeping their eyes on her. The suspense was eating at her, no one was saying anything to her, just watching.

“What you...waiting for?” she hissed. “Scale-less want to hurt, just do it, glorp.”

“We don’t want to-” Webber started but was shushed by the elder scale-less.

“You are a long away from home, little one.” she said softly.

Wurt fought back more tears. Her muscles tensed. She was cornered, hurt, and not in any shape to fight back.

The older scale-less moved a little closer. “What brought you out of the swamp?”

“She found one of your books.” Wendy said flatly.

A smile. “Did you now? I wonder which one it was.” She continued moving closer to Wurt.

“No...no closer.” Wurt struggled to get the words out.

She complied. “Are you scared, little merm? I promise we aren’t going to hurt you.”

Wurt stayed silent, still very aware of her trembling. She curled in on herself and shut her eyes. It would be useless trying to run now, she was once again outnumbered, except this time she wasn’t even sure she could stand on her own. Something brushed up on her toes, and she flinched. Looking down, she saw there was another book at her feet. It looked similar to the first book, bound in pigskin, but the print etched into the cover made different shapes. She hesitated, but slowly picked it up flipping through the papyrus pages and revealed several pictures of little birds. A small smile crept up her face.

“I had a feeling you might like that one.” The elder scale-less was smiling with satisfaction.

She blinked. “Me called Wurt.” she said softly; her voice still hurt.

“And it is a pleasure to meet you, Wurt.” She moved a bit closer to Wurt. “You can call me Wickerbottom.”

“Wick...Wicker-lady?” Wurt struggled on the syllables. “That a...funny name, florp.”

A smile. “I suppose it is.” She situated herself next to the merm child. “Now, are you quite alright Wurt? That was quite a scare you gave us.”

Wurt blinked confused. “Me...scared you?”

“You ran into the forest by yourself.” Wendy interjected.

“We were afraid you were going to be eaten by Charlie!” Webber cried.

“Alone in the woods at night is no place for a little one like yourself. Especially without a light.” Wickerbottom spoke with a calm, concerned voice.

“So, you really not going to hurt me?” Wurt asked.

“Goodness no.” She spoke as though the mere suggestion were outlandish.

“But...scale-less and merms?” Her thoughts spun.

Wickerbottom placed a hand on Wurt’s knee. “I know we’ve had our differences, but we really are here to help you Wurt.”

She trembled, tears pooling in her eyes and she flung herself onto the elder scale-less. Wickerbottom pulled her into a hug and she didn’t even fight; just sobbed harder into her chest. Then she felt someone else embrace her. Soft fuzzy arms held tight grasp on the merm child. Then another embrace joined the pile. Wurt opened her eyes, all three scale-less (and one ghost) were clinging tightly to her comfortingly.

She smiled and let herself sink back into the hug. It felt right. She was Wurt, she was going to bring about peace between mermkind and the scale-less village. Though the beginnings were rocky, she felt assured that she had the ability to make the friend of her enemy… her friend too.

#ducklett speaks #don't starve #Don't Starve Together Zine #DST Zine #DSTZ #ds wurt #ds abigail #ds wendy #ds webber #ds wickerbottom #ducklett writes

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

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A Heart Of Ice

Prompt: Pride Fandom: Winx Club Pair: Icy/Bloom Summary: Witches shouldn't be with fairies, Icy knows this. And yet she still finds herself woefully drawn to Bloom.

It is a pride thing, she knows. That is why she can’t give in. That is why she can’t let the fairy love her. Moreso, that is why she can’t love the fairy. Why she can’t love anyone at all. She has a reputation to uphold, a frigid heart to maintain. And if the fairy gets too close the ice around it might just melt.

She thinks that the danger had always been there. From the very moment that the fairy had so rudely fluttered into her life. She had spunk, determination, and a fire to match her power--however weak it had been the first time they had met.

How terribly does she wish that the fairy wouldn’t have grown into her powers. Perhaps if she hadn’t--if Icy had had her way and whittled her confidence away to nothing at all--then she would have nothing to be drawn to. But as it were, the fairy has bite. It isn’t all that often that someone has the brazenness to get in her face, to talk back and fight back. And perhaps that is part of her allure. Who is she kidding, it is most of Bloom’s allure.

She had been judgemental of Darcy when she started pining over Riven.Projection, it couldn’t be anything else. To scold and shame Darcy was to scold and shame herself; the both of them could use it. Witches don’t fall in love. Witches aren’t soft. All the same she had been fixated on Bloom. It was for her power and for her power alone, that is what she vowed. But she knows that it was far more than that.

She thinks of the fairy more than she cares to admit. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so alarming if those thoughts were seeping in simmering resentment. But mostly when her mind drifts to the fairy it is with fondness. Fondness for her witty comebacks and for her taking no bullshit.

Each time that the fairy had gotten the better of her had infuriated and intrigued her in one fell swoop. And so she resents Bloom with more fury. Maybe if she throws enough ice and a generous helping of petty insults, she can drive the feelings out.

Somewhere along the lines she begins to wonder. Wonder why she has so many reservations. Why she can’t stomach the idea of letting herself fall in love. She could add her own wicked flavor to it. She doesn’t have to be soft…

But a witch and a fairy? Unheard of. Absolutely vile.

It was one thing for Darcy to finally cave in and snatch Riven for herself. And this time without the dark intent. It chills even Icy to think that the man had driven dark intent from Darcy. She swallows, if Riven is capable of such a feat then Bloom can surely drive Icy’s essence out.

She pulls a dusty book--a sinister old tome--from the shelf and flips to a thumbs her way through it. If she can’t find a spell to remove her capacity to love, then she will find one to eradicate her emotions entirely. It can’t possibly get any colder than emotionless.

Stormy enters their dorm, Helia in tow. Icy swallows; what is happening to them? What have they become? Stormy has her hand in his. Icy thinks that it was a mistake to come back to Cloud Tower and put in a serious effort to graduate.

Perhaps that is another option; studies come so naturally to her. Maybe she ought simply engross herself in them and make no time for anything else. She is already back at the top of her class, it wouldn’t be too hard to request a heavier workload.

Stormy takes a seat and leans against Helia. He is doing ‘the hair thing’ again. The hair thing, as Icy has come to find out, is when Helia puts his hands on either side of her head and floofs the witch’s hair like he might do with a pillow.

“Gag me.” Darcy rolls her eyes.

Riven chuckles and sets his drink down. Apparently the sentiment is shared by everyone but Stormy and Helia. Not that they are paying any mind to anyone around them.

“So, Icy?” Darcy speaks up. “Does it feel weird to be the only one without a guy?”

“Yeah!’ Stormy perks up. “Aren’t you lonely?”

Icy flips the page with more force than necessary. “What happened to love is repulsive, ladies?”

Darcy shrugs, “we’re supposed to be turning a new leaf or whatever.”

“And besides.” Stormy grumbles. “If that Mirta can go full on fairy then why shouldn’t we mix it up?”

“You just like having someone play with your hair.”

“Wouldn’t you though?” Helia asks. He gives Stormy’s hair a final ruffle.

“You don’t have to find a gentle man like Helia.” Riven points out. “There are plenty of men like yours truly.” He wiggles his brows.

“Stop that.” Darcy swats him.

“Helia is not a gentle man! He’s tough!”

Helia clears his throat. “Actually, I like to think that I am a gentle soul.”

“Helia is a pacifist.” Riven reminds.

Icy is certain that, that is exactly why things are going so smoothly between the two. In the way that Darcy and Riven share a rougher edge, Helia and Stormy are perfect opposites. He is the mellow to her tempestuousness and she is punch in the face when he can use a bodyguard.

“I am not interested in men, ‘real’ or not.” Icy says flatly. And she isn’t lying. She couldn’t care less about the specialists. Fairies. She likes fairies. She rubs her face with her hands. Why does she have to like fairies?

She’d been rather fond of Mirta too. She hadn’t been fond, she had loved her from the start; loved that quirky hair cut, and that newage fashion, that stupid pumpkin shirt... and so she had to get rid of her. Had to drive her out.

She slams the book shut and shoves it aside.

“Whao, that book too difficult for you?” Darcy asks.

She isn’t in the mood for jokes and jests. “It’s useless, Darcy! Just like a certain witch!”

Stormy cackles. “She got you, Darcy!”

“Shut up.”

The sound of their squabbles follows her down the hall.

.oOo.

Bloom would feel awful, absolutely guilty if Icy hadn’t made her first year at Alfea so difficult. But the fact is that she had. She had made it so hard. Maybe it is the witchy thing to do, but she can’t resist. She flashes her most charming smile as the witch passes, “morning, Icy.”

The woman halts and seems to go rigid. “What do you want?”

Bloom props herself against the outerwall of a boutique. “Just trying to be friendly.”

“Disgusting.”

Bloom laughs and the witch swallows. Bloom isn’t certain, not one hundred percent, but she is fairly confident that her long time foe isn’t as resentful as she would like Bloom to think. Her quips lack their usual power, their typical sting. Tecna swears up and down that, according to her calculations, the likelihood of Icy harboring some deeply closeted feelsings for her are rather high.

Mostly, the ice witch has been ignoring her entirely. It is a change of pace and Bloom finds it surprisingly hard to adjust to.

“Come on, aren’t you going to trash my outfit or something? Tell me that my hair looks awful?”

Icy shrugs. “I don’t have the time to waste on you.” She gestures to an armful of textbooks.

She knows that she shouldn’t. She knows that Griffin would applaud her for it. But the words leave her mouth before she can stop them, “you mean you don’t want me to be your study buddy?”

“I can think of nothing more revolting.” The witch, to the best of her ability with them full, crosses her arms across her chest.

“If you say so. I was going to maybe call Sky.” Bloom returns the shrug. “He’s been asking if I’d be interested in rekindling a spark.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Her voice is level. Frigid as ever. But her eyes betray her at least somewhat.

Bloom thinks of the time that the witch had nearly murdered Kiko, thinks of how she’d yanked her powers from her after tormenting her parents. Suddenly it is so easy, “of course it does.” She steps closer to the witch. Leans in, close to her ear and whispers, “I know.”

Icy gives a soft tsk. “What do you think you know?”

Bloom tilts her head and brushes Icy’s bangs behind her ear. The witch gives a slight shudder. “I know how you feel about me.”

That blush is priceless. Almost enough to make up for several years of relentless harassment. But it isn’t quite enough. “I wonder how the other witches would react to that…”

And then her face drains of all color. Somehow she is paler than usual. “As if I would fall in love with a fairy.” She spits the word like a poison before deliberately shoving her way past.

The guilt washes over her immediately. How could she have weaponized love like that? She isn’t sure how Icy can talk the way that she does with no remorse whatsoever. For what it’s worth, Bloom can’t bring herself to hate Icy, afterall she does owe her confidence and prowess to the witch. “Icy, wait!”

She doesn’t know why she had bothered. Icy isn’t one for talking on a good day. Much less on a day where her pride has been put on the line along with some sturdy blackmail.

.oOo.

Helia is slumbering in Stormy’s arms and Darcy and Riven are well into a hit of weed. She slams the door anyhow. Darcy and Riven jerk. Stormy bolts right up with a, “whao! What’s going on?”

“Go back to sleep.” She grumbles though she doesn’t exactly help her do that when she slams her textbooks down on the table.

“Who bristled your broomstick?” Darcy quirks a brow.

“That loser, Bloom.”

“Really, you’re still feuding with her?”

“What of it, Darcy? We have many scores to settle.” And she is falling very behind where victories are concerned.

“Have you tried working things out with her?” Helia asks.

“Why would I want to do that?” But more than anything she does. She doesn’t want to want that, but she does. So so badly. She kicks her boots off and flops down upon her mattress. “That is the last thing I’d like to do.”

“If you say so.” Darcy rolls her eyes. “But would it kill you to keep your lover’s quarrels to yourself?”

Stormy sniggers. It takes everything in Icy’s soul to not jerk upright. Though her entire body goes rigid she grumbles, “would it kill you to hit your blunts outside?”

.oOo.

She doesn’t see Icy for quite some time. Maybe a month and a few days since their last run in. Possibly it is better that way. But she their last encounter constantly replays in her head and each time she finds herself biting her lip, her stomach fluttering with unease. She likes to think that the witch will be okay considering that her secret has been quite safe. She’d even avoided talking about it with Stella. If Stella found out, everyone else would.

So it has been Tecna and Flora who have been hearing the most of her complaints and concerns. And it was Flora who suggested trying to speak with Icy again. She finds the witch sitting in an ice cream parlor. She should have known that Icy would lurk there.

Bloom takes a deep breath and sits herself across from Icy.

The witch gives a very pointed and sharp inhale. She doesn’t look up. “What do you want, pixie?”

“To apologize.” She starts. “I wouldn’t have told anyone, I know how brutal witches can be.”

Suddenly Icy is fully invested in her ice cream. Granted, she was pretty enthralled with the treat to begin with. Bloom bites back a chuckle.

“I guess I was just mad about...everything.”

“Get to the point.”

“I sort of started with my point. Sorry for…” she trails off. She has a pretty good feeling that Icy wouldn’t take well to her so bluntly calling her on her feelings. “For implying that you would be in love with me. That’s crazy, right.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Bloom. You knew exactly what you were doing. You know that I know...blah blah, you get the gist.”

This time Bloom does laugh. The witch’s sense of humor is rather agreeable when it isn’t at someone else’s expense.

“Alright. I’m sorry that I made fun of your crush.”

“Fuck off.”

Bloom shakes her head. “Do you really want that?”

“Yes.” She takes a particularly big spoonful of ice cream. “I really do.”

Bloom sighs. “But do you want that because you actually want me to leave or because you don’t want to be seen with me.”

“Oh, we can be seen together. Anytime you’d like to blast some spells at one another you can give me a call.” She slides a slip of paper across the table.

She hadn’t realized that the witch was so smooth. She supposes that Icy hadn’t amassed herself such a following way back when by stumbling over her words. “You just gave me your number.”

“Yes, so you can always be one phone call away from getting your ass kicked.” She looks so smug. “I’ve got plenty of new spells to test run.”

Bloom laughs again. But her smile fades. “You’re allowed to be in love, Icy. Darcy and Stormy are. Lucy is.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

She has no more ice cream left to distract herself with. “I-I can’t be with a fairy.” She looks away. It doesn’t really offer her anything but an illusion of dignity.

“Why not?” Bloom doesn’t think that she has ever seen the witch so flustered, almost timid. She doesn’t think that she will ever see it again.

“You said it yourself, witches are brutal.”

Bloom brushes strands of silver-blue hair out of her face and cups the witch’s cheek. It is cool to the touch. “Are you implying that you can’t destroy them all?” Bloom quirks a brow.

She clears her throat, “I can take on the entire student body and win.”

Now that sounds more like the witch she knows.

.oOo.

“Then do it.”

Icy frowns. “Peters…”

“What?”

“You should tread carefully.”

She smirks, “am I on thin ice?”

Again she wonders just why the hell she has to be in love with Bloom fucking Peters of all people. “Extremely.”

“I thought that you liked it when people tell you how powerful you are.”

“I do, yes.” She replies.

“So show everyone. You’re...you. You haven’t let anyone tell you what to do in the past…”

She thinks of Darkar and Valtor and begs to differ.

“So don’t let them tell you what to do--or not to do--now.” Bloom tucks the slip of paper into her pocket. “I can call you tonight and we can fight like usual or you can put on your best choker and we can have a nice dinner.”

And just like that she leaves. The clever little beast. Icy gathers her belongings and makes her way back to the dorm. It is empty this time. It is date night, she recalls. She is alone with the silence, the only sound comes from a rhythmically ticking grandfather clock.

She completes three classes worth of assignments and stretches out on her bed. Precisely when she gets nice and comfortable her phone rings. Peters. “This better be good, I was rather comfy.”

“Meet me at the Magix City green. I have both my dragon fire and a cute dress. Don’t tell me which your bringing, I like a surprise.” Before Icy can reply the line clicks. She is certain that Bloom knows exactly what decision will be made.

Against her better judgement, she fixes her choker around her neck.

#femslashfeb2021 #Winx #Winx Club #Winx Icy #Bloom Peters #Icy/Bloom #Fanfiction

19 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Pikachu, I Choose You!

Category: Mild Romantic Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Kyoka Jiro, Denki Kaminari

Requested By: Spoilerz_Alert (Ao3)

"Nonononono- Ahhh, Denki, nooooooo!"

Kyoka rubbed her eyes sleepily as she shuffled down the last few steps of stairs. Hanta's miserable wail floated out of the kitchen, making her ear jacks twitch as she registered the high-pitched sound. Metallic clangs and muttered curses followed, and when Kyoka approached to inspect the chaos occurring in the kitchen, she also could discern Denki's characteristic low-toned "yayyyyy."

She smothered a giggle as she rounded the corner to find the aforementioned blond seated at the table, drooling a little as he pushed his upturned thumbs through the air. Hanta was carrying the fried remains of their toaster over to the trash can. He tossed the blackened, sparking metal into the bin with an annoyed grunt, then slammed the lid closed. "God damn it, Denki! That's the third one this semester! Mr. Aizawa'll probably start making you pay for them!" he scolded.

"Yayyyyyyyy," responded the short-circuited boy jovially. Hanta rolled his eyes and collapsed against the counter with an exaggerated sigh.

"I just wanted some toast," he lamented woefully. His head lolled over to watch Kyoka as she strolled into the small kitchen. "Mornin'."

"I see Chargebolt here has apprehended the toaster villain yet again," the girl quipped playfully. Denki's head bobbled on his neck like a baby's as he mindlessly ogled at her. As Kyoka raised an eyebrow at him, he cooed and gave her his thumbs-up motion. Kyoka smiled, unable to not find his addled state comical and endearing, and walked over to affectionately ruffle his yellow locks. "Great job, buddy. You saved us from a real menace." Denki released a bubbly laugh and flopped forward, forehead striking the table.

