#this is the critical moment I’ve never kept up with a fic series past three chapters
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Part three of HaruMichi BatB! See the masterpost for previous installments. And as always, comments are the best!
The sun was Haruka’s only hint at the time. The room she’d been given had two small windows, facing south, just large enough to stick her head out of. They bore heavy red velvet curtains that cast her into eternal night when closed. Open, though… she managed to pin one side to the wall with an understuffed armchair that had been in the corner.
It was morning, now. The sunlight glittered on the dew-wet tree tops. Haruka tried to see her truck through the leaves, but she could not even find the road. It wouldn’t matter if she could find her way to it, though. There was nothing but trees as far as she could see, and without gas she did not trust she’d make it back to civilization.
“It’s a bit too small if you’re trying to escape.”
Haruka jumped, banging her head on the top of the window. She bit her lip to keep from swearing. Behind her was… at first she saw nothing, but then it moved. A little ripple in the light, the faintest shadow of a human form… two human forms. The ghosts the mon- the ghosts Michiru had mentioned.
“Oh dear!” the shorter one said, scurrying to Haruka’s side, arms posed like she held up voluminous unseen skirts. “We didn’t mean to startle you! Are you alright?”
“Yeah, just a little bump.”
The little ghost stretched to reach Haruka’s head. Her fingers ruffled through her hair like a winter breeze. Haruka shivered, but the pain receded.
“I’m Usagi.” The ghost dipped into something like a curtsy. “And this is Makoto. Do you by chance know my daughter?”
The ghost did not have any discernible facial features, but Haruka could feel the eagerness radiate from her. She felt a tug of deep sadness. If the mansion was as old as it seemed, the ghost’s daughter was probably long gone.
“I’m not from around here, sorry.”
“That’s a pity, my daughter has probably grown into a wonderful lady you’d be lucky to know. Or…” the ghost spun excitedly. “It’s a good thing, because if my daughter is your age, you’d surely fall in love with her instead of--”
“Usagi.”
The small ghost made herself smaller. “Sorry.”
Makoto came forward, gliding rather than walking. “Our Lady Michiru believed you may need company.”
“Oh, no, I’m alright, you guys don’t need to—“
“But we want to!” Usagi butted in again. “We haven’t had a visitor in… in…” She froze, fading in and out of full color and clarity. She was round and blonde, with blue eyes wide in horror. “It’s been…” She rose a transparent hand to her opaque face. “We are…”
Makoto flashed into clarity and put a solid hand on Usagi’s shoulder. They both calmed back to shadows.
“Well,” Usagi said, as though nothing had happened, “it’s been several years, at least. So we could use the company as much as you could!”
Haruka forced a smile. “Alright then.” If she stayed here, would she face the same fate? Had the creature trapped these two women years ago, and now that they had died or done whatever had put them in this limbo, she’d decided she needed another?
“Do not be afraid,” Makoto said gently, as though sensing Haruka’s thoughts. “We are Michiru’s handmaidens, while she is trapped here so are we.” She turned to the door. “Would you allow us to give you a tour?”
“Um, sure.”
They took her through various sitting rooms, the kitchen, a library and even a wine cellar. Usagi advised her on the many nooks and crannies where you might— not that she had, that would be irresponsible as a lady’s maid, but still, you might— sneak a suitor in to have a moment alone. Makoto was more practical, she told Haruka where the entrance to the walled gardens was, if she would like to go outside, and all the staircases that led to the floor her bedroom was on.
They came upon a staircase that neither of them said a word about. Haruka stopped. “Is that where she told me not to go?”
Both ghosts froze. “Yes,” Makoto said. “And you’d best keep to that.”
“Why?”
“Haruka! Michiru is a lady.” Haruka had the keen sense that Usagi had her hands on her hips. “She can’t have someone like you in her chambers. It would be improper.”
Makoto hurried them both along. Haruka wondered if that was the whole story, or if it was true at all.
“What else can you tell me about her?”
“Generally,” Makoto said sternly, “if you want to know about someone, you should ask them directly.”
“Well, yeah, but…”
She softened. “You’re afraid.”
“No!” Haruka’s stubbornness got the better of her. “I would never, I just—“
“She was made to be frightening,” Usagi said quietly. “I was scared for a while, too.” Her shadow shrunk down smaller than ever. “It hurts our Lady. She could always be scary, but she got to choose when.”
“She was not nice, but nor was she cruel. Her family took care of the town, and employed many of its people, and she had no need to extend more kindness than that.”
“What happened, then?”
“Oh Haruka,” Usagi said. “You can’t expect us to spill all her secrets for her.”
Haruka could not help but smile a little. “I’m beginning to think you’re plotting something.”
“It would do Michiru good to have company aside from us.” Makoto sighed. “She does not like to admit to loneliness, but it’s clear she’s suffering.”
Part of Haruka wanted to shout that she, too, would suffer when kept as a prisoner, especially with something that, while they spoke highly of her, was still clearly a monster, but she thought better of it. “She did seem… sad, last night.”
Usagi nodded her shadowy head. “She wanted so badly to impress you!”
