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your-highnessmarvel · 3 years

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From Bleak to Bright - Part Eleven

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN: soooo um i think this may be a little tension relieving ;;;;)))

Warnings: angst, language, SMUT (18+ ONLY)

MASTERLIST - SERIES MASTERLIST

PART ELEVEN

** Two years later, Manhattan, New York **

You scrolled down on your phone, pretending to actually be doing something, while you waited for Natasha. A group of teenagers had come into the cafe, loud, laughing, challenging each other to some stupid fight. You rolled your eyes, chewing on some gum, making sure they kept their distance with you. Who knew what those kids had touched. Ew.

Nat texted you that she was around the corner, and to keep from staying a second longer with the obnoxiously loud teens, you all but ran out the cafe. You marched down the street, spring air brushing through your hair. There was a smell between a wood fire and flowers that drafted from God knows where. The sun was high up, the afternoon in Manhattan hot. Many people walked by wearing shorts or tank tops. Summer was approaching. It brought a smile to your face.

But that smile soon faded as you walked by the newspaper outlet and caught sight of the title.

TWO YEARS SINCE NEW YORK ATTACK

You gulped, biting on the inside of your cheek. It had already been two years since the last time you’d spoken to him? It seemed like way longer. It seemed as if you’d walked into a parallel universe. No one ever talked about him, least of all your friends and family. Least of all you.

You shook your head, brushing away the thoughts that brought you back to all those years ago. You shook away an image of a loft, of a coffee table full of leather-bound books, of hands on your body.

“Hey!”

You looked up, Natasha standing before you in a trendy outfit that made her look like a runway model. She had huge sunglasses perched on her nose, pink bubblegum in her mouth.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yeah!” you answered, trying to hide the newspapers with your body, but you saw how her chin dipped when you walked by. She would surely see the titles and tell your brother. Dammit. You’d been doing so well.

Technically, you’d been doing fine.

Ever since the Avengers had defeated Loki and Thor had brought him back to Asgard, you’d never seen or heard of him. You’d gone to a few rounds of therapy, mostly with psychologists who dealt in soulmates, and after a few months of isolation, Bruce had let you go. It had been a relief to have your phone back, your liberties, your God damn car.

When you’d gotten the keys to your apartment back, it had felt final. But as the last people invited to your “homecoming” celebration had dwindled out, you’d found yourself in a pit.

Everything was muted. Yes, you still saw colors, but without the person behind those colors, you just drifted. Yes, you were happy, somewhat, but whenever you saw couples together, something in your chest burned, like a slow leaking flame. You’d never be like them. Even though you’d heard stories about people marrying someone who wasn’t their soulmate, the simple thought of having another man - except Loki - in your life sent shivers down your spine.

“I heard they got free donuts,” Nat said, bending her head close to yours. You giggled, but there was no heart it in.

She was bringing you to a stupid singles night out. Even though she briefly skirted on the fact that you’d already found your soulmate, she said it was an opportunity “to get out there”.

Hell, maybe it would make you forget Loki, although you highly doubted.

The night went on in a sort of downward spiral. It started off really fast and funny, with music and drinks, and a lot of men fighting to come to talk to you and the hot redhead. But with every passing guy, the more they didn’t look like him, the more they said things that set your teeth on edge, the duller you felt.

Like being emptied slowly, hand by hand, touch by touch.

By the time Nat brought you back to your apartment, you could barely manage a smile.

You tried, once again, fixing your stupid leaking tap but decided against it and went straight to bed. Because of that stupid newspaper, you had nightmares, plagued by a dark-haired prince wearing green and gold armor.

In the morning, you ignored the tap and went to work. When you came back, the tap wasn’t leaking and you thanked your lucky guardian because if you had to hear one more drop, you’d lose it.

The next night, coming home after drinks with your brother, the windowpane was fixed.

You knew something was wrong when your squeaking front door slid on perfectly oiled hinges.

Someone had been in your apartment. Multiple times.

Stepping in your apartment that night, eight nights after the tap was “fixed”, you looked around in the darkness. The shadows seemed denser, more menacing, as if they hadn’t been standing there every night, ever.

You looked at your tiny kitchen. Nothing seemed amiss. You checked the lock, but it locked on its own with no problem. Even better than before.

You couldn’t actually complain about your little home invader because they had fixed all the problems that were slowly driving you to the brink. But you hadn’t said a word to anybody, not even Bruce, because deep down, you knew who’d be waiting for you one night, eventually.

The bathroom light had been changed. It used to flicker all the time, giving you the creeps while you took a shower. But now it opened wildly bright and stayed there.

There. That was the daily change.

You changed in the bathroom, taking a hot, quick shower, keeping the door firmly locked. You felt watched as you padded across your apartment in your jammy shorts and tank top, your hair a wet rope down your back.

The cabinet where you kept your mugs had a faulty knob that had cut you on more than one occasion. It was polished now.

Hands trembling, you pivoted in your kitchen, fingers white-knuckling the countertop.

“I know it’s you,” you murmured, feeling your heart throbbing in your throat. The shadows seemed to listen. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

You apartment seemed to breathe, swallowing your words, digesting them. But nothing came back to you. You kept expecting the shadows to linger, to move, to break away, but everything remained still, quiet.

Your heart plummeted.

You went to bed looking out the window, noticing just how clean it was for an apartment in downtown Manhattan.

You had dreams of him, vivid dreams. You swore you could feel fingers on your cheek the next morning.

It’s when you walked in to the scent of flowers and found a bouquet of your favorite in the kitchen that you truly lost it. It took everything in you not to pick it up and smash the glass vase against the wall. There was no note, but just the fact that now, he wasn’t being so subtle about him breaking and entering, made your heart bash wildly against your ribs.

But you knew what he was doing. He was trying to get to you without the others knowing. He’d surely scourged the place for microphones or cameras, just like you’d done two years ago, and found none. He knew the Avengers, or anybody watching, wouldn’t know he’d been here. And just the fact that you’d told no one about the mysterious repairs in your flat meant everything for him.

You turned, flowers at your back. The shadows seemed to be smiling. They knew he was here.

You were older now, wiser. You knew how to play his little games.

“I’m not afraid,” you said to the dark. The curtains had been drawn in the living room, you noticed, as you made your way there. He’d wanted this to be done in private.

“I know you’re here,” you continued, inching to the windows, intent on pulling them back to shed some moonlight in your apartment. “You can... you can talk to me,” you whispered, heart heavy and harsh in your ribs. Your hands had begun to shake the closer you got to the curtains.

When you wrenched them open, exposing the city beneath you, you could barely take your eyes off the horizon.

Because you saw it.

The flicker.

His face there and then not, your heart wrenching in your chest, causing an audible gasp from your lips to echo in the room.

You felt the heat of him at your back. “I thought you were unafraid?” he asked, his voice rumbling, something vicious seizing your insides with a hot grip.

Something akin to a puzzle piece clicked back into place at the sound of his voice. You could breathe lighter now, see colors more vividly, hear the world around you clearly. All this time, you’d suffocated, been drowning, and now you weren’t.

“I’m not,” you answered, but neither you nor he missed the way your voice trembled.

You felt the warmth of his hand on your hip, saw the reflection of him flicker in the window as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the space beneath your ear. Fire lit everywhere on your flesh as he brought himself flush with you.

He inhaled. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled against your skin, the sound of it vibrating in your bones.

“Where...” you licked your lips and restarted. “Where have you been?”

His other hand braced just under your throat, long fingers seeping warmth through the fabric of your t-shirt.

“Away,” he mumbled. He slid his hand from your hip to the sliver of skin under the hem of your t-shirt and you hummed involuntarily. His touch was like no other’s. “You’re so soft,” he mumbled.

You tried not to forget that he’d left you there on the floor two years ago, but the way his body fit against yours made any logical thought seep from your brain.

“I’ve dreamt of you for so long,” he drawled, making it seem as if you’d been separated for an eternity. “I’ve dreamt of your eyes. Your voice. The way your body fits right onto mine.” He shifted slightly, pressing you harshly against him. “I’ve not the heart to take another woman to bed. I want it to be you.”

His words sent a strange heat dripping down into your belly, heavy and wanting. Your mouth parted, and the hand Loki had against your chest slipped up until his thumb pressed against your mouth. “How sweet of you,” you said against his thumb.

He chuckled lowly. “I can show you sweet,” he said.

“I rather you practice restraint,” you mumbled, even though deep down, you meant none of it.

He chuckled again, shaking his head, lowering his hand back so it lay lightly around your throat. Then his chuckle turned into a groan, his force deepening. “Y/n,” but now his voice was pleading, like a man who’d been deprived of everything. “Please. I’ve thought of you all this time. Don’t push me away. Not you.”

The last part made you frown, but you nonetheless pushed from him, turning to face him. He had deep, dark circles under his eyes, his face ashen as if he hadn’t slept in a millennia. His hair was slightly longer, curling along his jaw, hiding his ears. He wore a white t-shirt and black slacks, but he was cold as you pressed your fingers against his shoulders.

“Okay,” you whispered. You tried not to maintain eye contact because the haunted look in his green eyes made you sick.

He bent forward slightly, grasping your face between his huge, warm hands. The first brush of his lips was soft, sending butterflies scuttling across your belly. But then he gripped your face, bringing you to him, and kissed you like he was a starving man and you were his reprieve.

A strangled moan left his throat, his lips molding to yours, driving you backwards until your spine hit the window. One hand went to the glass to soften your fall, but he didn’t let up his rhythm. You could barely keep up anyway.

He kept kissing you so harshly, delving his tongue between your teeth, angling your head back to kiss you deeply, that every rational thought in you just went to dust.

You gripped his back, marveling at the strong muscle, bringing him flush against you. One hand went to his hair, knotting in the raven locks, tugging until you swore you’d hurt him. But he kept kissing you, hands venturing to your hips, sliding over your ass, gripping your thighs and hauling you up.

On instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his arousal just where you wanted him, and he spun you away from the window. How he moved with such eloquence as he devoured your mouth befuddled you, but when your ass found the countertop and Loki pressed himself between your legs, your brain fizzled. A whole jar of butterflies now flew in your belly.

He broke from the kiss momentarily to grasp your breasts, kneading them in his hands, marveling at the sight.

“Restraint, Loki,” you mumbled breathlessly, lips swollen.

One of his brows furrowed, but he went right back to kiss you, holding your tits in his hands, then moving to grip your thighs with such strength it should have hurt.

“I can’t stop,” he breathed between kisses, holding the back of your head. “I want you. I want you so fucking bad.”

You squeezed your eyes shut harshly, ignoring the red alarms in your head. Because it was him. Because it was him, always him, and now that he was here, touching you almost everywhere, his scent invading your senses, you never wanted him to go.

He pulled your head back and kissed down your neck, over the swell of your breast, taking one nipple lightly between his teeth. A gurgled moan left your throat, Loki holding your head back, exposing everything to him.

“No bra?” he grumbled against your skin, his tongue soothing the ache on your nipple.

You just breathed in response, your legs clenching against his arms.

He chuckled against your body. His left hand, the free one, slid down the length of your chest until he took one finger to lightly circle you through your pants.

You gasped, jolting in his grasp, his mouth possessively clamping shut on your nipple.

“Eager,” he hummed. He was so warm, smelled so fucking good, that the second time he applied pressure and circled his fingers, you all but moaned for everyone to hear. He teased you some more, licking and pleasing you all through your clothing.

Then his mouth left your hardened nipple and traveled up to your ear, where the warmth of his breath made you shiver. “If I can do this to you,” he whispered, circling your core through your pants. “Imagine how it’ll feel when I fuck you.”

His words made you want to clench your thighs together, to keep the heat and pressure there, but his body was still between your legs. He chuckled, biting your neck, hard, knowing it would leave a mark. He yanked your head forward until your eyes met his.

“I can feel just how much you want me,” he mumbled, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling. “I can smell it.”

You rocked once against his hand, eliciting a groan from him as your thigh briefly brushed him through his pants. He was hard. Wanting. The hand behind your hand squeezed until it hurt, but when he soothed his tongue against your neck, circling your clit, you lost yourself in him again.

“Y/N,” he murmured, chanting your name like a prayer. You were almost there and you couldn’t believe it. You rocked against his hand, biting your lip, and when he saw that, he brought your mouth into a breathtaking kiss. “Cum against me,” he said through each kiss. “Cum.” It was a command.

You squeezed your eyes, grinding against his circling hand, and when he licked your neck, you all but came apart with a moan. Loki quickly kissed you, swallowing your sounds of pleasure as he slowly, leisurely circled you through your pants. Your legs shaking, you trembled against him until his fingers stopped and he brought his forehead to yours.

“Run away with me,” he whispered. “Let me ravage you every night, y/n, please.”

Lost in the dizzying aftermath of your orgasm, all you could do was breathe, eyes closed. You fisted one hand in his shirt, feeling his heart beating savagely under his breastbone.

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze.

“No,” you said.

AAAAHHHH omg i was so shy writing that little smutty part lmaooo BUT YES MORE TO COME OOOOHHHH (you will get a whole smut scene soon, let me get used to writing smut again hihihihi)

tags: @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki @holaamishamigos @palegoopbearlight @heyarely16 @pleaseexecuteme @athalahild @help-i-need-a-social-life @tapismyforte @coloursforyourportrait @celestialstarshadow @fukyouthink @lust-for-pan @thic-thor @winchescumberholland

#loki #lokixyou #lokixyn #lokixreader #loki x you #loki x yn #loki x reader #smut #soulmate au #loki fic #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #imagine loki #loki imagine #loki oneshot

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kaijurakunsobs · 3 years

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You will feel joy, one day

master list for this series

sorry for the wait y'all, I had to torture myself into listening to the same song to get the inspo I needed for this next chapter which is READYMADE - Ado (it has English subtitles btw)

Hope you guys enjoy this!

Summary: It's been clear from the start that you won't go down without putting up a fight, the tone in your voice and stand are nothing but infuriating for Heisenberg, just like his mere presence fills you with annoyance. The factory is enormous and whatever he's doing here could get you killed, but even in this kingdom of oil and rusted metal, there's a bit of kindness.

Right now, you would accept the title of naive, because you were when you thought this man would share his secrets with you, instead...he's giving you a fucking tour of the entire place, wildly pointing and all the doors and doing sharp turns, taking you up and down flights of stairs "I hope you don't get lost, darlin', we don't want you ending in the wrong place, right?" there's mockery in his voice as he speaks over his shoulder, halting to a stop and making you trip and crash against him.

"This is the boiler room, you might want to familiarize yourself with this place in particular" a snarky smile appearing on his lips

Peeking inside makes you go pale and sigh in frustration, it's a mess, you can see cables, crudely fixed with tape, more flammable materials, and so many oil spills on the ground, "I can also familiarize with the rest of the fabric because this dump could explode any day"

His smile falls and that expression of annoyance, that just seems to be for you, comes back in no time. Releasing a cloud of smoke he turns around and starts walking faster, slowly regaining his showman's voice and the exuberance of his movements renew with the occasional laugh, is enough to make you tune him out again, looking at whatever you find more interesting, nose scrunching up with whenever there's something that unsettles or makes you question this man's leadership and care for this place. If you do take the role of helping him, you know you're gonna exploited day and night.

He's not blind or stupid, he knows you are doing everything but listening to him, every time he looks over his shoulder to make sure you are following and paying him some god damn attention, he will always see you eyeing everything, dissecting the place, and doing a face that just speaks volumes of how unimpressed you are by his life's work, but it's not like he will tell you about his plans, it's too soon for that, what if you are just a little spy under Miranda's orders?

It rubs him the wrong way how adamant she was on you being under his orders, super-sized bitch didn't raised too much hell, which also puts him on edge, it just doesn't feel normal for him. In any other situation where Miranda has favored him over Dimitrescu, and it wasn't because "mother" gave her that heartfelt speech Karl being all alone on his iron tower, Moreau is the forgotten child of the bunch and has to beg for almost everything, Miranda is already pissed with Donna and her botanical gig, let alone, the way she uses her cadou to just make dolls move.

That left him in the position akin to a middle child, he's just there, occasionally remembered and rarely to give him treats or surprises. He's used to scavenging for materials, do the occasional grave robbing or take the corpses the other Lords leave behind.

So, why did she left you with him?

"Lastly but no less important! the living quarters"

You have been so lost in thought, you didn't noticed that his "fantastical tour" is over, and you are back to the front of the complex...shit, you didn't even paid attention to where everything is, you're gonna get so lost if you try to navigate this place on your own.

After entering the brute closes the door behind you and goes to the left office, you can hear him mumbling under his breath and things being moved around, you don't know how long he's going to be in there, so you turn your attention to the rest of the room.

From everything you have seen, this place is the cleanest one and it makes you think of the layout in your family's factory. It looks like he repurposed what used to be the waiting area, there's a kitchen in the right corner, a couple of sofas that had seen better days, a lot of blueprints have been left on the coffee table. To the left, it's the main office, a lot bigger and the tinted glass on the door has the name Heisenberg hand-painted on it, classy, you suppose that that's his room? you don't care, opting for getting close to the blueprints, his handwriting is atrocious and there are notes everywhere, how interesting, one of the workers used to say that was a sign of a brilliant mind.

"You are not allowed to go there, a'right?" hearing him so close makes you jump, when did he come back? from the tone of his voice, you might be right, it's either his bedroom "This one, however! this one is just for you" he says oh so sweetly when pointing at the smaller office to the right opening the door rather unceremoniously.

Now you get why the rest of this area is so clean and clutter-free, motherfucker pushed all the trash and old furniture in there, it's dusty and the air, somehow, is stale only in this place, you can see cobwebs "Since I'm being kind enough to let you sleep on this side and not in the cellars, I think is fair that you take care of the mess, don't you think?"

"Can't I just sleep in one of the couches?"

"Of course not, we don't want my precious mechanic to get sick, right?" condescending asshole, he even smiles at you, showing you his teeth in what you identify as an act of intimidation

"Of course we don't want that, my Lord! but, I do must say, you have been ill-mannered, showing me around your domain yet...you haven't told me your name when introductions were supposed to be made long ago" it's your turn to give him teeth flashing smile, his going a bit forced

"Well you see sweetheart, I would have done it earlier, but I came encountered a disrespectful brat that decked me in the face as soon as we met"

"Really now? Perhaps, this brat was done with being manhandled and reacted accordingly to how they felt" the sardonic smile on your face grows and you can see how much it pisses him off, and that shouldn't make you proud.