"Fuck, did Pikachu fry the toaster again?!" Katsuki cursed as he stomped into the kitchen to find the boy slumped over and still constantly humming "yayyyyyy!" When Hanta and Kyoka nodded solemnly, the volatile blond angrily kicked the nearest chair and tromped over to the pantry. He ripped open a box of corn flakes and shoved his hand into the bag to grab a massive handful of the crunchy cereal. He pushed them into his mouth, a few missing the mark and clattering down to the floor, while glaring at Denki. "Fucking hell. I just wanted some fucking toast," he grumbled with full cheeks.

"Me tooooo!" Hanta cried exasperatedly and threw his arms up in an irritated gesture. "The world's against us today." Denki blinked slowly and lifted his head to peer at Katsuki.

"Yay?"

"'Yay,' indeed, moron," Katsuki huffed and shoved another handful of corn flakes into his mouth. "How the fuck does he keep fryin' the damn thing, anyway?" Passively listening to their conversation, Kyoka hunted through the various drawers for a can opener so she could peel the lid off the canned peaches she wanted for breakfast.

"When he stays up all night gaming, he's super tired in the morning and can't control his Quirk!" Hanta answered with a pointed glare at the clueless blond, who nodded sagely and confirmed with a succinct "Yay." Not that he knew what they were even talking about.

“Dumbass Pikachu,” Katsuki grumbled under his breath. Just as Katsuki uttered his nickname for Denki, Kyoka spied a few washable markers in one of the kitchen drawers. A mischievous ploy bloomed in her head, and so with a playful grin, she plucked up the red marker and uncapped it with her teeth. Katsuki raised an eyebrow at her as she crossed the kitchen and sat down in the chair beside the dazed Denki. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“A little payback for the toaster,” Kyoka mused. That was her reason for them, but at the moment, Kyoka’s mind was absorbed with how absolutely adorable Denki would look like a cute little Pikachu. She chuckled to herself as she put the marker to his cheeks. Hanta and Katsuki watched her with wide eyes as Kyoka scrawled two oval shapes on Denki’s cheeks with the red pen, and dotted a cute little rounded triangle on the tip of his nose. They all snorted as Denki blinked incomprehensibly and hummed, “Yay?” when Kyoka finished. Sniggering, Kyoka snapped a picture and used her phone’s editing function to draw a pair of Pikachu ears and a zig-zaggy tail on him. She sent it in the students’ group chat, and Hanta and Katsuki’s phones pinged. They both burst into laughter when they opened up the message.

“That’s rich,” Katsuki snickered, admiring Kyoka’s handiwork even as he shoved the cereal box bank into the pantry. By this time, Denki was beginning to regain his senses, blinking rapidly. It took him a moment to register Kyoka’s presence beside him. After he finally returned to his baseline state, he groaned and rubbed the side of his head.

“Aw, man, did I fry the toaster again?”

“Yup,” Katsuki confirmed as he strolled out of the room, apparently not wanting to hang around for the pending conversation. Denki whined self-loathingly and flopped forward against the table. He opened his phone to read the notification and shot upright when he saw the picture.

“What the-! Hey!” he whined loudly. Kyoka stifled giggles with her hand as Denki opened his front-facing camera. “Not funny!” he complained, poking at the red ovals decorating his cheek. The marks made the pout he tossed her exceptionally cute. “You’re so mean, Kyoka…”

“What? I think it’s adorable,” she complimented jokingly. Denki just groaned and pushed his cheeks around, smearing the edges of the circles. “Relaaaaax,” she laughed and nudged him lightly in the ribs with her elbow. “It’s washable ink. You don’t have to go to class like that.”

“Thank God!” he exclaimed with relief, rising promptly from the chair. “I don’t think I could face Aizawa like this!”

“Like what?” Denki jumped a foot in the air at the teacher’s sudden appearance; the dark, broody man hovered in the entranceway to the kitchen, clutching an empty mug that smelled faintly of coffee. Aizawa stared levelly at Denki as the boy gawked at him like a deer struck by headlights. Aizawa then just sighed and proceeded to the coffee pot to refill his cup with the bitter brown liquid. He mixed in a faint amount of sugar and then turned to stare blatantly at the blond boy while sipping at the beverage. “Pika-pi,” he said monotonously before sauntering off. As Kyoka and Hanta collapsed in hysterical laughter, Denki’s face turned a shade of crimson.

“Yeah, yeah, you guys, laugh it up,” he mocked irritatedly as he made to leave as well. “Next time I’m frying the toaster on purpose!” he called as he rounded the corner. Kyoka nearly fell out of her chair as she tried to get up and follow. Holding her belly, she staggered to the wall, holding onto the edge as she shouted after him.

“Denki! Come on; it was a joke! You’re not mad, right? Right? … Denki?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Denki was obviously mad.

Kyoka squirmed uncomfortably in her seat as she discreetly stared at him from across the classroom. He’d refused to speak to her since that morning, and had even resorted to avoiding her. They usually walked to class together, joined by Momo and Hanta, but when she’d joined the three on the front porch, he’d stomped off by himself, insisting he wanted to walk alone. He’d arrived to class first, and when she’d cheerfully greeted him, he’d ignored her. Groaning, Kyoka flopped forward onto her desk, not even bothering to get a head start on the English homework they’d been assigned.

I’m so stupid…

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, much to her surprise. She sat up to brush her fingertips over her eyes, which widened when she saw them glistening with salty tears. Hurriedly, she asked Present Mic if she could be excused and scurried off to the restroom. She slipped into a stall, locked it, and sank onto the toilet with a mournful sigh. What’s happening to me? Why am I so upset? She thought wildly as she rubbed at her eyes to stifle the tears. They stopped, but only just.

Sure, maybe Kyoka’s prank wasn’t in good taste, but normally she’d just wait for someone to come around rather than moping over the silent treatment. But this was different. She couldn’t stand that Denki was angry with her, and it hadn’t even been six hours. The tears rolled down her cheeks as she fidgeted on the toilet, nervous energy causing her to twitch endlessly. She pulled up the damning photograph, and couldn’t help but smile at his adorably dorky expression. She laughed shakily and swiped her thumb over the screen, causing it to zoom in a little. He’s just so cute he makes me stupid…

Kyoka squeaked aloud and sat bolt upright in the chair, dropping her phone in the process. She didn’t even rattle over the fact that the screen might have shattered. Her mind was shattering with a startling realization. Could I… Could I have a crush on Denki?! It was ludicrous. Ridiculous. Impossible! … And yet, as she thought of the boy, her heart fluttered in her chest. Groaning, she ran her hands over her face. And now he’s super pissed at me, she lamented. It was no wonder she hated the fact that he was angry… She was crushing on him, and only wanted to be in his good graces.

“All right, Kyoka. Get out of your head,” she huffed, knocking on her head with both of her hands for emphasis. “Just calm down and be reasonable. All you have to do is apologize… That’ll smooth things over.” How could she apologize, though? She didn’t know if she could wait all day to corner Denki alone. “Drop some hints. That’s all you have to do,” she huffed doubtfully. Anxiety bubbled in her belly, making her a little nauseous. “That’s all you have to do,” she repeated, as if doing so would strengthen her will.

It was much easier said than done.

“Okay, Kyoka. Just relax. You got this,” she murmured under her breath. After returning from her solitary pep talk in the bathroom, the lunch bell had rung. She had just exited the line and was searching for a seat- a specific seat. Denki was settled with Hanta across the room. Kyoka’s eyes locked onto the empty booth seat across from them. After sucking in a breath like it was liquid courage, Kyoka speedily crossed the lunchroom and plopped her tray down in front of Denki, probably a little too harshly. Denki peered critically at her from under the strands of his bangs. A blush began to crawl up her neck. Much more calmly, she slid into the seat and cleared her throat.

“H-Hey, Denki.” She saw the corner of his mouth twitch and hoped that was a sign he would break his silence. His gaze then dropped to his beef stew, and he swirled it around disinterestedly, steeping the rice in the thick broth. Kyoka swallowed, not one to be deterred, and pushed her tray forward slightly with a finger. “I know you much you like egg pudding,” she offered with a gesture to the little jiggly pudding sitting at the edge of the tray. “I don’t like it, but I thought you might like another, so…” she trailed off, hoping the boy would get the memo. His eyes were lidded as he studied the egg pudding. Silently, he reached out to take it off her tray and put it on his. He then resumed mindlessly stirring his stew.

Hanta’s eyes shifted rapidly between the two of them, a noodle hanging out of his mouth. He slurped it up and then quickly stood, announcing that he was going to see if he could pilfer some more ramen from someone before running off like the Devil was behind him. Denki said nothing, but Kyoka saw his body tense uncomfortably.

“Denki, I’m sorry, okay?!” she blurted before the boy could try and escape. “I shouldn’t have embarrassed you like that. I just… I just…” She couldn’t think of a reasonable explanation aside from she just thought he would look cute, and she sure as hell couldn’t say that. Denki’s golden eyes flickered up from the stew to stare fixedly at her. She slumped down in the booth seat at the harsh edge of the bright gold depths. “I’m sorry,” she repeated meekly, tears rising to her eyes without realizing it. “I’m just stupid…”

“Kyoka,” he sighed, and the sound of his voice made her heart sing. He pushed the trays aside to reach across the table and grab her hand. He stared at it as he swept his thumb over the soft skin, and every caress sent fire flying through her nerves. Her cheeks burned pink, but Denki was seemingly oblivious to the romantic implications of his gesture. “You’re not stupid.” The smile he flashed her made Kyoka melt into a relieved puddle of mush right there, but she couldn’t help but object.

“Denki, I took that dumb photo, and it was insensitive, and-”

“It’s okay!” He laughed with a dismissive wave of his free hand. He then looked bashfully down at the egg pudding she’d given him. “I mean, I was a little upset at first, because… I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s all you think I am. Some dumb, stupid Pikachu.” Before he could continue, Kyoka interrupted with her free hand flapping around wildly.

“Oh, Denki, no! No, no, no! I just… I, um… Bakugo kept calling you Pikachu, and I just…” Growing meek, she slumped down into the booth until her shoulders hunched up to her ears. “I couldn’t help thinking about how cute you would look as a Pikachu…” Denki’s eyebrows nearly touched the roots of his hair as he gawked surprisedly at her. He then flashed her a brilliantly bright smile.

“Oh, so that’s it?” Kyoka used her free hand to cover her bright red face as much as she could, embarrassed by how pleased he was at the prospect. Still holding her hand, he grabbed a fork and took a big bite of the egg pudding while Kyoka nodded admittingly. He seized his phone and pulled up the photograph, then smirked. “I guess I do look pretty adorable,” he reasoned with a wink at Kyoka. The girl’s headphone jack ears wriggled nervously, a bit unsettled by his one-eighty in mood. He dropped the phone and smiled sweetly at her. “I’m sorry for the way I acted. I shoulda just been a man and talked to you about it instead of giving you the silent treatment.” Kyoka’s throat bobbed as she swallowed the relieved sob rising in her chest.

“Yeah, but… Fair’s fair, I guess,” she said guiltily. She flushed red as Denki leaned across the table to use his thumb to wipe away her tears.

“No! Even if I was upset, taking it out on you like this was petty. As Kirishima would say, it wasn’t very manly of me.” His light-hearted tone all but forced Kyoka to give him a hiccupy laugh. How could she stay sad with the sunny boy around? Still, she couldn’t help but feel just a little bit blue; though he was gently sweeping her tears away, she could tell just by the look on his face that it was a purely platonic gesture. Still, she couldn’t help but lean a little into his touch, making her chin brush lightly against the heel of his palm. “I’ve got an idea,” he suggested with a bright smile. “How about tonight we watch a movie, huh?”

