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djarinbarnes · 3 years

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me olvidarás - two

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Pairings: Javier Peña x female reader

Warnings for the chapter: charming javi. (yes he needs his own warning) kissing. making out. doubtful javi. curse words. in thoughts. flirting. a lot of it.

Word count: 5.2k

Summary: an undeniable warm summer vacation in Bogotá. simply trying to get away from your nosey, boring parents and live for once, you meet a man who impresses you beyond where your imagination could ever take you.

a/n: the slow burn is here. ugh.

previous chapter · series masterlist

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You made your way through the stuffy bar, eager to finally try a Colombian specialty of a drink. You had done some researching from home, and it excited you. You knew you wanted to try the traditional aguardiente you had read about, and that was exactly what you were going to try.

You propped your elbows onto the counter of the bar, liquids smearing against your elbows as you leaned over the bar to place your order to the bartender. With a nod directed toward you, he places the shot in front of you.

It’s clear as water and with shaky hands you empty the shot into your mouth. It’s strong in your mouth, and you wince slightly at the taste of anise lingering on your tongue. You’re not used to the heaviness of anise and liqueur in this way, and with an intake of breath you’re coughing roughly, having inhaled the fumes stuck in your mouth.

You wince as you hear a voice beside you, flagging down the bartender to get you something to take the edge off your coughing. The music is loud in your ears and you feel slightly uncomfortable in the given situation. You smile warily when something bubbly and orange is placed in front of you, a straw being presented to your lips.

You open them reluctantly before taking a big sip of orange soda. You sigh in content before you take another sip, feeling the way the stranger beside you is eyeing you up and down. You feel the stranger’s eyes linger on your exposed ribcage, barely covered by the silver, glittering low-cut top you’re wearing over your bralette.

“First time tasting guaro?” His voice is smooth as velvet, the words rolling off his lips sensually as he brings his elbow to the bar, leaning his chin against the palm of his hand, watching you as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

For the first time, you turn and look at him. And holy shit. The white button-down he’s wearing is neat, very neat, the mustache on his upper lip so perfectly groomed, his brown eyes watching you intensely as you stand there, possibly looking like a fish out of water - gaping and lacking breaths.

He’s hot, beautiful even, and you’re easily taken aback by the way he moves when he orders a double whiskey for himself. His hair is slightly unruly - tousled to what you would call something between perfect and what would be left after hands had run through it under… Stop it. He’s a stranger, for god’s sake. You bite your lip, trying to slowly compose yourself as he looks away, bringing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“First time in Colombia,” you tell him and take another sip of the soda he’s bought you. The right side of his lips draw up slightly as he nods and you feel a surge of heat go straight from your heart, into your cunt. God damn it he was a sight for sore eyes.

“You up for anything else than a shot of guaro and soda?” You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, with the way one of his eyebrows raises as he turns back to you, but you shrug slightly before moving a tad closer to him, to hear him better over the noisiness of the bar.

“If you’re offering to show me what’s good, then I’m not one to decline.” You retort with a sly smile, grinning inwardly when he braces himself slightly against the bar. You watch as he flags down the bartender yet again, ordering something you don’t hear over the music.

You blink slightly when another six shots are placed in front of you, slightly scaring you. Was he trying to get you drunk and take advantage of you? You weren’t really sure, but… you decided now was the time to get drunk with a stranger in a stuffy bar in a city you just landed in.

“Three for you, three for me.” He says as he moves two at a time, three toward you and three toward himself. “Let me know what you think.” You grasp the first shot in between your fingers at the same time as him and bring it up to your lips simultaneously with him. Then you halt.

“Wait.” You stop, still holding the shot by your lips. You watch as he raises his eyebrow just once, yet again, as if it was the twitch of a muscle. “I don’t even know your name.”

He smirks before letting out a short puff of laughter, shaking his head slightly. You pout slightly at his reaction before you decide to defend yourself. “What? I wanna know the name of the handsome stranger whom I’m about to get drunk with.”

His teeth tug his bottom lip between them swiftly, before you both down your shots at the same time, maintaining eye contact through the whole ordeal. He leans in closer to your ear to shield his words from the noise. You can smell the alcohol radiating between the two of you - you’re not sure if it’s your own breath or his - but it’s good. New. Exciting.

“I’m Javi.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

You have no recollection of how much time you and Javi spend at the bar. The two of you hit it off so easily, like you’d known each other for a long time. Maybe it was the alcohol continuously spilling in between you, or the fact that he was charming and transparent with you.

You learned that he was pushing 40, had worked at the Colombian embassy for a couple of years as an agent in the Drug Enforcement Administration, and was currently on leave after a gunshot to the shoulder. He told you it barely hurt anymore, but you definitely noticed slower movements from his injured shoulder.

You also learned he hated being on leave, and that he was better off working his days away than relaxing and being bored, as he said so himself. It was a very last-minute idea he’d gotten, to go out on a Wednesday evening to get drunk, but he made it clear that it was more than worth it.

He told you about how toe-curling he found the telenovelas constantly playing on the only three channels his tv could take in his building, how he almost only listened to American artists like Lionel Richie and Prince (even though The Supremes were his favorites) and how he always had a cup of coffee before and after every meal.

With the number of cigarettes he smoked, you wondered how he was able to keep his shirts so white. Every time he put out one, barely five minutes passed before he’d lit another. You wondered where they kept coming from - if he had a whole carton on him, just for the sake of it. You remembered hearing somewhere that smoking excessively would leave awful stains on everything, but so far, you didn’t see where that statement was coming from.

You told him about yourself too, and how boring you found your parents to be. He laughed with you as you told him one of the most embarrassing moments you had experienced with your parents, which they hadn’t found embarrassing at all.

How you had trouble finding someone like-minded like you. You told him how you hated when your parents would set you up with whomever friends’ sons, they were meeting, as if they could find a perfect fit for you to date.

That was one of the main reasons you hadn’t had a boyfriend yet. Because there just weren’t any alluring men in your city that could be a potential man for you. They were just boys. You weren’t even sure they had proper knowledge about the female genitalia.

You told him that your favorite book was none other than the classic Pride and Prejudice, how you’d read Jane Eyre more than ten times because of the storyline Jane has, which you find so heartbreakingly beautiful, and how you sort of relate to it.

You also tell him about how hard it is getting through uni as an English Lit major, with the period you’ve just finished. “Right now, I hate the renaissance. I mean… Shakespeare is amazing and all but analyzing so many of his works in tow of each other is just tiring.” You sigh and take another sip of the rum and coke in front of you. Javi is listening to you intently, watching your every move as you explain.

“I mean, Cervantes is truly one of the best Spanish writers of all time, and Don Quixote is a masterpiece that deserves all the recognition it’s getting, but I also feel like we’re all oblivious to everything else it stands for.” Your breathing is heavy as you finally stop yourself from rambling and you look at Javi with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m… rambling...” you feel the heat spreading through your cheeks with a giggle, wondering if you’ve scared him off completely by impersonating a waterfall. You can feel his eyes on you when you look away, like they’re trying to get through to something hidden inside you.

“It’s alright.” Your eyes return to his face and there’s that smile again - it makes your heartbeat faster in your chest. “You’re passionate about literature. It’s impressive.” He reaches out, and for a moment you’re sure he’s going to take a hold of your hand. Instead, he diverts his hand when he notices you watching him and brings it back to rub at the back of his neck. He breathes out, whispering out another word you can barely make out. “Impressive.”

“Oh… Okay,” your words are too barely a whisper, and you’re unsure if he’s heard it. You feel all the shyness that hadn’t been present all night slowly seep into your body while watching him through your lashes as he takes another swig of his whiskey before lightning another cigarette.

You silently admire the way the orange hue makes its way toward his lips, slowly dissolving the tobacco. It was almost like art - watching him suck the dangerous fumes into his lungs before exhaling the white smoke. You watch as his fingers tap the body of the cigarette, flicking the spent ashes into the tray on the bar.

He sighs, his hands find back to its original spot on the bar, and you discretely reach out to caress the underside of his arm, where the white sleeve of his shirt is stretched over his tan skin. It’s like the last few hours didn’t happen, and you’re back to strangers. It’s a bold move of you to even reach out for him.

Why did it have to get awkward now? You think as you swiftly play with the hem of his sleeve, watching your fingers as you twirl a thread around them. His hand finds yours and you look up at him, catching the way the lights reflect in his eyes. He has put out the last of the cigarette just seconds before, his exhale still white from smoke.

You close your eyes slightly, enjoying the way the smell of nicotine lingered on him. You had never been one to like the smell of cigarette smoke, but the way he wore it made your nerve ends tingle. What you wouldn’t do to taste the nicotine on his lips. You flick your eyes up, meeting his gaze again.

His face is closer now than when he whispered in your ear, and you find yourself blushing again. You really want to kiss him. His lips look so kissable as well, like… like soft, plump pink rose petals. You felt every sense of restraint disintegrate slowly, while you unhurriedly gather enough courage to lean into the heat radiating off his body.

You’re watching his face as you deliberately lean in, closer, closer, until your lips are resting just over his. You should be disgusted with the smell of his cigarette filling your nostrils, but the way it mixes with the scent of him, you find yourself loving it. Craving it. Wanting more.

“Don’t want to take advantage of you,” he whispers against your lips, the gentle brush of his lips against yours setting your every nerve ending on fire, causing electricity to burst through your limbs. “Want you comfortable,” he breathes again, tilting his head just the slightest before flicking his eyes over your face. “Want to taste you.”

He takes in the gradual reddening of your cheeks and the way your lashes rest against them. “I am comfortable,” you murmur, before tilting your head sparsely, your lips finally meeting his. The feeling that hits you is indescribable, like somebody has ignited a thousand firecrackers behind your eyes and in your body.

It sounds cliché - the first kiss with someone drawing out those reactions in you. It’s the cliché of every teenage romance movie you’ve ever seen, like the way fireworks go off behind them or the casual leg-bend that happens every time. That’s what it feels like, though.

His lips move against yours ever so softly, his tongue gently swiping across your lower lip as his hand finds the side of your neck. The rough pads of his fingers are considerate and tender as they softly caress your skin, his touch leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You silence a whimper into his mouth as his tongue finally gains the access it’s begging for, the tip of it gently meeting yours. It’s unfamiliar, both the feeling of a foreign tongue in your mouth and the coarse feeling of his mustache against your upper lip.

It feels amazing, though. Your fingers, previously playing with the sleeve of his shirt, are now gripping the front of it tightly, holding him close. Your heart is beating so loud against your ribcage you’re afraid he’s going to hear it over the deep bass still flowing through the speakers of the club.

You find it hard to breathe, mixed with the breathlessness of kissing him, finally, and the lack of air from you not wanting to breathe into his mouth directly. Your lungs are struggling with the lack of air, and you squeeze your eyes tighter, to hold on for as long as possible.

Your parting comes sooner than you would’ve liked - way sooner - you silently wish that your lips would’ve stayed connected for eternity. His forehead is resting against yours, your breaths mingling in the sparse space between the two of you. You flick your eyes upwards slightly, taking in his closed eyes before they fall again, focusing on the way his shoulders are rising languidly.

Before you know it, he’s kissing you again - pulling you closer to him with one single pull. His arms are holding you tightly, one hand swiftly caressing your back as the other holds the back of your neck, softly caressing your hairline.

This time it’s your mouth that’s insistent on getting another taste of him. Your tongue explores the soft pillow that’s his bottom lip, tasting the lingering essence of tobacco and whiskey. A small moan escapes your lips as his tongue meets yours in the opening of his mouth, pressing against yours to let him back into your mouth.

Your hand comes up to grasp the back of his neck, fingers intertwining in the short, dark brown curls resting at the nape of his neck, urging him on. Your other hand is working its way under the arm that’s holding your body close, landing against his shoulder blade like it’s where it belongs.

His mustache is tickling your upper lip as his mouth ravishes yours in the most intense kiss you’ve ever experienced. Well, it was easy to make out the intensity scale with the two kisses you had ever experienced. This one definitely took the crown.

You didn’t even know how it had come to this point, kissing a stranger on your first night on vacation - well, not exactly a stranger anymore, but certainly not a previously known acquaintance. All you knew was that it felt so damn good, and that you wanted to stay right there in his arms forever.

Your hand slides down swiftly, feeling up the side of his body, and there’s no doubt he’s in shape with the number of tensing muscles you feel under his shirt as he holds you, but it’s also clear to you that he is indeed an older man.

There is a soft bagging over the top of where his belt is resting on his slim hips, and it ignites something inside you, that you hadn’t even thought possible. There’s no doubt this man has experience, but you’re not exactly keen to find out just how much. All you want to do, is to stay lost in the flurry of emotions you’re feeling at this point.

In a shortage of breath from both of you, you finally peel yourselves from each other, taking in the others disheveled state. There’s a slight pause between the two of you, before you both break out into grins, soon thereafter joined by giggles and laughter.

You finish the rest of your drink swiftly, watching him over the rim of your glass before you put it down. “One more?” He smirks and you offer him a smile, before you nod.

“If you’re offering.” You watch as he nods before signaling the bartender again, for the 10th time that evening. You watch as he makes your drink behind the bar before placing it in front of you. He looks between you and Javi swiftly, before speaking up.

“Cerramos en 20” he says, leaving you two again, but this time with a bill in front of Javi. You look it over with a smile, wondering how much you had to contribute with. Javi blocks your view before pulling out his wallet from his back pocket, throwing a good amount of pesos on the bar to cover the bill.

Your mouth falls open when he turns to you, his eyebrow raised at your expression. “He should be the one tipping us for the show we just gave him.” He laughs, and you can hear it comes all the way from his stomach. You can’t help but join in. Well, that’s one way to say it.

“They’re closing in 20. Finish your drink,” he pulls on the leather jacket he draped over the back of the bar stool he’d been sitting on, and damn if that one piece of garment doesn’t suit him startingly. “You mind if I walk you home? I’d like to make sure you’re getting home safe, so I have a chance of seeing you again.”

You can’t help but smile at his question, giggling as you quickly down the drink the bartender has placed in front of you, before you’re getting off the bar stool you were sitting on. “Sure.” You whisper in his ear as you walk out of the bar with Javi hot on your heels.

You can feel his eyes on your hips as you saunter out of the bar, twirling once to see if he’s still following you. He is. And his eyes are trained on you like a hawk on its prey. His lips tug between his teeth as he watches the curve of your body being engulfed in the dim rays of the rising sun.

It’s like you’re some kind of ethereal being right then, sent to him by the gods. He never truly believed in heaven and anything else superstitious before this exact moment in time. Seeing you right at that moment - it changed something within him. He usually did the whole relationship without the aspect of love. Scratch that - he never did proper relationships.

Yet he couldn’t help but think that you, at that moment, could be a part of his future. He felt his heart pick up the pace when you smiled at him, as you reached out your hand for him to take. It was like he imagined what your whole future could look like, right there.

He steps out into the morning light overshining Bogotá as he takes your hand, his eyes reacting poorly to the already brightly illuminated city. He brings a hand to rest against his brows as he halts in his steps, squinting his eyes to get his vision back. As the whiteness clears from his eyes, the first thing he sees is you.

It’s in stark contrast to the dim lighting of the bar - out in the sun he can see just how beautiful you are. He can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but he feels his heart pick up the pace again. He feels like a teenager again. Your voice fills his ears and at first, he doesn’t really hear what you say. Your plump pink lips are just moving angelically, taking his breath away.

Then you’re pulling him by the hand, and he follows you. He’s amazed that you manage to hurry through so many small passageways, since it’s only your second day in Bogotá. He watches your back the whole time you’re leading him wherever the two of you are going.

He notices a constellation of freckles on your shoulder that slithers its way up the back of your neck, and he finds himself wanting to kiss the skin there. He almost runs into you when you come to a stop, turning to face him with rapid movements.

“How do you still have this much energy?” He breathes - he is out of breath. He watches you, your chest rising rapidly as your smile beams at him.

“You’ve paid for my drinks through the night. Let me repay the favor.” You grin as you gesture toward the small restaurant you’ve led him to. The small restaurant is already buzzing with life, and Javi still has no recollection of what time it is.

It doesn’t really matter when he’s in your company. “I walked past this place yesterday when I was exploring. I wanted to try their pancakes and a cup of real Colombian coffee.”

His hand is still intertwined with yours, and you’re swinging it slightly between you, as if it would help you convince him to let you buy breakfast. He nods then, making you smile even wider.

“Guess I could use a cup of coffee that isn’t homemade.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

The pancakes you’re eating are the perfect combination of sweet and spongy dough. You almost moan when the freshly made syrup-glazed bite fills your mouth. You notice Javi watching you from the other side of the table, and you offer him a close-mouthed smile.

Your cheeks are full of pancakes, and in that moment, he realizes just how young you are compared to him. It unsettles his stomach just slightly - he’s never been one to overthink hooking up with someone, but right at this moment he’s starting to second think his decision.

He’s afraid he’s gonna be the one who ruins you completely with who he is, and the story he has. It’s never been easy for him to have relationships. He even had the audacity to leave his former fiancée at the altar.

He never knew why he was unable to commit himself, yet he found so much hate within him, diverted at himself. He just didn’t understand the impulses he would have. He could fuck three different women in the same day, if he wanted to. He didn’t even know where his libido came from.

He watches you as you chew your way through your sugary breakfast, all while occasionally taking a few sips of your coffee. He sips his own coffee in silence, just observing you as you fill your empty stomach. He should be eating something.

When you finally lean back against the backrest of the chair, your plate cleared and your mouth swallowing the last bite of pancake, you offer him another smile. This time it’s with teeth, though.

He feels his heart beat like that again, and he doesn’t fucking understand why you’re doing this to him. He knows he shouldn’t be feeling this way about someone he just met. Yet he can’t help himself.

He watches you without a word, simply observing you as you look around the small restaurant, the street in front of it bustling with life by now and your eyes observing every person walking by.

He admires the way your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip, your tongue most likely finding some residing syrup. It runs over your lips twice more and he feels a jolt run from his heart right into his groin.

It ignites everything inside his body, and he closes his eyes slightly, imagining things he definitely shouldn’t be imagining at this point. He barely knows you. He sort of feels bad. Yet he can’t stop himself.

When he opens his eyes, you’re looking directly at him. “Where did your head run off to?” You tilt your head with a slight smile playing on your lips, and he finds himself getting lost in your eyes again.

This is the first time he’s actually getting to look into them properly. Dazzling orbs are watching him through lashes, compelling him to do things he’s sure he’s going to regret later. He’s simply mesmerized by your eyes. He feels like you can see right through the barrier he’s been working on and putting up for so many years to shield himself from the problems of the world.

“You really don’t wanna know, hermosa.” The words leaving his lips make your heart beat faster in your chest, again, and oh man if this man isn’t going to be the end of you. Even with the little-to-no experience you had, you were sure you would let him do anything he wanted with you.

You scoot to the edge of the chair you’re sitting on, feeling a sudden surge of confidence overcome you as you let your chin rest on your palm. Your foot slowly extends out, finding the inside of his calf under the table before it makes its way north lazily. “Try me. Maybe I’m thinking the same thing.”

He feels a breath getting stuck in his throat. That he definitely did not expect from you. With the little knowledge he had about you, he hadn’t expected you to come onto him so strong. He definitely didn’t mind your interest in him - you were a beautiful woman.

He leans forward slightly, over the table to get closer to you. He doesn’t need the whole restaurant knowing their business. “Maybe I’m not the man for you, hermosa.” Your hand unexpectedly takes his, and he yet again finds himself taken aback.

“Maybe I’ll let me decide for myself.” You whisper to him, before retreating yourself from his personal space. You dig through your small handbag to find your purse, pulling out pesos to cover the bill along with a tip. You rise from your seat with a smile, scooting the chair back under the table.

He’s reluctant to follow your movements, so you speak up. “Were you going to follow me home, or have you changed your mind?” You challenge him as you watch him stand as well. His eyebrow raises slightly at your statement before he signals you to leave the restaurant with his hand.

“So, where do you live?” You ask him as you both leave the restaurant. He walks beside you with his hands deeply buried within the front pockets of his jeans as if he’s scared of touching you.

You walk beside him with your hands clenched at your sides, desperately wanting to touch him again. There’s something infuriating and infatuating about him at the same time. It’s not easy to read him, and he knows it. He loves it.

“I live in one of the apartments ordinated to me by the organization. They have some apartments close to the office.” He tells you, and the rest of the way home to your rented apartment is with small talk between the two of you. You feel the distance between you now, like he regrets the fire he undeniably has started within your body.

You turn to him when you finally stand in front of the small apartment, you’re currently residing in. You offer him a small smile, unsure of what to do at this point. How were you ever going to say goodbye to him? You didn’t really want to.

His fingers move a strand of hair out of your face before he’s grasping your head in his hands again, placing his lips against yours again, finally. You realize by then that you have been craving the feel of his lips against yours, the smell of him once again making its way to your nostrils. Tobacco, whiskey and something you can’t place - maybe sandalwood or cedar.

Your lips move against one another slowly - sinfully - and you catch yourself grasping the front of his jacket within your fists so tightly it hurts. His hands are persistently holding your face close to his, further deepening the kiss.

The kiss leaves you breathless yet again, and you find yourself craving more and more of him. You want to know everything about him. You want all of him. You detach your lips from his with a sigh, your eyes closed as you await something, anything.