The man is looking, more like attempting, to look down on you, clicking his tongue loudly and in a dissatisfied manner, with complete derision, he gives you, the closest thing to a respectful bow "My name is Karl Heisenberg and I'm one of the four Lords working under Miranda's orders"

In response, you give him a curtsy and use your best sarcastic tone, just for him "It's such an honor to meet you, my lord. I must say I'm no noble but I do HOPE you may remember the name of this pheasant girl, Y/N, L/N Y/N"

He doesn't appreciate the way you talk to him or how you don't even try to hide how little you respect or fear him, but he needs you alive to accelerate and optimize the factory's production, under other circumstances? he would have thrown you down to let the Sturm have some fun, but he won't, at least for now.

"So, Miss Y/N...let me give you a...welcoming gift" he's harsh when trusting a bundle of crumpled clothes and old boots into your arms, pushing you back hard enough that you almost lose your balance "I don't expect you to always wear my hand-me-downs, this is a momentary arrangement"

"Oh my! so generous of you, to clothe this poor village girl with your own garments, I am so thankful for this, however, if I may ask for a tiny favor...can I know where your bathroom is? I don't what to soil this fine fabric with my dirty body"

You don't like the way he smiles at you, with one hand he grabs your shoulder and with the other he opens the door, pushing you towards what used to be the employee's showers, there's mold and broken mirrors, a lot of the shower heads are gone and the only one that seems to be functioning is leaking.

"Serve yourself, princess, just know this...there's only cold water, the hot water stopped working years ago and I haven't felt like repairing it, I hope you enjoy your shower!"

And with that, he leaves you, finally alone but unnerved on how easily he could come back and just stare at you like a creep. But you need a shower, there's grime and dirt caked to your body and it's starting to get disgusting and itchy. So you swallow your pride and leave the borrowed clothes over the small wall separating the showers from the rest of the place and brace yourself to what might be the worst moment of the day so far.

Later you are cursing him as loud as you can, he didn't lie when he said that only the cold water worked, but you would say it was freezing, his clothes are uncomfortably big on you, and smell of faint sweat and like these were left tucked away for a long time, the boots are the best part, these have been broken in nicely and they fit you...who are you kidding? the damn things are falling apart and you feel like a clown with how big they are.

That has left you with the shining crown of the shit show that's been this whole day! the trash in your new room, you had to box so many useless papers, look everywhere to find one measly broom, and use the remains of the gown you came in with to keep your hair out of your face and as a bandana to cover your nose and mouth.

From all the old furniture in the room, the only useful stuff is the old desk, a sofa that somehow survived without being eating by termites but might be infested with cockroaches, and a lamp. It's not much, but it's something.

All this moving around now has brought a new problem.

You are starving.

You can't remember when Miranda took you, let alone when was your last meal or if you were fed during your time in the cell. But Heisenberg's fridge is empty, there's only a handful of onions and those have roots and sprouts coming out already. There's nothing substantial in the cupboards or anywhere for that matter.

You doubt there might anything to eat in this place, but, you better give it a try, better die trying than going to sleep with a grumbling stomach, right? But, you didn't learn jackshit from him and you can't remember anything from the directions Heisenberg gave you.

Fuck it.

Slowly you creep out of the small apartment and peek outside, looking around assures you that the coast is clear. This could be a great learning experience! no matter how much of a dick this man is, there's something of value in his words and maybe, just maybe, you should pay more attention when he talks...MAYBE.

The place is a labyrinth of stairs, broken walls turned into hallways and sealed doors, you do have half a mind to remember which doors and areas he pointed as "out of bounds" for you, which is a surprise, seeing how massive the place is.

Under the stench of grease and smoke, you notice, the tasty scent of stew...close, very close, your poor stomach twisting painfully and mouth rapidly filling with saliva, you start following the heavenly aroma until you reach an old cargo lift, a large man sits there and for a moment that makes you stop in your tracks.

The man is surrounded by bags and crates filled with stuff from fruits to what you guess are various pieces of machinery and other objects hard to identify in the low light "Aaaaah...a new customer perhaps? You must be Lord Heisenberg's new assistant, are you not?"

He smiles with true kindness and something similar to pity, meaty hands adorned with gold rings beacon you close "Come come, miss...?"

"Uuuuuuuh...I'm Y/N, nice to meet you..."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance miss Y/N, you may call me The Duke"

There's something infectious in him that makes you relax your shoulders and walk closer to him "So...what do you do here Duke?"

"What? well, I'm nothing but a humble merchant, occasionally I set up shop here in the factory, especially when I have a delivery or things that may spark Lord Heisenberg's interest, and now that you are here, I will make a note to bring stuff you could use too"

"I...I would appreciate the gesture, thanks" the small sincere smile in your face drops when your stomach decides to grumble loud enough to be heard by the Duke, the man laughing at the sound, making your embarrassment worst.

"Would like to accompany me with dinner, dear? I have made plenty and this could be a small...celebratory feast for you"

"Celebratory? no offense, but...there's nothing to celebrate"

"Aren't you alive and able to walk?" he's so careful when serving some stew in a bowl, making sure not to spill a drop "I think that surviving whatever happened to you, is worth celebrating"

The bowl is warm in your hands and the smell is just divine, you take a seat on the floor waiting for the Duke to serve his bowl and then you dig in, sighing in appreciation when the rich taste of the broth fills your mouth, the softness of the meat and the carrots. You can see the Duke smile with pride when you compliment his cooking, enjoying each spoonful to the fullest.

"It's getting quite late Y/N and Lord Heisenberg is one to rise early, I suggest you go to bed or you end up feeling too tired tomorrow"

"Yeah...thanks for the meal Duke, I really appreciate it"

"Don't mention it and remember, the Duke's Emporium is here to satisfy all your shopping needs!"

You bid the man farewell and do the trek back to your room, taking time to memorize the way to the lift and the living quarters, the man might be a merchant but you want to get to know more about him, he seems nice, he's been the nicest one so far.

The living area feels cold and so terribly empty, there's no sign of Heisenberg anywhere, which you are thankful for. Only after entering your room and laying on your "bed", waiting a bit to hear any sound that might belong to the Lord, when only the sounds of the factory echo back to you do you dare to cry.

It starts slowly, your eyes fixated on the ceiling, then the flood gates open and you start to sob and scream, tears running down the side of your face to get lost in your hair leaving wet patches in their wake. But your crying evolves into fear, panic, raged breathing, and asking hands, all the weight of what happened today swallows you whole.

You don't know where to start, the way you growled at Heisenberg in the church, HOW he was able to move heavy metal without touching it? and all those corpses suspended ton hooks...the howls and things banging against the doors, the cruelty in how Heisenberg tossed you around and screamed in your face. How do you even managed to put and kept that brave face on when you were so scared is beyond you, you did it and that's enough.

The rapid and irregular movement of your chest does nothing but make your side hurt, the pain shoots up and down your body, making you curl on your side to alleviate the pressure if only a bit.

You want to die...but not like this, not terrified for your existence, not at the hands of a volatile man that can crush you with his hammer any day.

You want to live, but to live with your life depending on how well you perform your role? that's not a life at all.

Exhaustion and fatigue eventually take you away into a dreamless sleep, your last thought is...what's going to happen tomorrow?

You don't know, but as the Duke said, you survived whatever Miranda did to you and you will survive this too, no matter what, you will live.

#karl heisenberg #resident evil village #karl heisenberg x reader #re8 #x reader #the duke

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awed-frog · 3 years

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what are your views on islam?

Well - I’m still learning, and I don’t claim to be an expert on the subject. But I got interested several years ago, read many books, met a lot Muslims and ex-Muslims and non-Muslims people raised in Muslin countries in my life, and through all that there’s a fairly homogenous picture that emerges.

Let me just start by saying I have nothing against Muslims as people. Religion can play a positive role in a person’s life, and is often understood as a purely cultural phenomenon by many believers. I met Muslims who were perfectly happy to give gifts for Eid and that’s where their faith started and ended, just like it happens for many Christians. I visited a lot of Muslim-majority countries in the 90s and early Noughties and was always welcomed very warmly everywhere. In fact, reading about the recent radicalizations of those countries was one of the things that made me interested in learning more about Islam.

First of all, I think the big difference between Islam and other major world religions is that Islam was deliberately conceived to be a political entity in a way other religions were not. For instance, Judaism is not about conversion or empire-building, and Christianity and Buddhism were founded by two rebels dissatisfied with their own religion who had zero interest in building anything on the ‘reality-based’, politics-heavy side of life. So even if Christianity and Buddhism ultimately became state religions in various countries, they had to be twisted and remolded in order to fit that role. Islam, on the other hand, was created with the explicit purpose of being an all-encompassing state religion, and thanks to many Muslim leaders’ tactical genius, profound devotion and lack of scruples, it was wildly successful in that role. What this means to modern non-Muslim states with sizeable Muslim populations is that there’s a lot of stuff, from bank transactions to shopping, eating, healthcare, legal disputes and work that really pious Muslims need a parallel system for. And obviously the creation of parallel systems within a nation state is something that’s generally not desirable and can cause a lot of trouble down the way.

A second thing about Islam is that it went through the same philosophical arguments Christianity was having in the West, but unfortunately the ‘wrong’ side prevailed - and by that I mean the ‘question nothing, God is always right’ anti-intellectual side. You often hear people wondering why Islamic science and general progress seems to stop after the Middle Ages, and while there’s generally a lot of overt bias, underlying racism and ignorance in the idea, there’s also a basis of truth. By conquering most of the Middle East, the Muslim world found itself inheriting the rich melting pot of cultures and ideas that stretched from Byzantium, through the Persian empire, to and beyond the Indian borders and found its natural heart in the vibrant, multicultural city of Baghdad. Almost immediately, erudite philosophers like Al-Kindi (801–873 AD) started to turn this inheritance into something even richer: he and his disciples, the Mu’tazilites, were arguably the main drivers of the Islamic golden age. They studied and discussed philosophy, medicine and science thanks to books and experts from the four corners of the world, and the Islamic world flourished as a result. But then, in the 10th century, the ongoing theological dispute between the Mu’tazilites and their opponents was finally lost for good: the Mu’tazilites were branded as heretics and hunted down, their works destroyed. Since the other side basically saw no way to reconcile Islam with philosophical enquiry or scientific thinking, those pursuits were mostly abandoned. And that continues in the most extreme currents of Islam today, although their leaders can be very selective in what they do and don’t consider haram (most of them, of course, are perfectly happy to use glasses, modern appliances and the internet).

And a third thing is that a lot of what we now consider as simply ‘Islam’ and defend tooth and nail against Islamophobes was heavily influenced by Saudi Arabia’s extreme version of Islam, which spread like poison over the last 30 or so years through ‘charity’, mosques, carefully trained imams, and ‘schools’, and that’s how countries who’d taken centuries to develop their own version of Islam - which was generally moderate and ‘normal’, and mixed in with other faiths and local pre-Islamic traditions - turned into something that’s barely recognizable - often to the dismay of their own - Muslim - citizens.

As ever, the West and other big powers weren’t much help here, what with colonization, racism, proxy wars, actual wars, their profound and stubborn ignorance of how Islam works and their exploitation of Muslim soldiers in various wars and Muslims workers to do cheap labour in Europe in appalling conditions, but this is not just about the West. There are powerful forces in the Muslim world itself who think there is only one ‘true’ Islam and that Islam can only work as a state religion, and who are deliberately funding a well-oiled machine to brainwash Muslims - and non-Muslims - into believing this. In this sense, the work they do is not that different from how some cults operate, only it’s on a much larger scale. And our governments, through inefficiency, ignorance and greed, are mostly content to let these influences do their job unhindered.

(From feminist Tunisian and Turkish mothers who are appalled by their daughters’ insistence in wearing a veil to old people in Albania tearfully wondering why their sons used their university money to covertly join ISIS and die in Syria, there are a lot of heartbreaking eyewitness accounts who show just how quick this transition was.)

Despite the work of hundreds of moderate imams, activists and philosophers, and despite the desires of a majority of Muslims everywhere, on the whole I’m not optimistic about the future. I think that the most extreme parts of the religion will continue to be preached and to spread, that the Middle East (and the world) will be more unstable and dangerous as a result, and that our politicians will never agree on a way to make any of this better - or even have the will to.

#ask #islam #history #religion #religious extremism #islamic terrorism #saudi arabia #i mean all that money #and not a single decent university #that's why #they don't care

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timelordthirteen · 3 years

Text

In All Things 23/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: The party begins, and Belle makes some new friends.

Notes: OH MY GOD. Writing in the latter part of this hell year has been like pulling teeth. From a dinosaur. I'm sorry this chapter doesn't include the dance, but it was a struggle to just get it this far. I am now actively writing the dance and aftermath and hopefully will not be so long with the next update. Unbeta'd, typos abound I'm sure. Also, tags have slightly updated. ;) This is Belle’s dress, for those who are interested.

[AO3]

Gold frowned at the paper in hand and then glanced up at Jefferson.

“Is this the last of it?”

Jefferson tilted his head. “Yes, I promise,” he replied, watching as Gold scribbled his signature at the bottom.

“And everyone is here?”

He looked further exasperated. “Yes, the Countess was the last one, as usual.”

Gold smirked. “Well, her Ladyship does run on a different time than the rest of us.”

They shared a short laugh, which trailed off as they took note of someone else at the top of the stairs.

Belle took a cautious first step, her hand hovering over the stair rail, and Gold’s eyes went wide. His lips parted and his breath was shallow as she came down towards them. By the time she reached the last step, he was feeling almost lightheaded. She’d chosen the light blue gown, and it looked every bit as lovely on her as he’d imagined.

His wife was a vision, and he felt like an utter bastard. She married him because there had been no other choice, and because she was first and foremost a kind and generous person who cared about the people supported by her family estate. Last night she had said she wasn’t unhappy with the situation and with her life here, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was truly happy or content. In spite of what happened with Gaston, she would have been desired by many, and could have had a true marriage, with love and children, but he had taken all that from her.

Belle looked from Gold to Jefferson, who immediately stepped forward.

“You look...” He shook his head and let his gaze drift up and down the dress. “Lovely. Radiant even.”

At that she smiled and reached out her hand, which Jefferson took and kissed. “Thank you, Jefferson.”

“You’ve apparently stunned my friend into speechlessness,” he added, nudging Gold with his elbow.

Gold blinked and shook his head, looking from Jefferson to Belle. “Yes, yes, you look - very... nice.”

Jefferson’s eyes closed briefly as Belle glanced at him, but Gold remained still, contemplating if it was too late to cancel the ball entirely to save everyone seeing, very publicly, what a terrible person he was to have taken Belle for himself.

“Thank you,” Belle said quietly, her hands fidgeting with the folds of her dress.

Jefferson looked between Belle and Gold, and then gave a short bow as he excused himself. The silence lingered for a bit, before Gold finally found his bearings again.

“Shall we?” he asked.

She nodded, and slipped her arm through his, and he swore he felt her tremble.

They entered the large dining hall, which until now had not been used since Belle arrived at Thornhill. Candles and oil lamps were everywhere, bathing the room in a warm glow, and the fireplace at one was blazing. Winter floral arrangements of white primrose, jasmine, and red pansies were set on each pedestal at the four corners of the space, and smaller vases were dotted across a collection of smaller tables with eight chairs each. A spray of pine bows decorated the fireplace mantel with all manner of shiny baubles in silver and gold tucked into it, reflecting the light.

Belle let out a faint gasp, and Gold turned his head, delighting in the awed look in her eyes.

The long dining table had been moved to one side with another, shorter table pushed up against it. Both were covered in vibrant red table cloths and an assortment of finger foods, desserts, punch, and wine. All of the estate staff were present, and wearing their finest attire. Astrid waved to them from the side, and Gold smiled at the young maid’s enthusiasm.

“It’s - it’s beautiful,” Belle managed, as Gold finally led her forward into the room.

He nodded in agreement. “Yes, once again my staff have done wonderfully.”

The attendees gathered in front of the tables, and Belle looked to Gold as he made his customary speech to commence the festivities. He thanked the staff for their efforts, which received a smattering of applause, and invited everyone to enjoy themselves. He exhaled a sigh of relief when he was finished, and turned to Belle, who was smiling up at him.

“You don’t like speeches do you,” she said.

He shook his head and started to lead her over to one of the tables which had been placed at the front and specially designated for them, along with seats for Bae, Jefferson, and Grace. “Not particularly, no. I don’t like being the center of things, but I suppose it’s my duty, and I want to make sure that my people know they are appreciated.”

She slid her arm around his again and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I know many among the nobility who would not. It’s sad that it’s such a novel courtesy.”

Gold made a noise of agreement as he extracted his arm from hers, and pulled out a chair for her to sit. She had no sooner turned around than Astrid called out to her, and came over with two other women; one older with curly gray hair, and another closer to Belle’s age with long, dark hair, swept up on the sides and tied with a large red bow in the back.

“m’Lady,” Astrid said excitedly, “this is Ms. Lucas and Ruby from Lamton. I met them last week when I was running an errand in the town. Gran - I mean, Ms. Lucas, runs the inn and the tavern.”

Belle smiled at the two women and gave a small curtsey, which seemed to surprise them. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Ms. Lucas. And you, Miss Lucas.”

“Call me Granny,” Ms. Lucas replied. “Everyone does, except him.”

Ms. Lucas gave Gold a look and a nod, and he rolled his eyes before taking his seat. “Nice to see you too, Martha.”

Belle looked back and forth between them, eyebrows raised, but left the comment alone. “And you look very well, Astrid. Is that new?”

Astrid blushed as Belle looked her new dress up and down. It was pink and the skirt was ruffled, both of which suited her, but wasn’t too overdone that it was ridiculous. The neckline shimmered with small pearls set into a lace trim, which was repeated at the waist and the cuffs of the sleeves where they came down to just above her elbows. It was shorter than a standard gown, ending at her ankles, which not only made it easier to walk in but also showed off a pair of silver heels.

“Y-yes. It, uh, it was a gift.”

Belle’s eyes went wide. “From...?”

Gold lifted his hand and smiled at Belle’s surprised expression. “That would be me.”

“My red dress had seen better days,” Astrid explained. “And m’Lord has been very kind.”

“Indeed.” Belle replied softly, meeting Gold’s eyes with a warm look and a quirk of her lips. Then she turned back to Astrid. “Well, shall we have some of this delicious food?”