“J-just the two of us?!” she squeaked, blushing at the high-pitched tone of her voice. Denki didn’t notice, nodding enthusiastically. “O-okay…” She was relieved that he was no longer irritated with her, but she couldn’t help but think that she was jumping out of the frying pan only to land in the fire.

~~~~~~~~~~

Kyoka had landed in the fire indeed.

Her body burned with a fierce blush as she sat on the end of Denki’s bed, unable to focus on the anime movie playing on his television screen. He’d insisted on sharing a blanket, and so there she was, snuggled up under the covers with the oblivious blond and feeling like she would spontaneously combust at any moment. Denki lay on his stomach with his cheeks pushed into the palms of his hands. His ankles crossed over behind his back. Jiro was sitting upright beside him, hugging her knees to her chest and sweating nervously.

Just play it cool, Kyoka… Don’t be weird… she encouraged herself frantically. With every passing second, she was terrified that Denki would notice the damp puddle of perspiration surely forming under her. She had to suppress a squeak when Denki shifted positions, sitting up beside her and tugging the blanket to enclose them in a suffocating bubble of heat. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth until the skin shredded a little. She’d only realized she was crushing on the boy less than eight hours ago, but now it was all she could think about. When his arm inadvertently brushed against hers, she couldn’t take it anymore. Squealing, she jumped out of the covers to stumble out onto the floor.

“Kyoka? What’s up?” Denki blinked owlishly at her as she panted heavily. Every inch of her skin felt like it was submerged in lava. Part of her was frustrated that he wasn’t picking up on the undeniable signs, but the other part of her thought she’d surely die if he posed the possibility of her crushing on him. The turmoil of the day had fried Kyoka’s brain to charred mush, so she could only sink into one of his bean bag chairs with an agonized groan.

“I don’t… I just… I need a minute,” Kyoka whined miserably. Denki blinked slowly, then peeled the blankets off himself and timidly crawled over to her. She peered through her eyelashes at him as he approached cautiously, her cheeks growing redder with every inch he crept closer.

“Kyoka… Are you feeling okay?” he inquired with a suspicious look. Sure that her cheeks were the shade of tomatoes, she groaned and looked away ruefully. She rubbed at her face, flinching at the sheer amount of heat radiating off her body in suffocating waves. “You’re acting weird,” Denki continued with a concerned tone. “Look, I promise I’m not mad at you.”

“It’s not that,” she admitted through the fingers laced over her lips. She stared intently up at the ceiling with shaky eyes. Was she really about to confess this? “Do… Do you know… Why I was so upset at the fact that you were mad at me?” Denki grunted, and she could tell by the way his clothes shifted that he was rubbing the back of his neck puzzledly.

“Well… I dunno… I was a little shocked at how sensitive you were about it.” The bean bag creaked as she wiggled uncomfortably in the embracing soft bag of beads.

“I… Well… I couldn’t stand the idea that you were mad at me because… because…” Her throat closed up, preventing her from forcing out the words though she desperately wished she could just spit them out. Her chest felt like a great big balloon had swelled up inside her, pushing on her chest wall to make it impossibly tight. Denki waited patiently for her to continue. Kyoka just couldn’t. Frustrated tears began to burn her eyes, and she desperately tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Whining in agony, she clamped her hands down over her eyes, praying the darkness would push her over the edge into a confession. It didn’t.

“Kyoka?” Denki’s voice was soft, inquisitive. She heard him crawl around the edge of the bean bag to sit on his knees beside her. She whimpered as his fingers began to pull at her own, slowly prying her hand away from her left eye. Hesitantly, she cracked that eye open to see him smiling amusedly. “You’re not trying to say that you like me, are you?” She pulled her bottom lip under her teeth and chewed anxiously on it, debating whether to admit it or start vehemently denying it. After a few seconds, she managed a tiny nod. “This better not be some kinda cruel joke.” She squeaked and started sputtering refusals at his deadly serious expression. Then, in the next second, he was laughing animatedly.

“Denkiiii!” she whined, red-faced, and punched him in the shoulder. He kept cackling even as he rubbed the now sore area.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t help but get a little payback,” he chuckled. Kyoka settled down after a minute, but her face continued to burn. He smiled affectionately; it made her heart thump loudly in her chest. “I like you too, Kyoka. To tell ya the truth… Being angry with you made me so miserable I couldn’t stand it.”

“Really?” she asked in a small voice, and he nodded.

“Yeah. That’s why I couldn’t stay mad,” Denki said gently. His hand rose to cup Kyoka’s cheek, and she pressed her face into it, relishing the soft skin of his palm embracing her. “I could never stay mad at you.”

“Even when I do stupid stuff?”

“Hey,” Denki snorted, “considering I’m the world’s leading expert in stupid stunts, I can cut you some slack for the occasional lapse in judgment.” Kyoka giggled. Her body sung with a bubbly champagne-like high that sent her mind floating into blissful, foggy euphoria.

Denki leaned forward to press his forehead against hers, eyes lidded as he smiled lovingly. “You haven’t smiled all day,” he remarked, catching her off guard. “I love it when you smile.” His compliment made the small smile on her lips stretch wide across her face. His thumb caressed the arc of her cheekbone as he stared deep into her eyes.

“So are you gonna kiss me orrrrrrrr what, Pikachu?” His eyebrow cocked at her blatant request. Kyoka’s cheeks tinged pink at her boldness, but she levelly held his stare, challenging him. Denki smiled impishly, but then leaned in, pressing his mouth to hers in a lingering sweet kiss. Kyoka hummed approvingly at the pleasant sensation of his soft lips molding over hers. The movie they were watching was long forgotten as they basked in the glow of each other’s presence and the bliss of young love blooming between them.

~Bonus~

Kyoka’s smile was bright as daylight as she stared into her phone screen; Momo could see it across the room. She approached Kyoka from behind as the girl lounged on the common room sofa, feet kicked up over the back and reclined against one of the throw pillows.

“What are you smiling about?” Momo inquired as she leaned over the arm of the couch. Kyoka was staring at her lock screen. It was a photo of her and Denki; they had marker on their faces- red ovals on their cheeks, and a little rounded triangle on the tips of their noses. Brown-tipped, long, pointed yellow ears and zig-zaggy tails had been scrawled in the background with her editing app. They looked so happy together, pressed against one another as they smiled for the camera. Momo smiled, glad to see her best friend so madly in love. Kyoka tipped her head back over the arm of the couch to grin blissfully at Momo.

“Oh, you know… Making plans. Denki wants to go out to eat tonight.” Momo hummed approvingly and leaned down, pressing her cheek against the top of her friend’s head as she hugged her loosely.

“I’m happy for you, Kyoka. You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” the noirette said and glanced back to her phone to respond to a message from Denki. “So, when are you gonna start going out with Todoroki?”

“I-I beg your pardon?!”

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @simplybakugou @sadistiks @wesparklebitch

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composereggwrites · 4 years

Text

Oh hold me close, there’s nothing here which Chokes

Fandom: The Magnus Archives Rating: T Characters/Ships: Alice “Daisy “Tonner & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims Additional: Non-Sexual Intimacy, Shower Sharing, Hurt/Comfort, brief panic attack, Fluff, sharing a bed Author’s note: Written for a gift exchange! This is for @osirisjones!

Summary:

It starts after the coffin. After the nightmare of TooCloseICannotBreathe. Finding yourself pressed against another is far more comforting than the rough rock and stone, or grime of dirt.

Showers remind Jon a bit too much of what it's like to not be able to breathe.

Daisy understands. Martin has his own issues with the feeling of mist in his lungs.

Ao3 or Below!

It starts after the coffin. After the nightmare of TooCloseICannotBreathe. Finding yourself pressed against another is far more comforting than the rough rock and stone, or grime of dirt.

It starts with Daisy declaring that she's going home to shower now because it's been a week since she's done so, and the sensation building up on her skin is a bit too much like being buried. It starts when she looks at Jon and says, "You look like you could use a shower too."

He grimaces, looking at her from his seat at his desk. "Probably. Hard to take one at the institute, though, and I haven't gotten around to getting a new place. I got uh... Evicted, during the whole six-month coma thing," he says, sheepish smile on his face as an explanation.

An eyebrow raises, as she gives him a Look. Which is probably fair, considering she’s got her stuff and a place already, even though she was gone longer than he was. Jon never claimed to be functional. “Yeah, and what have you been doing all this time, then?”

“It’s remarkable how well you can keep clean, given some no-wash shampoo, body wipes, and time alone in a bathroom here. Plus, there’s a laundromat not too far away,” he says. It’s true, he can manage just fine like this. He has to, as his life spirals ever more out of control, less time and mental energy able to be dedicated toward tasks such as cleaning. Even if he prefers it that way.

A familiar hand joins his as Daisy rolls her eyes, and pulls him out of the chair. “Well, that won’t do. You’re coming back to my place and taking a proper shower, Jon.”

She doesn’t give him a choice. No chance to protest as she drags him out of the institute. In a way, that’s easier than having to confront the idea that he wants this.

Everything is fine. He keeps repeating that in his head with each step. Daisy’s warmth bleeds into him from their connected pinkies, a pinpoint prick of security as they walk to her apartment.

(Neither of them take the trains through the tunnels nowadays, if they have the choice to avoid it.)

It’s a silent walk. Jon keeps his eyes on Daisy, and she keeps hers on the path they follow. The hunter knows the way home, and the watcher knows better than to let his eyes stray to targets, to food, with her so close by.

“Order some food while I take my shower. You’re crashing here tonight, and don’t think about trying to argue your way out of that,” Daisy says, as she unlocks the door and bustles around. He diverts his eyes as she grabs fresh clothes and steps into the bathroom of her single-bedroom apartment.

It’s…

Not as utilitarian as he expected, in all honesty. Photos of her and Basira hang on the wall, blankets draped over the couch. It’s not warm or cozy, but neither is it barren of signs of life. He can hear sounds of the Archers coming from the bathroom, indistinct through the walls.

Jon sits on the couch, and orders pizza. Tries desperately to distract himself with mindless phone games. Tries to ignore the lure of the owner of a shop they passed on the way here, who has a statement fresh for the picking. Tries not to Know about anything in this apartment, what stories and fears might lie under the false comfort of a quilt. What the pictures might hide.

When Daisy emerges precisely ten minutes later, hair still damp and looking far more refreshed--though she still has bags under her eyes, like all those who work in the archives--she’s wearing casual sweatpants and an old t-shirt for the Archers.

“Got us pizza, since I know what you like on it. Half and half, because you refuse to accept pineapple on it.” A grin flickers on his face, and he gets one on return.

“What blasphemy, putting fruit on a pizza! I’ll stick to my pepperoni and extra cheese, thank you.” She rolls her eyes as she speaks, and steps into her room, door left open so they can continue speaking.

“It’s really quite good. You just can’t grasp the intricacies of it!” he shoots back. An argument they’ve had a hundred times before flowing freely from his lips. He knows all the lines, like they’ve rehearsed.

The fun in arguing dies on his lips.

She tosses some old clothes at him, and he knows (not Knows) that they’ll be slightly too big and baggy, because he’s stolen clothing from all his assistants at this point. The resident laundry thief’s work is never done.

(It’s grounding, having pieces of the others to carry with him. His favorite is Martin’s hoodie).

“Go shower, Jon.” Daisy slides down onto the couch as he stands. No doubt she’s tasted the shift in his mood in the air, bitter on her tongue.

He takes the clothes and walks into the bathroom. Small, yellow walls. There’s a fresh towel on the rack already, so he sets the clothes on the counter and slips in.

The spray of water is a blessed relief compared to the days of rubbing and scrubbing away at the dirt building against his skin. Heat seeps into his aching muscles and world-wracked soul. Washing away the damage wrought. The layers of soil walls crumbling down.

It’s humid. It’s hot. The room is small. The steam makes breathing hard.

Jon huffs, and focuses. He just. He needs to ignore the unsettling feeling growing in his stomach, the fear that lingers like mint, there no matter how hard you try to kill it. Invading where it is not meant to be.

The mist coils around his lungs. Damp skin sticks as he bumps against walls. The shower is so small, how does Daisy survive it all?

A knock at the door is what makes Jon realize he’s knocked over the bottles, crouched on the floor. Hands embedded in his half-shampooed hair.

“I think I might actually get in trouble if you die in my shower. You alright in there?” she calls, door opened a crack so he can hear, though the curtain is still solidly in place.

Daisy’s voice washes away the suffocating anxiety better than any water could, and he takes a breath. “Yeah, I-- Ah. It felt… small. Difficult to breathe. You know…”

And she does know. She must, because she slips into the bathroom, and he can hear the toilet lid being set down so she can sit. “It’s why I play sounds on my phone.”

He snorts, and manages to get his legs back under himself, standing again. “Harder to lose yourself to the fear of choking when there’s a soap opera to listen to?” he asks, tone wry.

“Oh hush. You ought to try it.” She’s laughing, and he can picture the roll of her eyes as he washes out the shampoo. It’s easier, with another presence here. The heat is less oppressive, not trying to pierce his skin. Instead, it simmers and soaks, driving out the icy cold.

“I--I think I’m good now.” It slips out of his mouth, even as he wishes to swallow the words, to beg for company until he’s done.

“Well, I think it’s rather fitting. Soap opera for when you’re all… soapy. So I’m going to start the next episode you were on, since you’re so woefully behind.”

It’s hard to not laugh when Daisy makes a bad pun, and he doesn’t try to hold it back. Doesn’t stop himself from listening to the absurdity, talking with her about the drama and plot as he works to scrub his body clean.

When he steps out of the shower, smelling of her lavender products, Daisy politely averts her eyes until he’s dressed. Then she links their fingers together once more, and they trot out in time to catch the pizza man.

Jon Knows later, as they sit and eat their pizza with dramatic flair, held loftily above their mouths sprawled out on the couch and each other, that the delivery person thought they were a couple. When he mentions it to Daisy, she cracks up, and he joins her, pausing the episode they were on.

“Us? A couple?” she repeats, for the tenth time. “Like, no offense Jon, but even if I were into guys, you’re not my type.”

“Some offense taken,” he replies, free hand held to his chest. “Oh how scorned I am by your rejection! You like Basira well enough, and she’s good at being a stuffy academic.” The air quotes are audible, dripping from his tongue as he takes another bite.

“She’s an academic who knows how to shoot a gun. Got more muscle than you could ever dream of, bone boy,” she shoots back, elbowing him in the side. Taking care to hit where there’s still ribs.

“Ah, I see. With my bountiful eyes.” She snorts, because if he actually had extra eyes, she’d be the first to know. “You like someone who you have a chance of losing to in an arm wrestle. No wonder I’m so woefully disqualified.”

“I’d let her do more to me than win an arm wrestle.” Daisy waggles her eyebrows.

When he processes what she means, Jon lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “Every day. Every single day I am bombarded by innuendo. When shall I be freed from this curse?”

“Whoa there, no need to bring the Sahara into my apartment with that dry tone, Mr. Sandman.”

“Wrong entity. How dare you accuse me of being aligned with the Dark?” He has to set his paper plate down, or risk dropping his food at this point, with the amount of laughter going on.

“Whatever, eye guy. Let me braid your hair once we’re done eating. Maybe now that you’re cleaned up, your prettyboy looks will lure your man out of the fog. I bet he’d love to win an arm wrestle against you. He totally could, too.” She gestures at him with the pizza slice, smirk across her lips.

Jon stammers, hiding the blush creeping up his cheeks behind his hand. “I--uh. Ah. Daisy-- Even if... Even if you’re right, I--”

She softens into a smile, and puts a hand on his arm. “I’m sure you can ace your way into his heart.”

Two seconds of silence.

Then giggles, as he covers his mouth with a hand. “That was-- That was awful. That’s the type of joke I’d be making in uni!”

“Unless my puns are bad enough to drive you out of my apartment, I stand by the offer. The only condition is that you’ve gotta braid mine, too.”

He takes another bite as he ponders it. Really, the answer he wants to give is on the tip of his tongue, but-- Denying himself what he wants is habit, ingrained in himself by now.

Still, it’d be nice.

“Sure, why not,” he says. “Hair braiding and listening to The Archers. Sounds like the perfect night.”

The couch is comfier than the Archives, that night. Daisy’s apartment warmed with the small spark of vanilla candle friendship.

In the coming months, it’s easy to make a habit out of this.

----

Collapsing into bed at the safehouse the night they arrive is one of the easiest things Jon has ever done, and that’s counting the amount of time it takes to get Martin to join him. They both still smell of sea salt and taste of fog, but he pulls Martin into bed with him despite the ever-constant protests.

“Martin, it’s fine,” he murmurs. “We’re both tired, we can share the bed. Hell, Daisy and I have shared a bed before, at her place.” It’s out of his mouth before he can think to stop it, and one hand goes up to the messy braid of his hair, from just two days before.

“O-oh. You and-- and Daisy?” Martin asks, paling a bit in the moonlight. Eyebrows scrunched together in the most adorable way that makes Jon want to reach out and run his fingers through Martin’s hair. “I didn’t know?”

“Because there’s nothing to know.” It dawns on him that he can do that. So he reaches up, and cards his fingers through the messy strands of reddish brown. “It was-- it was a friend thing, nothing more. A couple times a week she’d drag me to her place, and really, it was-- It was easier in the end, to just share the bed. Rather than have me sleep on the couch. Helps me deal with the nightmares, if I have someone there. I figure… If you have any, it might be the same.”

It’s enough for Martin to soften, and stop looking so jealous (which, now that Jon can recognize that, he finds it touching). He slides into bed without any more fuss, and soon enough Jon finds himself wrapped up in Martin’s arms. All pretenses of pretending to not want to cling immediately dropped.

Sharing a bed with Martin is different from sharing one with Daisy, he discovers that night.

With Daisy, they link hands, arms intertwined, and lay back to back. Neither of them were inclined to spoon, and he knows suggesting it would’ve gotten a joking threat with a knife (nothing like before, no real danger in her words, and she would’ve grumbled but wrapped him in her arms like she did when the nightmares got too bad, and they needed more contact).

But with Martin…

Martin is full of warmth, despite the wisps of fog that still want to encroach. At some point in the night, between becoming an octopus and clinging right back, Martin rolls over on top of him in his sleep, and Jon melts.

Martin is a solid, heavy weight against him. Grounding him to the mattress. Jon still catches bits and pieces of nightmares, but the pressure isn’t oppressive, not near as much as he feared. A spark of terror in his heart, at first, but all he has to do is open his eyes and see Martin there. Another person, not the dark-dirt pressing-walls of Choke. He thinks, perhaps, that the fear has receded, if he can handle this.

It’s only on his way to shower the next morning, that the terror comes roaring back. Gripping his heart and making him pause outside the bathroom door. He can hear Martin singing in the kitchen as he bustles around, cleaning up the breakfast mess.

But will it be enough?

He takes a breath, steels himself and turns the handle. Prepares to face this.

And then stops, turns his head, and calls, “Martin?”

Martin must hear the waver in his voice, sense the way Jon is a rubber band pulled taut, because he immediately drops what he’s doing and comes to Jon’s side. Sees the way he’s shaking, ever so slightly in his skin (skin that still doesn’t feel like his after what Nikola did), and places a hand on his shoulder. Soft, tentative, as he asks, “Are you alright?”

“I-- I’ll be fine, it’s just…” He could still turn back, say it’s nothing, though Martin would still worry. And…

He’s safe with Martin. Just like he was safe with Daisy.

Safe enough to ask for help.

“The uh-- The reason I went to Daisy’s so often was because I needed to shower, but the feeling. I hate cold showers, but the steam made it harder to breathe. And I needed-- It helped if someone was there, with me?”

He looks up at Martin, and confusion-fear bubbles in his stomach when Martin laughs a little, but it’s quickly abated by his words. “I was actually thinking of asking you for the same thing? It’s just, for me… Being alone in a room full of mist doesn’t seem like a good idea?”

Jon chuckles, though it’s quickly cut off when he slaps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry, that was-- You’re right. I’d be glad to be there for you, Martin,” he says, and it’s amazing how a few simple works make Martin light up. The blush against his cheeks is something Jon feels he can be proud to put there, now.

