#if you hate dawn for whatever reason that I will never understand- skip this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

n00dl3gal · 3 years

Text

Like Old Times (Father-Son Bonding AU)

A direct sequel to the “Expiration Date” fic, which I’ll link in a reblog. I’ve also posted all my fics in this AU to AO3!! Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for their help and just generally being a cool dude, and the Scoutsune Discord server for indulging my brainrot

No warnings beyond family schmoop!

Less than an hour after the bread monster incident, the Administrator called for a ceasefire. “Only while your base is repaired,” she said over the TV screen. “BLU is quite disappointed in this negligence- as am I. Regardless, you may use these three days as you see fit. Go home, stay here- whatever you do, no more bread monsters.” The screen turned off with a click.

Scout exhaled through his nose. He was thankful there was no mention of him or Miss Pauling’s woodchipper.

Spy decloaked behind him. “Less time than I wanted, but c’est la vie.” Scout looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m meeting with an old contact during our break,” Spy said in Italian. “Would you like to come along? It’ll be like old times.”

Scout’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. At least this way, he’d get out of helping Engie and Heavy with repairs. And possibly meeting Miss Pauling’s woodchipper.

“Excellent. Our flight is at 7 AM tomorrow.”

“We’re flying commercial?” Scout asked, also in (more hesitant) Italian.

“Our destination is continental. We’ll leave the base by 5:30.” Scout groaned as Spy started to leave. But- wait, he hadn’t-

“Oi, where are we going, anyway?” he called back in English.

Spy paused to look at him and smile. “Boston.”

“Why do we always get the ass-crack-of-dawn flights?” Jeremy asked groggily, reclining his seat.

“They are the ones with first-class seats available,” Raphael replied. He took a sip from his mimosa.

“Yeah, cuz God forbid you fly coach for once.” Jeremy shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Hey. Have I ever been to Boston before?”

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. His lip sucked in, as if in thought. “Yes. When you were very, very young. You wouldn’t remember.”

Jeremy nodded. He wanted to ask more, there was something Raphael wasn’t saying but… well, he was never a morning person. He fell asleep before the plane even took off.

. . .

It was mid-afternoon by the time they landed in Boston. Jeremy was never fond of long flights; having his legs cramped like that for extended periods of time was murder. He was half tempted to take a jog around Logan International. Raphael, on the other hand, was ushering them both to the car rental. “Can’t even get a stretch in, huh?”

“Unfortunately, we are expected by 4, and I would hate to keep my contact waiting,” Raphael explained in French, accepting the keys from the girl at the counter. “She’s not a very patient woman, in some regards.”

Jeremy huffed but didn’t argue. He just followed his father to the rental, tossing his suitcase in the backseat. “Y’know, the girl at the counter-”

“We will not have time for you to go out on a date, Jeremy.”

“No! No, it was- her accent’s kinda like mine, it’s weird,” Jeremy said. Raphael started the car. “Cuz I’ve only been here as a baby, and I got mine from TV and shit. It’s just… really strange, is all.”

Raphael made a quiet noise of agreement. “Some of the shows you watched as a child were filmed here. It’s not as complex as you think it is.”

“Yeah, probably not…”

The pair lapsed into silence as Raphael drove. Storefronts and high rises morphed into houses. It had been a while since they were in a residential area. RED, for understandable reasons, kept away from civilians.

Raphael took the roads with practiced experience. Sure, it had been implied he knew the area. If he had a contact here- one with a house, presumably- he must’ve spent time here. But this- this was far too familiar. A bit suspicious, actually.

Eventually, Raphael slowed in front of a more rundown Brownstone. Still quite nice, just needed a little work. It felt… welcoming, in a way Jeremy couldn’t name.

“Lotta cars,” he observed as Raphael parallel parked. “Must be a party going on somewhere.”

“Hmm, perhaps,” Raphael said, turning the car off. “Would you mind ringing the doorbell for me? I need to grab something from the trunk. Ask for Sara Jane.”

OK, now Jeremy knew something was up. He was never the one to make the first contact, that was always Dad’s job. Jeremy might be a full-grown adult, but there were some things that didn’t change. This was one of them.

Still, he nodded. He climbed up the front steps and ringed the doorbell. He heard- multiple voices from inside, predominantly male, but they quickly silenced themselves. A TV, perhaps? They really ought to get that flower box on the second story window fixed-

The woman who opened the door was a bit shorter than him, though not by much. She was wearing a simple dress, hoop earrings, and flats. Her hair was dark, curved to her chin. But her nose and earlobes felt… achingly familiar. Like Jeremy saw them all the time.

“Um, hi, I’m looking for Sara Jane? My name’s-” The rest of his speech was knocked out of him as the woman launched herself at him. Jeremy braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was… hugging him.

She was hugging him, sobbing, and choked out the word “Jeremy.”

Wait. He knew that voice. He had only heard it a few times in his life, few enough he could count them on one hand, but he knew it. “M-Ma?” he whispered.

The woman- Sara Jane- Ma looked up at him, still crying. Her hands found his face as she observed him. “Y-yeah, sweetie, it’s me, it’s-it’s your ma,” she said.

“Ma!” he laughed, tears of his own dancing down his cheeks. He hugged her back, practically lifting her off her feet. “Oh my God, Ma! I-I never thought I’d-”

“Oh Jeremy, sweetie, look how tall you’ve gotten! Last I saw you, you fit in my arms! My baby, my handsome baby,” she spoke over him. She rubbed circles into his back as they embraced. It felt so, so right.

Jeremy laughed even harder. “Are you kiddin’? I got it from you, you’re beautiful, Ma!” He stared at her, trying to commit every mole and wrinkle and perfect flaw to memory. “I can’t believe- oh my God, I’m actually meeting you!”

“It was long overdue,” another voice said, as Raphael joined them on the front stoop. “I had put it off for safety reasons, but considering our current, ah, situation… I felt it was worth the risk.”

Sara Jane squealed, pulling Raphael into the hug as well. “You’ve been taking good care of my boy, you promise me, Raphael?”

“Don’t worry Ma, he’s the best dad I could ask for, considering,” Jeremy teased.

“Oh, don’t I know it. Called me up last night and told me to get the whole motley crew together. Even managed to get Melvin to bring his twin daughters, bless his wife’s heart,” she explained.

Jeremy blinked. “Uh- Melvin? Daughters?”

Sara Jane laughed. It sounded so much like Jeremy’s it practically hurt. This was his mother. Lord, he’s finally seeing her. “Melvin’s your older brother, sweetie. Eh, sixth oldest. Bobby’s the oldest.”

“I have a brother?”

“Oh honey, you’re the youngest of eight,” Sara Jane said plainly.

“...fuck,” Jeremy whispered.

. . .

He didn’t just have seven brothers. He had seven brothers, four of which brought their wives, one who brought his boyfriend, and three who brought their kids. And the kids totaled to an additional six, counting the babies.

It was… an admittedly tight squeeze in the living room.

Sara Jane introduced Jeremy. Jeremy had been expecting to be treated like a stranger. He had vanished when he was a baby, after all, and his younger-older brothers probably wouldn’t remember him at all.

And yet, it was like he knew them all his life.

They teased him and punched him playfully and acted so friendly, so familial it nearly made Jeremy break down. He was still crying from meeting Ma, but being dogpiled with so much affection was suffocating. In a good way. He had seen on sitcoms the intrinsic bond between family, and while he felt it with Dad, they also risked their lives nearly daily. But it was real, it was here, and it was wrapping him in a warm blanket.

Despite the chaos and the sheer number of people, Jeremy didn’t feel overwhelmed. He laughed and played along with their jokes, cracking some back when he could get a word in. Scott ragged on his dog tags, he countered by pointing out the hole in his pants. Michael told him he was still a shortass, he replied with “it takes one to know one.” Elliot and Ricky were the closest to actually getting hurt, and that was only because Jeremy elbowed them both so hard they nearly fell over.

For the first time in 25 years, Jeremy understood what “home” meant.

The kids were especially curious, eager to meet their uncle and step-grandfather. Within seconds, young Rebecca- only four years old- was challenging Jeremy to a race around the house. “I’m the fastest kid in the world,” she bragged, puffing out her chest.

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy asked. “That a fact?”

“You wanna test me? I beat Johnny Three-Legs at running, and he’s got three legs!” Jeremy laughed and stood from the couch, letting her lead him outside. “On the count of three, OK?”

“You’re on, pipsqueak,” Jeremy teased.

“Onetwothree GO!” Rebecca yelled, taking off in a sprint. Jeremy knew that, by all accounts, he should beat her. His legs were longer, she didn’t have the proper running stance, and it was his job to be fast. That’s what he got paid to do. But some small voice was telling him to let her win, so he did. “Ha! I told ya!”

“Ya sure did,” he replied, mock panting. “Look at you, a freaking blur on the green. You’re goin’ to the Olympics, kid.”

Rebecca beamed and hugged his leg. “Promise, Uncle Jeremy?” He nodded because, after that display, there was no way he could speak without squeaking like a chew toy.

Rebecca skipped back inside, past Raphael, who was watching on the stoop. “You’re a natural with children,” he observed. “I used to do the same thing when you were that age.”

“Wait- wait, really? You sure fooled me,” Jeremy said.

Raphael rolled his eyes. “What’s my job again, mon lapin?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jeremy leaned against the railing, watching Raphael’s cigarette smoke in the wind. “Hey. Uh… thanks for arranging all of this. You really didn’t need to.”

“But I did. I meant it when I said this was overdue. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while, but have been unable. Then that whole ordeal with the supposed tumors, and-” Raphael exhaled slowly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you if you died without knowing them. I would’ve never forgiven myself.”

Jeremy punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, pops. It all worked out, we’re still kicking, and that roast chicken Ma’s making smells incredible. Everything’s perfect.”

Raphael finished his cigarette and smiled. “Oui. It is.”

. . .

While Sara Jane had been able to get the rest of the family here, it was a school night. Kids needed to be tucked in by 9:30, so most of Jeremy’s brothers were gone by 8. Elliot was staying overnight, as was his boyfriend. Otherwise, the house quickly went from bustling to barren.

It gave Jeremy a chance to explore his would-be childhood home.

He made his way upstairs, pushing open one of the doors. It led- to little surprise- to a bedroom. It was set up like a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a toddler bed in the other. Toys were scattered about across the floor.

He heard Sara Jane sigh behind him. “This was your room, you know.” Jeremy turned to look at her as she flipped the light switch. “That crib… I had put you to bed the night your father planned to fake his death. I was in on the whole plan, naturally. He wanted to hold you one last time, so I said OK. When I woke up the next morning… you were both gone.” She exhaled slowly, grabbing onto his shoulder. “I wrote both of you off as dead, but I knew what had happened. Honestly, should’ve figured it out before then. You hadn’t woken me up crying,” she joked. Her eyes were watering.

Jeremy hugged her, pulling her close. “You never took the crib down?”

“By the time I was ready, Bobby’s wife was pregnant, so I kept it up for my grandbabies. I knew- I knew you were out there, sweetie. Both of you.” She kissed his cheek, squeezing him.

“I-I never got to be a normal kid, really,” he confessed. “I mean, Dad did his best, gave me comic books and board games and stuff, but-but I never went to school or made friends or anything like that. I-I didn’t even know I had a family. It took me forever to even realize I had a Ma. An-and everything I did-” The tears were flowing again, more freely than earlier. “Ya missed me losing my first tooth, and potty trainin’, and all that stuff parents should know about. I-I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Sara Jane wiped his cheek dry. “Don’t apologize for what your father did, Jeremy. And definitely don’t apologize for me not potty training another kid. Besides… hold on, I’ll be right back.” She made her way down the hallway. Jeremy didn’t follow, instead deciding to examine the crib. This was where he grew up. It was a simple crib, obviously well-used. Not worn-down, mind, just… used. It had a history. A history that Jeremy wanted to decode, but unlike his dad’s ciphers, he didn’t have the key.

“Took me a second to find it,” Sara Jane said. She handed him what appeared to be a scrapbook. “Raphael- he wrote when he can. Taught me some basic codes, would send out letters whenever you’d leave a town. Never left a return address, but…” Jeremy flipped through the pages, moving to sit on the small bed. The letters were all coded but appeared to be about how much Raphael missed Sara Jane. Updates on Jeremy’s growth. Letters from a father to his lover and son’s mother.

One page jumped out to him, though. “I remember this,” he said, running his fingers against the paper. It was a simple drawing of a young boy, holding a catcher’s mitt, and a taller man next to him. “I drew this after Dad took me to my first baseball game, for my eighth birthday. I thought I lost the drawing after we skipped town, but- he sent them to you?”

Sara Jane nodded. “And I kept them all. Oh, honey, the day I first heard your voice on the phone- Mikey can tell you, I damn near fell over. You sounded so happy, and even if I couldn’t see you, that’s all a mother wants.” Jeremy leaned against her and she shut the book. “That’s all a mother wants, sweetie. To see her kids be safe and happy.”

“I am, Ma,” he assured her. “I promise.”

They sat like that for a while, with Sara Jane commenting on various letters and drawings in the scrapbook. Apparently, Raphael sent her money when he could- more frequently now that Mann Co. paid so well. She also had a rough idea of their current occupations. “I figure, if you and your father are working for the same company- with his skills, there’s gotta be a whole lot of nonsense going on out in that desert.” Jeremy laughed at that because she wasn’t wrong. “But I also figure since he raised you right, he’ll keep the both of you safe.”

“I keep him safe too, don’t worry,” Jeremy added. “Uh- listen, it’s touching and all you kept the crib, but I don’t have to sleep in it, right?”

They both had a good chuckle over that. Their laughs were in perfect harmony.

. . .

The next two days were a mix of learning the family history and exploring Boston. It was the offseason, so there weren’t any games going on at Fenway, but Jeremy still got a picture in front of the park. Sara Jane took the pair to a restaurant that served “the best damn clam chowder in the contiguous United States.” Which, incidentally, led them to discover Jeremy was allergic to clams. Thankfully they didn’t have to go to the hospital- he just sort of immediately got sick before it passed- but it did suck.

It was damn good chowder, though.

They went down to the harbor where the Boston Tea Party happened. It was crowded with people, resulting in them not staying long. Jeremy was a bit better with crowds than Raphael, but neither was great with them. Came with the job. Getting overpriced memorabilia from a nearby gift shop, though, went over much more smoothly.

When not out on the town, Sara Jane dug out more scrapbooks and photo albums, catching Raphael up on what his stepsons had been up to. She showed Jeremy pictures from Ricky’s first school play to Scott opening up his butcher shop. Graduation pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures- it was all there, and Jeremy devoured it. He wanted to know these people. He wanted to know his family. And he did. He learned about Michael’s stint in the Navy, Melvin meeting his wife, how Bobby’s son could dribble a basketball for twenty minutes straight. He learned about how his parents met. How Raphael loved each of Sara Jane’s children, even if they weren’t biologically his. How Jeremy wasn’t planned- few of the kids were - but they were both so, so happy to realize he was coming.

He also learned that, while diner food would remain the undisputed king, homemade meatloaf came pretty close.

. . .

The only problem came when it was time to leave. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t want to return to work, or leave his Ma behind. Sara Jane wasn’t even torn up over losing her son and lover again. It just felt like there was so much left to say, to do. There was uncertainty as to when they’d be able to return. “We get time off for Smissmas, I know that’s months away but I’ll be here, I promise,” Jeremy swore, hugging Sara Jane for the eighth time.

“You better,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “You have 25 years worth of gifts to catch up on, not to mention birthday gifts-”

“Ma, you don’t have to go that far,” he whined. He was touched, sure, but the thought of that much luggage was truly frightening. Oh God, he was going to have to get gifts for everybody, wasn’t he? What do kids even want for Smissmas?

“Hush, let me spoil my baby,” Sara Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “Oh, Jeremy…”

Jeremy nodded. “I know, but I’ll call. I’ll write, too. Send pictures if I can.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Raphael assured her. Sara Jane stood to kiss his lips, with Jeremy looking away pointedly. “You have my word, ma petite chou-fleur.”

“Alright, alright- now get going, I don’t want you two missing your flight. That boss of yours sounds like she’ll tear you both a new one if you’re late,” Sara Jane said, shooing them away. “Love you boys!”

“I love you too, Ma!” Jeremy shouted back, for the very first time.

The drive back to the airport was quiet. Jeremy stared out the window, watching his hometown- he had a hometown- pass by. “Hey, dad?” he asked, still looking outside. Raphael grunted to acknowledge he was listening. “One of these days, our contracts with Mann Co. are gonna expire. We’re gonna have to find new jobs.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Raphael said. He tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel.

“And-and I was thinking when that time comes… maybe we could come back to Boston. Find some gigs out here,” Jeremy suggested.

Raphael sighed. “Unfortunately, being a spy means that you don’t have the option of retiring, Jeremy. Not until you’re unable to complete your job. At that point, though, you’ve probably died a dozen times over,” he explained. “Even if I could retire, settling down somewhere so close to people I care about- I would still have enemies.”

“Right. ‘Course,” Jeremy said. “It’s OK.”

“That being said,” Raphael continued, “you have the luxury of youth and not being tied down to such a career. If you want to find a job in Boston after we finish with RED, there’s nothing stopping you.”

“But people will still be after me, since I’m your son. And you wouldn’t be around.”

“Every child leaves their parents someday. And you’re strong, Jeremy. You can protect yourself and your family.” Raphael smiled. “I don’t believe Sara Jane needs much protecting, but I do worry.”

Jeremy laughed. “I mean, did ya see the muscles on Scott and Michael? Guys can probably bench press a tractor!”

They both chuckled before settling into quietude. Eventually, though, Jeremy had to break the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

“I love you too, mon lapin.”

“...so your nickname for Ma is fucking ‘little cauliflower?’ What the hell, Dad?”

#father-son bonding au #Team Fortress 2 #team fortress 2 au #tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 scout's mom #dad spy #thetriggeredhappy #spy x scout's ma #noodle writes

90 notes · View notes

itstheimpossibledream · 3 years

Text

Only A Play -Part 4

Word Count:1509

Pairing: AU Henry x FemBlack!Reader

Warning: Smut, Angst, Some fluff

Summary: Waking up the morning after sleeping with Henry for the first time.-Series be sure to check out Parts 1,2&3 in my masterlist!Also thanks a ton for your patience. Last chapter coming soon! Happy Reading !

You awoke to the smell of coffee and breakfast, as much as you hated to admit it the bed was the most luxurious thing you had ever slept on and to say you had gotten a goodnight's sleep was an understatement. You stretched out and then it hit you. The memory of last night, Flashes of him moaning on top of you, opening your legs wide,telling you when you could cum.It dawned on you that you had the whole bed to yourself, and you didn't know if he had come back to bed last night or not. You noticed a robe on the back of the door,and rubbed your eyes as you made your way to put it on. Turning to look at yourself in the mirror, you could see his name was embroidered on it and you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the ridiculous movie-starness of it all. You make your way to the bathroom, noticing the toothbrush that had been laid out for you. Quickly, you brush your teeth and on your way out of the bathroom you almost trip over Kal. You scratch him on the head as a wordless apology, which he seems to accept because he follows you down the hall towards the kitchen. The scent of fresh bacon is really what drew you to the kitchen but as you walk you hear music,and once you turn the corner you decide to stay for the view. He is standing over the stove shirtless, singing along,bopping his head as the bacon grease pops in the pan. You pull out a chair and sit down admiring the muscles in his back, the small tufts of curly hair that peeked out from under his hat. He must have come back in from a run or something, and you found yourself overwhelmed with both lust and envy.

"Hey buddy!" he says to Kal at his feet before turning to see you.

"O." his eyes seem wider than they should be, maybe you should have showered first.

"Goodmorning." you say, taking your seat at the counter, deciding to not make it awkward.

"Do you want breakfast?" he asks,a big smile breaking onto his face, of course you wanted breakfast, it smelled amazing but,you resigned yourself to making sure he couldn’t tell that.

"Sure, I'll try it but, I thought movie stars didn't have to cook their own food." you joked

"We usually don't " he chuckled, I told my chef not to come in last night because I wanted to cook for you. It'd be a lie to pretend your heart didn't skip a huge beat but,at the same time you hadn't resolved your frustrations with him just because you let him inside you.

"O so you think you can cook?" you joked

"O I know I can cook" he said, plating up the bacon and turning towards you.His plate was a mile high , but you had to admit it looked good. You got a forkful into your mouth and while you resisted the truth, it was perfect.

"He really likes you." he said patting the top of Kal's head with one hand as he forked another bite into his mouth.

"How can you tell?" you asked, narrowing your eyes jokingly at the fluffy akita.

"He slept in the room with you while I was cooking, he usually loves to help me cook because he knows he gets snacks." he shrugged.

"O! I'm more interesting than snacks, every girl's dream!" You joked , Henry let out a small chuckle in response and the rest of the meal seemed to go by painlessly.

He stood from the high- top counter as you finished your last bite, his body was a challenge. It dared you to look away, dared you not to give attention to the deep, muscular v his hips made, dipping into his sweatpants. Begged you to look away from his perfectly sculpted chest and the scratch marks that covered his shoulders from the night before, carving paths of exploration over the expanse of muscled skin. You avert your eyes as quickly as possible but, you know he saw and in a way you're glad he was in tune to you enough to notice.

"So guess we should shower to be ready for this interview."he says placing your plates into the sink, honestly it had slipped your mind that you were here because of work. He brushed past you as you pushed yourself back from the elaborate granite countertop, and you couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Why didn't you sleep with me after we....." You trailed off but, you knew that your intent was clear enough for him to understand. You saw the muscles in his back tensing up, he was facing away from you but, he had heard you and it felt as though he was buying time to find the right answer,eventually he turned to face you.

"I just- I didn't want to make this any more complicated than it is." he sighed "I thought it was what you'd prefer." he finishes moving down the hall, into his bathroom and turning on the shower. You follow him in a mix of both angst and vigor, obviously you had not intended for him to think you didn't like him but, at the same time, you would lose all professional integrity what so ever if anyone ever found out you were having a showmance like a highschool student.

"Why?" you blurted out "Why would you think that? Why would I want someone to fuck me and then leave the room?" His face scrunched at your use of the word fuck and it almost borke your resolve.His voice was even when he spoke.

"I know you don't like me okay? I know you think I'm this terrible misogynist who has no talent but, I like you. And Kal really likes you so, for what it's worth I just- I wanted to do what you felt comfortable with but, as it seems I can't do anything right, that was a bad decision too. Excuse me." He pushed past you again to grab a towel as you tried to make sense of his words.

"I'm going to wash up now." he said pulling off his sweatpants and discarding them outside of the room.

"Okay." you said not breaking eye contact with him.

“Well your showers in this place are complicated. I can’t figure out how to tuen them on.” He accepted your joke, chucking lightly and shaking his head, but you can tell he sees your gaze for the challenge that it is as he peels off his underwear, standing before you bare and beautiful. His eyes do not break from yours and before you've entirely thought it through you are tugging at the belt of his robe, allowing it to fall to the floor to fully reveal yourself to him. To fuck your coworker twice in less than 24 hours was a gamble but, clearly it was one you were willing to take. He turned and got into the water before you could make a move on him. Turning over his shoulder and smirking down at you, you accept this invitation without hesitation. He pulls you towards his warm and wet body,as you reason with yourself that it's part of your character study.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Fuck We’re going to be late!” You holler from the back of the uber.