She walked off with Astrid, Granny, and Ruby, to browse the buffet, and Gold sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. He was already tired and likely wouldn’t see his bed before midnight, but it was a well deserved celebration. It was also an opportunity for Belle to meet people outside of Thornhill, and gain a further understanding of the villages and towns that depended on the estate.

“Well, Gold, you have outdone yourself again.”

Gold looked up and gave Countess de Vil a smirk. “Have I indeed?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied, looking across the room at Belle. “When I heard you’d remarried I was expecting some gray haired dowager, not a lovely young thing like that.”

He frowned and took a sip of wine. “I’m sure you mean that as a compliment, Lady Ella.”

She grinned at him and motioned with the glass in her right hand. “Of course it is. Now, are you going to introduce me properly?”

Sighing, he pushed himself up and offered his arm, then led the Countess over to where Belle was sitting and chatting with Astrid and Ruby. The conversation ceased as they approached, and Gold could feel all the eyes in the room on him once again.

“May I present the Countess de Vil,” he said smoothly, slipping his arm from Lady Ella’s as he stepped back.

Belle’s mouth opened and closed, and then she stood abruptly, giving a hasty curtsey to Lady Ella. “My Lady, it’s lovely to meet you.”

The Countess looked from Belle to Gold and back again, a smile curving her lips. “And you as well. I’ve been so curious to see the woman who finally cracked the heart of Lord Gold.”

Belle blushed. “I, uh, well -”

“How cruel of you, Gold!” the Countess continued, turning to him as though Belle had not spoken at all. “Depriving the royal court of such an ornament. We are bereft of fine, well bred young women, among the chaff of gossips and courtesans, though I can understand why you would want to keep your beautiful new wife all to yourself.”

Her eyebrows lifted and her smile was wide and toothy as she nudged Gold with her elbow.

“I have done no such thing, Ella,” he replied. “We have been quite busy these last weeks, and as you know I have little tolerance for the games of the royal court.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, laughing with a strange delight. “A pity, indeed. Now, Lady Belle...” She came to stand beside Belle and took her by the arm. “What do you say we have a little chat, hmm? I’m quite anxious to get to know you.”

Belle’s mouth opened and she looked plantively at Gold. “I, uh, I had not -” She looked up at Ella, who was nearly a head taller than herself, and found an expectant, yet outwardly kind expression. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

The two women walked off together, Ella bent towards Belle in quiet conversation, and Gold winced. He went back to his seat and picked up his glass, finishing the last bit of wine in a large gulp. He saw Ella cajole Belle into sampling something or other from one of the food trays. He wasn’t able to make out what it was, but it must have been favorable to Belle because she smiled, even with her mouth full, and Ella threw her head back and laughed.

“That doesn’t bode well,” Jefferson said, dropping down into one of the chairs next to Gold. “The Countess will be pestering us daily to go to court and parade Belle around.”

Gold sighed. “No, she will not. I’ll have a word with her before she leaves. Though I’ll have to make sure she’s sober enough to hear it.”

Jefferson grinned. “She’s staying the night you know.”

“Wonderful,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Well, then I suppose it can be over tea and breakfast.”

“Are you sure you will want to be sober for that?” Gold gave him a flat look, and Jefferson laughed. “It could be a good thing, you know. Ella does have a way of bringing people out of their shell.”

He shook his head, and watched as Ella stood by one of the tall windows, her head tilted as she listened to what Bell was saying. Her expression was softer than he was used to seeing, and he wondered what the two women could be talking about. His thoughts were disrupted by a clatter from the other side of the room, where Bae, Grace, and another boy, had upended a tray of tarts, and there was a momentary pause in the din of the room as the attendees noted what was happening.

Following a quiet round of laughter, Jefferson excused himself to make sure the children were up to no further mischief, and Gold found his gaze drifting back to Belle. She had chosen the blue dress, which pleased him immensely. It had been his favorite of the fabric samples he’d surveyed prior to having the dresses made, a color that wasn’t too dark or too light for her skin and which matched her eyes perfectly. Set against the snowy landscape beyond the windows and lit by the glow of the room, she looked like a queen.

He thought perhaps he should send Master Aemon a little extra for his fine work, and more still for such timely delivery.

After what felt like the longest quarter of an hour of her life, Belle finally escaped the prodding curiosity of Countess de Vil, and hurried to the safety of Astrid’s side.

“Please don’t leave me,” she said, taking Astrid by the hand and giving Ruby a pleading look, “at least until the Countess finds someone else to talk to.”

The two women laughed.

Ruby patted Belle’s shoulder. “Lady de Vil takes some getting used to.”

Belle blew out a breath and took the glass of wine Astrid offered with a grateful smile. “That seems like an understatement, Miss Lucas.”

“Ruby, please,” she replied. “We’re all friends here, or we will be.”

Belle smiled and gave a short nod. “Yes, yes I think we will.”

Astrid proceeded to introduce Belle to some other residents of Lamton, and the surrounding area between the village and Thorhill, including Leroy the groundskeeper. She was surprised she hadn’t met him before now, but he said he had been away when she first arrived, taking a much needed break after the end of the growing season. There was an old cottage on a lake up about a mile north, which served as a hunting and fishing lodge for anyone who so desired to visit it.

Once again she was struck by the sense of community and the way everyone seemed to think nothing of sharing and maintaining such things together. She knew many lords who would treat even the smallest, most rundown shack as their most coveted property should anyone else decide to use it for themselves. She wondered then why Gold sat alone at a smaller table, visited only by Jefferson, Baeden, and occasionally the Countess de Vil. It appeared he went out of his way to make sure those who lived on and around his lands were taken care of, but they regarded him with a strange coolness that she couldn’t understand.

As the evening went on, Belle found herself in as delightful company as she could have imagined, and even more at ease than she had anticipated. She passed from table to table with Astrid or Ruby at her side, exchanging not simply polite introductions, but genuine interest and conversation. Her mind was bursting at the seams with names and occupations and relations, that she was sure, after some time and nudging from Astrid, she would remember.

It was nearing nine when Leroy, Jefferson, and a few other men shifted the tables further to the edges of the room, as a group of musicians gathered in the wide corner to the left of the hearth. Belle watched the adjustments to the space with a bit of trepidation. She had known there would be dancing, there always was at such an event, but it had been well over a year since she had attended a ball, or been out in society. After the incident with Gaston, rumors had started to spread, making her nervous and afraid of being around anyone outside of Avonlea. The dissolution of their engagement had only made it worse. Her close friends like Ariel and Astrid, had stuck by her, but it was as if she could feel the world she had known slowly receding. Only her marriage to Cameron and the stability it brought to Avonlea improved her situation, though King George seemed oddly determined to undermine it.

The musicians began to tune their instruments, and Belle pressed her hands to the front of her skirt as she exhaled slowly. Her body was suddenly tingling with nervous energy, and hoped that she wouldn’t embarrass herself if she was asked to dance. The intermittent musical noise and din of conversation died down, and, as if on cue, Gold pushed to his feet, adjusted his coat, and came down the line of tables to stand in front of her.

“Lady Gold,” he said, his lips slightly curved as he bowed before her, “may I have this dance?”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #my rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #arranged marriage au #in all things #fic

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ikesenhell · 4 years

Text

American Dream

AMERICAN DREAM, Chapter 1. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: HOLY SHIT IT HAS BEEN A MINUTE. Thank you so much to @missjudge-me, who commissioned this whole piece. You have them to thank. I’m sorry it took so long for me to get back up, but being homeless and in grad school and working and getting formally diagnosed with an autoimmune illness and being in a pandemic and moving kinda takes it out of you. This was very fun to write. Enjoy!

---

Masamune wasn’t used to his childhood bedroom anymore. His mother had converted his loft bed desk into her scrapbooking station. That was fine, in theory, except that it meant two things: one, she hadn’t changed the sheets in actual years, and two, the loft bed was still there.

“Sweet!” He announced with a laugh, scaling the ladder in a single bound. It’d felt so tall once. He ducked low against the ceiling, pressing his back flat. “Holy hell, I was smaller then.”

“Duh.” His brother, Kojiro, smirked from the door. Time changed everything. Masamune felt so big when he was in high school himself, but looking at his teen brother changed his perspective. “You’re a big lunk now. You eat like The Rock.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Masamune kicked off his boots and army-crawled into the loft.

“How much clearance you got?”

“Eh. Six inches from my chest to the ceiling?” He tried to roll onto his back and failed, laughing against the drywall. “Did you know about the time that I knocked myself out up here?”

Kojiro’s luminous blue eyes appeared over the lip of the bed. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Got too excited freshman year of high school, bolted straight up when the alarm went off.” He motioned at a dent in the ceiling. “I was late. Dad didn't stop laughing for about, I dunno—”

“—the whole ride there.” Kojiro chuckled. “Yeah. Sounds like him.”

The funeral wasn’t so far behind them that it didn't hurt, but it sure as hell hurt less. Masamune checked his knuckles into the dent. It was the whole reason for his coming home. His mother needed someone to sort out all of the old things, all the memories and bills she couldn’t bear to look at. It didn't matter that they’d never gotten along. Kojiro was her favorite; that was obvious (and Masamune couldn’t blame her for that, Kojiro was a joy by anyone’s standards). Even then he couldn’t let her hang in the lurch. His dad taught him better than that.

Damn. He missed his dad. Everywhere he looked in this old town, in this old house, were reminders. There was the trashy diner where they used to get the world’s best milkshakes once a week. There was the old stove with the broken burner they’d never replaced (because it was ‘perfectly good’) where he’d learned how to cook. And it wasn’t just his father he felt the absence of. Masamune fingered along the space between the wall and the loft bed where he’d pasted all the pictures and keepsakes from his friends. Him and Nobunaga, posing in a picture by the beach with matching glasses. Hideyoshi and Mitsunari peering at homework, Mitsuhide poised to drop an ice cube down his shirt. (Nobunaga was a broker in New York City, conquering Wall Street with Hideyoshi. Those two shared an apartment in SoHo, all the way across the country on the other coast. Hideyoshi worked with Nobunaga now, and no one knew what Mitsuhide did. Mitsunari was off in the Peace Corps.) There was a snapshot of Masamune and Ieyasu squished together in the back of an old 1960s Volkswagen Beetle his mom had for decades, Ieyasu frowning over a mouthful of jalapeno poppers. Ieyasu was a doctor in Maryland now. He was terrible at texting back, too. Masamune made a mental note to call.

And then there was Her.

Even after all this time, he missed their friendship. He fingered the worn photograph; After-Prom senior year, her in a bikini that made his stomach somersault, him holding her on his shoulders. She was laughing. He still wore the fake eye back then, and it sat oddly in the socket, but even that didn't take away from the sheer joy as he gazed up at her. When she lived with her parents in the little green house across the street, he used to build paper airplanes with stupid jokes scrawled in the folds and fling it at her window, hoping that they’d hit and knowing they never would. They’d measure how far it got from his front door and compare their poorly-kept notes, misremembering all the numbers.

Now she was out there in the world.

Kojiro craned his neck over the loft edge. “What’cha got up there?”

Masamune didn't answer that. Instead he wondered if she was happy. “If I’m gonna stay here for now, we gotta fix this situation. I’m too manly and brawny to fit up here. Wanna swap beds?”

“No! This thing is so uncool, you can’t get—” And the teenager furtively checked the doorway, lowering his voice. “You can’t get anyone up here with you.”

As an adult, Masamune rolled his eyes. As a brother, he snapped back, “I promise, you can.”

“Gross, why the fuck would I trade with you now—!?”

Downstairs, their mother shouted, “Who is swearing up there!?” Kojiro paled. Masamune, bolstered with smug elder brother energy, kicked him from the ladder.

“Move, punk! Run for your life! You fucked up!”

His mother, louder now. “Who said that?!”

“That was Masa!” Kojiro bellowed, fleeing the scene of the crime. “Masa said it that time!”

“That time!? Kojiro—!”

Masamune finally wriggled himself free from the narrow confines of the loft. On the way down, he pocketed the picture of Her.

---

The only reason he remembered the day his dad bought the ‘85 Camaro was his mother was well and truly pissed about it. It wasn’t a pretty looking thing then. Masamune later sussed out that his dad had picked it off a side road out in the country because it was ‘a nice looking car’ and ‘could be fixed up’. Of course it could. Maybe it was his time in the military, but there wasn’t a damn car under the sun that his dad couldn’t fix. The Camaro was better than new, but his mom drove a newer Hyundai, so it sat neglected in the garage, shiny and electric blue and begging for a test run. When Masamune backed it into the driveway, his mother sighed ragged.

“I ought to sell that thing,” she announced.

Masamune bit back his reflex answer of ‘not on my watch’ and replied, “Kojiro’s gonna need a car when he can drive.”

“I’m going to get him something new. A nice car. That one is too old for anything now.”

“I could take it.”

“You already have that infernal death trap.” She thumbed at the Harley parked in the grass, right where she hated it most. In the name of getting along, neither of them had mentioned it. “You don’t need another car payment. Besides, don’t you have anything better to do right now? We have all sorts of things to settle with your dad’s estate.”

“Ma, the car is paid off.” But she was right in one way; he did already have a vehicle, and paying the taxes and insurance on both was a waste. It was sort of pointless, keeping the car in the garage forever. “I can’t do anything until I get the extra copies of his death certificate, and that’s gonna be a minute. I ordered them today. Did you want me to put the car on Craigslist or something?”

She gazed at it, her steel expression softening. Ah, yes. There was his mother. His parents loved each other dearly. It just took moments like this to remember it.

“Would you?” She replied. Her feather soft voice broke his heart. “I can’t bear to do it.”

“Yeah, Ma. I’ll get it to a good home.”

---

All it really needed was a wash and an oil change. The guys at the auto parts store whistled enviously when they handed over the filters. No; it wouldn’t be hard to sell at all. No doubt he could post it on some Reddit forum and get a hundred hits in an hour.

Masamune was about to post the listing when fate intervened.

The driveway was warm on his bare back, the first chill wind of autumn cooling his shoulders. His phone was stark against the sharp blue sky, his shirt rolled under his hair.

A shadow fell over him. “Masa?”

He blinked his only good eye, floundering against the sudden contrast. The woman murmured an apology, stepped away, and blinded him with sunlight again.

“Hey!” He laugh-yelped, rolling onto his stomach. “Goddamn!”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He clutched at the Camaro’s bumper and pulled himself up, blinking sundots away. “Gimme a sec, hang on.”

And then—she swam into view, all bright eyes and curves and nothing like she used to be and everything like she used to be and so much better. Was this his friend, this fully grown woman with a face like all his best memories? Where his words? He was usually so good with them.

“That you, Masamune?” She asked, the ghost of a smile on her mouth.

“Well, hell.” SAY SOMETHING, YOU STUPID BASTARD. He forced a grin back—but then it arrived all on its own. “Wow. Damn. Where have you been this whole time, Kitten, Hollywood? You runnin’ everyone out of a job out there? Puttin’ those Hadids out of work?”

Her laugh was the same. Good God, it sent shivers all the way down his spine and into his toes. Her eyes crinkled and he wondered if he could bottle that expression. “You’re still calling me Kitten, huh?”

“Your fault for wearing cat socks all the time. I don’t see a reason to stop now, ‘specially now that you blinded me in my own driveway.”

Even her eye roll was a shot of nostalgia to the veins. What now? Did he shake hands? Masamune stared at his oil-slicked palms from changing the filter. “Well, if you don’t mind me smearing grease all over you… Shit, what am I asking for?”

“Oh my God, Masamune, do not rub motor oil on me!”

“Too late!” He charged forward. She squealed but didn't run; he caught her around the waist and squashed her against him, bringing her feet from the ground. Those eyes were wide with surprise and delight and so much joy. Something smelled of cinnamon and cloves. “God, is that your shampoo?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s great. You look great.”

She batted against his chest, wriggling in his grasp. “And you bulked up. What, you one of those CrossFit junkies or something now?”

“C’mon, don’t insult me like that. Their form is terrible.”

“And you ditched the glass eye.”

“It was hurting. Figured I might as well let the lid close up and deal with it. Not like I could see from it anyway.”

But she laced her hands around the back of his neck and tapped just above his brow. Such easy physical intimacy. Oh, how he’d missed that! They’d always been the most handsy of the friend group, never shying away from each other. “I wasn’t complaining. You rock the pirate look, Captain.”

Masamune snickered and clicked his tongue. “I’ll own that. I love some booty.”

With a roll of her eyes, she let the comment slide. “You busy? Wanna catch up?”

At last he let her slide from his arms, setting her feet on the ground. Why was the world so much colder when her body parted from his? “Hell yeah. Let me make you some gyoza and we’ll chat.”

#American Dream #commission #ikesen masamune #modern au #roadtrip story #angst #death mention tw

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billwillkilldill-blog · 3 years

Text

I feel a hunger but no appetite.

We landed on Ravenmoon for oil and gas. We had to wear the spacesuits that Watər said was safe. We walked on the thick, black crust of the moon and looked forward. It was a flat planet with small, cooled over bubbles of rocket fuel. There are a few geysers that spew out and break the crust, only to be covered over again.

We didn't want to stay long but we did. My companions, Noctis and Wiffle, led the way to a good geyser only for it to stop three steps away. It almost seemed unnatural. One moment it was spewing black liquid and then it just stopped. But then we saw something we hadn't seen before. A building on Ravenmoon. Scarsac has some ties to big corporations and I asked them after our expedition. There were no records of anything man-made on Ravenmoon. Noctis hast seemed very reliable for historic events and Wiffle is insane. I'm surprised that Wiffle has even survived this long. No matter- there's a building on Ravenmoon. Of course we entered because we're all curious idiots. The front room was an air lock. However, both glass doors were cracked so we didn't take off our suits. Inside was.. odd. It seemed like a research lab at first with multiple boxes of papers and computers and desks. We were intrigued and idiots so we looked through the stacks of paper. There were no mentions of Ravenmoon. It was all dated 2123. Each and every paper had a orange stain on one part of it. Every. Single. One.

They all seemed to be wordy reports about oxygen levels and reports on how animals act in space. Nothing interesting or of note. God we were idiots. We surveyed the base and found a chair with wires hooked to the metal neck and wrist restraints. It looked ancient but recently used. There was a thick layer of dust but some spots were new and shiny. One part of it said "P.W.X" It was odd to say the least- like we were seeing different patches sewn together from different times or spaces. Its odd to say the least.