“Might be best to take one at the same time. I don’t know how much hot water this place has,” Martin says, before immediately backtracking. “If you don’t want to though, I understand!”

He shakes his head, and pulls Martin along with him into the bathroom. “It’s fine with me. It makes sense. Amazingly, this place has a bigger shower than Daisy’s apartment. And I’m thankful to find that there are no bloodstains on the tub here, either.”

Martin snorts, and Jon smiles. He takes out the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash from his bag of toiletries as Martin undresses, making sure that there’s a clean washcloth as well.

It’s a bit cramped, but they have enough space to navigate. The bump of their bodies against each other is reassuring too. Silent moments of I’m here and you’re not alone, you’re not going to choke on your own fear.

At some point, he finds himself helping Martin clean his back. Slow, methodical scrubbing. At another, Martin’s hands are in his hair, combing through the strands as the conditioner makes it silky. When Jon starts to sing a song, Martin grins, and sings along. As they sing loud and offkey--which is part of the fun--Jon thinks there’s no place he’d rather be.

(Later, curled up in Martin’s lap, in front of the lit hearth, he’ll have that thought again, as he presses a kiss to Martin’s lips.)

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #daisy tonner #alice tonner #alice daisy tonner #johnathan sims #Jonathon Sims #jon archivist #the archivist #listen to the quiet #jondaisy #magpod #MagnusPod #my writing #egg writes #fanfic

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pauldron-pieces · 3 years

Text

Rumon 'Crushjaw' Thaerskaine's Backstory: Rearmed

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: N/A, Crushjaw-centric

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Crushjaw. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets. Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: Black Hill: Low Force

[Crushjaw is a level zero barbarian, and his appearance can be found here.]

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains multiple triggering scenes including semi-graphic depictions of gore and mentions of bile/vomit. Reader discretion is advised. Stay safe!]

He would have loved to claim he had been goaded into it. Would have loved to say that it wasn't his fault or explain that it hadn't happened like he remembered. Except Rumon knew all too well that responsibility didn't work like that. His memory may be faulty, but the proof was in Krae's testimony.

Himself and his childhood friend Krae had both been interested in the same individual from a neighboring clan, the two of them butting heads over the object of their affections more than once. So of course when Krae came to him with news of an enormous ogre that had set up its stomping grounds near one of their trade routes, Rumon fairly leaped at the opportunity to fight the beast and claim victory over it. After all, what better way to prove his worth and earn a name from the clan leader than with an act of heroism?

Krae naturally came along, saying that he feared the ogre may be too tall an order for even Rumon to handle. This just made Rumon all the more determined to manage the creature single handedly.

They set up camp near where Krae claimed to have spotted the beast, the two goliaths joking and swapping drinks from a canteen of strong spirits. Truly, until both of them had set their sights on the same person, they had been brothers in all but blood. Rumon still regarded Krae as such, trusting to a fault, and thusly he missed the shifty glances the older goliath kept aiming at the treeline while the sun set.

"Come, Rumon! The moon is high. With its light, surely we shall find the ogre." Krae had cajoled after Rumon was fairly drunk, "unless, of course, you are afraid of a night hunt?"

"I fear nothing!" Rumon had boasted, "the gods are with me this night. You shall witness my triumph, Krae!"

Bold words. His grandmatron had always said that pride went before a fall.

Rumon recalled very little of the hunt after that, his memory muddied with drink. Despite Krae's insistence that the moonlight was sufficient, Rumon's recollections were oddly dim. He vaguely remembered stumbling around beneath the thick spruce canopy, his warhammer clumsy in his hands.

He remembered swinging with all his might and striking something that gave under the assault, the liquor Krae had plied him with steeling his ringing blows to something that rivaled even Varandur's mountain shapers.

He remembered when the weight of his weapon suddenly vanished, and there was a rancid gust of seethingly-hot air that blew his hair to the side. The roar was strange to his ear, far-off and faded. Emptiness rang too loud for him to hear as he wondered where his weapon had gone.

Rumon remembered realizing that he was flat on his stomach on the ground.

Where the memory became razor-sharp once more was when he tried to push himself up onto his elbows, and found his body woefully unbalanced. The goliath searched for the source of the problem and quickly located it, the sight of what was left of his mangled right arm more than enough to jerk him back to stark sobriety.

It had been severed at the elbow, though the term was a bit too kind for the injury. The appendage looked more as though it had been crushed with something that might have had an edge at one point.

Rumon had raised his eyes, mind grinding to a halt when he spotted his warhammer several yards away with his right hand still gripping the haft. Past that, along a trail marked by shattered tree trunks, slumped an enormous ogre clutching a slab of a sword. It seemed closer to a chunk of masonry than a true weapon, and Rumon's stomach had churned as he realized what had happened.

Mercifully, the agony had struck him and he promptly vomited before losing consciousness.

×+×

Gods only knew how long he had slept after that. It was a miracle he had even made it back to their healer; apparently Krae had all but carried him home. The embarrassment from that instance alone would have been enough to kill Rumon, never mind the fact that his dominant arm was now nothing but a bandaged stump.

The grandmatron would have none of it though, her craggy face somehow even more stern when Rumon managed to finally rouse himself.

"You have been named Crushjaw, little pebble. A worthy title." Her tone was icy. "I have gone through much trouble to save you. I am indebted to our chieftain."

Crushjaw. Rumon's face fairly burned with shame. "The ogre-?"

"Krae slew the beast. He brought one of its tusks back as proof. The chieftain was quite flattered by his offering, praising Krae for his accomplishment and naming him Tuskclaimer. As for his name for you..." The matron bowed her head, her expression one of grief.

"Grandma…"

"Don't you grandma me, little pebble!" The elderly goliath erupted, glaring fiercely at Rumon. Her eyes filled with tears as she went on, "you are anathema now, dear Rumon. Once you are able to walk, the clan leader has declared that you are to leave. I am no longer your grandmother. This place is no longer your home."

"'Leave'?" Rumon repeated stupidly. It felt as though everything was crashing down around him, his mind racing to comprehend. Their clan hadn't had an expulsion in his entire lifetime, wariness and confidence found too equally amongst their ranks. Compounding his confusion was the claim that Krae had killed the ogre. Rumon had been certain... "I understand." He said finally. "I am unworthy of your kindness. Thank you."

He couldn't comprehend why his grandmother wept harder at his acceptance. This was the way it had always been.

×+×

Crushjaw.

It certainly felt as though he was being crushed to death. Loneliness was a miserable traveling companion.

Rumon, very nearly unable to fend for himself, resorted to setting small game snares in the uncharted wilds. It was a child's way of hunting, but he was too hungry to be bothered by the prick to his already-bruised pride.

The few people he did encounter seemed overly wary of him. After all, a one-armed, exiled goliath would be the type to resort to petty theft.

But he wasn't a threat. He had never been a threat before, aside from just being large. Rumon couldn't understand the sudden shift in demeanor; he couldn't possibly fathom the air of desperation that his injury gave off.

It began to get easier when the weather cooled, the bulk of the thick cloak from his grandmother concealing his missing arm. The wound had not healed prettily, but Rumon knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He hadn't died. That was all he could hope for.

He wandered alone for most of the cold times, his only companions the booming pines that fractured from the weight of the ice and snow. His thoughts had a habit of straying to Krae, and he wondered what had truly transpired that evening more than he would care to admit. Had he imagined killing the ogre? Was his mind that addled by the strength of the drink they had shared?

Surely Krae wouldn't have lied. Nothing good ever came of lying or taking the credit for someone else's accomplishments. Rumon eventually settled on the assumption that his memory must have been faulty.

After that, the whole world seemed a gray and unforgiving place, and the goliath could feel himself fading into something of the same type. Something ragged and harsh, no longer a proud warrior but a lamed animal with a crushed jaw.

That is, until the day he encountered an old elf hanging by the leg from his horse's saddle.

"You there!" The elven man shouted once he seemed to notice the large individual sauntering up through the trunks of barren maples. "Don't suppose you'd be able to lend me a hand?"

Rumon, for whatever reason, found himself throwing his mantle back over his shoulder to reveal the stump of his arm. "Good thing you only need one hand, sirrah. It's all I have to offer." He remarked.

The elf nearly died of laughter, already beet-red in the face from being stuck hanging upside down for so long. To Rumon's shock however, when he circled around the horse to help the elf dislodge himself, he realized that the leg that wasn't caught in the stirrups was severed at the knee. The fellow's pant leg was neatly pinned at the joint, padding sewn into the area as if to mimic a kneecap.

Before Rumon could say anything though, the wiry elf explained, "I lost my leg a few miles back, and this damned animal dragged me along until she got bored. Don't suppose you can accompany me a little ways until I relocate it? Thing is worth its weight in gold."

The goliath easily hefted the older fellow into the saddle before his words caught up with him. "You...lost your leg?" Rumon blinked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I was unaware that elves could regrow limbs."

The elf looked at him a little sideways, muttering something about still waters running deep before he just shook his head and laughed, "no son, it's a genuine Chuck original. A fake leg."

A fake leg. Rumon seized the horse's bridle, desperation giving his voice a new level of gravel as he begged for more information. The elf shrewdly bargained with him: in exchange for help in reclaiming his prosthetic, he would gladly share what information he had.

"My name is Shawell." The elf introduced himself. "And you are…?"

Rumon hesitated for a moment. "Crushjaw." If people were to know his name, they would serve as a reminder of his foolhardy pride. A constant warning to heed in the future.

"Pleasure to meet you, Crush." Shawell tugged on the reins, turning his mare back in the direction he had come from. "We'd better hurry. We'll lose the daylight."

Crush. Rumon cracked his first smile in months, positioning himself on the elf's left side to steady him in the saddle.

#rumon 'crushjaw' thaerskaine #crushjaw #dungeons and dragons #dnd 5e #I play one type of character #the friend who can help #goliath character #dnd goliath #dnd character #he's going to love his friends A Lot #canon-typical violence #I can't wait for this #dnd barbarian #barbarian backstory

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skybird13 · 4 years

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I've been a massive fairgamer and really thought they were gonna be our rep..but after the last episode i've been overwhelmed by doubts as to whether we have baited ourselves. So i looked at their scenes again and maybe just maybe those moments we considered "flirting" were more Clover's "bring the best out of everyone" personality (except the "show off" thing, tf was that). This bothers me sm, i dont even know who to blame anymore, was it just a sad mix of coincidences and bad management? Ugh

Oh, anon. This right here is one of the many reasons I am so livid with not only CRWBY, but a good portion of this fandom right now.

From the moment he set foot on the screen (literally) Clover was framed in context with Qrow. We knew immediately those two were going to mean something to one another. Granted, I will admit that as of episodes 1 and 2, we didn’t know what they were going to be yet (friends, enemies, lovers), but we knew something was up. Everything we got from there was absolutely setting them up to be in a relationship. They were constantly together, constantly sharing these little intimate moments where none of the other characters were involved. We even had one of the most cliche romantic tropes in episode 3 (the slip and catch). I’m too tired to go into much detail, but if you want to go back through all of my analyses, I absolutely still stand by every word.

But even outside of their on-screen interactions, Clover’s character design alone was enough. I think I said this earlier today but I’ll say it again: his character design was deliberately changed to complement Qrow (I think he originally had grayish hair and brown eyes??). And it was done in such a way that every single tell we have come to associate with canon or implied-canon couples was incorporated into his design: the complementary eye colors, complementary color scheme, and the armband specifically. One or two flirting scenes might have been accidental. The flirting on top of the character design on top of the marketing choices on top of members of CRWBY themselves actively promoting it absolutely was not.

At this point, there are only two arguments that can be made: either CRWBY knew what they were doing, in which case they absolutely should be held accountable. Or they had no idea what they were doing, in which case they are woefully unaware of their own show’s established motifs and fanbase, and probably should not be working on this show at all. Either way... not good.

We did not do this to ourselves, anon. What you’re feeling right now is exactly how all the haters and deniers want you to feel. They want you to doubt your own judgment and your own perception of things (which is insanely psychologically abusive) so that you’ll sit down and stop making noise. This is how they win every time, and this is precisely the reason creators keep getting away with it.

#clover deserved better #crwby #rwby7 #rwby #not tagging spoilers because there are none #rwde #i guess #clover ebi #qrow branwen #rwby queerbaiting

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

Note

Hello again, I'm so sorry if I'm spamming you with too many Jaskier requests. But I was wondering if I could request a hurt comfort fic for Jaskier x poet! Reader, where she is angry crying because someone stole her poetry and turned it into a Ballad right under her nose, despite the fact she spent months writing it. And so it's up to Jaskier to find the bard responsible, and get her poem back to her. And maybe his plans go askew, and the two of them have to create a poem about their love

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Jaskier x Reader Word Count: 1,344 Rating: G Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @kemmastan @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @amirahiddleston @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @mycat-is-mylove a/n: I hope you like it! And you don’t need to apologize! xo

You knew it was silly to cry, these things weren’t unheard of in the art world, but it stung and angered you that your words had been stolen so boldly. The troubadour didn’t even try and alter the words or mask their plagiarism, they just took it and set music to it and now they were earning coin that was rightfully yours but worse they were singing the words you’d written to confess your love to Jaskier. Your tears burned hot with anger as they dripped down your face and you could hear the voice of your university rivals in your ear, telling you that you’re too soft to be a poet, that it took a courage and a persistence and even a coldblooded nature you didn’t possess. You didn’t need to be cruel to succeed but your unwillingness to stoop to their level made you a target and you hated the injustice.

“Y/N?”

You swore softly and tried to wipe away the tears and hide all traces of your crying though you knew your face was puffy and red and Jaskier was no fool. Before long the bard was close enough to see you and he sat next to you, pale blue eyes filled with worry as he brushed a tear from your cheek.

“Y/N what’s happened?” he asked. You weren’t going to tell him, you were going to just fix it on your own as you’d been told a true artist did, but the concern in his eyes moved you and you found a fresh wave of tears falling down your face as you bit out the story. How you’d been working on a poem and finally completed it after a month of hard work and editing and going nearly mad. How you’d had it with you in the library and how sometime between when you packed up and went home it had been taken from your bag. You’d looked for it everywhere, heartsick that you’d been so careless, and then you’d heard of the new love song being performed and the lines quoted sounded familiar. You told him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders in a half hug how you had shown up to the performance and confronted the troubadour who simply charged you to prove that he had stolen it before leaving, his mocking laughter ringing in your ears.

By the time you were finished Jaskier looked as angry as you felt, if not angrier.

“I know these things happen,” you said, but he cut you off.

“No,” he protested, “This goes against everything artists are supposed to stand for. This isn’t collaboration, this is thievery, and he will be brought to justice.”

“Jaskier this is my fight,” you insisted. He shook his head and gently moved your chin so you faced him and your eyes met his.

“I am going to fix this,” he promised, “You don’t have to handle this alone.”

You could tell it was useless to fight him and you were reminded yet again why you loved him, and why you needed to get that poem back. You’d finally gotten the words right and you feared you’d never be able to do it again and if you couldn’t tell him just the way he deserved, what was the point?

The next night the pair of you went to the next performance. You were so distracted by how handsome Jaskier looked that you nearly forgot why you were there, until the performer took his place. The performance was being hosted by a local noble family, patrons of this bard, and everyone stood or sat in a circle before the lovely fireplace. It served as a backdrop that would have been cozy and romantic for someone else but as you looked at this man all you saw was hell fit for the devil he was. He performed a few songs first and then for his closer he announced he would be singing a new song. That was when Jaskier leapt into action.

“Those words have been stolen,” he cried, pointing accusatorily at the man who froze, eyes widening and then narrowing in disdain.

“This man is clearly insane,” he tried to scoff. But Jaskier was well-known and respected and he could see that the crowd was not immediately on his side, instead there was a ripple of confusion and a whisper of scandal.

“That poem you have purloined and set to music is the work of Y/N, a new poet who is still establishing herself in the community. Such an act displays cowardice, ignorance, and frankly betrays you for an ass and a poor musician,” Jaskier charged, practically hissing the words as he spoke. The man could see the crowd was being lost.

“You cannot prove this accusation!” he protested.

“Cornflower eyes of my lover brush against my face as tenderly as any petal could,” you began, reciting the lines from memory. You’d spent so long trying to decide how to describe those eyes that held you captive from the first time you’d met their gaze. They looked at you now as the crowd parted for you, waiting breathlessly for you to continue.

“Could any sight be sweeter than my beloved smiling, so beguiling do I find that face,” you continued. The ripples of uncertainty changed to a distinct murmur of censure as those who had heard the song before recognized the words. The troubadour was clearly trapped but he was a spiteful man and even Jaskier’s quick reflexes and your pleas didn’t move in time to stop him from taking the pages and thrusting them into the hearth. Jaskier tried to go after the poem but the pages were already curling and turning to ash and you pulled him away. Jaskier felt torn between the urge to throttle the man and the urge to stay by your side as he saw tears enter your eyes and thankfully for him the choice was made when the troubadour was ushered out and dismissed by the master of the house.

Jaskier escorted you away from the crowd, knowing that you wanted to be somewhere quiet despite how well-meaning and empathetic the people were, and you soon found yourself sitting in a balcony.

“Do you remember it?” he asked hopefully, “Enough to transcribe it?”

“No,” you replied woefully, shaking your head and looking up at him with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen, so sad he felt the pain in them and tears rose to his own, “I only remembered the part I recited.”

He took your hand and held it tight, letting silence fill the space where words would never suffice.

“It will be alright,” you said aloud, more to yourself than him.

“Yes,” he said, “We can always write another.”

“We?”

“Well, I mean, you don’t have to of course… But I thought we may collaborate on one,” he said.

“Jaskier… the poem I wrote was… very specific and special and had a very singular purpose,” you replied, eyes askance and unable to look into his, which were more ocean than cornflower in the moonlight.

“The poem I intended to write, have been working on writing for some time, has a purpose that is similarly singular. I had been thinking of asking for your help in any case but after hearing the excerpt, well, I am more convinced than ever that I need your voice for it to be perfect,” he insisted, his voice a near whisper as he leaned closer to you.

“What would this poem be about?” you asked, a strange twisting sensation in your stomach as he lifted your face up towards his once more.

“It is a love story,” he answered, a soft smile playing about his lips, “About a bard and a poet who, for all of their mastery of words, struggled hard to find a way to confess their love for each other.”