“No we’re not. It’s right here.” He jumps out of the car but, you open your door before he gets the chance to.

“Chivalry really has died in America.” he mumbles under his breath, and you smirk to yourself. It wasn’t that it was a game with him per se, but it sure was fun to make him feel unsteady. After a flurry of hair and makeup artists you were finally ready for the publicity shot.Thankfully, they had split the two of you up for make-up and dressing formalities and while he took his solo shots you were still in the hair chair.When you went up to take yours he was on his phone, barely seemed to notice you had entered the room,and you were almost grateful. Photoshoots made you want to smoke. The set was easy enough, until the photographer suggested the two of you take photos in respect to your characters in the show.Actually his exact words were

” In the show you two are lovers yes? So let’s paint you as such.” Never had you ever dreaded a photographer being prepared but, it turned out these past 24 hours were really a first for everything.

“Just pretend you like me.” Henry whispered to you

“Don’t have to pretend, I actually do like parts of you.” you whispered back.

“Which parts?” he allowed his voice to be barely audible for this and you dropped your gaze as the camera flashed. After being prompted to ‘giggle with eachother less’ (whatever that means ) the photos were finished and Charisse, the show’s publicity manager was rushing you to the next appointment.

85 notes · View notes

pokemoncreepypasta · 3 years

Text

HM Slave

[STORY SOURCE]

The Generation I games. Definitely not perfect games by any means, but they were fun to play.

It's a shame my old cartridge’s battery has been long since dead. Makes sense, it was a hand-me-down from an older sibling of mine. Between both of our times playing it, it was bound to die sometime.

I was feeling nostalgic and wanted to play it again after so many years...

The trouble was, I had no intention of learning how to replace the battery, or buying a new cartridge. None of that appealed to me.

So, I just took it upon myself to play it without saving. Any time I wanted to stop, I’d just plug it into my charger, and leave it be.

Everything about this run was just for nostalgia. It was nothing personal to me, so I didn't name Red after myself or something.

I wanted to play through this game without getting attached to anything.

The best way to go through without caring? A starter-only run. I chose Charmander, since it was the cover ‘mon, and also my favorite of the three. Not necessarily because it would make the game easier in the long run.

Of course, there’s no way I’d be able to get through with just Charmander.

My plan was to catch a Pokémon specifically to use as an HM slave, so my Charizard wouldn’t be clogged up by useless moves in the long run.

And what better HM slave than the one who can learn them all, right?

In Generation I, you can’t delete moves in any way, so an HM slave was absolutely necessary.

Not like I hated Mew or anything... I just never performed the Mew glitch as a kid and thought that this would be a fun opportunity to try it.

The darned thing did everything within its power to not get caught, blowing through every single one of my PokéBalls that I’d prepared to catch it with. Hey, it wasn’t like I was going to need them later, so I didn’t complain.

I decided to nickname the little thing. I’d heard the term “HM mule” thrown around in place of HM slave, so I thought it would be funny.

Of course, picking the Fire type had its rocky start, with its disadvantage against the first two gym leaders.

I managed to scrape by with scummy tactics, though.

I’d switched to my Abra that I’d caught to perform the Mew glitch, and let Misty knock it out.

After that, I switched to Mewl for the free turn, and then healed my Charmeleon. Then, after Mewl fainted, I got a free switch into Charmeleon.

When the battle was over, I could proudly claim the Cascade Badge.

This was Mewl’s secondary purpose, to be switch fodder for me to heal my starter.

Things were going fine until Mewl learned Cut.

The first instance where Mewl’s “skills” would come into play.

This was a game where you couldn’t use HMs from the overworld, so I went to the menu to manually select it.

“MEWL ignored orders...”

Now, imagine my surprise when my slave wouldn’t listen to orders. I tried a few more times, with the same result.

I attempted to rationalize it, picking my brain for a reason. I assumed that you could not use HM moves while a Pokémon was fainted, but something about that didn’t seem right.

I healed at the Pokémon Center to be safe though.

That seemed to work, so I assumed that I was right and continued to Surge.

Nothing really unusual happened during the fight, but Mewl was knocked out again for a free heal.

On my way out, I had to cut down the tree blocking Surge’s gym again. I was worried for a moment that I had gotten myself stuck, but Mewl cut it down just fine.

I figured the game would let me use HM moves if I would be trapped otherwise.

I went back to the center to heal up my starter, and my stubborn little mule.

(And Abra too, I guess.)

I caught and released a few throwaway Pokémon to obtain Flash, which I immediately taught to Mewl.

I made my way to Rock Tunnel.

”MEWL won’t obey!”

I was frustratingly met with this. It was fully healed, I couldn't understand why it was disobeying. I wondered if it was some sort of consequence from having an illegitimate Mew...

I kept trying and trying, but no matter what, it wouldn’t light the cave.

I was sure this little bugger didn’t want to wander around in the dark just as much as me, so I really couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

I tried checking its summary, to which its blank, neutral expression had changed to something more... defiant?

I didn't know what kind of sick joke Morimoto was pulling on me by programming Mew to be this way, but I wasn’t having any of it.

It dawned on me that Abra could also learn Flash, so I just let Mewl be prissy and lit up the cave with Abra.

I somewhat regretted my choice to teach Mewl Flash. If I had known it was going to act like this, I would have just taught it Fly instead…

I decided to go ahead and skip getting Fly, since Charizard couldn't learn it anyway.

Thankfully, I made it out of Rock Tunnel just fine.

Charizard made Erika’s gym a total joke, so I didn’t even need Mewl as fodder for this fight.

The whole game was going fine so far up to Fuchsia City, and I had completely forgotten about Mewl’s disobedience by now.

I had obtained its final two moves, so I booted the HMs up and slapped them onto it.

Of course, to use Surf and progress, I had to face off against Koga.

Things were going well up until Charizard couldn’t deal with Koga’s last Pokémon.

I sent in Mewl to heal my Charizard.

”Enemy WEEZING used SLUDGE!”

“MEWL ENDURED the hit!”

Strangely, when Weezing attacked Mewl, it didn’t get knocked out in one hit like it was meant to. Instead, it stayed in the field.

While I wanted to question it at the time, I just used a Hyper Potion on my Charizard to get it back to full.

”Enemy WEEZING used SMOG!”

“MEWL ENDURED the hit!”

Sure enough, I wasn’t dreaming. Mewl was somehow surviving all of Koga’s attacks. Normally that would be pretty cool, except for the fact that Mewl was level 7 and therefore effectively worthless in this fight.

I had to wait for it to faint to switch to Charizard, but Mewl kept surviving every hit that was thrown at it.

”Enemy WEEZING used TOXIC!”

“MEWL”s hurt by poison!”

“MEWL fainted!”

Thankfully, it eventually became poisoned and went down, so I could send in Charizard to finish the job.

I made quick work of Koga and his Weezing after that and made my way out of the Gym.

But weirdly, as I was leaving, I couldn’t help but notice the screen flashing as if a Pokémon in my party was still poisoned.

I checked my party again to see what was up.

It seemed like Mew had a custom sprite for being knocked out that I never noticed before. I didn't even know if that was a thing.

But it was definitely knocked out, for sure, so I brushed it off as some sort of bug.

I figured if anything would fix the poison glitch, it’d be healing at the Pokémon Center.

”If you drive your POKéMON too hard, they’ll dislike you.”

”Please take better care of your POKéMON.”

I was confused at this text. Was this dialogue hidden for players like me who let their Pokémon faint over and over? Whatever it is, I have never seen it before.

”We hope to see you again!”

The nurse went back to her chipper disposition afterwards though, so I figured I should just be on my merry way as well.

I checked up on Mewl to see how it was doing now.

It seemed like the nurse just haphazardly patched it up. Mewl’s expression still looked tense, but I hoped that didn’t mean it wouldn’t use its new HM moves.

I made a quick note to take down Giovanni at Silph Co. and Sabrina. My Charizard was actually getting a bit over-leveled, so I swept through without needing to use Mewl to heal during battles at all.

I decided that on my way to Blaine, I would fall back on my training a bit.

I back-tracked over to Fuchsia City since it was faster than going all the way back to Pallet Town.

I made my way down by the Fuchsia coast and hoped quietly that Mewl would let me Surf to Cinnabar.

Thankfully it seemed like the 1’4 cat was perfectly fine with me riding on its back, with no defiance at all. I felt confident, like I was finally getting enough gym badges to make it obey.

I'd even gotten it to listen when I needed it to use Strength in the Seafoam Islands. Things were really looking up.

I’d finally hit land and was ready to storm the Cinnabar Mansion and claim Blaine’s badge.

I was feeling pretty confident with my Charizard’s HP and level that I wanted to take on the Gym without healing at the Pokémon Center.

I had plenty of Potions and Revives in case of emergency, anyway.

All of the quiz questions were normal, except... This bizarre one.

“You treat all your POKéMON fairly?”

Though it had been several years since I played this game, something felt off about it, like it wasn’t supposed to be there.

I half-heartedly answered yes, despite knowing it was untrue. My logic was, at the very least, that even though I as a player didn’t care about these Pokémon, maybe Red did.

”Sorry! Bad call!”

The buzzer went off and I was harassed by a trainer. I was appalled... Was the game really criticizing me as a player?

Had I hit some sort of secret flag after making Mewl faint so much? I couldn't understand what was happening.

I didn’t give myself much time to think about it though, so I healed up my Charizard with some Potions and took on Blaine.

Charizard had fainted again, so I left it up to Mewl.

I healed up my Charizard and expected Mewl to hang on like before, but it just went down with no resistance.

With my seventh gym badge in hand, I was pretty happy with my run so far. A couple more hours in and I’d be done, I thought.

I was ready to Surf north towards Pallet Town and claim my eighth and final badge.

“MEWL ignored orders!”

But I received a friendly reminder.

I had forgotten that Mewl didn’t like using HMs without being healed. I really didn’t feel like taking it to the Pokémon Center though, so I just carelessly threw a Revive at it.

Hoping that the Revive would be good enough to satisfy it and let me ride on it again, I mashed through text a few times to see if I could brute-force it to listen.

”MEWL won’t obey!”

”MEWL turned away!”

It kept bombarding me with the same defiant messages over and over, until...

“MEWL hates you.”

I was caught off-guard. This text didn’t have the same energy as the others, lacking an exclamation point. It sounded like flat, cold, genuine hatred.

I pressed A again, and attempted to order another Surf. Not necessarily because I wanted it to Surf now, but more out of a morbid fascination with such intense text.

“MEWL used instead, FLASH!”

Suddenly, like in a battle, the screen lit up totally white.

I was booted out of the party screen afterwards, and immediately noticed a distinct lack of an items menu. Had Mewl taken it from me?

Closing out of the menu, I spoke to the Pokémon now standing next to me, knowing exactly who it was supposed to be.

”Mew!”

Mew’s cry played. I already knew it.

“MEWL hacked away with CUT!”

I flinched, horrified at the thought of Mewl directly attacking my trainer.

”HM01 was destroyed!”

But then I realized, it wasn't that...

”HM03 was destroyed!”

Instead, Mewl had stolen my items...

”HM04 was destroyed!”

… And was proceeding to destroy each of my HMs, one by one.

”HM05 was destroyed!”

After destroying HM05, Mewl’s sprite disappeared; presumably back into its PokéBall.

I was exasperated, but quick on my wits.

I still had Fuchsia City's Pokémon Center as my last saved location, meaning I could use Abra to Teleport back to the mainland.

I was smug, thinking I'd found a loophole around Mewl's attempts to sabotage me.

”ABRA used TELEPORT!”

“ABRA ran away!”

I panicked, to say the least. I frantically scrolled around my party page. How could Abra have disappeared like that? I wasn't going to accept Mewl being my only ride back to Pallet, it was impossible.

I desperately went to the PC inside the Pokémon Center, in some vain hope that maybe Abra had just been sent there somehow.

”MEWL used STRENGTH.”

“The PC was destroyed!”

I couldn't believe it.

Mewl had gone full rogue.

I suddenly had to come to grips with the horrifying realization...

I was trapped in Cinnabar with no way off.

I went through what I can only describe as the five stages of grief.

Stage 1 - Denial

I scoured the internet for any other Pokémon in Cinnabar Mansion that I could use to escape the island.

I quickly remembered that Mewl had already destroyed my HMs and stolen my items, and realized I couldn’t catch anything.

But I did have one more plan.

If I could knock out Charizard and Mewl, I could be sent back to Fuchsia. It would take a bit of work for Charizard to eventually faint, but I was prepared to try anything.

”CHARIZARD ran away!”

But I couldn’t be prepared for my Charizard running away.

I was so shocked that I didn’t even want to send in Mewl, I just said no and fled the battle.

I fell into absolute despair. Mewl had not only ruined my chance of getting off the island, but now, even if I did, what would I do without the only Pokémon I’d been raising?

Stage 2 - Anger

I’d never thought malicious thoughts about this Mew before, just casual indifference and sometimes mild frustration. But I can’t say that I didn’t want some payback towards this Mew for wasting several perfectly good hours of my life.

I sadistically thought about how I would make it faint, and then how I would torture it over, and over, making it repeatedly faint until maybe it would measure up to Charizard’s strength.

“MEWL ENDURED the hit!”

I couldn't stop myself from shouting "NO."

Despite Mewl’s apparent injuries, it hung on with one HP.

Again, and again, no matter what I did. No matter what Pokémon I faced.

It seemed like nothing could poison it, burn it, kill it.

Then, it dawned on me…

Maybe this was what Mewl wanted all along?

Stage 3 - Bargaining

Mewl’s stubbornness and special ability that made it unable to faint...

It took Mewl a long time to faint its first real opponent, due to its low level, but in the end, it grew.

I checked Mewl’s summary for some sort of sign, anything at all, that this was what I was supposed to be doing. It stared at me with its vacant, unreadable expression...

Perhaps it was shocked I had battled with it? Whatever the case, it wasn’t staring at me with hostility anymore...

So it was silently agreed between us, then. Mewl and I, we did our first ever grinding session.

It took a few hours, but Mewl’s level was growing steadily. Things seemed to be going well, until...

We ran into our first wild Ditto.

I thought it was strange, having not found a Ditto for all this time I'd spent in Cinnabar Mansion, but I didn’t see any trouble with fighting it, so I just let the battle progress.

Stage 4 - Depression

The Ditto transformed into Mewl, who appeared to have a sad expression on its face.

I quickly pulled out of the battle screen and into my party to see if something had changed with Mewl.

I checked to see Mewl, who had that same sad expression as the Ditto. Its status had changed from "OK" to a worrying "...".

I knew something was wrong, so I fled from that battle and every battle afterwards.

Though I had avoided it before on hopes of somehow escaping to Fuchsia City, I gave it all up to heal Mewl, who had risked life and limb to impress me.

After it was healed, I checked its summary again.

Though it had fully healed, it still had that depressed look in its eyes. I couldn’t understand want it wanted. I didn’t know what it needed.

But I realized that it was getting pretty late, and I wanted to get to sleep soon. I would have to leave the game on, and leave Mewl behind.

That was when it hit me.

Could it be possible that Mewl knew I hadn’t saved? Did Mewl somehow understand that no matter if I saved or didn’t save, it would disappear when I turned the game off?

I hadn’t really thought about it until now, but Mewl was more special than any other Pokémon I’d ever played with.

And if I turned the game off, it would disappear forever.

I didn’t know how to feel about that.

I went out of the Pokémon Center to reflect about this with Mewl.

I still wanted to finish the adventure with it, if it would let me.

Stage 5 - Acceptance

“MEWL doesn’t want to go.”

That was okay, I thought.

I realized that even if I went with Mewl to the Pokémon League, and won, then the game would return to the title screen and not save my progress.

Maybe Mewl understood that, too.

So then we were at an impasse, together on Cinnabar Island.

I didn’t know what to do. Even if this Mew was special, even if I genuinely believed it was real, I couldn’t just keep my GameBoy on forever. What would anyone else think?

I decided that for the first time in this entire run, I wanted to save my game. I didn't want to turn it off just yet, but at least save, as some sort of precautionary measure.

I hoped, that in the event the GameBoy turned off for whatever reason, a miracle would occur.

”Would you like to SAVE your MEW?”

It seemed that the game knew exactly what my heart wanted, and I selected yes.

Then, all of a sudden, my game turned off. Not due to low battery or anything, but it just turned off.

I panicked for a moment, and quickly switched the game back on.

It was gone. The save file was gone.

Or, rather, it was never there to begin with.

#Pokemon Creepypasta #Pokepasta #Mew #HM Slave

44 notes · View notes

hoodoo12 · 3 years

Text

The Ties That Bind (And How to Follow Them) 2/?

@bunnys-beetlejuice-blog @werwulfy @mel-time @rainingpaint @heresathreebee @infptarius @turtlepated @sweetcat-666 @fireflower1015 @go-whovian-universe @genderless-cryptid @monsterlovinghours @strange-n-unbluusual @love-pony13-blog

Pate never did fall back asleep properly, but she was content to doze lightly in Beetlejuice’s arms for a few more hours. It wasn’t deep enough to dream, but in between snoozes she did her best to commit what she had seen in the nightmare to memory. The better to understand it, she hoped.

Even Lillian was of two minds as to whether or not the dreams meant anything at all but Pate couldn’t shake the notion that they meant something important. Maybe they were warnings. Her first thought was Rigel, trying to claw his way back into their lives. Just the thought was enough to make her shudder and Beetlejuice’s arms tightened around her, sensing her unease.

They spent the weekend in, lazing together on the couch and rewatching The Mandalorian. Pate felt bad that she was really too tired these days to take him out to do anything, but he never seemed to mind. She recorded her dreams in the journal to take to Lillian’s for the next session, slept fitfully Saturday and Sunday night, and all too soon it was Monday again.

Showering woke her up a bit more, chasing away the last of the feelings of dread from her nightmares and she readied herself for work. As he usually did, Beej saw her off at the door. Pate wound her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his in a lingering kiss.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she said, pecking him on the nose before departing.

⁂

Pate always seemed to get better rest closer to dawn. He hated that she had to then be woken just when she was comfortable; Mondays really did suck. Beetlejuice hoisted himself up on the sink in the bathroom while she showered, wishing he could join her under the spray like he’d done in Las Vegas, but she was already behind schedule and a distraction wasn’t going to be appreciated.

He stayed out of her way even though he followed her around through the apartment as she made to leave. Promising to be good but knowing there was no way for her to possibly think of every single thing that could be construed as “bad”, he pressed against her to steal some of her body heat and then watched her leave. He went to the front window to look down at her as she made it to her car, and blew a kiss when she saw him in the window. He watched till she was gone out of the parking lot.

Another day alone in the apartment. At least he had the freedom to smoke inside with Pate gone, so he lit a cigarette and stared forlornly at the empty room. Pate had suggested he take up a hobby to fill the time, but put her foot down when he believed raising a baby Sandworm would be a good idea.

“Whatever a “Sandworm” is,” she’d included at the end of the conversation.

She didn’t leave her dream journal behind; her mentor had told her to keep it with her so she could jot things down if they came to her, but Beej had read through it when she was dozing beside him. That wasn’t invading her privacy, not really, he justified, because she just left it right beside the bed--

--Lillian Borden.

He could go visit Lillian Borden and talk to her about Pate’s progress or lack thereof.

The thought sprung on him so quickly the cigarette fell out of his mouth. He crushed it into the carpet, vowing to himself he’d clean it up before Pate got back and saw it, and stepped into the ether to visit the antique shop Pate spent so much time in.

⁂

The store was closed, of course. It was early in the morning for the antique crowd. But Pate had mentioned the old woman lived above the store, so he simply spirited through the door. Good thing he wasn’t a vampire, he chuckled to himself.

Making his way through the aisles towards the staircase he could see, a few of the items he passed had some tendrils of energy that either moved towards him like he was a magnet, or away from him like they were repelled. All of them were wispy and easily avoided. On a wall hung a old, ratty taxidermied deer head that slowly turned to look at him, but he was pretty sure whatever that was wouldn’t be able to move any further. Its glass eyes lit with inner fire and if there was some way to make friends with that thing, it would make a very creepy Halloween decoration.

Beetlejuice made a mental note to talk to it later.

Reaching the stairs, there was a slight resistance as he put his foot on the first step. Bulling his way through it, it popped like he’d broken bubblewrap and he skipped the rest of the way up. If it was a ward, there was no sense in knocking on the door at the top, so he simply opened it and went inside.

There, he found a small, clean apartment. Plants surrounded the windows, and old tin type photographs and decorative mirrors were hung on the walls. Someone was in the kitchen.

Straightening his jacket and running a hand through his hair--which did nothing to tame it--Beetlejuice walked to the door separating the living space from the kitchen and found the older woman standing at her stove, stirring something in a pot. A tea kettle was also on, with steam rising from the spout. She was muttering something half under her breath.

“Hi!” he said, without preamble. “You’re Lillian Borden, right? Pate’s been coming to see you, and I want to talk.”

He could never remember that people needed some warning when he appeared and started talking. Typically he was met with screams.

This woman didn’t scream. She turned towards him, eyes narrowed, with a knife in her hand he hadn’t noticed on her far side. There was more of that strange repellent energy wafting from the knife, and he held his hands up even though his natural instinct was to meet force with force.

“I just want to talk, lady--”

She didn’t look like she wanted to talk, really.

⁂

In all her years, Lillian had never expected to find herself with a pupil.

But then this young woman had come into her shop one day, and it was like getting hit in the chest with a sledgehammer when she got closer. Lillian had met others in her time with… gifts, but none like this girl. Whatever she had, it was potent, close to the surface, and raw as wet clay just waiting to be shaped. She must have sensed something about Lillian because in no time she was showing up regularly, asking for Lillian to teach her, to show her how to handle this power inside her.

At first Lillian had been reluctant to go poking around something so volatile, but eventually she conceded that the younger woman was in need of guidance. What with the strange, terrible dreams that disturbed her sleep and the almost miasmic aura that seemed to accompany her. It didn’t emanate from her, it just hung around her like a cloud of smoke from a cigarette. There was something haunting her, something Lillian urged her to purge as quickly as possible.

For whatever reason, Lillian could tell that Pate hadn’t done it, that she actively lied about it when asked. Why she should want some dark spectral energy floating around her all the time was beyond Lillian’s ability to comprehend, but she felt sure that it had something to do with the girl’s nightmares, or even her abilities themselves.

It was Monday, not quite time to open up the shop, so she muddled about in the kitchen. Lillian didn’t consider herself a witch or a Wiccan or any such thing, but there were certain practices that she had found beneficial in her particular way of life. The tea was almost ready to come off the stove, the talismanic elixir she’d been preparing nearly finished when she felt it: the ward on her stairs dissipated like a puff of breath on a frigid day.

She paused momentarily in what she was doing, opening the drawer by the stove and withdrawing a black-handled athame from it’s sheath, keeping it concealed by her body as she continued to putter around the stove, mumbling a protective charm against whatever was entering her apartment.

He greeted her genially enough, mentioning Pate by name and Lillian knew at once that who or whatever this garishly bedecked man with his green hair and striped suit and mischievous aura was, it was the entity she sensed around her student.