The next rooms were offices belonging to different people. One had a little red button..

I pressed it...

It turned red.

It beeped.

It stopped- it left us silent.

And then it played a little tune- something familiar- then it said to wait for a response.

We waited- and waited- wait-

Nothing.. absolutely nothing- just silence. We left the room

There was also a little box that could send things.. somewhere. At least that is what it seemed to do. All it did was give the item out in a layer of dust and the occasional crust.

We walked down the hall into a boarded room. The wood was rotted and we were all strong enough so we entered. Idiots. We all got a headache and it started to bleed. It just started to bleed. The room and windows and blood everywhere. It was oddly bright for blood though.

And then it stopped. We found a singular paper from a lengthy report about an entity making contact through animal bones, feathers, scales, and other remains. The name is censored out. The names of the people were censored. My head aches as I type this. We refueled on a geyser and talked about what happened. None of us had a clue. We brought a few items of interest back to the scanner (a rusted bolt from the P.W.Z, The paper from the blood room, etc.)

Here's what she had to say:

(Bolt): A bold made of solid tungsten. It is made to be sturdy. Whatever it was drilled into is probably ages old. Half of it seems old but the other half seems to show signs of recent use within the last week. Screws like this are common in Trentmern, Asia, and the western side of Canada.

(Blood room paper): The paper is relatively new but the censorship ink is not. I have not been programmed to be able to read specific text however.

We went back to earth. And we just chilled. We thought for a while and this is my report. Mr and wiffle have been talking and I can safely say that he is insane. Noctis is distant and smells of Blueberries. At least, thats what Wiffle and this strong nose said. I apparently smell like oranges. Orange is my favorite color so I was pleased.

Everything is a lot of things and I'm scared but hopeful.

Thank you.

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scenarioslovers · 4 years

Text

Little Event | N

It had been a while since I wrote something so go easy on me. thank you for sending in your numbers I am working on them one by one

Prompt quote #19: “God, you are so fucking cute.”

It took Hakyeon a whole week to set everything straight. He called all your friends and family to make sure that on that specific day you will not be home. He asked his friends to buy the decoration stuff and get him the best wine for that special day.

As Hakyeon was serving in the military he always felt so sorry for missing so many events. He missed your third anniversary; your birthday and he could not celebrate your success of getting promoted with you. He always felt sorry for you, but he was more grateful than sorry.

While everyone’s girlfriend was breaking up with them for not being able to stay by their sides. You were his greatest support. You always visited him, called him when it was possible. While everyone was getting their energy from girl groups, you were his biggest energy when he watched the video you sent him every day. He never felt lifted out of your life. He saw how hard you worked for you to get this promotion and his heart jumped with joy when you told him about it. However, his heart broke that he could not share with you this happiness in a person.

Lately, he got the information that you had been so stressed because of the new environment of your job. He could hear it in your voice when you called him. He could see it in your eyes, the dark circles that revolved around them that you were not getting so much sleep either.

And that when he had decided that he needed to do something for you. His two weeks off military was coming soon. Since he wanted to surprise you; you knew about his breaks and always waited for him in front of the gates, he asked for a day early leave. He had to do double the work and exercises and training so that he could leave a day early.

He did not complain and did the work patiently knowing that it would pay off when he sees you sooner.

When Hakyeon stepped out of the military base gate, he looked everywhere for the car that would pick him up. He asked his friend and groupmate Taekwoon to come in his car. However, he was late as always. Hakyeon could not help but roll his eyes when he saw Taekwoon’s car pulling off after fifteen minutes of waiting.

“I remember clearly saying one in the afternoon, not one fifteen.” Hakyeon spat as he threw his back on the back seat and hopped into the passenger seat. “Fifteen minutes late? Y/N will not wait for that long.”

He got your sister to act as if she had a bad day and needed you by her side. Now she was probably making up stories about why she was sad. Hopefully, you would buy it. He knew how smart you were, and he was so scared that someone would spill the tea. He swore that he would kill anyone who would ruin his plane.

“Nice to meet you too, my friend,” Taekwoon said softly as he shook his head before driving to your apartment.

“Did Hyuk brought my clothes? I asked him to bring me something new to wear.”

“He probably did it,” Taekwoon answered. “I guess.”

“You didn’t check with him?” Hakyeon voiced started to waver in panic.

“Yah! I was helping in decoration before coming here.” Taekwoon scoffed, rolling his eyes. “uh, right. I took a few pictures of the settings, hope you like them.” He handed his phone to Hakyeon as he side-eyed him watching his expression, which didn’t look so good. He looked so nervous. Wrinkles were clear around his eyes and the nerve was tight near his neck. “Hey, relax. She will like it. Everything will be fine.”

“I hope so.” He sighed, noticing how he was stressing so much. “I feel like I am purposing to her.”

Taekwoon could not hide his laughter. Because he knew that the next event after Hakyeon get discharged would be probably purposing for marriage. “Let’s not hurry things.”

When she called that she was having a bad day, your heart dropped. She took my car keys and drove right away to her house. You rang the door and when she was late opening the door, you started to panic. you called her once and after the first ring, the door swung open.

you looked at her confused. She looked totally fine. She was wearing a bathing robe and had a towel wrapped around her hair. Half of her nails were polished and there was a sheet mask on her face. It looked more like she was chilling than she was falling apart.

Her voice was seriously sad on the phone that your whole body was shaking in fear that you will not be able to collect your broken sister. Your heartbeat pace slowed a little bit as you were out of your breath. “What is wrong with you? You look totally fine.”

“I am not.” She rolled her eyes. “I am trying to relax here. My day was seriously bad. Come and join me.”

“Oh my god, you scared the hell out of me. But you look totally fine.” You sighed as you stepped into her house.

“Chill, it never gets so bad for me.”

“Lucky you then.” You said sarcastically, annoyed a little bit that she almost gave you a panic attack and relieved that she was fine. “Hakyeon’s break will start tomorrow. I need to be home early to cook something delicious for him.”

“Hakyeon.” Your sister’s voice cracked a little calling his name.

“Yeah, my boyfriend. If you forgot about him.” You threw your body on the sofa as you pulled one of the face masks and put it on your face. “You don’t know how much I was worried. What happened?”

“Oh, it’s just school stuff.” Your sister was a college student. Since both of you lived in the countryside, moving to Seoul was a serious step in both of your lives. Everyone wondered why you did not live together. Both of you were more comfortable to live on your own.

“Okay, I am listening.” You waited for her to speak, but she looked like she did not have anything to say. She was looking nervously around her, and you feared for the worst. “You aren’t getting suspended, are you?”

“No, of course not. It has just this subject I am not doing well in it. I am expecting a D at the end of the semester.”

“Just that?” You rolled your eyes, as you fade up with your sister.

“Well, you know that if I got a D I will lose my scholarship. I don’t know what to do.” She sighed, but her eyes were looking somewhere else as if she was thinking. You decided to ignore it for a second. If she lost her scholarship, your parents would probably kill her.

“Did you speak to your professor?”

“Yes, no.”

“Yes or no?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s on your mind? Speak to me.” You sat straight on the sofa as you took her hands in yours. “I am here for you.”

“I know.” She suddenly hugged you before pulling away as quickly as she hugged you. “I am glad you are here. Stay for a bit. I need your help doing my nails.”

“Are you really getting a D? or did you call me to do your nails?” You narrowed your eyes at her. She was defiantly acting strangely today.

“You got me.” She grinned and you almost slapped her head but decided otherwise.

Maybe it was the time of the year when she just wanted you around for no reason. She always did that when she was young. Running to your room and play around even though she had her own room, but she liked to be around you.

An hour passed and you decided to go back home, but your sister will not let you go. She was nervously texting and then threw her phone away before asking you to help with something else. Strangely she always found something for you to do.

“I have to say it. What is wrong with you today? You are acting so strange.”

“I just miss my older sister.”

“I will try to believe that.” You shook your head. “I really have to go home. I have a lot of things to do today.”

You noticed it again, her phone rang, and she checked it out before looking back at her nervously. “Who are you texting?”

“Just my friends from school. They are asking me to go and drink with them.”

“Then go and let me go too.” You scoffed. “Just go to your friend and let me prepare for my boyfriend”

Her phone rang again and this time she smiled. “You know what you are right. I am going to them now. You are free to go.”

“Finally. I will see you soon.” You grabbed your stuff and headed toward the door; she was right behind you. “Call me when you get home, don’t drink too much, and don’t bring boys home. Or at least use protection.”

“UNNI” Your sister snapped in frustration, her cheeks as red as a tomato.

“Call me.” You pointed a finger at her before walking out of her house.

It was dark where he was hiding. He thanked everyone for the help, and they left right after he gave them the vouchers he promised. He was right to trust Hyuk to pick up his clothes. He picked ripped jeans and a green oil shirt. Also picking up the perfect perfume he was waiting nervously for you in the kitchen.

Your sister just texted him that you were on your way and that he owed her for suffering for two hours with her sister.

He texted her back that it could not have been that bad, knowing how kind-hearted you were.

Ten minutes later and the door opened. He took a deep breath; his heart was going to escape his chest. It was beating so much. When the light turned on, he heard your gasp and it was his clue for him to get out of his hidden place.

When your eyes fall on him, your mouth dropped. you gasped again, louder this time as tears filled your eyes. You looked around you then at him again. “What are you doing here? You are early”

He just smiled as he stepped closer and closer to you. “I wanted to cheer you up. A little surprise for you.”

“How? When did you get to do all of this?”

You pointed at the balloons and the banner with “I love you forever” written on it. There was a table by the window and two glass of wine and the wine bottle in the middle. He saw the astonishment in your eyes, the disbelieve. It meant only one thing. That his plan was a success.

When he was about to make a joke, you broke into tears as you sobbed like a baby in front of him. Panicking, Hakyeon held your face in his palm. Confusion filled his eyes as you will not meet his eyes.

“Hey, hey.” He said softly as he placed a soft kiss at the top of your head. “Did I do something wrong? Should I go back to the base?”

You held his hands before he could pull away. Finally, you looked at him. Nose red. Eyes red. Your cheeks were red too. Tears cascading softly on your cheeks. “Did you ask my sister for help?”

“Was it obvious?” He asked, nervously. Maybe his plan is a fail after all.

“Well, she was acting strange. I didn’t know why I was worried, now I know.” Sniffing, you looked at his eyes and he saw the starry night in them. They sparked, emitting fireworks into his heart. “I miss you so much. So, so much. I am really glad you are here.” You tip-toed and snaked your arms around his neck hugging him so tightly.

Her whole reaction caught him off guard that for a second, he was just frozen before hugging you back and carrying you in his arms.

When he put you back to the ground, you were still crying so much. He could not help it but hug you again and laugh at your cuteness. He was totally covering your head with his arms as his hand was patting your shoulder gently. “god, you are so fucking cute.”

You slapped his chest playful as you pulled away from just a little so that you could see his face. “Shut up, you made me cry. I did not expect that all. I love you so much.” You pulled him down and pressed your lips against his.

“I love you too.”

#vixx #vixx scenarios #n vixx #hakyeon #Hakyeon scenarios #kpop scenarios #prompt based #vixx scenario #vixx n #vixx hakyeon #Hakyeon scenario #fluff scenario #fluff scenarios #kpop #kpop scenario

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lia-jones · 4 years

Text

Growing Stronger - Chapter Twenty-Seven - Memories

The limo drove me to an unfamiliar street in Southwest Loveland, the same neighborhood Solace was located. It stopped by a small restaurant, without any signage on the windows or canopy. The restaurant door was closed, but I could see the lights inside were on through the large window, dressed with a sheer curtain.

“It’s very exclusive.” The driver commented, as he pulled in front of the restaurant’s door. “You’ll have to knock and say your name. They have a reservation-only policy.”

I left the car with a sigh, preparing to bring my best business self to the game. It would be hard to focus though, my mind always drifting back to Victor. Snap out of it, Andrea. This is important.

I knocked on the door, and sure enough, a waiter came to take my name. After I introduced myself, he led me to the dining area.

“The other guest advised us that he would take a few more minutes to arrive. In the meantime, you’re welcome to appreciate our art.” The waiter offered, taking away my coat and my purse. “The owner is very proud of it.”

I roamed through the restaurant, paying attention to the decoration. It had a similar vibe to Solace, pictures covering the walls. The place looked exquisite, all decorated in tones of beige and white, crystal chandeliers hanging on the ceiling, black frames contrasting with the creamy walls. Victor would love it here, should the food be any good. What was this restaurant’s name? I wasn’t sure if anyone had told me.

I took a closer look at the picture of a sunset at the beach right in front of me, finding it strangely familiar. The building in the background gave away its location. It was Dubai. I remembered spending New Year there with Victor, us making love for the first time with that same view as the background.

Next to it, a picture of a restaurant canopy. It read Jules Verne. I had been there too. Precisely one year ago. It was when me and Victor shared our first kiss, as we walked out of that same restaurant. I held my Eiffel Tower charm between my fingers, indulging in that memory.

I found it funny, I had been in all the places the owner had been. Well, it was only natural, they were quite touristy places, so no surprise there. It was when I looked at the next picture that my heart started beating a little faster.

It was Torre de Belém, in Portugal. I frowned, what were the odds? I moved to the next picture, gasping in surprise. It was Mr. Mills' wish tree, covered with the colorful wish ribbons. Next to it, a picture of my grandmother’s property, the carved soil that carried the water from the spring to the other lands, the mill where the olive oil was produced.

I paused. This couldn’t be. I looked at the table next to me, perfectly set, and noticed the golden letters on the napkins, spelling Souvenir. Before I had any time to react, I heard a familiar low voice behind me.

“Took you long enough to figure it out.”

I spun around to see his face, wanting to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. There he was, leaning against the door frame that led to the service area, dressed in a white shirt covered by a light grey suit vest and matching pants, smiling widely at me.

Stunned by the wonderful surprise, I lost all sense of decorum. I ran to him and threw myself in his arms, holding him tight, unable to silence my emotional sobs. He chuckled and lifted me in the air, holding me tight. I buried my face in his shoulder, letting a few tears flow. He was here. He wasn’t far away. It had all been a ruse. I wanted to smack him for the little prank, but I felt so happy I couldn’t do so.

“Someone’s happy to see me.” He teased lovingly, kissing my cheek. I held him tighter, set on having my fill of Victor’s scent and warmth. He caressed my curls, allowing me just to be there, in his arms, my feet floating above the floor. “I missed you too.” He whispered in my ear.

“You fooled me!” I finally had the strength to say, playfully whacking him when he laughed. “I thought you were in Switzerland!”

“Didn’t you read the note that came with the basket?” He raised a brow at me. “You should know by now I always keep my promises.”

I wasn’t going to argue. I pulled him in for a kiss. He kissed me back, sweetly, putting me on the floor again.

“So, what do you think of the new decorations?” He twirled me to face the pictures on the wall, never letting me go of his arms.

“All of these are places we’ve been together.” I held his arms around me tighter. “Our memories.”

“I opened Souvenir the first time because I was in love. Well, I thought I was.” He spoke softly into my ear, from behind. “It only made sense to reopen it, now that I have found true love, honoring the special memories we have created together.”

“Thank you for today. The flowers, the cookies, the poem…” I lifted my wrist, showing him my charm bracelet. “Look, I’m wearing it.”

“I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart.” He whispered with a smile, taking my wrist and kissing it softly. I caressed his cheek as it came close to my hand.

“You are needed in the kitchen, Sir.” The waiter interrupted us.

“The food must be ready.” He said, pulling away. “Brian, serve Miss Jones a glass of champagne while she waits. And you…” He turned to me and led me to a table, pulling a chair for me to sit down. “You wait right here. I won’t take long.”

I sat at the table, sipping my champagne, admiring the restaurant once more. This time I noticed something else. Every centerpiece in each table was a bigger replica of each one of my charms: a snowflake, a bottle with sand, a V... How didn’t I notice it before? Victor had a special attention to detail.

After a few moments, Victor sat across me again, placing two plates on the table, while the waiter came with a bottle of wine.

“You cooked?” I asked, and he nodded. “Isn’t this the same as eating at home?” I teased.

“Who do you take me for?” He pretended to be offended. “I will have you know that I prepared a special meal for you today. In fact, I have been secretly perfecting it for months. Starting with this roasted duck with cherry wine reduction, served with chestnut puree and roasted carrots.”

Needless to say, the meal was amazing. The duck was tender and rich, and the sweetness of the sauce complimented it perfectly. The puree had rich notes of butter and nutmeg, and balanced perfectly with the carrots, sweet and salty.

“It’s amazing. Well done, chef.” I complimented him.

“The meal is not over yet.” Victor smiled. “I’m going to get the dessert.”

Victor arrived with two beautifully plated chocolate-covered cakes, garnished with raspberries perfectly aligned in a heart shape on top. The ganache was so shiny that I could see my reflection on it. It looked so astonishing that the thought of cutting the cake was heartbreaking.

“Go on, try it.” He encouraged me. “I want to know your opinion of it.”

I carefully cut the cake, admiring how it was built. Moist spongy chocolate cake, what looked like chocolate meringue, a rich chocolate mousse, and fresh raspberries alternating in layers. It was a perfect melange of flavors and textures, and I was curious to find how it would feel in my mouth.

“Oh my God, this is delicious.” I moaned pleasurably as I had my first bite. “Your creation?”

“Yes. I called it the Andrea cake.” He gave me a smug smile. I froze.

“You named it after me?” Somehow I managed to avoid the gasp, afraid I would choke.

“It’s complex, rich, sweet, a bit of tartness to compliment. It seemed fitting. It will be on Souvenir’s menu from now on. In your honor.” He spoke like it was nothing at all, like it was only natural to have something named after me.

“Why, thank you. That’s a happy first for me.” I chuckled.

“You will have plenty of happy firsts with me.” Victor looked me in the eyes, making a heatwave course through my body. “You better get used to it.”

We finished our dessert, and the waiter started to take away our plates. Victor got up and took my hand, motioning me to follow him.

“Come, I want to show you something else.” Victor led me inside the service area.

The kitchen was huge and highly functional, all decorated in white. Hanging on a wall, I could see two grey aprons, with the word Souvenir embroidered on them in silver, one big and a smaller one. I took the smaller one in my hands, smiling.

“Who is this one for?” I smiled knowingly. Victor smiled back.

