#it was definitely mercedes. like you can’t tell me any differently | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bratphilia · 6 months

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Heyyyy so I was the person that requested more fics like the flip side (it’s 6 am and I can’t remember if that’s what it’s actually called atm) but I was thinking about possibly a situation where reader has a history with William possibly when they worked at Freddy’s before they shut down and were younger (still of age though; I’m thinking probably when they like reopened for a little bit in the early 90s). Now in the I guess present day they aren’t exactly going out with mike but maybe they are a babysitter and mike and reader are pining over each other?? But him working there brings up bad past memories of your time there but you don’t really want to tell mike.

Honestly looking for lots of tension, slow burn, pining, and angst but not too much angst yk and ofc nsfw

Sorry if this is like too specific or whatever but this has been on my mind for sure

note: i did some age calculating to fit with the timeline so reader is 18 in 1993 and 25 (the same age as mike) in 2000. creds to michy for convincing me this was actually post-worthy.

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader x mike schmidt

tags: threesome, rough sex, dub/con, age difference

taglist: @dilfity

triangle (w. afton x reader x m. schmidt)

(in november, 1993, you're a fresh hire at freddy's and the youngest adult on the staff at eighteen years old. it's not an ideal workplace by any means, but it's decent compared to other jobs that you most definitely didn't qualify for. and the people at freddy's are nice! maybe a little too nice, but the motto for the employees was "remember to smile, you're the face of the company" after all.

you work mainly as a waitress. you would say you're pretty good at your job. you're nice to the customers and work surprisingly well with the kids. the uniform is admittedly cute, too. red vest and a black pencil skirt. your skirt, for some reason, came in a bit too small prompting a few lingering glances from employees and patrons, but besides that you don't really mind.

it's a cold, rainy day in autumn. you wish you were wearing pants, but for once you're thankful for the lack of air conditioning in the restaurant. it's closing time and you're heading back to the employees room to grab your jacket and umbrella. you sit on the red, metal bench waiting for your sister expectantly. you never bothered to get your own license because she's always been a reliable source for rides everywhere. tonight was not one of those days. it's been at least an hour. your leg bounces up and down.

you hear the doors shut and a jingle of keys, and the distant scent of cigarette smoke lingers. you turn to see your boss, mr. afton, locking up the restaurant. he turns to you too, clearly confused why you're still here. "shouldn't you be home by now?"

you swing your legs and sigh. "my ride never showed."

he clicks his tongue and looks out to the parking lot, then looks back at you. "why don't i take you home?" you realize in this moment you and mr. afton have never quite really spoke. he's one of the thirty-something-year old owners of freddy's. he wears the springbonnie suit sometimes and performs with the co-owner, mr. emily, for the kids on fridays and saturdays. he's very charismatic and sociable, but mainly with the older crowd of the employees at freddy's. you hear some of your colleagues whispering about him, how he's such a kind and handsome man, which, as you're getting a good look at him right now, the latter is definitely true.

"are you sure?" you ask. mr. afton smiles down at you.

"sure thing. follow me." it's a huge upgrade to what you were previously considering before his offer: walking home in the pouring rain and chancing ruining your uniform.

you follow close behind him. so close that your umbrellas slightly bump into each other. a deep purple-paint-detailed mercedes-benz comes into view. judging by mr. afton's clear affinity for the color purple, as he includes it in at least one part of his daily attire, you assume it's his. he opens the car door on the passenger's side for you.

"thanks," you say politely.

in december, 1993, mr afton — who you've come to know as william — has become a frequent presence in your life. it started when he actually asked you if you wanted another ride home. you had phoned your sister, letting her know there was a change of plans. this became an everyday thing until you no longer needed to call home.

you would be lying if you said you hadn't started to develop feelings for him somewhere along the way. how could you not? he was just such a nice man! so charismatic, not just with you, but with the customers. always asking everyone how their day is going and dropping whatever he's doing to help out. there's was something special about your connection with him. he made you feel special.

it was one rainy day, just like the day back in november, when he stopped you and leaned in and kissed you. it was the most unexpected thing that happened to you in awhile. you don't know what possessed him to do it, but you found yourself eagerly kissing him back. so much that he chuckled and commented on it before sending you off. you spent the rest of the night lying awake in bed, touching yourself to every possibility you could think of.

the next day he avoided you, much to your dismay. you couldn't stop thinking about it. it slowed down your performance, making you distracted. the time just dragged on.

it wasn't until he called you in his office after your shift that you felt any kind of relief. he asked you to lock the door behind you, just like how one of those fantasies you daydreamed of started. with a fast-beating heart, you did what he said and turned to face him. and then his mouth was on yours again. it was much more sensual and yet there was an anxious component to it that made your stomach tingle with excitement.

"why don't you sit on my lap?" he suggested once he pulled away from you.

you froze. you've never actually done this sort of thing before. something delicious curls inside of you. gingerly, you sit on the thigh he patted on and he bounces his leg slightly, the fabric of his pants hitting just the right spot. he laughs at the yelp you give.

"just relax, baby. 's just you and me."

in january, 1994, is when kids go missing. everyone is on edge and patrons are frequenting freddy's less and less. on top of that, the animatronics are malfunctioning more and more, so there are even less customers due to the amount of maintenance that needs to be done.

you and william continue your routine: you fuck and he drives you home afterwards. but lately, something's been weird with william. he's been more... erratic? is that the right word? or just elated. he seems so gleeful, but more violent during sex. he's never showed any masochism until now. he even put a knife to your throat as he pounded into you, threatening to "fucking kill you" if you scream. you took it as just one of those things he says during sex, like when he calls you "slut" and "whore" but it's starting to scare you as it becomes a frequent thing.

it gets worse. you're taking the trash out to the alley when you see the security puppet laying limp. you go and investigate only to find charlie emily, the other owner's daughter, dead and badly hurt. like she's been stabbed repeatedly. you scream in shock and run in to find william, but he's long gone. instead you went to your co-worker, who called the police.

you were asked to stay at the restaurant until you after you were questioned and you told them everything you saw. you looked but william was still nowhere in sight. you walked home that night.

catching the killer was never something you were interested in. in fact, you hoped to do the opposite of some of your vigilant co-workers, who openly investigated the restaurant. some of them ended up missing too. the police had been called at freddy's on multiple occasions.

on one particular occasion, the last one before freddy's closed, actually, you went to the backrooms to catch a breather. what you found? william pouring bleach to bloodied clothes, bloody knife laying on a nearby table. you drop your keys in shock, alerting him. Turning on your heel to break for it, he grabbed the knife and your arm.

"tell anyone and i'll fucking gut you right here, right now," he threatened in a low voice.

you jostle your arm, desperate to break free. "please!" you whisper-shout. "i won't tell anyone, please let me go!"

and for some reason, he trusted you.

freddy's closed after that, and you swore to yourself you would take what happened to the grave. maybe you were a coward, but you had no solid evidence it was him behind the murders. it would all just be hearsay. no one would believe you anyways. william had such a high reputation, not just at fredy's, but within the community.)

mike hangs up the phone with a sigh. "so...?" you say, leaning towards his direction in anticipation.

"i took the job," he grumbles. his head is in his hands, running through his hair anxiously.

you throw your hands up in the air in excitement. "yay! we get to keep abby!" mike immediately snaps out of his sulking to bust out laughing. as he shakes his hand, he mentally adds your twisted sense of humor to the endless list of things he loves about you. and your distantly maternal role in abby's life. we get to keep abby.

you snap him out of his thoughts with a question. "who's the lucky employer?"

he laughs again in disbelief. "freddy fazbear's pizza. working in security. they need someone to watch the place and make sure no one breaks in and stuff."

you frown and furrow your brow. freddy's. william. "something wrong?" he muses, noticing your change in demeanor. you shake your head.

"no, nothing. i'm happy for you. sounds.. just peachy." mike shoots you a half-smile.

it's nighttime when it's almost time for mike's shift. your head is in your hands as you sit on the couch. it's one of those times when abby's off in her room, scribbling away with a crayon. you feel sick to your stomach. why did it have to be freddy's? who even gave him this job? why is it still there?

you hear a slew of curses coming from mike's room and decide to investigate. he's struggling with the loop of his belt and you can't help but smile. "need some help?"

he looks at you, face turning red. "you don't have to—"

"oh, come on," you sigh, moving to help him. "it's okay to need help sometimes." mike doesn't say anything, but from the way he's looking at you, he wants to.

"what?" you ask, but mike just shakes his head. you wouldn't understand. you decide to just leave it alone — mike's always been a distant guy.

"you need to be careful," you tell him with a much more serious tone than intended.

"why?" he asks, confused.

you try to relax your face and give him a lighthearted smile. "you should always be careful, mike! you never know what kinds of people you can encounter."

he has no idea.

two days go by. mike comes back home, surprisingly well-rested, until before his third shift when he casually mentions to you that he mainly just sleeps on the job. you freeze at that, worry forming inside of you in the pit of your stomach. "wh-what do you mean you just sleep there?! are you fucking crazy?!"

mike looks bewildered at your outburst. "i told you about this. i'm doing that dream stuff still..."

"okay, but do you have to do it on the job? do you have any idea how dangerous that is, when you're supposed to be looking out for any suspicious behavior." you're poking a finger into his chest, scolding him like he's a child.

"jeez, what's the matter with you?" he sighs in frustration. "if it bothers you that much then why don't you come with me and make sure i stay awake? i'm tired all the fucking time, and you know that!"

you know you shouldn't, for your own safety, but you have to think about mike. besides, if there's two people there, one can call the police. you let your paranoia, and your overwhelming care for mike, get the better of you. "fine. i'll come with you. put on your vest, grab abby, and i'll be in the car."

mike looks at you with sad eyes. you really didn't mean to be so harsh but it doesn't matter; he's more important. the drive over is silent, not that mike is really a talker anyways, but there's a thick tension in the air. your jaw and your fists are clenched anxiously, and you try not to look at him. when he parks the car he sighs and says your name.

the three of you set up camp in mike's office. abby sets up her tent and shortly falls asleep. you pace around the room while mike stares at the cameras, head in his hands with his eyes barely open. you walk over and snap your fingers in front of his face with a huff.

then something goes wrong. mike calls you over. "uh, i think i just saw something move? towards the offices." if it's potential danger, you decide it should be you who goes. not in a heroine sort of way, more of a need for closure.

you make your way slowly towards the offices. the dead silent halls make room for the only sound being your quickened breathing. you can practically hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. something rustles and, of course, it comes from wiliam's old office. you pray it's a rat.

as you push the door open, you breath a sigh of relief when the room is empty. that is, when someone slaps a hand over your mouth. "how truly lucky i am that you were the one to find me, lovely."

you struggle instantly but he wraps his other arm around your neck and pushes you further into the office. you land on the ground, hitting your head on the chair. looking up at him in horror, you cling onto the chair for dear life and get a good look at him. he admittedly aged well. salt and pepper hair and beard and all, it looks ridiculously good on him. "don't be afraid. i only want to make amends. i saw you were here and—"

"fuck you!" you spit venomously. "i don't want anything to do with you!"

william looks dumbstruck, then he scowls. the look on his face scares you as it contorts horribly. "what is it? is that boy? you realize i'm the one that gave him this job, right?"

"i don't know what the fuck you're talking about, but—"

suddenly, william lunges towards you and grasps you by your cheeks, holding your face tightly. "stop acting like such a fucking brat. remember when you were such an obedient little girl for me? let's go back to that, yeah?"

before you know it, you're being shoved against the desk facing forward. "i'm gonna teach you some fucking manners." you scramble in his grasp but his strength is unmatched. you know what's coming next and it makes you feel something burning in your stomach that you try to convince yourself desperately is sickness.

he pulls down your pants and you begin to sob. "please!"

"look at you, begging for me already," he laughs. he's undoing his belt and you already feel his dick prodding at your entrance. if this was back in the 90s, before all of this bullshit, he would've had the decency to engage in some foreplay, but there's a sense of urgency that makes it all the more—

god, what the hell is wrong with you. you're so fucked.

he undresses your bottom half, leaving you just in your sweatshirt. "gorgeous," he comments. "just as i remember."

you feel his dick prodding at your entrance, and you squeeze your eyes shut as he pushes in. it still feels as good as it did back then. he fucks you nice and slow, emphasizing each thrust with a slap from his hips onto yours. how does he still fuck this well at his age?

instead of picking up his pace gradually, like he used to, he continues to fuck you slowly. you're moaning uncontrollably now, clawing behind you at his chest, hoping he'll get the message and pick up the pace. he doesn't and just laughs darkly. "he doesn't fuck you as good as i do, huh, baby? you needed my dick to satisfy you all those years ago, and still need it now the way you're gushing on my cock."

you want to tell him mike doesn't fuck you at all, and that you're just friends, and that you only belong to him—

someone calls your name from the doorway. you and william both snap your heads towards the direction, only to find a shocked mike with his mouth agape. "mr. raglan? what the fuck is going on?"

"michael schmidt!" william practically exclaims, excited. he stops fucking you, purposefully burying himself to the hilt inside of you so you groan and squirm at the loss of stimulation. "come! come join us! your girl and i were just getting re-acquainted."

"she's not my..." mike trails off, finding himself moving closer without thinking. he takes in your appearance: bottom naked and bent over the desk with a fucked out expression. god, you're so pretty. you're always so pretty, but this is just...

no, this is wrong, he tries to tell himself. it's almost like william reads his mind when he sing-songs, "join us, or i'll kill the both of you."

like there was a devil and angel on mike's shoulder, the devil was winning. he's always wanted to fuck you and he doesn't necessarily have a death wish, either. "what, uh, what do you want me to do?"

your face falls and your mouth goes dry. william speaks with a grin, "why don't we trade places?"

mike scrambles to undo his belt and you practically drool when he pulls his cock out. fuck, you've wanted mike for awhile now. all that pent up tension between you two is finally spilling over the edge. all those lingering glances and long-lasting touches leading up this

especially like this, with your former fling and the guy you babysit for, makes it — and fuck it, you'll say it — all the more hotter. he replaces william's spot behind you and thrusts in quicker than the latter. he's practically humping you, fucking you desperately like he's running after something. his hands grip onto your hips tightly. "yes," william hisses, pumping himself while sitting dowqn in his chair. when you glance at him, he has the audacity to fucking wink at you. "'attaboy, keep goin.'"

that only encourages mike as he moans your name. "fuck, your pussy feels so good — hah!"

"mmm, mike!" you moan back.

"look at you two," william says breathlessly, "what a lovely fuckin' sight." mike begins to plunge in and out, reaching your cervix with each thrust, and you're close already. he senses that, and you can tell he is too by the way his thrusts gradually become more unbalanced. william's grunts are getting louder.

you're the first one to come, then william, and mike is still desperately pushing out of you. for good measure, he lands an uncharacteristic smack on your ass and then buries himself to the hilt becoming coming inside. the feeling of him filling you up is absolutely delicious. when he pulls out he studies the way that his cum drips out of your pussy. he's enamored with you, by the way.

#fnaf #asks #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's #fnaf smut #william afton #steve raglan #william afton x reader #william afton smut #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut

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agendabymooner · 10 months

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9 to 5 || f1 drivers (4)

(SPIN OFF TO COLOUR ME YOUR COLOUR and RUSH)

Summary: Lorelei Hester ‘Lester’ Alessandro is a bassist first and Daniel Ricciardo’s partner second. But it seems like another role is added to her resume as she begins her weekend in Baku as Toto Wolff’s children’s babysitter.

Chapter/blurb summary: At the Mercedes hospitality, Lester and Toto prepared for a long weekend by easing the bassist's intimidation towards the Wolff kids' father. AND Toto and his kids had a different way to seal a deal, and everyone seemed to love it.

Content warning: Mentions of sickness, doting dad!Toto being doubtful, filler chapter part two (lmao), google/apple translated German, wholesome Toto Wolff + kids content.

Note: Updated the masterlist!!!!!

masterlist

iv. papa, soren and tia's promise hug

THURSDAY - Baku Race Weekend

The instructions were simple.

Keep an eye on the kids. They may be sweet but they’re menaces.

Make sure they’re fed (especially Tia because she’s a picky eater and she would cry if she didn’t eat). If Tia didn’t want anything from the venue, ask Toto’s assistant to drive them to the nearest restaurant or mall for food. Take Toto’s platinum card just so the kids are eating what they want.

Make sure they’re entertained. They may visit other hospitality areas if they feel like it but never go near the busy garages. They can say hi to the people who worked, but they can’t go near any cars without Toto’s supervision.

Whenever Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc approach the kids to fulfill their uncle duties, scare the men a little bit to remind them that they’re not married to Toto’s in-laws yet. Tell them to “know their place” but with kindness.

If they ever want to take the kids to say hi to others, tell them that they need to text Toto directly. Not Tilly. Toto. Tilly’s at home, taking care of their youngest child.

Don’t stress too much about putting the kids into danger. They know when to stay away from trouble.

The instructions were simple, but she swore she could feel her palms sweating while she was listening to Toto talk about the kids and how to care for them.

This wasn’t her first babysitting gig. She had a niece and nephews and their terrible two phases weren't that bad. Lester didn’t know why she scared herself so much when she thought of taking care of Soren and Tia.

Still, Toto’s aura was intimidating.

He was the same man who dressed his son in a denim shirt (with the letters SPAW — his son’s initials — embroidered on the bottom of its right hand pocket) and khakis shorts and his daughter in a beige puff sleeved shirt under her denim dungarees. He was the same man who had placed his daughter’s hair back with a bee barrette. Why was she so intimidated?

He didn’t carry his emotions at work around his family and he was definitely a loving father, yet Lester’s still scared of him. Not in Max and Charles’ level of scared though.

Inside the Mercedes hospitality stood Lester. She never felt awkward visiting the place even if her boyfriend was a driver for the rival team. If there’s anything that she had learned, it was that she had access to almost every team’s hospitality. Mercedes was a familiar place, seeing as she often found herself hanging out with Tilly whenever she was attending for the weekend. Talking to Toto alone was quite awkward but nevertheless she continued to nod along.

“You need to stop being intimidated by me,” Toto told her with a frown, “I’m not scary.”

“Half the grid would beg to differ,” Lester muttered to herself. He didn’t hear it.

“You’re not going to endanger the two I promise,” he added, “they are well behaved.”

“I’m not worried,” Lester waved off his comment, “we’ll have fun. Don’t worry too much about them, hm?”

“This is the first time I have brought them to another country without Tilly,” Toto chuckled to himself. “I have managed to dress them up today, so that is good. No?”

“They’re still breathing,” Lester told him, making him laugh. A rare one. She then shifted the topic to the other child who was forced to stay at home, “How is Adelmo?”

Toto’s eyes showed nothing but solemnity. He ran his fingers through his hair as he sighed, “The poor boy has a croup. Ren and Tia were excited to show him everything but we cannot take him with us. He’s been coughing a lot so Tilly took him to their physician. So… yeah. He has been crying a lot. Tilly said it took her an hour to get him to settle and take his medicine.”

Lester pursed her lips, “Poor little man.”

Toto nodded, “Tilly is just as restless as she normally would be on a race weekend. She would normally have a relaxed weekend whenever she stays back in England with the littles. She might as well have traveled with us, no?”

“It’s best if she stayed back with Adelmo,” Lester shrugged, “to lessen the exposure to more sickness. I’m sure his croup would go away eventually.”

“I hope so,” Toto sighed, now watching his older two play. “I should probably hand them over to you.”

“You should definitely,” Lester nodded in agreement. “Be a Team Principal right now. You can be Papa later.”

“I can be both at the same time,” Toto jokes, “you’re undermining my multitasking skills?”

“I’m not trying to, but in between a team who will be racing on Sunday and two children who are petting Roscoe? I think your drivers need you more,” Lester chuckled before shooing him off, “go.”

“Meine kinder,” Toto called the two, making the little ones turn and run to him. They stood before him, eyes that were once looking up moved their gaze as their father knelt down in front of them.

He spoke to them in a foreign language while gesturing at Lester, “Papa wird heute hart arbeiten. Ich brauche deine Hilfe, also hör zu, okay? Deine Tante Lorelei wird dir heute und morgen und morgen danach bei deiner Aufgabe helfen. Kannst du hart arbeiten wie Papa und Tante Lori erlauben, dir zu helfen?” Dad will work hard today. I need your help, so listen, okay? Your aunt Lorelei will help you with your task today and tomorrow and tomorrow after. Can you work hard like dad and allow Aunt Lori to help you?

His son and daughter looked up at her as she offered them a smile, not knowing what they just spoke of. The children looked back at Toto before the boy asked, “Bedeutet das, Bücher zu lesen?” Does that mean reading books?

Toto answered, “It can be reading. Did you bring your books?” The boy nodded.

The girl raised her hand, making the two look at her as she asked, “Ist es in Ordnung, wenn ich Onkel Max und Onkel Charles grüße? Und Onkel Lewis?” Is it okay if I say hi to Uncle Max and Uncle Charles? And Uncle Lewis? Now Lester understood a little bit of her question. Hearing the three drivers’ names did it for her.

Toto nodded, “Ja, aber du musst Tante Lori zuhören, wenn sie um etwas bittet. Und wenn du um etwas bitten willst, sag es ihr einfach und sie kann dir helfen.” Yes, but you have to listen to Auntie Lori whenever she asks for something. And if you want to ask for anything, just tell her and she can help you.

“Okay,” the kids answered at the same time.

“Are we going to work hard this weekend?” Toto asked with a grin. “Together?” The kids nodded eagerly. “Okay then, kann Papa eine versprochene Umarmung haben?” Can Papa have a promise hug?

Lester was so smitten at the sight of the father and the children that she hadn’t noticed the Mercedes photographer and cameraman were taking pictures and videos of the family. None of them noticed either, too busy attacking their father with a hug. Toto was attacking them with kisses all over their faces before he fell back, his children’s weight pushing him down.

“Wenn wir später zurückkommen, werden wir Mama anrufen, dann werden wir sehen, ob es Delmo besser geht,” when we get back later, we’ll call Mama then we’ll see if Delmo feels better. Toto murmured before he stood up, messing with his son’s hair one more time before he looked up at Lester with a grateful smile, “Thank you again, Lori. I appreciate your help.”

“Bye Papa!” “See you Papa!”

He waved at his kids again before starting his Thursday morning work. Peering down at the kids, Lester grinned and asked, “What are we working hard on today?”

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awellreadmannequin · 2 months

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A favourite bit of mine is matching a person with a car that fits their overall vibe. Back when I was on twitter I did this with historical philosophers, but now it is finally time to bring this bit to homestuck characters. As an aside, I put a shocking amount of work into making this post for how shitty it is.

John Egbert - Base model C4 Corvette

Some quick googling revealed that Con Air has not one but TWO Chevrolet Corvettes in it. The first is a C2 from the 1960s but, as a millennial, John will never be able to afford a classic American sports car. So he’d wind up with a base model C4, the other generation featured in the film. But why a Corvette? John is absolutely the kind of guy to see a car he half remembers from a film and go, “oh sweet! I always thought these were sick!” So that’s how he winds up with the most 1980s looking sports car a person can buy, complete with the shittiest malaise era small block Chevy had to offer.

June Egbert - 2000 V6 SN95 Mustang

Yeah, June gets a different entry because estrogen changes your taste in things. Unfortunately, June is still an Egbert and thus has terrible taste, which is how she winds up with this heavily used hunk of junk. Frankly, this choice is mostly down to how easily I can picture her big stupid grin as it wobbles down the highway with the top down. The interior is falling apart, but that’s just part of the charm. So is June’s complete inability to drive a rear-wheel drive sports car. Do not let her drive you somewhere.

Rose Lalonde - Mercedes 500e

In contrast to the Egberts, Rose actually has taste. Excellent taste. And nothing says taste like a Mercedes designed by the Maestro himself, Bruno Sacco. Just look at it. The subtle tear drop shape, the timeless styling, the brutal 5 litre V8. Wait, what? That’s right, this beautiful piece of German muscle is the Mercedes 500e. Rose can’t drive stick, which is perfect because this DOESN’T HAVE ONE. Unfortunately, she is like the Egberts in that she also shouldn’t be driving a rear drive car and, unlike June, this one actually has enough grunt to get the her sideways if it loses the rear. Good thing it has state of the art (for 1990) stability control.