Turning toward him, gripping the athame tightly and feeling the thrum of energy in the instrument, Lillian maintained her cool despite the intrusion.

“Don’t imagine you and I would have much to talk about,” she said not impolitely.

⁂

“Well, Pate’s a common denominator,” Beej replied snappishly, despite trying to keep his voice in more the pleasant range. He wasn’t exactly sure what his hair was doing color-wise at the moment; that knife in her hand put him on edge.

He moved towards her to help her understand his sincerity about the situation, although he dispensed with pleasantries.

“I watch what’s been happening to her. I see the nightmares she has. She came to you for help and it isn’t getting any better, so you and me, we’re gonna talk--”

⁂

The tea kettle’s shrill whistle sounded behind her as the thing that looked like a man but wasn’t a man stepped closer. Without pausing another moment Lillian pointed the athame at his chest and traced a sigil in the air, murmuring in rapid Latin as she repeated the movements of the consecrated instrument again and again.

She reached down within herself, feeling for the well of power that resided inside and tapped into it, pouring her will and intent into the drawing of the sigil and the recitation of the incantation. He froze in place as if his shoes were stuck to the scuffed hardwood floor, looking first down at his own feet and then back up at her as she continued to chant and trace with the athame. His form began to blur and then to disintegrate around the edges, spreading inward as a stiff breeze from nowhere blew his coat and tie and hair around until they were no more.

Lillian didn’t relax even when she was once again alone in the kitchen, nothing remaining of the entity that had stood before her. Keeping a tight hold on the athame, she strode slowly but purposefully towards the decorative mirrors hanging on her living room wall. Inside the glass she saw, not her own reflection, but the man who had broken her ward and entered her home uninvited.

After verifying that her temporal displacement had succeeded, only then did she breathe a sigh of relief.

“There,” she said in a grim, satisfied tone. “That ought to hold you. And keep you away from that girl.”

The figure in the glass raised both fists, hammering against the surface of the mirror but made no sound. Turning away, Lillian returned to her kitchen and took the kettle off the stove.

⁂

Coming at him with that dark-handled knife wasn’t good. Beetlejuice bit off his own sentence and raised his hands to show he was no threat, but whatever this old lady was doing he felt a combination of bound and dizzy. She was going to stab him, and he most definitely did not want that to happen; instinctively he knew that blade meant bad news.

But she didn’t stab him, only the air in an intricate design. Her Latin was whispered and hurried, and he only caught some of it, “Entrapment . . . reflection . . .” as an unearthly breeze caught him. Glancing at his feet, they seemed to fly away as if dust on the wind. It didn’t hurt, it didn’t feel like anything, but he didn’t like it and opened his mouth to protest, to say they got off on the wrong foot. Before any words could leave his mouth he was no longer in her kitchen.

Now he was looking out at her living room from an odd angle. He didn’t know what had happened, and defensively black tentacles erupted around him, but there was nothing here to fight against. Just a white endless plain, except for the window he was looking out of. Beetlejuice willed his tentacles away.

A movement in his periphery caught his eye and he leaned forward to see it better. His forehead hit something. Brow furrowed, he raised his hands and they were stopped by something unseen as well.

Lillian came into full view in front of him, peering at him like a bug under a magnifying glass. When she stepped closer, what he could see of her changed--only her shoulders and head were visible. He tried to wrap his head around what he was seeing.

He had no problem hearing her and her proclamation that he’d be ‘held’, and kept away from Pate.

Beetlejuice pounded on the glass, shouting that there was a mistake, that she better let him out, he was going to rain terror down on her the likes of which she’d never imagined--

Lillian smiled sweetly and walked away, back out of his range of vision. The kettle stopped whistling.

The whole thing had only taken three minutes, tops.

⁂

It took him some time to figure out where she’d imprisoned him. He hadn’t paid much attention to her living room since he had immediately heard her in the kitchen, but after some thought--because what else was there to do in an endless white space of nothingness?--and her returning, giving him a smile, and sitting down to watch TV (it was some Hallmark movie that was possibly more torturous than being wherever he was), he realized he could only see the windows opposite the wall that separated the kitchen and living room. That, and where she was sitting he could only see the top of Lillian’s head.

She’d put him in one of her mirrors.

“FUCK,” Beej shrieked into the void. There was no echo, which was creepy.

This old woman was going to keep him down in her antique store of horrors! He wondered how many of the presences he felt walking through the first floor of the place were people like him--misunderstood, just wanting to talk, and she was like some self-appointed Pinkerton agent, cleaning up potential problems.

Beetlejuice slammed the back of his head, hard, on the glass. Lillian didn’t react. He let the tentacles come out again, and used their strength to attack it. Nothing. Brute force wasn’t the way out. Cleverness was.

If he sat with his back below the glass, he was fairly sure he was unseen. Maybe she had some fancy-schmancy wards on the glass, but maybe there was another way out. He let his tentacles explore the space. There wasn’t much, just endless white. There was no way for him to call for help. No way to let Pate know what had happened. He’d be stuck here for an undetermined amount of time--

--a tentacle found a seam.

Not a seam per se, but some break. Crack. He didn’t know what, because it was white too. Scooting over to it, Beetlejuice couldn’t even see it, but he could feel it beneath his fingertips. He dug a nail under it, not caring that it became ragged, only wanting to widen it and see what might be beyond. When it was more than just a crack, a tentacle snaked in and broke it open more. Pieces fell away like plaster, and shoving his face against the hole he could see another window.

Another mirror!

Tenaciously, Beetlejuice tore apart the crack until he could squeeze through. He had no idea how much a maze it might be, with nothing to guide him. He’d just keep going until he could find Pate’s bathroom mirror, as long as it took.

tbc . . .

#writing #fanfiction #Beetlejuice #Ties that bind

19 notes · View notes

pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

Vár (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Vár: spring (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: A little bit of insight into the aftermath of Chapter 36 and his perspective of the events of Chapter 37

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: 18+, references to smut and explicit bits. My boy is a sub and I am unable to write him in any other way, it seems. Then, just the usual for the story.

A/N: So yeah, companion piece to 37!

And listen, lemme share a secret with ya: I tried my hardest not making Ivar a bottom/sub in this, I truly did, but...I failed. So, if sub!Ivar ain’t your thing (it’s not explicit exactly, but it’s there, and I am sometimes bothered by descriptions of him in a very dominant position so I’d understand if the opposite happens to you, which is why I’m warning you), feel free to skip past the first ____ and you’re good. Thank you!

To say that in the last few days Ivar has grown fascinated -addicted, you’d argue- to exploring your body and every sound you make would be an understatement.

There’s a surge of pride inside his chest that hasn’t left him since that night, a satisfaction at knowing he can satisfy a woman, at knowing the most beautiful woman he knows, the woman they all want, wants him.

Ivar cannot get enough of the sight of you lost in the throes of the pleasure he gives you, and he loses his breath alongside with his mind each time your voice turns rougher and your hand -delicate, soft hand that somehow has the strength of Fenrir’s bindings when you touch him- grips onto his own as his fingers curl deep inside of you, your free hand pushing him down against the bed, sometimes close enough to his throat that Ivar has to grit his teeth to keep a plea of your name from leaving his lips; when you, in all the arrogance and the might that he hates and loves in equal measure, still his movements with a wrap of your fingers around his wrist and instead of having him give you pleasure you take it, you demand from him whatever you want and…Gods, that’s a sight he doesn’t think he will never get enough of.

And he’s addicted to the taste of you; to the sounds you make when he works his mouth and his tongue against you, chants of his name that reverberate through his chest and make him almost tremble with the realization that he is the reason behind them, that leave him warm and proud because he made you feel this way, and your moans and sighs and whimpers are gentle praise washing over him; to the way you grip and tug at his hair, bordering on pain and making shivers and something else run down his spine, and your thighs shake, and your back arches off the bed, and you come apart, and it is because of him, only he can do this to you, only him is who you want to do this to you, and he knows he is addicted, he knows there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this, for you.

There’s still a part of him -and there will always be, a part of him that grows louder some days- that resents that this also has to be different, that not even in sex he can be normal.

And that part of him, a part of him made of snarls that demanded answers from the Gods and of wrath and promises of death whispered in the ear of a slave; that part was quietened, pliant, satisfied, in your arms that night when you kissed him, stealing his breath and his mind and his heart, and reached down to touch him.

He once wished he had the words to tell you to do with him -with his body, defective and lacking as he sees it- what you wished, to tell you to claim the rest of him as ruthlessly as you claimed his heart; and it is that need, and that awe at the unwavering woman that kissed him until he ached and unwaveringly whispered more than any other man in my life, I want you; that made him take so long to stop you, that night.

He still remembers what it felt like, surrendering to you in that brief moment. He still remembers how it felt like his head was filled with noise and his heart and breath was out of his control.

He remembers how he could feel everywhere you were touching him, your lips on his neck pressing soft kisses in the places you had bitten and licked, your chest to his side almost holding him up when he leaned into you, your hand squeezing softly and moving over him with increasing pressure, making electricity run down his spine and heat coil low in his stomach.

And he remembers allowing himself to give in, and how good it felt. How he surrendered to falling and yet he didn’t, because you were there, soft breaths and gentle touches; how your delicate hand was so different from…that woman’s cold and distant touch, or from his own rough and desperate grip as he tried uselessly to prove to himself that night had been a mistake, a nightmare.

Ivar remembers how good it felt, and how overwhelming, and how easy it would have been to surrender then. For once, it could have been easy, because he trusts you and you love him and you want him and…

But no, no, it couldn’t be. Because he would fail, and he’d see the disgust in your eyes, and he’d feel the shame and the pain again, and couldn’t. So he stopped you. He had to.

He had to. Right?

Yes, of course he did. He needs to remember what his reality is, he needs to remember what failure feels like, and he needs to remember it would burn all the more if it were you he failed.

You could never fail me, Ivar, no matter what, you told him, and he knows you meant it, he trusts you, but saying something is not the same as knowing it.

And it is easy, it always is, to remember what that night felt like. The dawning horror, the pain, the humiliation, the anger. It is easy to remember, it is easy to still feel the burning shame, the anguish, the desperate need to curse and plea with the Gods for a reason why.

And because it is so easy to remember, and because his mind sometimes torments him with dreams of being in that situation again only it is your eyes looking back, and it isn’t false comfort from a slave, but your voice unfaltering and biting as you snarl at him the words he thinks of himself sometimes; that he stops you that night, and he doesn’t regret it. You don’t push since, and he’s almost thankful for that.

____

This isn’t the first night you take Valdís’ son in your arms and spend most of the feast talking with the boy and making him laugh. But it is the first time the sight leaves Ivar unable to look away.

The blonde boy looks up at you with big eyes, and your smile is unlike anything Ivar has ever seen when you look down at him.

“I haven’t told you of Achilles yet, have I?” You ask, chuckling at the eager shake of the boy’s head. “Well, he was the strongest of all men,” You tell him, exaggerating your features and the gestures of your free hand, “No sword could pierce his skin, no army was a match for him, and all of Greece knew of his fame.

Ivar knows this story, you told him many times before of the wars of your homeland and the legends the Greeks once were, when their Gods were with them. Still, he ignores everything else and focuses on the way you gesture and talk as you tell the young boy the story, while Valdís’ son looks at you with wide eyes as you recall some of the Demigod’s victories in the Trojan War and those that came before.

You lean closer to the boy, whispering your next words as if sharing a secret.

“But he had a secret weakness, something that could end him.”

“No!” He cries, surprise and innocent interest in his expression. You chuckle, but continue the tale.

“You see, he was invincible, except his heel.”

“His heel?” The boy repeats, and you nod severely. You press cold fingers against the boy’s heel, and smile when he releases a laugh.

“If he was struck there, he was just a man, no longer a fearsome warrior, no longer invincible,” You confess and finish with a sad smile, “An arrow went through his heel while he was fighting, and Achilles died.”

“But he died fighting!” The boy insists. Ivar notices your confusion at the turn of the conversation, but you still nod, murmuring your assent. The child’s expression switches from mildly anguished to determined and somewhat serene, “Then he’s in Valhalla, with all the others. I will meet him when I’m old like you and ask him to tell me more stories.”

There’s a strange glint in your eye when he says that, the same one you had when Ivar told you Keres and Valkyries sound like one and the same, the same one you have when you speak of the life beyond this one.

You shake it off soon enough, and your expression is fierce when you stare down at the shieldmaiden’s son.

“But first you ought to grow strong, and once you’ve grown you ought to fight and persevere, Aghi, so that you have stories to tell him when you meet him in Valhalla.”

“You sound like mama.”

“Because I am always right!” Valdís yells from her side of the table, and Ivar watches as you laugh at the shieldmaiden’s words, before leaning close to press a kiss to the boy’s blonde hair.

“Puts ideas in your head, doesn’t it?” Ubbe’s voice startles Ivar, and he turns to his brother with a scowl that the other man ignores, keeping his focus ahead, “She’d be a good mother.”

There’s a part of him that Ivar was never quite capable of extinguishing that wants to rely on Ubbe, wants to tell him how impossible it is for him to make you a mother, wants to trust his big brother in all the annoying and pitiful patience he still holds towards Ivar.

But he doesn’t, he would never speak of such things, not even with Ubbe. He still hears a voice tell him how pathetic and weak he was for needing your comfort when he spoke out loud about his inability to be a father.

Instead of sharing that, Ivar leans back on his chair and turns to Ubbe with raise brows.

“How come you don’t have children yet?” He asks, but there’s no malice behind his tone. Or, he doesn’t intend for it to be. With a tilt of his head, he adds, “Have you forgotten your duty to marry and breed, brother?”

Ubbe chuckles, remembering as much as Ivar -perhaps even more than he does, since he is the eldest- their mother’s words.

“Very irresponsible of me, I know.” His older brother comments, the smile turning a little bittersweet before Ubbe takes a gulp from his drink.

He won’t lie to himself and say it is his short conversation with Ubbe what makes him linger on the stupid thoughts of a family. Those thoughts, those images of a life for a very long time he hasn’t dared even think about, have been with him since you told him we can have children.

Ivar knows it should unsettle him, at least more than it already does, how easily you have made him completely trust in you. Enough to speak of the shame he has carried with him since that damn night with Margrethe, enough to believe you when you told him that there was a way to have what he wanted even if not through normal means. He’s never done things the normal way, though, has he?

He watches you put your hands up as claws in front of you, and fake a growl as you pretend to threaten Valdís’ son, and finds his lips pulling into a smile.

He wonders what stories you’d tell your children, he wonders what your sons would say of their mother, he wonders what your daughters would inherit from you.

And Ivar lets himself imagine it. He mead softens the edges of his thoughts; and your smile warms him more than the alcohol ever could; and you love him, you told him you do, and you told him one day the two of you could have a family; and he doesn’t stop himself from imagining what it would be like.

He imagines what it would be like to return home to find not only you waiting for him at the docks, but a few sons and daughters eager to hear of their father’s triumphs. You told him that his children would have his strength and his intelligence, but he wants them to have your resolve and maybe even your arrogance.

He imagines what it would be like to hear you late at night telling your children of the beasts and heroes of your homeland, only for Ivar to interrupt just as he does now, with arguments about how the world is according to his Gods and his ways. Even if not of your blood or his, your children would inherit the world if Ivar -and you, most likely- had any say in it, he knows this.

And later that night the shieldmaiden takes the boy from your arms and gives you a one-armed hug goodbye, and you make your way back to Ivar, and sit on the armrest of his chair and lean against him when his arm wraps around your waist, and he doesn’t let go of it, of that fantasy, of those images.

You are here with him, and he can pretend winter can last for as long as wishes it to.

____

The night was supposed to be as any other. The night was supposed to be one of the comfortable intimacy he’s grown to revel in and your soft touches and your words of love. He was supposed to be able to hold on to this, to you, for as long as winter lasted.

Winter was supposed to last.

But, he thinks bitterly as he undoes the last clasp on the brace of his leg, why did eh think something was going to be normal for him? Even the seasons may be different for Ivar the Boneless.

And he starts asking questions, partly because he hates it when you’re quiet, partly because he wants your voice to overpower the one that tells him she’s leaving she’s leaving she’s leaving.

Ivar knows what will win at the end. He isn’t an idiot, he knows nostalgia will win every time. He knows no matter how many times he beckons you to him you will always answer the call of your homeland, he knows a piece of land was enough of a reward to make you survive endless things and he knows that piece of land is nothing compared to having your people back with you.

He should have spared some men to find the bodies of the Greeks, to confirm to himself they were all truly dead like Stithulf said they were. Too worried with the foreign witch he wanted to bring to Kattegat, he overlooked it, and now he pays for it.

Because then, then he could have killed them all and left them in some field you’d never find out about, he could have done what Stithulf couldn’t. Then, he could have killed them all without an ounce of guilt or a moment of hesitation. Then, he wouldn’t have anything to lose by doing something unforgivable.

And so now all he can think about is how stupid he was, how foolishly blinded he let himself become; not only then, but now. Now, imagining a future with you, a family with you; imagining what stories you’d tell your sons and daughters, dreaming of an eternity with you at his side and children to tell your stories, his story.

You hesitate only for a breath when he asks you where they are now, and it is enough to make the dread and the wrath grow inside him. And for all they whisper and fear Ivar the Boneless’ rage, they don’t speak of how needed it is, of how much he depends on it.

It is the one thing holding him together, more often than not.

And he holds on to that anger when he accuses, “Are you trying to hide where they went, hm? Shield them from me?”

He doesn’t hear your answer, but he knows he interrupts you when you’re talking, and he knows that you hate it when he does that. Good. He wants you to be angry.

“I don’t need your permission or your help to find them,” He tells you, and you both know it is true. And he wants to, he wants to find them and see for himself what it is of these people and their home that is enough to take you away from him. Ivar can’t help but imagine you surrounded by your people, smile wide and warm and happy, and without him. He knows you’ve dreamt of it, that since learning they are alive you’ve probably spent so much time thinking what your reunion with the people that call you Anassa will be like. And he wants to take that from you, he wants to make the fantasy shatter before your eyes, he wants to make you see how easily stupid and pathetic fantasies of love and a future and happiness are lost. He wants you to feel like he does. And so he pushes where he knows it will hurt, he threatens your fantasy of nostalgia and reunion with what he knows can make it shatter, “I could have them all killed. Tie each of them to a pyre and burn them alive.”

There it is, the hardening of your stance, the coldness in your eyes, and though a part of him hates it, and something churns at his stomach when your voice lowers and your expression betrays nothing, this is exactly what he wanted.

He wants you to let go of foolish dreams of fields of flowers and the warmth of the sun, he wants you to let die the part of you that insists you are a daughter of Greece, he wants you to end the fantasy he knows you have to have been holding onto about returning to your Eleusis and your sunny places.

And, of course, you fight back, and your voice rises alongside your temper. Stubborn, maddening woman that you are, you refuse to back down.

He gestures with his arm and knocks over the small vase of some almost-lifeless plant you kept there, and his eyes watch it fall to the ground.

At the tip of his tongue there’s a curse about how many fucking plants you keep in this room and every other room you get your hands on, but he bites the words back -or chokes on them- because it is with horrifying certainty that he realizes the plants would die without you, and they would disappear, and the mark of you in his world would easily disappear, once you leave.

Ivar’s eyes linger on the pitiful green leaves that lay there on the floor, and he remembers you telling him about this one, he remembers seeing this one near Kattegat.

And he realizes, to his doom or his salvation, if there are such things, that this is a new plant, that you brought it here in the time he was gone, most likely after you knew about your people.

And this one and countless other little planters and vases litter the room, put there for you to look after them, promises of permanence scattered through the room you and Ivar share.

He wants to believe that is what they are. That they are proof you can find a way to keep your fields of flowers and your sunny home with you even if the place he brought you to is cold and harsh; and not desperate attempts to keep the home he took you from with you in any way possible.

He wishes he could ask, just as he wishes he could ask you why you aren’t with them, why, when you have had so many opportunities to do so, you choose to stay.

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to hear the answer he already knows. That Stithulf is the one thing keeping you with him.

Later you settle against him on the bed, as warm and as soft as you always are -he doesn’t understand why he expected different-, and Ivar doesn’t resist the urge to pull you closer.

He presses his lips against you with as much softness as he can muster, with as much of the gentleness you deserve but he doesn’t have in him he can give you, and tells you that he loves you. He has loved you for a long time, longer than he cares to admit, though he doesn’t know why it is now the moment he chooses to tell you.

It is foolish, he knows it is, but the admission hurts, the admission is jagged edges and raw nerves and it speaks of the possibility of losing you. Then again, to Ivar that is what love is: jagged edges and raw nerves and the always present fear of losing.

Because his head reminds him, with his fumbled thoughts chasing one another in circles, that admitting to loving you now of all times, now that you have them waiting for you, now that you have proven to yourself and to him that you could leave Kattegat and he’d be none the wiser, now that he is unmoored and unsteady and pitifully afraid; isn’t a smart thing to do, that it is a pathetic attempt to pretend he and whatever he can offer you are enough to get you to choose to stay, and that you know it.

Though the kiss you press against his chest gives him a brisk moment of warmth, it leaves as quickly as it washes over him, and Ivar looks up at the nothingness above him as you relax into sleep.

Because he knows it isn’t enough. Love isn’t enough to keep you from your duty, from your legacy; he isn’t enough to keep you from your homeland, this realm isn’t enough to keep you from your fields of flowers.

There’s nothing he can do, even if he wants to. Even if he imagines and plans a way to find the Greeks and kill them all before they get a chance at stealing you from him, he knows that if you choose them -of you choose to leave him- there’s no binds that can keep you with him.

If you choose to leave not even iron shackles can keep you with him, because Ivar knows all he will have of you is the snarling curses and the cold and cruel glances.

And so the night goes on and he keeps unseeing eyes on the ceiling above him, holding you close and finding himself as shackled, as powerless, as he once made you. Ivar wonders briefly if your Gods have found a way to punish him for what he did, he remembers you once told him they would scorn him for taking a Hiereia and making her a slave, for taking your choice from you.

And now he is the one without a choice. If he does something to keep you, or if he doesn’t, it doesn’t matter, because one way or another, when the day comes and you choose to leave him, you will.

____ ____ ____

Thank you so much for reading, I hope this was okay, and I hope it could clarify a bit more of Ivar’s actions/reactions in Chapter 37. As for the title choice, it is mainly due ot how I like playing with the ideas of what spring and winter can mean, same as with Persephone and Hades’ roles. While Ivar of course represents Hades, it is Ivar who returns to Kattegat to kickstart the winter in Chapter 35, for example. In the case of this chapter, and Chapter 37, the winter is settling as a season, but the element of change that spring is characterized with becomes apparent in this chapter, moreso for Ivar than for the Reader; hence the title.

Sorry for the ramble, I’m a mess lol. Thank you for reading, I hope you’re doing good!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @chibisgotovalhalla @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar #νοσταλγία masterlist

86 notes · View notes

dreamties · 4 years

Text

Slashers W/ a Soft Pastel S/O

A/n - So this one actually wasn’t requested, I just thought it would be super cute. And what I mean by “Soft Pastel”, I mean being into soft/pastel/kawaii fashion, I just didn’t know how to phrase it. Since there’s so many subcultures.