“My sous-chef. If she says yes.” For a moment, I saw in his eyes a hint of emotion I couldn’t name, nor had the clarity to decipher.

“Who’d say no to Victor Lee?” I joked. “Only a fool would. I love the kitchen, by the way. Can’t wait to spend more time here with you.”

“That is not what I wanted to show you. Come here.” He placed his hands on my shoulders, pulling me to stand in front of him, my back touching his chest. He covered my eyes with his hands.

“Do you trust me?” He whispered in my ear.

“With my life.” I felt my heart beat faster with anticipation.

Covering my eyes, he slowly guided me towards our destination. As soon as we passed some kind of threshold, I could feel the autumn breeze caress my skin. We were on some kind of balcony. Victor uncovered my eyes, and I felt my heart beat even faster. I am sure that if he wasn’t behind me, steadying me, I would’ve hit the ground.

The patio was covered by this large iron structure, probably built to hold a canopy to provide shade. The structure was adorned with fairy lights, and from it hung dozens of small frames, most of them with pictures of me in various settings: sleeping, working, distracted with something. Some of them were selfies we took while traveling, or simply enjoying moments of intimacy. The ground beneath my feet was covered in red rose petals, and there were flowers everywhere, embellishing every corner of the patio. It looked like a dream. I was dumbfounded.

“Victor…” I breathed while admiring all of the pictures of me and us. “I’m everywhere.”

“Now you know what my heart looks like.” He held me close, from behind. “It’s filled with you. Every nook and every cranny. I carry you in my heart.”

I took a deep ragged breath, trying to keep tears at bay and not make a scene again. Victor walked in front of me, holding both my hands.

“Before you, I was certain I would never love again. I had accepted for myself a life of solitude, void of affection. I had made it my destiny. Then you came and filled my heart with promises of something better and brighter, and you kept each and every one of them. You filled my life with light, love, and joy, as we created these beautiful moments together. They are my most precious possessions, what I treasure the most. No matter what I achieve in my life, whatever fortune I may gain, everything will pale in comparison to you. You will always be the most magnificent wonder of my life.”

My hands tightened around his, surprised with his meaningful words. I moved my lips to speak, but his finger touched them softly, asking for silence.

“Tonight, I give myself fully to you, limitlessly and unconditionally. I promise to devote my life to your safety, to your dreams, to your happiness.” Victor caressed my cheek softly with the back of his hand, his eyes brimming with emotion and an unshakeable confidence. “Tonight, we create another memory, one of the most important in our lives. The one that will be the true meaning of Souvenir. All I need from you is a single word.”

Suddenly Victor moved away from my line of sight, and my eyes widened as they found him on one knee, on the ground, pulling something from his pocket. A small box. He opened it, revealing a ring.

“Andrea Collaço Jones, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

I stood frozen for a moment, unable to breathe or speak. Was this happening? Was I somehow misinterpreting the situation? I felt like pinching myself, to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

“Andrea, I need an answer.” His voice slightly faltered, breaking the spell holding me in place.

“YES! Yes, yes, yes, oh my God, yes!” Before I realized it, I was already on the floor, in his arms, holding him tight, tears flowing freely now.

“Wait.” He broke the embrace, wiping a tear from my cheek. “I need to put the ring on your finger.”

Holding me by the waist, he lifted us both from the ground, taking the chance to plant a soft kiss on my forehead. He took my hand ceremoniously, his loving eyes drinking my expression, and slid the ring on my finger.

“Do you like it?” He asked, and I looked at my ring. It was made of white gold or platinum, with a tear-shaped deep blue gem, surrounded by smaller diamonds. “It’s a blue diamond. This shade of blue is one of the rarest, and there are only a few of its kind in the world. Just like you.”

I kept admiring the ring on my hand, entranced by the beauty of the ring, but most of all, its meaning.

“I love it!” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. “But most importantly, I love you. I love you so much, Victor! You are all I care about. You don’t even need to do much to make me happy.” I laughed. “All you have to do is exist.”

“If my presence is all you need to be happy, then I will never leave your side.” He smiled at me, pulling me closer.

“You can leave my side.” My smiling lips brushed his. “As long as you promise to always come back.”

“Do you remember what my last note said?” Victor raised his brow at me.

“No matter the time or space between us, I will always be there for you.” I quoted.

“And I always keep my promises.” He smiled meaningfully, finally closing the gap between us.

Our hearts were filled with love, and longing, and tenderness. But more than that, they were filled with vows of eternal love, with the foresight of wonderful moments, with the eagerness of facing the unknown together. That day was more than a memory, it was a promise. We sealed that promise with a kiss.

#Growing Pains - Series #growingstronger #mlqc fanfic #victor x oc #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #love and producer #mister love queens choice

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stressedlady · 5 years

Text

2,5k of god knows how to call this Enjoltaire fic...

The Portrait

He didn't want to be there. The light, the colorful dresses the ladies around him wore, the alcohol he had been practically forced to drink...he felt dizzy and slightly confused.

However, the blond wasn't going back home by any means. He had had a fight with his father and was not willing to give that bastard the satisfaction of thinking that he was dependent of him in any way.

How had Enjolras ended in that famous brothel? Well, in the second he told Courfeyrac that he couldnt return home for the night his friend dragged him and Combeferre to the Moulin Rouge. They stared for a while at the beautiful ladies dancing for a while, both of his friends were quite interested but Enjolras face expressed nothing more than indifference, deep resignation and anger.

"This is inmoral." declared the blond.

"That's what a priest would say, and you hate the clergy..." replied Courfeyrac with a wide smile.

"Well, my arguments are quite different, this poor girls are treated like objects to play with by those rich men because they need their dirty money to survive in this society who shames them as if they criminals. Some of them are probably being forced to work here and have to give the most of their earnings to someone else" He sighed. "And we are just contributing this injustice by coming to this place."

"Hell, now I feel guilty" snorted Courfeyrac, considering his friend’s words. But seconds later a man who was about their age approached them.

"Goodnight, Monsieur Courfeyrac" said the man with bright blue eyes and curly black hair. "I just came to say hello before leaving, I see you are in company, I don't want to bother you."

Saying this, his eyes went in a fast gaze from the lad he already knew to the one wearing glasses and to the blond. He smirked at Enjolras' serius face before turning his eyes back to Courfeyrac.

"Grantaire! Goodnight my friend. Don't leave yet, it's uncommon to see you out of your study, and sober..."

"Well, I wanted to take a break from all the comissions and projects, leave the oil paints aside for a couple of hours." He sighed. "But it seems that I've grown used to be alone or with very little company and now this much people and noise is overwhelming."

"Do not lie, you've never been a friend of crowds." He said with a grin. "Let me introduce you to my friends: Monsieur Combeferre, Monsieur Enjolras, this is Grantaire, one of the most brilliant artists of Paris."

Grantaire laughed "Oh, you are the one who lies to them. I don't even reach the rating of artist. Now I should leave to home and get drunk, nice to meet you..."

"Wait!" exclaimed Courfeyrac. "Would you mind to take my friend, Enjolras, with you?" The artist raised his eyebrows, and the blond one frowned. "He wants to do the morally right thing and leave this place but of he is left alone in the streets he will probably get killed by some robber, you are leaving and if you are not in company, you'll probably drink youself to death. Am I wrong?"

Grantaire looked at Enjolras again, trying to scrutinise his beautiful features with the dim light of the place. Then answered smiling "Not at all."

"Then it's done, Enjolras, you may go with Monsieur Grantaire." he said, practically pushing Enjolras off of his chair. "Wait, what?" sputtered Enjolras out of confusion.

"Just follow me, unless you want to stay here." Indicated the artist, with a smirk.

The atmosphere into the Moulin Rouge was really heavy, people flooded every single room and it was so warm that it was hard not to feel dizy. But the two young men went through and, when they crossed the main entrance and stepped into the cold empty streets, they sighed of relief.

"Would you want me to scort you home? This streets are dangerous at night and, without any intention of offending you, sir, you don't seem very able to defending yourself..."

"Being true, going home is the last thing I'd like to do tonight and, trust me" the blond boy raised slightly the lap of his jacket, showing the artist a small revolver he had in a inside pocket, his face turning serious "I'm not as naïve and helpless as I may seem."

"Good" replied Grantaire quite surpraised "Then, may I invite you to spend the night at my apartment? I mean, chatting and that stuff..."

"Won't I bother you?" Asked Enjolras a bit concerned. "You said you had work to do and, well, you look pretty tired."

"If I go back home alone I'll probably get drunk and stay awake until the alcohol beats me down which may happen around four in the morning...so I would be rather pleased to have company.” he smirked. “And more if it's company of a man who wanted to get out of a brothel because he thought it was inmoral." They had already headed to the artist's flat. "And, don't take me wrong but I'm dying in desires to paint you a portrait, you are really beautiful."

Enjolras blushed slightly but remained composed. “It’s okay for me...”

Grantaire’s flat wasn't the most luxurious or tidy place he had ever been into but, Enjolras thought, was much better than to stay at the Moulin Rouge. The flat was composed by two big rooms. The first one, in which you entered from the front door, was a kind of small and pretty precarious kitchen. There were a small table with two chairs, a wooden old cupboard in a corner and a firewood kitchen, everything surprisingly clean if you let the five empty wine bottles on the table go unnoticed. Grantaire guided Enjolras to the next chamber and inmediately mumbled something like "Sorry for the mess, I wasn't specting any visit tonight..."

That room was a bedroom, livingroom and studio all together. The funiture was composed by a single person bed in a corner in front of one of the big windows which pierced two of the walls, a desk which filled the space next to the bed and in another corner there was a old wardrobe. The rest of the stuff were basicaly art supplies. Big white canvases and stands were splayed across the place, paintbrushes of every sizes and textures and a lot paint could be found everywhere in that chamber. Some finished portraits and paintings rested in a corner against the wall and some others, unfinished, filled the stands.

Enjolras entered in the room, followed by his host, and after looking at the composition the previous elements formed, he drived his attention to the finished and ongoing paintings. Portraits of some men who, by the way they looked, would pass as what his father would call a 'respetable gentleman' and he would define as an 'elitist bastard', some still alives and one or two religion themed paintings.

"These are really good." said the guest as Grantaire setled the necesary material to paint the blond boy.

"Thank you, but those are mostly commisions, I actuallyi hate them. They are unoriginal, and ordinary, but is what rich people like to put in their walls covered with silk... and a man needs to eat." he sighed with a resignated smile, staring at Enjolras who had turned to him. He set a wooden stool which Enjolras had not even seen and approached the blond to take his jacket and hat and put them aside. But first he pointed at the jacket, smirking.

"Your weapon is still here, are you sure you trust me enough to stay unarmed?" Enjolras giggled in a way that made the other man grin sweetly.

"Keep that thing away from me, please. I would hate to fire that crap if is not for a really good reason."

"Okay, then I won’t give you any good reasons." said the artist with a smirk and pointed the stool. “Could you, please, sit here however you like and talk as much as you want?”

“Of course.” Enjolras hummed, doing as he was told, a bit confused but smiling pleasantly and watching the artist disappear behind a canvas of 1m x 50 cm "And what would you like to paint then?" The answer was simple, "Whatever the hell I want and however the hell I want. For example, now I want to paint you like the fine marble you seem to be combined with the impression I get of you as you talk."

" ...great" said Enjolras. The man of dark curls had awaken his curiosity.

"So, l'm curious, why would you think going to the Moulin Rouge is immoral, if I may ask?"

"Well, first of all..." he described a long list of reasons which could perfectly answered Grantaire's question: the public shaming and the terrible treatment fo the costumers to the women who worked there, the miserable pay they had, how ephemeral was their work and so on. He went on his ranting for a half an hour or so, the artist painting his features serious and quite focused. Was surprised that the boy was aware of the injustices of the world surrounding him and was not afraid to put them down in words. However, a sudden doubt crossed his mind.

"Okay, I understand, our society is hypocritical and unfair but..." he lifted his eyes from the canvas and set them on the boy's bright blue eyes. "why the hell should you care at all? "

Enjolras' expression turned serious, but not of anger or anoyance, but with the severity of a man who speaks of his beliefs. His blue eyes seemed to be filled with passion, and so did his voice. "Because I am unable to turn my back to the misery in which a big part of the french citizens is living, I can't spend a hundred francs in a coat while there are families starving in the streets of Paris, and will never think myself or anyone better or supperior because of how rich or powerful they are." His words were frivolous and he knew it, but were as honest as a drunk man's. Later he smiled, looking into the artist's eyes. "I believe that all men and women on earth are created equal and shall live in freedom, and I will fight for it."

Grantaires eyes were wide open, staring at the man in front of him. Enjolras wasn't a god or an angel like he had thought at first, he was something he felt more distant and foreign, an idealist with the will to change the world, to make it better.

"Yours is a lost cause, my friend." The artist finally said, hiding himself back again behind the canvas, sighing. "You know it, don't you?"

"Probably, but I don't care, I will defend it with my life." he replied. 'You'll die young, then.' Grantaire thought to himself, feeling a sharp sting in his heart.

The conversation went on quite normal, Enjolras told Grantaire why he didn't want to go home and why he had argued with his dad. The artist told him about the pedant rich old men, their arrogant wives and even more arrogant descendency who commisioned him and how much he hated them. He also talked about his younger sister and how smart she was. They enjoyed their time together and around six in the morning, when the sun had just started rising, painting the sky of beautiful yellow, orange and pink-ish colours and filling the room in which both young men were with a warm light, the portrait was finished.

"Done, come and see."

Enjolras stood up and walked next to the artist.

He looked at the painting and his eyes sparkled like stars, but remained silent. "Well, do you like it?"

In the painting, his clothes were quite different. He wasn't wearing a white shirt and an expensive vest, made with the finest fabrics, but some more modest, a plane white shirt with puffed sleeves and a red vest. There was a detail Enjolras loved and which made him smile warmly: in his chest there was pinned a cockade with the colours of the French flag. This was a common accessory for French revolutionaries and rebels, who Enjolras admired and respected. In the portrait he looked quite calm, with a smile, but his eyes sparkled with passion and decission. His blond curls and pale skin seemed to have their own light because around him, over the dark background, a light like the ones around gods and angels had in classicist paintings surrounded him.

"I love it, it's...perfect." Enjolras said out of pure joy. Grantaire observed him tenderly and felt his heart pounding in his chest when Enjolras set a hand on his shoulder "You are a really good artist, Grantaire."

"Thanks, and you a really good model." Answered his compliment. Both of them were slightly blushing, staring at each other. When he noticed this, Enjolras' cheeks turned completely pink and turned his sight to the canvas again.

"And how much will it be?" asked suddenly the blond.

"How much will it be, what?" Grantaire looked confused.

"The portrait..."

"Oh, you don't have to pay me."

Enjolras jumped in the place "No way, I can't have you up this late, painting me and later giving you nothing in return!"

"Of course you can, I'm doing this mostly for fun, and you have stayed there, awake, as I painted. I am not rich but I can afford to paint with no ecconomical profit in return."

"I don't care, I want to pay you." answered Enjolras stubbonrly.

"I won't take any money or anything material." said the artist with a smirk . "I swear the is no need to pay me, Enjolras."

"But-"

"Look, just come back, that will be enough. Come back, pose for me again... I don't know if you can tell but I'm a pretty lonely man and some company won't make me any bad. Only if you want, I mean." he looked quite nervous and embarassed by his own request. "You can't take your portrait with you yet, the oil paint takes a week or so to get dry, you should come to pick it next Sunday."

"I can come earlier if you'd like..." said Enjolras tentatively as he took his jacket and was scolted by Grantaire to the front door.

"Whenever you want, I'm always here."

"Is tomorrow okay? I have some work to do today but I'll be free tomorrow."

Grantaire smiled widely, noticing that the boy had liked him a bit.

"Yes, tomorrow will do."

Enjolras reached out to give the artist the traditional French kiss-on-each-cheek, which took Grantaire quite out of guard. "See you tomorrow, then." and he left.

Grantaire sighed, walked back to his bedroom and turned stood in front of the finished portrait, wondering if such a beautiful creature was real or that boy was just fruit of his imagination and the last hours had been a dream or a illusion. Maybe he had met an angel or a god, a son of Apollo, or Apollo himself, perhaps.

He put his hands into his pockets, before empty, and hummed when he felt four small heavy objects inside his left pocket. Grantaire took them and couldn't help feeling surprised as he looked at the four 20 franc gold coins on his hand. He rapidly deduced that Enjolras had put them there while giving him the two kisses. He smirked.

"That little motherf-"

#les mis #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #exr #enjoltaire fic #exr fic #1900 AU (?#fanfiction #I mentioned this idea in another post...#les miserables

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thisbitchinthecorner · 4 years

Text

December 31st 1799 Day 31

This is very late, but better late than never, right?? For @drawlight

Auld Lang Syne Prompt

“Did getting locked up in the Bastille teach you nothing? You continue to dress in such an outlandish manner, you’re going to get yourself discorporated and you can’t say that I didn’t warn you.” Crowley groaned as the shuffled by a group of young British officers as they made their way down the street.

“Oh come now! I’m not that overdressed and at least I’m not looking as ghastly as you!” Aziraphale bickered. “Honestly, those pants of yours are practically obscene!”

“At least I know how to blend in, you just stand out, literary everywhere you go. Lucky it hasn’t caused more problems for you.” Crowley

grumbled. “So you’re finally going to let me see what you’re done to your little bookshop then? Feels like it’s been ages since you’ve let me into your humble home.”

“It’s not a little shop anymore, Crowley. I made some changes.”

“About time, that tired old building has been your base of operation for...well, since forever.”

“It was in need of some updating, and my last place was more of a library, this is, ah, just see for yourself.” The angel glowed with pride as they turned a corner and stood in front of a stately stone building.

“You have been a busy little bee, haven’t you?A.Z. Fell and co?” Crowley read. “Who is the co?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It’s just a title really. Would you like to come in?” The angel and demon stood together at the threshold, as Aziraphale opened the door.

The space was large, warm and still the remarkably unorganized chaos that Crowley knew so well. Four grand pillars now stood in the center, above them, a massive window allowing Heaven’s light to filter in, filing the room with a pale light. In typical Aziraphale fashion, the furnishings were just a bit out of style to ever be mistaken for modern.

“I see you kept the old furniture.” Crowley remarked.

“Can’t expect me to change everything.”

“The silver tea set is new. Angel wings on the cups? Really?” Crowley snickered as he picked up one of the polished pieces. The angel pretended not to hear him.