Dave Strider - EG Civic

Nothing says “I created SBaHJ” like a clapped out EG Civic. Enough said, really. The FF drive train says “I know how to have fun on the cheap" while the bullet proof reliability says “I was raised in an unstable environment where I was responsible for meeting all of my own needs.” Also it looks cool. There are more ironic choices out there (PT Cruiser, looking at you), but even a shoddy craftsman needs dependable tools.

Jade Harley - 2002 Subaru Outback

Look, we all know that Subarus of this era are lesbian cars. But that’s purely incidental to this choice. Jade picked the Outback for its spacious cargo area and all-wheel drive capability. It’s the perfect car for the girl who wants to go anywhere and still have space to get laid. Sure it smells like dog, but it was like that when Jade bought the thing. Plus, she’s easily the most responsible driver out of the gang, so you’re gonna want her behind the wheel on any and all road trips.

Karkat Vantas - Shotgun in Dave’s clapped out EG Civic

Frankly, I don’t even know if Karkat’s legs are long enough to reach the pedals. Even if they are, he’s definitely never passing a driving test if he keeps swearing at the car, the other drivers on the road, the test administrator, and himself. He’ll never admit it, but he also just likes being a passenger. It’s nice not having the responsibility of keeping everyone in the car and around the car alive.

Terezi Pyrope - VW Polo Harlequin

Hey Claire, what the actual fuck am I looking it here? That, ladies and gentlemen, is a VW Polo. It’s like a Golf but smaller. Oh, you meant the colour scheme? What can I say, Germans are fucking weird. Just like Terezi Pyrope.

Kanaya Maryam - NA Mazda Miata

Look at it. Tell me that Kanaya would drive literally anything but this. You can’t. Everything about the original Miata perfectly compliments her. It’s elegant, light on its feet, and achingly beautiful. Like, picture it: Kanaya with her hair tied back with a kerchief, driving beside the ocean at sunset. It’s sophisticated in ways that the imposing 500e never could be. Rose would die to see her wife behind the wheel of one these things. Honestly, I might too.

Vriska Serket - Porsche 911 930 Turbo (Stolen)

To understand why Vriska drives a 930 Turbo, you first need to understand what a 930 is. The 911 is, in many ways, an anachronism. It traces its origin to the Porsche 356, itself a sports car built out of VW Beetle parts. As such, the 911 has its engine mounted behind the rear axle, which is also its only driven axle. This leads to unique handling dynamics. In corners, the weight of the engine initially pushes the 911 to understeer until it begins to pivot whereupon it will rapidly begin to oversteer. At this point, an inexperienced driver will lift off of the throttle. This is a mistake. The 911 has liftoff oversteer, meaning that it needs power to keep itself steady. Without power (i.e. lifting off the throttle) will cause it to spin. Now this is what 911s were like before Porsche strapped a big ol’ turbocharger to the engine. A turbocharger pushes more air into an engine which allows it to create more power. However, it cannot do this until the engine reaches a certain RPM. In older turbo engines, this power came on very suddenly. This characteristic of turbochargers combined with the already skittish nature of the 911 earned the 930 an infamous moniker: the Widow Maker. Liftoff oversteer + a sudden wallop of power a few seconds after you press the accelerator = a lot of dead yuppies. There’s no way in hell that Vriska fucking Serket isn’t going to be behind the wheel of the most dangerous car she can steal. It goes without saying, she drives exactly how you’d imagine Vriska fucking Serket would drive. Is she a good driver? Well, she’s not widowed Terezi yet, so…

Jane Crocker - Aston Martin V12 Vantage

For those who don’t know, the automotive prestige hierarchy looks like this: America (shitty quality, poorly engineered) < Korea (getting appreciably better lately!) < France + Nissan (respectable but weird) < Japan (legendary reliability at a budget price) < Italian (beautiful, vascular, so unreliable that it wraps around to being charming) < Germany (cutting edge engineering and reliable so long as you are meticulous with maintenance) < Britain (aristocratic class, respectable power, truly terrible build quality and worse reliability). Yeah, I know, it’s weird. But among those legendary British luxury brands is Aston Martin, notable for being the signature automotive marque for Agent 007. But that’s not why Jane drives a V12 Vantage. No, this car was her Dad’s dream car and he pulled some strings to get one for her for her sweet 16. She doesn’t really get why it makes him so happy, but it does. And it’s not like she’s complaining about how easy it is to overtake people on the highway with twelve cylinders of pure British gumption at your disposal.

Jake English - Jeep Wrangler YJ

Yeah. It’s the Jeep from Jurassic Park. And also Clueless. Come on, this is Jake English we’re talking about. Vriska? Vriska’s ride needs a whole history and vehicle dynamics lecture to appreciate. Not Jake. Not our man English. He drives a car from a movie. A car from TWO movies. *le sign*

Roxy Lalonde - Citroën DS

Look at it. This one is pure vibes. Roxy drives this weird, frog looking thing because she’s the kinda girlie who looks at a weird, frog looking car and thinks to herself, “ong look at this little guy this funky lil fella i gotta own em!” Fun Fact: people used to rally these things. Like. Off road. And they were pretty good too. Food for thought, I guess.

Dirk Strider - 1986 Toyota Pickup (yes it’s called that in the NA market)

On one hand, it’s ironic for philosopher rap prince to drive a pickup. On the other, the bed is really useful for hauling around robot parts, carrying dj equipment, and helping your friends move. Plus, the towing capacity means that when Jake’s stupid Jeep breaks down (again), he’s not stuck on the side of the road forever. He feels like a Japanese pickup is on brand for himself. Which is sort of ironic since a real ironic rap ninja eschews brand integrity. Idk, my brain doesn’t operate on irony levels high enough to comprehend this bullshit.

Callie - Shotgun in Roxy's DS

Unlike Karkat, Callie probably can drive. It's just that she likes it when Roxy drives her places. It basically takes two to figure out how to make this damn thing work anyway. The French were really on something when they designed this thing. Callie doesn't know what the French are, but if the DS is any indication, she's pretty sure they were a nation of madmen and possibly perverts.

#claire thoughts #hs #homestuck #you people better appreciate how much work this was #claire talks about cars

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spaceorphan18 · 2 years

Text

The Spaces In-Between: Chapter 5

TITLE: The Spaces In-Between RATING: M PAIRINGS: Eventually Kurt/Blaine, unrequited Kurt/Finn ADDITIONAL TAGS: All the tags! Mostly slowburn romance and friendship SUMMARY: The story of Kurt Hummel’s life in the spaces between what we saw on the show – goes through the entire series, and follows his adventures throughout, including falling in love with Blaine, his friendships with Mercedes and Rachel, and his relationship with his dad.

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta - she makes all my work better <3

Thanks to @lallagoglee for the wonderful cover art! <3

***

Chapter Five: Alone

Kurt is on his way home as he passes the auditorium and hears the unmistakable voice of Rachel Berry. He stops, hiding just beside of the entryway, barely peering in to see her standing on stage, belting out a number from Cabaret. In the back, Sandy Ryerson is screaming his head off but Rachel continues, not paying him attention. Kurt can not seem to pull himself away. She is good. She is irritatingly good. He doesn’t understand what Mr. Ryerson is going on about, she is able to sing the song with an ease that Kurt’s never witnessed.

As much as he does not like her - as the rest of the glee club is beginning to gel she still seems on the outside - he is beginning to admit that maybe they are a better team with her at the helm. Glee has been a mess since she left. Without someone to take lead, they’ve been floundering. Mr Schue does not seem to know how to bring them all together. Finn at least seems to be trying but he lacks Rachel’s whirlwind force. They are not going to be able to even place at Sectionals without her.

Kurt finally manages to tear himself away, irritated at her talent, jealous that she can be a star in anything she pleases without any thought of the rest of the team. What he would give to be on stage like that - belting out to a full auditorium of people who can see him for everything that he is. He grumbles as he leaves, still able to hear Rachel’s voice from out in the hallway.

The next morning, she catches up with him, a flurry of energy as she always is. “I saw you last night,” she says as if it is an accusation.

“What are you talking about?” Kurt asks. He has to meet Mercedes before their first class, and doesn’t really have time for one of Rachel’s diatribes.

“Watching me practice for Cabaret,” she says, holding him back with her hand. “And while I appreciate that I have my admirers, even amongst my enemies…”

“Enemies, really?”

“...no amount of applause, silent or otherwise will get me to come back to glee club,” she says definitely.

Her eyes tell a different story. They are large and pleading, almost as if she is waiting for him to beg for her to come back. God, really? As much as they might need her back, he just can not force himself down to her level. “Well, that’s fine, Rachel, because the glee club works as a team, and unless you’d like to actually be a part of one, maybe you’re better off on your own.” Was that too harsh? Maybe.

She sticks her nose in the air and sighs dramatically. “I don’t need a team behind me. My light shines too bright for the rest of you, and if you and Mr. Schue and the rest of glee club can’t see that, maybe it’s better that I shine on my own.”

“Rachel…” he says, without knowing what the end of the sentence is.

“I am going to make it with or without the glee club,” she insists. “Now please, stop watching me during my rehearsals. It’s distracting.”

Without another word, she storms off leaving Kurt unsure of how to feel over her outburst.

***

April Rhodes is an enigma all her own.

She makes Kurt uncomfortable in ways that he is not sure he can articulate but, god damn, can she sing. Maybe they don’t need Rachel after all. Besides, April Rhodes has given him something that Rachel Berry never could - a way to lower his inhibitions.

His dad is working late, meaning he gets the whole place to himself. Still, he makes sure to lock his door, giving him enough private space to look over what April had given him. He forces himself to drink out of the canteen she had left with him. It is definitely alcohol, though Kurt has no idea what kind. All he knows is that it has the most bitter sting to it, and that he isn’t sure why adults are always drinking this stuff. He is able to get through an entire glass of it when his head begins to feel lighter.

He settles on his bed, fanning out the magazines that April had given him, not sure where to start. He pours the bitter liquid into a wine glass he grabbed from one of the top cupboards. (He had to clean off a fine layer of dust, since who knows when it had been used last.) He sips and begins to flip through. And begins to flip through.

This is so much better than the porn he had tried weeks earlier.

The men are all mostly naked, with abs and biceps and pectorals all rippling. They are a little more muscular than Kurt usually finds attractive but that is not what is catching Kurt’s attention the most. Most of them are wearing tight, tight underwear, thongs, and speedos, most of which showing off the thick outline of the men’s dicks. He cannot keep his eyes off the dicks. Of course, there are asses on display as well, tightly clenched, ripped asses.

Kurt lets out a little giggle as he finishes off the alcohol. He is flushed now, but not in a bad way. Feeling slightly dizzy, he puts the glass on the nightstand and rolls onto his back, holding the magazine above him. He has looked through most of them already but he comes back to one man in particular. Not only is he more lean and athletic, more to Kurt’s aesthetic pleasure. He’s dark and handsome - and his pelvis is thrust. His dick is RIGHT THERE.

The alcohol has made Kurt relaxed and comfortable. He takes a finger and puts it right on the man’s dick, laughing to himself at his forwardness. He wonders what it would feel like to touch it. Would it feel like his own? Would it be heavier? Longer? More pleasurable? How would any of this even work?

Without thinking too much about it, Kurt undoes his own pants and pulls himself out, stroking leisurely as he daydreams about the man in the picture. He closes his eyes and puts the magazine down, throwing it over to the pile as he lets his imagination take over.

The man could kiss him, soft, romantic kisses as he lets Kurt touch him. He could stroke the man through his pants or, as he daringly lets his mind wander, the man would let Kurt take him out -- see his dick hard and flushed and ready to be touched by him. He is mostly naked anyway, and the man wants him to. The man is actually enjoying Kurt touching him. Kurt begins to pick up the pace of his hand, his own dick growing hard quickly.

Or… he could allow the man to touch him. They could kiss and be close, and the man could reach between them and stroke Kurt where he wants it the most. Kurt loses himself in the fantasy, thinking about this muscled, beautiful man who would treasure him, kiss him softly, lovingly, as he strokes Kurt’s most private of places. The man would bring them close, and hold Kurt in his arms as they continued to kiss. And then… then maybe… their bodies would be brought together. Kurt could feel the man’s erection slide against his own.

“Fuck,” Kurt let’s out as his hips snap up into his hand. A jolt of pleasure reverberates through him, his body reacting positively to that thought.

They could rock together, melding into one, as their naked bodies enjoyed each other. Kurt’s hand began to fly over his dick, pumping it with no abandon as he followed the fantasy to its conclusion. The man would come first, moaning into Kurt’s mouth as he came. And then he would still, and let Kurt fly, letting Kurt rub against him until Kurt came apart. Kurt lets out an undignified groan as he finishes, flopping down onto the bed out of breath.

Well, that… had been an experience.

He should clean up, should shower. But he lays on his bed, a little hazy. Looking at the clock, it is still hours until his dad gets home. Plenty of time to, maybe, enjoy these magazines a little further. Kurt lets out another giggle as he sits up, shimming out of his pants as he does so. He pours himself the last of the canteen and toasts to April Rhodes, his new favorite member of the New Directions, and opens up another one of the magazines.

***

After a few days, Kurt decides that alcohol is not for him, especially after he throws up all over Ms. Pillsbury’s shoes. But he is keeping the magazines. He has them in a box underneath his bed where his dad won’t find them. It is almost like having a dirty little secret and, for maybe the first time in his life, he wonders if he is like the other guys his age.

The thought does not linger with him too much, there are more important things to think about. Like the fact that they are performing for Invitationals in a day or two. And the fact that April might be getting a little out of control despite the fact that the glee club now loves her. But, more so than anything, the blindsiding fact that Quinn Fabray is pregnant and that Finn - FINN - is the father.

The idea that Finn is actually having sex with Quinn Fabray makes his stomach turn. She is so nasty and callous, what could he ever see in her? But the scandal has rocked his and the entire glee club’s world, so much so that Kurt cannot help himself but lap up the delicious details.

He is so busy being amused as school lets out that he does not notice, at first, that Rachel Berry is having a breakdown next to her locker. In fact, no one seems to notice. The student body of McKinley swarms around her, completely ignoring the fact that there is a sobbing mess of a girl right there in the open. Feeling a bit of pity, Kurt approaches.

“Rachel?” he says softly.

“What do you want,” she snaps, almost violently. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“Me?” Kurt’s now completely confused.

“Is there a reason you are always so cruel to me?” she cries.

“What are you talking about?” Kurt asks, sincerely. He has seen Rachel cry plenty of times but, unlike a majority of the time, these tears are real. Kurt can’t help but feel bad - for whatever it is he has supposedly done. “I haven’t done anything to you.”

She buries her head in her hands, and continues to cry. “The way you seemed delighted to tell me that Finn has gotten… that Finn… Finn…”

Kurt finally gets what she is going on about -- the whole Quinn and Finn thing. He is annoyed, at first, that she is pinning it on him. She shouldn’t shoot the messenger just because it shatters her bubble of self-importance. “Rachel, you were going to find out about that regardless of who told you. It’s not like she wouldn’t be showing in a few months anyway.”

“Yes, but he could have told me himself, he didn’t have to…” she continues, the sobbing growing loud enough now to echo across the hall. The few students remaining walk past with disgusted looks on their faces, making Kurt suddenly feel oddly protective of Rachel.

“Are you okay?” he asks. He contemplates putting his arm around her, but can not bring himself to do it.

“I just feel so… alone,” she sobs.

It is then that it strikes him. He gets that - the feeling of being alone. How long has he been by himself, struggling to find his place in the world? How long has it taken him to make just one friend?

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks. Rachel has never outwardly admitted that she needs anyone, at least to him. “Didn’t you say earlier this week that you didn’t need us - that you needed to shine brightly on your own?”

“Why does my shining so brightly have to always burn others?” she says. “Can a star really stay lit if no one is there to witness it?”

“I don’t know if I understand you Rachel Berry,” he says.

But maybe he does - maybe they are more alike than he cares to admit. Maybe they are all just trying to figure out who they are and where they fit in. And while he is on a path to being accepted by others, figuring out who he is, and being okay with it. Maybe Rachel is much farther behind him than he thought. For all her talent and her ambitions, maybe he has got at least one thing up on her.

“Would you like to join Mercedes and I at the Lima Bean?” he asks. It’s the best he can offer. “Tina and Artie will probably be there as well.”

“I have Cabaret practice,” she says coldly, and pushes past him towards the auditorium.

Kurt gives a frown as he watches her leave. She might be talented, she might even be a star someday - but he is not sure he would ever want to trade lives with her. He hopes, though, for her sake, she can climb out of the darkness he himself had been in for so long.

#the great glee rewatch #the spaces in between #kurt hummel #kurt hummel fic

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bigskydreaming · 3 years

Text

Doing some writing today off and on between errands and work, and jumping around various Kings of the Sky installments, specifically Dick, Jason and Cass stuff, so probably gonna post snippets from a bunch of them as I go.

(Kings of the Sky is an AU that goes canon divergent from the point of Jason calling Dick for advice for dealing with Bruce after the Garzonas case and where things end up going dramatically different from that point on. Including Jason not dying, being part of his own lineup of Titans between Dick and Tim’s, Dick being adopted not long after the Church of Blood incident, Cass being the third Wayne kid to be taken in and adopted and with Tim and Duke being next and then Damian coming along later once they find out about him. This is basically my ‘the family’s alright’ AU with largely ‘Good Dad Bruce’ except for Dick and then Jason yelling some sense into him about the other, respectively, in the first two installments, just FYI).

Anyway, this bit is from a story called “In Their Shadows Grow Trees Of Good and Evil,” set about a year after Cass has been adopted, when she and Jason are both sixteen and Dick’s twenty-one. Also just FYI, because canon has never been specific about what ways Cass is neurodivergent due to the comic-book style ‘rewiring’ of her brain so that she could learn to speak later in life, I tend to go with her being dyslexic and having aphasia. She sticks exclusively to sign language and being a silent presence in her costumed personas, so that there’s no chance of people connecting the dots between Black Bat and Cassandra Wayne, as she mostly speaks verbally in her civilian persona and doesn’t hide her aphasia. The reason there’s not likely to be any obvious signs of aphasia in the snippets of her I post is because I wait until I complete something to choose words at random to replace with aphasia-born mixups, so its more realistic and I’m not gearing her dialogue towards deliberately placed moments. Just in case you were wondering.

In Their Shadows Grow Trees of Good and Evil

“Hey Todd,” sneered an exquisitely obnoxious voice. “Why’s your sister so fucking weird?”

Jason sighed the sigh of a soul a mere century into its eternity of damnation as he rose from the lunch table he’d been studying at and crammed the rest of his books into his backpack. Then he pasted a cheerfully bland smile on his face and turned around, geared for academia warfare (teenage prep school edition).

“Hey Craig,” he said brightly. “Why’d you come out of the womb so ugly your parents had to tie a piece of steak around your neck just to get the family dog to go near you? Mysteries abound.”

The advancing junior slowed a step, momentarily rocked by his truly impressive return volley. The grimace Craig’s already gargoyle-esque features twisted into made his face even more unpleasant to look at than usual, which was quite the feat. Jason would have applauded if just looking at it hadn’t already turned him to stone.

But the bargain basement basilisk kept on towards him rather than turn tail and skulk off to pop his emotional blisters, so Jason sighed a sequel to his first one. Looked like it was one of those days where Craig felt up to powering through. Guess someone had eaten their self-esteem Wheaties that morning. Joy.

“You think you’re pretty hot shit, don’t you, Todd?”

Jason shrugged. “I mean, to be honest I kinda have a one track mind, so right now I’m mostly just thinking about punching you in your mistake.”

“My what?”

“Your face,” Jason elaborated with exaggerated patience.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god, I’m saying your face is a mistake. See, its not as fun when I have to stop and explain it to you. Ugh, you ruin everything.”

He neatly sidestepped the older boy as R2-Dumbass stayed frozen, smoke coming off of his internal CPU while trying to catch up. For a second Jason thought he was home free, but then he remembered the universe fucking hated him so haha, sucks to suck. Also, a small crowd had gathered to witness the verbal jousting match, and nothing invigorated an asshole like Craig more than an audience of like-minded peers. So there was that too.

“Whatever. Laugh it up all you want, you little shit,” the junior rallied. “But just remember, mocking your betters will never change the fact that you were born street trash and you’ll be street trash until the day you die.”

Honestly? Not his best effort. Jason almost felt bad using any of his good material. Seemed like overkill at this point. But he did have a strict Scorched Earth policy to maintain, so.....

“Yeah but my dad could buy out and ruin your dad so that means I still win, right?”

He smirked as the barb landed and Craig’s face set into a sunset vista of strangled purple and furious red. Bam. Direct hit.

“Listen, you - “

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it was rhetorical,” Jason interrupted. “I don’t actually care what you think even a little bit. Nobody does. You don’t matter. Please go be irrelevant elsewhere, you’re fucking dismissed, you loser.”

“Speak for yourself, charity case.” Oh goodie, Craig’s backup singers had finally arrived. Now if only he could remember to care enough to learn their names in the first place. Seriously, who told the extras they could have lines? “All the jokes in the world can’t change who and what you are.”

Jason shrugged and continued nonchalantly up the hill to where his sister was standing with arms crossed, staring down at something on the other side.

“True genius is never appreciated in its own time,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be immortalized in song eventually.”

The mob of morons deigned to let him go without further incident. Though he suspected that had less to do with his scathing wit and more to do with him being headed towards Cass. She was immaculately presented as always, wearing the Gotham Academy uniform like she was born to it despite hating its uncomfortable stiffness every bit as much as he did. But that was just Cass for you.

For all that she still struggled at times to engage verbally or speak up in social settings, her mastery of body language remained without peer. She could chameleon-camouflage her way into matching poise and posture with anyone - a skill that had allowed her to walk into school on her very first day with her head held high as though she owned everything in her sight. Exuding so much Queen Bee Intimidation Factor even the other hive queens were afraid to approach her themselves. Sending forth their drones to try and woo her into an alliance, only to see her remain oh-so-casually above it all, a slightly contemptuous smile adorning her lips.

Basically, she scared the shit out of their classmates without them having anywhere close to a true understanding of why, and Jason was outrageously jealous. Rude. Unfair. Why did his siblings always get all the cool toys when all he had was his rakish charm, scintillating intellect and debonair.....nah, who was he kidding. He was fucking awesome.

“Sup, sis,” he said, cresting the hill to stand beside Cass. “Just FYI, I just took a popularity bullet for you, which means you owe me your dessert tonight. Its a family rule that’s totally a real thing and definitely not something I just made up right now because Alf is making chocolate soufflé.”

She made no acknowledgment and remained stock still, a Colossus at Rhodes peering down into the shifting shadows of the parking lot below.

He peered down as well, though with absolutely no idea what they were looking at. Solidarity, yo.

“So are we staring fixedly at anything in particular, or should I just pick my own spot and commit?”

His humor was totally wasted on her as always. Instead of laughing and telling him what a lovable goof he was, she just inclined her head in the direction of a blonde girl where she was standing next to the driver’s side door of a Mercedes-Benz, dictating final commandments to her peons before departing. Well, probably. Jason was just guessing, based on his own body language reads, and like, general disdain for literally everyone at this school that wasn’t related to him.

He made a face. An extra special one reserved just for this classmate in particular. “Ugh, Madison Dunleavy? She’s the worst.”

Cass raised a cool eyebrow. “I thought Craig Hendricks was the worst.”

“He is. They’re both the worst. Its a hotly contested position here at Gotham Academy.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded back down at the Queen of Air and Darkness. “So. You know her?”

“Nope,” Jason said. “Come to think of it, I’ve actually never seen her in my life. No idea who that is. Can’t help you, sorry. Shall we go home?”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition speared him with clear intent. Who the fuck needed words when you could pack the Encyclopedia Britannica into a single facial expression?

Jason sighed gustily.

“I had a slight altercation with her freshman year that led to her declaring her undying enmity for me until the end of time. The word nemesis may or may not have been thrown around once or twice. I can’t recall.”

The Eyebrow of Inquisition lowered nary an inch. Ugh, she wanted more? Why did everyone in his family hate privacy, with the obvious exclusion of himself when snooping through Cass and Dick’s rooms for blackmail material, which was actually intel-gathering and thus another matter entirely.

“Okay so basically what happened was my first week here I overheard her talking shit about me and not even twenty minutes later she was pretending to kiss my ass in homeroom, like probably because of Bruce, y’know? So I just busted out laughing and told her to fuck off and die and she has inexplicably loathed me ever since.”