Yet nothing happens. When you open your eyes to look at him, he’s already watching you. You turn your body slightly, digging through your handbag to find your key. You unlock the door swiftly as he watches you, slightly out of breath himself. He watches you step into your apartment, feeling a slight sense of anguish at the way you’re not inviting him in. Or so he thought.

“Would you like to come in?” Your words are low and soft as you ask him, almost like you’re afraid he’s going to refuse. Your heart falls in sync with your face, as he hides it in his face. You watch as he rubs his fingers over his eyes with a sigh.

“I better get home. I need to sleep for a bit. I am an old man, after all.” He tells you and watches the way your face falls. You nod though, as if you’re letting him know that you’re alright with it, even though he can clearly tell you aren’t. “I’ll come pick you up later today? Maybe I can show you some of the city.”

Your face brightens instantly, and yet again he has to remind himself just how young you are. He knows already he’s going to hurt you, but how he’s going to do it is unclear to him.

“I would love that. I think I may need some sleep as well.” You say with a smile before you’re stepping back out through the door to place another kiss against his lips. You know by now that you will never get tired of the feeling of his mustache against your skin. And boy were you wanting to feel his mustache against other parts of your skin as well.

“I’ll see you then.” He says as he departs from your front step, and you watch him as he walks down the road, occasionally looking over his shoulder to see if you’re still watching him, before he turns around a corner, and out of your sight.

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#javier peña #Javier Pena #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña x you #narcos #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Changing Perspectives

At first, Steve Rogers thinks that the new S.H.I.E.L.D. agent darkening the hallways of Avengers Tower is nothing more than a thorn in his side. Then again, there might be more to her than what meets the eye.

masterlist

Steve hurries through the halls of Avengers Towers, ducking and dodging around startled agents if he decides they’re not moving quickly enough. Steve has a debriefing in a few minutes; he had started out with good intentions and a promise to himself to be on time for once but he got sidetracked somewhere just before leaving his front door and his head start has quickly evaporated. So much for trying to be punctual.

Steve skids around one final corner, slowing his pace to pretend he hadn’t been rushing and heads purposefully into the debriefing room. He slides into a seat in the back, next to Natasha. “You might want to be careful, Rogers,” She says, turning to face him with a grin that borders on gleeful, “I don’t think it would do good things for your All American Boy reputation if you were caught arriving less than five minutes before a debriefing.”

Steve rolls his eyes, pulling out the case file on whatever mission he’s about to hear about from where it’s been wedged underneath his arm. Truth be told, he was supposed to have read it in advance, but he didn’t bother to make the time to do so, preferring to keep it propped insistently against the corner of his desk as if its proximity to him would encourage Steve to read it in any way.

Steve has just started to flip through the case file in the hopes of finding a quick summary when the lights dim and the speakers arrive. There are two or three of them, each dressed in the familiar dark and practical clothing designating them as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, primarily researchers.

Steve finishes his quick scan of the case file while the researchers drone on, but even after his reading is completed he can’t quite bring himself to pay attention. Maybe it’s the dark of the room, or the monotonous voices of the agents, but Steve’s focus drifts away from the debriefing on hand and out the window next to him. The view of the New York skyline is breathtaking, as always. Sometimes it’s strange to be able to see the city like this, new technology practically bursting out of every street corner. Steve may have spent a lot of time in the twenty-first century by now, but some nagging part of him still doesn’t think it’s right to see such a modern city as commonplace.

Steve is rudely awakened from his thoughts by the sound of his name coming from the lips of one of the agents. Steve jolts back to reality, turning to face the agents as if he’d been paying attention all along. “..and that’s what we had planned so far. Are we in agreement, Rogers?” Steve glances from the projected display overhead to Natasha’s position in her case file, which is conveniently flopped open to the proper section.

“Well, I don’t see any problems there. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s new policies, especially, the Paper Cards Protocol, should cover the previous breaches in security. I think the question is more how quickly you’ll be able to implement them.” Steve leans back in his chair, feeling satisfied with his answer. It’s pretty easy to fake attention- just yammer on about security and throw in a couple of keywords that he had just seen in the case files. Normally, this is enough to deter any of the S.H.I.E.L.D. researchers, as they always seem too overwhelmed by the idea of contradicting a national hero to question him any further.

The agent in front of him, however, does not appear to be cut from the same cloth. She folds her arms across her chest. “Excellent answer, Rogers. Just curious- is there anything more specific you’d like to say, or are you happy to stick with the same general statement you just read out of Agent Romanoff’s booklet?”

Steve stares at her for a moment, surprised and the agent continues on without giving him a chance to speak. “See, this is exactly what I’m talking about. Not to keep bashing on Rogers, but most everyone here is content with ignoring protocols and policies brought up by lesser agents in favor of sticking to what they’ve always done. Why do we need new security, and why new protocols? It’s because no one’s actually paying attention to what we already have and it makes us have to think four steps ahead instead of the regular two.”

Steve frowns up at the agent as she continues talking, unable to feel the sting of her criticism through his confusion. Steve realizes that he actually doesn’t recognize this particular agent- never seen her before, not even in passing through the halls. Yet according to the neat rows of colored insignias designating her position in the S.H.I.E.L.D. ranks, she’s actually a pretty important agent. Maybe only a few ranks below Natasha.

The agent notices his gaze. “Yes, I’m new to this area. Just returned from an international mission. Name’s Y/N L/N, but you would have known that had you been paying more attention to the debriefing at hand instead of whatever might be going on out there.” She says, waving a hand in the general direction of the window. In front of him, Natasha smirks. “Already cutting to the bone on your first day back, L/N?” Y/N’s previously cool demeanor cracks as she flashes Natasha a grin. “Maybe so.”

The two agents (and friends, apparently) share a laugh before Y/N continues on with her debriefing. Steve is left to stew in his corner of the room, biting his cheek and wishing that of all the days to not pay attention, he hadn’t chosen this one. Steve’s usually the one to be in control of the room like this, usually the one to center the conversation and prove to everyone why he’s got the reputation everyone’s so familiar with. Y/N remains aloof and in control, completely and utterly aware of the effect she’s having on him and obviously proud of it.

Steve decides that he loathes her.

Tony’s throwing some sort of party again. Honestly, Steve cannot figure out what delights the man so with wasting large sums of his money just to impress the general public, who would have followed Tony anywhere if he so much as looked at him. Yet here Steve is, uniform disregarded for some nice clothes he had to dig out of the corner of his closet designated ‘Not bloodstained, could be worn to media events.’

As he arrives at the Avengers Tower, which has been newly redecorated to reflect the festive mood, Steve begins to remember why Tony’s having this particular gala. Some new invention launched into the public, some big deal that’ll have his face splashed across the front pages for weeks. As Steve straightens his shirt collar and heads inside, he’s enveloped by the roar of noise typical of Tony’s parties.

A few hours in, the bottles are already popped and Steve wants nothing more than to leave. If you’re like him and can’t get drunk, it gets pretty hard to pass the time. Just as he’s heading to the door, though, Nat notices his escape attempt and blocks his path. She laughs at his disappointed look as she pulls him back into the fray.

“You can’t leave, not yet. Tony’s about to set off some fireworks, and if I have to stick through his entire thing, so do you.” Steve groans, but allows Natasha to walk with him to the doors leading outside. It’s a brisk night, with a cool wind cutting the heat of the tower. There’s the sound of a countdown rolling across the dark of the night, and then the answering boom and flash of the fireworks.

Steve has to admit that they’re impressive. If there’s one thing Tony can do well, it’s another display of opulence. Steve still isn’t used to the bright colors and shapes that are typical of modern fireworks, and he finds himself standing there in awe for longer than he expected.

Then, his attention is caught by a brief flash of movement in the middle of the cheering partygoers. Everyone here is happy, celebrating, having fun, but this one figure looks panicked, and is slipping as fast as they can towards the doors to get away. Steve blinks his eyes a few times to clear them, staring at the person rushing inside. With a slight twist to his stomach, Steve realizes it’s Y/N, and she looks more upset than he’s ever seen before. It’s strange to see her usually indifferent face twisted with something that looks almost like terror.

Steve is leaving the party before he realizes, desperate to get to her. What if something is terribly wrong? He has a feeling that it’s not HYDRA or some other enemy attack, because Natasha and Tony don’t seem worried, but Y/N, Y/N is not doing very well at all.

Steve is just rounding a corner when he sees her. She’s flung herself down on the ground in a dead end of a hallway, hands clamped down over her ears and back hunched as if to protect herself. Steve hesitates where he is, just out of her sight, when he sees the tears starting to wash down her cheeks. As Steve stands there, he realizes that she’s saying something over and over again. There’s a pang in Steve’s chest as he realizes she’s repeating the same simple sentence again and again, as if by hearing it one more time she’ll snap out of whatever haze she’s trapped in.

You’re not in Kolograd anymore. You’re not in Kolograd anymore. You’re not in Kolograd anymore.

Steve recognizes the name of that city- it’s some distant town in Russia, the place where she recently completed a mission. It was supposed to be some tiny corner of the country, but it instead housed dozens of HYDRA facilities. Steve had heard rumors that the mission hadn’t exactly gone to plan, but Y/N had seemed fine and so everyone had just forgotten it. Looking at Y/N now, though, Steve realizes none of that was true. He doesn’t know what happened in Kolograd, but it was enough to scar Y/N even now, to the point where she would have to put up a front everyday and pretend she was fine.

Steve decides that he may have misjudged her.

The night is late, the curtains drawn. Most of the Avengers have finally dragged themselves away to bed, leaving behind rumpled couch cushions where they had previously sat, where the room had filled with the last dregs of conversation finally run out. Some government official had sent over a few bottles of wine and other spirits, clearly in the hopes that a few expensive gifts would spare them from checking into his history with shady business dealings. There would be no such luck for him.

However, these now empty bottles meant that the night was not as quiet as it usually was. Steve, wanting to clear his head of the drunken haze that permeated everything in the room except for himself, slipped out of the room and opened the doors to a balcony. He steps out and leans against the railing, savoring the rush of focus that the cool air brings. He barely notices the door open again behind him, and then another figure comes to stand next to him.

Steve smiles when he realizes it’s Y/N. She, of course, is just another regular agent who lacks Steve’s cursed ability to not get drunk, and Steve notes the scent of alcohol on her tongue and the slight sway in her steps that usually isn’t found among her normal balance and care.

Y/N breathes in the cool night air, letting her shoulders sink, then turns to face Steve. “I feel like I should be envious of you and your super-fast metabolism, but to be honest it’s kind of nice to not have any worries right now.” Steve chuckles quietly at that. “I do miss it, to be honest. Every now and then, it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be able to let go of everything.”

Y/N considers this for a while, her eyes still on Steve. In this moment, he realizes that the balcony is small, and the two of them are barely a few inches apart. She’s right there, just in reach, and he supposes he isn’t exactly surprised when she leans forward and kisses him.

Her lips are warm and soft against the biting chill of the wind, and Steve’s a little disappointed when she breaks away. Steve doesn’t say anything, and maybe that’s why Y/N gets this panicked look in her eyes like she’s terrified she’s ruined everything. She forces a light giggle. “It looks like I’ve had too much to drink. I think I’m going to head in.”

Steve realizes how this looks and wraps his arm around her waist to stop her from turning away. “It’s not a mistake, and you don’t have to pretend that you’re that drunk just to get away from it.” Y/N frowns at that, pausing where she stands. “What?” Steve glances down at her. “You’re afraid to really say how you feel, so you’re blaming it on the closest thing in sight. You don’t have to hide anymore, Y/N.”

She stares at him for a second, then her confused frown turns into a laugh. “You know, I thought I was supposed to be the deciphering agent who could see through anyone, but you’ve read me far too well.” Steve smiles back at her. “Maybe I’m making it up because I want an excuse.” Y/N cocks an eyebrow at him. “An excuse for what?” “This.” Steve leans forward and kisses her again. This time, she doesn’t lean away. This time, Steve’s fairly sure he’s found the one girl he can finally rely on, to have his back and to keep him around forever.

Steve decides that he loves her.

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers oneshot #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #avengers imagines #captain america #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagines

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stillebesat · 3 years

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Christmas Eve (4/5)

Sanders Sides: Janus, Patton, Roman, Virgil Pairings: Past Roceit (was toxic), Familial Moceit (Dad Janus, Son Patton) Blurb: Of all the barriers that Janus expected to have to overcome in order to get his son a pet for Christmas, encountering his Ex, Roman, working in the pet store had never once crossed his mind. Fic Type: Christmas!Eve Fic, Past Lovers to Enemies to ??? trope, Dad!Janus, Kid!Patton, Frogmin!Virgil, MythicalMin!AU, Frogmin!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Past Toxic Relationship Talk, Manipulation/Lying Talk, Human-ish Creatures kept as Pets Taglist in Reblog

To Catch Up: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Roman regretted the words as soon as they left his lips.

The Dameon he knew could spin the truth like a top. His stories sounding so believable that even now, years later, Roman still had very little idea what he actually knew about his Ex...besides the fact that he was a slimy no good lying viper. If he wanted to get a Frogmin for his kid, then Roman was sure Dameon could point to any cage on the shelf, and despite Roman’s years of experience, convince him that whatever cage he picked would be perfectly adequate to hold the Frogmin.

Oh Crofters, would the Frogmin they picked out be okay going home with them?! He couldn’t remember Dameon being cruel to animals, but the guy had never shown an interest in them either. Sure, Pattey seemed sweet enough but if Dameon was his actual dad then what if it was all just an act. What if--

Dameon huffed, running his fingers through his curly hair, messing it up in a way that Roman had never seen him do when they’d been together. He straightened, briefly meeting Roman’s eyes as he slipped a hand in his pocket, moving a couple of steps down the aisle to give his kid some space to interact with the Frogmins without them hovering.

Reluctantly Roman followed, his attention split between ensuring Pattey wouldn’t reach into the cage and terrorize the Frogmins...and watching his Ex’s every move.

“You and I both know that I could just point to a random cage and convince you I’d bought it elsewhere, but I hope that the picture I took will be more than enough proof that I have the proper setup?” He asked, pulling out his phone and fiddling with it before holding it out to him.

Well...pictures could be faked….but considering Dameon had obviously not expected to see him here...would he have gone so far as to fake a photo? It was possible. He’d done it before to fake several incidents at college parties they’d gone to...but a cage for a new pet for his son? Who would think to fake that?

Roman exhaled. No. He’d think himself in circles until well past midnight if he tried to read too far inbetween the lines. It was Christmas Eve. Dameon wanted a Frogmin for his son and Pattey seemed genuinely excited to have one. It had to be the truth. He had to believe that.

For now.

“If you’ve bought some dinky little hamster cage, Dae, I’m not letting you leave here with any creature until you have a proper setup.” He said, taking the phone from him.

Dameon’s eyes flashed, his mouth quirking up in a half smile as he glanced over to his son who’d somehow managed to cox basically every Frogmin in the cage closer to him.

Impressive for a child. It must be those soft honey eyes.

“I did do some research beforehand.”

“You know can’t trust everything on Google right?” Roman asked as he zoomed in on the image of the kid, Pattey, standing next to a cage as tall as he was. He had to admit. It was a nice setup. Not the most expensive home for a Frogmin he’d seen, but it was a good middling sort of cage. Multilevel, plenty of foliage, there was even a mister visible from the side to keep the place humid.

“I did ask multiple store employees as well...but I got differing answers.”

Typical. Ask more than one person and you’d get more than one answer. Still. It looked like Dae had managed to get the proper stuff. “What sort of pond do you have within? A bowl?” People always tried to use cheap tupperware to make a pond for their Frogmins, but it never worked out well in the long run.

Dameon scoffed, taking his phone back, fidgeting with it as he turned his head away to stare at a nearby cage of little Nagas. “As if. It’s a filtered thing. Not a waterfall, I couldn’t risk the splashing, but it has running water. Fresh. Takes up half of the floor of the cage, the rest is moss and dirt.”

Huh. Despite his reluctance to give his Ex any credit...he really hadn’t done half bad. Roman crossed his arms. “Hideout?”

Dameon shrugged. “There’s a rock cave on the ground, a wooden one higher up, and Pattey had me grab a moss hammock four stores ago. Just in case.”

Four? “....And just how many stores have you been to today?” On Christmas Eve. Shouldn’t he be like...going to some big fancy party or something? Or…at least getting ready for Santa’s arrival?

Dameon grimaced, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “Fifteen.” He admitted, keeping his attention firmly on the cage in front of him.

Roman whistled. Talk about dedication. “Ouch.”

“Mmm.” His fingers twitched as he glanced to his son, wearing that half smile of his. “No one else in a hundred and fifty miles has them.”

Roman’s eyebrows shot up. A hundred and FIFTY miles? Dude. Good news. It meant there was a low chance of him ever having to encounter his Ex again after tonight if he drove this far. But Dude. He drove this far? For his son? The Dameon he knew wouldn’t have gone through half as much effort. He would have convinced someone else to do all the work for him instead and then take the credit.

“Talk about a Hail Mary then coming all the way out here without calling first.” Especially since his store was closing like...right now. “The Mythical Mins have been quite popular this year. You’re lucky my store had the foresight to quadruple our orders.”

“I did try calling.” Dameon said, holding out a hand to the Nagamins, a flash of wistfulness crossing his face as he watched the minis leisurely slither about within. “After the first two failures...I called the next--oh, six?” He grimaced. “Those who actually answered assured me that they had them in stock--only for us to find that they’d sold out by the time we showed up. I stopped calling after that point. Just looked up the next pet store and drove.”

Wow. That was--- “I didn’t think you’d ever be so persistent. Especially for some kid.” Wait. Roman blanched. That came out so wrong--

Dameon’s eyes flashed with all too familiar anger as he whirled to him, his hands clenching. “He’s not some kid, Roman, he’s my son. And as cliche as it is...I would move heaven and earth to make him happy.”

Roman jerked his hands up. “I didn’t mean--” Yeesh. And he was hoping to avoid triggering Dameon’s temper. He just hadn’t expected his Ex to be...that protective. Of course, he just hadn’t ever seemed the type to...settle down either. “That came out wrong.” His words were usually wrong in some fashion when Dameon was present. “Honestly, I’d be more surprised if he wasn’t.”

Dameon exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, the anger unexpectedly vanishing as quickly as it had sparked. “The eyes right?” He raised a hand to his own golden ones.

“Well...yah. They’re practically the same.” Unfortunately. Though on the kid it was cute instead of terrifying.

He dropped his hand. “Yah...well you saw it quicker than I did.” He looked back to Pattey.

Roman blinked. “Wait. You--”

Dameon huffed, shaking his head. “It took me...a bit...to believe he was mine.” He said in a low voice.

Roman scoffed “You saw his eyes and you didn’t--weren’t you expecting him?! Weren’t you there for his birth?” Hadn’t Dameon just said he would move heaven and earth for the kid? He would have thought--

His Ex ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up further before he gestured to himself. “Do I look like--No. I--I’d--I’m---” He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know how I was, Ro--I didn’t--”

Was. Roman raised an eyebrow. He’d never heard Dameon stutter this much since...well, their first meeting. “And you were always so eloquent.” Flowery words, hidden meanings, barbed compliments. He’d lost more sleep to figuring out just what Dameon had actually said to him and what potential meanings his words held during college than he ever had over studying for finals.

Dameon rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Those were fighting words, Roman knew.

Yet his Ex didn’t rise to the bait. He hunched his shoulders, visibly taking a deep breath before relaxing his hands. “I’m not like that anymore. I’ve chan--” He cut off grimacing.

“....You’ve changed.” He’d heard that particular phrase a dozen times in college. Yet this time...it seemed just a tad more...believable.

Dameon exhaled, giving a slight shake of his head before meeting his eyes. “I’m trying to be a better person...and even if I wasn’t,” he gestured to his son, “I would much rather walk out of here with a Frogmin than without one for his sake.”

Wouldn’t any parent? At least the ones who wanted to prevent a meltdown. Roman tilted his head to the boy. “He is a cute kid.” Despite who his Father was.

“He is.” Daemon said, that fond half smile appearing on his lips again without any sign of the malice Roman was familiar with. “Some days...I wonder how I got so lucky.”

Yah...karma had obviously gotten mixed signals there.

Mentally Roman kicked himself. And that was how he’d end up getting the three Christmas ghosts visiting him tonight. Sure. He was still obviously bitter about his Ex. But he knew people could change. Just because he couldn’t picture Dameon being a good Dad, didn’t mean it wasn’t possible. Not when the apparent proof was standing right before him. “Well...it seems like Fatherhood has done you some good.”

Red tinged Janus’s cheeks as he raised a single eyebrow. “Is it really that hard to believe? That I could be a good dad?”

Had he ever looked back on their college years? The list of why he wouldn’t be a good dad could easily fill three books.

But. Roman tilted his hand back and forth. “I only ever knew Liar Dae.” He said simply.

There was still a chance he was still talking to him right now, though from what he’d seen so far he’d like to believe otherwise.

Dameon grimaced. “Right.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “Right. I--”

“DADDY!! PRINCEY!!!” Pattey squealed as he rushed towards them, his hands held up high to show them a tiny figure with purple and black spots hanging on to his fingers for dear life. “I GOT MY FROGMIN!”

Roman blinked, mouth dropping open as he recognized the rebelliously reclusive Frogmin who had sworn over a year ago that he would never go home with any human.