Trigger Warning: Slight Cursing (I say f*ck)

Also- these are gender neutral, but a few describe you in skirts/dresses, so if you’re not comfy with that, just skip that part or the whole thing?? :/

I might do more like this for other types of alternative fashion- like punk or something? Or a S/O who has a lot of body mods, I think it would be fun.

Characters: Billy/Stu, The Lost Boys, Helen Lyle, Daniel Robitaille/Candyman, Brahms Heelshire, and Amanda Young.

I didn’t add Michael Myers, but can do so if y’all want it. I just think he’d be very indifferent about it...didn’t think that would be very fun to read.

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

Stu would be the most like into your outfits

Billy? Not so much. he just thinks you look cute in everything.

but if you did more guro-kawaii looks? they would both be all over that shit.

it combines more of the grotesque in with the cute- which is just perfect for the boys. they get to see you dawned in all sorts of blood, guts/gore, bandage patterns/aesthetics.

and maybe even tying in different monster-ish elements.

like wearing funky white or other unnatural colored contacts, really intense makeup(especially around the eyes), and fuck it, maybe you’re wearing faux demon horns.

I think they’d find it kinda hot. if we’re being perfectly honest here.

Now- would you able to get them into it as well?

Stu will ask you, with excitement reverberating throughout out his body and his voice. of course he want’s to at least try it!

so many clips in Stu’s hair. you haven’t even had that many in your hair before!

he may also wear rings sometimes. he thinks all the colors and designs are just so fun!

and on the other hand...

Billy, the guy that basically wore the same outfit for an entire movie? who’s closet only contains jeans and white t-shirts? trying out your style? i don’t think so lol

if you do- somehow- get him to try...

then you might have pressured him into it a bit? very jokingly, of course.

“C’mon, humor me, babe. Stu’s already dressed and everything!” You try giving him puppy eyes to seal the deal.

“Fine!” Billy says, grabbing the garment and a few clips from your hands. He shuts the door too harshly behind him.

A short silence is shared, before you and Stu burst out laughing. “Do you think he’s mad at us?” You’re hardly able to get it out. Of course he was, but in his own odd way appreciated this adventure.

He comes back a moment later, his white t-shirt replaced with a pastel red one, an especially gory character printed on the front. and a red clip barely hanging on to one of the side pieces of hair in front of his face. You try to suppress a giggle at Billy’s messily put together look.

for the love of gosh- don’t actually laugh when he appears. he is very outside of his comfort zone, and he’s only doing this because he loves you and Stu, and just,, don’t add this to his list of reasons not to try new things.

whatever your reaction ends up being, you’re absolutely obligated to tell them how attractive they look in it(even Billy who looks hella dorky).

(my art)

The Lost Boys

the comparison between their dark, punk-ish style and then the sweet baby pinks and blues, and soft lavenders that adorned your form??

it’s just too sweet.

they are completely enamored by your style- even if certain vampires (and I’m not naming any names, but I definitely mean David) may not show his love for your look as openly

Marko- he’d get one cutesy patch for his jacket, so he has like a little piece of you everywhere he goes. also...he genuinely ended up really digging your style? but not enough to abandon his punk look completely. he is still totally dedicated to that.

the other boys will absolutely mess with him about the patch though

all in good fun!

David’s not letting you near his hair with any extra clips or accessories.

Dwayne enjoys the quiet intimacy shared between the two of you. just sitting together, you might be styling his hair( super loose ponytail or braid- admit it, it would be so cute! and helpful so his hair isn’t always in his face!)...anyways, you’d use a colorful hair tie, and a few clips to help pin back his hair.

he probably won’t go out with the clips in, but if it’s just the five of you at the cave? he’ll keep it in until it’s time to sleep.

he loves seeing how happy and accomplished you look after finishing with his hair tho.

Paul is hands down the most likely to get into the whole look and go out in public with it on.

makeup? hell yeah. it won’t be as intense as yours, and he probably only does the eyes and maybe some shine. sparkly vampire time

hair accessories? all of them

would try combining his look with yours, to have a perfect mess of it.

a light, light blue mesh top, slightly darker blue jacket(with slight accents in pink, purple, white or black), and his usual sort of white jeans(?) would still look great with it. he’s absolutely rocking that look.

you are ecstatic to finally have someone else to share your passion with! (much harder to find similar folks when you’re a vampire,,)

Helen Lyle

she’s so used to the plain life around her, and she’d been living before you- you were such a breath of fresh air.

of course, you’re darling personality also drew her into you- but your fashion sense? it fascinated her.

she’s not trying it herself anytime soon, but she appreciates the fact that you enjoy it.

the most she would ever try is a very natural makeup look. and a coat or two of a pastel color of her choice.

she would love watching you get ready. not so much help out though- she just likes seeing the way you approach things. how you choose to pair certain pieces with one another.

she’ll ask questions to better understand your interests! not that it’s weird or wrong that you’re into it, she’s just a very inquisitive person.

you’d wear a lot of blue though- because you know Helen likes that color.

imagine wearing coordinated looks for different events and such. so, when you go with Helen to help out with her Candyman thesis, you might wear candy-themed attire. (of course in this universe,, she wouldn’t die! so no worries of that! you get to keep you’re gf).

if you do gift her something, she keeps it on her bedside table(or dresser). so she can still admire it, and still serves a purpose. fun décor!

all around though- Helen would be very chill, but captivated, about you’re interests.

Daniel Robitaille - Candyman

his life is so dark and gruesome, and he loves seeing you all dressed up.

and while he’s dead- long dead- and isn’t really apart of the world in the same sense that you are- it gives him this happy sense of hope for the world.

because there’s this very small thing, that you hold close to your heart, that makes you smile.

Also!!

even if they’re apart of a super awful, traumatic, part of his past- the bees are just a part of the family now.

so cute yellow/spring/bee themed outfits?? yes. ohh definitely, yes.

As for him dressing up? He’d feel hesitant.

he’s filled with immense joy around you, but is almost scared with someone altering part of his attire or self in any way(rooted back to, again, past stuff).

but part of loving is to take the person as a whole, bad parts, good parts- insecurities- the entire package. and trusting one another.

he has his whole faith in you not to do anything bad.

and so, it becomes a habit for the two of you to spend mornings together, chatting and getting ready. well, you’re getting ready, it’s more for the quality time together for him.

things are little different for Daniel. for many reasons.

one, he has very short hair. so the clips don’t really work there..

two- he only has one hand, and he’s “working” a lot with the appendages he does have. rings won’t work out because they might fall off- and he’d hate to lose something of yours.

three- he’s not a big makeup fan. he’s happy enough watching you put it on.

and then for his actual attire- he needs the coat to cover his insides. it’s also, in a way, his uniform.

you’ve settled on two things.

making homemade necklaces that can easily hide under his big coat (either sweets or honey/bee themed).

and sewing little patterns on the inside of his coat. other’s wouldn’t be able to see it, but he would know it’s there.

Brahms Heelshire

imagine being super into sorta ‘sweet lolita’, pastel/soft colors, bows, the big skirts, all the sorta ruffles(?)

and then especially if your shorter than Brahms(which is really,, not hard to do unless you’re insanely tall cause he’s,, 6 foot 3.)- and he thinks you look like such a doll?

but like,, in a nice way.

I think he’d get pretty excited if he got to help you set up your outfits!

especially if you praised him for picking out a good combo, or organizing correctly.

and some of Brahms movements are a bit awkward, he’s spent most of his life in the walls and the attic...but imagine turning on his music, and just dancing with him. having him twirl you in his arms a few times.

Brahms loves having your hands through his hair. and if hair accessories means he gets more of that love and attention? then yes,, yes he will wear them.

he just likes feeling taken care of, and along with your usual duties, you help him figure out the soft fashion styles, and how to make it more appealing and suitable for his own tastes.

because- as you insist- you want it to be something he enjoys just because he does, and not just for the closeness. though you can’t deny you love that aspect, too.

i can tell you one thing right here, though. you’re never getting makeup on him. he does not like taking off his mask, even if you’ve been in a relationship with him for a while, he still hides his face a lot.

you’d offered to do his makeup once, since he was staring so intently as you did yours. you’d made the mistake of reaching for his mask. you’d usually ask before doing so, but sometimes you’d slip up.

You apologize profusely, offering your arms out to him for a hug. “There, there, Brahms.” You smile, giving him a slight squeeze of affection.

he does take your stuff sometimes.

it’s a little annoying when you think you’ve lost your favorite accessory or dress or etc and then you just realize,, oh, it’s my favorite wall boy again. thank gosh you love him, so you’re not really upset or anything.

he just likes having little reminders of you, it gives him reassurance. upon other warm and fuzzy feelings.

if you’re able to find time in your day though, you’ll make cute little trinkets or bracelets for him. you’ll gift them or purposely leave them out for him- so you’ll still have some of your stuff when it comes to getting ready the next day.

in short- he’d much rather look at you than partake on his own.

Amanda Young

she’s never seen anything like this! :0

everyone she knows, herself included, tend to wear more dulled, plain clothes.

she’s immediately very intrigued by your attire...sort of want’s to try it, but is a bit self conscious and embarrassed to ask.

So!! you start out with small things, and fairly early on you both realize that she loves when you decorate her hair with accessories.

gifting Amanda a pair of little pig clips!!

or little stud earrings- those would be fricking adorable on her!

and she’s just so happy,, wtf

you dress mostly for yourself, but the more you’re in a relationship with your gf- the more you want to dress for her as well.

you can see this little sparkle in her eye when she sees you, and you want to keep seeing that look for as long as you can.

you slowly get her into it. your relationship and Amanda’s interest in your style just gives her so much light in an otherwise dim world.

if she did get into it, I think she’d do more creepy/cute. as a way to sort of cope with past trauma. that this sort of “bad” thing (the creepy) can still coexist with the good (the cute). she admires that quality.

just very sweet partners, who happen to love similar types of fashion

504 notes · View notes

fresh-prince-of-denmark · 3 years

Text

Analysis of the Devil Ending: Who Died and Left Aristotle In Charge of Ethics? (Pt 5)

Hello and welcome back to me over-analyzing everything in Cyberpunk. If you haven’t read my other posts, please read those first! (V’s Mikoshi Poem, Johnny’s Mikoshi Poem, The Sun, New Dawn Fades).

This part took me a lot longer to complete. Not because it was particularly long…it was just painful. Jesus Christ. I hated every second of this ending. That shit hurted.

There were a few shards located at Arasaka’s estate that I chose to skip, as I did not find ant that were unique to the location. The three the game seemed to want to draw your attention to were actually not scattered as shards, they were spoken-word. The only shard I was able to find was a portion of The Odyssey. The other two pieces of literature are In Kyoto, which is quoted to V by the guard to takes her to the hospital room, and (what I believe to be) a reference to Plato’s The Allegory of the Cave. This section is going to be super theoretical. Like, more theoretical than the rest. So bare with me please.

Let’s start easy. This is the poem that the guard quotes at V as he leads her out of the operating room:

In Kyoto,

hearing the cuckoo,

I long for Kyoto

(By: Basho, translated by Jane Hirshfield)

Ten words. What could ten words amount to? The saddest goddamn words you’ll ever hear, dammit. This poem is a feeling more than a concept. Ever feel homesick when you haven’t gone anywhere? Lonely when you’re around other people? That’s V. This was supposed to be a victory, supposed to be what they wanted. But now Johnny’s gone, scorned and betrayed, and no one they calls seems to even be able to give V the time of day. This was supposed to be a victory, their way of going back to the way things were, getting their life back, going home. But we can never go back, can’t ever erase our experiences, what we learn, how we grow. As Misty says, we should not fear change in of itself, but who we might change into. This just goes to show what happens when we betray ourselves by rejecting our own growth: all that’s left is bitterness and sorrow.

The next day when V wakes, you can pick up a shard containing a section from Chapter 8 of The Odyssey. Now, I’m not too familiar with the Odyssey. In fact, I hate the Odyssey. So if anyone wants to jump in here and add something more intelligent, I’m all for it. The Odyssey is the tale of Odysseus, who has been trying for ten long years to return to his wife and son after the Trojan war. Odysseus is basically listening to a bard remind him of all his Trojan War trauma, and begins to weep, at which time time people start questioning what’s up with this guy:

Say what thy birth, and what the name you bore,

Imposed by parents in the natal hour?

(For from the natal hour distinctive names,

One common right, the great and lowly claims:)

Say from what city, from what regions toss'd,

And what inhabitants those regions boast?

So shalt thou instant reach the realm assign'd.

In wondrous ships, self-moved, instinct with mind;

No helm secures their course, no pilot guides;

Like man intelligent, they plough the tides,

Conscious of every coast and every bay,

That lies beneath the sun's all-seeing ray;

Though clouds and darkness veil the encumber'd sky,

Fearless through darkness and through clouds they fly;

Though tempests rage, though rolls the swelling main,

The seas may roll, the tempests may rage in vain,

E'en the stern god that o'er the waves presides,

Safe as they pass, and safe repass the tides,

With fury burns; while careless they convey

Promiscuous every guest to every bay,

These ears have heard my royal sire disclouse

A dreadful story, big with future woes;

How Neptune raged, and how, by his command,

Firm rooted in a surge a ship would stand

A monument of wrath; how mound on mound

Should bury these proud towers beneath the ground.

But this the gods may frustrate or fulfill,

As suits the purpose of the Eternal Will.

But say through what waste regions hast thou stray'd

What customs noted, and what coasts survey'd;

Possess'd by wild barbarians fierce in arms,

Or men whose bosom tender pity warms?

Say why the fate o Troy awaked thy cares,

Why heaved thy bosom, and why flowed thy tears?

Reading this made me feel just how tired V must be. All this fighting, all this war, and for what? Much like Odysseus, V has been through hell and back (literally, depending on how you see it). And it never seems to end. V has been fighting for so long, yet there’s always something more; the tests the doctor gives her are endless, and they’re always being asked to do more, over and over again, with no results or end in sight. Odysseus is teetering on despair; nothing he does seems to do will ever be enough, just like V. The world will just take and take and take. It’s exactly what V’s poem asserts in Mikoshi; the world cannot be fixed, and resistance is futile. You can’t change how corporations rule the world, and as a protestor states on the TV in the hospital room, the rich have no boundaries or morals, and we are powerless to stop them from taking whatever they want. They can take not only our souls, but our bodies, devour them in order to prolong their own lives. Johnny would, of course, disagree. Even a slap in the face to The Man is better than submitting to a corpo-leash, even if that is the easier path. And in fact, he may be right, since it seems taking Hanako’s offer is the conformist path, and the only one that leads to Saburo coming back.

But Johnny isn’t there anymore to walk the rebel path at their side. No more guardian angel to whisper when they it most to never stop fighting.

There’s a lot more we could go into here with the Odyssey; comparing Arasaka to the story of Polyphemus and the cave, talking about themes of passion vs. commitment, yadayadayada. I hate the Odyssey so that can be someone else’s problem tbh.

The final piece is what the doctor asks V to read as one of their tests. Now, on surface-level, this is foreshadowing if V will choose to stay in their body, or be turned into an engram. It’s laughing at them, really, both pitying and mocking the fact that they believe they have a choice, since either way they’re once again at the mercy of the rich and powerful:

“And it was a sight to behold, he said, how a soul would choose its life; sometimes pitiable, sometimes laughable at times wonderful and strange. For in most cases, the souls made their choice according to the habits of a former life.”

I couldn’t find where this was from, or if it was a quote from anything. But googling it does bring up Plato’s Allegory of The Cave, which I thinks tracks pretty well. I found a quote from this chapter of Plato’s The Republic, which is strikingly similar in meaning. For the sake of my sanity, lets assume that this quote is referencing this one from Plato:

“And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being, and he will pity the other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light, there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets him who returns from above out of the light into the cave.”

If you’re unfamiliar with the allegory of the cave, it’s a philosophical discussion from Plato’s The Republic. It’s about how human perception is limited, and so true knowledge comes from the self via philosophical reasoning. Much like humans imprisoned in a cave with only shadows as their entire world, we cannot imagine the true world outside the cave until we leave to see it for ourselves. Those who are freed from this limited reasoning have a duty to go back and free others, subjecting them to the full experience of awakening; both the pain and the triumph it entails. V starts out with a limited perception of things; a surface-level world, never stopping to see the bigger picture, until Johnny comes along and encourages them to question the status quo. In all other endings, V accepts this enlightenment. They challenge Arasaka, and try to follow Johnny’s legacy and Stick It To the Man. Yet if they accept Hanako’s offer in an attempt to return to “the habits of a former life,” they are rejecting this new understanding, refusing to leave the cave and live in ignorant bliss. This, I believe, is where Johnny’s true feeling of betrayal comes from: not because he’s being shredded, and not because he thinks V doesn’t know any better. V learned and changed just as much as he did, and this growth was something they were able to gift to one another. Johnny is proud of his change, proud to be someone trusted by V, proud at a second chance not to fuck things up. When V gives him control to go with Rogue to Arasaka, he’s ecstatic to prove himself worthy of that trust, to prove that he’s changed. Yet V, the person who aided in that change, is now actively ignoring and rejecting their own growth, and thus is betraying themselves. By not using their enlightenment to actively oppose the status quo and rebel, they are choosing the side of the oppressor by default.

Some of her last words if you choose not to sign the contract are to Goro, “You have no idea how good it feels to be free.” But the truth is, V is not free, and now they will never be free. By walking the path they have, they are choosing willful ignorance, stubbornly clinging to the darkness of the cave because it is easier to convince oneself that they are not a prisoner at all than it is to leave the comfort of one’s chains. Either way, they are caged, even if the bars the rich and powerful build around her are clear instead of solid. Her so-called freedom (and knowledge) is pure illusion — shadows depicted on a cave wall.

67 notes · View notes

kingdomtual · 3 years

Text

Okay I just finished watching Imitation and I’m gonna give a review, idk why but I have a lot of feelings LOL gonna write this without giving away big plot points so no spoilers for you if you wanna know if you want to watch it or not (probably everyone already has but whatever I’m usually late to the show)

Things I liked about it:

- Imitation was a really interesting drama because it didn’t focus on all the fun stuff of the idol world like a lot of idol dramas do. It’s main focus ends up being more on the struggles idols have to deal with, mainly pertaining to the dating issue but instead of putting it fully on the labels for keeping their artists from dating it also focused on how sasaengs think, talk, and react about their idols dating which I thought was a nice touch because that SURE IS REAL LIFE. (unfortunately they kinda drop that plot point as it goes on, but whatever)

- It also had plot points pertaining to mistreatment of idols by the industry and their labels, which was another thing that I liked about it. It’s a tough world, and it should be more mainstream that we know about and find ways to help idols as they’re dealing with all of this. Idk it’s just something that should be talked about more, so I’m glad they did.

- The cast was beyond fantastic. I think that’s honestly what made the show for me. Obviously the casting director knew the draw would be having actual idols in their show, but even those who were just actors were absolutely fantastic and did a great job in each of their roles. Dojin and Hyuk were obviously my favorites, but I think they’re everyone’s favorites LOL their acting chemistry was spot on and it really felt like they had been bffs for years.

- LA RI MA. Queen, icon. Absolutely in love with her tbh. What I really loved about her is that she started off being a rival for Ryeok to Ma Ha, and I thought to myself, ‘Great. She’s gonna end up being a flat character.’ but I think she ended up having the most character growth in the entire story, besides maybe Ryeok. The way she is so confident, knows her worth, and takes care of those around her makes her such an enjoyable character to watch. Every scene she’s in she totally steals, I love her LOL

- The last two episodes definitely make the entire show worth watching. They’re really full of heart, you get so excited, and watching them perform is really cool. I won’t give away any of the ending, but it is worth it!

Things I didn’t like:

There are a few things that made me feel ‘meh’ about the show. It kinda felt like there were a lot of plot points that dragged on a bit too much for me. This is totally a personal opinion so like obviously you might feel different! Cool.

- So, the idea that the story starts out with a love triangle didn’t appeal to me at all LOL I hate that trope, but even after that ends it starts going through the whole ‘we’re idols that have to date in secret’ and all that angst that comes with that and I have to admit there were a few mid series episodes that had me so bored because it felt like I’d already seen this to some degree before. I ended up mostly enjoying whatever subplots were going on instead of the main plot. It’s not that I didn’t like their romance, but sometimes it was just SO uncomfortable because they were uncomfortable LOL idk, romance plots are not usually my jam, but there are enough other elements to make the show enjoyable for me.

- Struggles would come up and then immediately not be an issue by the next episode. I know this is only a 12 episode drama (which I think is a shame, I think if it had been 16-20 episodes then it actually would have fared so much better but alas) but I feel like...I mean if a massive contract issue comes up and can be resolved with a quick call or an article being written, then it wasn’t an issue...and yet the fact that two idols are having angst over dating can be drawn out over the course of 4 episodes just didn’t make sense to me LOL like you’d think the dating issue would have been resolved faster than a contract issue? idk maybe it’s just me.

- Eunjo’s plot, which is essentially a subplot until the end of the show, is far more interesting than most of what goes on LOL I almost would have liked to have that mystery be woven more thoroughly through the show instead of it being sprinkled in occasionally and then BOOM at the end it all comes together. I just think it might have had more impact.

- GROUP DYNAMICS. Bruh! This is what I really wanted okay? LOL I mean obviously the focus is mostly on Ryeok and Ma Ha but god I would have loved having more scenes with group dynamics and seeing how they actually all get along instead of making the other members all side characters until the very end when we see that they actually all care about each other. I didn’t even know Jaewoo was the leader of SHAX until the end of the show, man LOL like it would have been nice to see more from him, and all of the others, especially since Jaewoo was essentially a snitch to the their label owner for so long and ending up having so much guilt over it, but we never saw that until the last episode.

I also think I would have preferred to have seen more of the past SHAX with Eunjo, because Ryeok was apparently his bff and yet we don’t really get to see any of that, you know? We just hear about it. This show does a lot of telling instead of showing and I do think that’s because of the episode limit, but it’s just a shame. I think the ending would have been more impactful if we’d gotten to see them altogether more at the beginning.

- If you’ve decided to watch Imitation solely for Seonghwa and San, I’d advise against it LOL they have like two lines per episode they’re in (which isn’t all of them, Sparkling is barely in the show aside from Yoojin(Yunho)) and basically they don’t get to say or do much of anything until the end LOL I get that Sparkling is a secondary character group, basically, but it would have been nice to have seen more dynamics from them, too. I think Seonghwa and San could have honestly been like Dojin and Hyuk, the comedy duo of SHAX, but they just didn’t have the time or whatever, I suppose. Like I don’t even know Seonghwa’s character’s name LOL the only reason I know San’s character’s name is Minsu is because they said it once at the second to the last episode. LOL so, just a warning. But you atinys will be fed by seeing much Yunho and Jongho, I promise.

I also would have loved to have seen more group dynamics from Sparkling, as I said, because until the 11th episode, I think, I don’t even see them really being like, “guys! I love you all, let’s stick together until the end!” which really confused me bc my dude Hyun Oh was literally causing property damage and giving them a problematic image but apparently they were good with that LOL idk idk

- The whole sasaeng issue gets dropped right before the ending and I thought that was rather strange since up until that point sasaengs had been one of the main roadblocks for the romance plot and they had been rather vile and annoying LOL unfortunately the show often had to skip over or completely drop or quickly resolve a lot of the large ongoing issues in order to come to a conclusive end and I thought that was a bit sad but I do understand why. Can only do so much with 12 episodes.