Avoiding further Eyebrow Inquisition-ing, he made a show of peering around aimlessly. When the silence extended and it was clear Cass was absolutely not going to break first, Jason waved a hand in dismissal and took to peering oh so casually at his fingernails. "I suppose I was less tactful back in those days.”

He chanced a look up, finally, and saw his sister’s eyebrow had somehow managed to mighty morphin power ranger its way into a configuration evoking both judgment and disbelief, with the latter perhaps aimed at the idea he was significantly differing in the tact department these days either.

“I don’t love the implications your face is making right now,” he told her.

She ignored him, because of course she did.

“Does she know Dick?” She asked instead. Jason shrugged.

“I mean, maybe? She’s probably seen him around at one of those stupid galas we have to go to, and actually I think maybe she has an older brother who was either in Dick’s grade or like, one above or below it? I don’t know.”

Now both eyebrows were doing the dance of disbelief. Okay, so maybe that was poor situational awareness on his part, since it wasn’t like Gotham Academy was a big school with a ton of other kids and also he’d only been in the same class as Madison for like over two whole years, but whatever. There were extingent circumstances.

“Look, she’s a total snob who’s always looked down on me and in return I willfully ignore both her existence and that of everyone and everything even tangentially related to her. Its called equality, Cass.”

She pursed her lips and went back to the peering, because of course in the mind of Cass it made total sense that the Grand Inquisition didn’t need to be followed up by any explanation on her part, what the hell. Like was he supposed to have inferred it?

“What’s this all about anyway?”

“I heard her talking about Dick earlier,” she said without peeling her eyes away from her personal recon mission. “I don’t know what she said though, I just heard her say Grayson, and then I was busy looking at what her body was saying. I know it was about Dick because she shut down when she saw me. And I didn’t like the way she....looked....before that happened. The way she was talking. It was.....”

Jason frowned but held back any follow-up questions while he waited - with total patience because he wasn’t an absolute cad, thank you very much - for his sister to find the word she was hunting for. It was a major source of frustration for her, that whatever neural map her brain followed put body language and spoken language in totally different regions of her brain, separated by a fairly great divide. Meaning she usually had to make a conscious choice to focus on body language or conventional languages - whether verbal or sign. But it tended to be one or the other; she’d yet to master taking in and comprehending both forms of ‘language’ at the same time. And none of them had quite figured out how to convince her that she wasn’t actually missing anything when she chose to focus on one specific form of communication - that she was still observing far more than most people ever would.

“Proprietary,” Cass settled on at last. She nodded her satisfaction with her choice of word, and Jason waited a whole two point five seconds before sticking his whole foot in his mouth.

“Proprietary?” He asked with a scrunched nose as he weighed that for possible context and implications. “You sure?”

She glared. He winced. It was a whole thing.

“Yeah, I know, sorry, sorry, I heard it the second it was out of my mouth. We don’t actually have to experiment with the legitimacy of if looks could kill.”

Cass rolled her eyes, but eh. That could’ve gone worse.

Jason swiftly redirected attention anyway. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all.

“So. The Queen of Air and Darkness was talking about our big bro, and her mood was.....proprietary, huh?” He recapped while digesting the info like a boss. “Well. Definitely not loving that, I gotta say. Hold please.”

Pulling out his phone and pulling up his most recent texts, he began typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” Cass asked.

“Texting Tom,” he replied, because duh. Hah, now it was his chance to have the answers that should be patently obvious and thus make with the ‘are you kidding me’ when she asked obvious questions she should know the answer to! How do you like them apples, sis?

“Why are you texting your boyfriend right now?”

Jason rolled his eyes, because fair is fair, but never ceased texting for a moment. Time was of the essence here, probably. Well, maybe. Okay probably not. But it’d still been like half an hour since he and Tom had last texted and that’s a very fucking long time in teenage years.

“To be our getaway driver tonight, obviously.”

She stared at him. He didn’t look up, but he could feel it anyway. He was very intuitive like that.

“What?”

Jason heaved another sigh, one keyed to tones of ‘oh my god, do I really have to spell this out,” exasperation. He was just racking up the bonus points here. It was really too bad this wasn’t an actual competition he could actually win and this was all just pettiness taking place wholly in his own head. Lame.

“Well, clearly we now have to go snoop in Madison’s house aka lair to see if its actually a house or a full on lair. Because she’s either a creeper or like, legit evil, and its important to know which one before we proceed, because obviously we can only bust her for being a weird creeper about our brother as Jason and Cass, whereas if she’s legit evil, that’s gotta go down as Robin and Black Bat. I’ll handle the snooping, you’ll take look-out, but we still need a wheelman and that’s why I’m texting Tom. This is all very mission-oriented, okay. I’m a professional.”

“Right,” she affirmed, while sounding anything but convinced. “Why don’t we just tell Bruce?”

Without looking up or breaking stride, he said: “I’m going to give you til I finish typing this sentence to figure out what was wrong with what you just said. Remember that we are talking about hypothetical danger to our brother, and also Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response to any of his children being in even hypothetical danger. And also our brother’s idea of a proportionate response to Bruce’s idea of a proportionate response. Look, you’re still new so I’m gonna need you to just trust me on this one. Its gonna be a no on telling Bruce without further intel.”

Cass said nothing in response to that, which meant that she was conceding the point and recognized the wisdom of his words. Or maybe that she was just gonna go ahead and do what she wanted anyway and just wasn’t bothering to fight about it, but it was probably that first thing.

“Well you better not just make out with your boyfriend all night,” is what she said at last, and that got his attention reeeeeal quick like.

“Umm. Wow. Okay. So, first off, you’re not the boss of me and who I make out with and when, so jot that down. And second, now I’m definitely going to make out with my boyfriend extra hard, with the exception of when we are actually on our recon mission because as previously established, I am a professional. And also, again, you’re not the boss of me.”

Jason ignored her Eye Roll With Extra Emphasis, and instead just held up his phone to Text With Extra Emphasis, as he read along with what he was typing.

“By the way babe, we have to make out extra hard tonight,” he said, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth while he dragged out his dictation with the kind of focus that usually led to Bruce asking why he couldn’t apply as much intensity to training as he did to pettiness. “Cass has suddenly decided she can dictate terms to me and I need to shut that shit down ASAP, so thank you in advance for your assistance in this matter. Smoochies and other gay stuff to the best boyfriend ever.”

Jason frowned as a response pinged back seconds later.

TheCatsMeow: ....the things I put up with for the sake of your weird family dynamics.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah, yeah. You’re a saint among were-panthers. Must you mock? Why can’t you just tell me I’m pretty instead?

TheCatsMeow: Sorry. Let me try again. OMG you’re so pretty Jase how did I get so lucky xoxo.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: No. Its too late. It feels forced and unbelievable now. You’ve ruined it forever.

TheCatsMeow: Got it. From now on I will only tell you that you’re repulsive and hideous.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: I’m breaking up with you.

TheCatsMeow: But after I help you with your mission tonight.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Obvsly. I’m a professional. Why do people keep forgetting this?

TheCatsMeow: And also the making out to spite your sister.

TheOnlyRobinThatRocks: Yeah we should do that first too. I mean we already penciled it in.

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7-wonders · 3 years

Text

Circling the Drain

Summary: It's a race against time...wait, why do people say that? It's not a race against some outside force, it's a race against a crazed back-from-the-dead mafioso with a vengeance.

Word Count: 3454

A/N: I tried something a little different for this chapter in terms of formatting, mainly because there was so much I wanted to fit in different POVS. Uhhhhh let me know your thoughts and like, comments and reblogs make my world go round. ALSO that second gif is exactly how I imagine a certain scene (you'll know it when you read it).

Warnings: Very torture heavy chapter. Blood, torture methods, guns, knives, kidnappings, talk of death. You should probably go pet some puppies or kittens after you read this.

Duncan

It’s difficult to know how much time has passed since Duncan was last outside of this small concrete room. There’s no windows to let light in, no clocks to denote the hour, and no sort of schedule that he can catch on to. Although, even if there were a schedule, he would be too delirious from sleep deprivation to realize that there was one. The only thing that Duncan can count on is the unending torture at the hands of his uncle.

All of the crisis training in the world wouldn’t have prepared him for the physical and mental torture that he’s been put through. Though he doesn’t know it, it’s been almost seventy-two hours of this absolute hell, of Bill beating him black and blue, taunting him, slowly ripping out fingernails one by one (somehow, he still has six, though one of the six is just barely hanging on), refusing to let him sleep, and tasing him back to consciousness whenever he tries to close his eyes. This most recent time, the throbbing of his head had begged him enough to where he finally closed his eyes, only to be jolted up with a rush of electricity running through his body and seizing his muscles.

“You still think you’re getting out of it that easy, huh? That you can fall asleep and bide your time until you’re ‘rescued?’” Bill chuckles. “No, it’s not that easy.”

“Just kill me already, if that’s what you’re planning on,” Duncan says through clenched teeth, glaring up at Bill through the one eye that’s not completely swollen shut.

“Is that what you want? You want me to kill you?” His obviously-fake concern would enough to make bile rise in Duncan’s throat, if he had actually had anything left in his stomach.

“You want me to beg for it, don’t you?”

“I guess I underestimated you. Turns out you do have some sort of critical thinking skills.”

Duncan defiantly turns his head, refusing to give Bill what he wants. Realizing this, Bill begins to walk towards the door. As he does, going to flick off the single light bulb in this place, Duncan’s chest tightens in anticipation of the claustrophobia he’ll surely begin to feel (most likely a side-effect of what he’s gone through, considering he’s never been scared of dark spaces before) and he scrambles to stall him. “So why are you keeping me alive?”

Bill stops for a moment before slowly turning around. “I already told you.”

“No, I know that you want revenge. But what’s your plan? Why waste your time? Surely you’ll at least give me the honor of knowing what I’m dying for?”

His jaw clenches, not pleased with that last question, but he doesn’t hit Duncan. Yet. “I’m taking back what’s mine, and then some.”

“And you think Mom’s going to be okay with that?”

“Your poor mother is going to be more than okay with that when she finds out that the Coven killed her only child.”

Slowly, it dawns on Duncan. “You’re the one that’s been killing people in the Coven’s style and leaving them in our territory?”

“Of course I am!” Bill holds his arms out as if to say ‘tah-dah!’ “Cordelia Goode would never be so bold as to do that! But after I kill you, drain you of your blood, cut your tongue out, dump you in the Potomac, and reappear into society, people won’t care about that little fact. Especially after I reveal that it was the Coven that prompted me to fake my own death and go into hiding for years.”

“How long were you planning this?”

“About a year before you stabbed me, when I realized that you were far too…” he grits his teeth, “charismatic to not end up with the family business eventually. That’s why I always made sure that the police and paramedics were well-paid, just in case the day ever came that I needed them to lie on my behalf.”

“You have it all planned then, so why not just do it and kill me now?”

“Well, there are a couple of minor issues I still need to work out.” Bill glances at Duncan slyly. “Such as what to do with that girlfriend of yours.”

In a flash, Duncan sees red. He lunges, forgetting the fact that he’s chained to the radiator and can only go so far until his ankle is jerked violently and he falls back to the ground. “You leave her alone, she’s done nothing wrong!”

“You’re right, she hasn’t, but (Y/N) knows too much.”

Duncan’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that Bill (predictably) knows more than he should.

“I’m thinking a suicide? It’s very believable, what with the grieving girlfriend and all.” Bill steps forward and, ever so slowly, places his foot on one of Duncan’s hands. “Maybe she slits her wrists in the bath? It’s very easy to overpower someone when they’re vulnerable. Or perhaps she overdoses? That’s not my preferred method, though, far too much room for someone to survive an overdose. Tell me, Duncan, how would you prefer that she die?” With each possible method, Bill continues to lay more pressure on Duncan’s hand until Duncan is moaning in pain.

“Don’t...hurt her,” Duncan pants.

Bill finally removes his foot, giving Duncan a moment to breathe before he stomps on his hand, digging the toe of his shoe in until Duncan is screaming and Bill is sure his hand is broken. “I think she’ll jump into the Potomac with a weight tied around her ankle. The poeticism--her drowning in the same river that your body will be found in--is something that’s just too good to pass up.”

“I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll kill you again and make sure that it sticks this time.” Tears are streaming down Duncan’s face, though whether that’s from the physical or emotional agony he’s in, he can’t be sure.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Bill smiles, walking to the light switch and flicking it off. “I’ll be back in a bit, and then our final act can finally begin.”

This time, Duncan doesn’t stop him before he leaves, barely letting the door close before his willpower crumbles and he begins to sob. Cradling his injured hand, he has to force himself to look at the now-mangled fingers. He gasps, attempting to straighten them out, but they refuse to even twitch in response. It’s now that Duncan realizes that the true torture is waiting. His mind and body shattered, he now has to be at the mercy of Bill Shepherd before he can finally die. He’s never wished for death before, but now, he feels a pang in his heart for every one of his victims that have had to wait, broken and bruised, for Duncan to kill them.

You

“Does this location have any significance to you?” Cordelia asks Annette, pointing to an address hastily written down on a scrap of paper. The address corresponds to a building, fairly nondescript, but obviously holding some sort of significance.

“No, it doesn’t.” Annette shakes her head.

“That’s because this is the location of the first school that I opened here in D.C. Bastard’s really going all in on trying to frame me for everything he’s done.”

(Y/N), who had previously been dozing off on Langdon’s lap (Langdon had already made her swear not to tell anybody or else he would kill her in her dreams like Freddy Kreuger), sits straight up at this moment. “What makes you think he’s there?” she asks.

“This car.” Cordelia pulls another paper out from the folder she had brought with her, this one a picture of a Mercedes E-Class. “It’s been back and forth from Umbra to the old school numerous times in the past two days. License plates are registered back to Umbra.”

“So it’s definitely Bill, then.”

“I’m not typically a betting woman, but I would put money on this. Surveillance indicates that this car has been parked in front of the Goode Academy for six straight hours now.”

(Y/N) doesn’t know much about hostage situations, but she has to assume that Bill being where Duncan is held captive for an extended amount of time means nothing good.

“We need to move now, then,” Annette says. There’s no question behind her voice; she’s going to get her son.

“Yes. Your team?”

“Myself, Langdon, and (Y/N).”

Cordelia glances warily at (Y/N). “Do you have combat experience?”

“Duncan trained me to fight, and also did some weapons training with me,” (Y/N) says.

“That’s good enough.” (Y/N) tries not to be offended. “I have myself, Madison, Misty, and Mallory.”

“We’re going?” Mallory, a brunette wearing a gold headband, says.

“I need my best girls, and you three have proven yourselves.”

“Alright then, let’s go.” Annette grabs a key from around her neck and unlocks what you thought to be a closet door, opening it to reveal a weapons cache large enough to rival a small government’s. “Stock up.”

“Which gun are you most comfortable with?” Langdon asks (Y/N), the two standing side-by-side after everybody else has had their turn.

“Uh, I don’t really know the names. It’s a handgun, and it’s black.”

“Probably a Springfield, then.” Langdon hands (Y/N) a gun that looks similar to ones that she’s handled before. “It’s already loaded.”

“Thanks.” She glances at Langdon after holstering her own weapon, watching as he selects numerous guns of different sizes. “What if we’re too late?”

“We won’t be.”

“But you heard what Cordelia said. Bill’s been there for six straight hours now. He could have--”

“You’re right, he could have,” Langdon interrupts. “But we can’t go in there assuming that the worst outcome has come true. We have to have hope. If nothing else, there’s always hope.”

“I have hope.”

“Good, because I do, too.” Langdon grabs a knife from the weapons closet, twirling the tip of the blade on his index finger. “Now let’s go get Duncan back.”

Duncan

Bill stands before Duncan, twirling the tip of a knife on his index finger. “I’ve held onto this for six years now. Do you recognize it?”

Of course Duncan recognizes the knife that he stabbed his uncle with. In his dreams, he can still feel the cool leather handle gripped tightly in his palm.

“It’s something of a treasure to me, although it certainly didn’t seem like it at first. I’ve come to recognize the significance of holding the thing that almost killed me, and I like to keep it as a reminder.” Bill holds the knife out to Duncan, knowing he’s too weak to fight him for it. “See that on the blade? Why don’t you read it for me?”

Cursive lettering is engraved on the blade, though it was not there when the knife had been in Duncan’s possession. “Memento mori,” Duncan mutters, trying to remember his Latin lessons from high school.

“It was an extremely popular phrase during the medieval period, specifically when it came to funerals. ‘Remember you must die.’ It’s a warning, a reminder. That’s what this knife has become to me, a reminder of the inevitability of death. It also reminds me that I’ve survived death before, and I’ll surely survive it again.”

“Quite the sense of humor,” Duncan remarks dryly.

Bill shrugs, bending down to Duncan’s level. “A little gauche, perhaps, but I enjoy the significance of the phrase.”

Duncan’s about to ask him what the point of this is when Bill shows him by shoving the knife into his abdomen. Duncan grunts in pain, gritting his teeth and glaring at him. “Of course you’re going to stab me just like I stabbed you.”

“Do you know how I managed to survive?” Bill asks.

“I’ve tried not to think about it much.”

“I survived,” Bill continues, “because you were too stupid to realize that you needed to pull the knife out. What do all of the medical professionals say when training civilians on dealing with stabbings? ‘Don’t remove the weapon.’ That’s the only thing keeping them from bleeding out, and it’s what kept me from bleeding out.”

“I had assumed I severed your abdominal aorta, what with all the blood.”

“Exactly, ‘assumed.’” Bill digs the knife around to watch the way that Duncan tries not to scream before pulling it out and watching as blood begins to pour out of the wound. For every beat of Duncan’s frantic heart, trying to pump blood to the source of the injury in an attempt to clot it, more blood pulses out. “Never assume things, my boy.”

Though his head is starting to spin, Duncan finds just enough rage to spit at Bill. “Go to hell.”

“From the looks of it, you’ll be there long before me,” he says almost gleefully before pulling out a gun and shooting him in the thigh. This time, Duncan openly screams. “Just wanted to make sure you actually die, if the stabbing wasn’t enough.” Bill’s extremely nonchalant, as if he’s discussing the nuances of the Nationals rather than talking about murder.

Bill grabs a key and unlocks the chain from around Duncan’s leg, knowing that he won’t have the strength to escape. “I’ll be back in half an hour to check on you.”

“Fuck you,” Duncan responds, but Bill’s already gone.

Duncan moans in pain as he stares at his wounds, feeling the stickiness of blood beginning to pool under him. Lifting a shaky hand, he presses it to his abdomen to try and slow the bleeding. As he swallows deeply, realizing that he very likely is going to die shortly, he thinks about a number of things, mainly regrets.

He wishes that he had realized earlier that his mom was just as much Bill’s victim as he was.

He wishes that he appreciated Michael more for the brother he had been to him.

He wishes that he had told (Y/N) that he loved her more often.

But most especially, Duncan wishes that he had just put a bullet in Bill’s head that night instead of stabbing him. Then, he wouldn’t be feeling this intense cold begin to settle in his bones as he’s forced to slowly die on the concrete floor of a basement. Facing the Grim Reaper head-on is not nearly as dramatic as he thought it would be.

You

Watching the Coven, Langdon, and Annette taking out the defectors is not nearly as dramatic as (Y/N) thought it would be. Wisely, they had requested that she stay behind until the perimeter was secured. It’s much quieter, and a lot less bloody; as it turns out, members of organized crime do have consciences, and chose to subdue those not directly a threat. After Langdon finishes tying those who had remained loyal to Bill together, Cordelia motions for (Y/N) to follow the group into the old school.

The proud sign that once declared this building the Goode Academy now lies in the dirt of the overgrown lawn. The doors are open, solely because the rusted hinges make it impossible for them to remain closed against a gentle breeze. The further that they make it inside, the more frantic (Y/N) is. She knows that they’re close to Duncan, she just doesn’t know what state they’ll find Duncan in. Before they can make it too far with Cordelia as their guide, Bill appears. Instead of holding a machine gun, which is kind of what (Y/N) had expected, he has a concerned look on his face.

“Annette, thank god you’re here! I know this must be confusing to you, but when I heard that Duncan was missing, I knew that I needed to save him from the bitches that had sent me into hiding years ago.”

Confusion blankets (Y/N)’s mind as she tries to figure out what’s going on, but Annette doesn’t feel the same. “Cut the shit, Bill. I know what you’ve been doing.”

Bill laughs. “You’re going to let Cordelia Goode manipulate you into believing her, after she tried to kill me?”

“You’re an idiot. You think I don’t smell the blood in the air?” Annette laughs viciously, a verbal slap in the face. “Where’s my son?”

Like a switch was flipped, the worry on Bill’s face falls into contempt. “You’ve always been too emotional for your own good, Annette.”

“‘Family over everything,’” Annette quotes. “Remember that? What happened to that?”

“That died the day that that--that mistake came back from boarding school and decided that our business, the empire we built from the ground up, was his birthright.”

“You never were good at sharing, were you?”

The siblings stare at each other for a moment before Bill sighs. “You could have just been complicit, but no. Guess I’ll have to think on the fly, then.” He pulls out a gun and cocks the hammer back.

Before he can fire, Madison and Mallory appear from behind him, having snuck into the back. Madison knocks the gun out of his hand, the weapon firing into the ceiling, as Mallory socks him in the face and drives him to his knees. Both women force his hands behind him, holding him still as Cordelia walks up to him.

“The door to the basement is in the kitchen, hidden behind the left wall of the pantry,” Cordelia says to the group.

(Y/N)’s off, moving as fast as she can while maneuvering through the unfamiliar house. “Wait, you can’t do this. Annette, you aren’t really going to let the Coven, of all people, do this to me?” Bill pleads.

“I can actually, and I will. After all,” Annette turns to Cordelia, “we have a deal.”

In the kitchen, (Y/N) throws open the pantry door, pushing and shoving and pulling at the left wall before it finally opens to reveal a set of stairs.

“Girls?” Annette calls just before she reaches the door. “Make it painful.”

(Y/N) runs down the stairs, hands scrambling along the wall until she comes across a light switch. Flicking it on, her eyes look around the room until she sees a lifeless figure on the floor that’s surrounded by a pool of blood. A cry is ripped from her chest as she falls to her knees beside Duncan, hands hovering above him as she tries to figure out what to do first.

He’s pale, scarily so, and he’s breathing so shallowly that she can’t tell he’s breathing at first. Somehow, with all the blood, he’s still breathing. All (Y/N) can focus on is the fact that he’s still alive (later, she’ll wonder how she didn’t even flinch at all of the injuries and the blood, oh, the blood) as she rips her shirt off and presses it firmly against the wound on his stomach, calling his name over and over again in increasing levels of desperation.

From behind her, she can hear Annette scream and yell for Langdon to call an ambulance. She can feel the presence of somebody next to her as they catalogue where Duncan’s hurt, but she can’t bring herself to look away from Duncan’s face. His perfect face, that she’s kissed over and over a thousand times and has taken immense pleasure in watching a blush rise to the surface. His perfect face that she’s now slapping to try and get him to at least show some sort of response.

“You don’t get to die like this,” she tells him, hoping that he’ll somehow manage to hear her. “You said that you didn’t want to be the reason I suffered, but look at you now, making me suffer. Don’t keep me suffering like this!”

Slowly, and just barely, his eyes crack open just enough that (Y/N) can see a hint of blue. His lips move, saying something without audible sound, and she brings her head down to his to try and catch what he’s saying.

“An angel.” She finally makes out what his reverent whisper is over the wail of the incoming ambulances, and laughs brokenly as her head falls onto his chest in relief.

@sammythankyou @girlycakepops @ultragibbycentralworld @ajokeformur-ray @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @everything-is-awesomesauce @michaellangdon @jimmlangdon @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @kahhlo @storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonslove @born-on-stgeorges-day @xavierplympton @michaelsapostle @venusxxlangdon @wroteclassicaly @idespac @tcc-gizmachine @dyns33 @hexqueensupreme @hecatemacbeth7 @youngandfleeting @lambofcairo @myluciferiscody @anacerta @ladyren33 @ladyrindt @dark-mei-rose @sojournmichael @blakewaterxx @9layerdevilfoodcake @angelicmichael @takingback-thecrown @etherealsxnder

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd x reader #michael langdon #ahs imagine #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #hoc #hoc imagine #house of cards #house of cards imagine

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theghostofashton · 3 years

Note

hey , when you are free ( only when you're feeling good , i don't want to burden you since you're already in the middle of writing another fic ) can you do a short fic on your interpretation of how both kurt and blaine decided they needed help and went to therapy and how it all played out leading upto s6 where we see them.

you sent me this so long ago and i'm so sorry it took forever. i decided to kind of write two fics? writing kurt and blaine's individual processes felt more natural as separate fics, because they are both in very different places. they got kind of long (i am so sorry - i cannot shut up to save my life lmfao) so i didn't go into the actual therapy sessions, but i can definitely write follow ups that do, if you want!

pretty heavy trigger warnings for depression in both of these. keep that in mind before reading.

i hope you enjoy :)

Blaine is numb.