“Virgil?” He whispered taking a half step forward as Dameon dropped to his knees in time to catch his son before he could run face first into their legs.

“He picked me, Daddy!!” He picked me!” Pattey cried, practically vibrating with excitement as Dae quickly brought his hands up to surround his son’s, keeping the little emo Frogmin from being jostled further.

“That’s great, Pat!” His Ex said as his cool golden eyes gave the Frogmin a once over, his fingers twitching on his son’s hands.

Roman made a soft sound in the back of his throat as the Frogmin hissed, ducking down out of sight.

Yah. That was Virgil alright. The hiss was his trademark sound after he’d learned it from Roman’s own Min, Logan. But why would he come out of his dark little corner to--how had Pattey even convinced him?! Roman himself had tried every trick in the book to warm the dark and stormy emo of a Frogmin up to the idea of being owned by a human.

Nothing had worked.

Though Roman couldn’t remember ever offering spiders as a bribe before. Was that honestly all that it would have taken? A different food source?

“Virgil?” He asked again, biting his lip as his voice elicited another hiss from the Min and the unwelcome attention of his Ex.

Dameon looked up, eyes flashing. “Is there a problem?” He asked in such a Karen tone that Roman automatically bristled at it.

“Ye--No? NO!” He said slashing his hand across his chest in denial.

Dameon huffed, his hands remaining steady on Pattey’s as he half turned to him, giving him the look. “Roman.”

Roman glowered at his name, baring his teeth in what could barely be called a smile. “I said, NO, Dameon.” He said working to keep his tone even and obviously failing by how his eyes sharpened. “It’s just that Virgil’s never wanted to go home with anyone before. I’m--” Worried. Surprised. Concerned. Curious. The list could go on forever. He knew Virge after all. And there had been plenty of kids just like Pattey -besides the golden eyes- who’d wanted Frogmins before and Vee had never shown himself to them.

A variety of emotions flashed across Dameon’s face too fast for him to process as his Ex tilted his head, staring at him in such a way that Roman was sure he was analyzing every word he used and movement he’d made. “Worried he won’t be a good fit?” He asked, his tone more mild than Roman had been expecting as he dropped his hands from his son’s, though he could hear a hint of bitterness to it.

He’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. But--- Roman exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he held out his other hand, tilting it back and forth. “Honestly...Virgil probably likes me about as much as I like you.” He said, watching as Dameon winced.

“And that means...?”

What else did Dae expect him to say? Their relationship had been toxic. Before ten minutes ago, Roman would have said that all he felt for Dameon was utmost hatred.

Now though?

It was...it was all so muddled. He was seeing a side of Dae that he’d never seen before. He didn’t know what to think. “Soo--”

“It means we’ll be besties!!” Patton cried, honey eyes positively lighting up as he bounced in place, eliciting another hiss from the Frogmin. “I’ll be the Prince and Virgil will be the Dragon Witch and together we’ll defeat the evil Aaraog and we’ll all live happily ever after! Right Prince Roman?” Pattey beamed at him, holding his hands out, fingers uncurling so that he could see Virgil.

The Frogmin growled, dark hair falling in front of his mismatched eyes before he adjusted his legs, jumping to the boy’s shoulder.

Pattey let out a giggle, scrunching up his shoulders. “Vee, that tickles!!”

Roman let out a breath as Virgil ducked down into the collar of the boy’s jacket. A Happy ending huh? “...Right….That.”

Daemon’s own smile was rather brittle as he stood, ruffling his son’s hair. “Soo…” He said echoing Roman’s tone of voice as he looked up, eyes for once not looking cold and calculating, but...resigned? “It looks like Virgil here wants to come home with my son.” He said, gesturing to the Frogmin peering out from Pattey’s jacket. “Is there paperwork or something I need to fill out for him or--?”

Right. No need to drag out this conversation any longer now the kid had chosen his new pet. “Yes. You’ll need to fill out forms and Virgil--” He cut off as the Frogmin hissed giving him the middle finger. He tsked. Now that wasn’t appropriate for a child to see. “Virgil.”

The Frogmin shook his head, spots slightly glowing as he glowered at him. “No Box, Princey.” He said, with a slight echo to his voice.

Princey? Roman pursed his lips together. Of course the Emo Nightmare chose to finally speak to him now that he was leaving the store. Typical. A true Christmas Miracle. Logan would be so proud to hear that the little EmoFrogmare had finally broken his silence to Roman.

Pattey reached up, cupping his hand protectively around the Frogmin as he gave Roman the saddest puppy dog look he’d seen this holiday season with the watery eyes, trembling lip and everything. “Vee can stay with me right? I’ll keep him warm.”

Yes, but-- “You know that’s not our policy, Vir--” He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as Virgil let out an even longer hiss sounding like an agitated rattlesnake. “Fine. Fine. But if you fall and break your leg it’s not my fault.”

Dameon coughed into his hand, doing a poor job of hiding his smile as Virgil flashed him a thumbs up, curling up against Pattey’s neck as the boy gasped, eyes going wide.

“No! No breaking! He’ll stay Safe!! Virgil is MY PROTECTOR!! He’s eating the spiders!” He said, shaking his head hard enough that the Frogmin would have fallen if the kid’s hand hadn’t been right there for him to cling to with his little sticky fingers. “Promise!”

And this was the boy EmoFrogmare wanted to go home with? Roman didn’t understand at all. He raised an eyebrow as Vee settled once more on Pattey’s shoulder. “That’s good. Just be careful alright?”

Virgil hissed in response, baring his teeth at them.

“He really doesn’t like you does he?” Daemon commented in a low voice.

Roman rolled his eyes, gesturing for his Ex to follow him to the checkout counter so he could grab the proper forms. “Nope.” He said, popping the P. It was kinda irritating too. He could charm all the other Mins in the store and get them more comfortable and out of their shells before going to their new homes, but Virgil had never warmed up to him.

Dameon gave him a crooked smile. “I’m sorry.”

Roman stiffened at the unexpected third apology falling easily from the snake’s lips. How could he say it now for something that wasn’t even his fault when he couldn’t even apologize for--for...everything that had happened between them back in college?

He shook his head, waving it away. “Don’t be--well you can be once you pay for him.” He said, jabbing a finger in his Ex’s direction before pulling out the forms and a pen. “Then his bad behavior is on you, not me.”

To Be Continued. Part 5

#Christmas Eve #stillebesat #Sanders Sides #Roman #Janus #Patton #Virgil #Creativity #Deceit #Morality #Anxiety #Dad!Janus #Kid!Patton #Frogmin!Virgil #MythicalMin!AU #Frogmin!AU #past toxic relationship talk tw #manipulation talk tw #lying talk tw

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minghaocouture · 3 years

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Title: By Moonlight Pairing: Implied Prince!Vernon (Seventeen) x (GN) Mage!Reader Prompt: CWC Valentines Event - “You’re Important too” Genre: Fluff, High Fantasy AU Warnings: Language WC: 2.3K+ Edits by: Me <3 A/N: Happy Valentines Day @elcie-chxn!! I hope you have a wonderful day, sweetie! Thankfully I wrote this all before the writing half of my brain shut down lol, so i didn’t get to edit this but I’m glad I was at least able to get it done <3 NGL i saw you liked fantasy stuff and just kinda ran with it, so I hope you enjoy!

“His Highness, Prince Vernon, requested your presence.” Those simple words seemed to send your brain into a spiral. You had been working for days on end with practically no breaks, researching and studying so that your work might possibly be seen by the mage’s collective. Sure, being an apprentice to the head mage for King Chwe wasn’t a terrible job, but getting to join the collective would completely change your lot in life. It was all you could focus on, to the point that you had potentially started neglecting your duties to the crown. So you couldn’t imagine that this was a good call.

You tore your eyes away from the documents sprawled out on your workbench, glancing back to face your teacher, Wonwoo, who stood at your door. He looked serious, as usual, but this seemed different and the look seemed to send a wave of anxiety to your gut.

“Of course, thank you for the message. I’ll make myself more presentable and be right out.” You declared. Wonwoo gave you a firm nod, looking as if there was something on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to say and yet he could not get the words past his lips. So he took his leave, pulling the heavy wooden door shut behind him.

You were lucky, having your own private chambers in the palace. Those that weren’t members of the Royal family usually slept in communal rooms, with 4 or 5 people crowded inside small spaces just so that the King could renovate the former chambers into better ballrooms, or something else that could leave his guests in awe. It was disgusting.

It didn’t take you too long to get prepared to go see the Prince. You hadn’t been sleeping regularly, so you were still in your work attire, the mage robes that had been assigned to you when you first arrived as an apprentice when your magic had first revealed itself.

Pacing down the quiet halls of the palace at night was always an eerie thing. Your footsteps echoing against the stone flooring, while the halls were only lit by moonlight and the small lantern in your grasp. You don’t know how the night guards managed to travel the halls every night without fear.

As you traveled down the twisting and turning hallways, you finally stood before the door to the library. It was a grand door, one meant to show that it was a room of knowledge, with beautiful etchings carved into the wood and made to resemble the tree branches that the mahogany used to be. While beautiful, you could only imagine it being insulting to the tree that the door had once been.

Pushing these thoughts aside, you eased the door open and cringed slightly at the loud creaking of the hinges. You would need to tell one of the maids about that later, the King would be furious if he heard such a thing.

Taking a step into the library proper, you called out for the young Prince that had desired your attention.

“Your Highness? You wanted to see me?”

No answer.

Strange. Taking a few more steps, you paced towards the back of the grand library and up the tall stairs to the second flooring. The second floor housed the more...intricate books, that involved things like magic. It was a place you were quite familiar with. As you crept up the stairs you felt your heart almost leap out of your chest as a rather loud sound ripped through the room. A gasp left your lips in shock, fear coursing through your veins, before it happened again and you, foolishly, realised what it was.

“He fell asleep. Bastard called for me, and then fell asleep.” You snorted, following the now softer sounds that were without a doubt coming from the sleeping Prince.

You finally stumbled upon his table, his head resting in the pages of an open book with thick wisps of his sandy brown tresses softly falling onto the parchment and exposing the slight point to his ears. Anyone in the Kingdom could tell he was beautiful, as one of the only known instances of a human and an elf having a child.

For a moment, you debated on waking him up. You knew that he had been studying hard as his coronation ceremony would be in a mere 2 months, but this seemed a bit excessive. Falling asleep in the library was dangerous for a Prince. Though you had to admit, you were a bit jealous. The exhaustion from your long hours of studying and magic use had worn you down, and you longed for a good night’s rest. Sadly, if you wanted to impress the Collective, then you would not see a proper night’s sleep in your near future.

“Your Highness,” your voice soft as air as you reached out to gently nudge his shoulder. A grumble replaced his previous snores, the reaction pulling a small chuckle from you. “It’s rather rude to fall asleep after calling for someone.”

Seeming as if he understood the words despite his exhausted state, he slowly began pushing himself up. An ungloved hand lifted to rub his eyes in an attempt to expedite the process of waking up, though it hardly did him any good. As he adjusted to being awake once more, you took the seat across from him with a small grin etched onto your lips.

“Enjoy your nap, your Highness?”

“I would have enjoyed it more in my bed, but this will do.” He let out a rather undignified yawn, throwing his arms up to stretch the muscles in his shoulders that had tensed from his uncomfortable position. Most people would never get to see this side of the Prince, and yet, you weren’t most people.

“And how many times do I have to say it, just call me Vernon.” He grumbled, his piercing eyes fixing yours with a rather unimpressed look lingering in their gaze.

You found yourself struggling to keep a yawn suppressed, he would just worry after all, if he could tell how hard you were pushing yourself.

“I suppose you’ll just have to keep telling me, your Highness.”

“Okay, that one was just to piss me off wasn’t it?”

You grin grew wider which gave him the only response he needed. He let out yet another, al bet, smaller yawn before closing the book before him and muttering something about drool. When that task was finished his gaze returned to you.

“You didn’t come to dinner tonight.” It wasn’t a question, obviously, he knew you weren’t there. It had been a rule that the head mage and their apprentice would be allowed to dine with the Royal family one night per week. You weren’t sure why the rule was in place and it seemed rather odd, especially with the King’s temperament, to allow simple mages to dine with him. Usually at that dinner you were given much better food than if you were simply going to the kitchens to dine, so you never complained even when the atmosphere in the room was thick enough to be cut with a knife.

“I wasn’t feeling all that hungry. I was just going to grab a snack from the kitchens before bed,” Not exactly a lie, it was true that you were going to grab something from the kitchens but you weren’t planning on sleeping tonight, not when you were so close to a break through on your latest spell attempt.

“Or last week.” His eyes narrowed a bit as he watched for your reaction, examining as your eyes flickered away from him. It was as if he could read you like a book. Though that was to be expected with how long he had known you. It seemed just like yesterday you were arriving at the castle, your hands gripping tightly to your mothers skirts. She had been hired as a cook and because of that your little family was allowed shelter in the castle. It was a completely new experience for you, and was much bigger than the shack you had lived in while in the village. The stone walls seemed to climb on forever, so close to the sky that you had to crane your neck to even see the tops of them.

That was how you had met the young Prince. Your eyes had been glued to the sky, following the lines of the stone walling as you trailed behind your mother as the two of you tended to the castle’s gardens. As you had been walking, your frame rammed into none other than Prince Vernon himself.

Your mother had been beside herself with anger at you, and fear of upsetting the young Prince, but the boy laughed it off and invited you to play with him and the other royal children that had been visiting. You agreed, of course, and never looked back.

“I was working that night. Wonwoo had asked me to craft a particular potion, and I had messed it up right before dinner...so I stayed to fix it.”

A scoff left the young Prince’s lips, his eyes rolling at your lie. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest, as he fixed his gaze onto you. You had always had your suspicions that the Prince was teaching himself magic, but you weren’t too sure until you heard a familiar phase leave his lips.

“Veritas Patere.” His eyes flashed the familiar blue that you were so used to seeing in your own iris’ when performing magic. A cold rush ran through your skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake as the spells effects began.

“Why weren’t you at dinner?” His question was spoken confidently, his tone demanding an answer despite the fact that it didn’t need to. The spell was doing the ‘demanding’ for him.

“I was studying, working on a new spell to send to the Mage’s Collective.” The truth slipped from your lips without any hesitation, a stark contrast from before. You hadn’t expected the Prince’s magic to be this strong, usually beginner mages had a much more difficult time casting truth spells of this level. Yet it seemed to be nothing to him.

“Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

This question caught you off guard, he had gotten the answer he wished for so why didn’t he dispel the magic? Why was this even a question in his mind when he had much more important things to think of, his coronation being one of them.

“Getting this spell working is the only thing that matters right now. If I don’t get this spell perfected by the time of your coronation, then I failed as a mage and won’t be allowed to take over Master Wonwoo’s position.” Vernon’s face twisted in confusion at this answer, his eyes still holding the faint glow of magic in them. You could tell that the spell wouldn’t last much longer as the light dimmed, he didn’t have enough energy to keep it going.

“What do you mean? I thought the position would transfer to you once I was crowned?” Of course he wouldn’t know. The collective was a secretive bunch and didn’t give their secrets out to just anyone, not even royalty. There were certain rules in place though, rules you weren’t supposed to share and yet you found the words slipping from your lips at the behest of his spell.

“When a new King or Queen gets crowned, their old head mage will be succeeded by their apprentice and they will be sent on to a different Kingdom. The only exception is if the apprentice has yet to prove themselves to the collective.” You confessed, were it not for the spell keeping your eyes connected to his, you would have looked away in shame. It was like a magnet, keeping your gaze firmly connected with his and you felt your gut sink as you watched his expression change from confusion, into one of mild understanding and frustration.

“If I don’t do something to prove myself, then you will be assigned a different mage and I will have to follow Wonwoo to his next assignment before I can try again.” As the last words left your lips, you watched the glowing blue finally dissipate from his rich brown eyes. You usually loved his eyes, and could get lost in them as the two of you chatted with one another, but now you found yourself practically shrinking beneath his gaze.

“This is too important for me to mess up, Vernon.” He was too important, and you didn’t want to get taken away from him. Thankfully, with the spell gone, you weren’t forced to reveal such a secret to the young Prince. Despite this, it almost seemed as if he could tell what you were thinking at that moment.

His hands reached across the table to grasp your own that had been resting against the wood. His calloused thumbs gently rubbed circles on the tops of your hands as he squeezed them, trying to comfort you in anyway he could. It...helped your anxiety a bit, but couldn’t stop the sense of dread you had been feeling since the announcement of his Coronation.

“Well, you’re important too.” He declared, pulling your hands closer to him. His lips ghosting over your knuckles, causing your heart to practically stop in your chest. “What do you think will happen if you get sick because you’re not taking care of yourself? You’re not just some mage to me, you know that right?”

His tone was soft, and caused a swarm of butterflies to take flight in your belly. You weren’t quite sure he was aware of the effect he had on you, but you were almost certain he could hear the rapid pounding of your heart as he firmly pressed his lips to the top of one of your hands. Pulling away he looked up at you, his gaze hooded as he was practically set aglow by the moonlight pouring from the large windows.

“So you better start taking care of yourself.”

You weren’t sure if that was a threat or not, but you would do it. After all, if he thought you were important enough to take care of...then you surely must be.

#caratwritersclub #kdiner #kdiarynet #cwcvg2021 #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #svt scenarios #svt imagines #vernon x reader #Vernon imagine #vernon scenarios #Vernon fluff

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

Text

Chasing Providence {Dimitrescu/OC} Pt 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairings: TBA, at minimum platonic House Dimitrescu/OC, with some wlw side characters (also original, but not the focus of the story) Rating: T for mild violence and possibly triggering content Warnings: A character briefly threatens suicide as a means of prolonging a conversation (i.e. saying "if you don't listen, I'll ___") Additionally, this contains spoilers for Resident Evil 8. Summary: Months after being infected with a mysterious virus, investigative journalist Avaskian Caldwell is left with no choice: Xe has to get help, one way or another, from whatever remains of the Umbrella Corporation could be trusted. Or, perhaps, from the very person who started it all... Along the way xe'll have to get along with vampires, fight off would be hunters, befriend a hoard of cultists, all while performing the duties of an everyday servant. There's nothing xe won't try as xe's forced to chase providence. Notes: While this chapter features a somewhat talkative Ava, xe's normally selectively mute, and will be for the entire rest of the story.

1: Blood Runs Thick

“This can’t be it. No fucking way, bruv, are you sure you got the address right?” The journalist asked, eyes narrowed as xe stared out into the distant hills. One hand held a phone, currently without any signal, while the other kept a tentative grip on the van’s door handle. To their side was the driver, a middle-aged man with relatively little patience. When he replied, it was in a language the journalist didn’t speak, but could clearly understand as a swirl of profanity. “Alright, alright, I get it. Not like I could afford to pay you to take me back, anyway… I’ll just, uh, be going then. Try to have a nice day, eh, you old chap?” With that said xe opened the door, hopping out rather eagerly. After tucking xer phone into xer pocket, xe quickly gathered xer bags from the trunk, half expecting the man to drive off before xe had a chance.

Surprisingly, he stayed all the way until the journalist gave two hard pats to the van’s side. Then he practically slammed the gas pedal, speeding off in a whirling cloud of dust and kicked up rocks, promptly sending xer into a coughing fit. Curse these feeble lungs, xe thought, scowling. Absent-mindedly xe put a hand to xer throat, silently checking if xer, ahem, ‘wounds’ were still covered. Once satisfied, xe turned to the long, winding path into the village. Was this truly where the ever-elusive “Miranda” could be found? What in the blazes of hell was a scientist like herself doing here, in a mostly empty stretch of Romania? The thought sent a rush of anxiety to the journalist’s chest, as xe wondered if this “Miranda” would even consider helping xer. Xe hoped that, at the least, xer unique case would get her attention.

In the end, it took xer twice as long as expected to reach the village proper. There were no signs along the path, nor signs of life, other than countless dead birds, hung like falling leaves from every tree. Once, a display this gnarly would have made bile rise up in xer throat. But these days? After everything xe had researched? This was no hell, not when compared to the bombed ruin that was Raccoon City. Yet xe still cut xer hand when hopping the barbed wire fence, as if once again a rookie, too desperate for the truth to see the proper world. Fresh blood dropped onto the snow, but xe allowed xerself no wince nor complaint, instead focused on the figures moving in the distance. Strangers. Nay, sources. Someone would know something about the mysterious Miranda, even if they didn’t realize it.

So the journalist made haste, approaching as casually as xe could, considering the heavy traveler’s bag on xer shoulders, and the sturdy cane xe walked with. It was the latter that caught people’s attention first, as it click click clicked against the stone path. Before long there were several pairs of eyes on the journalist, some of them bearing thinly veiled hostility, others filled with nervousness.

“Who are you?” A man growls, stepping in front of a woman (his daughter, based on similar features, age difference) as he does. One of his fingers jabs into xer chest, daring them to take another move, carrying an unspoken threat within it. For a few seconds xe simply smiles at the man. Somewhat amused, xe hoped that xer natural charm would win the day, despite a quick glance telling them that most of these strangers were armed.