Overall opinion:

I really enjoyed it. I know I have some critically things to say, but as a writer I just kept seeing plot holes and had to talk about them briefly LOL (or not briefly because idk how to be brief) I think that the tone of the story was good, and that what they were trying to convey through this story was also good. I think it does give an idealistic image of idols freeing themselves from the oppressive evil labels and living the way they want, because unfortunately that’s not always a viable option, however it did remind me of Hyuna and Dawn’s story in a way and that warmed my heart! Love conquers all, my dude, we love to see it.

I would honestly love to watch more idol dramas like Imitation that star idols and therefore we get some sick performances and awesome music and it tells an interesting and somewhat realistic story! I think it’s something anyone can enjoy, even if for me it did get a little long in the middle with all the romance stuff LOL the ending was totally worth it for me, I think it’ll be worth it for you!

#imitation kdrama #kdrama #uhh yeah just me talking I guess!#tl;dr I liked it LOL and it's fun #but some of it was long :)

10 notes · View notes

whatareyousearchingfordean · 4 years

Text

Happiness Begins

Part 25

Chapter Summary: The reader finds herself dragged to a charity event by her big brother. What will she do when she finds out what he really has planned for her?

Word Count: 4.6K+

Warnings: Language, angst

Author’s Note: Well, here it is. The final part. I am honestly amazed I even made it here. This story turned into a true monster from its original inception. I know I would have never made it here without all of your guys’ love and support. Your feedback means the world, so keep it up. You never know whose day you might make. I hope this is all you dreamed it would be if not, don’t blame me, I just typed this shit out ha. xo Alex

Catch up with the series masterlist and check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly!

Jared had insisted that Y/n ride with him and Gen to the fundraiser he had begged that she go to in the first place. He knew her too well, after all. If Y/n didn’t want to go somewhere, she was exceptionally good at getting out of it. But their sharing of a ride to the event left her without a number of excuses. So she bit the bullet and just accepted her fate. After all it was for a good cause, and she was authorized to make a donation on behalf of Et Cetera.

Y/n followed behind her brother and his wife into the event, the two of them practically skipping, their fingers entwined between them. The sight made her both smile and her stomach turn.

Out Youth Austin had organized this little shindig at the country club that Jared frequented in town. It was the perfect sunny afternoon for a party. Y/n laughed to herself as she took in the image in front of her. It reminded her too much of the final scene from Step Brothers, well, minus the ocean in the background and the giant ice sculpture of a helicopter.

The place was bustling, there was a live band playing some song she didn’t recognize, but they had a certain aura about them that was infectious. The charity had also decided on a fully catered Texas style barbeque, complete with lots of alcohol. Y/n mumbled a silent ‘thank you’ to whatever was listening as she spotted the bar. Silently she slipped away from her brother and towards the bar, looking for something cold and fruity to keep her sated.

Jared noticed her absence almost instantly, taking the opportunity of her departure to initiate his plan. Well technically, her spotting the bar was step one of his plan, which she had fallen for hook line and sinker. Genevieve stood begrudgingly by his side, also in on said plan, no matter how much she truly hated it. The things we do for love...

“She’s going to kill you when she finds out, you know that?” Gen whispered to her husband as he was bent over the sign-in table.

“I can handle myself. Besides, I’m sure she’ll thank me later.”

“You have a lot of confidence in that. I hope you are right.” Gen mumbled. Jared made a face at his wife as if to say ‘trust me’. He knew full well how badly this could go, but he also understood how good it could all work out. Things were still tense between himself and his baby sister and at this point he could lose her either way. He at least had to try this.

Once they had signed themselves and Y/n in, they went to find her with their seating assignment. She was reluctant to go too far from the bar, earning a sour look from Jared. Like a scolded child, she followed him to their table, a small frown on her face.

Once she knew where she was to eat dinner, she left them again to network. Jared and Gen were quick though to follow her into the crowd. They stuck to her like glue the whole time, unwilling to let her out their sight. After all, she didn’t want to be here in the first place, making her a flight risk in Jared’s eyes. And he couldn’t exactly lose her if he wanted this to work. He also was there to steer her in the right direction. After all he couldn’t risk her seeing something she shouldn’t and ruining everything.

Y/n, on the other hand, couldn’t understand her family’s odd behavior. Everytime she turned around, there were Jared and Gen. It didn’t matter where she went or who she was talking to, they were always a step behind her, making the young woman uneasy. Y/n chose to brush off their peculiar actions, chalking it up to Jared’s lack of trust in her.

The dinner was served about an hour after the three of them had arrived at the venue. The food that was served was like nothing she had ever tasted before. It gave a true definition to southern style cooking. Y/n made a mental note to get the caterer’s information from whomever she could pry it from.

Y/n quirked her head up as the music died down from the stage and the audience was applauding. A spritely woman, who Y/n deemed to only be a few years older than herself, bounced onto the stage, taking the mic from the lead singer, “Desert is about to be served, we hope you all enjoy it as it was made right here in Austin. We have about thirty minutes until the auction starts, so get your wallets out and ready.” The organizer rushed off the stage just as quick as she came to a hoopa from the crowd. Y/n turned back to her brother, her brow scrunched together on her forehead.

“You didn’t say there would be an auction.” She noted, confusion written on her features. Gen suddenly became very interested in the ice cream now being placed in front of her as Y/n spoke. Y/n picked up on the way the woman averted her eyes, not daring to look up at her sister in law.

“I didn’t? I could have sworn I did...” Jared’s voice was high as he played her comment off.

Y/n hummed, annoyance now bubbling up in her chest. “No, you didn’t.” Her tone was firm with her resolution. “Jared, what are they auctioning off?” She had to ask the question even though, based on her family's sudden change in demeanor, she was afraid she didn’t truly want to know the answer.

“Oh, you know, just the usual.”

“Jared.” Y/n set her lips in a tight line as she glared at her brother. He was up to something, and she knew it was going to piss her off.

“They are auctioning off dates with local eligible bachelorettes.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal. A huff of air left her lips as the realization dawned on her. Y/n closed her eyes.

“Please tell me you didn’t…”

“I did.”

“Jared! You signed me up to be auctioned off like some cattle to a strange old rich guy? I can’t believe you!” Y/n threw her napkin on the table and moved to leave. Jared grabbed her arm, an action that only sent more fire through her veins. She tugged her arm from his grasp. “Don’t.”

“Y/n.” Jared’s voice was soft as he attempted to not draw more attention to themselves than had already been drawn. “It’s for a good cause. Please? Who knows, maybe this could be exactly what you need.”

Y/n stared at him, incredulous. His words didn’t make any sense to her. Jared said ‘this could be exactly what she needed’? What does that even mean?

“You can’t back out now, they already have your name. Think about how that would look.” Jared raised his eyebrows at her and she could only clench her jaw. He was right, and that only pissed her off. He was smarter than she cared to admit.

“I hate you for doing this to me.” Y/n growled as she sat back down in her seat. Jared smiled, the action quickly faltering when he realized she would not be smiling back at him.

The sun was just beginning to fall towards the horizon as the auction started. Jared explained that Y/n was to stay in her seat until they introduced her, then she would head up on stage. The whole notion of selling dates with women churned at her gut, causing her to leave her desert untouched.

As much as she hated the idea, she was in this now. There was no way she could go back without making herself and the charity look like fools, and she hated that Jared knew that too. The only saving grace that was helping her hold back the bile in her throat was that she knew it was all for charity.

She did a quick check of her makeup as woman after woman was sold to the highest bidder. One more girl was sent off to her fate, when the announcer introduced Y/n as the next prize. She made her way to the stage, her head held high and a polite smile on her face.

“Miss Padalecki is a seasoned and truly talented makeup artist. She studied at E.I. School of Professional Makeup in Hollywood and has worked on multiple television shows, including the one in which her dear older brother, Jared Padalecki, stars; Supernatural. This beautiful woman also owns her own makeup line headquartered right here in Austin; Et Cetera. Shall we start the bidding at one thousand dollars?” Multiple hands went up before she could get the words out, much to Y/n’s surprise. The number jumped to five thousand dollars before she even had a chance to blink.

“Ten thousand.” A hand in the far corner went up and her eyes immediately snapped towards the voice. Y/n would recognize that voice anywhere and her suspicion was confirmed when she locked eyes with those familiar golden green orbs. Her breath caught in her throat as she finally understood what Jared had been talking about. He had set this all up, reasons for which she didn’t understand. Last she knew, the two of them hadn’t even been on talking terms. What had she missed?

A few more people out bid Jensen, and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved about that or not. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if she should be relieved. But Jensen, the stubborn ass he was, wasn’t letting her go that easily, coming back with a counter offer of a good three grand over the last one. He was dead set on making sure he won this one.

“Eighteen thousand.” Some guy called from a table in the front, but she didn’t even glance his way. The steady drumming in her chest began to pick up pace, threatening to burst from her chest as she waited with bated breath, her eyes never leaving Jensen.

“Twenty five thousand.” Y/n scoffed, if he won this thing she was going to punch him for spending this kind of money on her, especially when he could have just called her. It was a stupid, ostentatious gesture, but that being said, she couldn’t deny the butterflies it had awoken in her gut.

“Do I hear twenty six?” The auctioneer called out. It was quiet. “Going once,” Still silence. “Twice… Sold to paddle 853. Thank you so much for your generous donation.” Y/n let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. A hand found her elbow and began to guide the stunned woman off the stage.

Her body was shaking as she fought her conflicting emotions. On one hand, she was relieved that she wasn’t stuck with an awkward night with a stranger, but on the hand, she was pissed at Jensen and her brother for setting her up. Jared met her stare across the tables and she glared before stomping off across the golf course to get her some space to think.

Her heels were just hitting the pavement of the far side of the parking lot when she heard someone calling her name behind her. She didn’t want to turn just yet to face the man she knew had chased after her, but she had nowhere else to go.

“Y/n, wait!” Jensen tried again as the woman spun on her heel to face him, the confusion evident even behind the anger in her eyes. “Listen, I know you’re mad-”

“Damn right I’m mad! You two had no right to do this. If you wanted to talk to me, you could have just picked up the phone. Why go through all this?” She seethed.

“Would you have answered if I called?” He asked her, his head tilting even though he already knew the answer.

“That’s not the point.” She mumbled. Though honestly, she couldn’t answer him as to whether or not she would have answered. Right now she wanted nothing more than to say no, just to pour salt in his wounds, but she couldn’t do that.

“It’s exactly the point, Y/n/n.” Jensen’s voice dropped as he made his point. “If it helps, it was all Jared’s idea.” Jensen tried to ease the tension with a small smile and she hated how her body instinctively reacted to it with a smile of its own. She quickly composed her face as soon as she realized her slip.

“I think that makes you feel better, not me.” She answered honestly.

“You’re probably right.” Jensen let his shoulders fall as he looked at her. Y/n looked just as stunning as he remembered, if not more so. That fact only had his heart clenching in his chest, the evidence of his mistakes standing in front of him. As he admired her tanned skin where it showed dark in contrast against her yellow dress, the way her hair fell in waves framing all the high points in her face, and even the tension in her jaw as she fought herself to let him see her smile, all the reasons for his past choices seemed irrelevant. This woman standing in front of him had his whole heart. He understood that now. There was no one else that he would ever love more than her.

“I know I may not be your favorite person right now, but I won’t take back what we did. All I’m asking is that you listen to what I have to say.”

Y/n chewed on the inside of her lip as she eyed the man in front of her. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, his features pulled down as he pleaded with her. And no matter how much she wanted to tell him to fuck off, she couldn’t. All she could do was nod.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, six o’clock?” Jensen offered.

“Six o’clock.” Y/n confirmed before turning away and leaving him at the edge of the parking lot.

****

Y/n stared at her open closet, contemplating how she should dress for this. Honestly, she knew full well she was overthinking all of it. It didn’t matter what she wore, but she also knew that it was just her anxiety’s way of diverting from the real problems raging in her head.

Eventually she just landed on a pair of jeans and a nice blouse. She paired it with her favorite sneakers. In the end, she decided she just wanted to be comfortable.

Y/n was making sure she had what she needed in her purse when there was a soft knock on her door.

Taking a deep breath, she went to the light wooden door and pulled it open. Jensen had a soft smile on his face as he came into view. He was sporting a pair of dark wash jeans, paired with a soft looking tee. It seemed he went just as casual as she had, topping off his look with a pair of converse.

“You look beautiful.” He noted as his eyes racked up her figure. Heat flooded her cheeks under his intense gaze.

Y/n cleared her throat, not wanting to dwell on his compliment. “Shall we go?” Jensen stepped back, signalling for her to exit. Y/n locked up behind herself and headed down the stairs outside her door that lead to the parking lot.

Once they were pulling out of the lot, Y/n could feel his gaze on her from the driver's seat. It made her uncomfortable and hot all at the same time. “Mind paying attention to the road, you aren’t fake driving here.” She turned to him just as he snapped his head back to the road.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel weird.”

“It’s okay. Truly this whole thing is weird.” Y/n admitted, her voice low.

“I’m sorry.” Jensen repeated himself. Y/n rolled her eyes at that, it grated on her nerves more than it should have.

“Jensen, you’ve got to stop saying ‘I’m sorry’. It won’t make a difference.” What she wanted to say was it wouldn’t make a difference because she had already forgiven him. What she wanted to say was he was wasting his breath. But she didn’t, just because she forgave him didn’t mean that everything was rainbows and butterflies. Jensen still owed her an explanation. And besides, it was fun to watch him squirm a little. Her comment had officially shut him up, for now. She could see where his jaw was clenched as he kept his eyes fixed directly ahead. It almost made her feel guilty… almost.

Jensen pulled off towards McKinney Falls State Park, parking in a secluded spot under a tree. He hopped out of the car without a word. She watched him as he walked around the car and opened her door for her, offering her his hands as she stepped out. With a silent ‘thank you’ he let go of her hand and went to his trunk. Y/n couldn’t help her curiosity, only to have it satiated as he pulled out a small cooler and a rolled up blanket.

“A picnic?” It was hard for her to hide the upturn of her lips.

“Yeah, last I remember you liked my cooking. And I thought you would feel more comfortable away from my place.” Y/n cast her eyes away from him. It was a sweet gesture, and she had to fight the tears stinging in her eyes. Sometimes she really hated how easily she cried.

“Lead the way.” Jensen moved past her into the relatively empty park. The whole place was huge, leaving plenty of space for people to spread out. They were walking for she didn’t even know how long, when he finally picked a spot under a large oak tree near the water. Jensen tossed the blanket out for them to take a seat on and placed the cooler in the center.

“Come on.” He urged her to follow his lead as he sprawled out on the blanket. The grown man looked hilarious as he tried to find a comfortable position. Y/n crossed her legs and sat up straight across from him, waiting intently for him to start unpacking whatever it was that he had. “I didn’t think this through.” He admitted as he continued to shuffle around.

“Just lean back against the tree.” She gestured to him and took it upon herself to pull items from his cooler. She started with the two bottles of sweet tea, then a tupperware container filled with what looked like coleslaw, followed by two bags of chips and some sandwiches. Y/n handed off Jensen his share then grabbed the forks and moved to sit next to him, her back resting against the tree. She set the container of coleslaw between them and handed Jensen a fork before turning her attention to the sandwich. Y/n took a bite, her taste buds exploding with flavor with one bite.

“Holy,” She mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“Yeah?” Y/n nodded, she could never deny his cooking abilities, especially considering this was one of the best sandwiches she’s ever had. How the hell does he do that? “You should try the coleslaw, it’s grandma Ackles’ secret recipe.”

Y/n covered her mouth as she swallowed her bite. “Okay.” she agreed. Jensen filled the fork with the dish and held it out for her to eat. Her mouth closed around the utensil, her lips pulling all of the tangy salad into her mouth. Jensen had to bite back his groan as he watched her movement, followed by her eyes rolling up in her head. After all this time, she still had that effect on him, and he knew she always would.

“Good?” The tip of Jensen’s tongue was peaking out of the corner of his mouth as he waited.

“That’s amazing, like really amazing. What does she put in that?” Y/n hummed.

“Sorry, I promised her I would take her secret to the grave.”

“Your grandma Ackles was a very mean woman.” Jensen laughed as a pout formed on Y/n’s features. He had to avert his attention elsewhere. Y/n could have gotten him to do anything she wanted with that pout. It was unfair, really.

“She actually kind of was.” Jensen mused, remembering the strict yet loving woman.

The two of them continued their picnic in relative silence. Everything Jensen had put together was beyond delicious. It amazed Y/n how he could make something so simple taste so delicious. But she never doubted the man, after all he was annoyingly good at everything.

Once the food began to dry up, they both knew that they were just postponing the inevitable. For once, Y/n found the courage to just bite the bullet. “Well, you have me here. I’m listening.”

“Okay...” Jensen sucked in a breath as he brushed the chip crumbs from his fingers. “Gotta be honest, I’m not exactly sure where to start. I’ve gone over what I would say in this moment since you left Vancouver, but nothing ever quite came out right.” His hands rubbed up and down his jean clad thighs, one of the other nervous habits that Y/n had quickly picked up on from him. He cast his glance down for a moment, before looking back at her. Her eyebrows were perked up on her forehead as she waited in silence.

“Jared and I have talked. We’ve actually been talking for a couple weeks.”

“I’m glad.” And she was glad for the both of them. They were important to each other and they deserved to be in each other’s lives. As much as she hated how much their mistakes broke her relationship with her brother, she also hated what it did to Jensen and Jared’s relationship.

“He actually came to me and we hashed out our differences. I mean we aren’t where we used to be but I think with time we will get there. He told me you guys are talking again too.”

“Yeah, well it’s debatable how long it will last this time.” Y/n grumbled. She was still pissed at him for lying to her and she felt like being dramatic about it for a while.

“Y/n/n, we messed up, I messed up. We went about this all the wrong way. But I don’t take back leaving you, because it did give you a chance to make up with your brother, and that’s all I ever wanted, your happiness.” Jensen admitted.

Y/n pursed her lips, pushing down the fight building in her chest. “So why are we here then?”

“Because you’re not happy Y/n.”

“And you know that how?” She pushed back.

“Jared told me you are thinking about selling Et Cetera.”

“So that means I’m unhappy?”

“Yeah, it does. I know you better thank you want to believe. Selling the most cherished thing to you and moving across the country away from everyone and everything that you love is not like you. The woman I fell in love with fights for what she believes in, for what she wants. And I can’t let you go without telling you it’s a mistake.”

“All of this is just you telling me what is best for me again. I don’t see how it’s any different than the last fight we had.”

“It’s different because you know it too. You’re running, and don’t try to lie to me. I know this is about me.”

“So what if it is? I reserve the right to make my own life decisions.”

“You’re absolutely right, you do. But I can’t let you do that without knowing all the facts. Y/n, I love you, and selfishly I don’t want you to go. Walking out that door in Vancouver left this emptiness in my chest that’s suffocating me. Everyday I wake up wondering how you are doing, and if you are okay. You’re the first person I wanted to call when my manager set up this big audition for me, and you were the first person I wanted to call when I didn’t get the part.” Jensen let out a huff, composing himself before continuing. “I just couldn’t let you go without knowing that.”

Y/n was at a loss for words, for the first time in a long time. That was quite the admission, and what was one to say to that? “What about Danneel?” It was the only thing she could come up with in the moment, her words startling even her.

Jensen smiled. “I was hurting and needed a friend to talk to. I was looking for advice on how to get myself out of this funk. Danneel knows me just as good as anyone.”

“What did she tell you to do?”

“She said that if I love you, and you love me then we would find our way back to each other, even if I had to go and get you.”

“So this is you just coming to get me then.” Y/m mused to herself, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “What if I don’t love you?”

“Then I’ll walk away, and you can go to New York and be a big successful business woman that lives out all her dreams. But only if that’s what you truly want.” He paused and shifted himself towards her more. “Is that what you want?”

Y/n swallowed, the motion getting stuck in her throat. “No, I want you. It’s always been you.”

“Then please don’t do this. Stay here and build your business big enough to scare that other company into bankruptcy.” Jensen pleaded with her. Y/n shook her head, chuckling. She knew it would come to this at some point.

“Jay, I already turned them down. You are right, I couldn’t leave my family behind, and I couldn’t leave you.”

“How long were you going to listen to me rant for?” His voice rose an octave, his thousand watt smile returning to his face.

“You were on a roll,” she shrugged. “Besides, you said all I had to do was listen.” Y/n failed miserably to hide the smile on her face. Jensen shoved at her shoulder, sending both of them into a fit of laughter.

As he got back his senses, a warm smile spread across Jensen’s face. There was one last thing they needed to clear up. “Listen, I know we still have some things to work on, but I want to work on them. You and me. What do you say?”

“You had me at ‘you look beautiful’.” Y/n licked her lips, an action not unnoticed by the man next to her. Jensen shook his head, fighting back his own smartass comment. “Seriously though, best idea I’ve heard all day.”

Jensen chuckled as he leaned himself towards Y/n. “I’d really like to kiss you now, if that’s okay.”

Y/n reached her hand out, cupping his jaw as she ran her thumb over the stubble on his face. “You are such a sap sometimes.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“And an idiot.” She finished with a roll of her eyes, all the while smiling like an idiot herself, before leaning into him and bringing his lips to her own. At that moment, it didn’t matter what had happened in the past. It didn’t even matter what was going to happen in the future. All that mattered was that he loved her and she loved him. And all the rest, well, it would fall into place, one way or another.

Epilogue

Forevers: @spn-impala @22sarah08 @turtlepad @callmekda @chaldei @hobby27 @cowboysnwinchesters @tranquility-or-chaos @pikabootoyouchu @dawnie1988 @grease222 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @polina-93 @clarinette07 @moonlight-babeh @suckerforfanfic @witandnargles @sleepylunarwolf @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @geeksareunique @akshi8278 @superfanficnatural @malfoysqueen14 @deanwanddamons @waywardbeanie @emoryhemsworth @talesmaniac89 @waywardbeanie

Et Cetera: @jbbarnesgirl @hillface89 @arses21434 @thevelvetseries @sslater34 @mrsirishboru @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @encounterthepast @facadeformyrealblog @supernatural-bellawinchester @screechingartisancashbailiff @rebeccathefangirl @squirrelnotsam @heartinmyhead1 @1d-killed-me @samsgirl93 @deans-baby-momma @deanmonandnegansbitch @woodworthti666 @supraveng @onethirstyunicorn @heartsaved @know2grow @littlewhiterose @surprisinglysarah @stoneyggirl @carryon-doctor-lock @thebookisbtr @youaremyfiveever @kalesrebellion @lilulo-12 @winchester-fantasies @vicmc624 @supernatural3002 @winchester-writes @maralisa124 @therollingstoners @parinarain @kaz11283 @charmed-asylum

250 notes · View notes

youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 4 years

Text

Wasting Time | Diego Hargreeves

✦ pairing — Diego Hargreeves x Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 4.1k

✦ summary— you’re an anti-love loner who somehow managed to get matched to someone by an enthusiastic and friendly pro-love super person.

✦ warnings — some angst, I think this has some comedy, probably language, Asha (OC) is a sweetheart and I would die for her, fluff.