He doesn’t feel anything. He doesn’t want to feel anything. Everything’s hurt for far longer than he’s been able to bear. It’s finally starting to fade into a slow, steady ache, dull at the edges and no longer as painful, and for that, he is relieved. It’s the kind of hurt that he can tolerate, the kind that just blends into the background, a low buzz that just remains constant.

He just wants to lay here forever. Maybe until the world ends, or his body decomposes, whichever comes first.

It all happened so quickly. Sometimes it feels like someone took a sledgehammer to his life and left it in thousands of tiny pieces. He’s sitting amongst the wreckage, unsure of where to even begin rebuilding. Part of him isn’t sure it’s entirely possible to put back together the smithereens of everything he thought he knew.

The rest of him just doesn’t understand how things got to this point. He doesn’t understand how it happened, how he went from daydreams and decisions about wedding menus, to trying to soften the lump in his throat long enough to deal the last blow. I will never forgive you. I won’t.

I will never forgive you for this.

In the moment, it was all he could do. All of the strength he could summon had been poured into those seven words. He wanted them to hurt, to sting Kurt the way Kurt had stung him, icy hot and merciless. He wanted Kurt to know that it would take more. He wasn’t that easily breakable – at least, not on the outside. He would have the last word, and he would tell it like it was.

He doesn’t know how he could ever forgive Kurt for this.

More important than Kurt, Blaine doesn’t know how he’ll ever forgive himself for the series of bad decisions the past couple of months have dissolved into. Day after day spent in bed, tear tracks drying on his face as he stared at nothing on his walls and tried to keep conscious for a respectable amount of time. He knew it wasn’t a good thing to be sleeping for more hours out of the day than he was awake, but he couldn’t find the energy to do anything else.

Kurt had left.

He was gone.

And Blaine, as much as he tried to fight it, was broken by him. He was broken by the realization that he had put so much of his happiness, so much of himself into his relationship with Kurt and his future wedding, that, now that it had been yanked away, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know anything, anymore. His life no longer looked anything like he had envisioned it turning out, and he was forced to live with that. There wasn’t anything he could do.

Kurt doesn’t want him anymore.

There isn’tanything he can do about that.

A part of him isn’t too surprised, if he’s really honest with himself. Things have been different for a while. He’s been scared for a while.

His gut could tell something bad was coming. It was obvious, in the way Kurt moved around the apartment, in the lines of his body in bed at night, the way he was perpetually tensed, stiff with everything he was holding in. Maybe he’d wanted to break up sooner, but held back to preserve Blaine’s feelings.

Blaine isn’t stupid. He knows that that night at the restaurant wasn’t planned. He pushed just the right amount for Kurt to finally blurt out the thing that had had a hold on him. For how long, Blaine isn’t sure, but he knows it had to have been longer than the length of time he kept Kurt waiting at that table.

At least, that’s what he keeps trying to tell himself.

Because the alternative, the biting realization that Kurt hadn’t intended to break up with him, that it just slipped out, something so impulsive yet so final, is too much for Blaine. He doesn’t want it to be true. That isn’t the Kurt he knows. None of this makes sense, but that…that Kurt made the decision to end their relationship, their engagement, so quickly and easily, is too much for him to take.

It was his biggest fear. The thing he kept convincing himself would never happen. Kurt loves you. He always will. He told you he will. He’s not going to leave you. He loves you.

Kurt said he loved him. He said it back, in a moment that Blaine was sure he wouldn’t. But did he? Did he really? The way Blaine sees it, loving someone means fighting for them. Choosing them. Working through the hard things with them.

And Blaine doesn’t know why. He can’t ask. He can only guess. Spend some of these painful hours of consciousness contemplating exactly why he wasn’t good enough for Kurt to stay with. Because the Kurt Hummel he knows is the strongest, toughest fighter he’s ever met. Things had to be dire for him to not even make the effort.

Kurt had finally figured it out. What made him so intolerable, so exhausting to be around. He had realized what he was getting himself into and made a break for it before things could go any deeper. Blaine supposes that is for the best. Get out now, before the papers are signed and things are officially official, before it is much harder to make the break for it.

This is what he’s been scared of, been terrified of, since he and Kurt got back together. And he tried to push it to the back of his mind, because Kurt said yes and invited him to New York and promised to make it safe when he fell. Kurt promised to be there for everything, promised that they belongedto each other, promised that he would never stop loving him.

Blaine wonders when he did.

He wonders when all of this fell apart, how blissfully ignorant and idiotic he must have been not to see it.

How long was Kurt planning to do this? How long was he thinking about it? How long did he keep this to himself, wake up next to Blaine and kiss him goodbye every morning, knowing he was holding onto to the mother of secrets that had the power to destroy everything? Why did he get to be the one making that unilateral decision about their relationship?

Kurt controlled whether they got engaged or not, and Kurt controlled how it ended.

It was all up to him.

Blaine just had to hope they were on the same page about everything, and now it’s clear that they weren’t.

He’s so tired of other people getting to make decisions about his life, and leaving him to deal with the wreckage of their choices. He’s tired of not having any control. He doesn’t know how he ended up here. His life doesn’t feel like his anymore.

Madame Tibideaux had decided that he wasn’t worthy of another year at NYADA, that his emotions weren’t a good enough excuse for the quality - or lack thereof - of his work. It didn’t matter what he was feeling, or how bad it hurt. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t like every other person who could channel their pain into their art. It didn’t matter that he’d been doing it for as long as he could remember, feeling through every lyric he sang, every performance he gave. The cup had to dry up eventually. Something had to happen that was too bad, too painful, for him to sing his way out of. It wasn’t his fault. He’d tried so hard, given everything he could.

It didn’t matter that he desperately, desperately needed someone to see him. Not the things he produced, not the contributions he would make to a performance, him. His real self. The part that no one seemed to want.

It didn’t matter that Blaine Warbler felt like a lie he’d forgotten how to live years ago. He remembers grappling for it, trying to tug on the same mask he’d donned after the Sadie Hawkins dance, turn off his emotions and shift into autopilot, sing and dance and perform like he didn’t wish he could stop existing in that moment.

None of it mattered.

Blaine was just not good enough for NYADA, like he was not good enough for Kurt. He should’ve realized it sooner. It’s his own fault he didn’t.

“Honey?”

Blaine startles at the voice, jolting upward in bed and blinking rapidly against the sunlight pouring into his room. “Huh?”

“I brought you a little something to eat.” His mom sets a plate of buttered toast and a glass of water on his nightstand, and then leans down to drop a kiss against his head. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles honestly. He doesn’t want to lie to her. “Tired, I guess.”

“Sam called the house again,” she says. She takes a seat on the edge of his bed and reaches out to brush a hand through his hair. “He left a message, said you haven’t been picking up your cell. He’s worried, Blaine. I’m sure Tina is too.”

Blaine winces, dropping his gaze down to his blankets. Just one more thing you’re sucking at lately.

He hasn’t called Sam or Tina since he got back to Lima. At first, he was too ashamed to tell them the truth, although he knows that Sam is probably aware of what happened. Kurt and Mercedes talk, and even though Sam isn’t with her anymore, he knows that he and Mercedes are still very close. Sam’s been blowing up his phone for weeks. He sent a perfunctory, “back home for a while, but going to be really busy for a while” text, so Sam wouldn’t assume he was ignoring him, but he’s sure Sam has long figured out it was a lie.

“You don’t have to call him back until you’re ready,” his mom tells him. “But I do think he’d love to hear from you, baby. He could come over and keep you company, play some video games, you could-”

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I don’t want him to come over.”

“Why not?”

I just don’t,” he manages. I don’t want him to see me like this.

I don’t want him to be mad at Kurt.

I don’t even know if I want to be mad at Kurt anymore. All of this is just so exhausting.

“Have you given any more thought to what we talked about a while ago?”

Blaine snaps his head up to meet her eyes. “You- no, mom. I’m fine, I promise. I just need a couple more days to…” He trails off with a sigh. To what? Wallow in his sadness? Sleep away and accomplish nothing? He hasn’t been the slightest bit productive since he left New York. It feels like he used up all his energy packing up and moving home.

That was over a month ago, and he still hasn’t recovered from it.

“It’s not really a matter of being fine, sweetheart. You know that. I just think talking about it might-”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He snaps. And then he watches her face shift and crumples, lump in his throat throbbing as he squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

A pair of hands reaches for him, and he lets himself go, lets her pull him into a hug and buries his face in the crook of her neck. He takes a deep breath, and then another, hot tears burning at his eyes.

He doesn’t want to cry anymore. He feels like he’s done nothing but cry about this. He doesn’t know how he still has tears left.

“I know,” she murmurs, rubbing his back. “And I know you don’t think it’ll help. But you might be surprised, Blaine. I just think you should give it a chance. Get yourself back on your feet and feeling a little better, hm?”

She presses another kiss to the top of his head and props him back against his pillows. “You don’t have to make a decision right now. Just think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” he chokes out.

“I’m just going to be downstairs doing some work. Let me know if you want another piece of toast, all right?”

At his nod, she makes her way out of his room, and Blaine slumps back against his headboard, still fighting tears.

She’s probably right. It would help, far more than it would hurt. His mom has been a proponent of him seeing someone ever since Sadie Hawkins. He insisted he’d be okay then, and, seeing his distress, she didn’t push too hard for it. He knows she regrets that now, knows she blames herself for things getting as bad as they have. If he had gone, back then, maybe they would’ve been able to address some of this before it turned so bad.

But talking means talking about everything. About the dance, and meeting Kurt, and it going from so good to so bad, in such a short amount of time. It means talking about the things he hoped would stay buried, the ways in which he and Kurt were not perfect, his tendency to latch onto things and cling to them, tighter than he probably should have.

He isn’t sure he’s ready to think about more than how angry he is, or how much this hurts. He isn’t sure he’s ready to move out of this stage of staying in bed and not facing the world, holing up in his childhood bedroom and not confronting the life that he feels like he put on pause a month ago. He knows things are different now. He just isn’t sure he’s ready to see how much everything’s changed.

He doesn’t feel like he’s ready to move past all of this, but he knows he needs to.

He knows he needs to leave all of this behind, to start talking about it and thinking about it and rebuilding the pieces of his mess of a life. Otherwise, he’s destined to feel like this forever.

And that scares him even more.

---

Kurt is exhausted.

And if he’s really honest with himself, he’s felt this tiredness for a while now, become so accustomed to it that it feels like he’s leeched it into part of his personality, taken on the ache in his chest and the heaviness of his bones like a jacket with rocks in the pockets, weighing him down with every step he tries to take.

It’s the kind of tired that feels consuming, quicksand that swallows him the more he tries to get out of it. The kind that makes him feel like he’s running on empty, with no sign of a gas station for miles, the kind of tired that makes every day, every action, every conversation, feel like too much.

Part of him thought that this would stop once he ended things with Blaine. He didn’t want to go there. He never wanted to believe that Blaine could be the reason for all of this. How could the person that made him feel so, so loved and safe on his worst days also be the person that made him feel like this? It just didn’t make sense.

It never felt true, but the thought continued to linger, and with every passing day, ate more and more away at him. He tried not to spend too much time in that place. It hurt too much to think about until he was blurting out the words he didn’t even plan on saying.

And then, everything changed.

The breath it allowed him to take, the exhale, didn’t last long. Instead, he’s left with the image of Blaine’s crumpled, heartbroken expression every time he closes his eyes, the I will never forgive you for this playing on loop in his head every time he tries to think about what it could mean going forward.

That was it.

He ruined it.

He drove Blaine away for good.

Kurt remembers the day it happened so clearly. Getting home after a long day of classes, worn out and ravenous, only to be greeted by Blaine’s key to the loft sitting on the kitchen table. He’d sent Kurt a text that had far too many periods and was capitalized in all the right places – which, Blaine usually tended to do, but never in his life had Kurt read a message from him that felt so stiff and robotic and formal – about the rest of his portion of rent and bills for the month.

Blaine was gone.

Really, really gone.

And Kurt was alone, feeling further and further away from the people that loved him with each passing day.

In the beginning, he thought that was what he needed. Time away. A chance to be by himself and reevaluate the decisions he’d made over the past year. Crunch the numbers and figure out if Blaine remained in the equation by the end. He just wanted to be certain, be sure, that he wasn’t opening himself up to be hurt again. He wasn’t sure he could take it one more time, give his heart back to Blaine only to have it dropped, shattered like a stone.

He just wanted to feel safe.

He wanted to be sure of it, sure that he could let his heart go, run wild and free like it did in the common room, racing toward the boy with the beautiful voice who had held his hand and made him feel seen for the first time in his life. He wanted it to feel like that again. Untethered, too strong to control, defying each doubt with that wave of invincibility. So pure and open, expansive with all of the potential, broken parts shaved off to make room for the newness.

Maybe he just wasn’t meant to have that with Blaine, he’d thought. Maybe Blaine was supposed to be a bridge that helped him on the road to finding that. Maybe he’d meet someone else that would make him feel like Blaine first had, someone else that would make him feel weightless.

He tries to just go for it, to let it happen, but it never does. It never feels right, never the kind of right that it felt with Blaine. He lets Elliott set him up with friends that the other deems perfect, just your type, and feels nothing.

He tries speed dating, and starts getting more serious about Tindr. He matches with a few guys, goes on a couple of dates, flirts and reciprocates and tries, to let himself fall headfirst. It’s fun. Every date is a good time. They’re warm and light and exploding with newness. But the sparks die out after the first twenty minutes and then Kurt finds himself back in his head, thinking about hair gel and bowties and nonfat mochas, intertwined hands and the insides of coffee shops, the way it all felt like the safest home he’s ever known.

And he hates it, he hates that he feels nothing. He hates that his heart belongs to the hair gel and the bowties, because he fucked that up. He ruined that.

Kurt goes to class, goes to work, and comes home. Sometimes he sees Elliott, and sometimes he stays past his shift to chat with Artie at the diner, but otherwise, he spends every day the same. Sitting and staring through shows on TV, shoving spoonful after spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, and trying desperately to turn his brain off. Trying desperately not to wade into the murky waters of every moment that led up to that night.

I will never forgive you for this.

The realization slaps him in the face.

He’s trying to move on, and then he’s crying in public, humiliating himself in front of a perfectly good Tindr match, overcome with the sheer magnitude of the words that came out of his mouth so many months ago. It hadn’t hit him until then, how insistent, how cruel he had been in the moment. How he had the power to turn Blaine from light and warm and excited, to completely and utterly broken, in the span of a single conversation.

He did that.

And sure, it wasn’t just about toothpaste and towels and Blaine’s newfound habit of tardiness, sure, there was so much painful and deep and wrong underneath the surface. Sure, Kurt had had doubts ever since the car ride and the non-surprise of a proposal, sure, it would have come to the light sooner or later, sure, he was just speeding up the process.

But never in his life has he been so disgusted in himself. Never in his life has he gone back over a moment so many times in his head, wished he could turn back time and that 20/20 happened before hindsight and that he could see the future of misery he’d end up in and not decide to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him.

They could’ve talked about it. Blaine is one of the most understanding people Kurt has ever met. He would’ve absolutely been open to something like that. One of Kurt’s favorite things about him is that kindness, that space for grace he is able to hold for others.

Talk to me. Tell me you’re unhappy.

We’ve been putting this off for far too long.

Don’t you think we should have the talk?

Wait, Kurt, let’s talk about this.

Blaine always wanted to talk. It was how he felt safe, Kurt is realizing. Blaine wanted the words, the vocalization that everything was okay in that real and concrete way. It was how he grounded himself.

Kurt’s never been one for talking. He keeps his feelings close to his chest, locked up tight. He knows they’re not what people want to hear. They’re messy, and don’t always make sense. Sometimes they feel like the worst parts of him all bundled up into one, complete with pieces of him that haven’t fully left the horrors of high school behind.

Talking about them is effort he doesn’t have to exert. He’ll be opening Pandora’s box with no way to contain the contents. He doesn’t necessarily want to know how the people in his life feel about him. He doesn’t want to hear what they have to say. It scares him too much. There’s just no reason to ruin a perfectly good foundation by having conversations that uncover all of the cracks.

No, it’s better to drop a bomb on the entire thing and destroy it in one fell swoop.

He sometimes feels like he’d fallen asleep after Finn died and is only now being wrenched out of his nightmare, waking into a world that is far different than when he left it. Everything’s been on pause for so long. Hitting play feels like coming back to a reality he barely recognizes. A person he barely recognizes.

He hadn’t realized how much he didn’t like himself until there was nothing to distract from it. And maybe it isn’t his entire self, per say, but who he’s turned into. The person that’s been morphed together after the tiring, tumultuous year they’d all had. The stress, the anxiety, the exhaustion, personified. Even the littlest things – the tiny, stupid, don’t matter in the grand scheme of it, things – make him angry.

He’s been living on fumes for too long and everything feels like it’s at a breaking point. He’s trying to hold on to the reins, but they’re slipping out of his hands too quickly and he’s too tired to keep running to catch up. His life feels like it’s unraveling and it scares him, because he has never been this person. He has never been unable to keep going, unable to push through, to carry on, put all his stock into the rainbow on the other side and his nose down until he reaches it.

But everything that’s happened in the past few years, high school, and Karofsky, and all the little things he let go, all the things he said were okay and tried to move past and eventually decided didn’t mean anything anymore, never truly went away. They laid dormant for a while, so much so that he’d just about forgotten about them, until they decided to come back with a vengeance. Like he’s being reminded of how messed up his life is, because for once, hewas the one to cause it.

He’s spent so long being too gay, or too fragile, or too feminine, to get the things that he really wants. There’s always been something he couldn’t control, something inherently wrong with him, which keeps him from getting anything on the first try. It always takes extra work, extra effort, the need to prove that he does deserve it and has earned the role, or the solo, or the opportunity that is almost inevitably given up to someone else.

Maybe a small part of him thought that Blaine would be like that too.

The proposal wouldn’t be enough to propel them into a lifetime of happiness.

It couldn’t be that easy.

He wouldn’t get to be that happy.

There is so much wrong with him. Kurt knows that. He knows he can be bitchy, sometimes cold, often not someone that’s easy to get close to. He knows he has a tendency to hold everything in until he reaches a breaking point and lashes out.

He knows he’s angry. He knows he’s in pain.

And he knows Blaine didn’t need to see any of it, didn’t deserve any of it. Blaine was too good, too warm, too unimaginably kind, to deserve these parts of him. He didn’t want their relationship to turn into it, go sour and stunted until Blaine began to resent him.

Blaine loved him anyway. In spite of everything. Blaine’s capacity for love was so massive and unlimited, and Kurt couldn’t understand it. Blaine wanted to work on things, always, and Kurt didn’t understand that, either. He’s spent his entire life trying desperately to be okay, to be enough, for people, to not be a problem they will one day resent solving and decide to abandon by the side of the road. People don’t want a mess. They don’t want someone who’s broken. They don’t want to be there when the going gets bad.

But everything is just so much, and Kurt has never been more tired of fighting.

He can’t hide it anymore. Can’t compress it down and pretend it isn’t happening. A recent study session with Elliott turned into a minor – he would deem minor, although Elliott would definitely evaluate it way worse – breakdown over one of his theory papers. What should’ve been some simple frustration over his inability to phrase his argument was instead far more loaded, the depths of his anger and stress seeping through, unable to be contained.

Maybe talking is – finally – what he needs. He’s tried everything else.

He reaches over and into the pocket of the jacket he wore a couple days ago, and pulls out the card Elliott pushed into his hand as they left the coffee shop. For the therapist I used to see when I first got to the city, Elliott had told him. She really helped me sort through some stuff, and I know she can help you too.

Call, he had urged quietly. Please, Kurt. It doesn’t have to be like this.

It isn’t the first time Elliott’s brought up seeing a therapist. That was his first suggestion when Kurt broke the news of his and Blaine’s breakup. Kurt had ignored him then, insisted that the breakup was all he needed. He’d be fine.

But the lump in his throat has been there for weeks, and he is so tired of being on the verge of tears all the time.

That’s what he tells himself, as he grabs his phone. His fingers shake as he puts in the number and presses ‘call’.

He’s so tired of being tired.

#i've been messing around with these for weeks and i am so scared to finally post them #i hope they're what you had in mind i'm so sorry for how much psychoanalysis i ended up doing #klaine fanfiction #klaine #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #glee fanfiction #neha writes #i wanted to finish these before i jumped into anything else so other stuff is def coming!#also requests are open as always so if y'all have anything else in mind please feel free to send a message abt it!

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lennonknowsmysins · 3 years

Note

could you do the gangster au but the “turning point” in their relationship?? i love your work so much 🥰

pt. 3 to gangster!George

tw: mobster gets a little too handsy, mild violence, arguing

You and George had been married for a month and you’d had maybe five conversations with him. He was a reserved man but you weren’t sure what else you expected from a gangster. Truthfully, you weren’t sure you minded. Since your conversation with Cynthia, Linda and Maureen, he didn’t put you on edge every time he was in the room but he still intimated you. George was practically always working, spending all day in his study (which you still had yet to see) and coming to bed late. He never tried to wake you up but you still liked to wait for him, pretending to be asleep.

Realistically, you figured you shouldn’t be too upset with him for not making much of an effort to get to know you considering hadn’t attempted to reach out to him either. Still, when the only time you really saw him was dinner and he spent most of the time talking to his mates, you couldn’t deny that you felt ignored. It wasn’t like you were thrilled to be married either.

The real struggle was trying to find something to do with yourself. Normally, you’d be busy with school but part of your father cutting off your freedom including forcing you to drop out of university. Now nothing seemed to hold your interest.

Linda, who you learned was a journalist (making her and Paul’s relationship taboo in the mob world), had begun enlisting you to spell check her articles. You spent a good amount of time with Cynthia as she’d invited you to help her paint the baby nursery. She was a lovely woman and you enjoyed her company but even as you painting those little blue birds and bounced baby names off one another, you couldn’t help the looming feeling of loneliness. You were just disconnected from the rest of them. Cynthia, Linda and Maureen were involved with each others lives while you...well, you were just there.

You were manifesting that your first public outing with George - some sort of annual gathering for allied mobs - would do something to help the disconnect between the two of you.

Upon entering the mansion, you pressed yourself closer to George. You may have not felt entirely comfortable with him but since Cynthia and Linda hadn’t been able to come (Cynthia because she was pregnant, Linda because of her profession) and Maureen was very much looking forward to having a date night with Ringo, George was your lifeline for the night.

The hall was full of men in fancy suits with dark looks in their eyes, most of them appearing to be twice your age. One by one, they came up to George, asking him about business deals and his father before eventually landing on you, at which point, George thankfully steered you away.

“Sorry about all of them.” George apologized, finding a seat on a couch in the corner of the room, “They’re swingers, the whole lot. ‘s why my da stopped coming to these events.”

You snorted as you sat down, “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am. They’ve been dropping hints that they’re interested in an orgy ever since we got married. Quite frankly, I’m not sure how to tell them no.” George said, shooting you a look. You burst into laughter, making George smile.

“Wait here, I have to talk to someone but I’ll be right back.” George told you, squeezing your shoulder before standing and beckoning to Paul. Paul smiled at you apologetically, following George and leaving you all alone in the corner. You watched Maureen dance with Ringo. You wished Linda and Cyn were here, if George wouldn’t dance with you, you were sure they would. At least, you wouldn’t be lonely.

Your bottom lip trembled but before you could feel too sorry for yourself, you felt the couch dip. A handsome blond man with the most dazzling blue eyes you’d ever seen had sat next to you. He wore a suit of velvet purple and had a martini glass in one hand and a curious grin on his face. A feeling of dread immediately crept into your gut.

“Now, why would a lovely lady such as yourself be sitting here all by herself?” He hummed in a confident tone. Unsure of how to react to the situation, you turned your eyes to your drink, swishing the clear liquid around.