“I’m a journalist-” xe started to say, until the others moved their hands towards their holsters- “or at least I was, once. But I come asking for assistance, kindness from my fellow humans,” xe said, gesturing widely with xer arms. This made the others present pause, though the journalist wasn’t immediately sure that xe hadn’t just misspoken. Romanian was not xer first language. Or xer second, come to think of it. Oddly enough, however, it had clicked rather quickly in xer brain, as if xe had always been meant to speak it. “You may call me Avaskian Caldwell. Or just Ava, or just Kian, or just Vas, depending on your mood. Ah, but that hardly matters. I am here… to find a woman. Someone I have heard much about, a, how do you say… ‘marvel’ of science? They tell me she is called ‘Miranda’. Have I come to the-” xe do not get to finish that sentence. Before xe can understand what’s happening, someone has grabbed xer by the throat, attempting to life xer into the air.

For once in xer life, xe’s glad for the ‘extra insulation’.

“Fuck you, outsider, you don’t deserve to taint her name with your foul tongue!” The man shouts, squeezing xer throat, urged on by the jeering crowd. A smarter person would have been rather concerned at that point. But the journalist- Ava, as xe said- was not known for xer cleverness. That did not, however, stop xer from exhibiting cleverness. Taking advantage of xer ridiculous arm joints (which may or may not be doubled, possibly merely weird as fuck), xe reached into xer bag, ignoring the crowd’s scared reaction, retrieving an evidence bag. Inside of it: several broken vials, each marked with a symbol of terror. This is not a place of honor the symbol screamed. To the villagers, it meant something else, something older. To Ava? It meant the prophet of death, it meant Umbrella.

“I come bearing the sign of your village. I come bearing the scars of your Goddess,” Ava proclaims, raising the bag into the air. As soon as xe does, xe is released, the man scrambling backwards. Others turn away, some leaving, a handful gathering to pray. ‘Twas an odd display, but one that Ava preferred over a public execution. Only one person dares to approach: A woman, likely mid thirties, with dark eyes and darker hair. There’s a clear caution in her movements, as if it was taking all of her courage to not flee. “Do you perhaps know how I may reach Miranda? I am in dire need of her knowledge.” At this, the woman flinches, though her gaze lingers on Ava’s throat. It’s then that the journalist realizes xer collar was undone, exposing xer strange, ever-bleeding wound. The stranger does not speak until xe has covered the deformity.

“One does not simply reach Mother Miranda. But there are ways to get her attention, to ask for a, hmm, blessing,” she explains. With a sigh of relief, Ava starts to celebrate, eager to find a cure for what ailed xer. But the woman wasn’t done speaking, and her next words cut a thick line through xer hope. “It may take a few weeks, maybe less, but we can ensure your prayers are heard. Mother Miranda always rewards the faithful. Even those who start out as outsiders. In the end, all are welcome here, if they keep the faith in our Mother.”

“No, no, that won’t do!” Ava snaps, far harsher than intended. The woman flinches again, and xe starts to pace back and forth, trying to release xer pent up energy. “There has to be another way. Faster, more direct. I don’t-... I might not have time to wait. Please, please, anything you can do to help, even if it’s just pointing me in the right direction…” A gulp, eyes shining with unshed tears, a quiver of the lower lip. Falsehoods alike, directed for an honest purpose. Miranda was xer only hope for information- and, perhaps, for salvation. But the latter had never been Ava’s true priority.

“There might be one way, but it is dangerous. You’d be more likely to die on the path than reach your goal, if I am honest. Yet… if there is anyone in all the village who can grant you the audience you seek, it would be one of the four lords. If you are certain-” the woman could only watch as Ava nodded furiously, silently begging- “so be it. Follow me, but do not say I did not warn you. I do not want your spirit coming to haunt me for my act of pity.”

—————————

“An unexpected guest? How… delightful. Do tell me why you even bothered to drag this miscreant before me, Cynthia?” Lady Alcina Dimitrescu asked, with a scowl, staring down at the fragile human in question. Of all the things she had expected to find, once her head servant called her, this was not one of them. An intruder would have been more likely. Perhaps even more fun, if Alcina felt like letting her daughters join in the resulting feast. But this ‘thing’ was hardly worth her time. They were short, although admittedly somewhat plump, with a scent that implied illness. For once, she could not pinpoint the exact disease by smell alone. Not that she cared, really. ‘Twas simply… interesting.

“Please, allow me to introduce myself. You may call me Avaskian Caldwell, and I come with an… offer. With mutual benefits, I assure you, Lady Dimitrescu,” the journalist answered, giving a deep bow. Despite xer manners, Alcina seemed unimpressed, even irritated by the display. Still, she gestured with her right hand, encouraging xer to get on with it. “I am in need of a meeting, specifically one with the much beloved, dearly respected Mother Miranda. In exchange, I offer two things: The sweat of my brow, and the blood in my veins.” Much to xer displeasure, Alcina replied with loud laughter before fixing xer with a hard stare.

“Pray tell, little thing, what makes you think I won’t simply take your blood now, hmm?” She muses, cackling again, ignoring the way her servant flinched at the sound. But Ava did not waiver, instead simply reaching into xer sleeve. Slowly xe pulled out something metallic, speaking firmly as xe did.

“For one, Mother Miranda would certainly dislike losing out on this opportunity,” xe started to say, unable to stop xerself from smirking. Then the knife fully exited xer sleeve, dancing in the light, before pressing against xer own throat. It was certainly a unique threat. Instantly Alcina rises to her feet, only pausing when she realizes that she wasn’t the one in danger. “Secondly, my blood is worth more if I am alive. You see, I have a wretched ‘condition’, which does a handful of lovely, lovely, life-threatening things to this poor vessel of mine. But someone as intelligent as yourself could find plenty of use for my so-called ‘illness’. If you give me a chance to explain, that is.” Though she does not sit back down, or even nod, it quickly becomes clear that Alcina did not intend to interrupt. Yet. “Grand, grand! I do appreciate it, my Lady. Now, let me just grab the research I brought with me…”

Never once lowering the knife from xer throat, Ava digs into xer bag, forced to briefly clip xer cane to xer belt. Then xe retrieves a closed manilla folder, carefully handing it to the giantess in front of xer. Wordlessly Alcina accepts the item, opening it to peruse its contents, only pausing to put on a pair of reading glasses. A minute of quiet passes before Ava continues xer explanation.

“I heal faster than anyone else on your staff, guaranteed. Hell, I cut my hand down in the village, on some damned wire, and the wound has already closed back up, good as new. That means, of course, that if someone were to let’s say… remove some of my blood, well, it wouldn’t take too long for me to get more, now would it? Obviously there has to be some biological counter, some form of payment for my ability. The rule of equivalent exchange, and all that, yes? As it stands… I eat an extra slice of bread a day. That’s it. Nothing bad enough to cancel out the boon of my blood. My… extensive reservoir of blood. Interesting, yes?” Ava says, still as charming as ever, despite the indescribable terror in xer chest. If there was one thing that xe had learned as a journalist, it was how to hide xer fear. Which was plenty useful, in the current situation, especially when Alcina flips a page to reveal the one downside to xer condition.

“Don’t tell me you came all this way to try and deceive me. Here I was, beginning to think something of you, and you hand me a sheet that says it clear as candlelight: Your blood is dirty. Infected. I won’t be drinking it anytime soon, nor would I even consider allowing it to be used for my family’s wine!” Alcina is essentially yelling at this point. But Ava only takes a step forward, smile present but trembling, and gestures for her to turn the page. With narrowed eyes she does, quickly reading through the notes. Once, then a pause, then once more. Finally she closes the folder, setting it down upon her desk. “Fascinating. You are indeed a… unique case. I cannot guarantee you a meeting with Mother Miranda, and even if I do, it will be because of your condition. She will use you, as is her divine right to do, likely without ever once considering attempting to cure you. But if you are determined to meet her, well,” Alcina leans in with her own grin, sending chills down Ava’s spine, “I will not stop you. Here’s hoping you manage to give me plenty of blood before you ‘expire’. Cynthia, show her to the servants’ quarters. I expect her to be working by tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”

Although Ava could not help but twitch at the Lady’s choice of pronouns, xe had expected this. Eventually xe would explain the indefinite nature of xer gender. Or perhaps xe was doomed to die a horrific, tragic death long before xe ever had the opportunity. Either way, xe could not help but feel a small sense of elation, pleased to have made some progress towards xer goal. Three steps forward and two steps back was still, cumulatively, a step forward. In time, xe would likely come to regret this series of choices. But who among us could say they held no regrets at all? And if, in the end, this storyteller came away with one hell of a story… wouldn’t that outweigh the regret? Even if Ava did not know it, xe would one day learn a valuable lesson from the strange family xe now worked for: Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb. Oh, and what a lovely covenant it would be.

#avaskian caldwell #alcina dimitrescu #maiden cynthia #resident evil: village #resident evil oc #j has ocs #oh hoo hoo hoo #come and get your first real glimpse of ava #yes they talk in this one #you'll understand later

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higuchimon · 3 years

Text

[fanfic] Plans To Avenge

Camula swept into Haou's throne room, tilting her head in greeting. Tearstains still marred her features but she'd made an effort to be presentable. She wanted to ensure that Haou took her seriously. Her rage had only grown over the few days that passed since she'd discovered Ruthven's demise. Only now it had hardened into a spike of ice centered on her heart.

"Lady Camula," Haou greeted her, bending his own head slightly. "A pleasure to see you again. Have the years been kind?"

She knew as well as he did that this was nothing more than empty courtesy. She knew he wasn't the soft little boy that she'd first met in Celestia's realm all those years earlier. She wasn't the idealistic teen she'd been then, either. But this was as close to friendship as she thought herself capable of with a human - if Haou, the incarnate Darkness of Destruction, could even be said to be human. He did bear the form of one for now, of course. But that was musings for another day.

"They were, for a while," she admitted, taking the seat he gestured her to. A quick glance around showed her that the years had indeed been kind to him - or he had ripped what he wanted from others. She knew which was more likely, since he'd come into his power and his true nature. The room wasn't very large, but the floor and walls were marble, softened only by rugs and tapestries of costly weave and materials, all in shades of dark reds and blacks, his favored colors. She'd come by past dark, so there wasn't any sunlight in here. Silver spheres of light hunt from the ceiling and set on the walls to illuminate the area. One guard stood by each of the three doors.

Perhaps in deference to their long years of having known one another, Haou wasn't visibly armed beyond his deck. She respected that, and had done the same, as best she could. Frequently a vampire could be considered a weapon all on their own.

One eyebrow quirked up on Haou. "Yes, I had heard of your wedding to Ruthven. I wish that I'd been able to attend. But I was otherwise occupied."

So she'd heard - being a gladiator for Brron. She'd not quite believed all the tales she'd heard during the years between their first meeting and now. But if they were true, then he was exactly what and who she needed.

"But no longer. When I returned home a few days ago, I discovered -" Camula's voice broke off, a lump of tears lodging itself in her throat. Her fingers dug into the arms of her chair and she pressed her lips together, fighting to get the words out. "Ruthven - Ruthven is dead." Her heart spasmed, knives of pain stabbing into her each time she had to think about what she'd found. "I found him in our home. None of the servants saw anything or anyone. There were no traces of magic."

Haou leaned forward, his sharp eyes softening just the tiniest bit. She doubted that anyone else would have seen that from him. "Were there any other signs?"

She shook her head. "It was as if he simply dropped dead. But he couldn't have. He had his duel disk on him. Someone dueled him and he died." Her fingers tightened harder, digging into the chair. "I've never heard of such a thing. Not a wound on him. As if simply fell over dead."

Haou considered quietly, before he nodded towards her. "You want my help to find who did this."

There wasn't any way that she could have disagreed with this, even if she'd wanted to. She nodded. "In return, what do you wish of me?"

He leaned back now, head tilted upward, eyes closed as he considered for a few endless moments. Then he said, "Eventually I am going to require your help. You have heard of this little 'rebellion' that some of the survivors of my attacks have begun to form?"

She had. It hadn't meant much of anything to her. Humans were humans and how they ordered their lives and realms wasn't of much interest to those of the vampire persuasion. It would all settle itself out sooner or later.

"I have been researching them - learning what they're like. To see if any of them are worth standing in my army." He chuckled a little at some thought she didn't know. "There is one in particular that interests me, but that's not who I speak of now. The one I am thinking of - perhaps you've heard of him? Marufuji Ryou - the Hell Kaiser."

Camula's eyes narrowed for a breath. "Yes, I've heard of him." She'd almost fed on his little brother a year or two earlier. He'd driven her off, and she'd itched for the chance to avenge the slight ever since.

"He is proud. Very proud." Haou spoke the words as if they were mildly offensive to him. "I think he doesn't fear death. So should the need and the opportunity ever arise, I have a fate planned for him that is worse than death, by his standards."

Camula knew something of how Haou thought. He wouldn't have brought this up if he hadn't wanted a particular talent of hers - hers or any vampire. "You want me to turn him."

"In time. He's not important enough yet for me to send you after him. I have quite a few other matters to deal with before I wish to deal with him." Haou drummed his fingers lightly. "But I will have all of my servants search for anyone who may have murdered your beloved and when that person is found, you will be allowed to exact whatever vengeance you desire upon them."

Camula's heart didn't quiver, quite, but she smiled a fraction of a smile. She hadn't felt relaxed or at ease or anything but endless rage since the moment she'd discovered Ruthven's body. Not even giving him the proper rites had eased her fury. This didn't either. But it came at least a little close to it.

"Thank you, Haou-sama," she declared, bending her head once again, the deeper gesture that one who had pledged their loyalty to a higher power made.

"I will have quarters set aside for you here, but you may come and go as you please," Haou told her. "And I would like to introduce you to the Fallen Angels. They are my closest allies."

Camula nodded slightly. So she'd heard - that Fallen Angel Lucifer himself had sired Juudai, and he had been stolen as a baby from their care. Tensions had been tight for years between Celestia's realm and that of the Fallen Angels due to that, but very little had come of it. Celestia's armies, mages, and allies made certain of that. Until Haou came into his power and everything had gone downhill from there.

At least for Celestia.

Dismissed, she departed to be escorted to her new quarters. They were deep within the castle, far from any hint of sunlight. Such a thing would not have harmed her, but the light did burn at her eyes, and she'd never been fond of it. Haou clearly knew that very well, and she remained grateful for that. She settled down in a chair and stared down at the ring on her left hand.

She would not take it off, no matter what. She'd pledged her heart and soul to Ruthven and she would never regard another in the same fashion. Slowly she closed her hand.

I will find the one who killed you. And I will have my revenge.

Haou tried not to laugh. He wasn't very good at it, but he managed to keep most of his mirth under control. He'd honestly not expected his efforts to work out so well. But they had, and the first steps to his future plans were taken.

Lucifer chuckled softly as he entered the room. "I could feel your mirth as soon as I entered. What's amused you so, my son?"

Haou leaned back, grinning as widely as his lips could manage. "Camula came to pledge herself to me. She wants my help in finding whoever it is that murdered her husband Ruthven."

One finely crafted eyebrow flickered upward. "Is that so?"

"I told her that I would help but I would want her assistance for whenever I should actually capture Marufuji Ryou." Haou didn't really expect that to happen for quite a while, if ever. He would have to either set out to do it himself - far more trouble than it was worth right now - or Marufuji would make some kind of drastic error to fall into Haou's hands. A bit more likely but from what he knew of the other, it wasn't completely impossible.

Lucifer chuckled at that. "Fascinating. I look forward to meeting her." He settled into his chair, taking out his deck and regarding it for a few moments. Haou smirked slowly.

"A duel later?" He suggested. Both of them did need to keep in shape - and Camula would never know who had truly done the deed.

The End

Notes: Juudai didn’t know that he’d eventually capture Johan and that would lead to Ryou coming to find him, which led to Ryou being revealed, captured, tortured, and turned. But he had plans for just about all of his enemies.

Also, I can’t ever decide between Camula and Haou as my favorite villain, so I wrote something for both of them!

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #ygo gx #gxmonth2021 #camula #yuuki juudai #haou #au: reversal

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world-of-socks · 3 years

Text

First chapter of the fanfiction I mentioned I’d do! Hope you enjoy

Chapter One: General Boredom

“General! General!” The gem called after the diamond who was briskly walking ahead, “What should I tell the troops? What is our next step?”

Yellow Diamond spun around, “Evacuate all soldier class gems and send for colonizers. We harvest at once! How do you not know this by now?! We’ve done this hundreds of times, Lieutenant!”

The Lieutenant shrunk, but still held a certain amount of pride about themselves, “Well, my diamond, it’s really been more like thousands of times…”

“I know that!” she bristled.

Yellow quickly realized that she was becoming too flustered in front of her subjects, and she carefully fixed her hair which had fallen in odd shapes over her face in the outburst. The air smelled of iron, when the smell hit her, she realized that her outburst had been too great.

“… I know that.” Her tone was a forced calm, “Just send the order.”

“And… where will you be, my diamond?”

“In my ship… flying home- I mean to homeworld. Oh forget it…”

The lieutenant looked on, tired and despondent. It had been a long couple years, their diamond had been an ornery general since her emergence, but lately she had gotten worse. The gem sighed and made the dreaded diamond line call to their diamond’s leader to report on her behavior.

………

Yellow sat in her ship, leaning so far back on her throne she was practically on the floor. She had been working on filing reports about her latest planet when she decided that she was done. The work was so boring and felt so menial.

“I mean, what’s even the point!” She groaned to herself, throwing her arms up in frustration, “It’s the same crap over and over… every planet is the same as the ne-!”

“Ah! Pearl!” Yellow hit her head on her way back up to her throne, “I-I didn’t see you there I promise I will get back to work in a minute I-!”

In her struggle to get back to looking professional, she hadn’t actually seen who had been calling. She was so used to Pearl calling her to keep her on track, that she hadn’t actually looked up to see who had really been on the diamond line.

“White?! Uh, My diamond!” She saluted frantically, “I just left my latest assignment and they are already beginning the colonization process. I am currently on my way back to- to homeworld so that I may begin my next assignment. I-…”

White stopped her by holding up a hand, “Enough.”

“Yes, my diamond.” She murmured, eyes lowered.

“I see that you have been not only exceedingly and unnecessarily rude to your assistants, but also unfocused and unmotivated.”

“I promise I’ll do better, my diamond! I-…”

The head diamond continued to not let Yellow speak in full, “Whatever could be the matter, my Sunlight?”

The diamond looked down at her boots ashamedly, there was no use hiding now; the jig was up.

“I just… it’s not that I don’t love my work… I’ve just found it very unrewarding lately. Every battle is harder than the next, yet I don’t feel like I’m actually gaining anything when I win…”

White gasped, Yellow flinched, “My Sunlight, this is near traitorous talk!”

“I swear it’s not, White!”

“Do you not know why we do all this? Why we must spread our empire?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then why does gaining another planet for our beautiful new universe feel so unrewarding to you?! Is my praise not enough?”

The young diamond was digging herself a hole, yet the one with the shovel was the eldest.

“It is, it is!”

“Then what's the problem, Sunlight?” White’s voice was calm, every time she spoke one could barely read what emotion was actually behind it.

“… Well, each planet seems unexciting. I haven’t come across a planet that has felt like it was… worth adding to our empire… sure they have plenty of good resources, but each is more boring then the last. Dull minerals as far as the eye can see, harsh winds that carry said minerals, and the pathetic organic life. The only challenge is provided in figuring out how to beat them, and once we figure it out, we win. Sure the research is hard, but as soon as it's done, the challenge is over and… we win.”

“So you’re saying you aren’t feeling challenged enough, Sunlight?”

“Yes! -I…I think,..my diamond.” She shot up, banging her head again.

“I see. Well, when you arrive back on homeworld I will provide you with such a challenge.”

“Thank- thank you, my diamond!” Yellow stuttered, dumbfounded.

“Keep in mind that not every planet will be a challenge and you need to get used to any tasks you may find tedious. It is all for the betterment of this universe.”

“I know.” She sighed, “I promise to be better.”

“I know.” The diamond replied, “I will call for you when you arrive.”

“Understood.” Yellow bowed, sensing the end of the call.

White nodded and the click of the diamond line disappearing signaled for the diamond’s head to pop back up. She was shaking, but she wasn’t sure how much of it was from fear or excitement.

A little paranoid voice in Yellow’s head told her that White was still watching, so she shakily opened up her reports and sifted through screens to be certain that she was not. When she had successfully satisfied the voice, she called up her pearl to inform her of the news.

“Yes, my diamond?” Came the high, nasally voice.

“Pearl, are you alone?”

Pearl faltered, thrown off by the tone of her diamond’s voice, “Yyyes. Yes I am. Why ever would that matter?”

“Oh good!” Yellow blew out a breath, “I have important news to tell you!”

Not reading into the tone that her diamond had taken on, Pearl had started concernedly, “Did- did you shatter another one of your advisors? I’m sure we could get another replacement before White notices but-…”

“No, no.” Yellow corrected, “White is giving me a specific mission! A challenge! She informed me that she would ‘call for me when I arrive’!”

“That’s- wonderful, my diamond!” Pearl smiled awkwardly, “I’m happy to hear it.”

“Maybe- maybe this planet will actually be different! Oh dear, I hope so!” Yellow was beaming so brightly, her form nearly glowed.

This didn’t last long, however, because the young general quickly realized that she had perhaps been beaming too brightly; this was not proper for diamonds.

“I will arrive on homeworld soon. Be ready to assist me.”

“It is my duty, my diamond.” The Pearl saluted and bowed.

Click.

Pearl was gone, and Yellow was left to go back to her tedious task, which in the promise of better work, she found less tedious.