Your heart hammered in your chest and you gripped his hand tightly, the tear that fell down your cheek the first happy one you’d shed in some time.

#miyakokurono #Jaskier x Reader #jaskier imagines #jaskier fluff #hurt/comfort #reader request

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setoangel01-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

Ending

Crazy - Chapter 27 (Previous Chapter)

Fandom: TMNT 2014/2016

Pairing: Raphael x April (Raphril)

Rated: T

Chapter Summary: The ending. April comes clean about some things she's been meaning to say and Raphael can't fucking believe what he's hearing.

<><><>

I cannot thank everyone who has read this story enough. I've gotten so many messages from so many wonderful people asking me when/if I was going to write another chapter of this story which is more than for any other fanfiction that I have written before.

So, it pains me to have to inform y'all of this, but truthfully, I am done with writing fanfiction for the TMNT universe. I've moved on to other fandoms but I really wanted to finish this story instead of putting it in permanent hiatus.

So, here's the final chapter.

What I am presenting to you now is woefully unfinished - mostly pieces of chapters I started and written bits for but never completed fully but the idea is there. There are also larger chunks of it missing which I will summarize briefly (or even more in depth at points) what is occurring before getting to the next scene but the ending (approx last 1500 words) is COMPLETE. I finished the last chapter forever ago so it will have a (hopefully) satisfying ending but it will be rather rushed in getting there.

I planned at least 10 more chapters and this would fit into about 3 at most. And while I hate having to release something only partly finished as this final chapter, I wanted this story to have a conclusion. I would rather it be done than just be in permanent hiatus until I somehow got into TMNT again (which honestly, I don't see happening) and I thought most of my readers would agree, so hopefully, this is sufficient.

Thanks again for sticking with me through this long wait. I sincerely hope you enjoy!

<><><>

Author's Note: Scene starts from where we left off last chapter -

The following day, Raphael wakes up in the lair's infirmary suffering from a mild case of pneumonia from being out in the cold. He's frantic and wondering where he is when he finally notices Leo sitting next to him by the bed.

As Raphael stares at Leo, Raph suddenly recalls what he's doing here and what he'd just been through last night and the situation with April. Of course, it's a shock to the system as he's forced to confront that April had been with Casey and is understandably brokenhearted about the whole situation all over again.

A long terse silence passes before Leo and Raphael (reluctantly) have a long talk about everything that transpired. Here is a bit of that I did manage to write out; sorry if it's shit. XD It was a mere 15 minute word vomit more than anything.

<><><> "You can't keep doing this to yourself, Raph." Leo sighed, still internally wondering why he was even bothering with trying to reason with his emotionally unstable brother. Yet as he kept stealing glances at Raphael's face and into the molten gold of his eyes, Leo knew something was wrong.

Something had broken his younger brother last night - exactly what is the question.

For as troubled as Raphael could be, Leo had never seen Raph like this.

It was like a light had been turned off in him. Because as defensive as Raphael was while brutally fighting him last night in that alley, it was like the combative nature in Raph had been completely snuffed out upon awakening.

"...Yeah...I know, Leo." Raphael muttered what seemed like hours later.

Wait. What?

Leo stared at his brother wondering if he'd really heard his brother say that or during his vigil he'd kept over his brother, he'd fallen asleep without knowing it. He couldn't remember the last time Raphael called him by his actual name…

"...What was that, Raph?" he asked while sneakily pinching himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

There was pain...so this wasn't a dream.

"...I said I fuckin' know, Fearless." Raph growled but it held hardly any of the heat it usually did.

Leo remained silent mostly in shock for Raphael was never one to say he was right - ever.

Just what the actual hell happened to Raph last night!?

Fists clenching on his lap, Leo stared at Raphael's profile for some of the answers but none were found. Just Raphael's nearly blank stare as the red-banded terrapin stared at the worn blanket crumpled around his lap. The bandages on his swollen and bloody knuckles knotting in the fabric almost absentmindedly.

"Hey, Raph…" Leo said softly, reaching over to touch Raphael's shoulder but pulled back when he thought better of it. "Talk to me."

Minutes passed in silence and Leo was prepared to speak or outright leave his brother to stew in his own misery when that quiet was broken.

"...I lost her, Leo… " Raphael said in a choked, broken laugh that might as well have ripped Leonardo's heart straight out of his chest. "I know wat cha gunna say too; like how da fuck can ya lose somethin' ya never had, huh? …I shoulda jus fuckin' listened ta ya…"

Leo was stunned into complete silence as Raphael continued.

"I…I really neva stood a fuckin' chance with April…did I?" Raph asked, looking at Leo and the agony lacing those golden orbs was something Leo only saw once with Raphael before - the night they almost lost Splinter. But before Leo could say anything in response, Raphael went on.

"Who da fuck am I kiddin'? I mean, fuck - look at her! As if I stood a fuckin' chance cuz who da hell could anyone ever want anythin' to do wit a freak like me?" Raph grunted, slamming a fist onto the bedsheet and Leo didn't care about boundaries anymore, he grabbed the edge of Raphael's carapace and pulled the much larger terrapin against his chest.

"Don't fucking say that ever again! She's a damned idiot if she turned you away because you deserve all the happiness in the world, Raphael! Don't let this define you! Ever! That's a fucking ORDER!" Leo yelled, holding tightly as Raphael tensed like a coiled spring in his arms.

Leo was waiting for the blow, for Raphael to punch him with his broken knuckles and scream in his face…but he didn't.

Leonardo swallowed the lump clogging his throat as he stole a glance at Raphael's face and it was almost like a physical blow to see the normally strongest brother look completely defeated. Resigned, just accepting of the shitty hand and heartbreak life kept handing him and the worst part was Leo couldn't fight this.

Curling his lip as he watched a rogue tear drip down Raphael's face and a new disdain for their Hogasha grew in Leonardo's heart as he held his little brother together as best as he could.

<><><>

AN: Raphael finally pushes Leo away and he coerces his older brother to leave him alone. The embarrassment catching up with breaking down and letting his oldest brother hold him together when he was always so strong. Finally alone, Raphael accepts what happened with April and thinks it's best that he stays away from her to avoid any more pain. If he kept being around her, he'd only be jabbing the knife deeper into his own chest. It's just not worth it anymore.

As much as he loves her and wants nothing but to be with her even only platonically, he knows that even being in her presence would be too much for him to take.

Finally listening to his better judgement, Raphael lets her go.

Raphael recovers and goes back to life - being more present in his family's life and away from the brunette reporter - and more shockingly, improving his and Leo's relationship along the way.

…A week later April visits but it doesn't go so well…

<><><>

April's heart hammered unsteadily as she quickly made her way through the manhole cover. The acrid stench meeting her nostrils immediately but she had grown used to it throughout the years even if it still turned her stomach especially in the summer months. But it was not the smell of the sewer that was bothering the brunette now.

Adjusting the half a dozen pizza boxes in her arms, she walks toward the turtle's lair.

It had been a week since Raphael fled her apartment; a week of turmoil and anxiety since the incident and it was only now she felt brave enough to confront Raphael. The terrapin who still refused to answer her texts even if it showed them as 'read' - he never replied.

"Hello?" April called into the lair; unsurprised when she saw Donatello in his usual spot and Mikey in front of the television further into their living area. Per usual, Leonardo and Raphael were nowhere to be seen.

"Baby Cakes!" Mikey excitedly burst into the room and approached the brunette in an explosion of energy that she missed so damn much. How long had it been since she visited them?

Mikey was careful to put down the pizza she brought before he picked her up and spun her in large circles with a chuckle. April happily accepted the hug from the smallest turtle; his arms strong and firm around her body.

"I missed you, Mikey! How have you been?" she asked when her feet touched the floor again.

"Just peachy, doll!" he announced before cupping his mouth with one hand and stage whispering in her ear, "But between you and me, Leo and Raph seem to have gained yet another stick wedged up their uptight asses, so watch out, m'kay?" he winked.

"I'll remember that," she giggled at his words; some sense of normalcy she craved filling her battered chest.

"Good evening, April," Donatello approached while she had been distracted by the youngest.

"Hey, Donnie! How are you?" she asked the genius terrapin.

Donatello shrugged, wiping his bloodshot eyes.

<><><>

AN: That's all I wrote but in summary, Donnie tells April about the attacks in the sewers that seem to be happening in greater frequency. The strange outages and power issues they've been having as well as the breaks in their security systems which is all very worrying and keeping them all on edge.

Yet instead of really listening, April is distracted, looking for a familiar flash of a red mask to ask about the incident last week and of course, to apologize, but Raphael is nowhere to be seen.

As her, Splinter, Mikey and Donnie eat the pizza she brought, Donnie and Mikey and intermittently, Splinter, informs her that Leo and Raph apparently have been closer than they'd been in years and have been patrolling together and trying to investigate the vast network sewers more than usual because of the strange happenings.

Donnie talks about the connections this has to Dr. Baxter Stockman and his inventions Donatello had studied and how it all links with the prison breaks - namely Karai and now they're waiting on pins and needles to see what is going to happen next. He warns all of them to remain vigilant and cautious of their surroundings at all times.

Hours later, April still sticks around the lair when finally Leo and Raph return…

Here's a clip of Raph and April's interaction -

<><><>

"Raph!" April jumps up from the couch as soon as she sees his red mask from across the lair.

Without caring about those around her and their sudden stares, she makes her way over to him but instead of being met with his lazy smirk and bright golden eyes, the second he sees her coming, he ignores her and heads in the direction of the showers.

"Hey! Raph! I- I wanted to apologize about last week. I'm so sorry to keep you waiting for so long, I really didn't mean to. I'm sorry." April says as she scrambles after him.

"It's fine," is his short answer and he still won't look at her as his stride barely slows down and she struggles to keep up.

"Well, still! I need to make it up to you! I know! How about dinner and a movie at my place this weekend? I could order from that new sushi place I heard is damn amazing! How about it?" she asks, grabbing his forearm is when he finally stops and looks at her.

Instead of his open expression, crooked smile, and bright gold eyes, there's nothing. His face is just like his mask - giving no emotion away - eyes a dull honey and mouth almost lined with irritation.

He hadn't looked at her like that since the very beginning when he didn't trust her…

April is not put off though, pushing through with, "So, what do you say?" she asks again with the brightest smile she can muster even as her chest feels tight while confronting this almost unrecognizable Raphael.

"Eh - Sorry, but nah, I'm gonna havta pass. Been busy lately, ya know," Raph replies and incredibly gently brushed her hand off his arm as he continues toward their bathroom without even looking back at her.

"But - I - W-Wait! But what about the weekend after? We can meet then!" she desperately inquires as she runs after him.

"Thanks for da offer but no thanks. Bye, April." is all Raphael says before he walks away; quietly closing the door behind him and April is left staring at it in shock.

A part of April is terribly confused and a little pissed but the other vast majority just wants to cry…

She feels an unexplained feeling of loss she hadn't felt in such a long time - as if she lost her best friend just now and she has no idea why. Just what the fuck happened for Raphael to treat her this way?

The sudden guilt hits her like a damn train as she wraps her arms around herself and feels the back of her eyes burning with unshed tears. She's tempted to slam her fists on the door, to demand Raphael let her apologize even if she has to grovel for him just to talk to her again or not look through her like she doesn't even matter to him anymore.

But she swallows back the desire and just whispers out, "Okay…M-Maybe next time then… Bye, Raph." before turning away.

Pressed against the door, he hears the soft click of April's boots as she walks away and it is then that Raphael gently falls to his knees. The pain of seeing April broke something in him and having to push her aside and seeing the undisguised hurt on her face almost had him disregarding his own pain to comfort her but somehow, he got through it…

Now that the initial contact is over, he thinks he can finally get through this with his heart intact…

Raphael just wished it wouldn't hurt so damn much to walk away from her…

<><><>

AN: Raphael and April stay away from each other for months.

April works, goes home, eats and sleeps; her life continues around her but she feels stuck in a limbo.

In case anyone wanted clarification about a few chapters prior -

Yes, April and Casey slept together that night when Raph was waiting for her at her apartment. Both were completely drunk and it was barely remembered the next day (but it was consensual!). Afterward, Casey tried to communicate with April to basically form a romantic relationship, but April refuses. She'd felt horrible guilty for the one-night stand with Casey but it stemmed deeper than just sleeping with the Detective when, while attracted to him, didn't love him in that way.

If April was honest with herself, the only reason she allowed herself to have sex with Casey was because she was horribly confused. Her feelings for Raphael had been more than platonic for a long time but she refuses to acknowledge them. Mostly in fear for what having affections deeper than friendship for a mutant turtle would mean in the long run. The species difference, the age gap, and most importantly, she worries these feelings she has for Raphael are only temporary and she has no idea what Raphael feels about her.

If she tells him how she feels and he didn't return it, she'd feel horrible and selfish and Raphael and his lack of self-esteem would suffer thinking she only spent time with him because of lust or misguided intentions. More than the rejection, she's more worried when she realizes that even after months of being ghosted by Raphael, her feelings remain unchanged. …while she loves all the turtles, this love she has for Raphael feels far more significant - but she could never tell him. Especially now.

As months pass and Raphael still refuses to talk to her, April slowly gives up on the notion thinking she did something to permanently fuck-up her friendship with Raphael. She wonders if it was to do with her sleeping with Casey and Raph finding out about it and thinking negatively of her. She's tempted to call Casey and give him a chance to stem the horrible loneliness she's experiencing and the guilt for feeling as if she used Casey somehow - but she can't because that would only be using Casey further and she refuses to do that. The feelings just aren't there - she's physically attracted to him, sure - but that's it. She doesn't have that same emotional connection she had built and grown with Raphael for over two years by this point.

It takes a long time, but April finally comes to accept that what she feels for Raphael goes deeper than friendship.

Their relationship was more than that - he was her best friend, someone she could talk to and listen to for hours without tiring. How seeing him smile and making him laugh were the highlights of her day and how she always wanted to spent time with him. How inexplicably her heart would pound whenever she felt those smooth scales underneath her fingertips and the sensation of butterflies would grow in her stomach when she caught herself staring at his mouth and wondering how it would feel pressed against hers. She just wants to be with him… It takes her a damn long time, but April soon accepts that she's in love with Raphael…even if now she'll never be able to tell him because she doubts he'd want to hear it.

So, she continues with her life thinking she ruined the one chance she had with Raphael forever. All her calls and offers to hang out remained unanswered and she realizes she also lost her friendship with him also.

Raphael on the other hand, throws himself in full time with his brothers to try and figure out the connection between Baxter Stockman, Karai and the increasing problems within the lair and the unrest in the city. Foot Clan being spotted frequently but not doing anything nefarious either. The turtles stay vigilant and mostly, Raphael stays busy to stop himself from thinking about April.

Even after months of being away from her, he still finds her at the corner of his mind every time he's not focusing on something else. Always in the background ready to fill him with guilt and anguish in the fact he hadn't seen or heard from her for months by his own volition and not answering her calls and texts. How pathetic he feels when he always finds a way to watch April on television if only to hear her voice and see her even in the grainy pixilated screen.

It's driving him absolutely insane.

Raphael thought that being away from her would help - but it's only getting worse. It's not he fact he lost out on any potential romance with her - he lost her friendship too - and he misses it desperately. Raphael is also terribly and constantly worried about her safety with all of the happenings throughout the city. So, Raph devises a plan to follow her home every day to make sure she's safe at the very least.

After weeks of following her home is when something happens no one could have predicted…

<><><>

Maybe he was a fucking idiot but he didn't care. Never mind that his creepiness factor was over 9,000...damn Mikey and his new old school anime obsession...

It didn't matter to him.

All that mattered to Raphael was making sure April was safe.

The pretty brunette reporter had no clue of his hobby of following her home every night - even Leo approved if he'd kept himself in shadows. Ever since he started ignoring her texts and calls, he noticed they'd stopped after the first month. Mikey and Donatello (who still spoke to the reporter frequently - which still filled him with bitterness even as he refused to see her) told him to call her back but he never did. When she'd show up at the lair, he was sure to leave without even talking or even allowing her to see him; he'd saunter off without a word. If there was a conversation, he gave short answers and gave an excuse that would allow him a quick escape. If his family noticed their lack of communication, they didn't say anything - even if the looks they flashed him spoke volumes.

But for their silence, Raphael was thankful.

After all, this fallout with April was bound to happen eventually. He'd go on with his life as he has been and she'd go on with hers. Let her continue her relationship with Casey; let them fall in love, get married, have 2 and a half kids, white picket fence, the whole perfect shebang - let the Detective give her the happily ever after like April deserved.

…As if he could ever compare or give her anything she truly needed…

Raphael shook his head of those thoughts and hoped that eventually, the pain of wanting her so bad would dissipate. That his once-obsession would fade away… For those first few weeks, it was freeing. A sense of freedom he'd not known for a long time.

It felt incredibly liberating..for only three months.

Three months being all it took for this unbearable gnawing ache inside him to form. This need and want to be with her like it used to be. He deplored this new relationship of skirting around each other just to not hurt the other's feelings.

...But he was certain that it had to be this way.

April's certain rejection of him would be the final nail in his coffin and he would rather control his own fate rather than wait for her to deal the final blow. Smelling Casey on her should have done that, but to hear it from her mouth would be the last straw. Yet, it still didn't stop the horrendous need to just be with her; aching to be in her presence and the chance to see her - so the shadows would have to do.

It was night like any other.

Fucking cold and windy even this late in winter, almost early spring, with small snowflakes landing and melting instantly upon his skin.

The frigid wind cascading over his reptilian skin burned, but the pain in his heart overwhelmed it enough to make it bearable and even welcomed at times. From the shadows, he watched her leave the building, walking side by side with her co-worker, Vernon. She said a few parting pleasantries to her camera man, who thankfully, quit asking her to go over to some new cafe for 'munchies' once the nerd finally got himself a girlfriend - a fucking bombshell one at that.

How Vernon managed to pull it off, Raphael would never know.

A parting wave later, she was off into the dangers of the city - not alone - but she didn't have to know that.

Raph followed her diligently, staying silent as night. Keeping a large vantage point around her and anyone who would pass by, look in her direction or walk near her.

She was only a few blocks from her apartment when Raphael swore that if he had hairs on the back of his neck, they'd be standing on end. A dreaded realization came over him when he saw the visage of someone he never wished to see again emerge from a nearby alley like an actual shadow. Yet instead of the normal ninjitsu techniques he'd expect - he saw the flash of an object he didn't anticipate them to carry and a sound that followed it - the non-mistakable metallic click of a gun being cocked than aimed straight toward the back of the unsuspecting April's head.

In an instant, he was jumping from the building and running as soon as the muffled pop went off.