“Seems like you have no intention of actually selling any of these books.”

“I have some intention.” The angel scoffed. “But not much.”

“A lot of work to open up an enormous book shop with the intention is not to sell any actual books.” Crowley meandered around the room, admiring the splendor and noting the personal touches the angel had installed. “I do like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Oh thank you.” Aziraphale said as he tidied some leaflets.

“Gabriel approve of it? I mean, all these little Heavenly touches must really put a cheery smile on that face of his.” Crowley grimaced.

“I didn’t exactly tell them yet.”

“You didn’t tell them what?” Crowley asked, carefully studying the angel’s posture change.

Aziraphale answered by gesturing, a grimace overcame him as he genuinely feared Heaven’s reaction.

“How could you not tell them? You’ve been talking about having a proper book shop for the last 200 years now.” Crowley said with surprise.

“It never came up. It’s been ages since Gabriel or any of them have been on Earth, and I haven’t been summoned to Heaven since the birth of Christ.”

“You just miracled this immense building into existence and you expect Heaven not to notice?” The demon laughed over the angel’s boldness.

“I didn’t miracle anything. I built it myself.” Aziraphale said quietly.

“All of it?” Crowley looked around with wonder. “By yourself?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale fiddled with his collar. “I rather like the work, and it didn’t take that long to finish. Mostly a labor of love, so to speak.” The angel ran his fingers over the marble pillar, seemingly impressed by his own handiwork, despite his efforts not to show his vanity. “But anyway, this is the new shop and you’re the very first to see it completed.”

“I suppose we should celebrate, seeing how this is the last night of the century and the realization of your bookshop finally coming together.”

“Well, we have celebrated much lesser achievements, and I do have some single malt scotch I was planning on drinking soon anyway.” The angel mused as he pulled the glasses off their shelf; two of them, no more, no less. “Where would you like to go this time to ring in the New Year? Obviously Paris is out. Florence? It’s been a while since we’ve been there. Perhaps Edinburg, you like Scotland and they are an exciting bunch.”

“Actually angel, I was thinking we should just stay in and celebrate here.” Crowley said with a shrug.

“You mean you don’t want to parade yourself around an adoring crowd?”

“I was thinking it could just be us.” Crowley bit his lip. “Just a quiet night in, you and me.”

“Alright then.” Aziraphale poured them each a drink. “Cheers.”

“Angel,” Crowley began. “This place really is lovely.” He watched the angel blush as a smile spread across his face.

“Thank you. It’s a bit formal and open. I have a room towards the back that I believe might be more comfortable.” Aziraphale noted the demon’s propensity to sit awkwardly in chairs, especially the fine vintage pair in the center of the shop. “Follow me.”

Aziraphale’s office was more an intimate space, with tidier shelves and a large chaise, perfect for lounging. The angel lit the oil lamps, their shades cast a crimson color across the room; a stark contrast from the swathe of golden sunlight in the main room.

Crowley settled upon the green and tan upholstered chaise and allowed the plush cushions to curve around him. “Oh, this I like.” He hissed in approval.

“Care for another drink?” The angel asked.

“Have you ever known me to say no to you?”

“My dear, it’s been so long that I cannot recall.”

“Angel, do you really believe that God intends for all of this to end one day?” Crowley, ever curious asks after several drinks.

“I don’t like to think about that.” Aziraphale confessed. “In the beginning, it was easier to keep myself detached from them. But now?”

“Oh come now! You’ve been fond of them right from the start! You gave away your damn sword, remember?”

“Right.” The angel shrugged as he slung back the rest of his drink.

“What was I saying?” Crowley pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. He set them down on the table as he began to walk around.

Aziraphale said nothing as his eyes lingered over the demon for a little too long.

“Oh never mind.” Crowley said as something caught his attention. “Do you hear that? Sounds like singing.”

“It cannot be morning already?” Aziraphale fumbled for his pocket watch, squinting to see the lines. “Apparently, we’ve missed the arrival of the new year.”

“And the new century!” Crowley grinned. “How about it, angel, fancy making a resolution?”

“I resolve to do good, more good, oodles of good deeds. What about you?” Aziraphale hiccuped.

“Me? No resolutions for me. I’d rather get a New Years kiss.” The demon winked while the angel once again pretended not to hear him.

“It does sound like singing. Let’s go listen!” Aziraphale leapt from his seat, grabbed the demon by the arm and dragged him out of the shop onto the street.

There was a crowd gathered, men and women, young and old standing across the street from the shop. They were singing an old folk song, yet the lyrics were different.

“Auld Lang Syne.” Aziraphale said knowingly. “It’s by a remarkable Scottish poet. Honestly, my dear, do you read at all?”

“Not if I can help it.” Crowley muttered, knowing his words would draw the angel’s ire.

“I love the promise each passing year brings. The chance to improve, to progress and to create. There’s no other time I feel as optimistic as I do on this day. Happy New Year.” Aziraphale nudged his counterpart gently in the arm. “You’re not wearing your glasses! You’ve left them in the shop. I will grab them for you.”

“S’alright angel.” Crowley turned to face the angel, their eyes meeting under the canopy of stars above them. “Happy New Year, my old friend. Here’s to your bookshop, and for what it’s worth, I think Heaven should be proud of your accomplishments.”

Crowley continued to keep his eyes upon the angel. All the moments we’ve shared together, I know you better than any angel, and you, you know me better than any demon. He thought. When will you see that we don’t belong to them, that we belong to each other. We are on our own side, together until the end.

As the crowd dispersed, the pair made their way back into the bookshop. Aziraphale said goodnight, as he prepared to officially open the store to the public in the morning. Crowley called for his carriage, and he was whisked away to his home. He sat and decided that it was time to compose a letter; a letter that may not ever be delivered, but one that he needed to write none the less. A letter telling him everything, all the things Aziraphale deserved to hear and all the things he wanted to say.

#31 days of ineffables #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #justenoughofabastardtobeworthknowing

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xiaomomowrites · 5 years

Note

Omg, omg❣️✨ Soo excited *_* Can you do a nerdy Eren headcanons with an ugly, acne, bad-teethed, weak health and cosplayer wannabe version of Mikasa? x‘)

Introduction: Okay haha sooo I’ve gotten used to writing these two as cool, calm, collected, with Eren as a huge fuckboy, and wow it was fun making a complete 180. I added a bit of a twist, so I hope you like it anyway! P.S. this was written at 1am and you totally got @unironicallynapping to laugh hard enough to start crying in the process of digging up these hilariously painful adolescent memories haha. -s.a.

Nerdy Eren, yes.

He’s like really into Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh and he’s watched Dragonball Z all the way through. Jean tricked him out of giving him his most valuable trading card in elementary and he never let it go.

Trading cards and video games and posters and everything.

Please, he’s thirteen.

Childhood friends with Mikasa and Armin, as per ushe.

Lanky, awkward, lil bit of social anxiety. He’s got some anger issues that come with this, it’s hard not to be insecure, especially at this age. He’d get a little snappy with some misdirected anger in social situations.

Thick glasses. Obnoxious bifocals and he sits in the front of the classroom.

Eren has braces, and yowzers does it make that cute middle-school-childhood-friend-after-the-school-dance-first-kiss awkward as hell because, shit, her mouth gets stuck in his braces. It doesn’t matter though, they’re on cloud nine that night.

He’s very happy go lucky, absolutely does not want to go into medicine just because his dad does it or business like his brother.

Eren, my poor baby boy, he has asthma on top of everything.

Mikasa! Oh, Mikasa. Really into cats but her parents won’t let her have one. So she settles for being one.

She was a sickly child, taking frequent visits to the hospital, so her parents are pretty protective.

Baby’s got A-cups, barely.

Cat ears, cat stockings, cat phone case, the whole enchilada

Mikasa likes to cosplay her favorite characters, but she’ll only closet-cosplay because her parents, her Asian fucking parents, won’t let her spend any more money than necessary.

But her cat phone case was $40 LOL BECAUSE SHE GOT IT AT SAN JAPAN.

Eren has a little bit of a crush on her though, he thinks those cat ears are cute and she’s honestly the nicest person to him aside from Armin. Never entertains the thought though, kid’s got too much else going on at the moment.

Mikasa, on the other hand, is stupid in love with him but she won’t tell him (Armin finds this painful, but decides against intervening. It’ll happen when it happens, he reasons).

Mikasa buys her first pair of wedges and Eren can’t stop staring at her legs. Her skinny lil legs.

Mikasa has acne because her Asian skin calls for too much oil, and the dirt buildup causes so many breakouts (im cryin)

She’s devastated, and uses her cosplay makeup to cover it up

ANIME CLUB ANIME CLUB ANIME CLUB

MIKASA WANTS TO BE A KPOP IDOL, AND VOWS TO TRY OUT WHEN SHE’S 15

She learns the dance to Like a Cat by AOA and sends a video to Eren (and hey, she’s really not that bad)

He locks his bedroom door that night

Every day after school they walked to the fast food restaurant one block from the school and paid in cash, feeling so cool because they got there on their own and paid. Eren goes there wanting one thing and ends up wanting something else, thus, “I didn’t bring enough money…”

She buys it for him, but tells her parents she bought her own food.

They share food at lunch and he walks her to class every day.

He’s her shoulder to cry on when she fails her first exam and has to show her parents. They’re chill, she’s just so hard on herself.

Eren moves to Marley Independent School District [MISD] because of his dad, so they go to different high schools. He hates it and they’re both devastated, but promise to keep in touch every day.

Mikasa tries to tell her she likes him before he leaves, she really does. But it just didn’t work out, and Eren moves without knowing.

They Skype a lot freshman year. Most of the time they’re not even doing anything or talking, just living with the other’s digital presence there. Even in school.

This dies out after first year for little things like, “I don’t have wifi”, “I almost got caught at school”, “connection is terrible, can’t hear you”, “I have an exam so I can’t call you this week”, “I got grounded for a month for something stupid”, and spring break just doesn’t line up for them.

OH SNAP TIME SKIP

They get into the prestigious Reiss University because Mikasa was valedictorian and Eren’s dad was his connection

Oh shiiit Eren ditches the thick frames and now sports cute thin round glasses. He overcame the asthma with meds (thanks dad) and now he’s super into sports and working out. Kid’s jacked and thinks he doesn’t need a shirt most of the time. His social skills improved since she doesn’t talk for him anymore. Now he’s just a closeted nerd, it’s still there deep down. He’s a bio major because maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to follow his father’s footsteps.

Mikasaaaa baby girl. She’s a solid C-cup now and wears heels (stilettos ayeee); bye wedges. Girl’s got curves for DAYS. Somewhere along the line she had outgrown the acne and the frequent health issues, and she’s also obsessed with working out. Ah, and she finally has her own cat. Got accepted to Reiss Uni for being top of her class, but her major is undeclared/undecided for now.

“Oh my god…Eren?”

“….Mikasa?!”

“Wow, it’s…been way too long.”

“I fucking missed you. Shit, you look amazing.”

“You too.”

Oh now they on snapchat ayeeee. So much flirting. He asks her out on snap, to which she replies, “try again”.

Pretty much start dating like a week after reuniting.

He takes her home to Marley for winter break and Carla pulls her into a mama bear hug, “Oh my…Mikasa! Oh my god! You’re so beautiful!!”

Mikasa’s parents, on the other hand, don’t even recognize Eren at first when they visit Shiganshina the following week. “Who’s this…? Oh! Eren?? Jeager??? You’re so big now!”

FRAT DADDY ZEKE comes home for break while they’re visiting and doesn’t recognize Mikasa as the Mikasa from Eren’s childhood at first. “Ayeee hah, Eren, oh shit, you uh…you hittin’ that?”

“Yes, clearly, I took her home, jackass gO AWAY.”

postscript:

Mikasa stands in the doorway, waiting for Eren to look up from studying. He’s sitting on his bed, brows knit together in complete concentration, with at least three different books in front of him. It was winter break, she had no idea why he insisted on studying even after finals. Guess he’s always been this way.

“Hey,” she calls out to him.

“Mmm,” is his lame response, eyes still focused on his readings.

“Eren,” she crosses the threshold into his room, hoping what it is she was wanting to show him would at least get his attention. “Look what I found when I was looking through my parents’ attic with my old stuff!”

“What is it, Mikasa? I’m…” the words seemed to die on his tongue when he finally looked up at her standing beside his bed. She was wearing his oversized hoodie and maybe some shorts underneath. He gives her a once over until his eyes land on the old relic she was trying to show him in the first place at the top of her head. “Are those…?”

“Yes,” she smiles. On her head sat her old cat ears headband, a little worn out, but full of cute (if not cringy) memories. Mikasa flicks the right ear and laughs, and the sound is music to his ears. “I can’t believe I used to wear these everywhere.”

Eren swallows thickly, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth had become. Not three feet away from him stood his girlfriend, the girl of his adolescent dreams, wearing his hoodie, legs distracting as ever. And the cherry on top was the headband that he found so adorable years back. Oh boy, if his thirteen-year-old self could see this now…

Maybe he had acted on impulse, he wasn’t sure, but the next thing he knew she was underneath him on his bed, his books discarded to the side and his hands were all over her. She laughs again, and it’s enough to make him reel back, flustered.

“I didn’t know you liked these ears that much.”

#eremika #Eren Jaeger #Mikasa Ackerman #eren x mikasa #mikasa x eren #aot #snk #aot headcanons #snk headcanons #eremika headcanons #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #fanfiction #eremika fanfic

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michael-langdon-appreciation · 5 years

Note

Honey give us prt 5 plz

Honey...here it is. Part 5 everyone!!!

WARNING: Features some sad content, a little fluff and a little smut! You’ve all be warned... 🙈 I’m SORRY BUT IT HAD TO HAPPEN! Also will be making this into a masterlist or something soon so LOOK OUT FOR IT! 😘💕

Michael could feel something was horribly wrong upon arriving home. He had never returned home to find Y/N missing. What life did she have but him? No friends, cut off from Jim and Duncan, he was her life force and Michael was proud to hold the leash tight. His feet carry him straight into her room, the bedroom neat apart from one earring dropped onto the carpet. Michael picks it up, holding the little drop earring up to the light. It’s one Duncan bought her, a pretty little drop.

The memory assaults Michael at once, Y/N above him sliding down on his cock as those earrings wave back and forth with every thrust. Jim’s fingers trailing up Michael’s chest as drags Michael in for a kiss. He can practically hear Y/N singing for him while Duncan pounds on the door from outside, desperate to join in.

Happy times.

Simpler times.

The urge hits him, the earring getting warmer in Michael’s hand the longer he holds it. Just a simple spell, child’s play to him and he’d know exactly where Y/N is. Divination, one of his earliest masteries. But no, Michael won’t do that to her. He slides the earring into his pocket and heads for his usual vice, a giant glass of red wine. He pours it, tying his hair into a bun and unbuttoning his shirt. Michael leans on the countertop, taking measured gulps as he checks his emails.

Cooperative bullshit, a text from Dominos that should have been for Duncan really. He pushes his phone away, unable to think about Duncan. He drains the wine glass and pours another immediately. Michael’s sure that tonight he’ll finish the bottle and he’s half-way through his second glass when a faint buzzing catches his attention. It’s coming from the hallway, Michael investigating with all the grace of a panther.

Y/N’s handbag, the one she uses most days sits on the mantlepiece in the entryway, next to the vase that holds their keys. Michael had been so disturbed upon entering that he didn’t even notice it. He fishes inside, retrieving Y/N’s phone which is vibrating in his hand.

Ice slides into his heart as Michael stares at the Caller ID - ‘Beach Boy’, Jim.

He’s been so good. Michael’s resistance has been iron-clad. He hasn’t read a single message from either Jim or Duncan and he knows that Y/N hasn’t either… But calls, he didn’t even think about her secretly calling Jim at night. When he’s asleep or out of the house. Michael knows that neither Jim nor Duncan have been inside the house. He’d know in a second if they had, but what has Y/N been filling her time with? Sexting Duncan, his Duncan? Planning her future with Jim, a future without him?

He sees red, nearly crushing the phone in his hand and before he can gain any self control Michael’s typing in her password and re-dialing the last number. It picks up almost immediately, ‘Listen to me you little fucker-’

‘Michael?’

He blinks, taken aback by the voice on the other end. ‘Medina?’

‘Oh thank God. You need to get Y/N now, she’s with you right? You live together?’

And suddenly the feeling makes sense. It wasn’t Y/N, Michael was feeling at all. Jim’s presence still wafts through the air, vibrant and hollow. Michael swallows, ‘He’s not okay, is he?’

Medina’s clearly been crying, ‘He’s in hospital, Michael. I found him in the bathroom, he hit his head on the sink. There was blood everywhere, choking on his own vomit. I…Y/N’s his emergency contact and I had to let her know cause she’s all Jim’s been talking about.’

‘I don’t know where she is.’ The fear grips his voice, ‘She’s been out all day.’

‘You need to come now, Michael.’ Medina says, ‘Find her however you can. I…I don’t know if Jim’s gonna make it past this one. There were pills everywhere.’

‘I’m on my way.’

He ends the call, already feeling faint. The world is tilting on it’s axis, because Jim’s in serious trouble and Y/N’s missing and Michael doesn’t know how the fuck he can help or why it’s always left to him to clean up everyone’s mess. His hand retrieves the earring, turning it over in his fingers. Michael’s eyes slide shut as he focuses.

It’s not an invasion of privacy…not when it’s life or death.

When Jim comes around there’s a figure slumped in the chair and a weight on the bed. An IV sticks out of his arm and Jim can hear the ever-present beep from the heart monitor. His heart thumps as he takes in the two figures, but it’s too dark to make out much. He reaches out, his fingers running through their hair, ‘Y/N?’

They lift their head and then scramble for the light switch, ‘Jim?’

It’s Medina.

Disappointment sits on his tongue, like when you swallow sea water. He opens his mouth to ask when golden curls come into view, ‘Michael?’

The Antichrist looks reserved, hands behind his back but Jim knows better. He hasn’t slept, there’s dark circles under his eyes. For the first time, Michael Langdon looks unwell, sickly. Jim never wants to see it again.

‘I tried to reach Y/N and he picked up.’

‘Did he?’ Jim pushes down his retort, that no one should be answering Y/N’s phone but Y/N.

‘He’s done more for you in two hours than any of the staff.’ Medina continues, pushing Jim’s hair off his forehead. ‘Healed your forehead and made sure the drugs left your system, his knowledge of medicine is…wow.’