………..

With a hiss and a steady bang, the arm ship had landed on the pad, and a far too excited diamond stumbled out. There were a few cheers from the working gems who inhabited homeworld, which signaled her to walk with pride rather than anxious anticipation.

When she arrived in her room, which she actually went to first this time to ensure that she would be on White’s good side when she summoned her. She sat in her hover chair, which spun under her weight. Her golden screens popped up on her path to her desk, there was an abnormal amount; Yellow had been avoiding them.

Before she could start finally filing those reports she heard a soft giggle coming from somewhere she couldn’t quite identify.

“Hello?” She called, “Pearl…?”

She didn’t really think it was Pearl, but the sound was barely audible and hard to identify. The young diamond walked to the door and it hissed open a t her command, and there stood…

“Blue!” Yellow hissed, lowering her voice, “You aren’t supposed to be here!”

“Hah!” She protested, scurrying in, “Since when has that stopped either of us, before, huh?”

“Bluuuue.” She whined, pushing her hair out of her face and double checking to make sure no gem was watching.

The young, bouncy blue gem hopped into Yellow’s seat and watched it spin from her weight, giggling.

“How was your last mission?” Blue asked, ignoring Yellow’s pleas for her to leave.

“Fine. Boring, but fine.” Yellow accepted that her companion would not be swayed to leave.

“I have some … exciting news, though.” Yellow stretched.

Blue turned around eagerly, “Ooooh, what?”

“White is going to summon me soon to give me a more ‘challenging’ planet. Some awesome place I think!” She spread her arms apart on the word ‘awesome’, then brought them back in and pointed to her blue friend, “So, you can’t get me in trouble. I need to be on her good side.”

Blue stopped spinning, a frown on her face, “But you just got home.”

“I know.” She blushed, looking away.

“You’ve been gone for like a year or two now. I was so bored, this place is no fun without you here.”

“You had your own mission, though!”

“Yeah, one that had me busy in my own room for months on end. Usually I go off-planet, but I had to stay here and study and work and file reports.. Yellooooow I’ve been sooo bored.” She whined.

“Well, me too.” Yellow frowned, “And that’s why I’m excited for a new more challenging mission.”

“I guess that sounds rather fun,” Blue pouted, happy for her friend nonetheless, “Hey! You think I could convince White to give me something a bit more challenging?”

“Hmmm… maybe?”

“Well, we might as well have some fun while you’re still here.” Blue grinned mischievously, “Wanna prank the pearls?”

Yellow thought it over in her head, the pros and the cons. If they were caught she could say goodbye to a fun mission, if they weren’t she could get everything she wanted.

Her eyes sparkled, “Where at?”

“Side hallway, they meet there around this time. I’m thinking we walk ‘like a diamond must’,” Blue mimicked White, making yellow snicker and went on, “and very sneakily drop a stink pod into their meeting room.”

“Won’t the smell linger with them? I have a meeting soon, Blue!”

“Yes, yes I know. The smell would only stay in the room, I promise.”

“Promise?”

Blue held out her hand for Yellow to take, “Trust me, I’m not gonna ruin this for you.”

Yellow took it, “Fine. It’s a deal.”

Blue smirked up at her.

…………

#my writing #steven universe #su #yellow diamond #blue diamond #bellow diamond #steven universe au #su au #fanfiction #writing #yd #bd #yd bd #white diamond #a young yellow diamond is so fun to write #she hasn’t been broken by war and grief yet!!#also I made sure to make her similar to Pink diamond becuase I think that when they were younger they were very similar #chapter one

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my-happy-little-bean · 3 years

Text

The Bookkeeper - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Wuthering Heights

pairings: logan/patton (logicality), roman/virgil (prinxiety) words: 3216 chapter warnings: mild swearing, mild existentialism chapter summary: once upon a time...

[read on ao3] [masterlist]

—

“I know a lot of kids who’ve endured Civil wars and famines These kids are wise Aware And they’re searching for a little beauty in the world Because life without beauty is unbearable”

– Jordan Tannahill, Concord Floral

~*~

Imagine for a moment, the process of a songwriter. One picks a key, uses the notes within the key, and tinkers with the piece until it sounds pleasing, familiar; until it sounds like anything.

All art is, to some extent then, structured and formulaic. So if that is the case, is there any ‘magic’ in art’s rigid form? In practice, art disrupts the very foundation of its being; creating something out of nothing. Hence, is there any true value—under the nihilistic impression that life bears no meaning—in pursuing art if it, at its core, has no purpose? Where could one derive significance from the way notes scatter on the staff, when it holds no initial meanin–

Logan Fray cursed as he slammed his pen into the counter. He gripped onto the surface of the paper he was writing on, crumpled it, and squeezed it out of the spiral binding of his notebook. Without looking up, he hurled it towards the garbage can to his left. He heard the soft sound of it hitting the metal rim and sighed, flicking his wrist without much thought.

A small spiral of shimmering navy dust shot out of his index finger and caught the balled-up paper before it could fall. He glanced over to his left, realization clicking in his head. Logan sighed and, annoyed, steadily moved his finger across his line of sigh. The crumpled piece of paper followed suit until it hovered over the garbage can.

Logan narrowed his eyes at his magic. The blue coated the creased edges of the balled-up paper, as if contemplating the survival of this draft and its feeble grasp on the edge of the tin-can cliff.

“Oh isn’t this quite the show!”

The loud, triumphant voice behind him jolted Logan forward. He lost concentration on his spell and the paper dropped helplessly into the bin.

Logan pushed his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Christ, Roman…”

“Sorry, sorry! Didn’t want to disturb the almighty Wizard Fray and the extraordinary use of his powers! Fray and Far Fables is in for a treat today, fellas!”

Logan rolled his eyes, spinning around in his chair and watching as the small, fairy-like form of Roman floated in front of shelves. Roman’s red magic formed some sort of feather duster.

“Anyway, don’t mind me! I don’t mean to be a heckler — just doing some spring cleaning!” He exaggerated a flick of the magical duster against a book.

“You don’t have to dust the spines of books, Roman,” Logan drawled. “It is illogical. With your magical wards, nothing here collects dust. And even if it did, your size and your...general aura deems you an ineffective housekeeper.”

Roman gasped, twirling around in the air to float over to Logan’s face. He hovered in front of his nose with his hands on his hips.

“I will pretend you did not just hurt my feelings just then!” Roman smiled smugly as he dusted Logan’s nose. Powder puffs of his red magic fogged Logan’s vision. “I will instead pretend you said ‘thank you, Roman, oh dashing bookkeeper!’”

“A happier reality, I’m sure,” Logan huffed, rubbing his nose and holding back a sneeze. Roman floated back to the shelves.

“Besides, someone has to tend to the nooks,” Roman hummed pointedly, landing on the edge of the shelves and leaning against one of the book spines. “Each one is a ghost town at this point.”

“They were always ghost towns,” Logan gritted out, annoyance growing. “There’s nothing in there.”

“Yeah yeah.” Roman stuck out his tongue. “ ‘Art has no meaning in a meaningless life’ or whatever, which means there’s nothing in art and there’s nothing in books, yada yada yada – you keep telling yourself that, Specs.”

“I am not the only one saying that. If you read Virgil Aries’ work on nihilism and its implications on art as a sort of void—”

“Yawn, Logan,” Roman groaned, “uber yawn. I’m not going to read some sad philosopher’s existential crisis.”

“Virgil Aries was not sad, he was brilliant–”

“I’m sure he was.”

Logan sighed, standing up and sweeping the books off the counter and into his arms. He walked around the counter and across the store, placing the books back on the other shelves. Roman flew closely behind him.

“It is nice to see you using your magic again, even in pitiful displays." Roman nonchalantly tilted his head up. "Almost thought you forgot how to.”

“It was just an impulse, Roman,” Logan muttered, letting Roman dust the floor of the shelves before sliding the books into their proper place. “I was deep in thought and wasn't thinking I will not make a habit out of it.”

“Ugh, when will you understand that I want you to make a habit out of it– I want to have cool magic duels with you!”

“More the reason why we don’t need these ‘pitiful’ displays of magic. First of all, I’m not even supposed to be using my magic while we’re open. What if someone walked in? What would you say to them then, hm?”

“ ‘Hey, do you want to see the coolest thing in your flimsy, mortal life?’ ”

Logan rolled his eyes. “ ‘Cool’ is not how I would describe it.”

“Ouch!” Roman turned his red feather duster into a small, sparkly sword. He dramatically stabbed it into his chest, bits of his red magic exploding in a small puff around him. The sword dissipated upon contact. “What is up with your...your spiciness today?”

Logan slid the last book into the shelf and leaned against it.

“I’m just stuck on this speech again .”

Roman deflated. “Oh, here we go…”

“I just don’t understand what my problem is. I have all my research in place, I know what I want to say about art, I know what I want to do, but nothing I write has any substance! None of it makes sense. I can’t answer the fundamental question of my own damn argument.”

“Which is…?”

“ Why, ” Logan hissed, running both hands through his hair. “Why do people pursue such meaningless tactics of escapism if– if they’re escaping from nothing. That, in turn, makes art nothing. Right?”

“I don't know, Lo. Maybe that actually means it’s not entirely meaningless then,” Roman hummed idly.

Logan glowered at Roman, whose face was plastered with a shit-eating grin.

“I just need to get this speech done,” Logan stiltedly said, evening his breath. “If I get any of it done by the end of the month, I can be reassured that I won’t make a complete fool of myself at the university conference.”

“It’s a convention of sad, young nihilists with student debt. Everyone there is a fool.”

Before Logan could respond, the bells above the front door echoed across the shop. Roman and Logan exchanged frantic looks. Shit. Logan didn’t even realize what time it was.

“Book nook. Now,” he hissed. Luckily, Roman already beat him to it. Roman pressed his hand onto the spine of a nearby book on the shelf. His red magic spread across the surface until his hand could go through the spine. Then, with a small yelp, Roman tumbled into the book and disappeared from Logan’s view.

“Logan! Hi!” a peppy voice rang out at the same time. Logan spun around on his heel to face the front door and forced a smile.

“Salutations, Patton,” Logan replied, awkwardly leaning against the shelves. He snuck cautious glances to the book Roman had hid himself in, making sure he was completely out of sight.

“I’m here for a book!” Patton chirped, tipping his hat at Logan. He looked up at the shelves around Logan with a smile. “And I have a feeling you have just the one for me!”

“You come here every week, Patton. You do not have to repeat the same thing, I know what you are here for.” Logan, despite everything that was occurring, found himself smiling warmly at Patton. “Please roam around as you see fit.”

“I shall!” Patton said, moving past Logan and starting on the opposite end of the shelves Logan was leaning against. Logan’s eyes widened.

“Um, did you end up finishing the book you bought last week? The one by Elizabeth Gilbert?” Logan blurted out as he moved closer to Patton, his back covering the book he knew Roman was hiding in. Patton looked up at him and smiled.

“Oh! Yes, The Signature of All Things, right? I really enjoyed it! I can’t believe you made me enjoy historical fiction — I’d usually fall asleep a few pages in, but Alma’s life is just so interesting!”

Logan nodded tensely as Patton moved closer to him. He pressed his back against the shelves as if that could further hide Roman. “Truly.”

“And I actually brought you a painting!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah!” Patton fished through his messenger bag, his hat nearly slipping as his head tilted down to find it. Logan could hear a small thump! muffled behind his back. Logan winced. He hadn’t even considered the conditions of the book nook. While he knew none of them could ever hurt anyone—especially Roman—he definitely knew some were not ideal.

He tried to quietly grab the book Roman had escaped in, slowly turning around to take it off the shelves while Patton wasn’t looking.

“Here it is!” Patton exclaimed loudly, animatedly pulling out a rolled piece of paper. Logan jumped at the abrupt action, ducking to the side to avoid getting hit by Patton’s arm. “The book took me longer to read– I didn��t even think I’d finish it within a week– so sorry that the painting is a bit crude!”

“That is quite alright, Patton,” Logan said, adjusting his tie. “It is a gift that you do not have to keep giving yet...you do. So I appreciate the painting regardless.”

“Of course! Take a look and tell me how you like it!”

Logan took the paper out of Patton’s hand and unrolled it.

Sprawled across sketchbook paper was splashes of watercolour making up an array of botanical illustrations. The flowers and plants overlapped each other on the old-yellowed background in a way that didn’t seem too suffocated; each plant had space to breathe. Thin, cursive descriptions sprawled across their stems. It almost felt like a map of some sorts, navigating through each individual aspect of a garden.

“It’s a bit reminiscent of my collagist days,” Patton said with a small giggle. “But I like it! I actually drew a lot of inspiration from the cool sketches of all the plants scattered throughout the book.

“Evidently,” Logan hummed, smiling at the painting. He looked up at Patton. “It is very nice, Patton. You capture the book’s essence very well here.”

“Oh, well I know how you feel about the art stuff– but thank you for humouring me, Lo!” Patton giggled. Logan’s smile faltered, but he fought to keep it upright.

Logan kept observing the painting, idly walking away from the shelf, as if mesmerized by Patton’s work.

“Ooh, this book looks interesting!”

Patton’s voice suddenly snapped Logan out of his daze. Roman.

Logan turned around to see Patton standing in front of the book Roman was in. Instinctually, he shot a small burst of magic at the display table behind Patton, sending books tumbling to the floor with a loud thud!

“Oh!” Patton whirled around at the noise. He gave Logan a sheepish grin. “I must’ve bumped into the table or something! Sorry ‘bout that!”

“No worries,” Logan said with a tight smile. Patton crouched down to start picking up the books as Logan tucked the painting under his arm, quickly moving to the book Roman was hiding in. He pulled the book out slightly.

“Roman,” he hissed as quietly as he could. “Get out of there.”

Almost immediately, Roman hopped out of the book, all his clothes dripping wet.

“An unfortunate choice,” Roman muttered, shivering. Logan shook his head.

“You can clean yourself upstairs, just go now– ”

“There you go!” Patton announced, standing back up in a swift motion that knocked his hat off his head.

Logan watched as Roman, clearly panicked, jumped into the back cover of the book and flattened himself onto its surface. Logan, startled, pulled the book off the shelf and pressed it to his chest, attempting to cover the new picture of Roman on the back cover.

“Everything’s in its place!” Patton continued, brushing off his hands. His stare flitted over to the book in Logan’s arms. “Oh! That’s the book I was looking at! Do you mind– ?”

“N-No!” Logan blurted out. Patton frowned at him, and Logan squeezed his eyes shut, clearing his throat.

“I...I mean, no problem. That would be...no problem at all.”

“Cool!”

Patton took the book from Logan, who kept his eyes glued to the frantic 2D-Roman next to the book synopsis.

“Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë,” Patton read aloud. “Huh! Sounds interesting.”

“Y-Yes!” Logan slowly reached to grab the book back. “How about I get a bag for y–”

“Let’s see what this is about!”

Logan paled as Patton turned the book around, almost in bullet-time. Logan caught a glimpse of Roman’s eyes widening and, horrified, watched as Roman slid his flattened form into the spine of the book, becoming squished within its confines.

“ ‘The wild, passionate story of intense and almost demonic love between Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff’,” Patton continued to read. “ ‘Brontë captures the evocative, conflicted interplay of nature and culture in her’– wow, ‘masterpiece of English literature’!”

Patton playfully tossed the book in the air, catching it by its spine. “Sounds like I found a winner!”

Logan yelped, snatching the book back from Patton, who tilted his head to the side. Logan broke into a sheepish smile.

“Er, let me check you out!”

Patton winked. “If you insist!”

Logan flushed red, hurrying to the cash register. He crouched down behind the counter, lowering the book out of sight and disguising his attempts of freeing Roman as him grabbing a bag for Patton.

Logan knocked firmly on the spine, sending Roman disappearing through it and into the book. He then opened the book and Roman emerged with a gasp, as if he was swimming in the pages.

“Good Fantasy- Gucci–”

“Shh!”

“What was that?” Patton asked from above. Logan’s eyes widened as he stuffed Roman in his pocket, despite muffled protests.

Logan shot back up with a small paper bag and a forced grin.

“Shhhh-ure is a great day to buy a book!” An unnatural laugh escaped his lips. “That...that is what I said, heh.”

“Ah, it is!” Patton slid a few bills across the counter and brought the bag to his chest in exchange. “I’m excited for the new book! Sounds good for a rainy day.”

Logan tensely nodded, feeling his pocket slowly dampen. “Mhm.”

Patton’s stare floated over to Logan’s open notebook, his smile faltering.

“Still stuck on your speech, it seems?”

Logan blinked, following Patton’s gaze and sighing. “It appears so, hm?”

Patton nodded slowly.

“I know you explained it to me once, but I still don’t really understand your plan for the speech. Wasn’t the prompt supposed to be ‘finding the meaning of art’?” Patton’s stare flitted towards the shelves behind the counter with all of Logan’s various philosophy and aesthetic texts. “Yet you’re tackling what seems to be the opposite and...and I admittedly don’t get it. Just ‘cause it’s for a bunch of art students doesn’t mean it has to be all deep and dreary, heh.”

Logan shrugged helplessly.

“I just need something new to say,” he mumbled. “You can’t understand art’s meaning without understanding the implied lack thereof.”

“So you’re stuck in the lack thereof?”

Logan looked up at Patton and frowned at his slightly-amused smile.

“It’s a lot more complex than that.”

“Uh-huh.” Patton’s smile felt filled with pity, or perhaps sympathy. “Maybe the solution– just a suggestion– is to go outside? Touch the grass? Find meaning in the world rather than bury your nose in a book?”

“Ironic,” Logan scoffed, though regretted it instantly. Patton, however, just laughed.

“Touché.” Patton shrugged. As he was about to leave, he turned his head over his shoulder. “And hey, I’m sorry that I keep pestering you about the speech, heh. It’s just…”

Patton lowered his gaze, shifting on his heels. In an uncharacteristically hushed tone, he said, “I care about you, Lo. More than you think. I would hate to see you unravel yourself in trying to find the answers and...well, I fear that you already have.”

“That’s impossible,” Logan mumbled, though averted his gaze from Patton. “If I were to unravel, it would be because the answers ended up in me, in which case I would need to access them." Logan tugged his collar awkwardly. "But...but they are not.”

Patton rose an eyebrow. "Maybe we both need to get out there then.”

“ ‘There’? As in...the world?”

Patton grinned, holding his new book close to his chest. “And all the other ones too.”

The door closed swiftly, bells chiming in Logan’s ears. Logan heaved a deep sigh of relief as Roman floated out of his pocket, arms-crossed, unamused.

“We have to be more careful,” Logan muttered. “Who knows what would happen if he figured out about you, about the book nooks, about me… ”

“Come on, Lo. It’s Patton , we’re talking about.”

“Still.” Logan grimaced at the thought. “He could see everything in the wrong way and I would prefer to keep some things normal around here.”

Roman just nodded, shaking off like a dog. Small drops of water splashed against Logan’s cheek.

“Soooo….that Patton sure is a character, hm?” Roman eventually asked, looking at Logan coyly. Logan felt his cheeks heat up.

“That is what you want to focus on?”

“I just think he has a lot to teach you. And it seems as though your heart is telling you the same.” Roman winked. “Maybe it’s time for you to listen.”

Before Logan could rebuttal, Roman flew up the stairs to clean himself off. Logan shook his head, walking over to the door to close up early. On his way, he nearly slid on something on the floor. He frowned, picking the item in question up.

Patton’s hat. He must’ve forgotten about it.

Logan stared at the hat for a few seconds. He held it up and then, without really thinking, held it to his chest. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and then opened them to see a blurry view of the world outside his shop doors.

‘What does it all mean?’

Logan sighed, shaking his head as he flipped the door sign to ‘closed’. He stalked back to the counter, sitting back in his chair and tossing the hat to the side. With a flick of his wrist, a small stream of magic shot out of his index finger and landed on a book behind him, lifting it off the shelves.

He continued to levitate books without turning back, and Logan began to write once more.

—

next chapter >

#TS Storytime 2021 #gabbie writes things #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #logicality #prinxiety #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan/patton #roman/virgil #logic/morality #creativity/anxiety

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thefirsthogokage · 3 years

Note

Why did you rage quit the rookie?

(this turned out longer then I meant it to be, but I kept remembering reasons why I hate this show now)

The writing went down the drain. Hard. I was so pissed because it started off well in season one. Granted, it had a couple big ridiculous things that happened, but overall it was pretty good. Especially for a freshman show. One of the best I'd seen in years.

Then season two came along and it became progressively/exponentially worse.

Obviously going for shock value over good content with extreme circumstances in most episodes, often not making sense (why the fuck did Nolan's son and his girlfriend go to that trailer park?)

poor plot lines with female characters (Lopez and Wes getting engaged after only being together a few months, Lopez trying out to be pretty damn toxic and "I was poor, you should have been happy you were rich" and "sorry you're embarrassed of me (which is the same abousive shit my mother would pull), Grace going back to her ex because they had a kid even though their marriage sucked and it was outlined earlier in the season that was a bad idea, Jessica killing that one guy and that was never followed through on and her being psycho and following Nolan around and that never being addressed, Chen never given psychological damage she should have absolutely had even of she did self-therapy, Rachel getting her "dream job" in NY and the writers couldn't even take the time to tell us what said dream job was.)