The graze of the bullet sliced cleanly across the scales of his shoulder the second he heard April shriek and hit the ground in a blind panic. Raphael ignored his wound, pinpointing the attacker and the woman stared back at him in terror.

Karai.

The very appearance of her filled him with more rage than he could have imagined.

Without any care that she was a woman, he attacked, and for the first time, she flinched in panic at the utter fear that consumed her. Raphael supposed that just the sight of his burning amber eyes and bared teeth let her know immediately that mercy simply was not an option.

In what could only be desperation, Karai shot again.

The shot ricocheting off his plastron right before she tried to run, black hair flicking across her face as she hurriedly cocked the gun again, but she didn't have time to pull the trigger when he saw red; slamming her with every ounce of strength in his body.

Karai's thin form flying backwards at the sheer force; hitting the brick wall with a heavy thunk and the distinct crack of bone echoing throughout the area before she fell lifelessly to the floor. The woman let out a pitiful noise and Raphael was sorely tempted to snap her neck to finish her, but pulled himself back. If she was still somehow alive, there was no way he was ending her misery - she deserved every single bit of pain he dealt her for trying to kill April.

Raphael swallowed back a lump that clogged his throat and swiftly turned back to April.

The lump returned when he saw her sitting there - cornflower blue eyes wide, body shaking profusely with arms wrapped around herself but Raph highly doubted it was a response to the cold.

Raphael took a moment to look around just to make sure there was no foot soldiers nearby but from the look of it, Karai was sent on this assignment alone. He snorted angrily. Hating the fact April got caught up with them - the mere fact of her merely associating with them consonantly putting the reporter in danger. He fucking deplored it...but April still wouldn't stop. She still wouldn't even after their fallout…

Without thinking about anything but April's safety, Raphael scooped the brunette up into his arms and took off back into the night.

April was silent at first, but as the shock wore off, he heard her crying, pressing her face into his throat and letting out the most guttural sobs he ever heard from her. Every warm tear against his clavicle was another stab to his heart. April should never cry - her strength and resilience during so much of the shit they'd put her through since they met - not once did she cry. Not once did this woman break down - and yet, here she was, hiding her face in the concave of his neck - weeping uncontrollably and clinging to him like a lifeline.

"...Ya okay?" he finally asked in a gruffer voice than he intended, heart racing, pulse thrumming in his ears as he continued to run.

April was silent, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, hard enough to slightly cut off his airway, but he didn't have the heart to tell her to loosen her arms.

Raphael didn't dwell on what would have happened had he not followed her home that night.

Had he not been there to take that bullet...

Raph shook his head, not even daring to ponder that thought further.

As he made his way to her apartment, what just transpired flitted through his mind like scene from a horror movie.

The instant he understood what was happening, he just moved. Sheer instinct to protect April - it was like his body knew what to do before his mind could even catch up. It didn't matter that she'd broken his heart - didn't matter if she decided to never see him again - he loved her regardless. That was never going away and he accepted it. As long as he was drawing breath, he would protect her - would die for her if need be. This fierce protectiveness was daunting but he'd come to accept that he'd thrived with it.

There was something about seeing April broken like that - rigid, her knees and legs shaking profusely underneath her. Even after the threat had been disarmed and most likely dead, she didn't move; still, he approached her slowly and his heart nearly stopped when she flinched away from his touch. The pain of their mutual avoidance fell to the wayside when the tears started. Raphael didn't care if she didn't want to be touched, he wrapped his arms around her and to his relief, she quickly hugged him back, weeping into his neck.

Within seconds, he'd picked her up into his arms and they went off into the night, which brought him to his current point.

Raphael had frozen atop her apartment building. April had not spoken a single word since he saved her other than her broken sobs.

April sniffled into his neck and finally mumbled a choked, "I'm fine..."

Raphael couldn't recall the last time he moved so fast down her fire escape, opening her window and making his way inside her dark apartment. He's quickly flicked on a couple lights and made his way to place her upon the couch, but the second he tried putting her down, April screamed.

Flinching at the sudden scream, he embraced her tighter, hushing soft mantras of "It's okay", "I'm here", and "It's all over".

<><><>

AN: As soon as Raphael and April get back to her apartment, April becomes hysterical. Seeing Raphael's wound on his shoulder and the fact she almost got killed just hits her and she's frantic. Raphael can do little to calm her down so he allows her to control the little she can. Allowing the brunette to clean his wounds and bandage him up just to keep her quiet even as he worries over her seemingly shattered mental state.

It wasn't just tonight either. Raphael notices the dark circles under her eyes, the fatigue, and how she looks at him with the most heartbreakingly haunted eyes. So, apparently he wasn't he only one that was going insane from their separation… There are still a lot of bitter feelings between them that neither can fully accept or talk about yet but the silence does most of it.

Lost in almost a little world as the adrenaline and near death experienc e fades slightly as the night continues. There's little words but not much needs to be said. Raphael and April are sitting next to each other on the couch and April still has yet to take her hands off of him. Clinging to him like a lifeline and Raphael doesn't even bother trying to remove the touch.

He missed it.

The guilt of refusing to talk to her so long builds in him and he knows she feels horrible too for probably the same reasons. Eventually, April calms but still keeps her hands on him; her fingers gently running up and down his forearm and the backs of his hands and over the new scars from his knuckles he got the last time he fled her apartment.

There's so many things both want to say but don't.

The exhaustion mentally and physically hits April first. The brunette lying her head against his chest where she falls asleep and Raphael accepts it. Gently lying down, he lays her on top of him with a blanket over both of them.

Months ago, his heart would be hammering and his pulse drumming frantically at this interaction but now he just feels relief to have her close.

Closing his eyes, Raphael almost falls asleep when his phone beeps in his pocket.

It's Donnie's mile long text informing him in great detail that with the police interference and information, they located where Baxter Stockman was staying and trying to reestablish communication with the Krang and Shredder. They were able to stop them all. The only missing piece is Karai who is missing and it suddenly made sense to Raphael why she went after April alone - a final piece of hatred to leave when she believed all turtles would be occupied with Stockman. Even if Baxter failed, the pain of losing their closest human friend would devastate them all…

Raphael felt immediate relief at the outcome and wrote with one hand, 'Karai is dead she tride 2 kill April. Aprils ok btw.'

Donnie doesn't respond immediately but when he does, all it reads is, 'that makes things a lot easier. Where's the body so we can inform the police?'

Raphael returns the information before shutting off his phone and focusing on the slumbering brunette in his arms.

As much as he wants to stew in his guilt and frustration of these past few months, he instead relishes in her life. Her breathing and sleeping on top of his plastron as if these past three months of avoidance didn't matter…

Raphael soon joins her in slumber and it's the best damn sleep he ever had.

<><><>

…Now for the actual conclusion…

<><><>

The first signs of wakefulness was like a light dusting of snow - while it would hit your skin, it would be so light and airy, it would hardly register; leaving you in this limbo in that cusp of unconsciousness. It began to pull at his awareness when he felt a tickle of breath along his chest, the warm air brushing over those sensitive plates.

It hit him like a runaway train when the warmth that rested on his stomach began shuffling - the recollection of what had occurred the previous night slashed at the remains of sleep and caused his eyes to flutter open.

The first thing he saw was the tattered white ceiling of April's apartment, delicate cracks trailing along the surface like spiderweb patterns in the thin stucco. He trained his eyes to the source of movement; fighting the need to flinch upon seeing April resting upon his chest, her delicate fingers brushing comforting circles; tracing the grooves on his plastron. Blue eyes peering along the surface as her fingers continued their languid movements in an almost hypnotic motion.

April began speaking, as if sensing his state even though her eyes continued to focus at some point beyond her vision.

"...Do you know what I was thinking about... when I was certain I was going to die?" she asked, her small, shaken voice was broken and he knew that if his hearing wasn't as good as it was, he most likely wouldn't have heard it.

Raphael didn't answer immediately, still frozen in place at the sight of her; while April was always small and petite, how she was curled up into herself at this moment made her look downright fragile - like a glass doll that could turn to dust at the slightest breeze. Heart aching upon seeing her this way, broken and afraid weren't adjectives to describe this strong, fiery, and damn stubborn woman in the least, it was as if she inverted into herself; a shell of some sorts.

"...what?" Raph asked in a gruff whisper, as if she'd break into pieces if his voice was too loud.

"At first, my thoughts were all over the place...stupid things like that vacation I never got to take because of work. Not calling my aunt and wishing her a happy birthday last week. Getting the damn garden salad instead of the bacon cheeseburger burger I really wanted for lunch... Heh... Isn't the brain the strangest thing when you think you're going to die? " April chuckled, fingers never letting up from the pattern. Her voice was a low, withdrawn whisper as she continued.

"Regrets... I always thought I've always lived my life in a way where I wouldn't have any...but..." a heavy sigh punctuated the thought before she finally continued, "It was all a lie, Raphael. I do have regrets - mostly trivial things that mean nothing at all...but there's one that terrified me into a fucking panic attack last night..."

All of a sudden, her movement stopped; palm flat over his racing heart as she lifted her face and looked at him as if for the first time.

"Do you want to know what the worst regret I have is?" April whimpered, cornflower blue eyes boring into his own burnished amber.

"...What?" Raph asked in a barely audible whisper at the pain lacing those beautiful blue eyes - pain he'd be willing to die for just the opportunity to take it away from her.

"If I died last night... How I never would have gotten the chance..." her left hand reached out to lightly touch his face; dainty fingers brushing along his jaw before she continued, "...t-to tell you..." fingers brushed over his lips and signature scar marring them and he trembled at the touch, "...just how much I love you...how I've always loved you...so fucking much. I was just too much of a fucking coward to admit to myself…" The whispered admission was like a shock to the heart; blue eyes lined with tears as she continued staring at him.

For a long time, there was nothing but silence in the small apartment.

The only noise that could be heard was his heartbeat pulsating in his ears, their combined breathing and the soft purr of the heater turning on. Raph was certain she could hear and feel just how fast his heart was drumming in his chest, one palm still resting comfortably atop his plastron. He wasn't sure if this was some kind of dream - some kind of euphoric conjuring of his mind, but the pain he was experiencing just by witnessing the overwhelming sadness in her blue depths that told him this was indeed reality. It wasn't those sweet dreams where she'd kiss him, hold him in a way he was certain she never would.

Fate had never been kind to him.

He never imagined he'd be lucky enough to know what it was like to be loved, be accepted by anyone other than his family.

And yet - here she was.

This incredibly beautiful woman (inside and out) who'd become such an instrumental part of his world - who he had yet to thank for his very existence when he should have perished in that fire so many years ago. How she'd entranced him from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her. The blindness at his initial distrust peeling away when she helped him with tending to Splinter. She'd had him wrapped around her tiny little finger since; slowly melting the black ice that surrounded his heart. Years of resentment toward humanity who would hurt him, dissect, and kill him at the first opportunity.

…but she changed everything.

April showed him that he was wrong and he'd never been more thankful to have been. He came to care for her - protect her - and ultimately love her with every fiber of his being; fully accepting the fact she'd never return those feelings once Casey came into the picture.

The words she spoke now ripped all that pondering to shreds. This was the same little girl who fed them pizza and named them after Renaissance painters - the same one who grew up and lost everything only to give everything to him and his family. She owed them nothing, but he owed her his very existence, and yet, she was here; just admitted to him that her only regret in her life before this moment was her withheld feelings of love she'd harbored all this time.

It was enough to take his breath away.

This was not something he expected. In a moment right now where she was lying on his chest, curled into his body and looking at him as if just waiting for him to reject her - sadness and resignation overwhelming every sense of the word.

Raphael wanted to speak.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to say something - anything - but yet, his tongue felt like a chunk of lead stuck to the bottom of his mouth. The words just wouldn't come. Words of his own confession, his own secret muse of being in love with her from almost the very beginning. Convictions strong; willing to die for this girl if only for the chance to see her smile...but his mouth just wouldn't move...

"I love you, Raphael…" she whispered again, a sad smile tipping up the edges of her lips, "I'm not wasting another second with this regret and I'd fully understand if you'd continue with us not seeing or even talking to each other. Heh...I just...wanted you to know..."

Raphael couldn't speak, but this time, he knew actions would speak something words never could.

He interrupted her musing with a giant, gentle hand on the back of her head; pulling her toward him.

Within seconds, his lips enveloped hers and he gave every emotion, every word that he could put into that one kiss. It was off center and sloppy, but God, did it just feel so fucking good... He couldn't count how many times he'd dreamt about this, those visions of the feel and taste of her lips upon his own were nothing compared with the reality of that beautiful, soft, pouty mouth loving caressing his own. Certain his heart was going to beat out of his chest as his other hand moved to press along the curve of her spine, the fabric of that ratty t-shirt clenched in his hand as he lost himself in her.

All too soon, he felt her pull away with a wet popping noise; while already craving her lips again, hearing her heaving breaths and rapid pulsation of her heart, he knew she felt it too.

That maybe...he wasn't so crazy after all...

...They were both completely insane...and it was the best fuckin' feeling in the world as she kissed him again...

The End!

#raphril #raphril crazy #raphril fanfiction #ending #the art is old as fuck #sorry it sucks #i did one in 2016 #holy fuck #XD

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pomnavi · 4 years

Link

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: 血界戦線 | Kekkai Sensen | Blood Blockade Battlefront

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Klaus von Reinherz/Leonardo Watch

Characters: Leonardo Watch, Klaus von Reinherz, K.K. (Kekkai Sensen),

Tags: Christmas Presents, Sweaters, Knitting

Summary:

Leo wants to get Klaus a present for Christmas, but he’s not sure what to get him (and he’s woefully low on funds). Plus, would getting your (super hot) boss (that you may have a crush on) a present be coming on too strong? He’s not sure what to do, until K.K. gives him a great idea >:)

Chapter 1: Inception of a Bad Idea

It was the end of the day, and Leo didn’t have his part time job scheduled today either. Everyone else but Klaus and Gilbert were out on assignment. He was sitting on the couch in the Libra office, scrolling intently on his phone. His brows furrowed as he looked at the prices on some of the items.

K.K. walked in, boisterous as always. “Klausie~ I finished staking out the target!” She walked over to Klaus’s desk and continued to give him a report on their next threat to Hellsalem’s Lot. Klaus nodded politely and took notes while she gave her report.

“Thanks K.K., that’s probably all for today” Klaus said.

K.K. smiled. “No problem!”

She finally noticed Leo slumped on the couch, doing his best to become part of the background.

“Leo~ what’s up sweetie!” K.K. called. He didn’t answer. K.K. pouted and walked up, pinching his cheeks.

“Just what is so interesting on your phone that you couldn’t even say hi!”

The pain brought Leo to his senses, with a very unamused K.K. stretching his cheeks. “Ow, ow, ow! K.K., I’m sorry! I’m just shopping for Christmas presents!”

She let go of him and gave an exasperated smile, then sat down next to him on the couch.

“And who would those presents be for hmnn? Any good news with you know who lately that I should know about?” she winked. Klaus turned to hear their conversation better while pretending to finish paperwork.

Leo blushed and put down his phone. “I’m just deciding what to get Michella! Actually, I think I’d really appreciate it if I could get your input on some ideas. Let’s chat while we head out!” Leo got up abruptly and grabbed K.K.’s arm. “Bye Klaus, see you tomorrow!”

Leo speed walked out of the Libra office, K.K. in tow, as fast as humanly possible given his short (in proportion) legs. Once they got to the elevator and the doors closed, Leo relaxed considerably. K.K. started giggling at him.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell him yet! The whole team literally left you two in the office alone the whole day!”

Leo facepalmed, unable to face her. “I tried so hard, but I nearly had a heart attack anytime I tried to say anything! Leave me alone!” He groaned at his failure.

K.K. patted him on the head. “Don’t stress so much, it’ll be fine! Anyways, the office Christmas party will be a good time to try your luck.”

Leo sighed. “About that, I actually was looking at presents for Michella, and I realized I’m not going to have much left over for the party. How are we doing presents again this year?”

K.K. beamed at him and gave him the OK symbol. “Don’t worry your little head about that, we’re doing Secret Santa this time. And I already talked to Gilbert about it, he agreed to rig it so that you would get Klaus’s name.”

“Well that’d be great, except I don’t have any ideas or money for awesome presents. Ughhhh what am I gonna doooo.”

Leo and K.K. stood in silence briefly until the elevator stopped. Walking out together, K.K. pondered the question.

“We~ll since you’re so strapped for cash, I have an old knitting set with some yarn, do you want give that a try? Plus, it’d be so cute for you to give Klaus something handmade!”

Leo opened his eyes in surprise, glowing just a bit brighter. “That’s it! That’s a great idea, thank you so much K.K.!”

“Leave it to me! I’ll sneak it to you along with some pattern books tomorrow.”

And thus, Leo embarked on the journey of trying to knit Klaus a present.

Notes: I found out about the ''sweater curse" trope and I thought it'd be really cute to do a kuraleo ship fic. Can't believe so many of my fics concern Christmas even though I don't even celebrate lol.

#fanfiction #navi writes #Sweater Curse #Klaus von Reinherz #Leonardo Watch #Kekkai Sensen #Blood Blockade Battlefront #otp: kuraleo

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snowbellewells · 4 years

Text

CS Fic Rec Monday: Fics I Loved in 2019/// October - December

So here we are, the last list of 2019 fics! I wasn’t sure I would get them done each week, but I did it! (And I think several of you seemed to enjoy :) Thanks!) I apologize for not having this posted sooner, but everything rebooted just as I was getting nearly done, and I lost my entire post in progress!

Anyway, here we go with the fics from October to the end of the year...

Seeing as how October brought all things a bit spooky and Halloween-y, it seemed only right to start this list out with a fic from the @csrolereversal event that I simply adore: “A House is Never Still” by: @capnjay21 This fic is completely unique and full of such a great blend of mystery, angst, backstory, and thrills that I was completely sucked in from the very first chapter. I’ve gotten woefully behind, as I know there is at least one chapter update I haven’t gotten to read yet, but it is so well-written and creative, you will absolutely be enthralled!

Another awesomely spooky story is “An American Haunting” by: @welllpthisishappening I loved this modern AU take on Emma, Killian, and many of the rest of our OuaT favorites as workers at an American historical village, and their encounter with a very real (and vengefull!) ghost. Plus, there’s plenty of secreative flirting and pining as well, since Emma and Killian like each other, but haven’t yet admitted it. ;)

October also brought us the @cspupstravaganza which allowed us to have several stories starring our pirate and princess alongside various adorable versions of man’s best friend. All of these fics deserve a read, but I especially loved: “Captain Morgan” by: @pirateherokillian, “Twelve Legged Matchmaker” by: @shireness-says, “...between a rock and a bark place” by: @thisonesatellite and “Arm’d with Hell Flames and Fury all at Once” by: @darkcolinodonorgasm.