“Waiting for someone.” You murmured back. You could’ve sworn that as soon as you’d said that, he scooted closer to you.

“You can call me Yates.” He said, although you hadn’t asked, “I don’t believe I caught your’s?”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, “I’m not sure I feel comfortable telling you that.”

“Aw, why not? Is it because I’m a big, scary gangster?” Yates chuckled, definitely scooting closer this time. He continued when you didn’t respond, “That’s fine baby, I’ll come up with one for you. It’s just important you know mine so you know what to scream later.”

Your face twisted in disgust and you would’ve attempted to get up had it not been for his hand curling around your thigh. The sudden grip made you freeze, giving Yates a chance to press himself against you.

“Let go of me. I’m here with my...my h-husband.” You stammered, trying to sound tough.

“Come on now, you don’t sound so sure of that. I doubt that George is that much of a husband anyhow.” He leered, tapping your cheek. Just as you were about to retort, Yates was being dragged off of you.

An angry George stood before you, clutching Yates’ collar in his fist. Everyone around you had stopped what they were doing to watch you.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch my wife.”

With that simple warning, he dropped the creep and grabbed your wrist, pulling you from your seat. As he brought you to the exit, the crowd resumed the party as though nothing had happened. You assumed this sort of thing happened often at mob events.

Once you were outside, George let go of you to light a cigarette, not bothering to look at you as he took a drag. John and Paul burst through the door after you.

“What the fuck just happened mate?” John asked.

“Yates had his hands all over (y/n).” George spat bitterly. The two men turned to you, shivering in your dress.

The alarm on Paul’s face dropped to concerned, “Are you alright, love?”

“I’m fine. Just a bit freaked out.” You shrugged, still trying to process the event. You hadn’t seen George this angry before.

“Yer cryin’.” John pointed out bluntly. You blinked, touching your cheek. Huh. You hadn’t realized.

George tilted his head towards you with an unreadable expression. He placed the cigarette between his lips, shrugging off his suit jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders.

“‘m taking her home.” He decided, putting an arm around you, “Paul, can you take John, Rich and Mo in your car?”

“Course, but-”

George didn’t wait for Paul to finish, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards his Mercedes. You glanced behind you to see Ringo and Maureen had joined John and Paul, who were explaining the situation to them. You caught Maureen’s sympathetic look before the car door closed.

The entire ride was silent, an awkward, bitter silence sitting between you and George. He didn’t even look at you as you walked up to the house, leaving the door for you to close.

“Go to bed.” George ordered gruffly, his back turned to you as he headed toward his office.

You stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. He hadn’t really just spoken to you like you were a misbehaving child and not his wife.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

George paused. Then he turned around, his eyebrows set in annoyance. He wasn’t used to people questioning him, “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were joking about telling me to go to bed.” You huffed, rolling your eyes, “You know, just because I’m your wife doesn’t mean you control me.”

He glared at you, his eye twitching as he tried to think of a response. You saved him the trouble,

“For the record, you didn’t have to make such a big scene back there.”

“He had his hands all OVER you!” He spluttered, spit flying from his mouth, “And it wasn’t like you were doing anything to stop him!”

“I was scared, a strange man was invading my space because my husband completely abandoned me at a party where I didn’t know anyone!” You shout, your voice shaking as it echoed through the ridiculously large foyer.

George’s sour expression softened and you notice he chewed on the inside of his cheek. He swallowed thickly, “I had to talk to someone.”

“You still left me all alone.” You whispered angrily, “I know that this isn’t what either of us wanted and if I could, I’d go back and stop my father from getting us in this situation but we don’t have that choice.

You took a shuttering breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment before continuing,

“George, I get that we’re from two completely different worlds but I just had mine completely uprooted for your’s. You’ve barely spoken to me since the first two days after the wedding. For god’s sake, we sleep in the same damn bed and I don’t know that we’ve ever had a conversation. Y’know, the only thing I actually know about you is that you’re a mobster? I...I was just really hoping that tonight could fix that.”

George’s face didn’t change throughout the course of your rant but there was something that looked like a mix of surprise and guilt in his brown eyes. Ever the man of few words, he didn’t respond - you didn’t know if he didn’t want to or if he didn’t know how. You shook your head.

“No, no, you know what? I am gonna go to bed. I need some sleep.” You muttered, turning away from him and storming up the stairs without another word.

Linda was waiting for you at the top of the stairs but you brushed by her in silence, too pissed for any intellectual conversation. You slammed the bedroom door shut, not bothering to turn the lights or take your clothes off. You curled up above the covers, looking out the window.

The wind blew softly, gently rustling the leaves of the tree peaking through the glass. A single tear trailed down your cheek as you thought about how you hadn’t even gotten to dance with George. The night had been spoiled from the start.

At some point, you finally managed to fall asleep, missing the lanky, mop toped figure that took your shoes off and tucked you in.

#not sure i like how i played this out but i was tired of working on it oop #gangster au #gangster!george #gangster!beatles #george harrison x reader #beatles x reader #george harrison

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neversatisfiedwithlife · 2 years

Text

Day 3: Clueless

Yay! Let’s get completely out of order 🤪🤪

Anyways finally getting something uploaded, here is my submission for Day 3: Clueless for @gleeadvent

Pink? Her Favorite Color: Quinn/Rachel (Read On Ao3)

Or Below The Cut:

When Rachel heard Quinn wasn't coming back to glee club she couldn't help but feel devastated.

When word finally reached her it was like one of those scenes in a movie where the leading star just collapses in the rain, anchored down by reality.

The reality that the world really was a cruel place.

Even more so than that, Rachel felt at fault. How couldn't she? Finn knew nothing of their consequences but Rachel was better than that.

In that moment it had felt like everything had stopped and nothing mattered. They'd been the epicenter of an Earth shattering moment. But now here they were, it was like all the ripples were taking affect.

Rachel had easily forgiven Finn...and later forgiven herself. It had been hard, but the summer had proven plenty of time for self reflection. Maybe even too much time Rachel realized; the face of a certain blonde always managing to make its way to the forefront of her mind. But it was that face, and the knowledge that she'd be coming back to Glee Club with her friends and a newly reformed determination of winning nationals that made everything feel less, hopeless? Confusing?

Now Rachel wasn't so sure.

Rachel didn't want to do this without Quinn. How could anyone of The New Directions want to win without Quinn?

Once news spread, as it did at McKinley, like wildfire; it set into motion Rachel fast walking across campus, leaving a well worded letter for all her fellow Glee Club girls.

They had to get Quinn back!

Immediately, after school, Rachel was holding a meeting. It was urgent; in bold letters underlined twice and circled, and mandatory: written in red and circled twice. The word 'Please' written, accompanied by a sad face.

Always with the dramatics Rachel Berry was.

Rachel knew she wasn't as popular as she hoped to be amongst her fellow Glee Club members, not to mention the outcome of the two prior meetings held with the girls; total train wreck and a waste of time. But she needed this to be different.

"Aren't any of you worried about Quinn," Rachel asked as she glanced around at uninterested expressions.

"She's Quinn, what's there to worry about? Plus she looks like a total badass now" Tina shrugged.

"Ughh!" Rachel groaned. "Santana?" Rachel continued, moving so she was more centered in front of her, "you and Quinn are best friends, don't you care at all that she's not coming back to Glee Club, or Cheerios for that matter?"

Santana looked down at Brittany's nails, she was currently filing them, " like Tina said, Quinn's a big girl and she doesn't do best friends," Santana made air quotes.

"Mercedes! You and Quinn literally lived together sophomore year, you can't tell me you're as heartless as the rest of them..."

Santana rolled her eyes, giving Brittany her full focus once more, a sign that she was checking out of the conversation.

"Look Rachel, I'm sure we're all worried about Quinn...in our own way, but what do you expect us to do? I love her, I really do, but I have to focus on my senior year," Mercedes sighed, shrugging her backpack onto one shoulder, "if Quinn hates Glee Club I'm not going to force her back, it'll just make everyone else just as miserable as she is."

Tina nodded, hopping out of her seat and leaving with Mercedes, their shoulders brushing against each other all the while.

"How subtle." Santana muttered as she watched the pair exit the choir room; just a breath away from holding hands.

"Santana please?" Rachel begged.

"You really don't give up do you? Just. Go. Talk. To. Her." Santana sounded slightly exasperated, "I'm sure you can get through to her."

Rachel looked confused, eyebrows scrunching. There was definitely that I know something you don't know, tone in Santana's voice, but Rachel knew she wasn't getting any more information out of her.

Rachel felt slightly defeated, nibbling her bottom lip as she walked out of the choir room. What exactly was she supposed to say to Quinn? They hadn't talked much since nationals. Should she apologize? Or would that just make things awkward. Why couldn't Santana just tell her what she was supposed to be saying?

"You really are clueless aren't you?" Santana said slamming Rachel's locker shut.

"What the hell Santana!" Rachel yelped.

"Have you talked to Quinn?" Santana said crossing her arms matter of fact.

Rachel looked on in silence, mouth fumbling to find words, "no I mean...I...was but then...well I don't know what to say?"

"The truth? That you won't stop badgering everyone because you miss her." Santana raised a sharp brow, stepping into Rachel's space and lowering her voice, "because you're in love with her."

Rachel's jaw dropped. As if she'd just heard the most asinine thing, "I am not! I'm dating Finn!"

"Okay Berry." Santana shrugged. "I guess that's why the big idiot has been moping around? Because you've been avoiding him? I thought that shit you pulled at Nationals-"

"-I said I was sorry" she squeaked.

"Let me finish," Santana waited for Rachel to nod, "I thought that was supposed to be some epic moment that solidified your relationship with Finn. But seems like the Two of you have never been further apart. You can't stand to be near him for longer than short bursts and all you do is talk about Quinn." Santana met Rachel's eyes, waiting for her to deny the things she knew as fact.

"I...I" Rachel stammered. Because as much as she wanted to deny it, deny something, a small part of her, well a not so small part, knew it was true. There was nothing to deny.

"Talk to her. After school." Santana said before leaving.

"After school." Rachel muttered to herself, feeling her throat go dry and hands go clammy.

After school? That was way too soon. She hadn't rehearsed anything to say; "The truth" Santana's words echoed in her head.

"You really shouldn't smoke," Rachel's voice was low and hesitant as she approached skank territory; here she found the former blonde, a now striking pink, smoking behind the bleachers. "You have a very pretty voice Quinn...and I'd hate for you to lose it" Rachel added, swallowing against the harsh desert that suddenly came over.

Quinn tilted her head up towards what would be the sky, but was just more metal stadium seating. Her shoulders and chest rose and fell with breath before she turned around, "Rachel what are you doing here. Shouldn't you and the rest of them...the Glee Club," It was as if it pained Quinn just to mention it, "that you fooled into believing we could win something be practicing your next earth shattering performance?"

Rachel nodded, she deserved that.

Rachel wrung her fingers together, her hands were sweaty; nervous couldn't begin to express the cocktail of emotions she was feeling. For once she was actually feeling terrified to be in front of Quinn Fabray.

"I deserve that" Rachel mumbled, eyes falling to the ground, where she scuffed her shoes against the sidewalk. "Quinn. What Finn did..." She swallowed again, pulling her eyes up from the ground, "what I did...I should've known better. I let everyone down, all that hard work for nothing."

Quinn rolled her eyes tossing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it out, "you really don't get it do you? This isn't about some stupid trophy or some dumb performance." She was trying her best to keep her voice from cracking, to keep her eyes from watering as she remembered that moment:

Long, excruciatingly long, the sound of her heart thumping so hard she thought it might shatter; nowhere to look because as much as she didn't want to see them, Rachel and Finn, it was like she couldn't look away.

"I can't do this." Quinn muttered, that moment was etched into her brain, etched into her heart and everyone just expected her to act like it didn't happen? Like it didn't matter?

"Quinn." Rachel's voice was barely a whisper as she took a step forward, one hand reaching out towards her.

Quinn shook her head, stumbling backwards, she wasn't going to be scorned by Rachel Berry. Not again. "Why do you think I picked this stupid color!" Quinn's voice rose with frustration, cracked as it scraped against her throat, with every emotion she kept bottled up.

She ruffled her own hair, pink strands sticking up in all directions now, eyes piercing as she frantically blinked away unshed tears.

"Because it looks pretty on you Quinn." Rachel spoke truthfully, almost without thinking, the words leaving her lips unrestrained.

Quinn rolled her eyes though her cheeks grew warm. She hated that. Hated the way Rachel just said things like that, spoke sweet sincerities without knowing just how much of an affect they had on her.

Rachel truly was clueless, verging on being oblivious; Quinn might've found it endearing had it not been the thing that tormented her entire summer break.

"May I?" Rachel asked, Quinn suddenly realizing the space had shrunk between the two of them.

Rachel's fingers gently combed through Quinn's hair.

"Why are you here?" Quinn exhaled.

"Because I'm nothing without you Quinn Fabray." Rachel carefully tucked a few strands of hair behind Quinn's ear, meeting her gaze which seemed to sparkle in the sunlight.

#glee advent 2021 #glee fanfiction #faberry #quinn fabray #rachel berry

8 notes · View notes

uhhhhyandere · 4 years

Note

👉👈 more yandere dimitri pls,,, that last one you wrote,,,, WHEW

haha idk where this was going or like... what the plot is or even what it’s about... but i had fun HAHAHA and literally all that matters

so here’s 8k words of purple prose and pointlessness and idk what else i love him so much... also not proofread bc I'm lazy. y’all stan a lazy ass author.

warnings: gory, death of minor characters, kinda bloody too, injury, manipulation

”It’s stupid. I-I don’t think… I just don’t want to get my hopes up, Annie. It’s been years…” With Garreg Mach looming on the cliffside, memories began to resurface with each field and decrepit village you, Annette, and Mercedes passed. They were fields where you would train relentlessly in the early hours of the day. An excuse, you think, to see him more. Innocent enough. Who wouldn’t want to improve their skill with the future King of Faerghus? Under those very trees is where you would have clandestine meetings at the same time beginning after the celebration of your victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Undeniably, the best night of your life.

You silently thanked Sylvain for slipping into the wine cellars and claiming you all had to finish the stolen bottles and clear the evidence. The only people still okay enough that night to do any cleaning were Mercedes and Dedue. Felix was technically okay too, but he left far before Annette was vomiting in the washroom to actually help out.

Your drunken first kiss at your bedroom door that Dedue definitely did not see. The sober one the day after. The sneaky one after breakfast. Quick one after training. Goddess, the heavy one in the dead of night after you scurried upstairs that Sylvain and Felix one hundred percent did not overhear through the paper-thin walls of the dorms. Countless kisses under the shadow of covers, night, until the ball. If everyone and their mothers didn’t suspect something was up when you two did not even realize you were the only pair left dancing, all eyes on you, until Sylvain whistled from the crowd, well, you would be deathly concerned about them.

“But those memories are from a long time ago, Mercie.” You pulled yourself from your thoughts. “Thinking about them only hurts. This place, what’s left of it, only hurts.” Mercedes set a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You think after five whole years, it wouldn’t hurt as much, but I don’t think I’ll be okay until this war is over. Until the cause of this - of all this pain and misery - is put to rest. Back then, even if we could have died at the end of any month, I thought he was invincible. I fled Fhirdiad as soon as I heard. Like a coward.”

“You can’t honestly think that! The Empire was taking the city. If you stayed, you could have died too! Don’t think like that.” You rolled your head back to look at the dark sky. You would make it back before it starts, at the very least.

“Everyone grieves in different ways, and it courses through us all at different paces. You have to let yourself hurt.” You shook your head, beginning to see the shadow of the village at the base of the monastery.

“I’ve been hurting for years now. When I met up with Felix in Fraldarius territory, he told me that the distraction will get me killed. An hour later he saved my life in battle, so he's ever the same. I wonder if he decided to show today. Sylvain would inevitably follow then. I’ve always thought--hey, do you hear that?” You stopped your movements suddenly, holding your arms to stop them as well. FIghting.

“Is it the Empire?”

“I don’t know, but we should help out anyway,” Annette replied. “Come on!”

You expected the Empire, but you weren’t surprised when you encountered thieves attempting to saunter off with the abandoned riches of the monastery. It was just like any other weekend you were off the road of bandits with the Blue Lions to clear a path for bandits.

Until you saw him. A ghost. As pale as one, at least. A hulking, nearly unrecognizable mass of strength shrouded in black and blue. Relentless, he tore through his path of thieves, the professor and Gilbert hot on his trail. The… professor? They were alive too? Your hand shook at your side. They’re both… okay? You swallowed. The professor always did tend to micromanage Dimitri. You realized you could not swallow with a closing throat, wobbling along with your chest. Wheezing, crying, freezing in battle. You heard Mercedes and Annette all around you behind a wall of fog. Legs shaking, you fell to the ground, hand tight to your chest.

“Y/N, come on, get up!” It was Annette’s urging, but she stopped suddenly. Two sets of feet set up around you. A barrier to protect you as your muscles shook. Get up. You have to. Get off the ground and fight. Just as he always taught you.

Your bow came out quick, sniping an enemy in Mercedes’ blind spot. Before you can do anything, argue it was your imagination that conjured the sound of his grunts and the blue of his eye, you had to survive to see them and keep track of Sylvain in the corner of your eye. He still tended to always look right instead of left. Were you not so shaken up, you would have reacted to seeing the rest of your old house in battle, but your mind kept filtering back. You did not see him again in battle. He and the professor were far ahead, after the familiar bandit you had dealings with from Anna, with the remaining three bandits. You, Annette, and Mercedes went to secure the area to make sure there was no bandit unaccounted for.

Didn’t last, though, as you fell to the ground against the foundations of a destroyed house, legs outstretched and limp. With your palm being held tightly over your mouth, you squeezed your eyes tight to get any remaining liquid out.

“Y/N…”

“H-he’s alive.”

“We know. We saw-”

“He’s alive. I spent five years grieving for someone who was here. I-I should have known he was here. I thought about it. I thought about it, but then I second-guessed myself and said that it would only hurt more. Searching for the dead. Pining for them, but look. I-I don’t know. I don’t know if I can even face him.”

“And you don’t want to.” Felix’s voice was just as sharp as it always was. He was grimacing, pace fast as he joined the three of you. “He is not the Prince you fell in love with. He’s the boar that’s been festering underneath his polite smile” With an exhale through your nose, you looked away. Felix really could read you like a book. He scoffed. “You knew too, didn’t you? All this time. Of course. I shouldn’t have put it past you to push things under the rug as you always do.”

“Felix…”

“It’s true. It’s how they even got through the relationship. Not as perfect as you thought, huh?”

“Felix, I think that’s enough.”

“No,” you interrupted. “He’s right. I knew. I was at the rebellion. I was at that battle that is ingrained into Felix’s memory. I was in the Holy Mausoleum when we found out the Flame Emperor's identity, but he never told me… I didn’t know the extent. You all knew he would hide me from all harm, including himself. Do you really think he would tell me whatever plagues him now? Though, I could take a good guess after spending a few nights in his room back then.” You swallowed, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “How bad is he?”

“A lowly beast.”

“There you all are. Professor says to regroup. Says we have plans to discuss, if you all are interested - woah, you okay?” Sylvain scratched the back of his head. “Oh right, yeah. Well, I don’t know how long His Majesty is willing to wait. He looks pretty - uh - impatient.” You shook your head and used the wall to support you back to your feet.

“Reunions like this are usually supposed to be happy, aren’t they? I-I’m sorry I’m ruining it on you all. I really am so relieved to see you all okay. It’s just… there’s a lot of emotion going on right now.” It was Mercedes’ hand on your back. You needn’t look to know.

“You don’t have to face anything you aren’t ready for.”

“No, I need to see what he has become. It’s as Felix says. I can no longer ignore problems I must face. I can do it, but we still have to check the perimeter…” Sylvain shook his head.

“Teach had Ashe and Ingrid do it right after you left.” Your professor always knew you better than you could ever know. “Well, let’s go then. Don’t want to keep them waiting on us too long.” His brown eyes came in close. “You hardly look like you’ve been crying, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t!” Annette stomped on his foot. “Y/N, it’s going to be okay. Me and Mercie are right with you!” A smile broke out on your face. Albeit sad, you nodded your head and believed her. Though you both knew, in the scheme of things, you were alone in this battle.

“Sorry, teach. You know Felix. Walks like a grandpa.” Sylvain, as common as it is for him to be the asshole, was a kind soul. No matter how much he tried to hide it. You gifted him a small smile of thanks as he glanced back. You were in the back of the small group when you joined the semicircle surrounding Gilbert, Byleth and… and… you couldn’t do this.

His hair has grown long and unkempt. Grease and grime painted his hair, his skin, his clothes. The armor he wore just a few shades darker than the circles under his single remaining eye but, oh, it still glittered brighter than the rainy sky. That was his eye. Though only one remained, it was his. This was your Dimitri. You clenched your teeth, for you could not cry anymore. Even if this Dimitri, from what you have heard, would not care for your tears, Dimitri five years ago would. You would stay strong for him if no one else.

And when his eye met yours, goddess, the jolt was felt down your spine. You knew your face screamed your emotions. You were no Felix, Slyvain, or Byleth. Lips parting, your breath halted as he kept your gaze. Nothing on him reacted. Goddess, his gaze was so much more piercing. You did not dare to move. As if you were a stranger, his eye flicked back to Gilbert as the knight continued to speak. Annette grabbed your hand from beside you and you squeezed so hard you watched her wince, yet she remained steadfast in holding yours just as tight.

For the mornings spent under the trees in the field after training, you would not cry. Dimitri is alive. He is here. A few steps away, though miles remained in between, he was alive. Within his dead eye, people will find hope. You will find hope. You know Gilbert already has as he speaks about returning to the monastery to begin to plan for the retaliation against the Empire. You know the former Blue Lions have as well, as they follow the professor loyally back up the ruined stairs you used to trip on far too often. You wondered if Dimitri can feel your eyes on the back of his head, or if he has come to be numb to that as well.

Annette did not let go of your hand until it was out of shock in the chapel. Its remnants littering the floors. Still, the peace of the goddess remained. Its silence was a lullaby to your worries. She, it had to be her, brought back the ones you love most. There was no other power. There couldn’t have been. Even though there was a hole where she used to stand, you thanked the rain beginning to pour in.

You would be strong for the boy Dedue would sneak you to in the dead of night. To wherever the Duscur man maybe, you would do it for him, too.

But being brave and strong was always easy for the people in Ashe’s books. They did not hesitate through their fear. It pushed them to be the heroes they are, but you could not find that platform to jump from. A mouse approaching a wolf, a boar. You sought help from the expert himself.

“Have you? I mean, have you tried to talk to him?” Ashe fiddled with the padding on his glove.

“No, not yet. Felix, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Mercedes have, though. You should ask them. They can probably be more help than me.” Stepping onto the wall separating Garreg Mach from the cliff, you sat next to him, allowing your feet to dangle in the open air.

“No, I think I need someone as scared as me. Someone who wants to be a knight from one of your books, but is the measly coward in the back used for poetic comparisons. Not that you are. I’m talking about me.” Ashe shook his head.

“It’s only been a few days since we’ve arrived.”

“And you think I would have already sought out the man I fell in love with already? A faithful reunion. Not quite like the ones in the romances.”

“I don’t think anything going on is anything like a book.” You furrowed your brows. “I know that’s crazy coming from me, but no book is like another. They have similarities, but they are all inherently different. This one we’re in now, this is ours. This is what people will be reading about and looking to for help. Us. No book can help us right now. I think only we can help ourselves and each other.” You kicked your heel against the wall repeatedly. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear. “You should try. If Dimitri will listen to anyone, it’s you or the professor, and they tried already.” You could feel your throat beginning to close up.

“What do I even say? What if I say the wrong thing? He’s hurt, Ashe. He always has been. I don’t want to… I can’t push him more. He’s not off the deep end yet. He can’t be. I don’t want to be the final straw. I know what I’ll say if I get too… emotional.” The man sighed, green eyes scanning the clouds.

“Well, from my humble opinion, which you don’t have to take, is that, if what you’re saying is true, you’re hurting him by avoiding him.” He stopped fiddling with the leather. Instead, he placed his hand on your thigh. “He is, deep down, the same Dimitri we know. What if he was the same, and you were doing this?”