✦ a/n — this is a repost due to tagging issues from a week-ish ago

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Your mom left the restaurant in a hurry. She had a friend to meet up with, she reminded you a few times throughout the meal as she complained about your lack of romantic partner and friends.

Romance wasn’t for you. It didn’t even make sense. There wasn’t much to it, you had never seen it end well.

As for friendships, you had never been good at bonding with people. Back in college, you had hollow acquaintanceships at best, transactional relationships like most tended to be.

You were supposed to meet up with your mom to catch up after a couple of busy weeks, but you had sadly forgotten how intense she got with the topic of love.

She acted like you would never be happy on your own. Perhaps there was some truth in there, but if there was, she would have to take responsibility because she was complicit.

A random person tapped your shoulder. Craning your neck to the side to acknowledge them, you waited for them to say whatever it was they needed from you.

“Hi! I’m Asha!”

“I’m not interested,” you breathed out, looking past her to ask for the check.

Asha sat down in front of you. “I know you think love is a waste of time, you’re not the first and you won’t be the last, but all of you are wrong.”

You were sure Asha’s intentions were pure, but you didn’t need to hear fairytale-like arguments for love. And you definitely didn’t feel comfortable around eavesdroppers.

She followed you to the parking lot, spewing things about how beautiful romance was. Nothing you hadn’t heard before in songs and films. Which meant everything she was saying was bullshit.

Pulling the door of your car open, you snapped at her, “Could you please leave me alone?!”

You wished it had worked. She started following you throughout the day, smiling at you and asking you if you had changed your mind.

Surrounded by sweet smell and beautiful colors, you walked through the farmers market. You didn’t even understand how had she been able to follow you by foot when you were driving, but you wouldn’t let her ruin this.

“Strawberries are aphrodisiacs.”

“They taste good in smoothies,” you countered, paying for the berries and nodding as a thank you to the vendor.

Someone grabbed Asha by the arm. “What do you think you are doing?”

Asha gasped, smiling brightly. “Diego! This is perfect.”

A sharp sting went through your arm. You had always attracted mosquitoes, but their bites had never made you feel weird.

And boy, did you feel weird. The urge to hug the man in front of you overcame you, and as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, he opened his arms for you.

“He’s cuddly, right?” Asha’s sweet tone filled your ears.

Well, yes. His shirt was soft and he smelled good, extremely good — holy shit, why couldn’t other men smell like him?

“Your hair smells so good,” he blurted.

What a nice voice! His words and tone gave you goosebumps. Your stomach flipped as his arms tightened around your waist, prompting you to take a better whiff of his cologne.

You hoped he would never let go of you. It was hot outside yet you needed his warmth like you needed air.

Wait, what?

You pulled away from him, trying to find an excuse as to why you had hugged a stranger.

And why had you liked it?

Asha grabbed your hand and placed it on top of his. “This is Diego,” she introduced him to you, “he’s meant to be your romantic partner for life.”

Diego sighed, withdrawing his hand. “What have I told you about doing this?!”

“She wasn’t joking?” You asked, eyes going back and forth between the two.

He shook his head. “Have you heard of The Umbrella Academy?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Yeah. All of you are superheroes.”

“Her powers are like Cupid’s.”

“Cupid’s behavior was childish at first,” Asha defended herself. “Mine isn’t.”

You waited for the punchline of the joke. It never came. He was 100% serious and you were bound to him now.

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to get to know each other!”

Her words hit you instantly. “We don’t know each other,” you exclaimed, “I’m sure we won’t miss the other or anything...”

“We can just avoid each other!” Diego completed your thought, nodding along. “Perfect. I’m sorry for my sister.”

You swatted a hand. “No biggie.”

Oh, how wrong you had been. You spent your entire afternoon eating strawberries and watching tv, wondering what Diego was doing.

The subsequent days weren’t too different. Not from the strawberry part, you ran out of those too quickly.

You had many questions, less about the bond or whatever it was called and more about him. What he liked and disliked, why he did so...

It was stupid and pointless.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

You stretched, whining. You couldn’t sleep, no matter which position you tried or what remedy from the Internet you put to the test.

A knock was bestowed upon the door. You whined again, throwing your sleep mask onto the bed and reaching for your pajama pants.

You turned the lights on as you crossed the apartment on your way towards the door. Noisily, you unlocked it.

Diego waved at you, trying to smile. He had a busted lip that was bleeding just like his eyebrow.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

“I— I d—don’t...”

You frowned, grabbing him by the front of his vest to pull him into the apartment. Closing the door, you softly asked, “Do you need water?”

Diego shook his head, lifting his hands for you to give him a moment. You extended an arm, inviting him to take a seat in the living room.

Observing how swollen his face was, you walked toward the kitchen and looked for something to put on the area.

Fuck, you should’ve saved that ice just in case. Oh, well, a pack of frozen cauliflower and broccoli would do.

You pressed the cold bag on his cheek, waiting for him to hold it to let go of it. He grunted a thank you.

“Did your vigilante thing go wrong?”

Diego moved the bag for a moment to speak properly. “I felt like shit and needed to see you. I feel better now.”

“Yeah, that’s called codependency.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

You sighed, throwing your head back to rest it against the wall. “I am not blaming you.”

”You’re taking this too calmly. How?”

“I’m used to being by myself all the time, it looks like you are not.”

“You don’t feel like you can’t breathe without me?”

“No.” His disappointed look was the worst thing you had ever been forced to see in your life. The pang in your chest stopped when you told him, “I feel better when I see you, though. Less anxious.”

“Why do you think it is?”

You shrugged. “Maybe love doesn’t feel the same for everyone. Or whatever Asha did to us.”

His heart skipped a beat. “That sounds nice. Us.”

“Are you going soft on me?”

Diego pursed his lips together, glaring at you. He immediately hissed.

You took the bag off his hand and put it back into the freezer. Exchanging the pack for a ziplock bag with pineapple, you carefully rested it on his jaw, making sure it touched his lip too.

“Baby...”

“Don’t,” you warned him, ignoring the thrill down your spine upon hearing the pet name.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Every night you waited for him to knock upon your door, and although he didn’t do it every day of the week, you always opened.

He had hugged you once or twice in greeting. Much to your dismay, it had felt nice.

This specific time he hugged you tighter, holding you for as long as you allowed him to. It saddened you, knowing this was the highlight of his day. And yours.

Before meeting him, you went to bed early and woke up at dawn. Now you happily skipped sleep to hang out with him.

Diego was nice when he wasn’t being overbearing, funny even. But you would never tell him that.

“Can’t you make your sister undo it?” You asked, opening a bottle of beer for him. His favorite brand, which you had started buying after he brought a pack a few weeks ago.

He took a swig of beer. “It can’t be undone, that’s the point.”

“I won’t feel cheated on if you find someone else,” you assured him.

“But I want you!”

“Diego, I’m not made for this, okay? It doesn’t matter if I want it or not.”

“I have the worst fucking luck in the world,” he lamented, gulping down half of his beverage. “My girlfriends either die, try to kill me and my family, or hate me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, the only boyfriend I’ve had got married to the cousin I hate the most.”

“He’s a dick. I’m hotter than him.”

Well, you weren’t going to deny that. Pouring yourself some wine, you lifted the glass to clink it with his bottle of beer.

“Is he the reason why you hate love?”

Putting the glass down after taking a gulp, you shook your head. “Not really. He was more like... the confirmation? I always thought it was a waste of time, and too absurd, and corny — but everyone I knew had a partner and I didn’t want to be left out. When he dumped me for my cousin and married her, I was proven right.”

“Well, duh.” Diego rolled his eyes playfully. “You didn’t date someone you liked.”

“I’ve never liked someone.”

“I’m offended.”

“Willingly, smartass.”

He pointed with his bottle. “What about your mom?”

“I tolerate her.”

“Dad?”

“Would kill him if I could get away with it.”

“Siblings?”

“I hate my stepbrother.”

“Asha?” He teased.

You confessed. “Oh, well, she’s nice. She means well, at least.”

“What about me?” He insisted.

Shrugging, you refilled your glass. “You’re not bad when you’re talking casually.”

“Is this about my stutter?”

“Of course not, I’m not an asshole. I just hate it when you talk about me like you need me to survive when you clearly don’t.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Closest thing you’ll get me to give you one.”

Giving you a cocky smile, he moved to sit down beside you on the floor. ”You didn’t deny it, you know?“

“Didn’t deny what?”

“That you’re my girlfriend.”

You shoved him playfully, shaking your head as you tried not to laugh. “Will you ever give up?”

“Realistically?”

Both of you chorused, “No.”

“Exactly.”

It was fabricated infatuation. He wanted an idealized version of you, like everyone did when they had crushes only to find out everything they like about their significant other or love interest is a lie made up by their own brains.

Leaving the glass to the side, you drank straight from the bottle. “Would you like me even if Asha hadn’t...”

“Yes.”

You chuckled incredulously, “Why?”

“You’re smart, responsible, really pretty — and believe or not, you’re nice.”

You cupped his cheek, blinking rapidly. His skin was soft to the touch, a little warm too. Diego leaned forward, holding your chin between his index and thumb. His lips were so close, you could practically feel his bottom lip on your upper lip.

Fully realizing what was going on as your eyes threatened to lie closed, you turned your head to the side. Your hand fell to his shoulder, middle finger grazing his neck.

“Stop leading me on!”

“I can’t help it!”

“Just give in,” he whispered on your cheek. “I won’t break your heart.”

“I will break yours.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You just complained because I lead you on.”

“And you said it wasn’t on purpose. People make mistakes in stressful situations.”

You shook your head, completely moving away from his touch as you stood up. “Feel free to crash on the couch for the night.”

Diego didn’t say anything, but you heard him leave minutes later from your bedroom.

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

Asha had insisted on befriending you. She wasn’t bad company — although too bubbly and jumpy from what you were used to, she was willing to tone it down for you.

As bad as it sounded, she also served as a distraction. And who were you kidding? It was nice to have a friend.

You waited for her to finish her ice cream cone to speak, mostly because you were scared she would stamp it on your face.

“Would you find a way to undo it if I admit to having understood the importance of love?”

Asha smiled, playing with her hands on her lap, on top of the yellow skirt you had suggested would fit her perfectly. “Why would I undo it if you understand that now?”

Focusing your eyes on the dogs playing on the grass, you admitted, “I don’t like it, I feel weak. And having someone only care about me because of your influence doesn’t help.”

“I can’t match people who are incompatible.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? That Diego and I are meant to be together because of some sort of fate?”

She giggled. “No, you just fit well together. But maybe you want it to be different...”

“I just want to have control over this, Asha! I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Why?” She tilted her head as she asked. It was like the idea was foreign to her.

“Because I miss him!” Your voice lowered then, “And I know he misses me too. He has to whether he likes it or not.”

“But you want him to do it on his own.”

You nodded, ashamed, as you felt her bright eyes on the side of your face.

“I don’t influence or manipulate what people think or feel, (Name),” she explained, resting a warm hand on your thigh in attempts to comfort you. “I only match people who will feel things similarly. That’s the gift I’ve given you and Diego, I’m sorry you haven’t been able to see it like that.”

That wasn’t comforting at all. Not now. If she had said it earlier... meh, it wouldn’t have worked. She knew you well, it seemed.

Turns out you weren’t as closed off as you liked to think.

Asha grabbed your hand, standing up as she looked at you with those big eyes of hers. They shone with determination, and for the first time since you befriended her, you felt a little scared of what she would do.

But you trusted her. Standing up, you made sure your cellphone was in your pocket and allowed her to drag you wherever she wanted to take you.

Asha made a few stops. You saw her use her powers on two gals who were clearly on a friend-date at a restaurant. According to Asha, they both were scared of telling the other how they felt. Childhood friends, she explained.

The other stop was at a coffee shop where she ordered one of those extremely sweet frappes. She made you taste it, and although you weren’t a fan and would never order something like that, you had to admit you were starting to see the appeal.

But the third stop... oh, boy, that one was unexpected. You stared up at the gymnasium’s sign, confused and a little bit offended.

“Are you implying I should start working out?”

Asha snickered. “I’m strongly suggesting you should talk to Diego.”

Right, he worked at a gym — how could you have forgotten? Scratch the unexpected part, this was the most Asha thing ever.

The place was busy with people from all genders, some of them were taking laps and others were training on the rings.

“Okay, (Name),” you whispered to yourself, “you can do this. How hard can it be?”

Too hard. The closer you got to where he was standing, the hardest you found it. Embarrassing yourself had never been something you had been through, ignoring people for decades had given you a lot of advantages and that had been your personal favorite.

You turned on your heels, determined to leave and never come back. This was such a bad idea! You were in his territory, vulnerable, and only accompanied by his sister who would probably be on his side.

“Can I help you?”

You jumped, immediately turning around. Fuck. Your throat locked up. Diego nodded upward, encouraging you to speak. He looked good, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tank top — all black as he usually did.

You couldn’t look at him in the eyes as you examined the place, looking for Asha. It didn’t look like a place where she would enjoy herself, but no one ever knew with her; she was full of surprises.

“She left already,” Diego deadpanned.

Your mouth hung open. You weren’t really surprised, but words weren’t willing to come out. This was the first time you had tried to articulate a meaningful apology.

The fake ones were so easy! You were even able to get poetic with those, making promises you didn’t intend to keep to people you weren’t going to see ever again because there had never been a reason to stay.

“You didn’t go to the market yesterday.” He tried to say it casually.

“I went to visit my mom.”

“Oh, I see tolerance is going well.”

You huffed a laugh. “Something like that. Not much luck with my stepbrother yet, though.”

“At least you’re trying.”

“I should be more open, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

You allowed silence to settle. You needed it to, it had been your best friend for so long that you didn’t know how to cope without its looming presence.

You were nervous, this was your only chance to apologize. What if he didn’t accept the apology?

“I’m sorry, Diego,” you mumbled, “I didn’t want things to go this way.”

“You didn’t want things to go at all.”

“Why would I?” You didn’t want to fight him, but you were desperate for him to see things from your perspective.

“There are a lot of reasons. I don’t think people can be happy completely alone.”

“Okay, you’re right, but you wanted me to jump into something more. Such a big leap when I’ve been living and doing most things on my own since I was 19 is scary.”

“Want,” he corrected you.

You both stood with your backs against the wall, watching the people training as they threw punches. He crossed his arms, focused on the youngest of the trainees.

You turned to look at him. “I know Asha can’t undo the bond, but you don’t need this type of connection to date someone.”

“Maybe that’s why it never worked.” Diego shrugged, sticking his bottom lip out. “I like how this feels. He added, “When you’re not turning me down.”

“So never?” you joked.

Diego chuckled, eyes still on the young trainee. He looked like a teen, no older than 15. “When we talk like this. Or when you empty your freezer to treat my swollen face...”

“Oh, so you only like me for my frozen veggies.”

“God, I wish.” Diego placed his hand on your shoulder, “Give me a moment. Don’t go!”

Nodding, you watched him approach the teen. They exchanged a few words — well, Diego seemed to be questioning the poor boy who only gave short verbal answers or moved his head to reply.

Diego threw his arm around the teen, pulling him close into a half-hug. Both got closer to you as Diego guided the teen towards the exit, still chatting.

“Thank you, Diego,” the teen said with a nod as Diego withdrew his arm from his shoulders. “Good night, Ms,” he acknowledged you.

“Good night,” you answered politely.

Diego smiled, huffing through his nose.

“Has he been training here for a while?” you asked once the young trainee had left.

Standing closer to you now, he told you more about the teen, “Brandon started last month. He’s a good kid. Stubborn, but his heart is in the right place.”

“Like you?”

Diego lifted his eyebrows, unable to hide his smile. “Did you just compliment me?”

“What would you do if I said yes?”

“You won’t like my answer.”

You bit your bottom lip. “Try me.”

He freed your lip from your teeth with his thumb, caressing it. “Don’t tempt me, baby.”

Your face heated up. God, the things Diego was doing to you...

Grinning, he bopped your nose. “You are adorable.”

“I am not trying to be adorable,” you said, scrunching your nose.

“That’s part of the charm.” He looked up, checking the time on the clock above you. “I’m technically free in less than an hour.”

“Don’t you have other things to do?”

Diego wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Rolling your eyes, you hit him on the shoulder with your fist. “The other things!”

“Oh, yeah.” He rubbed his shoulder even though you hadn’t hit him hard. “I can do them even later.”

“We can talk even later,” you tried to reason with him.

He tutted. “I know you, and you’ll find an excuse.”

You didn’t understand what Diego had done to you, or how Asha’s powers really worked, but you were willing to compromise, to show him you wanted to talk to him and fix things.

So accompanied by a sigh, you made a gesture with your hands, indicating that you would wait for him to be done.

You had never been so eager to spend time with someone, not even as a child when your neighbor would come over for a play date.

Diego casually offered his hand to you, patiently waiting for you to either take it or reject him.

Unsure, you inched your hand closer to his. He gazed down, taking the trajectory of your hand in. Sighing contently when your palm finally rested against his, he wiggled your fingers open.

His fingers fit between yours perfectly, his palm was warm and calloused, slightly scarred. Suddenly Asha’s judgment didn’t sound too bad.

Swinging your clasped hands, Diego asked more about what you had done the past week. You kept to yourself the part about missing him, but shared everything else — including that horrible fight with your dad, and the movie Asha made you see at a midnight screening.

He told you about his apartment-hunting journey and how tedious it was. You recalled his offhand comment about wanting to move out of the boiler room, so you kept to yourself the fact that he would need another job to be able to afford it.

Ruining the night was the last thing you wanted to do.

Dropping the keys onto the coffee table, you walked directly into the kitchen. He followed you, turning the lights on.

Diego opened your fridge to take a drink out and chuckled happily. “Aww, you bought my favorite beer even though we were mad at each other.”

You stood behind him, reaching for the jug of water as you corrected him, “I wasn’t mad.”

“Well, I was.”

“Not anymore?”

“Nope.”

You smiled to yourself, pouring water into a glass. He grabbed the jug from your grasp, storing it in the fridge for you.

Mirroring your smile —outshining it in your opinion— he said, “You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re flirty today.”

“I wasn’t flirting.” Diego feigned offense.

Frowning, you picked your glass and took a gulp of water. Asha tired you out earlier by dragging you all over town, but compared with how disappointing hearing him say that was, the tiredness was fine.

Placing the bottle on the counter, he clarified, “I meant that I was only stating the obvious.”

You put the glass down. “I am not used to this, sorry.”

He rested his hands on your arms. “It’s okay. I just want to know something...”

You hummed. “Anything.”

“What made you change your mind?”

You fiddled with the unbuttoned shirt he had thrown on top of his tank top. “I can’t sleep when you don’t visit.”

“That can’t be it.”

You conceded, “It’s not everything, but it sums it all up.”

“How slow do you want to go?”

You shrugged. “Do I look like I have a clue?”

“No,” he laughed. Diego inched a hand up to your neck, thumb rubbing your cheek. “Can I kiss you? I promise you can push me off you whenever you want, I won’t get mad.”

“Okay.”

Softly, he pressed his lips against yours. The slow kiss was a nice change from what you had experienced in the past, Diego wasn’t kissing you to get something more out of you or to forget about somebody else — Diego was kissing you because he wanted to do it, because he wanted you.

You pulled him closer, gripping the collar of his shirt. He smiled into the kiss, dropping his other hand to your waist.

Having Diego this close was everything but a waste of time, you decided, kissing him harder as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x plus size reader #diego hargreeves #the umbrella academy

101 notes · View notes

brokenjardaantech · 3 years

Text

absorbance of the deep (chapter 6: new duties)

kinda rambling for this because it's more of a filler chapter than anything.

also on ao3

To Simon, the decision to include him in the meeting was, quite frankly, absurd. They had never listened to him before and including him in anything was considered a waste of time - even when it was his own fault that his mind just refuses to focus on matters that didn’t interest him - so why now? It wasn’t like he could suddenly force himself to listen to their boring babbling after all these years but the fact was that he was dragged to school on a day that was supposed to be a holiday, so good luck to them to make him focus.

Unfortunately, his brain seemed to have other ideas.

‘After this incident, we have determined that Simon Parrell is no longer suitable for the school,’ the voice that said this was semi-familiar. The headmaster, maybe? His homeroom teacher? His subject teacher? Hell if he knew. It didn’t matter. ‘The students involved have been expelled, logically, but it will be up to you to decide if you would like your son to be transferred to schools that are… more to his speed.’

Simon scoffed under his breath, but it came out more like a usual exhale. ‘Meaning?’ he heard his mother ask.

‘A school for the differently talented,’ another voice, another new term. ‘It will be quite far away from here, though my understanding is that you’re planning to move to the city anyway?’

City? Simon’s mind snapped into a state of alertness. City meant being away from the sea, away from their home, away from Markus, and what would he do? Where would he be? What would become of him? He found himself shaking his head frantically; that, at least, was a gesture that both he and others understood. He didn’t want to go to the city; he wanted to stay here. This was where he belonged.

‘There will be no need,’ his father replied. ‘We already have plans for him.’

‘Oh?’ the first voice. ‘May I ask what it is? We can help you with the withdrawal, but you’ll have to give a valid reason.’

‘Someone will have to maintain the lighthouse when we’re gone. Simon can do it, can’t you?’

It took him a long time to realise that the question was directed at him instead of the school’s… whoever they were. What did his father say again? Right. Staying here. Not going to school. Being a lighthouse keeper. And although he wasn’t sure if he would be up to the task - his interest was in the ocean, in Markus - he would do everything to stay. So he nodded.

‘I’m glad,’ the second school voice said. ‘Good. The matter’s settled then. I trust you can handle the position transfer on your own?’

‘Yes, we will.’

His father stood so Simon did as well. He wanted to get out of here.

‘Good luck, Mister Parrell.’

He skipped all the way home, every brush of sea breeze against his cheek a caress, every crash of the shore an encouragement, a celebration of a monetary victory. His father, thankfully, left him be. They returned to a house that was half-emptied already. Simon’s things were left alone, naturally, just as the furniture and bigger household items, but the cushions on the sofa, the cups and dishes in the cupboard, even some of the soap and perishables - all the things Simon didn’t bother to notice before, their disappearance were felt acutely now. His father quickly vanished to find his wife, and when Daniel came downstairs with a bag full of things, instead of greeting Simon directly like he used to, his gaze darted away as if he was the one ashamed for once. ‘Do whatever you like,’ he said dismissively. ‘Just stay out of our way. Dad will brief you on what your work will be like when we’re done with packing.’

So he picked a spot he imagined he would spend a lot of time at: the top of the lighthouse. The giant lamp was turned off for the day, the ships having no need for extra light to guide their way while there is daylight. The door to the small office was unlocked because there was never a need to - no one would do such a boring-sounding job for such a small salary now, according to Josh - and he sat in the hardwood chair and brushed the pads of his fingers on the surface of the desk made out of the same material. Both of them were worn out but study and cool and smooth to the touch, and with only a two-buttoned keyer and a radio on the desk, Simon envisioned a spacious working environment. He fit his pointer and middle finger into the two keys and imagined them moulding into the shape of his fingers as time passed. His arms weren’t as long as his fathers so he would have to drag the keyer forward to make himself comfortable, but with the muted sound of the ocean as company always… he could get used to it.