@profdanglaisstuff also wrote an incredibly funny and irresistible CS with a dog fic (that I thought was part of @cspupstravaganza, but I guess not!) called “Release the Kraken”. This one had me both giggling and melting at the sweetness - don’t miss it!

“Drift” by: @thisonesatellite is a one shot which just blew me away with the emotion and the healing worked into the modern au verse of it. Emma and Killian’s finding each other and slowly connecting and allowing each other to be less alone in the world is just beautiful. I really can’t say enough about how gorgeous and affecting it is. If you missed this one, please do yourself a favor and read it now. <3

“Until the Stars are all Alight” by: @whimsicallyenchantedrose was another excellent AU MC I began to enjoy in these last months of 2019. It was an entry to @cssns19 and mixes together two of my very favorite things: Lord of the Rings and Once Upon a Time in a thrilling crossover. This has questing, romance, angst and adventure in equal measures, and is so well-done all around. It is a WIP, but I have never known Jennifer to leave an MC unfinished, so I know you won’t be disappointed!!

“Not Your (Soul)Mate” by: @let-it-raines probably doesn’t really need my introduction, but just in case you didn’t see the modern AU take on soulmates for the @cssns, definitely read it now! I love how awkwardly humorous the way Emma and Killian’s soulmate status makes itself known (even the two of them definitely do not!) Not only that, but the comic element mixes in real emotion as they try to fight destiny to really make the piece more meaningful. Plus, Killian as a doting uncle is not to be missed either! ;)

Fandom Birthday Playlist by: @searchingwardrobes I did tell you there would be entries from this collection on every list, didn’t I? Melanie really excelled with this mission she set herself - so many engaging and fitting fics for fandom friends, and the three on this list are some of the best yet! You’ll totally fall for Killian as a young minister looking for someone to love him for himself in “Raging Fire”, with Killian and Emma as a young Lieutenant Duckling helping each other through a painful trial in “Burn the Ships”, and with single father Killian and lost amnesiac Emma in “Start of Time”.

“the unexpected life” by: @thisonesatellite An author!Killian/librarian!Killian, adorable Captain Cobra, and a hesitant-but-drawn-to-him Emma -- what more could we really ask for as readers? This story is beautiful and heartwarming and all the good things the best fics are. I love how this Killian and Emma move from acquaintances to friends to loves to eventually a wonderful family with Henry.

“Drink the Wild Air” by: @profdanglaisstuff I just love EF AUs with dashing sailor Killian and young princess Emma, and this gives us that very thing in gorgeous fashion. Both the adventure and the romance are excellent in this one, and though it is still a WIP, you will love and simply devour every bit of it posted so far -- I can almost guarantee it!!

“Four Eyes” by: @welllpthisishappening Oh my goodness, this helping of sweet papa Killian, fighting a bit with admitting he’s aging when he finds out that he needs glasses right along with he and Emma’s little girl, is just beyond perfect! There are references to The Great Gatsby (a sure way into my affections!) an adorably exasperated Emma and lovably realistic fluff galore.

“The Swan of Misthaven” by: @slow-smiles Oh my! This is an EF Captain Duckling AU that will absolutely steal your heart - and in truth the final part of a larger collection of one shots called “My Princess, My Pirate” by this author. They’re all worth reading, and again, I am a little late to the party, so maybe most folks know about this fic already. Still what a thrilling adventure plot - and some great moments of pirate Killian slowly winning over Snow and Charming as they all fight for the princess they love!

“Across the Snowy Places” by: @profdanglaisstuff There truly aren’t enough Thanksgiving fics in this fandom, and that made me love this five part offering all the more. I love the pretend relationship trope and how efficiently Saira uses it here. The pining and the chemistry between Emma and Killian is off the charts and SO well done!! I got such a kick out of the cast of characters she surrounded them with too, and just how amazingly they come together for good in the end!

“Tell Me It’s Real (it’s real)” by: @let-it-raines This one plays with the same trope as the story before it. Best friends Emma and Killian pose as a couple to appease her family over the holidays, but their feelings keep threatening to upset the whole ploy and reveal how much more they both want. Plus, there’s Liam visiting his “little” brother as well as a wonderful rendition of David and MM. The angst and the pining and the steamy moments “for show” just make this one - even before things work into their eventual happy resolution!

“The Perfect Gift” by: @terreisa This is a modern au featuring CS as office co-workers that just charms you from beginning to end! Emma thinks she doesn’t want anything to do with the handsome Brit at the desk next to hers, but after a holiday gift exchange run by meddling matchmaker Mary Margaret, she begins to realize he isn’t who she believed him to be. This is seriously a gift for the reader, and you’ll love every word!! <3

“Hashtag Holiday Party” by: @shireness-says No exaggeration here when I say that I start cackling with laughter whenever I think of this story. Devon does such a great job painting the worst kind of first date at a holiday party and how Emma deals with it. Luckily Killian and Belle are at the same party as well (as friends) and Emma finds that while the date was a bust, the party itself might not have been a waste at all... ;)

“To Keep it All the Year” by: @profdanglaisstuff This story reminds me exactly why I love a good Christmas story - the heart and good will found within it will truly warm your heart. The Killian we meet at the start of this is angry and alone and has nothing left, but then he meets Emma (and Henry) and he begins to see a way forward. I don’t want to spoil all the heart-tugging and glorious moments as the story progresses, but if you missed this around the holidays, please go back and read it now!!

“We Kill the Flame” by: @thisonesatellite Seriously, if you haven’t been reading this WIP futuristic MC, then put down whatever you’re doing, and go start it ASAP! This one will take your breath away with the pulse-pounding action, the high stakes, and the risks Emma and Killian go through for each other and for the tiniest chance at grasping a better life. The whole roster of characters are perfectly cast, and the plot is amazing! So original, so well-done... you won’t even want to blink until you’ve swallowed each chapter whole -- it’s that intensely good!

#cs fic rec monday #csfrm #fics I loved in 2019 #october to december #cs ff #cs fic recs #sorry so late this week!

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incarnateirony · 5 years

Text

Time for a rant

And some hard fucking truths about this fandom. And shipping culture. And related LGBT issues.

Edit for reblog: Since everybody’s trying to be highkey mad about everything right now, if the cut didn’t warn you, or the title, that this is going to be an unpopular AF opinion you should read all of before jumping to any conclusions, let this edit notice be that. But this post includes a bunch of shit. History I more recently and more fully talked about. The LGBT men I know that won’t touch this fandom with a ten foot pole because of shipping dialogue. And the accidental two season canon Destiel RP troll that we finally snapped and voiced beyond the meta wall from PURE EXHAUSTION.

(related posts in reference: (x) (x) (x) )

we know season great we know season 9 and its potential we know season 10 -- and most of us know its cut scenes humanity, being human, colette, the altar of winchester, the secret admirer, the boyfriends that strapped into the abaddon/colette parallels, all of it we know carver himself wrote the s10 finale and got it to film and then it got cut we know s9 he gave misha a note to play as jilted lovers from the showrunner but then we ask why did this never make it well nobody in fandom was paying attention nobody paid attention to SPN struggling the first seasons nobody paid attention to gamble's era almost getting nuked they all swore up and down this outdated americana show was about to have a queer pairing go canon because, yes, at that point *reads crumbled note* wallpaper

In fact that last one, to this date, no much how much legitimate structural meta or even deadass text current meta fandom breaks down, whether they just study the microcosm of Destiel or the macrocosm of the text with Destiel as a piece of it, can not escape the claims of *reads note again* wallpaper and T-shirts.

one year into Carver who was pulling the show out of the cancellation trashcan and vying for it to continue now that it was on netflix a DUMBASS EXEC wandered into twitter and opted to talk to fans

the goddamn network CEOship had just rotated even

”Well I blame” [disembodied force outside of our own]

no honestly I blame (parts of) pre S9 meta fandom, and I say that as a meta author they had been convincing people of intent for years When these showrunners and even rotating network execs were thrashing for life Like literally even the heads of the CW were changing not even just SPN but some fucking how the “sages” of that era didn’t have any gat damn insight onto how that might influence future engagements So out of the blue a newish network crew gets BLINDSIDED by accusations of queerbait and giant danger articles that are huge PR bombs and it turns into protect the product mode which turned into the new S10 press releases with the spontaneous sexuality field on the characters and half the filmed content ending up on the floor the short end of it is fandom fucked up hard Carver was fighting for them But in result he got a corporate shut down on a product he had ironically exploded globally too well that was earning too much profit too quickly to catch that kind of bad PR Chad Kennedy was a fateful fucking day Ever since then showrunners have had to pitch the idea at corporate when it was a nonissue before And prove why it's a valid move with test groups and marketing You can say "prove it" I really don't have to in this rant, I really do not give a SHIT if you believe me, I don’t CARE if you want to reject what is otherwise logic because I’m not about to throw anybody under a bus I really like not getting people in trouble, but this alone is a glint in the fucking RADAR of how I'm going off.

hell ask yourself why we went from Robbie calling Destiel canon to being eviscerated by queerbait claims because it didn’t fulfill what a specific audience wanted or expected, to deleting his post, to only annual actors free of their contracts daring to talk about Destiel, to corporate shutdowns where it’s crickets until Emily’s return where she’s started YOLO posting about it -- but why, why, why did we go from actual support and discussion to silence that you still rage about

Without the season nine kennedy explosion I'm pretty sure we would have had inarguable destiel canon in season 10 like late s10 Carver passed his torch to Dabb mid S11 where they kept stringing it out and ramping it up within restrictions which is why Dabb runs a very weird fucking line Dabb knows he has no promise of getting it as far as his forebearer wanted or even had written AND FILMED but he will hedge out as many lines, esp with the hand of Berens that Carver originally passed the directorial note with, as he can Wayward was a huge factor in that and tbh my hope died when Wayward died that was a HUGE weight in the network Berens was pulling

I'm at a point where i've conceded to our jane austen novel but want to see how far they take that to completion, though in reality that completion was 13.5/6 that's when I went from like, I passively enjoy and accept this content to screaming into the dumpster it's not the landmark people wanted but story structure wise within how SPN handles it's the sufficient one Recalling Dean's implicative hookups since like season six I mentioned on one hand The fact that they went full circle and bookended it in direct script mirror to Lisa after the S13 lead in would be amply sufficient to het drama and I refuse to enable hets running around the goalpost on queer people I would love better open blunt representation but I also recognize the genre of the show It's something Dean and I struggle with our server actually DeanCas have been canon for a season and a half here but maintaining that without taking a distracting romantic genre tilt or whatever is its own form of challenge We write established relationship openly, without bars, to the point we DMed each other for months like WHEN WILL THEY CATCH ON WTF but the problem, ironically, is that it's so parallel to the show nobody caught on

which really, though it didn't start as a conscious experiment, and was natural tells me everything I need to know even wiping what I knew on production and itk ends even if I just had that it says e v e r y t h i n g I have literally watched people laugh track completely serious content, because it's gay ergo it's funny LGBT people. Shippers.

I wrote subtle lines. They got ignored. I wrote blunt lines. They flew past heads. I wrote lines designed to be overt to the point of painful. They got laughed off. Het culture is a hell of a drug. Both in this RP and in how we interpret romances like DeanCas, even LGBT people and shippers, because people are expecting performative results and statements where either for the former they don't fit the show or genre or for the latter, there's some sort of restriction or imposition but there's authors writing their gay little hearts out and tearing their hair out after.

I've been the author tearing my hair out until I wrote a Cas, explicitly, in a moment, to be as blunt and straightforward and unmistakable as I could, to the point I felt I was bending the character to even make it happen, and debated my options for like ten minutes before doing it, just to free myself of this purgatory. And STILL got a wash of questions wanting me to *confirm* the content they just saw instead of going, gee, that’s PROBABLY WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE.

Dabb is fighting the good gay fight and being woefully under respected for it, with Berens as his copilot, carrying a torch given to him by Carver, but people are too wrapped up in a mix of prior bitterness, performative culture, personal demands and shipping culture to see the forest for the trees, because he's deadass just writing an established fucking relationship but people would rather yell either queerbait or destroying the relationship. PR deadass pitched Absence like a het breakup drama and nobody blinked, just yelled how mean it was

Am I hinging my hopes on hammer-on-head-overt-canon-kissing-scene-DeanCas for the final season, no. Would I be surprised if it happened, knowing the execs? No, beyond breaking past corporate walls fandom dropped like a curtain in S9

But considering how "fuck performative culture" Berens is, as a gay man, fangirls absolutely should not fucking expect that either in even the most wild "the chains are broken, burn it all" method

Every queer man I know ships Destiel. Simultaneously, every queer man I know fucking loathes the sum of shipping culture with a vengeance.

Because it's grossly out of touch with MLM and is mostly WLW people trying to speak for what they think MLM should be when we already pretty much have the MLM right there.

YOU WANNA KNOW HOW THE ACTUAL QUEER MEN I KNOW SEE HOW THIS FANDOM HANDLES DESTIEL DESPITE BEING AVID SHIPPERS WHO SEE IT AS CANON ALREADY AND GET SCREAMED DOWN?

And since everyone likes to imagine the straight male audience as some borg, have a straight male friend exploding when someone called a fandom speakpiece a trainwreck. Bless his heart for not getting what queer or bi really mean situationally but his heart’s in the right place

I’m tired. Tired of trying to illustrate this to an audience I realized I have never once in my life been straight-coded enough to incorporate myself to much less understand the lensing of. Tired of watching queer men that I know who love this shit hide away in the recesses of DMs to hide from conversations lest they be accused of being homophobes or whatever by people refusing to read context, and/or just be smacked down by actual homophobes or just deadass rival shippers that refuse to see anybody be happy with something they don’t like in something that was never realistically a rivalry to begin with, because rivalry implies relative equality-ish and while all ships are equal in fanon, they aren’t necessarily in canon, and despite the thrashing and baying of antis this isn’t and will never just be a “fanon ship.”

Unpopular opinion but the biggest enemy to LGBT people isn't hets, it's the LGBT community, because we're too busy invalidating own own content and creators to make a truly unified front against het culture (or in this case, the network), and waving a flag with a lot of letters doesn't do anything to fix that. Yelling online into tumblr doesn’t fix that. @’ing creatives who have no power in this beyond the option to drop any attempt at queer resonant content cold turkey for you all to yell at them about THAT too doesn’t fix it.

No, yes, DeanCas are perfectly valid as Thebian warriors where one is clearly ace spectrum and the other is bisexualish if repressed as long as they are clearly enamored with and engaged with each other; no, nobody needs to fulfill anybody's migrating quota list when every romantic checkbox has been hit already that would be respected if they're het; would coming out statements in this sort of complicated relationship be great, sure, but they aren't in the kind of show that even addresses that and there's no way to make them even perform as the isolationists that they are without breaking or damaging the characters, not in the public eye, not in a show that hasn't shown a single sexual dean encounter for six-plus seasons for any other reason than to highlight a major traumatic problem in his life.

No, I wasn’t “hiding my gays.” My gays just didn’t have their bedroom times put on blast while they even openly made comments about the nature of their relationship everybody flagged down because they weren’t making out in front of everyone, even if that hand *did* drag a shoulder too long, even if Dean *Did* inexplicably drag a naked flatlining human Cas into the FUCKING med bay out of the Dean Cave at like 6 AM in the morning. Yes, your dedication to talking down content is that fucking loud even if you don’t realize it.

SPN is never going to be a show where the characters distinctly identify "I'm a nonbinary demiman ace-spectrum demisexual" and "i'm an aromantic bisexual with a female inclination", it's just not, stop trying to make it happen, it isn't gonna happen, realistically they are not the kind of people to engage gender politics, they're just going to be themselves. And it's queer, and it's beautiful. Fandom needs to stop moving goalposts because it's becoming more and more transparent. They just need to __. Go to dinner, check, have lingering touches walking past each other, check, admit love for one or the other, check, watches the goalpost run off into the horizon Kiss, you mean kiss, you want them to kiss, but Dean hasn't had that in how many years and what was the framing of the last moment of that.

SPN isn't about romance. Antis are right in that. But romance exists in SPN and one needs to mind the framework of it to not tilt the entire central focus of a genre show. One can have romance without being about romance, but people need to be conscious of what that means before they advocate about it. When Ruby or Anna were around they were dangerously close to becoming "about romance" which is why there was such a goddamn fit because these women were clearly tailor crafted to be plugged into a light/dark parallel in the back of the Impala

They haven't had a kissing-based romance in SPN for eight years. Ten if you cut past Lisa as a literal prop.

And if we wanna demand creator confirmation before we consider ace-y romances valid we'll talk about the biromantic commentary of S8 or the jilted lovers of S9 or the confirmed parallels of S10 or any of the overt shit after that, which got hit by marketing walls. We had that. They got yelled at for queerbait. Because it didn't hit people's quota. So we yet again hit a wall. Shipping fandom exhausts me. And I say that as a DeanCas shipper

I am literally watching people run their own goalposts around all the goddamn time Cas is so much more than becoming background commentary in the back of the impala like ruby and anna were geared to be He's his own goddamn individual, currently all but free of the wants and lusts of man from food to sleep to drink to urination to sex to PBJ, but deeply enamored -- per actual citation on the S8 DVD -- with humanity by proxy of a man he's given everything for Dean is a complicated individual who is growingly aware of his tug and pull with Cas on all emotional spectrums but has never once cheapened him to just being a sexual tool, reasons of which we can headcanon away, but he's never turned Cas into one of his bad coping mechanisms like Porn Star or Amazon or Deanmon's Fling And those, plus one waitress and a vague strip club incident in grief he came home from, sum up his post-lisa excursions, from a man who used to lay a different woman every episode in early seasons WelCoME to mlm cuLTURE In the actual L for love, not lust because kinda like jensen's headcanon of prostitute Dean there's even a chapter of feeling tossed away that's not what it's a b o u t and never was so performative DeanCas enrages me genuinely And if people have a genuine kink okay I guess but like, admit that's what it is. Otherwise assess the actual state and stasis of the characters in play and the cultural/gender issues involved, because it's soooo often either WLW or straight girls looking at MLM and deciding what they think it should be and it m i s s e s t h e m a r k b y a a m i l e and then the gay dudes hide in nooks or get besgieged by fangirls or are a Ben and avoid fandom entirely best Deans I've ever written with were with gay dudes tbh Kemi got the art of it enough to pre-write some scenes before they ever aired but there's elements that just vanish into the aether with either queer women or straight dudes. Different parts disappear Never had a straight girl write a Dean, don't intend to ever try wE nEed RepResEntAtiOn [sweeps hand at the show] if people stop running their goalposts around to the calls of straight girls, homophobes, and shipping culture it's right there. Is it monumental and groundbreaking, no, but SPN started as an outdated callback piece to begin with and has vaulted into the almost-current, so let's check ourselves in what we expect out of it. It's not gonna be a banner. But it's content actual queer men AVIDLY invest themselves in only to be told it's not enough/whatever in a world where there is dangerously low bi male representation, most is gay male, and most of that is hugely problematic stereotype easily replaced by a rainbow lamp wearing a boa and a sticky note pointing people towards plot. And in generous cases, are like Malec, which are a mix of creepy and stereotype. Yes let's nevermind the ancient warlock drawing the 18 year old dude into the allure of his thick eyeliner and glimmer and spandex pants, nothing to see here folks. but somehow we've reached a point as a culture that the above is considered better than "ageless deity becomes enamored with humanity through bond with one man, falling into him regardless of gender, surrendering all it knows to become like that man and protect that man, and becoming like unto a man, and learning the ways of man, through all classic romantic tropes known to man, and even classic endings and bookends of all romances given to man, only to settle in to a stable relationship baseline with a man, after sharing courtship gifts with a man" just because somebody, some fucking where, in a mix of bitterness, homophobia, and goalpost moving decided "public kiss or it doesn't count" even if we're left to wonder how that timeless thing knew what was under his pillow he kept safe that he came into his room and played him to get after a classic romantic gift.