“That’s debating if he is the same underneath. Knights are torn, but I know he’s there. He wouldn’t so easily feed into it. I know it. It may be time and so much help, but he’s in there. This is part of him. This is not an imposter. This is just as much of him as the one we knew so well. It… has to be, because I don’t know what I’m going to do if it’s not.”

Nights seem to be falling earlier and earlier with nonstop cleaning, repairs, and supply running. Even if you wanted to, you lacked the time to seek the prince out. The greenhouse had to be fixed. The rubble had to be cleared. The holes had to be patched. Communication had to be made. Word was the Knights of Seiros would be arriving this evening. Preparations had to be made for that. How the hell did Cyril do this day-in and day-out?

You were exhausted by the time Seteth and company arrived and set to meet in the chapel. The second time you’ve seen Dimitri since the bandits. The millionth time war efforts were to be discussed. Most of that work was carried out by Byleth and Gilbert. You only needed to follow orders, and your orders were to clean. Sorting out your emotions was just a side job.

“Y/N. Y/N. Are you listening?” Seteth’s scolding, something etched into your brain from the academy, broke you from your thoughts. However, you first regarded Dimitri, who looked at you the same as he did the first time, before having the courage to look at Seteth.

“I-I’m sorry. Lost in my own thoughts.”

“I asked if you have heard anything from Aegir? I know you were in contact with Ferdinand during the past five years.” Dimitri’s eye burned holes through your head. You could feel the sweat from it on your scalp.

“Duke Aegir has been placed under house arrest, sir. Everything from their title and land has been stripped from them. I… haven’t heard anything since. It would be safe to presume that they will not be an in with the Empire.” Yours and Ferdinand’s history stretches only back to the academy; however, before you and Dimitri became official, you and he would occasionally… work some stress out. Casually. Dimitri always hated this fact, but he did his best to hide the jealousy from you.

“It’s not fair of me to judge you on what you have done in the past,” he said. “I will be more mature about my feelings.” Though the gleam in his eye now was all too familiar.

“I see. Thank you.” Something within you kept you from meeting Dimitri’s eye. A fear he would look away, so you focused on Seteth, Gilbert, and Byleth as they discussed the steps to making Garreg Mach the Kingdom’ base. When the meeting ended, however, you did not listen to such fear. Dimitri spent his time in the chapel. The spectacle to gawk at. It was no surprise when he did not move as the rest of the group disperse, and neither did you.

But he would not break first. Turning around, his cape followed him back towards the wreckage of where the altar used to be. You followed with steps as silent as possible. Opening your mouth to speak, you released only empty air. Inhaling, you tried once again, but a wall erected itself in your throat, cutting you off once more.

“If you have something to say, speak.” His words, guttural, reverberated in you. Wringing your hands together, you took one last deep breath.

“Dimitri.”

“Do you wish to speak of the past?” His head turned, so you could only see one eye peeking from under his bangs. “The boy you loved is long dead. There is nothing here for you.” You shook your head and took an adamant step forward.

“T-that’s not true.” A dry laugh escaped him.

“Is it not? Are you not frightened of me? Is it not why you have hidden yourself ever since you arrived? You know it as well as I.” You tapped your fingers against your thigh. You had to remain calm and patient. He was going to try to push you away, and you knew that. Do not stray from the path.

“It was not you I was scared of, Dimitri.” Another laugh. This one wry. He turned around to face you then. You knew he had gotten bigger, stronger, but he stood so much higher than you. A power stance you would not succumb to. This is the same boy who broke a pair of scissors and was scared Mercedes would yell at him and smuggled sweets for you two to have late at night to study for your certification exams. “Do not tell me it is because you think you could have changed something. Prevented something. Nothing would have changed whether you were here in the past five years or not. Do not think so much of yourself.”

You squared your shoulders. You did not want to take this route, but you had to provoke some type of emotion towards you. Something to tell you that you are more than the tool of war to use against Edelgard, and he had already given you a hint.

“Then what about at that meeting, when Seteth asked me about Ferdinand? I saw the look you gave me. I’ve seen it before too. You cannot hide that.” His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you felt successful. “You can say anything you want. How I am insignificant, a tool to use, another body to die in your path to revenge, but do not-” you pointed a finger at him “-tell me what we had was nothing. I want to see what you see. I don’t want you to shut me out.” His eyes trailed down to your finger, and with an armored, gloved hand, pushed it aside.

“So you admit it then? A tool at my disposal. To use and then break?” You shook your head, and your throat clenched once again.

“You would add me to the list of people who already haunt you?”

“You know nothing of the dead. Of what they say to me. There is nothing for me to be concerned about other than taking the head off of that girl’s shoulders. Should you die getting in my way, then so be it.” His lance to the heart, but you would not let the pain show. He was the same boy who broke his training lance and hit Leonie with the broken handle and fretted about it for the next month, despite the blood on his hands. You had to believe that. Latch on to that single hope.

“You always did what you could to protect me. From Demonic Beasts, bandits, Felix’s words, but right now, I think you’re protecting me from yourself.” Metal against your neck. In a blink of an eye, his lance touches the skin.

“Do not speak as if you know me, and do not speak anymore, or else I will slice your throat where you stand. Go away. If you return, I will not hold back, and I will use you to the bone.” A competition played out between your eyes, but, in the end, you succeeded. Walking out the monastery with a drop of blood on your neck, you did not allow any other droplets to fall until you crossed the bridge into the reception hall.

You don’t who you cried for, or for how long until Catherine found you and guided you back to your room. Thoughts floated from Dimitri, his words, the past, to Dedue and his untimely passing and your peers that were now your enemies that Dimitri was ready to kill without hesitation and the reality of your death that could come in any battle here on forth.

Three knocks on your door. Too hard to be Ashe’s, Mercedes’, or Annette. Not hard enough to be Felix yelling at you to train like he used to when he could find no one else.

“Sorry. I was just passing by, and, well, wanted to check in.” The last thing you wanted Sylvain saying was that he heard your balling your eyes out. With shaky hands, you wiped your burning cheeks and unlocked the door for him to enter. “Oh, what happened? What’s that bandage from? Don’t tell me…” You motioned for the noble to come in and relocked the door. You didn’t want any more visitors.

“Yeah, I talked to him.”

“He hurt you?”

“I went too far. I-I shouldn’t have pushed him so deep into his emotions, presuming things he felt. It was just a scratch. I’m fine. You have the eye, Sylvain. You must have noticed the meeting.” You sat on your bed, while he spread himself on your desk chair.

“I remember he used to come to me during those times. How he can show his love for you through other means. How he had lost you before even had a chance to try. He was so stressed, and so hopelessly into you. I thought he had it for the professor, but color me surprised when he sought me out for advice on you.” You shook your head.

“Never should have started that with Ferdinand.”

“Something about nobles, huh?”

“Shut up, Sylvain. I-Look, I can’t even focus on the past right now. I use it to remind myself I’m talking to my Dimitri, and not the monster everyone fears. That, that man suffering alone in that chapel is the boy who got nervous every time we kissed, but… but it’s so hard. As soon as I saw him that day, I was shocked, overjoyed, but I knew something was wrong the same minute. He’s been alone for five years. By himself. The only people to talk to him were the dead. What kind of… I’m supposed to be the one that knows this, sees this, and helps this, but all I can do is cry in my damned room!” Sylvain was lighting fast to wrap his arms around you, and you clung on tighter to his shoulders. The sleeve of his shirt, the victim of your tears, saliva, and sobs until you had pushed your own self out of consciousness.

When you woke the next morning, your head lied on a breathing pillow. It did not take much to recall the previous night and you let yourself relax under human contact. It was something you have missed dearly in the past five years, and you know, despite his reputation, Sylvain would never try anything with you. Your eyes, heavy still from crying so hard, lazily trailed across the room. The window Dimitri almost broke with his lance, the desk you both hunched over figuring out the mathematical side of tactics, the potted plant the professor gave you for your birthday that Dimitri also broke, but replaced with the long dead ones present. The broken locks on your door from -

“Sylvain!” You jolted up, slapping his chest harshly. He woke with a groan while you stood and approached the door.

“Mm, what?”

“Did you hear anything last night? Banging, or snapping, after I fell asleep?” He rubbed your pillow over his face, so you approached him, tore it from his hands, and smacked him. “Sylvain. My door is broken.” Brown eyes were wide and glowing under the sun from the window. He rushed to check out the damage. “I think I know who would have…” He met your eyes. “Which means he saw - “

“Yeah, I get it. I’m a dead man.” You shook your head.

“Hey, hey, not yet. We could try to guess why he would come in here.” Sylvain rolled his eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious? It isn’t to kill you. He already would have been in the chapel. Oh - we messed up. We messed up big time. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” You put your hand on his arm.

“It’s not your fault. You were here when I was sobbing. I can’t be mad at you for that. I’m mad at this whole situation. This war. Everything. You just need to avoid him at all costs. Stay with someone. Felix most likely. We could explain the situation to him, so he understands, and so he doesn’t think we… you know.”

“I get it. I get it.”

....

“Absolutely not.”

“Felix, it’s only until I get this sorted.” Felix groaned, tying his hair back.

“I’m not playing babysitter, and I’m not letting you handle this on your own. You’ll get yourself killed.” You shook your head.

“He wouldn’t kill me.”

“He actually told you he would.”

“But he wouldn’t. I trust that he wouldn’t, and if one of the two of us were to approach him, it could not be you. Out of the question. It would have to be me, and you both know that, and it has to be as soon as possible. I mean, as in-”

“Have you all seen Dimitri?” Ingrid popped around the corner. “It’s the Empire - they’re coming. Gear up and get ready. We don’t know what forces they’re bringing, but we cannot allow them to take the monastery again.” Of course, of all times.

“We’ll worry about this later. Do not let this distract you on the battlefield. Focus on surviving and nothing else. Got it?” Felix held a finger to your face. You nodded. “Good. Come on, Sylvain. We’ll see you out there.”

Focus on surviving. You were always focused on surviving. Battle was not merely just slaying your enemies. You were the priority. Not the oncoming enemies. That fact never changed during battle. That was the first thing the professor taught you; however, his selfless behavior on the battlefield would have anyone thinking twice. When it comes to fighting with people you cared about, priority gets muddled.

Dimitri was no longer focused on surviving. His priority was to kill, slaughter his way to Edelgard. Nothing else mattered. In this way, his fighting has improved tenfold. No reasonable person would want to confront him in physical combat, which made life harder for everybody else. Being a distance fighter, you, Ashe, Annette, and Mercedes were able to watch his back. Of course, Byleth couldn’t risk that many people micromanaging him. For strategy’s sake, it’s suicide. Mercedes was a critical healer and menace being trained a gremory. That source of power would not and could not be squandered. Ashe had worked incredibly hard to be a bow knight, and your most powerful archer can also not be used as a protector of one person.

The job usually came down to you. Both by order of elimination and by your lack of ability to focus elsewhere. Your eyes were naturally drawn to the splattering blood and the behemoth of a man as the source. Byleth knew this just as well as you. You were the definition of predictable on the battlefield.

But, the one thing you forgot was that, on a battlefield, nothing is predictable. To be able to predict the cavalier was able to reach you with his javelin was precautionary, week-one lessons, but, still, it sunk into your side. Unimaginable pain. The raw snap of impact. Warm blood cascading down your leg. Think… think! You had to get somewhere safe. Somewhere an imperial soldier wouldn’t finish you off. Hopefully, someone else would take care of that soldier before they reached you.

Each inch was crippling. The gathering of bushes and trees seemed so far, and your energy was slipping exponentially fast. You’d be out from blood loss in due time. It even began to drip from your mouth and onto the already stained grass. Almost there. The moment your foot crossed the threshold to the hideaway, you went lip on your back. Smoke and flames met the already decaying sky.

You glanced down your body. The javelin was at least a third in your body. Getting it out would just expedite the process, so you allowed yourself to lie your head back. Distant shouts and screams and metal clashing filled the air. The smell of the earth around you drowned out by the putrid scent of burning flesh. Something you never take note of while fighting for your life.

Peace was not a word to use in these places, but you had no other one to use as you lied still. Is this what Dimitri meant? You wondered what he would think and say when he heard, or even saw, your death. Your death. Another nameless, pointless death in Edelgard’s ruthless path to her goal. You can see Mercedes and Annie crying. Maybe even Sylvain and Ingrid. Felix, perhaps, would cry, but you were sure he’d be pissed at you. And Dimitri…

You sobbed. Perhaps you really were worthless, but you wanted to hope, to pray that he would be there each time you opened your eyes back to the gruel world around you. Each time, he wasn’t.

Until he was.

Blood dripped down his face, none of which was his own. It matted down his locks and dripped from each lock. Areadbhar glowed in his hand and dragged across the flattened grass and mud. The air was only able to jostle the very ends of his hair. His mouth opened, canines peeking from the corner of his lips. Leaving the smoke and fire behind him, Dimitri got larger and larger.

Goddess, he was beautiful. Even as he stared with an empty eye down at you, you couldn’t help but gasp. An angel of death. You moved to rise, but the rip of his lance on your breast pushed you back down. His eye traversed down your figure to your wound. The weapon rose and fell with your breath.

“Dimitri,” you breathed out.

“I told you, did I not?” His chin rose and Areadbhar’s tip dug just a hair deeper. “Foolish Y/N. You are too weak for the thick of battle.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “But you will not die by imperial hands. I will not allow it. If you are to die, it will be by my hands.” Your fists gripped the grass. Dimitri hummed. “You won’t say that I wouldn’t? Or do you finally realize the truth?”

“If you’re going to do it, just do it. Neither of us need this “ -you coughed -”stalling.” His elbow retracted and you winced, ready for the final blow.

“Y/N!” Sylvain. At the silence that followed, you peeked an eye open. Dimitri was focused on the source of the voice, giving you room to squiggle away until he forced the lance forward again. This time, the tip traced your left cheekbone. “Y/N!” Dimitri was daring you to speak, but, right now, you could hardly breath.

“You said you were not scared of me, before. Are you scared now?” He paused. “You said you want to see what I see. Do you keep your word? Do you honor it?” Were you supposed to answer? Fear crippled your ability to formulate words. “You will not die yet.” Areadbhar’s glow now dominated your left visual field.

In a second, everything in that field went black, and you screamed.

…

“I watched you go down,” Felix said. “You were at the higher ground, where you usually are in the midst of battle. You might as well have painted a target on your back if I can see you from across the plain, you idiot. That javelin went into your side,” amber eyes locked onto the bandages covering your side, “but I watched nothing touch your eye.”

Thank the goddess for Manuela and Mercedes. Without an expertise in white magic, you would be long dead. By the same token, thank the goddess for Sylvain who found you bloody and passed out in the cover of the bushes and delivered you to them on horseback.

Your fingers traced the bandages that wrapped around your head and covered your left eye. Everything to your left periphery and everything not covered by your right eye was black. It didn’t throb, didn’t hurt anymore, because there were no more nerves to send that pain to your brain.

“What happened, Y/N?” Ingrid cut in. Her, Felix, and Annette stood around your bed in the medical bed. You shook your head.

“I… I don’t remember. The last thing I recall is crawling towards the cover. I don’t even know if I got there.”

“Liar.” Felix abruptly stood. “Stop defending that boar, and just say it.” Your mouth opened, but Ingrid cut him off.

“Felix, are you saying you think Dimitri took her eye?”

“I know it,” he snapped back. “I’m right, aren’t I, Y/N? Just say it. Say that beast took your eye while we were all distracted in battle.” Your eyes glanced to the others, unconsciously asking for help.

“Felix, you’re adding unnecessary stress. Come on. We should give them space. We’re lucky they’re not dead” Her hand locked onto Felix’s arm. He grimaced, glaring down at you while he shook himself from her grip.

“When will you ever start caring about yourself? There is more death than just physical.” He spit out before stomping out of the room. Ingrid sent you a sympathetic smile and followed her childhood friend out. Annette left soon as well under the excuse of giving you time to rest, but you could not rest. Dimitri’s face haunted you every time your working eye closed. Every throb was its own lance. Its own mark.

His mark.

You thought you were crazy the first time you reflected on why you and Dimitri’s eye total was the same as a normal human being. You thought you were insane for romanticizing it. It was terrifying. Inhumane. To you, at least, but to him, you knew, it was a mark of possession. That when people saw you, thought of you, it would always be connected to him, but it was also a threat. Not only to those who dare try to do you harm that isn’t him, but to you. I told you. This is what you get and will continue to get.

You waited until the sun set, until the priests and priestesses would no longer be in your room to cry, so your pathetic cries of anguish would be bouncing off the walls in peace. Curling in on yourself, you buried your chin between your arms and stared into the dark room. Waiting and watching, a large silhouette emerged from the darkest corner and approached. Cold claws of his armor wiped away the tears on one cheek while simultaneously breaking the skin. You could only barely make him out through the moonlight in the open window next to you. Dimitri circled the bed, looking down at you from the side before bending down and planting his lips on your cheek. His warm tongue wiped at the newfound beads of blood, and you hissed at the contact. He separated himself just enough to look at the bandages around your eye.

“I get it,” you said. “I get it.”

…

Luckily (as lucky as you can get during the situation), the damage cut clean through the nerves, so all ganglion cells and connections to the optic nerve were completely severed. No nerves. No signal to the brain. No pain. Still, it would be a while before the tissue repaired and scabbed over.

You didn’t know what to do with Dimitri, frankly. Part of you was terrified to even approach him. Another was equally as terrified, but this was out of what he would do if you were with someone else again. You were sure of the correlation between your broken door and your stolen eye. You wonder, then, what else he could have seen? Sparring with Felix or advice sessions with Ashe or… too many instances come to mind.

Byleth pushed you to train more with your periphery severely impacted, and, when the time to march came, confined you to Garreg Mach until you were proficient enough not to get yourself killed.

“Good,” was all Dimitri said on the matter. It wasn’t until your assault into the Empire that Byleth deemed you ready for actual battle. Up until then, you spent your time training. First, it was with the knights, until all of a sudden they no longer desired to raise arms with you. Something about the demon over your shoulder. You looked to Catherine, who glanced to the door, where a large shadow quickly disappeared. You inhaled sharply and pursued.

“No one is willing to train with me. Do you have something to do with it?”

“They can’t help you,” he responded. He quickly strode down familiar, overgrown paths down to the fields below until you both reached the same field he had trained with you in years ago. Dimitri spun around, raising his lance. “They don’t understand.” From your blindspot, he swung, and you barely dodged out of the way, feeling the very wind from the force. “Get up and arm yourself.” You quickly shuffled to your feet.

“Why? Aren’t you… don’t you plan to kill me, anyway?”

“Equip yourself. I will not have filthy empire hands decide your demise, and I won’t have you staying behind on your own.” You gave up on trying to read into him. “Now, fight.”

It was brutal. Unlike the helpful and cautious nature of his corrections and demands, you learned through mistakes. If your leg got slashed, you moved it the next time. If you were pushed and forced to one side, you adjusted your posture for the next time. Dimitri gave you no breaks, no time to tend to the cuts and bruises he gave you. There was hardly time to catch your breath before he was charging again, forcing your back against a nearby oak. He seemed to not be bothered or fatigued at any point.

It would not be the first time your back was pinned against this very tree. Dimitri growled, his weapon lodged into the wood right behind your ear. A moment passed where it was five years ago, hands tight on your hips and heavy breaths swallowed by one another. Now, he pulled his weapon back and went in for another strike.

“It’s dark. I think we need to go back.”

“You think they will not use the guise of darkness? That we will always fight when the sun is out? Arm yourself.”

You limped back to Garreg Mach. The only real guide you had, with Dimitri’s brutal pace, was his footstep imprints and the sound of him pressing on. By the time you reached the gate, you nearly collapsed with Dimitri far ahead. Thank the goddess Anna was around to get help. Byleth’s dark cape flew behind them as they rushed through the market. They rushed you, as fast as you could go on weak legs, to the same bed you were confined to with your eye. Manuela dropped the elixir in her hand as you and your entourage busted through her door.

“Goddess, what happened?! No matter. Get them inside.”

Felix was going to kill you.

But still, when you were able, you met Dimitri again in the same field. And again. And again. Until you were no longer on the verge of death each nightfall when you returned. Your former housemates did not hesitate to chastise you or even micromanage you, but, inevitably, they had to do their own work, and you set off. Felix gave you an innumerable amount of choice words before it seemed he gave up.

You were confident heading into the empire. No opponent you would face, close up or far, was Dimitri. They were far smaller, thinner, and weaker. You’d even say they seemed to have less physical intent to kill you compared to the blonde. You traded in your bandages to a white eyepatch similar to Dimitri’s except there was still padding for the raw skin underneath. Something that inevitably drew enemy forces towards you.

“Y/N?” Despite the cruel, ruthless nature of battle, Ferdinand’s voice held the same noble gentleness. Your eye, wide and wild, met his. Across a stretch of corpses, the redhead stood tall, long hair matted down in the wind. You swallowed. “Y/N!” He called again, eyes wide behind you. In a split second, you turned to see an armored knight’s axe impending down on you. The next, a lance impaling them that breezed from over your shoulder.

“You killed your own man.”

“He almost killed you.” You hurried to dislodge his weapon from the body.

“...Thank you,” you muttered, handing the lance back to him. Your eyes rose to behind his shoulder. “F-Ferdinand!” Your warning came too late. Dimitri’s blunt force knocked him to the ground. There was no warning, no room for words, before the sickening sound of death cracked in front of you. Again… and again… and again. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Keep your eyes open. This? Was your fault.” Blood splattered onto his pale features, adding to the pattern already decorating his skin. “Let’s go. Stay by me.” Not that you usually didn’t. Still, your legs would not move. Not with the fresh corpse between the two of you. “What?” Dimitri hissed out. “Are you upset? He was just another body in our way... unless it was something more to you?” You shook your head, taking a hold of your bow tighter. “Good. Let’s go.” Dimitri did not bother to even look back, and you… you could not even look down, and hurried to follow.

You didn’t sleep for days. Ferdinand’s kind smile on your mind. You did not dare tell anyone of his gruesome demise. Though, looking at the detail, the monstrous nature of it, it didn’t take too much thought to guess who was responsible for it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to celebrate Dedue’s return. The thing about him though was that he never let too many things go unnoticed.

“How are you?” He simply asked, and you lost it.

“-I couldn’t do anything. I-I couldn’t! Or… or I didn’t. Oh, goddess, I don’t know.” Your hands shook in front of you. “He can do what he will to me, but to others? Because of me? I… fuck. I couldn’t tell anyone. Felix and co. are already suspicious enough.”

“I am sorry. I know those words do not mean much now, but, for what it is worth, I am.” He paused, furrowing his brows and focusing on the ground. “I-,”

“Y/N.” Dimitri hulked in the doorway. Where the hell does he come from? Dedue stood promptly.

“Your Highness,” he greeted. Dimitri briefly regarded the Duscur man before focusing on you once again.

“Come,” he said, and you followed, wishing Dedue a small farewell. Dimitri’s cape glided against the concrete. He led you across the bridge and into the empty echoes of the cathedral. It was far too late for any priests or students to linger. Especially with Dimitri lurking around in the late hours. “You still think about him.”

“I still think about his death,” you carified.

“Do not tell me you mourn for a man who was going to imprison you.” You scoffed.

“He saved me.”

“In order to take you back to the empire for information. Who else would he like to obtain than the one he grew feelings for? Do not be so naive to think he saved you so altruistically.” Your teeth dug into your bottom lip.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. You and I both know how war works. Do you think Edelgard and her army would not use every former connection to get ahead? There is no line on the path to victory. Being weak, showing compassion, is just how you get killed. How the enemy wins.” You shook your head.

“You said you were going to kill me. Did you not save me for that reason? My death is the same no matter whose hands it is by. It will have the same impact. One less body between Edelgard and you.” Dimitri’s eye glanced downwards, then shot back up to meet yours with a small chuckle.

“Are you not already dead? Have you not already succumbed to the wills of those who control your mind? Have you not already become your own form of monster?” You shook your head and took a step back.

“N-no, I’m not.”

“You are not? You allow these cuts and bruises to litter your body. You allow your own eye to be stolen. You allow others to die. You allow all of this without consequence. You are a worse kind of monster: the one that allows another to live, to unleash without consequence. You hardly see the others anymore. You do not train with them, eat with them. They tend to your wounds and you run to get more.” Metal fingers gripped your chin and forced your head upwards. “I told you I would kill you, and I have.”