‘Isn’t it just?’ Jim’s eyes are still on Michael who eyes him hard enough for Jim to get the message, Medina has no idea who he really is.

‘He’s…amazing.’ Medina praises, throwing Michael her kindest smile. Jim’s mouth drops a little. Medina, his sister who snarks and judges everyone likes the Antichrist. Not that she has any idea who Michael really is.

‘Harvard.’ Jim supplies, ‘Top of his class.’

Medina nods, squeezing the back of Jim’s hand. She looks to Michael and then to Jim and picks up on the atmosphere instantly, ‘I’ll let you both…talk.’

Michael takes her place sitting on the edge of Jim’s bed. The moment Medina’s out of the room, Jim’s hand flies across his cheek.

The sound echoes off the room, as does his yelp of pain, ‘What the fuck?’

Michael hasn’t moved an inch, his eyes glowing with pleasure, ’You deserved that.’

‘I’m in hospital, you prick.’

‘Of your own doing.’

Jim’s speechless, ‘Fuck you!’

He remains as stoic as ever. Then Michael’s fingers reach out, trailing over Jim’s legs. He can feel the warmth from under the blanket and Jim finds himself fighting off a blush with a hard cough, ‘Stop it.’

’I thought you were past this.’ Michael’s fingers trail up to Jim’s shoulder, ‘Why would you do this?’

Jim swallows. There is no way he is going to admit the truth to Michael, that it was just simpler. That ODing meant that they had to speak with him again, if he hit that balance just right so he’d wind up in hospital. If he could see Y/N again, speak with her, touch her.

‘I missed you.’ His words have more truth behind him than he thought, ‘All of you.’

Michael doesn’t catch his meaning. His fingers play with the thin hospital gown Jim wears, ‘We missed you too, dumbass.’ Michael won’t look at him though, ‘Y/N especially. It was so hard for her to ignore your calls, your messages.’

Hope ignites inside Jim, catching onto him as if his insides were made of oil.

‘Are Y/N and Duncan coming?’

Michael looks to the door, ‘Yeah.’

Jim frowns, Michael-eloquent-Langdon being so casual is a rarity. ‘When?’

‘Soon.’

Jim’ll take it, because he has nothing else left. His fingers remove Michael’s from his hospital gown, starkly aware that he’s naked underneath it. The stray thought shows on Michael’s face and Jim looks away, unable to watch the smirk dawning on Michael’s face. But neither of them let go of their intertwined hands.

Duncan hasn’t let go of Y/N’s hand. Not during the phone call, the taxi ride, not even as they storm through the hospital. All it takes is a fat wad of bills and Jim is upgraded to a private suite in the hospital with as many visitors as he desires. Not ethical, not fair but Duncan Shepherd has never done fair before.

Y/N’s a mess, her cheeks crusted with dry mascara and eyes that look like two massive bruises. Her make-up’s run together from wiping at her eyes and she won’t accept any of Duncan’s tissues. Her sole focus is on Jim Mason, on finding him. Y/N drags Duncan through corridor after corridor till they find Medina waiting outside. She knows who they are, or at least who Y/N is. Intelligence so fierce sparkles in her eyes and Duncan is instantly transported to Annette and how she looks at him with that eagle eyed glare.

‘You’re Y/N?’ Medina asks, standing at once. She takes in the state Y/N’s in, ‘Jim uh…he has a picture of you two as his background, on his phone.’

Duncan bites down hard on his lip, hard enough that he can taste blood.

Of Y/N, not him.

‘Is he…okay?’

Medina nods, ‘He’s gonna be fine.’

Duncan’s hand finds Y/N’s back, ‘Go in.’ He encourages, ‘I…I should wait.’

Y/N takes his hand, ‘Wait?’

‘After…everything.’

Understanding dawns on her. Y/N pulls him closer as if she’s considering something, but her eyes slide to Medina and then she’s gone, disappearing into Jim’s room.

Duncan’s eyes fall to the two of plastic chairs sat just outside Jim’s room. Medina kicks her legs about, avoiding eye contact with him for a while. ‘So who are you?’

He wants to tell her. That he loves her brother so fucking much and how he fucking ran to hail a taxi on hearing the news. Duncan plasters a smile on his face, ‘Just a friend.’

Medina nods and Duncan thinks he’s got away with it, but then Medina cocks her head to the side. ‘A friend like Michael is?’ She laughs a hollow, low sound. ‘You clear don’t have siblings. Never-mind a twin.’

It’s the first time he’s let himself smile since news came. They fall into silence, Duncan staring at the door to Jim’s room while his mind races through today. Meeting with Y/N, taking her and how fucking incredible it felt to be completely encased in her again. Draining the champagne together while they both lay, languid and saited in each others arms. God, it was like the cheesiest romance movie. Until Michael’s call came, shattering Duncan’s perfect illusion and bringing them crashing to earth.

Jim, overdosed, in hospital.

He’d nearly abandoned Y/N all together in his frenzy to dress, grab his wallet, phone. His mind was only on getting to UCLA Medical as quick as he could, forgetting the young woman crying on the bed. Duncan had been forced to dress her, Y/N beside herself as she spluttered her thoughts out to both of them. He’d fought back his own tears in the taxi and Duncan closes his eyes to stop them from spilling forth now.

Why had he left? Why had been so prideful? Why had he ever thought sleeping with Y/N was a good idea?

Because you missed her. His conscience has been nagging him constantly, You wanted her, to be the one to get her back. To claim her. To rub it in Jim’s face.

It’s sick, it’s so fucking cruel of him to tangle his heart with Y/N’s again. No, he hadn’t expected those feelings to slam into him again, to look down at her and have missed her warm body against his, how she smiled up at him and made Duncan forget he wasn’t wanted by his family. That he was the black sheep, the outcast. With Y/N he was just Duncan, accepted.

When he looks up, Medina’s gone and Duncan can finally wipe away the tears that are threatening to fall. He takes his time, rubbing his eyes till they’re raw and little stars dance across his vision. Duncan knows what to expect when he’s looking up, so he stands and brushes his coat down and looks up into the eyes of Michael Langdon.

You cradle Jim’s face in your hands, ‘Hi, Jimmy.’

He cracks a smile, ‘You came.’

‘Of course I did.’ Your thumbs stroke his cheeks, ‘Jim, you stupid stupid boy.’

‘M sorry.’ Jim’s eyes burn into yours, ‘I just….’

‘What?’

‘Didn’t see anything left for me.’ He confesses, ‘No reason to go on.’

You slide your hand down to rest on Jim’s heart, ‘Never, ever think that.’

Jim’s hand hovers over yours, ‘I’m so sorry I took you away.’ He says, ‘I panicked when I saw those plans…when Duncan-’

You hush him, not wanting Jim to work himself up again, ‘I know.’

’Now I’ve lost you.’ Jim mumbles, ‘All of you, maybe.’ You can’t bear the thought of it, of Jim ending his life because he thought no one loved him. A couple tears escape, dripping down your cheeks ’Don’t cry.’ He says, wiping them away. ‘You’re here now.’

‘You haven’t lost us.’ You reaffirm, ‘Duncan was trying not to cry in the taxi and Michael…well, he was the first person here.’

‘Where were you? Why didn’t you answer?’

You can’t tell him…can you? It would ruin him. You can see it in the way Jim leans forwards into your touch, the light back in his eyes. He looks at your as if you’re the sun, beaming and showering him in your warmth, ‘I was with Duncan.’ The admission falls out because you can’t hold back the truth. You can’t lie to Jim, the boy who was so scared to lose you he stole you, kicking off this entire fiasco.

The life died in Jim’s eyes, ‘With Duncan.’

You tell him everything, the hours spent curled up and wan in Duncan’s arms flowing like a river from your lips. Jim listens to everything, silent and with a face of stone, ‘He fucked you.’

‘Mutual, uh…fucking.’ You correct, ‘It was never meant to happen like that.’

Jim considers you, his eyes roving from your eyes to how you’ve clenched your hands together, ‘Do you love him?’

You flex your hands, staring at your fingernails, ‘I don’t know.’

‘You used to.’

‘I love you all.’ You admit, ‘But I don’t think I should.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s not right.’

Your vision blurs with tears. Guilt eats away at you, ‘I’m so sorry, Jim.’

‘You don’t want the three of us?’ He summarises, ‘You want to start over? Fresh?’

‘No!’ You don’t think about it, you reach over and peck Jim’s lips. ‘I’ve only ever wanted things to be like how they were before.’

There’s a thud from the doorway that has you jump. Jim too glances over, ‘Well, at least I got us all together.’

You can’t help a chuckle, ‘You did that.’

‘Redeemed myself.’

Jim leans up, pushing his soft lips back onto yours. This time you pull away, ‘I can’t do that again, I’m living with Michael.’

‘Do that mean you two are off-’

‘No.’ You say quickly, ‘We haven’t done anything at all.’

It’s music to Jim’s ears, ‘Nothing?’

‘No, we’ve waited.’

Jim’s head falls to the side, ’And Duncan?’

You grimace, ’I’m sure he just did it to get back at you.’ It’s been floating round your head for a while, the elaborate set-up. Why Duncan would choose to woo you over Michael, why he would risk the Antichrist’s wrath.

Jim’s persistent though, pushing himself up the bed and letting his fingers run up your arm, ‘Then what’s stopping us?’

You shudder under the oh so familiar touch, ‘Michael. I can’t hurt him anymore.’ Jim’s lips find your collarbone, his teeth rolling over the skin as he suckles it, ‘Jim. Stop.’

‘They don’t have to know.’

You feel a chill enter your bones, ‘No.’

Jim’s tongue slides all over your exposed skin, ‘I’ve wanted you for so long. Hungered after you, craved you.’

‘You’re not well.’ You excuse, ‘There’s still medicine in you probably, Jim. I can’t.’

Jim’s fingers dig into your arms, ‘You’re not leaving me again.’

Your mouth drops open a little, ‘I didn’t want to-’ But there’s a storm in Jim’s blue eyes, something dark. Something you’ve never seen directed at you, in fact the only time it’s ever been present is when Jim outed Duncan.

Jim’s kisses remain feather-light, dropping down your arm to kiss your hand, then he starts on the other side. You let him, caught up in this Jim, the boy you haven’t seen before lurking underneath. ‘What are you doing?’

His teeth sink down, deep into your neck and the gasp that leaves you is high, the pain making your legs shake on the bed, ’Claiming what’s rightfully mine.’ When he breaks away, the skin on your neck is already beginning to bruise. The hickey is in plain sight, for all to see. There’s no hiding it, not from Duncan or from Michael.

It’s exactly what Jim wanted.

TAGGING: @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul @langdonsinferno @pastel-cloudz@misslanabananaa @lovelykhaleesiii napping-is-my-favorite @tickled–pinkmoodpoisoning@lvngdvns @ccodyfernn @asstichrist@yourkingcodyfern @langdonsdemon@satcnas @russianspacegeckosexparty @rosy-pugs @luxuryglitterhoe@langdonsoceaneyes @sodanova@petersfern-fics@avesatanormalpeoplescareme@sassylangdon @confettucini@sammythankyou @wroteclassicaly @Sloppy-Wrist @Langdonalien@alexcornerblog @sevenwondr @queencocoakimmie@sojournmichael @langdonsdemon@satcnas kinlovecody @kylosbabe @americanhorrorstudies@xxpixiefromdixiexx @elenareginaauditore @dadddysprincessss @gremlinkween@readsalot73 @astir-bread @i-will-die-for-jim-mason @ms-mead @mega-combusken@hanhanxx @kahhlo@thelangdoncooperative @sojournmichael@langdonsrapture @ritualmichael @cryptid-coalition @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26@infernal-langdon @jim-mason2@duncandimension @dark-jim@jimmlangdon @xtheinevitableprophecyx@moontheweirdpan @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown @bbyduncan @divinelangdon @theladynymph

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marithlizard · 4 years

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Title: A Time to Every Purpose Fandom: RWBY Chapter 2 of 5 Chapter 1 Ao3 link ("Stay calm. It can't get out. I don't think it's even tried.")

"Crystal! Oh, thank the gods, Crystal!"

The voice brought her floating up out of uneasy dreams. She forced her sticky eyelids open and looked into Iris' crying face. Oh. Oh!

"You're alive," she tried to say, but it came out a pained shapeless rasp. Her mouth and throat were so dry they hurt. So did her head. She held up her hands, cupped together, trusting that her most practical sister would figure it out.

And she did. "Okay. Water, okay. I'll get some." Iris fumbled through the pack next to her and pulled out her leather cup; she hesitated, looking at it, and then reached for Crystal's two packs as well. Among them they yielded another cup and a hammered-metal canteen, and a sieve-cloth for straining.

"I'll be right back." Crystal watched her sister go blearily and tried to wake up more. It was daytime, midmorning by the angle of the sun. They were both alive. The fire was down to a pile of glowing embers and ash. The cabin - the cabin! Fear jolted through her and she turned to look, scrabbling for her cane-branch though she knew it was stupid. The door was still closed and overgrown. No movement behind the window.

Had she imagined it? No, no she hadn't. Unlike Russet's, her memories did not get mixed up with flights of fancy. Crystal stretched out her leg carefully, said ow, and resigned herself to not walking for at least two more days. A splint shouldn't be needed if she stayed off it. And, well, if the Grimm - or something else - attacked, a splint wouldn't help.

By the time Iris came back with a cup in each hand and the canteen slung around her neck, Crystal was sorting through the spread-out contents of all three packs. She and her sisters had collected what they could for the journey: bandages, ointment, dried meat and fruit, small tools for each of them. Soleil had the length of oiled cloth. Russet had stolen the bow and arrows right before they left.

They'd never planned for being split up.

"Not bad," mused Iris, looking it all over while Crystal forced herself to sip and not guzzle. "Whoever owned this other pack, we should say a prayer for them tonight. Their stuff may keep us alive."

Crystal held water in her mouth for a few moments, savoring the feel of it against her tongue after so long, then swallowed. "You can pray if you want," she said roughly. "I never will again." Not after what happened.

"The gods aren't to blame."

"They didn't help either."

Iris was smart enough not to argue. Instead she said, "Why haven't you searched the cabin yet?"

"There's something in there." The water was gone, and Crystal already wanted more. Patience, she told her body. "Something really weird. Not an animal, not a Grimm...it's like something out of Russet's stories."

"That's..." Iris trailed off before saying impossible. "If you're describing it like that, then I'm really curious. And creeped out." She took Crystal's stick and walked up to the window. Cautiously, she tapped twice on the glass.

"Aieee!" She leaped backward, falling on her butt and wriggling backwards much as Crystal had done.

"Stay calm. It can't get out. I don't think it's even tried." Crystal watched her sister take deep breaths, visibly repeating "In. Out." to herself much like she had last night. She tried to project steady reassurance. "This is still the best place to wait for the others. And now there's two of us to keep watch. We can do this."

"...Right. You're right, Crystal. As usual." Iris scrambled to her feet and picked up the fallen stick. "Actually, I thought I saw something else." She approached the window again and peered in, this time without tapping. Then she went very still.

A minute passed. It felt like ten. "Iris?" Crystal said eventually. Carefully, calmly. "What do you see?"

"It's a person." Finally Iris backed away again, shaking her head. "There's a person trapped in there."

"That's impossible." The vines growing through the hinges were years-thick.

"It's wearing clothes."

There was nothing to say to that. So they didn't. Iris cut more branches and gourds out of the garden, and Crystal toasted pieces of the sweet orange flesh on sticks. Several more trips to the river quenched their thirst and eventually required a latrine trench, dug in the earth with hands and their knives. They built the fire higher this time. Neither of them mentioned Soleil or Russet, or the past, or the future.

For the hundredth time, Crystal thought about how different life in the city must be. Behind those great stone walls with hundreds of guards it would be safe to talk about anything. To scream, cry, rage, shout at each other until you'd both gotten all the terrible feelings out. To be as afraid or sad as strongly as you needed for as long as you needed it.

In the city, their mother would have survived.

As the sun began to set, Iris left off digging in the garden and pried a board out of the sagging fence around the clearing. She laid it down flat by the fire and began to arrange things on it: her cup, two-thirds full, several pieces of toasted gourd, one square of hard bread from the stranger's pack.

"What are you doing?"

"I've been thinking," said Iris, staring down at the makeshift tray. "To stay here tonight and not be afraid, I have to think it's a person. And if it's a person, then they need help."

Oh, no. "Can't we test that theory in the middle of the day? Maybe when I'm able to run?"

"I can't wait that long. I'm going to do it now, before it gets dark." Helplessly, Crystal watched her sister walk away with the food. Fear twisted in her gut; breathe, she ordered herself. In, out. She'd been lucky yesterday, when she first saw the thing in the cabin and it had taken hours to get her feelings under control. They couldn't count on luck holding.

Iris put the tray down by the door and got to work on the hinges with her knife. The vines must've been softer than they looked; it was only a few minutes until she took hold of the doorknob, breathed in and out and in and out, squared her shoulders and pulled.

The door creaked open with a puff of dust everywhere; Crystal could see it settling on the food, and hoped that cryptids weren't too fussy. There, framed in the doorway, sat the thing.

Iris had been right. It was wearing clothes, a shirt and pants so old they were disintegrating and much too large for it. A vest that looked like leather had held up somewhat better. The thing had a beard, a long scraggly white one, and a balding head poking out of a fuzzy halo of pale hair. It blinked at Iris and said nothing at all.

She coughed, waving away the dust with a hand. "Sorry. Um. Hello, sir. My name is Iris. I'm on a journey to the city, and I'm waiting for my sisters. This is my other sister Crystal." She pointed, and the thing turned its head and looked directly at Crystal. She raised her hand and wiggled the fingers in a tremulous wave.

I will never ever doubt Iris' nerve again, she thought.

"We made some food for you," continued Iris doggedly. "It's not much, but it's what we could find. I hope it's okay for us to stay here until our sisters arrive. "

She moved the tray directly in front of the thing, nearly touching it - Crystal caught her breath - and backed away. After a few moments it reached out a long-nailed hand, very slowly, and picked up the leather cup. Iris nodded.

"Okay. We'll bring you more tomorrow. Good night, sir." Iris jogged back to the fire, only a little too fast to be casual,and sat down with a sigh of relief.

"Crystal, it's just a man. He looks almost starved to death. He can't have the strength to hurt anyone."