Stop. It.

Yall may be wanting to victim pose because somebody else convinced you that you were a victim here but I’m a middle aged person willing to view history and accept basic FUCKING responsibility.

Because there’s a distinct fucking difference between “victim blaming” and “have some perspective and some basic adult responsibility in the unfolding of history as it happened rather than reframing it post-event because somebody else convinced you that’s what happened”.

The only people anyone is victims of in this fandom is people they took the word of as gospel without them having any sort of actual developmental insight at the time.

You wanna play victim?

Take it up with them.

As a modern meta author that primarily deals with actual legend and theology mytharc with a side of DeanCas structure I STILL run in to walls from antis erected by the people before me that did, indeed, use the methods they whip up as excuses, so if you’re gonna victim pose, I’m just as much of a victim of those people as you are, difference is I wasn’t enough of a follower to believe them when they preached “performative queer canon gospel to meet fangirl hetnorm performative demands of MLM we mainstreamed into our basic expectations because somebody told us to” at the time or now or ever.

In fact, here’s the conversation that LED INTO THIS RANT.

CastielToday at 12:27 AM Old SPN has its values in a form of nostalgia or genre-searching it had a sort of drifter grifter americana vibe the later seasons lost

GarthToday at 12:27 AM Ah, early 2000's

CastielToday at 12:28 AM Well it's more than just year it was definitely a genre piece back then

GarthToday at 12:28 AM No, I know, but shows that span a long time you can track in it where you can tell writers styles started clashing in a way

CastielToday at 12:28 AM and that genre was pretty much dead at that point so even when it was new, it induced nostalgia "This is familiar I miss this where did this go" but in being so oldschool as it aged forward it aged worse and worse against the modern and Misha was the first bolt that really sparked a dynamic shift it was a breath of fresh air that carried it through kripke's plan and almost doubled its respective viewership in scale but still kept the old spirit Gamble desperately tried to capture that spirit but did not understand the actual essence of that spirit and budget restrictions didn't help due to twitter buzz she thought that spirit was "just duh brudders" which is dangerously reductionist

GarthToday at 12:30 AM Hey, Misha saved it in more then one way.

CastielToday at 12:30 AM the brothers were ironic vehicles for that spirit that gave it faces but it was a weird form of american dream that america hadn't realized its dream had warped into 50 years ago the american dream was a 3/2 bed bath and business degree

StarfiraToday at 12:31 AM I don't get how Gamble thought Misha's Cas was expendable. She just couldn't get her mindset out of s1-3 mentality I guess.

CastielToday at 12:31 AM but as that became labored with culture and debt the american dream drifted into freedom, exploration and the road with some sense of familiarity in classics, be it cars or music

GarthToday at 12:31 AM Funny, I can watch some episodes and go "huh... well... it gets better" and that says a lot that I view Se1-3 like that

CastielToday at 12:32 AM Once security was no longer a security, and people became anchored by their illusions of security into desperate survival to maintain that illusion of security, the idea of roadster americana was the new american dream

GarthToday at 12:32 AM Hmmm good point

Aryn Prime #TokenStraight😘Today at 12:32 AM I just looked at spn Facebook comments and geeeezzz

GarthToday at 12:33 AM I keep having to remind myself about a few details outside of SPN because being able to just wait for Netflix to get a new season then rewatch it all from the beginning has made me have a different view then others.

CastielToday at 12:33 AM So especially to the older generation older SPN has a strong nostalgic value you were lik six when it aired so that era is gone to you

GarthToday at 12:34 AM Yeah, 1996 Nov is me

Aryn Prime #TokenStraight😘Today at 12:34 AM One dude on Facebook said he resents that the actors have kids since he heard that part of the reason that it's ending is because J2M want more time with their families Wtf

CastielToday at 12:34 AM Whereas when it first aired

GarthToday at 12:34 AM I first watched when I was 14

CastielToday at 12:34 AM it was reflecting an age lost

GarthToday at 12:34 AM Aryn, wtf?

CastielToday at 12:34 AM to people desperately trying to find it but in reflecting old times it aged very poorly Gamble still didn't understand what made the appeal so regressed it to brothers without that true americana vibe while culling Cas which was a disaster

GarthToday at 12:35 AM See, it's like the same thing on how I can enjoy some older shows while understanding that it no longer works anymore. Older shows don't age well normally. And yeah, Se7 hahahahahahahhahahahahaha man once I stepped back and looked at the details of season 7 during the third rewatch I was like "hmm..... yeah. this sucks."

StarfiraToday at 12:36 AM I graduated high school in 2000 so those of you were kids when you watched SPN make me feel old. LOL

GarthToday at 12:36 AM lmao

CastielToday at 12:37 AM MOOD STAR MOOD

StarfiraToday at 12:37 AM AT LEAST I'M NOT ALONE WITH THESE YOUNG WHIPPER SNAPPERS

CastielToday at 12:37 AM You were probably in the generation that if you had tuned in when it was fresh you would have been like OH I REMEMBER THIS

GarthToday at 12:37 AM LMAO

CastielToday at 12:37 AM I MISS THIS it's not by fluke that Dean's theme song is literally titled Americana

GarthToday at 12:38 AM Ah yes.... the theme song....

CastielToday at 12:38 AM It was a whole beautiful craft

StarfiraToday at 12:38 AM I'm actually in between Dean and Sam's ages

CastielToday at 12:38 AM But it had to get with the times and Gamble took it in the worst direction possible

StarfiraToday at 12:39 AM I was born in 82

CastielToday at 12:39 AM Carver... people have their issues with carver but IMO he recovered the show as well as he could with the plate he was handed in the times he was There were still problems sure

GarthToday at 12:39 AM It's gone through some ups and downs, yep.

CastielToday at 12:39 AM but to boot out of Gamble era into the modern world was no small task The WAY HE HANDLED THE PR he basically was like THAT SHIT WAS A HOT MESS AND I FLUSHED IT but eloquent it was some shit like REWATCHING THE LAST FEW YEARS I REALIZED THAT OUR LORE HAS BECOME A BIT DIFFICULT TO FOLLOW SO I DECIDED TO REVISIT MORE FAMILIAR ELEMENTS

GarthToday at 12:40 AM When the people working on the show go "shit, I forgot to make notes"

CastielToday at 12:40 AM It's not that Carver didn't make notes

StarfiraToday at 12:40 AM Oh man were so ecstatic when Carver was announced as a showrunner. Ultimately, he let me down in s9 and s10 but s8? Season 8 will always have a special place in my heart.

CastielToday at 12:41 AM it's that there was no kind way to voice that Gamble was a disaster He had a three year plan and for reasons™ got even derailed in that plan and half of it ended up in the cut footage Destiel fandom do not like hearing my take about it I'm a shipper but I recognize

StarfiraToday at 12:41 AM Is season 8 perfect? Nope, but I don't think it's easy to describe what breath of fresh air it was after the shit show of season 7 to those who weren't there when it was airing live and binged through it

CastielToday at 12:41 AM yall fucked up b a d nobody will ever own responsibility for it but carver's intent is clear as day on the creatives wall and season 9/10 became a fustercluck as a result I want everybody in this room to think about this from a creatives angle, first carver then corporate Carver said when he joined he had a three year plan with final notes on his desk from the second he walked in the door again he entered in season eight We know what happened seasons eight, nine, ten on screen

GarthToday at 12:43 AM Yeah, Star, I don't have as many problems with the seasons as others do because hello Netflix, but I can see where the issues are after some explaining and some insight into the PR stuff that happened with the fandom points at Min and others like her

CastielToday at 12:43 AM we know season great we know season 9 and its potential we know season 10 -- and most of us know its cut scenes humanity, being human, colette, the altar of winchester, the secret admirer, the boyfriends that strapped into the abaddon/colette parallels, all of it we know carver himself wrote the s10 finale and got it to film and then it got cut we know s9 he gave misha a note to play as jilted lovers from the showrunner but then we ask why did this never make it well nobody in fandom was paying attention nobody paid attention to SPN struggling the first seasons nobody paid attention to gamble's era almost getting nuked they all swore up and down this outdated americana show was about to have a queer pairing go canon because, yes, at that point reads crumbled note wallpaper

GarthToday at 12:46 AM Urgh, gotta go help with dinner prep. Mom doesn't like me being on Discord lately so I'm going to have to cut out now guys. Min, I'll catch up to your info drop afterwards lmao

since that still surprising some people too.

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picassho-18 · 4 years

Text

creative writing piece!

A/N: Hi guys! So I am in a introduction to prose writing class right now, and I just wrote a short story I am really proud of and thought I would share it on here. Its not marvel or fandom related but it is set in the 1800′s and I like to think it’s interesting! Please feel free to read it, and it would be great if I got some feedback on it! Thanks!!

Word Count: 2190

Trees on the Horizon

Short story by Kate

19 years old.

The words were simply not writing themselves down on the blank, yellowed paper in front of her. Her fingertips danced on top of the paper, fountain pen tucked in the crook of her hand as she debated the message she wanted to send.

Elizabeth Mae Williams.

Her name was written neatly, perfectly, scrawled across the top with her best ink. But what was needed underneath was undetermined. Who was she and how did she want to convey herself?

Was she progressive? This unwavering and determined woman, alone in a cruel world made by men. Or was she someone who craved the comfort and support of one of those men? Surrendering to a role designated for women in this society that meant warmth and security, but limited any and all freedom.

While she was already her father’s possession, surely she must want escape from a limited lifestyle of servitude. But must that lead her into the arms of another man, a transference of property and dowry, a transaction, that never allows any form of decisions or wants on behalf of the woman?

Or could this promise of education provide the escape she craves? Could society be moving forward enough to allow her into a college that enables her into an independent individual?

All these thoughts swirled inside her head as she debated the perfect message, one that must convince a group of people that she was worthy of college, which would provide her passageway from the only world she knows; the ever shrinking Georgetown; a place she has called home since birth and yet her only desire is to leave it.

11 years old.

Elizabeth always sat in the front row. Every day, her mother would remind her how lucky she was that Georgetown had a schoolhouse, especially with how it allowed girls to learn with the young boys as well. So she sat upright and at attention, her eyes following the teachers every movement of her wrist as she wrote on the blackboard.

“Our lovely Georgetown has suffered many fires, but the very first one caused our town to relocate. Does anyone know what year that was?”

No one raised their hands. Elizabeth looked around, hesitant when none of the boys in the classroom appeared like they knew.

Slowly, she raised her hand, “It was in 1852, Miss Everling.”

The teacher clapped her hands together in joy, “That is correct, Miss Williams.”

The boys groaned, annoyed that she yet again got an answer correct. The few other girls glared at her from rows away. Only the red-headed boy gave her a soft smile of encouragement.

Miss Everling glanced around the room, noticing the hostility before clearing her throat and continuing the history lesson, “Alright, boys and girls. Can anyone explain how the fire department was established in Georgetown?”

Elizabeth peered around the room again, the answer on the tip of her tongue. Yet again no one raised their hands. And neither did she. Instead she looked out her window, staring at the trees on the horizon that seemed to grow farther and farther away.

12 years old.

Slowly passing the wooden buildings on their sides, the bar soon approaching on their left, Elizabeth and Mary matched stride for stride, the pair leaned close, heads tilted together. With ever so slightly hushed voices, Mary began to talk, explaining exactly what Elizabeth has been anticipating to hear since she had woken up this morning.

“And now my aunt is the Dean at DePauw University!” she exclaimed a little too loudly, earning a few undesired glances from a few of the drunks lounging outside the bar. Quickly, the pair walked past the entrance, before resuming, “she got promoted; the University thought it would be progressive and recognized her talent!”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise, not believing that a woman could actually become a Dean of the University. “Please tell me you are not joking!”

“I swear it. It is bottom fact!” Mary said, grinning madly, excitement coursing through the pair as Elizabeth heart swelled at the revelation, pulse picking up at the new possibilities springing into her head.

“Oh, how desperately jealous I am of your Aunt!” Elizabeth shook her head, grin still on her face, as she thought about how lucky —

Mary nudged Elizabeth playfully, interrupting her thoughts, “Don’t you think Dean Arabella Mansfield of DePauw University just sounds lovely?!”

A hopeful grin rested on Elizabeth’s face, as she sighed woefully, “Yes. It sounds splendid.”

14 years old.

Oh how lucky she was! Elizabeth was ecstatic, and a beaming smile shining brightly, as she had an old edition of a law textbook in her hand. The pages were battered, the spine worn and discolored, yet the name written inside the book was as evident and bright as day; Arabella Mansfield.

Mary had requested any study materials that Arabella could spare, which led to her aunt sending back two law textbooks she had used to study for the Iowa Bar exam.

Elizabeth was walking home from Mary’s home, her heart beating fast like she just acquired pounds of treasure.

The book opened in her hands, her fingers brushed over the pages delicately, squinting closely at the handwritten marks left behind by Arabella. Her focus was directed entirely on her new possession, her face decorated in awe at what was right there, between her hands.

She had no time to notice the approaching wagon, pulled by two brown horses, coming closer right in her path.

The man holding the reins shouted out, “Get out of the road!” trying to pull the horses to the side.

Elizabeth yelped out, barely getting out the way of the gigantic horses as they squealed at the close quarters. She lost balance, falling down, her dress now directly in the muddy water off the side of the road.

The man grumbled, “Ya damn girl!” before continuing down the road, getting control over his horses once again.

Teeth gritted, and hands clenched in tight fists, she calmed herself while her fingernails dug into her palms. Slowly, she gathered herself, trying her best to brush off the dirt and mud from her skirts, but her heart sank when she saw the book laying open, and faced down. She quickly got up and reached for the book, frantically wiping off the mud that was caking the exposed pages. Her chest tightened, tears threatening to spill down her face, but she refused.

Elizabeth straightened her back and continued her walk home.

15 years old.

Alone in the school room, save for the teacher that was gathering her worn leather bound books, Elizabeth sat in the front row, the familiar seat an echo of comfort. Her window framing a dark and cloudy landscape outside, as her classmates trudged home through the gusty winds.

Miss Everling walked right in front of the desk that separated the two ladies, soft eyes staring at the young student, “Miss Williams, do you know why I wanted to talk to you after the lessons?”

“No, ma’am. I do not know.” Elizabeth gulped, worry now eating away at her, as the teacher looked around the room, ample time on her hands.

“You are a very bright student, Miss Williams. Do you have any dreams of furthering your education?” Miss Everling asked simply, as Elizabeth’s breath caught, becoming excruciating aware of the book she had stashed in her bag, alongside her feet.

Elizabeth responded hesitantly, choosing her words wisely, “Well, it is not deemed very proper for a woman to go to a university. Not many would accept me.”

“But would you want to go? If you could?” Miss Everling continued to prod, but then said something that caused Elizabeth’s heart to skip a beat, “What if I could help you get into a University?”

Elizabeth sat completely still, confusion flooding her system, yet deep inside her, hope began to grow despite her refusing to believe.

“How?” she asked quietly, refusing to make eye contact.

Miss Everling smiled, seeing her student’s possible excitement at the notion. “I would make it work. Are you interested?”

Elizabeth stared at her, wonder in her eyes, breath caught in her chest, but she managed to nod, “Wholeheartedly.”

16 years old.

They were nicknamed the Growlers. The miners covered from head to toe in dirt and ash, save for the clean skin around their eyes, nose, and mouth. When Elizabeth and Mary would walk to the school house in the mornings, the Growlers would be breaking their fast from the west.

Today was no exception. They were huddled, coffee and biscuits scattered around the dirty bunch, nibbling hungrily around the food, most of them barely batting an eye towards the pair as they passed every morning.

Mary always liked to pass them. For when they broke their fast, they would strip to their trousers and pants, leaving the sweaty and dirty skin of their abdomens and chests exposed.

Elizabeth found it very entertaining, gesturing to the men, “You are in such a dire search for a husband, are you not?”

Mary giggled under her breath, catching the eye of her favorite, one of the miners’ sons. She gave him a soft wave along with a slightly flirtatious wink, as she walked past, before whispering to Elizabeth, “Oh, however did you know?”

“It could possibly have been the desire in your eyes whenever they lack shirts,” Elizabeth stated, smiling at her friend’s action. However, there was a young miner Elizabeth looked out for; his vibrant red hair only partially covered by the ash of the mine. The books in her hands slightly forgotten as she looked for the recognizable color whenever passing, a blush creeping over her face whenever the pair made eye contact, and more soft smiles were exchanged.

17 years old.

The neighbor's old wife was in her usual position, a ball of yarn nestled on top of her lap, as she rocked steadily in her wooden chair.

“Darling, I simply do not know why you are playing around with this little dream of yours.”

Elizabeth glanced up, seeing the disapproving frown plastered on her face.

She continued, a shadow covering her eyes, cast by the white house behind her, shaking her head as she eyed Elizabeth up and down, “You should stop before you become too unobtainable. You do not want to appear unattractive with that wild spirit of yours.”

Mr. Smith, her husband who was somewhere in the house, called out, “Is that John's daughter?”

His wife responded, “Yes, darling. She was just stopping by for a chat.” She turned back towards Elizabeth, “I really do want what’s best for you. I do not want you ruining that life your daddy worked so hard to give you.”

Elizabeth gritted her teeth slightly, stopping the rushed response she so desperately wanted to yell out, before she curtseyed, grabbing the front of her skirts in the proper fashion and tipping her head. “Thank you, ma’am. I will most definitely keep that in mind.”

Suddenly her husband called from inside the house, his voice louder and booming, causing both Elizabeth and his wife to flinch suddenly, “Woman! Get in here and fetch me some whiskey!”

The wife glared and shook her head one last time at Elizabeth before standing up and brushing her skirts off. Elizabeth curtseyed one last time, calling out to her husband inside the house, “How a good afternoon, Mr. Smith!” and nodded a goodbye to the dutiful wife, “And you as well.”

27 years old.

She sat there, alone in the middle of the school house. The chair was much smaller than she remembered; The wooden desk in front of her, covered in etchings and symbols from past students from Georgetown. Looking around, Elizabeth observed the eerily familiar walls, old and withering maps adorning the wooden planks, and the same dirty and rusted blackboard at the front of the room. Chalk laid scattered about the floor, the dust collecting in shallow piles on the floor.

The window to her right, the one she would usually sit next to, was open. Outside, she saw the familiar head of red hair, her husband giving her a moment alone.The landscape beyond him consisted of an array of trees scattered about the horizon that still called out to her, as it always has.

But now.

Now she knew what it was like to have an education outside the four walls of the small school house. Now she knew exactly what it took to go beyond these confines of the small Georgetown, and that she had what it took to get there.

Elizabeth now knew what was beyond the trees in the horizon, and she planned to know even more.

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