He didn’t know how long he sat there idly tapping nonsense with the keyer along the beats of the sea until the door creaked open, breaking his solitude and dissipating the fog that he had shrouded himself in. ‘Care to use some company?’ North asked as she set a dictionary - a full-sized one this time, not the one he usually brought with him for convenience. Simon nodded and looked around for an extra chair, but North had already perched herself at the corner of the desk. ‘You know they’re abandoning you, right?’

Abandon? Simon frowned in confusion. He flipped to the page explaining the world and checked if it suddenly had a new definition - dictionaries get updated every year, after all - but no, it still meant the same thing. [they - are - just - leave - for - the - city - with - brother,] he manages to construct. [they - are - not - abandon - me]

‘But they are!’ North exclaimed, and Simon’s hands flew up to cover his ears from the loud noise. ‘Don’t you understand? They’re taking everything they can away! They’re moving for good, Simon! They aren’t coming back!’

Simon thought of all the empty spaces he would fill with his own things instead of being told no because there weren't any more places they could put new stuff into. He thought of a quiet house where there was no one whispering about him as if he wasn’t there at all. He thought of falling asleep at dawn to the music of the waves and then waking up at dusk to activate the lighthouse with Markus at his side one way or another. No more school, no more sudden outbursts from either his father or twin brother, no more being ignored by his mother. He would be free. [I - do - not - see - any - problem - with - it]

‘Your entire family is leaving you behind in this shithole and you don’t even care?’

Simon was offended. [this - is - not - a - shit - hole,] he argued. [I - have - mark - us - and - you - and - J - O - S -H]

North was quiet for a while, and somehow, that worried him more than her shouting. ‘You know both of us are going to leave sooner or later, don’t you?’

It gave Simon a pause, but it didn’t take long for him to realise that it made sense. [you - are - from - the - city - J - O - S -H - is - smart - so - he - also - goes - to - the - city - because - there - is - not - enough - here]

‘You will have no one.’

[I - will - have - mark - us]

‘What if you two break up?’

As if on cue, a sudden gust whipped past them as the air suddenly cooled down. Then Markus was scooping Simon up and sitting in the chair with the human on his lap. ‘Simon is my intended,’ he declared. ‘Nothing will separate us. Not distance, not time, and certainly not ourselves. Have I not proven myself to you, surfacer?’

North recovered quickly from the sea’s sudden appearance. ‘Sometimes I don’t even think you’re real,’ she muttered, and she was gone before Simon could explain himself.

Markus held him silently for a while. Are you alright? he asked, his voice quiet and soothing in Simon’s mind. I do not hold the highest regard for your family, but this -

I’m okay, Simon interrupted before the ocean could finish. I will be as long as you are with me.

The sea kissed him. Alright.

They were on solid ground, but somehow, for some reason Simon was suddenly too tired to wonder about, he felt as if he was adrift at sea on an enclosed raft, the endless gentle bobs and lulls that terrified most people the softest lullabies to his body. Markus held his hand in his, and despite his circumstances, Simon found himself falling asleep.

When Daniel finally called him downstairs for dinner, the ocean had retreated, leaving a long, slumbering human behind.

His father didn’t say a word about lighthouse keeping that night, but Josh did break the news to him when Simon’s parents dropped him off at his house for the last of their packing - whatever that meant.

‘I’ll be leaving for university after this school year ends,’ he said, straightforward both because there was no way to get around it and also due to Simon’s inability to understand anything more. ‘I have been accepted into one. Full scholarship.’

[how - to - spell]

Josh flipped to the page directly.

[good - for - you - congratulations]

‘Thank you, Simon.’

They read together in his room for a few short hours, during which Simon learnt quite a few new things about the ocean that he had to ask Markus to show him, and he happily asked Josh if he could borrow the book for tonight when it was time to go home.

‘Actually,’ Josh cleared his throat, ‘you can keep it. Forever.’

[why]

‘It isn’t like I am bringing all these -’ he gestured at the books overflowing from the ceiling-high bookshelves which lined three of the four walls - ‘with me. I’ll bring some, of course, but the rest are yours.’

Simon paused in his tracks and let himself take in everything. So Josh was leaving a lot behind, but why? Why didn’t he take everything with him like his family if he was leaving like them? And he asked as such.

‘I’ll come back and visit if I need the books, though I don’t think I will - the book part, of course. I’ll try to visit at least once per year.’

[for - how - long]

Josh shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Simon. It all depends on how busy I will be and how much it’ll cost to come back.’

For the first time since they met, Simon hated the answer his friend gave him. [just - tell - me - when - and - i - will - prepare]

‘You don’t have to -’

He hopes that his firmness goes through by his loud flipping, though the softened paper of the dictionary dampened the impact. [i - will]

‘Okay. Of course.’

They walked to Simon’s house together. Josh initially offered to help carry a few of the books so that they didn’t have to bring them all later at the same time and potentially needing to bother North to borrow her car, but Simon decided against it because he didn’t want to add to the mess that was already stressing him out; either that or it was in fact that so many things were changing suddenly was the actual reason. Either way, he made himself scarce for the next week while strangers entered the house and more and more things disappeared, and in no time, he no longer recognised his home, which felt both liberating and terrifying.

He slept in his cave in Markus’ arms that night and didn’t return until the evening when his family was scheduled to leave. They at least told him that much. He hadn’t known they had a large car, he hadn’t known his father knew how to drive, but these were just two more things on his to-forget list because it wouldn’t matter in the future.

‘Take care,’ his mother said, the first sentence she uttered to him directly in years.

‘Here,’ his father said, handing him a folder no thicker than Simon’s thumb and Simon’s thumb was thin. ‘This is all you need to know on lighthouse keeping.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Daniel said, and Simon didn’t know what he was apologising for. He didn’t ask his twin to clarify because he knew Daniel couldn’t stay.

Then they were gone, the car disappearing behind the slope that led to the lighthouse. Simon didn’t even notice that Markus had appeared until his legs finally buckled and he fell back against a warm chest. Let’s get inside, he heard the sea clearly in his mind. Tell me what they took away and what you need.

He turned on the lamp before starting to catalogue the things in the house under Markus’ guidance, discovering that he really didn’t know a lot about practical living, and at some point North and Josh arrived to help as well. There was a look in North’s eyes that Simon couldn’t decipher, but from the way Markus kept glaring at her while they, once more, substituted dinner with canned soup, it wasn’t anything good. Josh took the chance to stock up some of the books he was going to leave to Simon’s care, and North brought a few furniture catalogues and picked a combination that would bring colour to the house and made the place Simon’s properly; Simon let her choose for him because he got overwhelmed by the colours and examples on the small, thick booklets. With things settling down and their decisions made, they arranged two trips, one for groceries, one for new decor, and North and Josh left close to midnight with the promise that they would guide Simon through everything. Simon didn’t manage to process everything until the moment before he fell asleep in the cave, and he made up his mind to thank his friends properly before their eventual departure from the village.

The grocery trip wasn’t that overwhelming given the limited choice in the village’s grocery store and Markus’ and his friends’ calming presence by his side - despite the arguments between Josh and North that he mostly toned out of - but the furniture shopping was - how should he describe it?

Don’t do that again, he told Markus as they wheeled a cart full of new cushions and bedsheets out of the furniture store with too-bright lights and noisy customers. I hate this place.

Markus laughed visibly, though Simon wasn’t sure if it was silent in reality or not because it seemed to echo in his mind instead of being heard from his ear. I’ll find you something better next time.

‘Are you two gonna stand there all day while we do everything for you?’ North’s voice cut through the small bubble that somehow always appeared when Markus was close. Simon had half the heart to tell her that yes, everything was hers and Josh’s idea and therefore they should do the brunt of the work, but since the sea offered to help, he followed him and loaded their new purchases into the car just to return to his house and unload everything again and placing them in the correct spot. They took their time to admire their handiwork, and North proposed, ‘We should paint the walls.’

It took Josh a few seconds to formulate his answer. ‘Agreed. The colour combination will be nicer.’

[no,] Simon grabbed his dictionary and said. [do - not - like - paint - smell]

‘There’s paint that doesn’t smell.’

Simon thought of how many extra things they had to do that time his father repainted all the walls within and outside the house. He didn’t think he had the energy to do it then, but in the future… [maybe - later]

‘Sure,’ North accepted the suggestion quickly. ‘Just hit us up whenever. Not sure how much school work we’ll have in the future, but we’ll always make time for you, won’t we, Josh?’

‘It’ll be fun,’ Josh nodded.

That was the last mention of the renovation project between the three of them. With Simon’s inverted daily schedule and North and Josh’s increasing responsibility in their studies, it was difficult for all four of them - Markus included - to coordinate time to spend together. Sometimes he went to Josh’s for breakfast after spending the entire night on the lighthouse, sometimes North came to his house to do the same, and once per week Simon would stay up to have brunch with them on the beach with an assortment of snacks and food they could prepare with a camping stove. They would hang out together until Simon passed out with his head resting on one of Markus’ body parts - one way or another. He assumed that they always packed up and left afterwards, Markus carrying him back home so that he could have a good rest until the sun started to set. This happened every single week until after Josh and North had their final exam, which marked one step towards Josh’s departure.

Simon threw a party for his friend the day before the big date, or as much of a party as it could be with four people inside a house that was more patchwork than everything else. Instead of moving all the books to Simon’s, Josh merely gave him the key to his house and told him to let himself in whenever. ‘It’s easier this way,’ he said. ‘Besides, it isn’t like you’ve got a lot of room here. I trust you not to wreck my house.’

[cannot - do - it - even - if - i - want - to,] was Simon’s reply. [do - i - look - like - i - can]

‘Not on your own,’ North took a sip of her beer. He had no idea how she got alcohol in the first place given that none of them was of drinking age, but if someone could withstand alcohol, it would be her. ‘But with Markus? Yes.’

‘I promise I won’t destroy your house,’ Markus said solemnly. ‘Not unless you give me a reason to.’

‘I won’t,’ was Josh’s reply. He took a sip of beer from North’s can and was promptly sent into a coughing fit for the next five minutes.

Simon had been awake for more than 16 hours at this point so everything was hazy and blurry, but it didn’t stop him from dragging his friends for a marathon on his favourite documentary. Josh had to leave midway to prepare for his departure, but North stayed until she fell asleep on the sofa. She woke up when Simon tried to tuck her in, and she left and drove back home. Markus made them some tea so that they didn’t fall asleep, they watched over the lighthouse together and waited for ships that never came, and when the sun peeked through the horizon and turned the edge of the sky white, he leant on Markus while they walked to Josh’s house to send him off. He was too tired to feel and do anything apart from waving goodbye and watching the van drive off away from the village by then, but he woke up that night feeling empty, the events and the passage of time sinking in. Markus stayed with him until midnight, after which he returned to the ocean for his own business.

He was all alone in the world now.

It was as if Josh’s absence severed one of the lines holding their group together. There were no more canned dinners on the beach, no more trips to the library, no more squabbling over whose home they should stay at next; Simon was bad at reaching out, his body reacting before his mind did whenever he tried to get close to the school, North’s house was too far away to reach on foot, and North herself no longer seemed interested in ‘hanging out.’

‘Not everyone can be a genius like Josh,’ she snapped one day when Simon finally flagged her down out of what seemed to be pure chance. ‘Not all of us can have a job where you can fuck around all day and get a paycheque delivered straight to your bank account. Someone actually needs to work hard on their grades to get out of this place, so stop bothering me, okay? There’ll be time after this whole exam shit is over.’

But there would not be. Before the exams were apparently university applications, then came the exams themselves, then more university application things which Simon didn’t understand, and the next thing he knew was that North was leaving for the city. Back to where she came from, though he supposed whether she actually went to the city or just another village like theirs wasn’t important; the village was… the village, of course, while everything else was simply ‘out there.’ ‘I’m sorry, Simon,’ she said after he walked all the way to her house to find her, ‘but I really need to leave. You know how long I’ve been looking forward to this.’

The door slammed shut then, and it didn’t take a lot for Simon to realise that it was a cue to leave North alone. When he returned the next day to check, no one answered the door.

He didn’t even get to say goodbye this time.

Josh visited a few weeks later, having decided to actually use his summer break instead of studying this time, and he told Simon that North contacted him and told him to tell Simon that she wouldn’t come back. ‘It isn’t about you, don’t worry,’ he added as Simon continued to stare at his glass of juice. By that point, Markus hadn’t shown up in two months. ‘Village life just isn’t for her.’

[but - no - contact - at - all]

Josh did not have an answer for that, but he did say, ‘I guess this is growing up.’

Simon turned to face him. Questioning.

‘People drifting apart to do what they want now that they can. Deciding that the old life isn’t worth their effort. Moving on. Stuff like that.’

[maybe]

The space between him and Josh suddenly seemed so far now.

#simarkus #dbh simon #dbh marksu #dbh josh #dbh north #dbh daniel #detroit: become human

3 notes · View notes

lover-of-skellies · 4 years

Note

9, Nightberry? (uwu angst)

I've never written anything for this particular ship (since I'm assuming you're talking about Nightmare x Blueberry), so I hope it's at least halfway decent. This was supposed to be a horror prompt, I know, but I somehow made it really fckin sad instead, so rip anyone who reads it, I guess

A forewarning: this includes some major character death toward the end

"I'm here, Night! What did you wanna talk about?"

The guardian of negativity glanced up from his book, swiftly marking his page and closing it, tucking the item into his jacket. He sighed softly, trying his best to remain relaxed as he watched the smaller skeleton approach him, all too cheerful and at ease for comfort.

Oh god. He was really about to do this, wasn't he?

Nightmare slowly stood up, his single cyan iris focused entirely on the swap skeleton as he cleared his throat, trying to search for the right words, "My staff aren't... the brightest, when it comes to anything to do with feelings. And I'd much rather die than talk to Dream about any of this." Blueberry tilted his head, clasping his gloved hands behind his back and offering the other a wide smile, accompanied by his signature starry sockets, "And you chose to talk to me? Oh wowzers, that's... unexpected, honestly, but the Magnificent Sans would be happy to assist you in whatever ways you need!"

Nightmare stared at the shorter of the two in silence for a moment, those bright, large star shaped eye lights almost mesmerizing. He felt his soul thud against his ribs and he did his best to will away the faint blush that had threatened to find its way onto his cheekbones, "Yeah, well... You're the only reliable source I've got. Anyways. Because my strength lies only in the negative, I need you to clarify some things for me, concerning a neutral emotion."

Blueberry nodded, his sockets wide with curiosity, "Alright, that sounds easy enough. What's the emotion?" The goop covered guardian hesitated for a moment, embarrassment beginning to rear its ugly head again, "...Love."

Under his sharp and observant stare, Nightmare took notice of the soft sky blue blush that faintly dusted across the smaller male's face at the word 'love'. He didn't understand what reason Blue could possibly have for being flustered too, but he brushed off the thought, continuing, "I need you to tell me what it feels like." Blueberry nodded again, his brow bones knit tightly in concentration as he fumbled for an adequate explanation, "Well... I guess... it feels warm? Happy, even. And full, like your heart finally found whatever piece was missing. When you love someone, you'd do anything to make sure they were safe and happy, and you just want to be near them, all the time."

The guardian was frozen in place, his expression fixed into a pensive stare as he thought over his companion's words. When the realization finally dawned on him, his shoulders visibly became tense and his cyan iris constricted in fear.

He was in love.

And of all people, he was in love... with Blue.

No. This couldn't be happening. Not to him, not ever, not over his dead body. When love is pure enough, it becomes a positive emotion, which would undoubtedly cause him harm. Blueberry himself would also unintentionally cause him harm if he got too close, as well. Shit... this wasn't good.

He slowly lifted his gaze to look at the swap skeletons' face again, his soul skipping a beat at the soft blue and gentle, warm smile he wore. Feeling a blush spreading across his own cheekbones, Nightmare mentally cursed at himself. If only Blue wasn't so damn cute-

The shorter of the two looked up at Nightmare, almost appearing bashful as he asked, "Why'd you ask?... Love isn't something that normally would've caught your attention, is it?" Night took a deep breath; fuck. This... this little twerp was smarter than he looked, too. Damnit all-

He shifted awkwardly in place, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck vertebrae, "I uh..." And now he couldn't even think of what to say. If he hadn't hated himself, he definitely would've now.

As if connecting the dots, Blue seemed to perk up, his sockets widening in surprise as he looked up at the guardian in shock. Eye lights once again shifting into large stars as another broad smile stretched across his face, and he took a few steps closer to the other, playfully nudging him, "Oh my gosh! You're in love, aren't you, Night?!" The skeleton in question tried to ignore the uncomfortable tingling sensation the other's excitement and happiness had begun to stir within him, and his cyan blush became visibly brighter as he scoffed, shifting his eye lights elsewhere. As long as he wasn't looking at Blue, he'd be fine. He could do this. He'd toppled entire worlds and drew strength from their suffering. What was one tiny little confession going to hurt?

He hesitated, fidgeting anxiously as he mumbled something under his breath. Not quite able to make out what he'd said, Blueberry raised a brow bone and tilted his head, "What was that?... I don't think I heard you." Nightmare mentally screamed at himself, wanting nothing more than to open a portal and go literally anywhere else than to stick around here. He drew in a deep breath, deciding to try again. His voice came out barely audible, but despite that, the words he'd uttered left the other in shock: "I... you. It's you... I'm... I love you, Blue."

Blueberry was silent, his sockets still wide as he stated at the guardian in disbelief. Nightmare reluctantly looked the swap skeletons' face, suddenly feeling anxious. At the sight of a single blue tinted tear rolling down his cheek, the guardian cringed; that tear wasn't one of fear or sadness... that was one of... happiness? What the...?

And then, with a brighter blush than he'd ever seen before in his entire life, Blueberry moved even closer to him than before, his gloved hands delicately finding the others face. Nightmare felt his body momentarily tense, but as he felt Blue's teeth press against his own, he began to relax again, melting into their first kiss with relative ease.

The positivity that Blue was giving off grew stronger, and the uncomfortable tingling Nightmare had felt before escalated, now a searing hot pain that ripped through his very being the way a hot knife sliced through butter; as much as he wanted nothing more than to continue kissing the one he truly loved, this degree of pain scared him. Tentacles emerging from his back and spasming as he fought with himself, he broke away from the kiss and nearly doubled over in pain. Blueberry frowned, his voice soft as he began to reach out to touch the guardian, "Night?... Are you ok? Did I do something wrong?"

Remaining doubled over, the guardian focused his hazy eye light on the others face, cyan tinted tears pricking at the edge of his visible socket as he shook his head, "N-No, it's not you... it's... the positivity. The positivity is hurting me, and it won't stop." Blue delicately brushed away the guardian's tears with his thumb, his expression fixed into one of concern, "What can I do to help you? There has to be something, right?" The tainted part of Nightmare's mind growled, recognizing Blue as the source of the pain, and his visible socket went wide in genuine fear, "Get away from me. Get away, Blue. It's not safe, you could get hurt if you stay here." The shorter skeleton solemnly shook his head, his voice soft as he offered the other a small smile in reassurance, "Don't worry about me, I'll be ok. I'm not gonna leave you though... you shouldn't have to go through this alone. Not anymore."

Nightmare let out a strangled cry of pain, absentmindedly swatting Blue's hands away and covering his face as he took a shaky breath, "Blue, that's very sweet, but I'm serious. You need to leave, NOW. My body's programmed to destroy whatever hurts me. You're making me feel things. Positive things. If you stay, you'll die!" Blue gently tugged Night's hands away from his face, gently holding them and delivering a soft squeeze. Meeting the guardian's gaze, he smiled lovingly, and Nightmare couldn't sense any fear or sadness in him... none whatsoever. Blue's voice was a soft murmur as he leaned closer to Night, "I don't care. I'm staying here because I love you, Nightmare."

Unable to suppress his cry of pain, Nightmare ripped his hands out of Blue's grasp, and they flew up to his skull, his clawed fingers beginning to scrape at the top of his head. His single eye light was constricted, now no bigger than a pin prick, and feeling his tendrils begin to spasm wildly again, he tightly squeezed his socket shut, sobbing, "I'm... I'm so sorry. I can't... I don't want to-"

The last thing he felt was a gloved hand delicately touching his face, and the last thing he heard was Blue's voice, no more than a whisper, "It's ok... I forgive you."

And then immediately following suit was the loud sound of bones snapping. Nightmare kept his socket squeezed tightly shut, not wanting to see Blue's expression. The silence was deafening, and as he felt dust drift through the stagnant air and cling to his face, he sobbed loudly. He was alone now... again. He dropped his hands back down to his sides, tipping his head back to look up at the sky. The only person who'd ever grown to love him despite what he'd become was gone, and it was his fault. Maybe someday though, he'd be able to see him again.

#anon #asks #writing #NightBerry #nightmare sans #blueberry sans #swap sans #angsty af #major character death #I'm so sorry in advance if I make anyone cry #;-;#I'm also sorry if this isn't what you wanted #i have another breakable prompt with blue though #so there's still another opportunity to see him get maimed by someone #in a less sad way #hopefully

115 notes · View notes

lipstickbisous · 4 years

Text

the rei brown series (2/3)

OUR LOVE REMAINS.

notes: here’s the second part!! one more after this haha. not much of a plot to these just meant to put you in your feels. butttttt, i did write this from the experience my mom had in the icu when she was a nurse.

this one is your p.o.v. and is a little bit longer but not much

i DID NOT KNOW if anyone would get offended by “latino” or “hispanic” so i used both im sorry.

LISTEN for better understanding.

also u guys REALLY LIKED the din fic so i guess...more of those?