Poorly planned plots in general (stunningly so)

Most characters not feeling like a proper continuation of who they were in season one. Going a ong with that, Chen and Bradford being way too close basically over night when that isn't natural progression from season one

I was for Chenford after season one, but they escalated it in a very cheesy and non true to character way, which also happened way too quickly. So many of their interactions felt too romantically tinted when they shouldn't have been there yet. HEART EYES ALL THE TIME! Like, I stayed watching the show for them until I couldn't tolerate anymore. Then I tried staying for Nyla and just gave up because I hated the rest of the show so much

obvious lack of research (the serial killer with pathology that made no sense, never finding out the connection between him and the lady, the guy apparently also got a job a prison with a stolen social security number from a disabled person - both of which would have been flagged in a background check!!! Such a genuinely poor writing episode and the season just went even more downhill from there)

Nolan being the hero even more in most of the episodes, and his intellect or lack thereof being a plot device

not letting Chen actually suffer from PTSD like she should have and just had her basically quickly move on in an impossible way (I am including this twice, thank you)

throwing her into a relationship with a guy who was a jackass and went all "leave my woman alone" on Bradford when she absolutely didn't need help

Jackson going to a very public premiere with his actor boyfriend even though he was an active cop. What the actual fuck were they thinking with that? Jackson isn't that dumb, he would have never done that.

this show clearly is not keeping a a continuity or character bible of any sort, getting basic facts of their characters wrong (especially Tim, I just can't remember the specific thing that it was, but it could have been inconsistencies in his wounds. Now that I think about it, Chen said something about him getting shot more then once and stabbed and the only time we ever saw evidence of any injury was after he was shot in episode one. Which actually brings me to my next point...)

they never had Tim have a scar from his gunshot wound

Tim getting his 12-year-old-acting girlfriend out of trouble when she bats her eyes at him. He shouldn't have even been dating her in the first place. No way Tim would have ever dated a friend of his rookie. Completely unprofessional of him, in a way that was not believable for his character.

No way Chen could have been an undercover cop after that documentary episode. And if that episode was mean to be a stand alone, it should have never been in the show. That episode also had continuity issues, and that's not including the absolute insanity of whatever the fuck they did to Stirling. (That poor actor, he really wanted to come back and continue the story with his character and Jackson)

THE WHOLE FUCKING BULLSHIT TIMELINE AND PACING OF THE SHOW! examples: They made the stupid thing current to whatever the real world year was. The problem with that was they had an in-universe schedule set up. The first two seasons should have spanned from like October 2018 to October 2019, and yet, in the episode where Wes got stabbed (earlyish season 2), it was November 2019 when it should have been around like May, 2019. They said it was 2021 early in S3 when it should have never been around that time. Infact, it was supposed to be during their last 30 days of their rookie year, meaning THAT should have been October or November 2019. The time pacing of this show is so bad. They should have done a real time skip in season 3, instead, the first NINE FUCKING EPISODES WERE THOSE LAST 30 DAYS! And, according to someone else's math, because of the bullshit with the timeline, Lopez was pregnant for 11 months. Absolutely fucking insane. Timelines and timetables that are so thoroughly screwed up in a show that it's THAT obvious they are flying by the seat of their pants are just impossible for me to stand. That is so dumbfounding to see on any tv show and alone enough for me to rage quit. It's so bizarre they stuck to a timeframe in-universe, then so obviously screwed up what year it was every damn season at least once (in S3 2-3 times).

Just such piss poor writing. No real planning ability. No writing talent left in that writer's room after season one. Just people who throw words down on paper and hope that people will like it. Which so many people still do for some reason?

There are so many other things wrong with this show, but those are the ones I remember off the top of my head. Granted, a couple are second hand because I stopped watching after the rookies did stuff with the DEA. I couldn't watch that. That was such and insane idea. OH AND THEM GOING ON A FUCKING SECRET OP? WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!

And that's not including what I've heard was their "After School Special"-style take on fighting racism in the police force.

And I don't always pick up on these kinds of things specifically. I generally don't pick up on missteps like that in plot or timelines or whatnot or just things that even someone who doesn't have much specified knowledge in certain things should miss (the "job at a prison" thing I mentioned earlier). I'm good at telling the chemistry between actors, - or lack there of, - not the other stuff. When it's so bad I - of all people - am noticing things that are normally pointed out to me, a lot of fucking up is happening. In multiple departments. Like, normally when anything happens in other shows, it isn't as blunt, on the head, painfully obvious, and frequent as it has been in this show.

So, yeah, if you made it though my rant, congrats. If you don't get irritated with the show and bullshit that happens in it now, power to you I guess.

I really wished I could still hate watch this show, but it checked way too many "this is exceptionally poor craftsmanship: tv show edition" boxes for me to put up with it anymore. It was so promising at first, even with it's various hiccups (that I didn't notice until later on all of them) but I hadn't seen a show crash that hard in quality before. I mean, since then I had to experience the travesty that was Supernatural going from 15x18 to 15x19 and 15x20, but that was after I gave up on The Rookie.

Anywho, I would say I hope that answers your question anon, but I have little room for doubt that it didn't.

#asks #anon ask #antitherookie #tv show asks #tv show ask #fuck alexi for all of his bullshit #from what i hear the last season of Castle was absolute shit and he was in charge of that too #the rookie

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kyber-kisses · 4 years

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I, Alone (Part 7)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Wanna start from the beginning? Here is the Masterlist!

Warnings: descriptions of injury, more yearning, cursing

Summary: Reunions aren't always what you expect, especially when you need to be miles away from the person in front of you.

A/n: Ahhh I finally got this chapter done! its longer than the other ones but I hope you guys enjoy it! (gif created by undercoverrockstarjensen) Feedback is greatly appreciated!

The first thing you noticed when you slowly began to stir back into reality was that you were no longer cold. The icy feeling that had crept into your bones while tucked away in the cellar was fading, being replaced with a foreign feeling of warmth.

The second thing you noticed was that you were no longer on the dirt floor of your ghostly prison. The feeling of being cradled in someone’s arms was an easy enough feeling to identify, but who’s arms you had no idea. Still too weak to pick your head up off their shoulder you instead listened to the creak of the old steps as your savior presumably carried you out of the root cellar. You could tell you had made it outside when the air had become significantly warmer, the sounds of crickets filling the silence you had known for what felt like weeks.

A groan fell past your lips when your savior adjusted you in their arms. You still felt like you had gone several rounds with a block of cement, and your bones felt like lead.

“Please don’t move. I tried healing what I could but you’re still injured.”

At the sound of the voice you felt your muscles instantly seize up. It had worked. You didn’t think too much of it when you originally did it but it had worked.

“Cas. Cas, put me down. Please.” Suddenly you were struggling against his hold even if your body still ached. Was this real? Had one of your closest friends just heard your cry for help and saved you? Cas was gentle as he knelt down to place you in the grass, your back coming to rest against the trunk of a tree.

You would be lying if you said your heart didn’t break a little bit when you finally looked up at him, because the angel looked down at you like you were a stranger.

“How do you know who I am? You prayed for me, but I don't know you.”

“I-“ you swallowed, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. “I didn’t think it would work. I didn’t mean to either.”

Cas tilted his head, the moonlight helping you to see the confusion on his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You didn’t mean to pray for my help?”

“No! My brain just kinda went into auto pilot when I was attacked. I used to do that sometimes way back then.” You explained, trying to push yourself up from the ground as you did. “I’m sorry for bothering you, but thank you for saving me-“ brushing the dirt off of yourself you moved in attempt to get past Cas. If you stayed around any longer you were gonna break down and that would definitely have him confused. “I should go.”

“Wait-“ he reached out, gently grabbing your shoulder in attempt to not frighten you too much. “What do you mean back then?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I—“ you stumbled on your words as panic quickly swept through you. It probably didn’t help that you were still exhausted and dehydrated because you quickly became lightheaded and before you could even attempt to try and fight it, your eyes rolled back into your head and you fell forewords, passing out in the angels arms.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

“Dammit Cas, pick up your damn phone.” Dean grumbled, bringing the phone down from his ear as he continued pacing the floor of the library.

“You really need to calm down. Dudes probably busy.”

Tossing the phone haphazardly onto the table Dean rolled his shoulders. “He took off three days ago, Sam. Said he would be in contact and he hasn’t.”

“You said he was doing heaven stuff, right?”

“That’s what he told me!” Throwing his arms into the air the older Winchester let out a huff. “But the guys kinda took off in a hurry. . . Which is all matter of annoying seeing as he said he was gonna help me figure all of this out.”

For the past several hours Dean had been itching with excitement to tell his friend what else he had figured out but the angel had been radio silent and it was starting to worry him.

He was finally getting somewhere. After weeks of tearing himself apart he was starting to piece together this messy puzzle he had had on his hands. There was someone missing from his life, someone he knew he loved dearly and they needed finding. They needed to be brought home, back to where they belonged. He had so many questions still unanswered.

If only it were that easy. He thought. If only they could just walk through that door and make everything a little easier.

Not even a full minute later the massive metal door to the bunker banged open, sending both brothers spinning in unison to look up. There was a flash of beige as whoever entered walked down the stairs and Dean let out a sigh of relief, walking towards the war room.

“Cas! Where the hell did you g—“

Sam was the first to voice the thoughts running through Deans head as his steps faltered. “Who the fuck is that?”

Sure enough, held tightly in Cas’s arms was a woman covered in dirt and blood, her y/h/c hair plastered across the side of her face. Her eyes closed, locking her in an unconscious state.

“I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” Dean echoed, suddenly following the angel down the corridor towards one of the empty rooms. “What the hell happened to her?”

“I’m not sure about that either.” Cas sighed, laying the woman down on the mattress of one of the vacant bedrooms.

“Oh well that’s just great. Sam, Cas is bringing strange girls home now.” Crossing his arms, Dean leaned against the door frame. “Can you at least tell us where you found her? Or why you brought her here?”

“Southern Spain I think- it took my a couple days to accurately locate her.” The brothers watched as Cas laid a palm over her forehead, a warm light emitting from his hands. “I’ve healed most of her injuries but she’s still weak.”

“Okay, wait a second, let’s back track here.” Dean stepped forward holding up a hand. “Locate her? Why?”

“She prayed for me. That’s why I left when I did.” The angel explained, stepping back from the bed.

“Oh, well that would have nice to know, buddy. Why the hell was she praying to you?”

“She was attacked. She needed help.”

At this point it was Sam who stepped into the room now, eyebrows slightly drawn together. “Wait Cas, you said it took you a few days to locate her? No offense but should that be kind of an instant thing?”

“It should be, yes.” He nodded, eyes going back to the unconscious person before the three of them. “But she-“

“She what?” Dean was growing impatient, this whole situation was wack.

“She has enochian carved into her ribs. . . Just like you and Sam. She also called me Cas.”

That got both of them to shut up, their eyes moving to the now occupied bed. Dean stepped forward, head tilting ever so slightly as he took her in.

Who are you?

“I’ll tell you what, we’ll keep an eye on her and when she wakes up then we can ask her what happened.” Dean nodded before slowly turning on his heel and walking out of the room. He had research to get back to, and a person to find.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

When you woke up again it happened slowly and on your own terms. You weren’t jostled awake by someone carrying you or a soreness deep in your bones. It felt like waking from a normal nap, nothing else.

Rolling over you pressed your face further into the pillow, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. Dream. Thats all that had been. The poltergeist. The cellar. Cas.

Just a dream. You were still in your bed in that small inn on the edge of that town in Spain that you didn’t care to remember the name of. You could get up and go down to the cafe for breakfast and forget all about that messed up dream—

“Sam, where the hell did you put that extra box of bandages?!”

It was like running into a wall a full force as true reality slammed into you and your eyes snapped open.The familiar voice being like an icy shock to your system. Not a dream. Not a dream.

No. Nonononononono-

Bolting up straight on the bed, your eyes moved back and forth across the room you were in as you took quick and rapid breaths.No. No. No. No.

There was no doubt about it. You were in the bunker. . . And in your room? Sure the pictures and belongings weren't there since you had taken them with you, but all the furniture was still in it’s proper place. Fortunately the room was unoccupied except for yourself, the voice having come from somewhere else in the bunker.

Dean.

Swallowing thickly you tried to ignore the dryness in your throat as you silently slid of the bed. For so long you imagined what it would be like to come back home, to walk these halls again. You never expected it to happen though. . .yet here you were, standing in your room and listening to the distant voices of the brothers and Cas talking.

So why were you filled with panic from head to toe? That was an easy answer: you had to get out of here as quick as possible before something happened. What if them seeing you broke the contract? What if being close to them terminated it and the demon put them six feet under again? You didn’t want to stick around to find out. You needed to keep them alive. You needed to keep them safe.

Luckily you knew the bunker like the back of your hand. All you had to do was navigate it properly without them seeing you and it was easy as cake.

You crossed the floor silently and with ease, only pausing to look at your reflection in the small mirror above the sink. It was clear to see that you hadn’t washed your hair in awhile and your cheeks were hollower, a couple of bruises peppering your skin here and there. How long has you been in that cellar? Two days? Maybe three? The only thing that was different was you were wearing a clean shirt, one that was at least two sizes too big. Deans probably. You silently thanked yourself for wearing a sports bra underneath it as you turned for the door.

The hallway was quiet when you stepped out into it, your bare feet not making a single sound on the cold linoleum tiles as you quickly dashed down the hallway, pausing every once and awhile to listen for footsteps or voices.

Six doorways to pass and three turns before you could even reach the war room and the door to the outside. Easy peasy. You were quicker and lighter on your feet than you used to be, a skill you had picked up over the past two years that made hunting so much easier.

“I found your damn bandages! They were in the medical kit like they should be!” Sam's voice echoed from up ahead. You sucked in a breath as you quickly stopped outside the doorway to the kitchen, pressing your back agasint the wall before peaking around the corner. Sam's back was fortunately facing the door allowing you to slip by with ease, the bunkers steps now in sight.

Unfortunately you weren’t quick enough to notice the second figure until he had you in a stiff headlock, holding you firmly to his chest.

“Yeah, where do you think you’re going?”

Dean.

Everything in you wanted to spin around and pull him into a hug, tell him you missed him. . . But you knew you would be met with a foreign gaze and that was too much to handle. You had to get away, the more distance between you and him, the better. You muttered an apology under your breath as you quickly stepped back, placing your foot behind Deans, turning and pulling him off balance as you moved out of his grip, the hunter slightly stunned as you threw him to the ground.

“What the-“

You got maybe two steps before he wrapped a hand around your ankle and forcefully tugging you to the floor before clambering back to his feet.

“Really, sweetheart-“ he huffed, slightly out of breath. “trying to run?“

You stopped his speech quickly as you twisted and swept your leg under him, his body hitting the floor again before you moved swiftly, locking his head between your knees.

“Just let me leave. I don’t like hurting you.”

“Ain’t gonna happen. We got questions.” He wheezed.

“Please, I’m begging you. Just let me leave.” Panting, you squeezed a little tighter. If you had to knock him out to leave, so be it.

There were a few seconds of just Dean continuing to struggling in your hold and then he was wheezing out a stiff “fine” and you let go, popping to your feet. He rolled over onto his side once free, coughing violently as he breathed air back into his lungs.

“I’m really sorry.” Giving him one last look you headed for the stairs. Leaving home again. How poetic.

“I am too.” There was scuffle of some sort behind you and before you could react you felt something cold click around your wrist, making you twist on the spot to see Dean clicking the other cuff onto his own arm.

“Let. Me. Go.” You tugged on the chain.

“Like I said before; No.”

You tugged on the cuff again. Hard. “Please, let me go! I just want to leave!” Your fear slowly beginning to rise as you saw the situation you were in. You had to get out of here. If anything happened to him and Sam again you were entirely to blame. Demon deals were strict and you had already been here too long.

“Tell me who you are and maybe I’ll uncuff you.”

You swung at him, but he ducked, swung his own arm around you and just like before you found yourself in another headlock. Struggling against his grip your eyes focused on the door.

Out. You needed to get out.

“Keep on struggling. You’re still weak from whatever the hell happened to you. You’re gonna burn out soon enough.” He sighed, already beginning to feel you give out.

“Please-“ you breathed, feeling the first wave of tears gather in your eyes as Dean slowly sunk to the floor, still holding you firmly in his grasp. Your head fell back against his shoulder, to tired to actually fight. “I need to go. I can’t be here.” You cried. The mixture of being in Deans arms and needing to leave them was turning you into a mess of sobs as you continued to weaken, bare feet sliding on the floor as you tried to keep fighting. “I can’t be here. I won’t let you get hurt again because of me.”

You felt his hold on you loosen at those words, the hunter sucking in a deep breath as he let you go. “What?”

Unfortunately Dean never got an answer because you passed out once more, slumping into his body, too weak to keep fighting against him.

So maybe he didn't have to keep looking for his missing person after all. She was right there in his arms.

SPN Taglist:

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @idksupernatural @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester series #dean winchester angst #spn x reader #SPN #bi-danvers writing

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kathrynalicemc · 3 years

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Valhalla || Short Story

With her head resting on her arms placed on the windowsill, ten year old Dafne watched with wonder as the raging storm outside threw snow this way and that. It danced and swirled in the air before hitting the glass in front of her face. Ordinarily, she loved watching the snow but tonight was different. Her parents were out there.

Somewhere out on the ocean they were sailing their ship on a supply run and Dafne was worried. She had heard her grandparents murmur at dinner and knew Dayamanti shared their concerns. Their youngest sister Dielle, however, was only five and played with her dolls in blissful ignorance. Dafne knew it was serious so she had resigned herself to keeping watch out in the snow. She knew that any second she would see the forms of her parents emerge from within the storm. She waited, and waited. For a second she could have sworn she saw something in the dark, and she pressed her nose up against the biting cold glass to get a better look, but just as fast as it appeared, it was gone. So she kept waiting.

“Grandpa will you tell us a story?” The voice of her oldest sister Dayamanti pierced the silence and brought Dafne out of her trance.

“Yea! Story! I want a story!” Agreed Dielle, crying out with excitement.

Their grandpa Alatar chucked deeply as he smiled down upon the kids curled up on the floor in front of the fire. “Alright. Dafne come join us by the fire, dear. It must be freezing over by the window.”

Dafne didn’t mind the cold, though she crossed the room anyway, bare feet cold on the wood floor until they met the soft animal skin rug, and joined her sisters in a pile of blankets and hides, pulling them tight around her.

Their grandmother, Else, came over too and took a seat on the armrest of her husband's chair as he looped his arm around her back and pulled her close.

“Hmmm. Where to begin?” He rambled and stared off into the distance in deep thought, like he always does before telling one of his stories. “Ah yes I know.” He cleared his voice and then began.

“Long ago, there was a fierce Viking wizard. Not only was she a warrior, but she was also a scholar. She created new spells by experimenting with magic. However, she craved more than what traditional wizardry offered so she began a ritual to imbue herself and her bloodline with additional magic that didn’t require a wand. It was dark magic and, being something she had invented herself, quite dangerous. Finally, it was completed, however nothing had changed.

Eventually, she married and had triplet sons. Yet, they too were just regular wizards. Time passed and they too married and had children. However, a strange thing occurred when they had daughters. Each one born to one of these sons had some form of white in their hair. This intrigued the woman. Did her spell work after all? Soon after, the first daughter reached ten years of age and started displaying odd and powerful magic.”

Dafnes eyes shifted over to her sister Dayamanti, who was staring curiously at her. With a shock she realized she was ten years old, just like the story. But she hadn’t done anything that wasn’t normal for a young wizard. Had Dayamanti? She was thirteen. Surely this was all just a story right? Her sister would have told her if she had, wouldn’t she? With a look down, she noticed Dielle was entranced with a big smile on her face, clearly believing in the story with excitement. She turned her eyes back to her grandpa, pulling the blankets up higher and forced herself to put her attention back on the story.

“Yes, she had done it. The woman died satisfied that her bloodline would continue on with powerful gifts. The sons then split off and each one became a different family bloodline. One of these sons became an Arcano.

Centuries passed and a grand wizard city called Valhalla was founded deep under a mountain. This city was a sprawling cavern filled with shops and was bustling with all manner of trade. It even was home to a large scholastic repository full of ancient knowledge and wise powerful wizards.”

“Did they sell any candy?” Dielle exclaimed suddenly.

“Well yes, I assume they must have” replied Alatar assuringly with a smile. “No proper city wouldn’t sell candy.”

“That’s good. I like this city” Dielle murmured with a yawn as she rubbed her eyes.

“Where was I? Oh yes.” He continued with the story.

“There was also a special city guard called the Valkyries who were stationed outside the mountain at the main gates who would inspect and judge incoming travelers for their worthiness to enter the city. The most interesting thing was that only women with the gift born to these three bloodlines could join the Valkyrie Guard. They were deemed the best to protect the city because they were powerful and respected families.

The peace was broken suddenly as a disgruntled man from one of the bloodlines was angry that none of the males could inherit the gift. He had gotten all the research and books he could on the ritual and attempted it himself but it wasn’t enough knowledge because the spell went horribly wrong and exploded in a big radius of energy. Everyone within the city was killed. However, the blast didn’t quite reach the outer gates so only the Valkyrie Guard was spared. They sealed up the city and left, going their separate ways. The city slept, locked away for centuries. But there are rumors spread across time that one day the Valkyries will return to reclaim the city and all the knowledge lost in time.”