HIs kiss was fire compared to the ice of his armor pushing against you. All-consuming, Dimitri’s lips molded to yours and his teeth pierced your skin. He licked at your lips, and you willingly opened your maw to let him in. You willingly allowed him to drown you out, to push you towards a pew and lock you between his body and the wood. He only separated to breath before digging for more, more. His tongue dragged across your own and touched upon your teeth, tasting your intricacies with increasing vigor. He inhaled every exhale you panted into his mouth. These were not the kisses Dimitri five years ago gifted you.

“You taste the same…” he whispered. “Show yourself to me. Let us be dead together.”

#yandere fe3h #yandere fire emblem #fire emblem fic #dimitri x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #yandere dimitri #yandere dimitri x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #fire emblem x reader #fe16 #fe16 x reader #fe3h x reader #tw yandere #tw: yandere #tw injury #tw: injury

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freedom-of-writing · 3 years

Text

Forever my wife

Just my take on how the WayHaught wedding could’ve turned out. I wrote this before the airing of episode 4x12, so expect it to be different.

It’s here. Their weeding day has finally arrived. Nicole has been smiling her brightest smile all morning. She can’t believe she is finally getting married to the love of her life, her Angel, the Guardian of her heart. Waverly Earp. Her wife. Wow... that sounds so good.

She is all dressed up and almost ready for the ceremony, thanks to Rachel. She is wearing a beautiful maroon suit with a very simple and natural-looking makeup. It was Rachel’s idea, and she absolutely loves the result. As for Waverly, she has Wynonna to help her get ready. Obviously. Part of Nicole wishes she could just peek at them, sure they must be having a lot of fun right now. But she and Waverly agreed their wedding looks should be a surprise, so she is getting ready in the barn, while Waverly is in their room in the Homestead.

“Alright, there you go!” Rachel exclaims when she’s done with Nicole’s hair. “What do you think?”

Rachel curled her beautiful red hair, and clipped it backwards on one side, so that it is falling nicely on her right shoulder.

“Wow...” Nicole stares in awe at her figure in the mirror.

“I know. I’m pretty proud of my work too.” Rachel says with a proud smirk.

Nicole chuckles lightly at that, and then she turns to face her. “Thank you.”

Rachel smiles brightly at her, moving her hand up to fix a lock of Nicole’s hair. “I’m... I’m gonna go check on Waves. See if Wynonna needs any help...”

“Okay.”

When Rachel leaves, Nicole moves to sit on Wynonna’s bed. Closing her eyes, she tries to recall all of the milestones that led them here. Their first meeting at Shorty’s... Waverly Earp smiling at her from her front porch... her heart shattering when Waverly told her they should’ve been just friends, and all its pieces coming back together the minute Waverly kissed her in Nedley’s office... their first time, their big fight, all of the times they’d lost and found each other over the years... her regret of not having said yes right away... her hope slowly fading away in those 18 months alone... what they did on the stairs, and on the kitchen floor, and in the barn this morning... What a ride they had, huh?

That’s what she said. She can imagine Wynonna saying to her. The thought makes her smile. That woman is a real sucker for a dirty joke. And she’s part of their journey too. Who would’ve thought they could become best friends. And yet, here they are. It’s crazy how close they’ve become.

Right as she’s thinking about that, Nicole is brought back to reality by the sound of knocking on the front door. Speaking of the devil...

“May I come in? Please, tell me you’re not naked...” Wynonna asks as she walks in with a hand covering her eyes.

“Actually, I’m lying completely naked on your bed right now.” Nicole jokes.

“I’d rather not think about what you did on my bed this morning...” Wynonna says lowering her hand.

“Excuse me?!” How the hell does she know about their morning... exchange of love.

“Poor innocent Jeremy told me about it. Poor soul, I think you traumatized him for life...” she mocks her.

Nicole shakes her head in disbelief. “Just come here, and sit with me, Earp.” She invites her patting at the space beside her on the mattress.

“Huh uh, no way. I’m never touching that bed again.”

“We didn’t even do it on the bed!” Nicole yells before she can realize what she is actually saying.

“Yep. I’m burning this whole barn to the ground tonight.” Wynonna states in a joking tone before going to sit on the bed near Nicole.

When she was settled, Nicole smiled her beautiful bright smile at her, and Wynonna noticed her eyes were sparkling with tears.

“You okay, Haught?”

“I’m getting married to Waverly Earp today...” she says as if that could answer Wynonna’s question.

“You’d better.”

Nicole chuckles lightly at that, and then she asks: “how is she?”

“She’s ready.” Somehow Wynonna knows exactly what Nicole needed to hear. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got you something” She exclaims a moment later, taking a necklace from her dress, in the space right over her boob. “No pockets.” She explains with a shrug when Nicole laughs lightly at her. Same old Wynonna.

“Please tell me it’s not a boner necklace...” Nicole jokes.

“Damn it! Now I’m mad I didn’t think of that!”

That makes Nicole laugh again. And in that moment, she realizes the tears that once threatened to fall are now completely gone. Wynonna did it again. It crazy how this woman can make it all go away with just one joke.

“But seriously... here.” Wynonna says as she hands over the necklace to Nicole.

Nicole takes it and lays it on the palm of her hand, so she can study the pendant. It’s the shape of a heart, and inside it there are two small figures, two girls sitting on its outline as if the pendant was a swing. On the outline of the heart, then, there are two small inscriptions: always my sister / forever my friend. Nicole reads them, and then turns to look at Wynonna in shock. That’s definitely not the gift she was expecting to get from “miss everything’s a joke to me”.

“Waverly gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday, right before I left Purgatory... She wanted me to know that I’d always have a home here if I wanted to come back. I always have it with me. Even if I’m not wearing it. It’s like my lucky charm. Which is kind of stupid considering all the troubles I got in in my life...”

“Wynonna, I...” Nicole’s at a loss of words. No one’s ever given her something that was so special to them.

“You’re gonna be my sister now, right?” she says matter-of-factly, and Nicole can feel herself getting all emotional again.

“I’ve never had a sister…” She states, mimicking what Wynonna had told her a little less than two years ago. I’ve never had a best friend.

“You do now.” Wynonna states in all seriousness as she fights back the tears blurring her eyes. “A pretty messed up one, but...” she starts to joke, but Nicole interrupts her.

“She’s perfect that way.” She says taking hold of Wynonna’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

They stay like that for a moment, neither one breaking the peaceful silence that fell upon them. Nicole can’t take her eyes off the necklace. Waverly gave it to Wynonna, and now Wynonna is giving it to her. It’s not just a promise to be friends and sisters forever, it’s also a way for Wynonna to say “Waverly’s the most precious thing that I have, and now she’s yours to protect and love”. The idea makes her even more emotional, but if she cries now, she’ll ruin all her makeup, and it took Rachel half an hour to put it on. So she takes a deep breath to force back the tears, and then she gets up and turns to face Wynonna.

“Help me put it on?” She asks, holding out the necklace for Wynonna to take.

A tear falls down Wynonna’s cheek as she smiles at her friend. She wipes it away quickly with the back of her hand, and then, she gets up grabbing the necklace. As she is fastening it, they hear a knock on the door. It’s Rachel. In a very Wynonna-fashion she does not wait for an answer before walking in. She is here to let them know everyone’s ready, and they’re just waiting for the two of them. All of a sudden Nicole feels like she can’t breathe. It’s happening. It’s time. OMG. Her heart is racing uncontrollably, and she thinks she might get sick. That, of course, does not go unnoticed on Wynonna, who puts her hand on Nicole’s shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“C’mon, Haught. You’ve waited long enough. Now you get to be happy.” She smiles lovingly at her friend. Best friend. God, she’s so happy for her right now. She finally gets to be happily married to the love of her life. It’s what she deserves.

When she feels Nicole is breathing somewhat steadily again, she offers up her arm for her to lean on as they walk out. With a deep breath, Nicole puts her hand on Wynonna’s arm, and she lets her friend lead her out of the barn, with Rachel in tow. It’s a beautiful sunny day, and she can smell the perfumes of a thousand flowers, and the green grass around the Homestead is glowing bright in the summer sun. Nicole takes a look at the guests waiting for them by their seats. It’s not many people, it’s true, but all the ones who matter are here. Jeremy, Doc, Nedley, Billy, Mercedes… wait. No way! No! She turns towards Wynonna in shock.

“Are you serious right now?!” she exclaims in disbelief.

“Do you know someone else who can officiate your wedding?!”

“Anyone but Bunny!”

“Listen, sheriff, she’s who I found, okay? Do you wanna get married or what?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Earp…”

“Oh, please, your life would be so boring without me.”

“I’m marrying your sister, I can think of a few ways to entertain myself…” she objects with a smirk.

Their banter is interrupted by Nedley clearing his throat to get their attention. “Ladies…”

Both turn to look at him. Nicole can instantly feel the tears forming in her eyes. He’s here to walk her down the aisle. This is all surreal. How is this real life? She feels like she’s in a dream.

“Wow… Look at you.” Nedley says in admiration.

“Yeah, you don’t look bad yourself.”

“I’m proud of you, kiddo.” He says in her ear as he brings her in for a tight hug.

Nicole’s been able to hold back the tears so far, but after those words she just can’t. Her parents might not be there to support her, but she has Nedley, and that’s all that matters. She allows one tear to stream down her cheek, but then she collects herself quickly. She can’t cry. Not before the ceremony has even started. Nedley smiles lovingly at her as they let go of each other, and then he holds out his arm for her to lean on. Nicole takes one last look around, and she notices Wynonna is gone. She must’ve gone get Waverly. It’s time. No more waiting. This time it’s for real. Smiling back at Nedley, she puts her hand on his arm, and they start walking towards the others. My God, this is crazy. She thinks as she sees Bunny waving at her happily. Just a perfect Earp-fashion wedding...

As they walk slowly down the aisle, her eyes get wet all over again. She just can’t help it. When she got to Purgatory she was completely alone, and now she’s getting married to the love of her life and she’s got a family who loves and supports her. She is smiling so big right now, she can feel her cheeks beginning to hurt, and just the idea of seeing Waverly makes her hearts burst with joy. She looks at Rachel, her maid of honor, and she feels so proud. The past 19 months weren’t easy for either of them, but they got through. Together. They’ve seen each other at their worst, and now hopefully they’ll get to see each other at their best too. Today a new chapter begins. A better one for sure. No matter what happens next, nothing can be worse than the hopelessness and loneliness she’s felt in those eighteen months alone.

Nicole is brought back from her thoughts when Nedley gives her hand a gentle squeeze. Nicole gives him a sweet kiss on the cheek, and then he moves away to get to his seat. All of a sudden, murmurs fill the air, and she turns to see Waverly and Wynonna walking out of the homestead and towards them. Nicole can feel her heart pounding hard. Wow… Waverly looks so beautiful… She is in a long sleeveless white lace dress. Her hair is tied up on the back of her head, and it has beautiful colorful flowers in it. Her makeup, just like Nicole’s, is very simple, and she is absolutely breathtaking. Nicole can’t help but stare at her in awe as she walks down the aisle leaning on Wynonna’s arm. And the same goes for Waverly as she studies her fiancée’s look. They both look perfect. This is all so perfect.

“Hi” “Hey” They greet each other once they’re standing side by side.

“Haught.” Wynonna says as she lets go of Waverly to embrace Nicole. “You take care of my baby sis, okay?” she whispers in her ear, her voice cracking with emotion.

“Always.”

“You got the girl, Nicole. Now go get your wife.” Wynonna says leaning back and winking at her.

What happens next is a mystery to Nicole and Waverly. All they can focus on is the person standing right in front of them, and it feels like they’re in a bubble, just the two of them. They can barely process what’s going on as Bunny takes the word to let the ceremony begin. They come back to reality when it’s time for them to say their vows.

“Sheriff…” Bunny invites her to go first.

She’s had a hard time in the past few days trying to find the right things to say, but she’s figure it out at last. Although no words could ever fully express how much Waverly Earp really means to her. As she takes Waverly’s hands into her own, she begins.

“Waverly Earp… You are my home, my love, my Angel. You are the oxygen that keeps me breathing, and the light that brightens my days. Being loved by you is by far the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You came into my life at a time when I was lost, and alone, and you turned my world completely upside down. You filled the void in my heart with joy, and laughter, and love. You gave me memories to hold onto, and reasons to fight, and stay. You turned this unfamiliar place into my home, and these strangers into my family, and all of my insecurities into my biggest strengths. You taught me to love myself just as much as I love you, and you showed me perfection where I could only see flaws. You inspire me to be the best version of me, and to always be fighting for what I believe in. You are everything I’ve ever wanted, and so so much more.” She pauses briefly to turn and take the ring from Rachel, and then she continues.

“So today, in front of our friends, and family, I take you, Waverly Earp, to be my wife. I give you this ring as a promise to love you, respect you, cherish you, and support you as my partner, my person, and my equal. And I swear I’ll do my absolute best to make you smile as bright as you do today for the rest of our lives. I vow to be a loving and protective wife, to be open to change, and ready for every challenge that comes our way. And for as long as I live and breathe, I will be by your side. Always your shield, forever your wife.”

Wow... that was a lot. Waverly knows it’s her turn now, but she is so emotional she is afraid she might forget everything that she wanted to say. She looks down at the ring on her finger, and somehow it calms her down. Looking back up into Nicole’s beautiful brown eyes, she knows she just has to speak from her heart, and the right words will come. So she takes a deep breath to steady her voice, and then she begins.

“Nicole Haught... wow, I can’t believe this is actually happening! I’ll never forget the day you walked into Shorty’s with your uniform, and your Stetson in your hands, and confidence for days. I’d been living a life in black and white for so long that I’d forgotten what real happiness felt like. But then you smiled your beautiful bright smile at me, and it all turned into colors. You showed me that it’s okay to be ambitious, and that I should never settle for anything less than what I deserve. You gave me a choice when I thought I had none. In a world of people telling me who to be, you just asked me to be myself. You held me together when my world was falling apart, and you made me feel special, when I didn’t know who I was anymore. You... you, Nicole Haught, are extraordinary. Whenever I’m in a dark place, you light my way back to safety. You are my harbor, my anchor, my rock. I don’t have anything to give you if not unconditional love, and support. And I don’t know what the future will hold for us, but I’m not afraid. Because I know that, whatever comes next, we will face it together. Side by side as it’s always been.” Mimicking Nicole, she pauses briefly to turn and take the ring from Wynonna. And then, she continues.

“Today, I take you to be my wife, on this land that’s always been my home, because you, Nicole Rayleigh Haught, are my home. With this ring, I promise to love you, respect you and support you as my love, my equal, and my partner. I will be your shoulder to cry on, and a rock to lean on. Your number one fan, the reason for your smile, and your light in the darkness. I vow to be a loving and protective wife, to love all of your flaws and imperfections, and to stand by your side for the rest of my life. Always your angel, forever your wife.”

Tears are streaming down their faces by the time Waverly finishes talking. They turn to look at their family, and they are all crying as well. Even Bunny seems to be a little bit emotional when she takes the word to conclude the ceremony.

“Alright then. Let’s make this official!” She exclaims. “By the power vested in me by... Wynonna Earp this morning, I now pronounce you partners for life, wife and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Waverly and Nicole don’t waste a second. Without letting go of each other’s hands, they lean in for their first of many many kisses as wives. It’s just a tender kiss, but it still conveys all the love they have just professed for one another. When they part, Nicole leans down so her forehead is resting on Waverly’s. And as they stay like that for a moment, it seems like everything else disappears, and it’s just the two of them. Their eyes are blurry with tears, and all they can see are the big bright smiles lighting up their faces. This is doubtless the happiest day of their lives. There is so much joy in their hearts right now that it feels as if they might even explode.

“My wife.” Nicole states in a dreaming tone.

“Forever.” Waverly adds.

“I love you, Waverly Earp.”

“And I love you, Nicole Haught.”

None of the rest matters. As long as they have each, there is nothing they can’t overcome. Their love has survived the most impossible situations, and it will last forever. Of that they are sure.

Always your shield, forever your wife.

Always you angel, forever your wife.

#Wynonna Earp #Bring Wynonna Home #wayhaught #wedding #fanfiction #fanfic #love wins #waverly earp #nicole haught

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goldencuffs · 4 years

Text

fake dating au

“— I promise to love and respect you always.”

“Hmm?” Laurent turned from the view of the lake and saw that Torveld was down on one knee, with a velvet box in his hand. There was a ring in it — a ghastly one, with only one diamond. Honestly. Laurent frowned. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Er —” Torveld seemed to have trouble balancing himself. He was also getting very red. “I’m proposing?”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I’m proposing,” Torveld repeated firmly. To his credit, he did sound much more confident. Unfortunately, it was undermined by the sweat on his forehead and his shifting eyes.

“Oh,” Laurent said. He paused. “Why?”

“Why?” Torveld repeated, incredulous. “Because — For all the reasons I just said! Love and respect and — and status!”

Laurent stared down at him. “This is the third time we’ve spoken. And I don’t think the first time counts since you threw up in the middle of our conversation.”

“I told you I had a stomach bug,” Torveld hissed. He looked mortified, and in the distance, Laurent could see Jord and Lazar muffling their laughter.

Laurent grimaced in an attempt to mask his own unbidden smile. The memory of that first encounter haunted him, but it was undeniably hilarious — objectively, of course.

Torveld watched his face and wilted. “You’re not going to say yes, are you?”

Laurent tried to look a little compassionate. It only made Torveld frown, so Laurent suspected he had failed horribly. “I’m afraid not,” he said.

Torveld stood up and pocketed the box. He looked very put out.

“I’m sorry,” Laurent said, because it seemed like the right thing to say. Then he ruined it by asking: “How much did my father pay you?”

Torveld went very still. “Um.”

“Come on,” Laurent chided. “You’re the sixth person to propose to me this month. I know what Al is like.”

Torveld cleared his throat, then muttered a figure under his breath.

Laurent’s eyebrows rose and his stomach dropped; it seemed the King really was serious about marrying Laurent off as soon as he turned twenty one.

And really, Laurent wasn’t opposed to the idea of marriage, not at all. In fact, getting married to a man with a large cock and an even larger fortune was one of his top ten dreams. But that didn’t mean he wanted to do it now. He liked having freedom; most of his days were spent reading, gathering gossip on various Lords. and getting fucked by foreign, dashing men. And if Vere was short on foreign, dashing men, then Laurent had his guardsmen to keep him company in bed. There was a reason Lazar had extended his contract for another five years, after all.

It just infuriated Laurent that Al was doing this behind his back: setting him up on frivolous excursions with men who were low enough in rank to be appeased with marrying a second son.

It also made Laurent feel more unwanted than usual — but that thought was going to stay firmly lodged into his brain until his death.

Looking at Torveld now, Laurent realised that Al would not stop here. No doubt he had more men lined up for Laurent to meet. Perhaps he was waiting until Laurent got so tired of it, he would say yes to the next man who walked into the Palace.

Like hell that was going to happen.

Laurent knew he had to do something to stop it right now. He assessed Torveld, trying to think. He knew the man was a notorious gossiper — to the point where his own brother, the Crown Prince, had barred him from Council meetings because he ended up spilling everything to anyone who would listen.

So, Laurent said the one, plausible thing he could think of. “I’m sure you know why I had to say no, of course.” He kept his tone coy.

Torveld immediately piqued, curious. “No, why?”

Laurent bit his lip, pretending to survey the area around them for any potential eavesdroppers. He leaned in close. “I’m seeing someone. It’s very serious, but we’ve had to keep it lowkey in case Al tries to break us up.”

Torveld’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Is he —” He lowered his voice. “A commoner?”

Laurent’s nose scrunched. Ha! As if he’d succumb himself to that. No, obviously, Laurent’s imaginary lover would be amazing, respected by all, tall, hot as fuck, powerful, in touch with all the latest trends, and fantastic in bed. Someone so admirable and high in rank, that even Al would be impressed.

Laurent said the first name that sprung to his mind. “It’s Damianos.”

Granted, the only reason Laurent had even thought of him was because Al had mentioned him during breakfast. Something about how high Akielon taxes were and blah blah blah — as if Laurent cared. But, a man like Damianos did fit a majority of the aforementioned traits. Although, Laurent had no way of knowing whether being fantastic in bed was one of them.

Torveld looked suitably shocked. “The King of Akielos?”

Laurent smiled, smug. “The very same.”

Torveld was awed by the news. Then, he frowned. “But why would your father want to break you up? I thought he wanted a formal, political relationship with Akielos. A marriage seems like a good alliance.”

“Uh,” Laurent paused. He didn’t even know Al wanted that. Was that why he was always going to Akielos? He tried to search for an answer, and when he couldn’t find one, said, “Oh no, excuse me, I forgot I had an appointment with —” He hurried away before he had to think of something.

Al came into his room later that evening, after a substantial amount of knocking. He always knocked now — sometimes more times than what was strictly necessary; the last time he had barged into Laurent's room, unannounced, Laurent had been on all fours, in between two very well endowed brothers, noblemen from Vask.

Al hadn’t spoken to Laurent for four months after that. It was only when Auguste came back from college and made Laurent apologise to their father did he finally ease up.

As soon as he was inside, Al said, “Torveld tells me you rejected his proposal because you’re in a relationship with the King of Akielos.”

Laurent put his book down, face up, and swung his legs over the bed. “Good god, he really can’t keep a secret, can he?”

Al ignored him, as he tended to do most of the time. “Well?”

Laurent said, “Yes, it’s true.”

“When did this start?”

“When did what start?”

Al glared. “This very serious relationship, as Torveld put it.”

They were still talking about that? Laurent made up a number. “Three years.” Oh no; that was too high of a number. “No! I mean, we’ve been talking for three years but uh — one year. We’ve been together for one year.”

“How did this even happen?” Al said. “Damianos has not visited Vere since you were thirteen.”

Laurent remembered that trip; his first kiss had happened during one of the many balls they had hosted, with a girl from Akielos. Afterwards, Laurent had said, “Oh, I’m definitely gay.”, and she had spilled juice all over his lap.

It had been a fun night.

Laurent said, “We started talking online.” That was plausible; and mentioning anything to do with technology would no doubt bore Al.

He was right; Al already looked like he was trying to wrap this up as fast as possible. “And he’s committed to you completely?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Al looked thoughtful. “I assume he’s the one that’s been spending all that money on those ridiculous gifts that have been delivered to you over the last few months.”

“Of course!” Laurent said quickly. “As if I’d be irresponsible enough to buy myself a 1954 Ferrari! That was definitely Damianos.”

Laurent was seeing more and more perks to this plan. Maybe he could finally buy himself a retro Mercedes and blame it on Damianos, too.

Al’s face did something strange. Laurent sprung to his feet, concerned. “What is it? Are you having a heart attack?”

Al’s face morphed into a scowl, which was much more familiar. “I was smiling,” he said, sharply.

“Oh.” Laurent said. How the heck was he supposed to know that? Al never smiled at him.

There was a small pause. Al said, “Is he open to the idea of marriage?”

Laurent almost rolled his eyes. He said, “I think so. But, he’s so busy running a country and what not, it’s never really come up.” He took a deep breath. “I suspect in a few years, we will be married.”

He waited. And waited.

Finally, Al nodded. “See to it if you can convince him to get married sooner.”

“I will,” Laurent said. “In the meantime… you’ll stop setting me up all those Lords and noblemen?”

Al watched him for a few beats. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Laurent grinned; this was better than anything he could have hoped for.

“Don’t make that face,” Al snapped.

Laurent frowned.

Al stood in his room for a moment. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he just nodded once and left.

Laurent immediately called Jord and Lazar into his room to celebrate.

Pretending to be in a relationship with the King of Akielos made Laurent’s life so much richer, it was a wonder why he hadn’t thought to do it sooner.

It was easy, too; all he had to do was occasionally smile dreamily into his phone, as though he had received the most thoughtful, wonderful love letter, and stare out the window. He also began leaving notes with the gifts he bought himself; Al didn’t say anything when a blue Mercedes showed up, because Damianos had given it, of course.

Laurent could stay up all night playing video games and when he’d fall asleep during Council meetings the next morning, all he had to do was moan about the time difference between Akielos and Vere to be forgiven.

People listened to him more, especially when Laurent began sentences with, “Well, Damianos said…” It was how Laurent convinced Al that he needed a new crown, one with more rubies this time.

Laurent’s sex life also became much wilder; it seemed men became very turned on when they thought they were fucking the boyfriend of a King. One of them had even asked Laurent to call him ‘Your Majesty’ in bed, which Laurent liked well enough.