"But that's - impossible." She'd circled the cabin yesterday and seen no other exit. "How could he have survived?"

"I don't know."

They sat in silence and practiced calm breathing until moonrise. This time Crystal was able to make herself look outward for Grimm during her watch, even if she did occasionally glance back over her shoulder. She didn't suggest closing the cabin door again, although she wanted to.

Later, she lay with fingers in her ears, trying not to hear Iris praying. "Lord of the Waters, Lady of the Broken Moon, thank you for your blessings. We're grateful for the strangers we meet and the gifts they leave us; teach us to be kind to strangers in our turn."

Something much older heard as well, and was thoughtful.

The next morning, when Iris brought more water, the man rasped out words for the first time.

"Thank you."

#marithlizard writing #rwby writing #rwby

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dialline · 5 years

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hahhaha story time but i wrote something good for ocs

under read more so uh

emjoy

A pale sky is seen above. A whisper of wind echoes through the forest, calling silently. Waking up in the clearing is so surreal. A light fog flows between the trees and the assortment of flowers around. I swear, the wind is calling me back to town. I don’t remember walking into the forest, I just took the train and then was back here. It’s a good question, about how I got here. I was miles away from this dreadful place, despite all the happy memories. The ever infamous Whiteway. This town has quite the history. Between stories that I would love to believe aren’t true, to rumors I’ve seen to be real with my own eyes. That… dream eating, thing, ghosts, werewolves. This place has everything. But it gets so much worse. I knew all the people that came here with hope, and curiosity. But only to never come out of here. I have my ideas as to what happened here, actually. Rather I’ve witnessed what happened.

Faltering into town, a smell of coins and candy fills the air. Hard telling what the coppery tang in the air is, but the smell of candy sure as hell shouldn’t be there. Poor Johnny died years ago. I still hate what happened. He was sweet as his candy, I swear. Johnny Amare, a compassionate candy shop owner. He practically raised me, along with who I think is his cousin. Hard telling, they look so much alike, him and Joey. He taught me many things, along with everybody else.

Johnny told me his best secrets about candy making, as well as he gave me the ribbon on my hat, which I’ve made sure always looks brand new. Joey gave me the hat for my birthday, June 15. Luther, his husband was the one who made it, and Dove made the pattern. Dove. Out of everybody possible in this town, despite not raising me, he’s the one I want to see the most. It’s not that I don’t get along with Joey, or Luther. It’s just… I never got to say sorry to him. He never deserved his fate. Connor. I dread him. I really hope he’s kicked the bucket by now. Bastard killed people for fun, but mostly for money. You can get quite a bit of cash for trying to bring “justice” to the murderer. I don’t think he’d let himself get caught for his schemes. He poisoned Joey with cyanide, so at least he went.. Kind of quickly and mostly painlessly. I hope it was painless at least. Shove Norman into the lake, and he can’t swim. Johnny I’m not too sure, I think he was either stabbed or shot. My memory is pretty foggy. Then Luther got away, knowing Connor would never set foot into the sewers. Disgusting, but hey, at least he got to live.

Dove Couture. Lovely sewing, singing, and magic tricks. Well, the magic tricks are more ridiculous than anything but that’s beside the point. He’s the bartender at the good old theme park thing. He’s also the casino dealer there. It’s questionable who the park is trying to appeal too, but I think the owners just selected all of the above. Connor… bashed his head in, on the casino table during after hours. The town never found out, and Connor never told me. I only know because I was about to ask Dove a question, then I saw it. It was every bit of it, blood and all. Connor walking in, yelling at Dove. Dove saying something back, sounding nearly to tears. Connor ran out quickly after this little “accident” happened. I never got to talk to him. On his birthday, about to give him a gift. Ask him about how he was.

That’s not even close to all the deaths in town, but that's the ones that hurt the most for me. I approaching the old park, past the candy shop, past the cafe. How I dread coming back. What if Connors hear? Out to see if I came back? In 20 years, like I said I ran away from his dull blade. I swear I heard shallow breaths over my shoulder, cold, and raspy. Probably from that dream eater. Nobody knows what the hell that thing is. I just like to believe that it’s not real. But oh. How I would love to encounter a horrific, rumored to be 12 feet tall shadow abomination. Or maybe it’s just a weird tree in the wind that caught the attention of a tired, paranoid sweater wearing kid that’s 7 years old, and in a forest.

This is it, the casino. A metallic scraping interrupts my thoughts, coming from the hall of mirrors. The hell could it be?? Who knows. God knows why the owners of this hell bin made the hall of mirrors 4 floors. I’m going to check what that was out. I know myself that I'm not ready to see the interior.

Empty. All of its empty. The floors are all missing. I can’t see the roof. No rubble, or anything. Where the hell did it all go? There is shattered glass everywhere, that’s for sure. Remnants of mirrors everywhere, and a bell chimes up above, and light radio static. Wait. There’s no music or speakers in here. What is here, new or broken? I hear a horrific scream echo through the room. A large creature crawls down from the ceiling. A bell on the end of its tail, and a speaker below their waist. Four arms, one of which mechanical, the one below seemingly solid shadow. The other two fused together, ending in large serrated claws. A TV welded to it’s chest, and a vinyl record in the shoulder. It slowly loomed down, closer and closer to me. It grinned, showing sharp teeth from its pointed snout. A metal ear shifts downwards as it opens its only remaining eye, on a round glass screen where there once was a real one, the pupil shaped like a spade, like the playing cards. It finally spoke to me. “JacQUES?” It sounded horrific. Scratchy and hoarse, as if worn from screaming for nobody to even come. But how the hell did it know me? It couldn’t possibly be William. Could it? William, died in the hall of mirrors. But this thing wasn’t natural. “William? Is that you?” No answer. “William if that is you… What the hell happened?” It’s rusted joints creaked, and it lost its grin for just a moment before smiling wider. “dON’T YOu realize? mY BOY? I…?” It trailed off before continuing. “wHILE YOU SEEM TO REMEMBER ME, ARE YoU AWARE THAT? i’M THE coLLECtOr? I’M!! PERFECT!! DON’T YOU KNOW THAT?”

I shake my head. “The collector huh?” He nods. It looks to be ready to speak again but I interrupt. “Listen, I. I don’t know what happened to you, but please know that I’m not here to harm you or anything of the sort. Got it? I want to help you, as you seem to um…” I look at the rusted limbs, that are made of scrap and barely functional, the obviously broken speakers. “Your not doing the best. Alright? Just, what can I help with?” He pauses, as if unsure how to take my kindness. Has nobody been kind to him like this? All 20 years? Or has he been all alone? That scratchy voice interrupts my thoughts.

“YES YES YES!!! mY BOY!! A GOOD STEP WOULD BE A NEW ARM. OR LEG. MAYBE FinD THE KEY GOING TO THE SPEAKER. THAT USUALLY FIXES IT BUT I DROPPED A WHILE BACK :(“ I nodded, seeing how happy he is to get help. “Alright! I’ll be back as soon as I can to help!” I give a warm smile. He bounces back and forth in joy, waving what I presume is goodbye to me. “THANk you thank you!! IT'S SO NICE TO HAVE YOU BACK JACQUES!!” I give a small wave as I leave the building. An arm, a leg, and a key. An interesting list, but I can work with it.

The casino door creaks open, having not been oiled in 2 decades. I’ve been dreading this moment as soon as I knew where I was. Well then. I walk up to the bar stools, but no smell of decay from… anything actually. That’s unexpected, but good at least. I walk behind the counter, careful to not disturb anything here. In the drawer, I remember him saying he wanted to give something to me. I open it, hesitantly. There’s a locket, and it’s painted wonderfully. It’s truly beautiful, with an odd glow. There’s a note inside, and I can see it’s written by Dove. I don’t have the willingness to read it right now, but I’ll put the box in my messenger bag for now. I put the locket on. It’s certainly warm for something that hasn’t been touched in who knows how long.

I just realized something. This locket, it’s the one Dove has, the one he always wore. My head hurts. He gave it to me, before he died. He told me I could have it, hours prior. Did he know? Or feel that something was to go horribly wrong? I’m not even sure if my head hurts from the reality of Dove knowing he might have known he was to die, or the cup he just threw at me.

Wait a second.

#ocs #local cryptid speaks #*incoherent pen scribbles*#go d #i actually just made this for a stupid line at the very end faaksdnmclk #uh. slight body horror #and like. murder and such mentions so uh.

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zrtranscripts · 5 years

Text

Season 8, Mission 22: Take A Chance On Me

Edda-cational Visit

[fanfare]

AMELIA SPENS: Hello, Mor Islanders. This is Prime Minister Amelia Spens. Listen, I am a reasonable person. One of you has a piece of the Edda of the Wakened Warrior. It's the key to stopping the red fungus growing on the mainland. Now I know you don't much care about the mainland, or indeed, anything of greater global importance than this year's turnip yield, so I'm offering a reward. Power, luxuries, as many turnips as you can eat. Whatever you want. You'd be surprised how many things I can make happen. Just bring me that Edda.

JODY MARSH: Sam, is there no way to block that out? It's the eighth time!

SAM YAO: Sorry, Jody. Amelia has the Undaunted broadcasting it on all frequencies. She's hellbent on getting the Edda, especially now she knows the king of the rocks connects to it and the red fungus.

JODY MARSH: She's got her marines to quarantine the cave me and Five found, the one with the seed pods. They're experimenting with acid to dissolve them. But we need the Edda to find out how to stop the fungus for good. Is the bribery angle working?

SAM YAO: Um, sort of? People are bringing her everything from the Ladybird Book of Vikings to An A to Z of Fungal Infections.

JODY MARSH: Don't they realize this is serious?

SAM YAO: They're just trying their luck. But Janine got a message on Rofflenet that could be legit, and Amelia wants us to check it out.

JODY MARSH: Let me guess – because it's extremely dangerous and unpleasant. Doesn't she have a sub full of marines to run errands for her?

SAM YAO: No, no, it's got to be us. Here's the message: "Colonel De Luca, thank you for your actions during the zombie invasion. You've earned my trust, unlike the Prime Minister. That's why I'm telling you that I have the Edda. The pages I have describe the wizard Loki and the zombie guards."

JODY MARSH: Hmm, sounds authentic. Probably a trap?

SAM YAO: Yeah. They want to meet by the old well at sundown. Alone.

JODY MARSH: Definitely a trap.

SAM YAO: The well's on the hill. If you approach from the north, we'll see which terrifying people are waiting to ambush you, eh?

JODY MARSH: On it. Come on, Five. Run!

SAM YAO: Five, Jody, get down!

[foliage rustles]

JODY MARSH: What's up? I can't see anyone!

SAM YAO: [sighs] No, it's nothing. I thought I saw a figure on the edge of the town, watching you, dressed in gray.

JODY MARSH: Not following us now, anyway?

SAM YAO: [sighs] No, I might have imagined it. Haven't been sleeping well recently. Lots of nightmares. People in skincoats chasing me. Only in the dreams, they were made out of actual skin dripping red blood. Okay, you should have a good view of the well from where you are. See anything?

JODY MARSH: Someone's standing by the well. A young man with curly hair. He doesn't look armed. Look, he heard us! He's running off into the woods! Let's stay on this ridge above and follow him, Five. Run!

JODY MARSH: I can see him through the trees. Five, there's no one else here. Rugby tackle him!

[Runner Five tackles RORY, foliage rustles, RORY shouts]

RORY: Get off me, you – Runner Five, it's you.

JODY MARSH: Who did you think it was? You contacted us.

SAM YAO: Oh! [laughs] Oh, it's Rory from the corner shop. He's a nice kid, bit dim. If he's a skincoat, I'll eat your running shoes, Five.

RORY: Someone else is after me. I thought you were them. They want the Edda. It's valuable, right? The Prime Minister's offering a big reward?

JODY MARSH: Yeah. You're right not to trust her about... about almost everything. But she'll keep her word on this. "A deal's a deal" is practically her religion.

RORY: Are you sure? Because I'm not safe on this island. The Edda's my ticket off.

JODY MARSH: I'm positive. If you have it, Amelia will help you.

RORY: I don't have it with me. It's – it's hidden. We can get it now. I'll explain on the way.

SAM YAO: Uh, Five, give him a headset. Hi.

RORY: Oh. Hello, Sam! You came to the corner shop once, asked if we still had Curly Wurlies.

SAM YAO: [laughs] Yeah! Yeah, that was probably me.

RORY: What was that?

JODY MARSH: I don't know, but I don't think we're alone in these woods. Rory, which way to the Edda?

RORY: Through the gully. Come on.

RORY: Careful on the loose rocks.

SAM YAO: Can you see anyone behind you?

JODY MARSH: No. But I can feel eyes on the back of my neck. Can't you, Five? So how did you end up with the Edda?

RORY: I found it a few days ago. Just – just lying on the path.

JODY MARSH: What a bit of luck.

RORY: Not really. Someone worked out I have it and they've been on my tail ever since.

SAM YAO: How did you know where the Edda was?

RORY: Because of my granda. He was an old Norse professor. My parents died when I was a bairn. Granda took me in. Didn't want to raise me in a city, so we came here. Laird's brother Callum needed an expert in Norse mythology to help market the island's history, and Granda had books all over the house. That's how I recognized the Edda.

JODY MARSH: So who's chasing you?

RORY: I don't know. Me and Granda were always outsiders here. It was better for a while, but... everyone's talking about the old ways again. Closing in on themselves. I know I've been watched since I found the Edda.

[pebbles rattle]

JODY MARSH: Boulder! Get out of the way! [boulder crashes to ground] Five, Rory, are you all right?

RORY: It's them! They pushed it!

SAM YAO: Yeah, someone's up on the ridge. They're wearing skincoats. You've got to get out of there, you're sitting ducks. Run!

SAM YAO: You're clear of the gully. Can't see any skincoats anywhere.

JODY MARSH: Rory, you know more than you're admitting. You need to tell us everything right now.

RORY: Okay. My granda was murdered. Everyone says he drank too much and fell off the cliff, but that's a lie. Someone killed him. [sighs] It was our fifth summer here. We were walking along the cliff. Granda went on ahead. Skincoat came out of nowhere and just... pushed him over. Looked just like in the stories. Gray all over, one thick purple stripe. I told people. My teachers, the police, but no one believed me. They said the skincoats hadn't been around for years. I know what I saw.

SAM YAO: What about Chief Macallan?

RORY: He was just an inspector at the time, but yeah, he took me more seriously than most. He seemed really upset and angry at the idea there was still skincoats. I was just a kid! There was no other evidence. Eventually, I half believed I'd imagined it myself, but... I didn't. People weren't unkind afterwards. The Websters took me in. Still, I've kept to myself ever since. I get lonely, but I cope.

JODY MARSH: We believe you. Why do you think he was killed?

RORY: He did drink a fair bit of whiskey. Enough that he'd tell me things he shouldn't. Island business, like the real reason Callum hired him.

[gunshot, RORY shouts]

SAM YAO: Behind you, a skincoat! How did they get there so fast?

RORY: They've come for me! We have to get away. Run!

RORY: You've got to help me.

JODY MARSH: You must be right, Rory. The skincoats killed your grandfather. Maybe they never really disbanded. Maybe they've been acting against us all along!

SAM YAO: Yeah, but who are they? Chief Macallan said there were always nine of them. That the role got passed down in families. But many of those families are gone. So they could be anyone we talk to. People we think are our friends!

JODY MARSH: At least if they're chasing us for the Edda, we can be sure they don't already have it. Maybe that's what Jones was trying to do, in his own twisted way. To keep the Edda out of their hands. Remember what he said just before he died? "Now there'll be no stopping them."

SAM YAO: Rory, you mentioned the real reason Callum hired your grandfather. What was that?

RORY: King of the rocks. Callum wanted to move the ceremony to Niomh because there was oil at the ceremony site on Mor. The islanders respected tradition too much to allow that. But Callum reckoned if a Norse scholar told them it should have been on Niomh the whole time, they'd believe him.

SAM YAO: So Callum paid your grandfather to lie for him. But why would anyone have cared enough about the ceremony to kill him?

RORY: The skincoats were the guardians of tradition, of the old ways. In the stories, they were ruthless and cruel. They somehow knew everything, were everywhere at once. People slit their own wrists rather than be taken by them.

JODY MARSH: Let's get to the Edda. If there's nine of them out there, our head start means nothing. Where is it?

RORY: In a bothy behind that hill. But you have to get me off this island.

JODY MARSH: We will. We'll get to the Edda and get you to safety. Come on!

RORY: There's the bothy. The window's broken!

[door creaks open, broken glass clinks]

JODY MARSH: It's been ransacked!

RORY: I had the Edda in a lockbox under the bed.

[metal box creaks]

JODY MARSH: The lock's smashed. It's still in there, bound in white leather and jewels.

SAM YAO: The Edda? Well, we've found the Edda!

RORY: Give it to the Prime Minister! You said she'd help me.

JODY MARSH: Why didn't the skincoats take it? They opened the lockbox, saw the Edda, and left it? Hang on a sec. [paper rustles] This isn't the Edda. I've spent days studying everything we know about it and this doesn't match up. For one thing, these aren't rubies. They're green! And for another, it puts the king of the rocks ceremony on Niomh, not Mor. It's a fake.

SAM YAO: What?

JODY MARSH: Rory, you said Callum paid your grandfather to convince the islanders to move the king of the rocks to Niomh. Don't you think forging an Edda would be a good way for a Norse scholar to do that?

RORY: I'm – I'm sorry. It was my only chance!

JODY MARSH: Aw, Rory, I knew you didn't just find it on the path.

RORY: I had to get off this island! The skincoats control everything. Now they'll know I've talked to you. They'll kill me for sure!

SAM YAO: No, no, look. You can stay with us, Rory. We'll protect you.

RORY: Oh, thank you! Thank God!

[radio static]

AMELIA SPENS: Sam, Jody, I've been listening in, and while I can't say I'm surprised we've been duped for a wild goose chase, I am angry. With myself above all, for believing you or anyone of this fungus-riddle archipelago could be trusted! If I'm to save the UK, you've left me with only one choice. Nisha, switch to all channels.

Hello again, Mor Island. You have wasted my time long enough. The reward is off the table. I am aboard a nuclear-armed submarine, and if I don't get the Edda soon, I am going to launch a warhead and destroy the entire archipelago. You have been warned.

#zombies run #zrs8 #s8m22 #take a chance on me #zr transcript #zrs8 spoilers

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