Alatar finished the story, wistfully staring into the flames dancing among the coals, now almost burned out. A long silence stretched on for what seemed an eternity before Dayamanti suddenly stood up.

“I’m going to bed now I think. Goodnight Grandma. Goodnight Grandpa.” She kissed both on the cheek, lingering by Alatar. “Thank you for the story.”

He gave a wink as she turned and disappeared into the bedroom.

“I think it’s someone else’s bedtime too.” Chuckled Else as she scooped a now asleep Dielle from the nest of blankets on the floor and cradled her in her arms. “You too Dafne.”

“Can I please stay up longer?” She pleaded, suddenly remembering her parents were still out in the storm. “I want to wait up for mom and dad. Please.”

“I’m sorry but they probably won’t be back for days now with this storm. Come on, to bed with you.”

Reluctantly, Dafne crawled out from the blankets and stood up. “Goodnight grandpa.” She whispered as she gave him a kiss. Hesitating, she added “It was only a story, right grandpa?”

He gave her a wistful stare, his eyes sparkling as the smoke from his pipe drifted lazily into the air. “I guess that is up to you to decide.” Alatar replied softly.

With that, she followed Else into the bedroom and climbed into bed, snuggling deep into the blankets to keep away the chill. “Goodnight grandma.”

“Goodnight, my dear Dafne.” She whispered as she kissed her forehead, moving a stray piece of white hair off her face before blowing out the candle and closing the door.

Dafne shifted in her bed to stare out the window, snow still pounding fiercely against the glass, now frosted with growing ice. Her mind raced with the story still fresh in her head. Sleep began to overtake her but she forced herself awake.

I will lay here and wait for mom and dad to come home, she decided, straining her ears for the sound of the door creaking open. All she would hear that night before sleep finally takes her would be the gentle breathing of her sisters beside her. Her parents would never come home from out of the storm.

Ive always wanted to write this story about Alatar passing his knowledge down the family and also it makes a really good lore drop! Sorry not sorry for the angst 😌 Anyway I never write so I know it’s not very good but I tried. I may do another when Dafne gets her powers and looses her eye later on

#hpma #magic awakened #hphm #hogwarts mystery #hpma mc #dayamanti arcano #dafne arcano #dielle arcano #arcano family #arcano sisters

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linssikeittomies · 3 years

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The Place Between Here And There - Chapter 10: ...And Happiness In Private Life(cont'd)

Masterpost AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 9(cont'd)

I've finally updated the status of the fic to ABANDONED, I was going to do that way earlier but I didn't want to admit defeat, and then I just kind of forgot... Time really starts flying by as you get older, it totally doesn't feel like 2 years passed by^^' I'm still writing scenes for later on in the fic, and I've had the general outline of the story planned for a long time, but I haven't been able to write complete chapters for any of my projects for over a year now, it's very annoying. Anyway, this is the rest of chapter 9, not my best work but at least I like the part with Toris. He's noticed Ivan's small efforts of being nicer and wants to encourage them. Thanks for everyone who read this story and sorry for not being able to bring it to conclusion for all of you who were invested!

Ivan sent Fredya home until Wednesday – claiming it was so he could concentrate on work, but he was sure Fredya could tell he was just fretting about the upcoming meeting. Ivan was terrified Katyushka would get carried away, and that was closer to certainty rather than possibility, and then Fredya would walk out of his life. He had known from the start that the time would come sooner or later, but he had much hoped it would fall on the later end of the spectrum. This was a wholly different case from that of his first girlfriend - the one he had been with all of three days before Katyusha started talking about weddings. She had left him the next day, not surprisingly, and he hadn’t really cared one way or the other - she had been far too practical to occupy his thoughts when she wasn’t in sight. But if Fredya left as suddenly, and he was certainly impulsive enough to do so on the spot, then... Obviously it still wouldn’t be the end of the world,of course it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, losing a home for example would be far worse than losing a companion, it really wasn’t that big of an issue when you thought about it – there was no reason to lose what little will to live Ivan had left over something that insignificant. No reason.

So Ivan would not worry about it – he slammed the door on the thought, and worked hard to put all his concentration on his notes. He had not yet studied Rogers enough, his files on the computer had sat abandoned for too long. Opening his folder, going over the routes again, verifying time codes, Ivan fell to a comfortable, familiar routine, cup of tea beside him growing cold. Rogers didn’t have much of a routine, which made observing him a challenge and data collecting a thrill. At least this was an activity that Ivan could still lose himself in despite whatever non-turmoil was boiling in his gut. Comparing coordinates, discovering overlaps, identifying patterns, data was something Ivan was good at. Data had no emotions, so it was easy to handle. Data didn’t mind his extracurriculars, didn’t judge him for his jealousy, didn’t snoop into his past. Though it also didn’t text him at 3 am to tell him about a silly dream it had. Even less it cared about whether he was coming home for the night or not. It not wanting to watch brainless, cliched superhero should have been a positive, but in the dark, the brain gets sentimental. Ivan suddenly wished he had a file on Fredya. Ivan certainly had enough data on him, though so far it was all in his brain and a few lines in his notebooks. One photo on his phone, a selfie Fredya had sent some weeks ago. It was taken with one of those filter things, Ivan wasn’t familiar with the apps so he couldn’t tell if it was instagram or snappychat or whatever others there were. Fredya had cartoon glasses on his nose, on top of his real-life glasses. He was doing a victory sign, and there was a badly drawn pink heart floating in the lower left corner, not anchored into anything. The composition of the photo was bad. A large dead space occupied the top left, a pile of dirty clothes was poking into the frame from the bottom right. The lighting was scarcely better, the only diffuser was the dust inside the light fixture. Fredya’s artistic ability was nil, though he did make for an attractive subject, harsh shadows and all. It would be nice to have proper photo of him, before he got out of reach. With a reference to guide him, it might be possible. Ivan quickly scanned his bedroom for inspiration.

Perhaps it was too much effort for 2 a.m., but Ivan rather liked the end result. The handful of stars drawn on the wall to form a suggestion of a halo – however wrong it looked on Ivan – and hands posed to form a heart on the chest, and some minor lighting adjustments on photoshop, he thought it near perfectly captured how Ivan saw Fredya. Bright, innocent, center of the universe, unashamed of his affections. Fredya wouldn’t put as much effort in to it, even if he did take his own version of the photo as Ivan had requested, but that was also good. It wasn’t in Fredya’s nature to try too hard at something he didn’t feel like understanding - such as art other than of the moving pictures variety. Together, the photos formed a piece – the fantasy and the reality. It was a commentary on expectations. Fredya may or may not look at the photo when he inevitably got up to go the bathroom sometime soon, but he wouldn’t take his own until afternoon if ever, so Ivan finally went to bed. He only had a few hours before his shift started.

-_-_-_-_-

Fredya had sent an emoji Ivan didn’t understand the meaning as response to the photo, followed by hearts and something that seemed to be an abbreviation, Ivan didn’t research the meaning. It likely wasn’t important. Ivan got coffees for everyone again, and Amanda gave him a incredulous look. It was getting suspicious, Ivan acting nice. He should dial down on the social interactions for the next few days. It would be good practice for when Fredya left him, anyway. “Oh, thank you for going through the trouble”, Toris commented smiling. Ivan studied the smile, trying to map out proportions and gauge timings, but again he failed to replicate the gesture. It kept coming out as sarcastic. He would prefer if both would just shut up and their coffees without scrutinizing his intentions. Let a man act civil to fellow humans beings in peace. “If everyone is done sitting around, we need someone to go interview Fowler’s parishioners.” Predictably, Amanda volunteered for the task. That left Ivan and Toris at the office, reading through statements, comparing alibis and viewing security footage, the same draining and pointless sinkhole of never-ending choppy black-and-white footage that glared a print of the screen in your soul, so that in the end when you lost everything else to dementia and cataracts, you would still see that stinging bright rectangle staring you in the eye, smirking gleefully, taking pleasure in removing everything one used to take joy in, and replacing itself in place of loved ones. That metaphor ran a little wild at the end, there. In all fairness, it could be intriguing work when results could reasonably be expected, but everyone and their mother knew the only thing learned from these particular ones would be just how much time were wasting on them. Even Toris, being his professional self, couldn’t resist glancing at the clock every few minutes. He would of course try to make it inconspicuous, just letting his eyes dart to his wrist and back again, but it was noticeable enough when one was more concentrated on the coworker than the work. It came to Ivan’s mind that perhaps this was another aspect of Toris he should try to simulate, rather than keep studying, his work ethic was excellent. Surely that was something most people would approve of. And Fredya did often complain Ivan was rather lackadaisical about his work, he would appreciate the effort. “How do stay so focused?” he asked sincerely. It was admirable, really, how Toris could throw himself at something so tedious. Toris blinked at him in confusion, probably surprised to see his colleague who was supposed to working beside him blatantly ignoring said work. “I’ve practiced it for years, there’s really no easy trick for it.” “Ah. Shame.” “I find that meditating regularly helps. And a good diet.” Well, that was already two things Ivan would not be trying out. “I could send you some articles if you’d like.” “You should spend your free time on yourself. You work too much.” Ivan went idly back to his files, not really feeling like working, but deciding to at least give it a shot, but feeling Toris’ curious eyes still fixed on him was too much of a distraction. After several seconds of silence he couldn’t take it anymore. “Yes?” “Thank you. That was considerate of you.” Ivan didn’t know how to answer that. It had been such a banal thing to say. Not warranting any response, really. Just a stock phrase, however true of some people and situations - such as this particular specimen. Toris must have heard the exact same statement hundreds of times in his life, knowing that he had an actual social circle who cared for him. Ivan was outside that circle, and people rarely care for the things outsiders say in matters like these - surely Toris should feel nothing particular about anything Ivan said. There was no need for him to smile like that, it was just embarrassing for a grown man to get so giddy about faint praise. Ivan scoffed and went back to his work.

-_-_-_-_-

U maek a habot of drawning on walls huh Outside of his brief childhood, Ivan had only ever drawn on walls three times - once in a drunk, misguided bout of creative frenzy, once to write his number on an intriguing man’s wall to annoy him, and once in an attempt to save a relic of happier times for the future. Mostly when you are involved, it seems. Perhaps you are my muse for wall-related artistry It had been a while since Ivan had drawn a portrait, but now might be the time to dust off that skill set. Ivan considered himself more of a photographer, but there was also something appealing about creating from scratch. Although... he would need to keep the portrait hidden, it would raise questions and pity later on. Ivan wished he was better at abstraction, that way it wouldn’t look like Fredya to anyone else, but his mind seemed to be too observational for it. It could only make sense of things that connected together in realistic ways, it couldn’t create anything out of feelings alone. Perhaps he simply didn’t have enough of them for that kind of art. The dinner with Fredya and his sisters was a few hours away, but Ivan was already nervously ironing his clothes. He once again pleaded Katyusha to control her romantic impulses, and of course she promised, but Ivan knew that meant little. She had very bad self-control. Tasha’s picking me up, we’ll meet you there Natasha was coming? Nataliya was coming?! Fuck - what was she - this was bad news - why hadn’t she said - oh god, forget about Katyusha ruining everything if Nataliya Grigorova was coming! She never mentioned wanting to come along That sneaky little girl, she told me you said it was okay, haha He would not survive this night sober. He wanted to make a good impression. He did not want to be drunk when the only three people who mattered to him were all in the same room. He wanted to be fully conscious, to enjoy an outing with his family while being fully genuine, not just sedated into calmness. But lord knew he would not survive the night sober.

-_-_-_-_-

Remembering the fit Fredya had thrown the last time Ivan had driven not-strictly-drunk-but-also-not-sober, he was glad that they had arranged beforehand for Fredya to pick him up. Because he was observant in the most inconvenient ways, Ivan had been sure Fredya would notice something was off, maybe a smell or the slow movements to counteract the unsteady hand-to-eye-coordination, but fortunately he was too stoked about meeting Ivan’s sisters again, officially, to notice Ivan’s oddly calm demeanor. He babbled excitedly the whole way there, and was halfway across the street before Ivan had even fully exited the car. “Come on you snail! They’re gonna think we ditched them!” “It’s only a few minutes away, you can afford to slow down”, Ivan chuckled. Fredya was so adorably excited, he resembled a puppy on a walk. “Being overeager is as bad as being late.” “Beg to disagree! Pick up the pace slowpoke!” Fredya sped up ahead, Ivan kept his leisurely pace. He missed the re-introductions, but it seemed like he hadn’t been needed for those at all - Fredya and Katyushka already looked like old friends, while Tasha regarded him with a haughty look, but nary a nasty word. She raised an eyebrow at Ivan, as if saying really, you chose this clown over me?, and he simply smiled pleasantly at her. As they waited for their food to arrive, Fredya and Katyushka were unsurprisingly the only ones to hold up conversation. They had found a common ground in Star Trek - in that Katyusha had heard a lot about it, but had never watched an episode and was interested, and Fredya was an expert in all the series and films and liked talking about them. They went through the pacifistic ideas on the original series and how it sometimes contradicted itself on it, analyzing the casting choices for the remakes, some more things that Ivan had no interest in. When their plates were brought, the were in the midst of trying to speak klingon - the attempts of both of them were saddeningly hilarious. Or perhaps they were both surprisingly accurate. Ivan had no way of knowing, the franchise being something he had never taken an interest in. Of course he liked space, but he was more fact-oriented than a fan of fanciful fiction. “You seem so young, it’s almost like you’re still in college”, Katyusha giggled, and Ivan could not agree more. The youthful energy Fredya exuded was refreshing, at least most of the time. “Never went to college, I went straight to work from high school”, Fredya explained, crumbs flying. That was the one habit that Ivan never found charming in Fredya, it was just plain disgusting. Tasha made a small chortle of contempt that passed Fredya by. “Our brother is a very intelligent man”, Tasha commented sharply, and Ivan knew exactly what she was going for – he had come to the same conclusion, himself. And truthfully, neither of them had been wrong - Fredya really was stupid. “Oh, tell me about it”, the insulted man chuckled, not understanding what was being implied. Ivan would have liked being able to defend Fredya, but the thing was that Fredya was not intelligent – intellectually or socially, and attempting to claim otherwise would have been pointless. He might have been considered smart in some useless areas, such as entertainment trivia, but faint praise is just as damning as admitting faults. Trivia! There was the opening Fredya needed to impress Tasha! “He has a master’s degree in movie trivia and celebrity gossip, if nothing else. Just give an actor’s name and he will tell you every movie they have ever been in.” “And not just that! I can also tell which year each movie came out!” Fredya exclaimed proudly. Ivan started with an easy one - Tom Cruise. Tasha did look reluctantly impressed as the titles and dates kept on coming, but refused to admit defeat. She tried her favorite actor, someone much more obscure. “Ken Foree?” “Hmm… The midnight man, 2017… Rift, dark side of the moon 2016, Cut slash pri- no wait, I think he was in Divine tragedies, 2015, Cut slash print 2012 –“ However, since

Tasha’s obsession with her brother refused to give way to respect for her perceived enemy, she realized that to claim victory she could simply ask about any non-American film star. “Anastasia Zavorotnyuk.” “Anastasia who?” Of course he pronounced the name the American way, but Ivan was still mildly impressed he could tell Анастасия and Anastasia were the same name. “Zavorotnyuk.” Tasha allowed herself a malevolent smirk as Fredya racked his brain for the name in vain. “A true expert wouldn’t limit himself only to Hollywood”, Tasha hmphed in triumphant malice, believing to have proved her superiority over him once and for all, despite not showing an ability to counter his. It seemed the point had only been to prove Fredya was not omniscient. In Ivan’s eyes, it was enough to be merely well-versed. “He does hate subtitles to the point where I thought he might be illiterate”, Ivan joked. “Hey, at least I speak the language of the country I live in!” “Verily, my darling, thou speakest with the most biting of tongues. Shakespeare himself would envy your prowess.” “The guy lived like hundreds of years ago, who gives a shit? Ivan Drago was famous in the 80’s.” “Ivan can sound almost native when he tries”, Katyusha said, trying to diffuse the argument, not knowing the workings of their relationship well enough to tell it was all said in jest. “I haven’t tried in years, I doubt I could anymore”, Ivan thought. He had tried training his accent away in high school, so he would sound less foreign in job interviews. Having a foreign name was bad enough in an application. He had never achieved a smooth, natural accent, he had to concentrate very hard which caused the words to come out very slowly and robotically, and still there was always a hint of foreign phonemes. Combined with his attempts to deepen his voice – an incredibly embarrassing failure on its own – had made him cringe, even back then. Tasha had encouraged him, of course, because in her mind anything and everything her dear brother did was the right decision. Excluding taking romantic interest in someone other than her, of course.

The rest of the evening went by in much the same fashion. Fredya and Katyusha got along swimmingly, Tasha made snide remarks about Fredya, Ivan defended him in mean ways, Fredya played along. It was all very pleasant. Finally the staff started dropping hints that it was time to vacate the table, so they got up and parted ways. Katyusya was enchanted enough to not wait long enough to be out of earshot before starting to gush about her baby brother’s relationship, which made for a perfect opening for eavesdropping. “Don’t you think Vanechka looks so much happier than usual?” Katyusya said, nearly clapping her hands in excitement. “Idiocy might be contagious”, Tashenka grumbled in response. “I never imagined he’d go for that type, but I guess it goes to show opposites really do attract!” Katyushka squeed. “It’s only for the moment. That American moron will start getting on Vanya’s nerves soon”, Tashenka claimed, not sounding too confident herself. Ivan had expected that to happen as well, in the beginning. “I hope he won’t, I think Alfred is good for Vanechka. He’s come out of his shell.” What did she mean by that? As far as Ivan was aware, he had never been shy around his sisters. Or other people, for that matter. “What’re you frowning about?” Fredya asked. “I’m eavesdropping. Katyusha likes you, and Natasha doesn’t despise you.” “Well that’s good news isn’t it?” Fredya smiled, and tried to hear the women. “Man, you got great hearing. I can’t hear them at all.” Yes, it did take some practice to achieve Ivan’s level of spying on other people’s conversations. And by then they had gotten far enough that Ivan couldn’t hear then anymore either, actually. “Your eardrums must be damaged from the all screeching you do.” “You’re walking home, asshole.”

Tasha + Katyushka = affectionate nicknames for Nataliya and Yekaterina. Tashenka + Katyusya = one level more intimate. Ivan is being drunk and sentimental so at the end of the evening, the way he feels about his sisters is something like most people do when seeing tiny kittens. Thanks again for reading! Maybe in like 10 years so I'll add a final "chapter" describing the rest of the plot, but I know myself and won't make any promises. I have some more snippets on the masterpost if anyone wants to frustrate themselves with a story that will never be finished.

#hereandthere #fan fiction #hetalia #RusAme #AmeRus #russiaxamerica #linssifanfiction #WIPtale

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trekkie-in-space · 3 years

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KakagaiWeek2020 - Day 4 - Lost & Found P1

Author : JackB

Title : How beast are born.

Rating : General Audience.

Words : 1752

Resume : During a mission Gai is acting off, his behavior is nothing like Kakashi ever seen. It’s distressing. How can he bring Gai’s back ?

Tag : drdp, derealisation, depersonalization, dissociation, Kakashi’s trauma come to say hello, but this IS a Gai-centric fic, pre-slash but still very Kakagai, anbu kakashi era, the characters have no idea what’s going on, It’s not like Konoha have much if any psychological health/trauma center.

Note : This is based on accurate but specific drdp experience, it can’t reflect all drdp experience, if anybody want more detail on what’s actually going on with Gai you can ask me ^^

THIS IS PART ONE, PART TWO IS HERE

- Lost -

Kakashi had heard about it. A few years back, Gai’s team was celebrating their overly successful last mission. Apparently they had done exploit there, to the point Gai had been given a nickname by the shinobi they had fought, ‘The Beast’. It’s not so often one gets a nickname on the field, curiosity had led the discussion at the table, between food and drinks, all wondered what had happened to lead to such a nickname. They kept coming up with theories, all crazier or more ridiculous than the last, and Kakashi might have been the only one noticing Ebisu taking his distance to the current conversation.

“Well, he didn’t steal the nickname.” He had mumbled in his glass, nobody had heard but him and Genma, at his side, who approved the affirmation with a nod. There was a certain gravity in their expressions. This was more serious than it looked like.

Gai had embraced the nickname, made it his and Kakashi never pushed to know the reason it had been given in the first place, assuming without truly knowing. Gai was competent and a specialist, this simple combination was the most likely to result in a nickname if you found yourself at the right place at the right time. But he could see now, what was behind this nickname, what birthed it.

He wishes he hadn’t found out.

This obstinacy is not like he has ever seen in Gai before, it’s more than completing the mission, this is a hunt. An instinct who has reached its peak and isn’t going down soon. Inexhaustible, relentless and terrifying.

He and Genma can barely keep up the pace with him, if even at all. All they can do is follow the scream or the smell of freshly spilled blood. Gai is pushy on their enemy, never leaving an opening unanswered. There’s no frivolous act, each hit is precise and every movement is efficient.

His enemies are no more than dummies to him. It’s a flawless fight and Kakashi find it distressing. Gai has always been efficient and competent during battles, but never to this extreme. There is a tension in his guts, telling him to never find himself at the end of Gai’s fist when he is in this state. It rare someone can urge such a sensation in him by now, even more when this someone is on his side.