The best part of it was the fact that Al finally left him alone. He stopped pestering Laurent about his princely duties and stopped saying things like, What would your mother think of you? each time another man crept out of his room. In fact, sometimes Al even asked him about his day. It was truly bizarre stuff.

It should have been Laurent’s first clue that things would come crashing down, sooner rather than later.

After three months of living indulgently, Al said over breakfast one day, “I thought you would be jumping for joy today.”

“Why’s that?” Laurent muttered into his toast. He had a horrid hangover, and his ass was sore.

Al frowned at him. “Sit straight,” he snapped.

Laurent said, “I can only sit gay.” When that joke fell flat, he sat up, with great effort. Al was still staring at him, so he said, “What?” a little sharper than he intended to.

Al’s mouth thinned. “I sincerely hope you don’t misbehave like this around your beau. I shudder to think what the delegates would say.”

“My beau?” Laurent said, face twisted. “Ugh, what century are you from?”

Al was silent; a very bad sign. Laurent continued to butter his toast, hoping to be forgotten about for the rest of the day.

That was not the case. Al decided to punish Laurent in the cruellest way; he was forced to attend four separate meetings with his father, and then attend a small, private dinner at Heston’s estate.

Halfway through the meal, Herode, one of the only people on the Council who could stand him said, “You must be very excited today, Your Highness.”

Laurent paused. “Why does everyone keep saying that?” After his father, three other Lords had approached him with the same words; Laurent had only smiled and nodded.

Now, he had a feeling that his father must have said it for a reason.

Herode smiled kindly; Laurent imagined it was a fatherly kind of smile, except he didn’t quite know, did he? “The Akielon King is going to be visiting Vere for the first time in eight years.” Herode’s expression grew sly. “I’m sure we can all guess as to why he’s suddenly interested in visiting.”

Laurent dropped his knife. It made several heads turn; Laurent flushed and ducked his head. To Herode he said, “The Akielon — Damianos is coming? When?”

Herode’s eyebrows met together in the middle. “You weren’t aware, Your Highness? It was confirmed last night; he should be here within a week.”

A week! Laurent’s eyes widened. Had someone told Damianos about what Laurent was doing? Was that why he was suddenly coming to Vere — to beat him up? Oh god, his father was going to kill him.

Thankfully, the panic on Laurent’s face was mistaken for something else. Herode said, “Oh! Did the King want to surprise you?”

“Yes, he probably did,” Laurent said weakly. “He’s always doing that… surprising me.” He let out a weak chuckle.

“I think that’s wonderful,” said Herode, and god, he really was the sweetest man ever. Why hadn’t he given birth to Laurent?

“Yes, wonderful,” Laurent agreed, stomaching sinking. He was so utterly fucked — and not in the good way.

#remember when i said i was working on a fake dating au #this was it #i didnt really like it last year but reading it rn after months i kinda like it???#its lighthearted and fun lmao #also laurent calling aleron al might be a new favourite trope #captive prince #damen x laurent #my writing #my fic #please lmk what u think!#queue #fake dating au

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kurts-still-here · 3 years

Text

What’s Love? Glee TOT Challenge FanFiction

@celery-elliry @useless-fanfictions @gleethisorthatchallenge

Hi everyone, this is my fourth fic for the Glee TOT Challenge and the prompt I choose was Platonic Love because I have way to many Kurt ships that I love but even if Kurt can't love all of them as a partner, he can love them as a friend :) Hope everyone enjoys and tells me what they thought of it etheir on here, A03 OR FanFiction.Net. Happy reading 🤗🤗😁😁

Archive Of Our Own

FanFiction.Net

Mercedes

“I’m gay,” Kurt admitted to Mercedes, tears in his eyes. She was the first person he had ever told and this was the first time he had ever admitted it out loud.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Mercedes asked sympathetically.

“Because I’ve... never told anyone actually,” Kurt shrugged.

“You shouldn't be ashamed of who you are, Kurt,” She told him, shaking her head. “You should just tell people. Especially the kids in glee. The whole point of the club is about expressing what’s really inside you. Remember?”

“I can’t,” Kurt said, ashamed of himself. “I’m just not that confident, I guess,”

He started to walk away from her with his head held high but then he turned around to look at her again.

“But I still love you Mercedes,” He told her, the tears streaming down his face. “You’re the first friend I’ve ever made as pathetic as that sounds. I just want you to know that,”

“Of course boo,” Mercedes smiled. “I love you too, I guess just a little bit more than you love me. But I’ll get over it,”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt apologized. “I shouldn't have lied to you. I’ve just had a lot of trouble… ya know… accepting it,”

“You don’t have to explain yourself or apologize Kurt,” Mercedes assured him. “You are who you are and you like who you like and I’m not mad at you at all for that. I’m glad you felt like you could tell me. Thank you,”

“Okay,” Kurt said quietly before turning around and walking away from her.

He had known he was different for a long time now and he had discovered he was gay not long after but he knew how the LGBT+ community was viewed in his community. It wasn’t approved of and he got enough harassment for his voice and choices of clothing, he couldn’t imagine what he would have to endure if he came out to the public. He just couldn’t do it yet. He was hoping that maybe one day people would be more accepting of gay people or that he would gather enough courage to not think of what they thought but he wasn’t there yet. He wasn’t necessarily ashamed of himself but he wasn’t proud either. He felt like a coward for hiding who he really was, especially from his dad. He was just scared of how his dad would react. He loved him so much and he didn’t want to ruin their relationship in the case that he wouldn’t accept him. He would do it eventually though because he didn’t want to hide the real him from the person he loved most in the world

Finn

Both boys were sitting in the basement on the couch watching a movie together. Finn had his arm wrapped around Kurt’s shoulder and they were snuggled close together. Finn’s behavior seemed a little weird to Kurt seeing that Finn usually avoided physical contact with him but he just brushed it off thinking that Finn was just trying to make up for the “faggy lamp incident”. Besides Kurt didn’t exactly hate the hug, it felt nice.

The credits started rolling on the movie and Finn turned to face Kurt.

“That was nice,” Finn said with a goofy smile on his face.

“Yeah it was,” Kurt smiled back. “Do you want to watch another one?”

“Sure,” Finn said, his expression changing to a pained look. “Wait though. Before we do I want to talk to you,”

“Okay. What is it?” Kurt asked. “I hope it’s nothing bad,”

“No no, nothing bad,” Finn said, getting nervous. At least I hope you don’t think it’s bad,”

“Well just tell me Finn,” Kurt encouraged him. “Chances are I won’t judge you,”

“Okay, here goes nothing,” Finn said. “I’m just going to come out and say this but… I think I’m gay,”

“Oh,” Kurt said, his eyes widening. “That’s great Finn. I’m glad you told me. So who’s the lucky guy?”

“Um… you?” Finn said, looking down at his hands.

“Me?” Kurt breathed.

“Yeah, I don’t know, it’s just I feel like I love anyone. Like I liked Quinn before the baygate thing because she was pretty and I like Rachel because she’s nice to me and because she’s pretty and then I like you because you’re really nice and you don’t think I’m stupid and you’re pretty cute but then I like Puck because he’s my bro and he has nice muscles and abs and… I don’t know… it’s frustrating,” Finn sighed, turning red.

“It sounds like you’re bisexual,” Kurt told him. “It means you're attracted to both genders,”

“Oh, so I’m not crazy,” Finn said to himself, making Kurt laugh. “I also like it when you laugh. I like it when you’re happy and I’m sorry about you’re lamp,”

“Finn, you don’t have to apologize to me again. I know you’re sorry,” Kurt assured him, still blushing from Finn’s comment.

“But I do,” Finn groaned, frustrated with himself. “I was a real douche and it wasn’t fair to you and I was just angry because I couldn’t accept myself like you can,”

“Well you’re accepting yourself now,” Kurt told him. “By telling me,”

“I guess so,” Finn shrugged. “But what do you think? About… me,”

“Oh,” Kurt said, his face turning from pink to white. “Finn you know I love you but I think it’s just… as a friend or as a brother,”

“Oh,” Finn said, tears coming to his eyes. “That’s fine,”

“Finn it’s not you trust me,” Kurt said, placing his hand on Finn’s arm. “Any guy or girl would be lucky to have you, including me. It’s just that I’m not that lucky guy. You’ll find someone better,”

“Nah I don’t think I will,” Finn said, quickly wiping his tears. “I mean I ruined things with Quinn and then with Rachel and I’m pretty sure Puck’s straight so you were kind of my last hope, not to make you feel bad. I think I should… I should just go,”

“Finn please don’t do this,” Kurt begged him as Finn stood up. “Let’s just talk about this, I don’t want you to be mad at me,”

“No I’m not mad Kurt,” Finn told him. “I just need some time to myself. But I’m sorry that I told you all of this. And I’m sorry you don’t love me back,”

“Finn you don’t have to apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Kurt said, wiping the tears that were now on his face too. “And I do love you, you’re my friend,”

“You know what I mean Kurt,” Finn said with a sad smile. “But it’s fine really, don’t worry about it. And thanks for clearing the bi thing up for me, it means a lot to me,”

“Your welcome,” Kurt whispered as Finn went up the stairs. He had just ruined a friendship that he really cherished but he would’ve ruined it even more if he told Finn that he loved him when he really didn’t. Sure there was the little crush that he had had on him a couple of months ago but it had faded and now he saw Finn as nothing more than a friend. He just didn’t know what love really felt like, what the difference between romantic love and platonic love really was. Yes he loved his dad and Carol and Mercdes and the rest of the glee club but as friends and family, not as partners. Love was complicated, it was messy and Kurt was still trying to come to terms with being gay and accepting himself, he wasn’t ready for a relationship yet.

Puck

The New Directions were over at the Hudmel house for a get together and Kurt was in the kitchen, gathering snacks for everyone when Puck walked with that smirk that he always wore on his face.

“Hey babe,” He said, looking down at Kurt's ass. “You need any help?”

“I’m good Noah,” Kurt said, annoyed. Was Puck so desperate now that he was flirting with boys? “And since when am I babe?”

“Since this,” Puck said before walking up to Kurt, taking him by surprise and kissing him hard on the lips. Kurt didn’t know what to do since Puck had a strong grip on him so he just stayed leaned back with Puck’s lips on his until Noah came back up for some air.

“So what did you think?” Puck asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did I blow you’re gay little mind?”

“Um… no?” Kurt said in a questioning tone. “I just… are you gay?”

“Yeah something like that,” Puck said, waving his hand in the air. “I think I like anything but I forget what it’s called,”

“You mean your pan, pansexual?” Kurt asked. “You don’t care about gender or gender identity. It actually makes a lot of sense,”

“Well anyway,” Puck interrupted, frowning. “Do you love me?”

“Noah, I'm not doing this right now,” Kurt said, shaking his head. It was Finn and Mercedes all over again. “We’re friends and that’s probably all we’ll ever be. I guess I could say I love you but as a friend, not as a lover. I’m not ready for a relationship yet,”

“But you had a crush on Finn?” Puck pointed out. “What gives?”

“Like you said, it was a crush that went away. And unlike you Finn was nice to me but I doubt I ever had romantic feelings for him in any way. I’ve already had this conversation with him,” Kurt explained.

“Wait so Finn’s gay too?” Puck asked. “I might have to tap that,”

“Actually you should, he likes you.” Kurt said. “Something about your muscles and abs,”

“But what do you think about my muscles and abs babe?” Puck asked with a mischievous smile. “Isn’t it hot?”

“Sure,” Kurt said sarcastically. “But like I said Noah, I’m flattered, I really am but the answer is no,”

“Fine then,” Puck huffed. “But trust me, I’m not going to give up so easily. One day you’ll be begging for me to take you and I’ll make you suffer and wait,”

“God do you always have to be so cheesy?” Kurt asked. “It makes me sick,”

“You know you love it Princess,” Puck yelled back at him as he walked back into the living room with everyone else.

“Yeah right,” Kurt said under his breath as he gathered up all the trays of food and brought them out to the living room. This was the third time now and if he hadn’t loved Finn in that way then he definitely didn’t love Puck in that. He sighed as he placed everything out on the table before rubbing his face with his hands in exhaustion.

“Are you okay Kurt?” Quinn asked him.

“I’m fine,” Kurt said, smiling at the group. Then he saw Puck’s smirk again and decided that he needed some space. “I just… forgot something upstairs in my room. I’ll be back,”

He left the room and walked upstairs before walking into his room and closing the door behind him, sinking down against the door. It shouldn’t bother him so much but it did. There were three people now that had “loved” and he didn’t love them back. It just made him wonder if he was ever going to find true love at all and if he was ever even going to know what love felt like.

Sam

“I love you,” Sam admitted and Kurt internally groaned. Not again.

“Sam,” Kurt started to say but Sam interrupted him, taking Kurt’s hands in his.

“Shh, don’t say anything and just let me explain,” Sam said but this time Kurt interpreted him.

“Sam, you’re my friend, god I say that a lot,” He added sarcastically. “But I’m not ready for a relationship right now. I love you platonically and that’s that. Please don’t make me feel even worse than I already do by trying to persuade me into going out with you. I’ve been through this plenty of times before,”

Sam looked down, ashamed and disappointed and now Kurt wished that he would say something instead of just looking defeated.

“Hey don’t be upset Sam please,” Kurt begged him. “It’s not you, you’re perfect and I’m really flattered but I’m still figuring things out for myself and it wouldn’t be fair to you to be with me when I not sure of anything,”

“No I get it,” Sam said, looking up at Kurt with tears in his eyes. God, why did they always have to cry?” “Really I do it’s just that you’re so nice and cute and I had the stupid idea that maybe you’d like me too but it’s stupid really. And I guess I’m not really sure about anything either. I don’t know what I am, if I’m bi or if I just like boys. It’s hard,”

“I know it is,” Kurt assured him, rubbing Sam’s back. “Trust me, I knew I was gay since I was six years old and I’m still trying to fully accept myself. But you aren’t alone Sam. I’m here if you ever want to talk and Finn and Puck seem like they have whatever’s going on with them figured out so you can talk to them too. We’re all here for you,”

“I know,” Sam said, smiling at Kurt and wiping his tears. “Thanks,”

“You’ll find someone,” Kurt told him, giving Sam a hug. “But just remember you come first,”

“Yeah, I will,” Sam told him, returning the hug.

Kurt told himself that what he told Sam also applied to him. He was going to figure out what love really felt like and he was going to find someone that loved him and someone who loved him back. He had to, he wanted to know the feeling. Now just wasn’t the right time and once again, he had to put himself first.

Blaine

“I love you,” Blaine said dreamily, staring at Kurt with his handsome eyes and making Kurt choke on his coffee a little. Why does this always happen to me?

Blaine still had his eyes on Kurt and was waiting for Kurt to respond with an “I love you too,” so Kurt was relieved when Mercedes and Sam walked in with one another making Blaine turn around.

“Oh hey, what are you guys doing here?” Blaine asked, having moved on from the previous discussion.

“I’m just getting a coffee,” Sam said, swaying back and forth on his feet.

“Yeah we ran into each other in the parking lot,” Mercedes added. ‘Hmm, sure you did,’ Kurt thought to himself he had noticed how smiley they were acting towards each other lately. They were in love and Kurt was happy for them, especially since they had both had a crush on him and now they had each other. At least Sam now knew that he was bi and they both had their love lives together. It was more than he could say for himself.

Blaine started talking about his summer plans with them while Kurt tried to figure out what he was going to say about Blaine’s “I love you,” when Mercedes and Sam walked away and Blaine turned his focus back onto Kurt.

“Hey cutie,” He smiled again.

“Umm. hi,” Kurt said nervously. “I’m really sorry Blaine but I just remembered that I promised my dad that I would help him… at the garage so we’re going to have to cut this coffee date short,”

“Oh yeah,” Blaine said, wearing a smile even though Kurt could tell he was disappointed. “That’s okay. A promise is a promise,”

“Yeah,” Kurt said, standing up and grabbing his cup and bag. “See you later,”

He then rushed out of the coffee shop and with his luck of course it was raining outside. He started crying. He liked Blaine, that’s why they were dating and he had spent so long pining after him and now he was going to ruin the good thing going on between them because he couldn’t say three simple words. I love you. Of course he could say them but he just didn’t want to lie. He didn’t want to say those words and then have it turn out that he didn’t love Blaine and ruin their friendship. He loved Blaine but… once again, maybe it was just platonic. And maybe he just wasn’t meant to love anyone.

Elliot

“I love you,” Kurt found himself saying to Elliot once they reached his apartment. They had been really good friends for a while now and Elliot had just taken him out on their first date to a nice restaurant.

“Like as a friend or as more?” Elliot asked, obviously joking with a smile on his face. Elliot knew how Kurt had felt about love and partners in the past and had been patient with him even though he loved Kurt romantically.

“I think… as more,” Kurt confessed. “I’m really nervous and have a weird feeling in my stomach, not like I’m sick or anything but...I think I love you Elliot. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and for once...I think I honestly know exactly how I feel about someone,”

They paused for a moment, Kurt with tears of joy in his eyes before Elliot leant in and kissed Kurt. And Kurt had only been kissed twice before, once by Puck and once by Blaine but when he kissed Elliot he felt a spark of energy between them and he knew he loved him, the feeling was confirmed.

When they pulled away from each other, they held each other’s hands and Kurt had never been happier in his life before. He had spent a huge part of his life worrying that he would never find someone who felt the same way as he did, who he loved and here he was, he had finally found Elliot. It all felt amazing.

#glee #glee fanfiction #kurt hummel #elliot starchild gilbert #kelliot

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letsdiscoverkitty · 3 years

Text

Home/Family Update - May 2021

I will take this right back to when I was discharged from the Priory in December. From there I moved back home with my parents; it was a bit of a difficult transition as I didn't have any home leave in the lead up to being discharged due to COVID and my consultant wanting me to make the most of my time on the ward. Add to that my EDP going completely awol, meaning that our whole 4 week pre-discharge meetings and relapse prevention plan went out the window. So yes it was a bit of a rocky start, and that is without you factoring in COVID lockdown/Christmas.

Being discharged from an IP setting is never easy no matter who you are; changes in environment and routine can throw you off track without you even realising it and I did find myself struggling with this. I also had the difficult navigation of adapting to coming home in terms of my dad and his recovery. For those who might not know, last March my dad fell down the stairs in the middle of the night the day that my parents arrived home after a month in NZ. He suffered 3 brain bleeds (a subdural, an extradural and a subarachnoid), multiple facial fractures and a break in his spine. That night was one of, if not THE, worst of my life. We were told that it was very likely that he would not survive and that if he did he would be in a vegetated state or not able to take care of himself...we were told to prepare for the worst. By some MIRACLE he defied all the odds and at the age of 74 after spending 11 or so days on the ICU, a further 2 weeks on a trauma ward and then another 3 months in a neuro rehab, he was discharged home and is now, a year on from the accident, completely independent, no sign of further brain bleeds and is actually much fitter than he has been for, well, 50 years! Honestly, we never expected anything like this sort of recovery and from an outside perspective he is doing perfectly. However, there are things that will never be the same again and I don't think it is until you are with someone 24/7 that you are able to tell. He has changed quite a bit as a person; in some ways this is a good thing but in other ways it is not so. He cannot deal with changes in environment or routine; even things like having the bread on the side instead of in the bread bin completely throws him off and he doesn't even register that the bread is there. He gets very easily agitated, can be extremely rude and a little aggressive. Now some of this was already there (a lot of it was) but it has become more acutely obvious since the head injury. I have SO much respect and love for my mum - I really dont know how she has held herself up over the past 2 years, as well as helping dad when he was initially transitioning home (I was still in hospital but it sounded like he needed a lot of help for the first few months - which I only saw an inch of when they were able to visit me in hospital (he used to wander off and didn't know where he was etc. which is thankfully no longer and issue!)).

This is hard for me to say but I will admit that I have struggled more than I thought I would with being around him; in short I pretty much went through the whole mourning process whilst I was in hospital as the last time i saw him on the trauma ward before they stopped all visits and before I was admitted, he didn't know who I was...He thought he lived in another country and was telling me all sorts of stories that were fabricated, before telling me that he needed to go and pick up the mercedes and drive to sainsburys to get the Gin and petrol (we don't have a mercedes and he doesn't even like gin!) Anyway, I digress. So yes, I basically mourned for someone who was still alive physically but mentally had changed as at the time I didn't know whether he would be in a vegetated state or make a good recovery. Thankfully we are on the good side and he is doing so incredibly well but the bottom line is that he is different and living with him, at the age of 26, is HARD. We have good days and bad days (as any young adult who lives with their parents does) and there are many many days that I wish I wasn't living at home but I do my best to hold myself together during those times, especially for my mum because she, I tell you, is absolutely incredible. How she has put up with him for so long I honestly do not know!

Talking of mum, I would say that since the whole accident with dad, we have become a LOT closer. We really had to lean on each other over that month; we were driving down to Brighton every single day to see dad on the ICU and on the Trauma ward until we were stopped from visiting - it was mentally and physically exhausting for the both of us, especially as we were still barely processing the trauma and struggling with flashbacks in the night. We were the first ones on the scene of the accident (if it weren't for mum's medical training, dad would not be alive today). Of course we still have our moments but I feel like our relationship almost "levelled up and matured over the past year. We have bonded over being in nature and walking (because what else can you do when the country is in lockdown!?! but also because we have always been an "outdoors" family (well my mum, Andi and me have))- we also talk about dad and the accident quite a bit too, which has helped me beyond belief (and her too). We give each other space, and yes there are days when we dont get on but who doesn't have days when they dont?

On balance I would say that home is "okay". It is manageable. No the environment is not perfect and I do find it affects my mental health quite a bit and holds me back in some ways (I cannot wait to be able to move out one day) but I am incredibly grateful to have parents that are willing to and can afford to take me under their roof and help me out during this time.

Gosh, this has already ended up so much longer than I thought it would, I am sorry! In short: home life is okay. We are here and that is the most important thing. We saw Andi a two-ish weeks ago as we were in Cornwall for our usual time-share (we were so lucky that Boris allowed self catering two weeks before our usual time share week) - I think it was good for them to get out of their flat as I don't think they had left the small area where they live since last September when we went down to Cornwall (I was given leave for a week as it was sold to my consultant to help my dad's recovery, which is definitely did but yes we did pull the right strings to get that one!)

Anyway, I shall leave this update here and start the mammoth task of the next one. I am sorry that this is taking me so long, it's quite hard to write and think back and reflect (although actually quite helpful for me to do) so I do find that I have to come back to it a few times. Please stick with me x

-----

I forgot to add that dad had an assessment before we went away to Cornwall to see whether he can have his driving license back and (as mum and I predicted) he failed. To say that he did not take it well would be putting it lightly!!! I am actually ashamed of the way that he behaved and the things that he said/the reasons he fabricated as to why he had failed (let's just say he got sexist and rude - which I have ZERO time for and was appalled by him - I am so glad I was not with him/mum after the assessment as I would have blown my fuse at hime). He could not even entertain the idea that he had failed. He blamed everything/anything else that he could - even saying that it was the system and one of the first things he said to me was "I understand now, I've worked it out, it's the system, they aren't allowed to pass many people first time so that's it", which I just *speechless*. Mum and I have talked about it a lot and we don't think that he has ever "failed" at anything in his life. He also believes that he is 10000%. fixed and has no issues or problems and doesn't need any support or guidance. He refuses to listen to mum and I when we try to tell him about how unwell he was, he refuses to believe it and won't take it. One thing that mum and I are very glad of is that all of this driving stuff is OUTSIDE of the family. He can't put it on us. It is coming from an external place and we can support him if he lets us but that is his decision as to whether he lets us or not. He has never been a good patient; and he also won't take any advice (in anything) from mum or let her be right about something either, which is just sad, really sad. This is not a new thing, it has always been this way. And the more I reflect on our family/have reflected over the past year with dad in hospital, the more I see that I don't like. The way dad has behaved and treated mum, how he was always missing in my childhood, how alcohol always came above family, how old fashioned and unwilling to learn he is, how distant and uninterested he was, how he never says please or thank you, never asks how anyone is and refuses to talk about mental health (yep, despite so much going on in our family with mental illnesses, he refuses to talk about it and won't even ask "how are you?" or offer support etc)...I don't mean to be so negative about him, I really don't. I love him, he is my dad, but there is a lot of healing that needs to be done, and it is going to take time.

#personal #update

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