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: while rethinking all of the choices you’ve made in your life, memories of a certain person begin to flood in.

warnings: MORE ANGST ahahaha, childhood nostalgia, fluff ending

word count: 3.3k (these are not long chapters)

masterlist

you weren’t sure what time it was (you knew it wasn’t too late) and you hadn’t bothered to check as you stumbled through your doorway, one arm holding grocery bags and the other, your purse and papers from work. your hair had been stuck in the ponytail you threw it up in since the morning, but now, it was pulling at your scalp and giving you a headache.

managing to balance on one foot, you flipped the light switch in your entryway and watched as the first floor of your house illuminated in the night. the tiny dog you’d adopted a few months ago came padding out on the wood floors from the dining room, his tongue stuck out with loud pants to relieve himself of the texas summer heat.

with a small “hey, bub,” to your pet, you placed the groceries on the kitchen counter and slipped off your clogs, throwing them at the bottom of your stairs so that you could be reminded to take them to your room when you went upstairs. for now, you reached into the glass cabinet and grasped a dark bottle of wine. the label read a fancy word in french, but growing up in kingsville, you’d never bothered to learn the language of love. you grew up in that rich latino and hispanic culture.

this house had memories threatening to let it crumble, you knew that, but even after your parents had moved into a smaller apartment due to medical reasons and the fact that they couldn’t afford the house, you couldn’t bring yourself to move out of this town and just ditch them there--now the house was in your name. you didn’t know why it was so hard to leave--you’d been able to leave for university, but when you came back the summer after you’d graduated, something stuck. now, it had been twenty years and you had made no attempts to even leave kingsville.

you popped the cork of the wine bottle open and instantly met that musky historic smell of the red alcohol. you had seven wine glasses in your cupboards, but you never had any friends over. you might occasionally invite a few girls you knew in high school, but if you were to hang out with people, it would be at a bar on friday and saturday nights. you watched as the wine splashed around the glass and when it was filled to your satisfaction, you pushed the cork back into its place and left the bottle on the counter.

as you made your way into the living room and collapsed on the couch, the little dog you called yours jumped up onto the high furniture the best he could due to his tiny legs. you searched your couch for the remote, pulling over the cushions and pillows before finding it buried under the arm. you switched the tv on and and flipped through the channels before settling on fifty-one. your dog curled up next to your lap and closed his eyes to sleep.

you didn’t for what you were sure was the next two hours. the movie that had been playing before ended the beginning of a new one had started until you realized your glass was empty and dry and your eyelids were getting heavier. you leaned your head back before rethinking how the day had gone. you’d shown up to the hospital for work at the crack of dawn and spent the next twelve hours wheeling around patients, taking diagnostics, and carrying their dirty dishes.

it definitely had not been the job you imagined when you were ten. you’d played doctor with your stuffed animals and plushes before but in those scenarios, the patients had been obedient in kind. unfortunately, fate had not been so kind and, while sitting in front of the television with an empty wine glass in your hand, your fingers grazing over the sore spot on your wrist. it was sure to be bruised, the one on your calf had turned purple and yellow in the past few days. you hissed when you applied just a bit too much pressure.

i spent four years at a college i hated to have this. you’d put it all on the line to have this job. you thought that by being a nurse in the fucking icu, you’d be saving people everyday. instead, you were groped, spat out, and ignored by everyone there. you deserved a glass of wine every night.

you knew that this was not healthy at all and that you were intoxicating yourself with far too much alcohol but the way your back ached, your calf bruised, and your head pounded drowned out whatever warnings your brain sent you.

suddenly, you managed to catch sight of the atomic clock sitting on your kitchen counter. bright crimson letters read “1:30 am.”, and with a far too heavy sigh that awoke the small dog next to you, you set the glass on your coffee table (you’d grab it in the morning when you weren’t so sad) and flipped the tv off before sauntering up the stairs. even at your age, you had still been terrified of the dark--you could barely walk down to your basement without a flashlight and by yourself--but you found that you were perfectly fine walking in the pitch-black of your upstairs hallway. your dog was quick to follow behind you, jumping onto your bed and waiting for you as you emotionlessly entered your bathroom and looked at your reflection.

who the fuck were you? how much time had passed and yet here you were, in your fucking childhood home all alone? you’d found love with many men over the years, but you hadn’t expected them to last--and they hadn’t. what had you done? had you left some sort of imprint in the world at all? you were never one for kids, everyone you knew was well aware of that, but how were you supposed to live on even when you were dead? in reality, abandonment and loneliness was your worst fear along with--

oh god, you thought in a shriveled voice. you’re gonna be forgotten.

one part that hurt the most was the news. you’d gotten better at keeping up to date with pop culture and politics, and the pablo escobar situation had you worried for one reason and one reason only--javier peña. you’d seen him on the news, the DEA agent who had made it his responsibility and top priority to catch the famous drug lord. it was nice to see that he had gotten somewhere while the only time you’d ever really traveled was to paris for a christmas and then LA to see an old friend who you didn’t even talk to anymore.

this was your life now. mindlessly wandering around your house after work, eating microwaved leftovers and carry-out from the diner.

god, that diner. it had been one of your favorite locations in the shitty town you called home--had been. the first time you went, you were suspicious due to the fact that the actual building was a different restaurant owned by a criminal before it was a diner, but javier had practically begged you to have a late dinner with him after an afternoon spent skipping your last few periods and driving around the outskirts of town in his truck. the wind had been blowing through your hair and you hung your head out of his window, letting your arms wave around, and you could’ve sworn you had felt him looking at you.

that was the moment you were in love with javier peña.

you knew that you had been lying to yourself up until that moment because since the first day you met javier when driving past their ranch and stopping to look at the horses, you’d been in love. you couldn’t even think about how many days were spent writing poetry about him that now seemed stupid and childish. you’d told yourself it was an outlet for your feelings, but you had really written it because you were too much of a bitch to come out and tell javi. maybe that hadn’t been your fault--you’d witnessed, first hand, javier rejecting a girl in sixth grade. you watched her nod and tell him “oh, that’s okay” but then run away into the bathrooms. javier had continued on to tell you about a new foal on their farm.

you remembered the horses. you missed them too. if it hadn’t been them roaming about in the pastures, or the great stallion that caught your attention while on that family car ride, you would’ve never met javier. you weren’t sure if he judged you for it or not, but every time chucho needed help around the farm, and javier was too much of a brat and a teenager to do it, you had gladly offered. so, chucho peña had put you in charge of the foals. there was one in particular, a small one with a white coat, that had piqued your interest. there was a day, one in the middle of the summer if you could remember correctly, where you and javi had just run out to the fields while the rest of the horses stayed in their stables. javi had been excited since his father had gifted him with a new camera, and he had spent all day taking pictures of--and to this day, you still didn’t notice it--only you.

while brushing your teeth, carefully placing a small dot of paste on your toothbrush, you began to scrub in small circles. how long had it been since you and javi had last talked? even then, it had barely been a conversation. a simple exchanged of very few words, a goodbye that went misheard, and that was it. when you had called his home phone the next morning, instead of javi replying like he always did, it had been chucho’s voice instead, muffling an annoyed “hello?” but when he heard the exhaustion and lightness of your voice, he carefully explained that javi had already left.

you hadn’t felt heartbroken--not at first. in fact, there was barely any sadness in that tired head and upset stomach. you were infuriated. how could he? how dare he? he had been such a coward that he couldn’t even say goodbye and it angered you more than you thought it ever would--not that you had ever thought about javier leaving before because he said he wouldn’t even consider it. and now, he had left you alone your fucked up hometown that you’d always told him you hated so much. then, about three days alone without javier (which was something you weren’t used to) you’d realized that there was a large possibility this could’ve been your fault.

had you been a bad friend recent to his leaving? yes, you had been acting distant, but it was due to normal events, such as school and...the fact that you were hopelessly in love with him. it had been harder to talk with senior year ending and college coming up, but you hadn’t never thought he could just turn himself away like that. never.

and not once had javi tried to contact you. he, of course, knew your number by heart, but after all these years, he’d probably had hundreds of girls phone numbers--in fact, you were sure that if hadn’t been a DEA agent hooked with the most dangerous man on the earth, you would’ve expected him to be married already. you had gone to the wedding. you’d seen how the church was decorated, how each and every guest wore plastered smiles--just the idea of seeing javi made you giddy and you’d worn your best dress you could find. even after returning from university, javier didn’t visit or call. you also remembered hearing lorraine sobbing when her groom didn’t show.

javier was not the type of person to stand someone up. you didn’t know what he was like now, but as teenagers, if he ever had a date (which wasn’t often because even if you didn’t know it, he was hopelessly in love with you) he would arrive five minutes early.

the one time javi did have a date, you stayed home and watched one of his favorite movies while crying. you hated to admit that the next day, when he admitted to you he didn’t like the girl that much, you were excited.

suddenly, you remembered how this was completely your fault. you had always blamed javier for never calling or writing, but then you realized that you had never made the attempt either.

“fuckin’ hell,” you whispered and washed off your toothbrush. as a nurse, you didn’t normally cake yourself with makeup, but you did wear the average concealer, mascara, and lipstick or gloss. you took one look at your reflection and noticed that your mascara was currently running. when did i cry? you asked yourself and exited the bathroom, not bothering to remove your makeup.

your room was next door and when you walked inside, your dog was patiently waiting next to your nightstand and- god, did i leave the fucking light on again? you felt like slapping yourself until your head was straight because it wasn’t right to think about someone you haven’t seen in twenty years.

you slipped off your pants, leaving you in expensive panties you’d gotten for no reason at all. you threw off your scrubs, discarding them onto the floor with a light air sound and replacing your shirt with a tank-top. your bed had been so perfectly made that it almost annoyed you. you threw yourself onto your bed and began to rub your eyes. it wouldn’t matter if you messed up the mascara because there was nothing to mess up.

hoping the sleep would rid you of the horrible thoughts, you flipped the lamp next to your bed off and pressed a pillow to your cheek. the small dog at your feet curled up rested his eyes. you did the same.

it would’ve been physically best for your health if you had gone at least six hours of sleeping without any interruption, but one moment in the night, the phone on your nightstand began to blare its ringtone. your eyes shot open and began to burn slightly from a sudden awakening. the sound had scared your dog, who jumped to the ground in protection of whatever the source was until he realized it was the telephone. you groaned with heavy eyelids and looked to the clock. two-twenty five am. as soon as you went to answer the call, it went to dial tone.

more frustrated than before because you really just wanted to sleep, you groaned and flung yourself back into bed. of course, now you were awake.

but then, the phone began to ring again. it had seemed louder this time and your dog barked in the most un-intimidating way possible before you threw a pillow at the spot next to him to get him quiet. you held the phone close to your ear and spoke a tired, “hello?” the line was silent and at first, you were terrified because you could’ve sworn you heard someone breathing. another one of these. “hello?”

part of this was exciting to you. while it was extremely frustrating to be awoken a few hours before you normally rose to get ready for work, your mind was racing during the silent pause between you and this stranger. who could it be? perhaps it was chucho telling you that javier could be coming home, but you cursed yourself for thinking of that man and dismissed the idea. maybe it was your mom calling to tell you how your father had gotten better and, for now at least, the cancer was gone.

“(y/n)?”

―

while the reason behind it remained unclear, you had always loved airports. the cleaning-product smell, the diverse people, the small restaurants, even the feeling of the carpet--or the feeling of that when in an airport, you were going somewhere.

it had always been about going somewhere. javier knew this since fifth grade, that you had always wanted to just leave kingsville, texas. maybe you would move to new york, or philadelphia, or even go to london and paris. they had been silly daydreams due to reading too many of your mother’s travel books, but paris had always looked so nice. maybe even visit mexico--you’d already been well immersed in the culture.

but that wasn’t why you were here. you were here for something that was long overdue.

after the phone call that night, you javier had made sure to call each other every other day at ten o’clock pm. there had been some days where you had to stay late at the hospital or javi was chasing sicarios and didn’t get home until midnight--those nights, you would either fall asleep or just call the next day, but you both had made a good schedule. it definitely hadn’t been the same as when you were teenagers, and you didn’t expect it to be. his voice was much deeper and raspier (you knew it was because of the cigarettes, you could practically smell them through the phone) and his voice wasn’t as...lively anymore. you felt that you couldn’t say much, though, because the years had been rough to you as well.

he had told you everything. your thoughts on how he was living was wrong--he told you of the countless informants and prostitutes, how the colombian sun was definitely hotter than the texan sun and even to him it had made a difference. when you both had too much to drink and were passing back funny stories, his was that he had grown a mustache. you had laughed at that one because if you could imagine the clean-shaved, teenage boy that javier once was with a mustache, it was a hilarious thought.

all-in-all, it had still been painful to talk to someone you knew so well like they were a stranger. at first, you had asked yourself if he’d changed but you caught yourself in the stupid thought. of course, he had changed. it had been twenty fucking years and even you had noticed the faint lines starting to appear around your face.

it had taken almost half a year of phone calls, missed and attended, happy and sad to be where you were now.

the airport bustling had also been one of your favorite things too. the countless and various voices all coming together to make a white noise that was so distinct.

you were standing near the entrance, watching as families reunited, lovers embraced, and yet you stood alone. it had been over ten minutes since when javier was supposed to show. if you were being honest with yourself, what did you expect? he would just appear out of thin air in the middle of a crowd? you hoped the flight from bogotá had been peaceful and well. there hadn’t been any storms passing by, baggage loading problems, or anything that could possibly delay the plane, so there was no reason for javier not to be there.

unless...you began to think and it had been too late to stop yourself from completing the thought. maybe he just didn’t want to.

like when he rejected that girl in sixth grade. like when he left you alone in kingsville. like when abandoned his bride at their own fucking wedding.

suddenly, you felt angry. your blood was boiling, your hands felt hot, the hair on your neck became irritating, and the winter heat of texas began to scorch, even in air conditioning. you ran a hand down your face, feeling two beads of sweat trickle down a path to your chin. your foot, which had been tapping for the past now fifteen minutes turned on its heel as you made your way to the glass doors.

your car was just outside. you wouldn’t even have to walk that far, and then you could drive home, cry yourself to sleep, and call javier about this some other time.

“(y/n)!”

tags: @pascalisthepunkest @javierpenaspinkshirt @gummiishark @cyarikaaa @larakasser @pedropasscals @honeyedspace @talesfromtheguild @absurdthirst

45 notes · View notes

polyamorous-selfinserts · 4 years

Text

case #0091104 - almost dead

trigger warnings: mentions of death, drowning, suicide, cutting, explosions, fire, depression

jon finds a tape in the archives that looks familiar...what will he learn about the archive’s resident teenager?

tagging @astralshipper @shippin-in-the-rain @grimms-heart @ghostlyvenus cause i’m super proud of this!

this takes place during season two, but there’s not any major spoilers. just jon being paranoid, plus mentions of michael becoming the distortion.

Recorder clicks on

Jon: Found this tape under a box in the archives. It’s, uh, it looks like one of Gertrude’s tapes, but the handwriting....that’s Charlie’s I think. I guess I knew sh- they were here before I was, but…

Jon: Could they have killed Gertrude? I suppose it's possible. They would’ve been, what? Thirteen, fourteen?

Jon: I found this about a week ago, and I’ve been watching them. They spend a lot of time in the archives. I don’t think they go home. Come to think of it, I don’t even know where they live. I tried asking Elias - I couldn’t find the information in any of our records - but apparently they don’t work at the Institute. Which is, uh, alarming, to say the least.

Long exhale

Jon: God, I…

Recorder clicks off

Tape player clicks on

A low voice with an American accent. Probably 16-25, female?

Voice: Uh, hello? This is Charlie Finn. I uh...well I guess I’m kind of an archival assistant? Not officially though. Over my dead body, Elias.

Exhale, snort of laughter

Charlie: I’m uh, I’m making a statement, I guess? I think I’m already in more of these than Ger- uh - Gerard, but uh, I’ve never actually made one so…

Rustling of papers

Charlie: Statement of Charlie Finn, regarding...um, their life, almost-death, and subsequent paranormal existence.

Deep inhale

Charlie: So, uh, I uh, I tried to kill myself when I was eleven. Jumped into the Thames tied to a cinder block. Guess I should’ve tied the rope tighter, or maybe skipped swim team, cause the knot came undone. It was cold. Late February. When you’re drowning, you go into a panic - but there’s this point, at the end, where it’s so peaceful...you can almost see it - the end. I don’t remember not dying. I had almost reached that point, where I just...wouldn’t be. And then I was breaking the surface of the water. I - I tried again. Tied the rope tighter. But my hands were shaking so much. I couldn’t tie it fast enough, and dawn was coming. People had started to wake up - I guess one of them saw me jump in this time.

They take a shaky breath

Charlie: I could barely see - the edges of my vision were going - but I fought against his hands. He was an EMT, going in for the early shift. White guy, college age. When he pulled me to the bank of the river, I realized he’d - uh - (humorously) he’d pulled the cinderblock up with him. Couldn’t get the knot undone, I guess, so he just pulled me out, and the block came with it. I think he gave me CPR - not sure, I was kinda out of it. There was a crowd around me when I came to - of course there was, but, uh, they looked so concerned - (huff of laughter) - the ambulance arrived, and they asked all the questions - finally it came to the one I was dreading - my parents.

Charlie: I guess I should back up a bit. Some background info. That’s how these usually start. Um, so my parents are both teachers - we had moved to London when I was maybe ten? Not long before this happened. I hated changing schools, but my parents got really good jobs at some schools - my mom was offered the principal position at a private school - and my dad was offered a position as a child psychologist at some elementary schools. My sister was too young to really get it, but I hated my new school. All the kids were rich - and honestly, I preferred American homophobia. Anyway, this school was maybe five blocks from the Magnus Institute. Or, is. (humorously) It’s not like it’s just gone and disappeared, now is it.

Charlie: Peter Lukas doesn’t like me that much.

Charlie: So, um, yeah. My relationship with my parents has never been great. My mom’s downright emotionally abusive, and my dad...well he just… he doesn’t really have a backbone. My mom’s always been high strung, and I know she wants the best for me, but...the best to her isn’t something I can do. My dad tried his best to defend me against my mom’s criticism, but, I mean, he had his own critique for me.

Charlie: I’ve uh….I’ve never been the skinniest of people. And I’ve got narcolepsy - which means I sleep a lot. My dad - he’s one of those people who, just, well. He doesn’t understand disabilities. Like, I mean, he understands them, obviously, but he doesn’t really get that sometimes, I just can’t do stuff. So he pressured me a lot into exercising and not eating a ton.

They take a shaky breath

Charlie: So, I um, I was depressed, obviously. And therapy in central London isn’t exactly easy to come by. I was cutting, but that was - that wasn’t because I wanted to die. It was more for control. I could control that. (inhale) I um, I made the decision when my friend, um - I had a crush on him. His name was Nathaniel. He um, he stopped talking to me, just after my birthday. He just...never texted me back.

Charlie: I somehow got it into my mind that he - um, that I’d like, done something? To make him leave me. Which, I mean, I think that’s dumb. Sometimes people just leave, but my brain decided it must be my fault. So I, um. I jumped into the Thames.

Charlie: So yeah. Um, the ambulance people asked for my parents phone number and I just - I couldn’t deal with that right now. I just - (humorless laugh) - I told them my parents were dead. They didn’t know how to respond for a second, but they asked if I had someone else to contact. At this point, I’d visited the Institute a few times and met Gertrude. I was doing a school project on, like, local businesses, and I thought it would be cool to do the Institute. Gertrude had helped with a bit of the project - she was head Archivist after all. Looking back on it, I think she probably did it cause she has this sixth-sense about people who’ve been marked. I probably walked in that first day marked up to the wazoo for the End, and she took an interest in me.

Charlie: Whatever it was, I knew she would at least cover for me. So I told the ambulance staff to call the Institute, ask Rosie for Gertrude Robinson. They looked alarmed, but maybe half an hour later, I was sitting in a hospital room, Gertrude Robinson acting like she was my grandma.

(laugh)

Charlie: She’s rather convincing, when she needs to be - had a whole act about being a kind old lady. She was all (imitating an old woman) ‘my sweet little Charlie’ (laugh) Knowing what she’s done now, I’m not sure if I should’ve been impressed or afraid…

Charlie: Probably afraid.

Charlie: Anyway, she got me out of there real quick. Since we were in Chelsea - and my parents lived and worked in central London - I wasn’t much afraid of them finding out. It wasn’t in the news - (sarcastically) lucky me - and as far as I know, they never found out. Gertrude walked me home, which was...nice? I don’t know why she did it. Maybe she was actually worried for me. Probably not though.

Charlie: I stopped really going home after that. Or to school. I told my parents I’d got a job, and I was living with a friend. Both sort of true. I emailed my teachers, told them I was in a ward and I would pick up the work I needed to do at the beginning of the week and drop it off on Fridays. People aren’t exactly keen to pry into that sort of stuff, and as long as I got the work in, no one really cared. So I effectively moved into the attic of the Magnus Institute. Elias said it was fine, as long as I wasn’t disruptive. I became a sort of assistant - I took statements, filed them - I was one of the only ones who could understand Gertrude’s system - and looked into some cases for Gertrude. But my real job was in artefact storage.

Charlie: I know people don’t love it there, but I’ve always been interested in them. Gerard says it’s stupid teenage curiosity, but...he’s not my mom. Even if he was, I wouldn’t listen to him. Anyways, my job was to look into the objects that really messed people up. Not gonna go into super specific detail, cause the really bad ones are technically, like, classified or something, but lets just say there’s a reason I hate bugs.

Charlie: This was all fine, and I kind of fell into a routine for a few months. But I started to notice something. When people came in to give statements, I could, kind of, feel something about them. Like they were still going somewhere. The statements I took were always unfinished somehow.

Charlie: It got to a point where Mikey had to stop an interview because I wouldn't stop asking the woman if she was sure that was everything. I didn’t know what was going on, until one day I was walking home from the store - there’s no real food in the Institute fridge so I lived off of microwaved meals mostly - and I felt this pull. It wasn’t, like a literal pull. More like - (sigh) - you know when you’re walking back to bed in the dark and you feel like something’s about to get you, so you, like, throw yourself into bed and pull your covers up. Yeah, well, it felt kinda like that, except...except I was the thing in the dark. I don’t know how long I walked for, but it was after midnight by the time I came to an apartment complex.

Charlie: The women before, who I had been interviewing. She said there was something wrong with her gas pipes, but whenever she asked the landlord to check it out, they said there was nothing wrong. But she kept smelling gas. I could certainly smell it, as I walked up the stairs in a daze. I came to a door, 407. The door was locked, and when I put my hand on it, it burned. But I didn’t flinch - instead I turned the nob and I could hear the lock snap.

Charlie: Inside the apartment looked normal. I walked into a side room and the woman was asleep in her bed. She looked terrified. She asked me why I was here, was I going to kill her?

Charlie: I shook my head. No. I wasn’t going to kill her. But she was going to die. And -

Charlie: And the building, it exploded.

Charlie: I don’t know why I didn’t die, but she certainly did.

Charlie: (laugh) Jude was pretty pissed about that. Said I ‘took’ her sacrifice. Like everything doesn’t already belong to death.

Charlie: It doesn’t happen a lot, anymore, but I could tell when it would happen. I don’t know why the deaths are important. It didn’t happen when (shaky) when Gertrude left Mikey. Though I suppose he’s not really dead...is he.

Charlie: I don’t know. There’s a couple statements that mention me, but I don’t like to read them. It makes me feel guilty. I guess it’s not really my fault - they would’ve died anyway, but…

Charlie: Yeah, so. Um. Statement ends.

Tape player clicks off.

Recorder clicks on

Long, shaky exhale

Jon: Well, that’s, enlightening. I’m going to be honest though, I have more questions than answe -

Door opening

Charlie: Jon! Hey, I’ve got a question about this case, I think you might’ve misfiled it cause Martin said -

Jon: Um, actually I was -

Charlie: Oh, are you recording right now, sorry! What’s this statement about?

Footsteps, sounds of shuffling papers. Charlie’s voice is much closer to the recorder now.

Charlie: Is that a tape? One of Gertrude’s? I thought the police had taken them all?

Jon: (fumbling) No, um, it’s -

Charlie: Wait, is...is that my tape Jon?

Jon: I mean - well - yes - but I - oh god - I just, I didn’t think -

Charlie: (cruelly) No, you didn’t think, did you Jon. (voice breaking) I hope you’re happy, now you know. I defended you, you know. Tim’s been so pissy and I - (voice cracks) I wanted to believe you weren’t that type of person but…

Jon: Charlie--

Charlie: No. I’m… don’t talk to me Jon. I don’t want to hear it.

Loud footsteps, door slams

Jon: Shit.

Recorder clicks off.

#tma spoilers #tma statement #self insert #self shipping #self ships #you're dead and i'm punching eldritch gods #jonathan sims #the magnus archives #what i hath wrought upon thine eyes

12 notes · View notes