“Gai ! Wait for us.” He screams but Gai doesn’t seem to hear him, if he did, he certainly didn’t pay attention to him, disappearing behind trees like he is part of the forest.

Genma give him a sign to stop and they both land on a tree branch. He is shaking his head.

“Don’t.”

“What’s up with him ?” He asks.

“Oh.. uh. He gets like that. Sometime.” Genma pass his hand on the back of his neck and give Kakashi a crisped smile.

“It happens often ?”

“No. Don’t worry, it’s fine just.. Don’t get in his way.” Kakashi is not sure what it’s supposed to mean.

“He could get seriously hurt if he continues like that.”

“He won’t.”

“How can you be so sure ?”

“Because when he is like that, he doesn’t really get hurt, nobody really has the time to.” Kakashi frown. “I mean.. You saw it.”

Genma is not wrong, Gai is way too fast, but there’s always a risk.

“We should join him, we are close from our goal and he must be waiting for us.”

“I doubt he would have awaited.”

“He did.” Genma is about to start jumping from their tree again but he stops, adding. “Don’t be surprised if he is not.. As talkative as usual. He listens, even if it looks like he doesn’t.”

Kakashi feels like Genma is talking about someone else, this doesn’t sound like Gai at all. It takes them a few minutes, where they pass beside some unconscious or maybe even dead enemies, to reach Gai. They land at his side, Gai doesn’t acknowledge them though, looking over the Iwa research center they have to securize. This center was supposed to be low danger, with a near dormant activity due to a low staffed crew. Their mission was to make prisoners and secure the site until the recovery team comes to retrieve the research that were made here. But their information had been wrong, apparently Iwa had decided to revive this center and give it a strong protection. Their little team had been completely outnumbered.

Which, thanks to Gai, hadn’t been too much of a problem. They were still used from the previous combat though, and the lack of proper information made it far more dangerous. What could await them in that research center could be more than what the three of us could take.

“Gai, this was irresponsible, you could have been hurt or put the whole mission in danger.” Kakashi scold but doesn’t get a single reaction. Not a word, not even a movement. More than his worry for the safety of the mission, Kakashi start to really worry about Gai. He reaches for him, hoping for a reaction. “‘You oka.. ”

“No touching !” Genma snap at him, but it’s too late.

His hand rest gently on Gai’s shoulder and the glare he throws at him in answer terrify Kakashi. It’s mean, violent but in a cold way. Kakashi feel like a prey to be crushed and he can’t help but to stare back, keeping still and quiet as if Gai is going to unleash on him in a second if he makes a wrong move. He was never afraid of Gai, and despite how strong Gai is, Kakashi still think in a serious fight he could take him and win. But right now he isn’t so sure. If anything he feels like a pup being put back in its place and he didn’t think, Gai could ever have such an aura. This is not Gai. Yet it is.

Gai frown at him, gauges him and Kakashi start to wonder if he even recognize him.

A clap of the hand from Genma make Gai’s focus redirect elsewhere. The tension relax and Kakashi gently remove his hand from his shoulder.

“What are you doing, don’t touch him, don’t stare at him.”

“What’s wrong with him ?” Genma move at his side so they can avoid talking between Gai and shrug.

“It’s like, some sort of hyperfocus.. I guess. But hm, a part of him just shut down completely to leave this.” He waves at Gai. “He disconnect from things, I’m not sure. All I know is that like that, there’s no stopping him, he probably won’t leave anybody for us to fight. We just have to follow and make sure we complete the mission.”

“Can he attack us ?”

“Never did, but don’t be in his range because he is most likely not going to avoid you.”

Gai is looking at them now, Genma catch a glimpse of him and immediately looks down and make sure to avoid staring. Kakashi, on the other hand, stare back.

His eyes are not as mean as before, but still hold this coldness, a distance far away from the warms Gai give away. There’s an energy to him, a frenzy that only ask to be let loose. But as he holds his glare, he catches a glimpse of vulnerability, confusion and distress. Kakashi jump at his other side and Gai follow him. To Kakashi, it feels like an animal. They keep staring at each other and Genma stare at them incredulously.

For a second, Kakashi think Gai is reaching out to him or at least tries to. He is not sure what to make of it. Genma seem confident in his teammate but he isn’t. He should probably call off the mission, but how is he going to justify it ?

“So the plan hasn’t changed ?” Genma asks.

“No, we enter, secure the site, we avoid killing the researcher as we are taking prisoners. Then we protect the area waiting for the recovery team. But to be honest I think we should call off the mission.”

“If it’s because of Gai, don’t, he won’t mess up.”

“He is clearly not fine, it’s too dangerous.. ”

“It’s fine.” Gai comment catch their attention immediately. “We can continue the mission.” His tone is a bit distant, disconnected.

“You’re sure ?”

Gai nod. They stare at each other, Kakashi doing his best to gauge Gai, why he can’t quite find the Gai he knows is a mystery. It’s him and at the same time it’s not. Kakashi hates it. Though, he seems fine enough to continue the mission. At least Kakashi hope.

A sound in a bush catch their attention, and Gai’s focus return to the same efficient disconnected coldness.

Like that, he would fit Anbu perfectly.

He gives the sign to pursue the mission and in an instant Gai is at the front door of the research center, they don’t get a welcome party immediately, but as Gai force the door, enemies attack. Kakashi rushes on one of them but he doesn’t have the time to use his Chidori that Gai already sent the ninja away with a kick. It’s fast, it’s ferocious and they can hear bones broke at the impact on the stones of the research center.

Kakashi’s instinct awake and an intense fear takes his guts. Gai jumped extremely close to his Chidori, to the point he felt his electricity touch. If Gai hadn’t been moving so fast, he would have taken it.

The idea of hurting yet another friend with his jutsu paralyze him for an instant. Images of Rin flash through his mind, his hands feels like they are covered in blood again.

Not now.

It could happen all over again, and it terrifies him on the spot. It’s dangerous, they’re in the middle of a fight, but Gai and Genma are managing without him for the moment. He needs to snap out of it.

All he knows is that he won’t be using his Chidori again today.

The battle is quickly over. Kakashi and Genma were here more for support than anything else. Gai could have taken them all without much trouble. He feels like a beast, brutal and ruthless.

Konoha’s Green Beast Kakashi remember. Beast. He gets it now, why it was given to Gai. He wishes he hadn’t found out. He doesn’t have time to settle his uneasiness, they have a mission to complete.

Part Two - Found

#KAKAGAI WEEK #KKGWEEK #KAKAGAI #MAITO GAI #GAI #KAKASHI #KAKASHI HATAKE #KAKAGAI WEEK 2020

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akirakurusuimagines · 4 years

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Magic in the Air

@p5auweek day three: Fantasy AU // Thank you so much to @askkrisachan for the wonderful idea!! I hope that I did it justice!!!

“How dare you.”

Akira looked up from his latest book, slightly surprised to see you barge into his quaint shop in one of the city’s many dark alleyways, fuming so much he almost thought you would burst into flames. He pushed up his glasses, the large rims hiding his eyes. “Excuse me?”

He watched as you stormed up to him, slamming your hands down on the counter top scattered with trinkets and used mugs he was resting his feet on. Akira just barely caught his fresh cup of coffee before it spilled, making sure it settled down before it ruined any important documents he had scattered around.

“A couple days ago, you sold some students a set of faulty potions!” You leaned in towards the dark mage, though his face was slightly hidden from his large hat, you held the sneer on your face while your relentless rage boiled over. “They had to be admitted to the medical ward because of it!”

Akira’s eyebrows furrowed at the news, his lips pursed in a thin line as he attempted to recall such students. Ah, that’s right. He recognized that uniform of yours. It was one of several schools of magic that occupied the town. He couldn’t say he was surprised by that outcome, but the potions weren’t the ones to blame. “None of my wares are faulty,” Akira explained with a cool tone, “your friends must’ve mishandled it. Therefore I have nothing to do with it.”

You weren’t going to just accept that, of course. They were your friends, after all, and you wanted answers and compensation. “You can’t guarantee that!” you argued, “They told me you sold them a love potion⁠—”

“I don’t make love potions,” Akira corrected you, taking a sip of his coffee. This was tiring him already; he only wished to continue reading the text he bought. “They came to me in search of a way to cheat on their exam. I told them the consequences of doing so, and clearly they didn’t listen.”

“What?”

Akira sighed and pulled his hat off, tossing it aside, yet somehow landing it perfectly on the hook that hung from the wall. Simple magic. He pulled his legs off of the table and adjusted himself so his elbows rested on the counter and his chin rested on his knuckles. “It’s admirable that you trust your friends so much, but you should still do some of your own research before you come barging into someone’s shop, accusing them of something they didn’t do. Luckily, I didn’t have any customers. Otherwise, things wouldn’t have been pretty. Do you understand?”

You gawked at the mage, baffled at his bold words, staring at him for several silent moments. You hadn’t noticed before, but he was just around your age⁠— there was no doubt about it⁠— and yet he’s already become a clearly powerful mage with his own shop in a very prominent city, despite the stigma against those of his dominion. Not to mention he was attractive, but you’d never let yourself be caught saying that to him. Clearing your throat, you attempted to regain your bearings. “It was your fault for selling them something that you knew would backfire on them! They deserve a refund!”

He had the audacity to chuckle at your desperate attempt to not look like a complete fool. He gestured to the small sign next to himself, detailing the conditions about purchasing from his shop. “No refunds, especially because you aren’t them. You have no proof that they sent you here to collect a refund, and if you somehow did get legal documentation, I still wouldn’t provide you with a refund on the count that they did misuse my magic. I had warned them explicitly before they purchased it, so they have no one but themselves to blame.”

“Even so⁠—!”

“Please leave, my answer will not change, and I’d like to get back to reading,” he held his gentle tone, but the glare from behind his glasses sent a shiver down your spine. He didn’t want to use magic or brute force against you to make you leave, but he will if he deems it necessary.

“Oh no, we’re not done here!” you argued, still upset that he took advantage of your friends in such a manner. You didn’t exactly know you were going to say, the way he continuously maneuvered around your words was only making you more and more upset, and yet, you lunged over and gripped the mage by the collar of his cloak, yanking him a little too close.

The words that flew from your lips were ones you didn’t even recognize, flying too fast for you to notice, too overcome by your emotions to notice the panicked look on the mage’s face as your inexperienced abilities spiraled out of control. Your eyes shifted into a shimmering marigold, barely paying attention to the words that left the dark mage as his glasses flew off his face and hair was tossed every which way, a hefty storm brewing within the walls of his shop.

Akira hadn’t recognized the signs until it was too late, realizing that he should’ve known that a student of magic wouldn’t be able to control it when under extreme emotional turmoil, yet he’s never seen unhinged magic from a student be this powerful before. He winced as he heard glass shatter and books fly from their shelves, his neat, though curious shop becoming ruined from your magic. It took him a second to remember the proper counteraction, his hands being frozen in place by the same winds that deafened his ears, yet he still managed to bellow his words out loudly enough to stop your incantations, silencing you and watching as the marigold faded from your eyes, leaving your normal eye color in its place.

You stumbled back, letting go of Akira’s coat and falling on your ass, body trembling with exhaustion and eyes wide with horror as you realized what you had done. “I⁠—” you began, one of your hands coming to cover your mouth as the reality of the situation set in, looking around the now-miserable shop, dread filling every pore in your body. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t…” You began to apologize over and over, feeling terrible for what you had done, even if it was unintentional. This has never happened before, you don’t know why it did now, but any sane person would call the police on you⁠—

“Relax,” he was suddenly in front of you, taking one of your hands, frowning as he turned your palm to face up, seeing blood trickle down your arm. You were numb, you had no idea you had gotten cut, though considering you were essentially sitting on a pile of glass, it was to be expected. “I’m not going to report you or anything.”

You stared up at the mage in disbelief. Frankly, you thought he would do anything to get you out of his hair. “Why?”

“Because you’re still a student. You clearly didn’t mean to. You came to me because you were worried and angry over what happened to your friends,” he explained, focused on healing the wound on your hand. His leather-covered fingers grazed over the cut, the crimson blending in with your blood, seemingly absorbing it, leaving nothing but light pink skin where the cut once was.

“But… I…”

He looked up and offered you a smile. You only noticed then how gorgeous his eyes were, but this was no time for you to admire him. “If it makes you feel better, I have no intentions of letting you disappear now that my shop is in shambles,” he watched as you turned your face away, ashamed, “You’ll work here part time until you can pay off everything that you’ve damaged. In exchange, I’ll also give you some sparse lessons. I’ve never seen anything like your magic before.”

You, frankly, couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was he insane? Were all dark mages this forgiving? Still, it was a relief to hear that you wouldn’t be punished extremely for this. You could manage a part time job, besides, how long would you need to stay there for anyways? A month at most, probably. “Alright…”

Akira stood up and offered you his hand, feeling much warmer than he had when you first oh so rudely burst into his shop. After a moment of hesitation, you took it, feeling a rush of energy from him as he sealed the agreement between the two of you while pulling you up onto your feel.

You were mesmerized at the chain that slowly tattooed itself onto your wrist. It wasn’t painful in any way, leaving only warmth in its wake. “What is this?”

“A physical memento of our deal,” he explained, “that way you won’t skimp out on me.”

You scoffed at him, though you were very grateful for the way he made you feel better, despite you ruining much of his work. “Fine, fine… but can I at least have your name, since I’ll be working for you?”

“Just call me Akira. Or⁠— you could call me master, whatever suits you,” the cheeky mage said with a wink as he made his way into behind the counter once more, picking up an old-fashioned broom and tossing it over to you.

You stumbled for a second before catching it completely in your arms, staring at him quizzically. You expected him to wave his hands around and restore everything to its former glory, considering how versatile his magic seemed to be, but clearly he had other plans. He hadn’t even asked for your name before he started to put you to work! “By the way, my name is⁠—”

“I don’t need it,” he cut you off. “You’re my apprentice now, so it’s only natural that I should call you that.” Akira cleaned off his seat and sat down in it, looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You should start cleaning before it starts getting dark,” he mused, looking at his now-cold coffee before frowning for a moment, seeing a shard of glass floating on the surface. It was easily remedied with a snap of his fingers, getting comfortable in his chair with his book once more, with a fresh cup of magically-brewed coffee.

Gripping onto the broom tightly, you were astonished, but couldn’t raise your voice against it, slightly fearing a second wave of your fury would erupt. Might take some time to get over that, regardless of how comfortable your new boss was trying to make you. “You’re cruel,” you grumbled under your breath, stealing one more glance at him before getting to work, sweeping up the glass that surrounded your feet and glistened in the candlelight of the shop.

When he was certain you weren’t paying any attention to him, Akira slumped in his chair, a sigh passing through his lips. He wasn’t expecting something like this to occur, and yet… there was something about you that intrigued him. So passionate, full of life and magic, he wondered where your journey would take you, especially if you managed to cross paths with someone cursed like him. His lips curled into a slight smile as he returned his attention to his book, turning the page and happening upon the chapter labeled Love Potions, Relationship Hexes, and More while you silently swept away. This would be an interesting experience indeed.

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obscuremarvelmuses · 3 years

Text

At one of the boards I play Shaw at, I’m going to be running a “kidnapping the X-Men as experimental guinea pigs” plot with Shaw at the helm (based on THIS DROPPED PLOT POINT from canon) in October. I plan to use several canons as NPCs in the plot so that the X-Men have more than just Shaw and Emma (who is played by someone else) to face, and as October approaches, I’m writing a series of small fics for the board that introduces each NPC so they’re more than just names. This is the one I did for Monica Rappaccini and June Covington, the lead scientists in this RPG. No, they never worked for the Hellfire Club in canon, but given that June is an amoral monster whose genetic plug-in technology would work PERFECT for this, she was a shoe-in. But what about Monica? Her ideals are far from those of the Hellfire Club, and she doesn’t care about money. So, what’s she doing there? This fic explains that, sets up her dynamic with June, and lays the groundwork for how I plan to have her turn on the Hellfire Club and help the X-Men. Because that would make sense for her in this scenario and I think having an NPC on the inside is going to help the plot along. Again, this is not based on anything in canon, nor it is it canon to this blog, it’s for a plot at an RP board. But since it features two ladies from my multi, I thought it would be worth posting here. Warning for mentions of eugenics, ableism, etc.

Dr. Theresa June Covington was the typical blonde blue-eyed beauty, with an unnatural “natural” perfection thanks to her own work on herself. Shaw often wondered if she’d done the same for Emma. Dr. Monica Rappaccini, on the other hand, was a more unusual but no less lovely blend of Italian and Southeast Asian heritage. But, contrary to popular belief, he hadn’t hired these ladies for their looks. No, far from it. Both were brilliant in exactly the way Shaw needed for this project. . .and both were disgraced, unable to find work from any reputable company or university lab. Monica was a radical, a proponent of various anti-establishment beliefs that had led her down the wrong side of the law. Shaw didn’t agree with her politics, but her work in the fields of chemistry and biology more than made up for it. And it seemed that, like everyone in Shaw’s opinion, she could sacrifice her principles for the proper funding. But as much as Monica was worth, far more essential was June. It was her work on “genetic plug-in technology” that was the entire backbone of this project. It was a remarkable development, allowing her to take genetic material and essentially implant it into others, where it would then activate and express itself as naturally as if the person have been born with this gene or genes. She had based her work on knockout mice, a genetically modified lab mouse in which researchers have inactivated, or "knocked out", an existing gene by replacing it or disrupting it with an artificial piece of DNA when the mouse is still a mere embryo. But Theresa had taken it far beyond that, to humans who were already adults. Including herself; that work she’d had done hadn’t been with a scalpel to her beautiful face, but plug-in technologies to edit out all her perceived little physical imperfections. And once she’d done that, she started designing a few internal changes. had altered her bones so they soften to diffuse impacts, she could dislocate her joints with ease thanks to new glands that distributed relaxins, her saliva was antiseptic, and, just in case anyone was ever fool enough to cut her, her blood was seething with neurotoxins. She, of course, was immune to it---who’s the REAL Rappaccini here, Monica?-- but if someone else touched it, well. . .they might as well have downed a pint of hemlock. So why wasn’t she raking in the millions? Why weren’t people lining up for plug-ins for everything from blue eyes to building muscle rapidly to electric eel organs? Well, in order to get such a work accomplished, there’d had to be. . .sacrifices. Mostly homeless people, but when she’d sought out a healthier stock of guinea pig, she’d started taking out people that she just felt didn’t have a right to live. There were haves and have-nots, you see, and the latter, well, they just didn’t have the same entitlement to life as the former. Like, say, people who watched Jersey Shore; could that really be called a life? And therefore, was it really murder? While Monica shared her opinions about reality TV, the rest of June’s beliefs enraged her to her core. And June, in turn, didn’t think much of Monica and her silly ideas about. . . .what was it, starving children in Africa and Asia and shit? June thought about what Shaw did of that. But unlike Shaw, she wasn’t employing Monica, and Monica didn’t have to put up with hearing her repulsive eugenicist tripe all day! Which was exactly what she’d just told her. Screamed at her, really. “Eugenics? Really?” June replied, and she didn’t sound upset at all, “My work is based on encouraging diversity, Monica, not culling it. Taking all the best traits. . . and putting them in the best people.” “That’s exactly what I mean!” Monica jabbed a finger at June, though not quite in her face---she doubted that blonde viper was above biting it. “Your idea that there *is* a “best” people---and who those are!” “Don’t try to make me out as some racist, Monica,” June placed her eerily sharp-nailed hands on her model-slim hips, “Just because I may look like the poster child for the Aryan nation, doesn’t mean I subscribe to such silly skin-deep notions about what makes perfection. My definition of elite is intellectual. A matter of character, not color. Physical flaws, though? Those can be fixed. That’s the point. Or do YOU think that a mind as phenomenal as Stephen Hawking’s should have been confined in that poor twisted prison of a body?” “That’s MY point!” Monica bellowed back, “It shouldn’t MATTER whether he has a mind you deem “worthy” of a better body, he deserves a cure either way! Everyone ill does!” “Some people don’t have an illness, Monica,” June purred. They were on a first-name basis at this point, but it wasn’t out of friendliness, “Some people are an illness.” “You know,” Monica seethed, her voice at normal volume and yet now even more angry, a deep and brewing rage like a volcano prior to eruption, “I think you’re right.” *** Monica worked late that night, blowing off steam. While the work itself was distasteful, and done for people she found disgusting---the Hellfire Club and its “everything for profit” mindset was everything she DESPISED about Western society---she poured herself passionately into it, knowing that, when this was all over, she could use it for good. Not only would she be rolling in millions that she could use to fund further work, but the knowledge gained here. . . as vile June was, the genetic plug-in tech was a miracle. Monica’s mind had raced when she heard about it, imagining all the ways that mutant powers could HELP the world---not just humans, but nature too. But, June was right about one thing---it had to go to the right people. Not the wealthy who would use it as toys or weapons, the grotesque commercial and military uses that the Hellfire Club had in mind. She kept her dominant thoughts occupied with work. She didn’t dare think too much too often about this. Not within the walls of these labs, where the likes of, say, Emma Frost could walk in any moment. Hell, would Frost even need to be here to read her mind? She shuddered at the notion of someone remote-viewing her mental processes like lab microfilm from miles away. Still . . . Monica was starting to think some very dangerous things. Dangerous for her, that is. And for the Hellfire Club’s entire operation.

#my fic #june fic #monica fic

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