That, perhaps more than anything else, rang true to Haruka. The creature had tried so had to grasp the silverware, and Haruka had pretended not to see but all she could wonder was why she did not simply eat with her claws, if it was what she was accustomed to. She felt bad, now, for how she’d reacted. Michiru had been, it seemed, a person. Still was, probably, despite how she looked. Haruka’s cheeks flushed with shame. She knew what it was like, to be treated as less than you were.
She thought for a long moment. “Could the two of you convince her to come to dinner again?”
“We can try.”
“And the kitchens will make anything I want? Even if it’s not a food that you guys would know?”
“It should, yes.”
“Haruka, are you plotting too?”
She laughed. “I think I just might be.”
****
Haruka made her way to the dining room that evening and was pleased to find exactly what she’d wanted. The table bore a large plate of hamburgers and a practical troph of fries. She deeply wished she could send a pic of it to Mina, it was a party dream come true.
She took a seat towards the middle, so that wherever Michiru sat there would not be so much distance between them.
The shadows from the windows grew longer. The food stayed magically warm, but Haruka still worried. Her misgivings about trying to befriend a monster, her captor, began to rise in her stomach again.
There was a rustle outside the door. Haruka caught a glimpse of a scaly tail in the crack it was open. Michiru was pacing outside. Haruka surprised herself by thinking there was something almost endearing in it.
“Please come in,” she said as steadily as she could.
Michiru came to the door, half hiding behind it. “What is this?”
“They’re hamburgers.” Haruka took one. “They’re good. You eat them like this.” She rose it to her mouth and took a bite.
“If all you seek is to poke fun—“
“No, no! I like them.” She took some fries, hoping to drive the point home. “I thought you might too.”
Michiru hesitated, but then slowly approached the table. She took a seat again at the end of the table and took a burger as gingerly as she might handle porcelain. Her claws strained the bun but did not pierce it.
She looked at it with suspicion, then glanced to Haruka. “What is the year?”
Haruka swallowed her bite quickly. “2018.”
“Ah.” She turned back to the food. “And people… eat with their hands now?”
“Sometimes, yeah. For burgers and pizza, and stuff. We don’t eat steak or whatever by picking it up like this.”
“Oh.” She looked at the meat. “Is this not a steak?”
“It’s beef, yeah, but if there’s bread like this, we use our hands.”
“Like with hors de’ouvers.”
“Sure.”
Haruka watched, hopefully not in ant way that was weird, as Michiru chanced a bite. Her gaunt face twisted the moment it was in her mouth. “Oh dear, it’s quite… well, I should hope I’m not being rude, but it’s absolutely disgusting.”
Haruka laughed. “Yeah, we probably have way worse taste than people did in your day.”
“I would say so.”
They made eye contact, smiling at each other for the first time.
“We’ll try something else tomorrow, I’ll try and figure out—“
“Tomorrow?”
“Well, yeah, you said it was proper to have dinner together every day. Or do you mean you want something else now?”
“Oh no, you don’t need to worry on my behalf.” She looked down at her plate, limp hair falling over her shoulder. For a moment, Haruka could see how the motion would look on a person, on a woman who might be called beautiful. “You have been very kind to me, and I have not repaid you as such.”
“You don’t gotta…”
“Do you wish to leave?”
Haruka shut her mouth, suspicious of a trick.
“I can’t keep you here, I know. I acted selfishly, and I want you to go freely.”
“Well, I can’t get far without gas for my truck, and I know you can’t give me any.”
“I apologize.”
“Don’t worry about it. Can we make a deal?” Michiru nodded. “My roommate will come looking for me. Can I stay here until she finds me? She’s tenacious, she’ll make it eventually.”
“That sounds fair.”
“And until then, we can always have dinner together. And maybe…” Haruka wracked her brains for a good gesture of faith. “Makoto told me about the gardens, but didn’t take me. Maybe tomorrow you could show me around?”
Michiru pushed her burger around her plate, a small smile breaking across her face. “I would like that, Haruka.”
Haruka stopped just short of saying “It’s a date.” Life had gotten very strange very fast.
#sam writes#harumichi batb#this is the critical moment I’ve never kept up with a fic series past three chapters#but chapter four excites me a lot so! I think I’ll make it!#harumichi
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Private lesson
Sumarry: Janus try to decieve himself into a timeline where he can save his friends. He does not expect reality to offer him an opportunity to prove himself.
Word count: 3127
Characters: Janus Sanders, King creativity Sanders
Warnings: Sword fighting?? Idk please tell me if you think something else should be added here.
Author’s note: MY FIRST ONESHOT EVER COMPLETED! Yes! And the honor goes to @rondoel ‘s King!AU! ( @kingcreativityau ) :D Now: are the characters OOC in this? Most probably. Do I really care about it? Only a tiny bit. I only started to post Sanders Sides content here recently, but I’ve been a fan of the series for a few months now so I had time to read a lot of fic... however I’m still not sure on what I got wrong so if you have any criticism, positive or negative, please let me know!
Lastly, this was at first supposed to be an animatic (on the song called ‘This is war’) but I have NO TIME to draw and lot of time to write so enjoy! When I do get time, I might try to animate a certain part of it that I don’t think I nailed that well in the fic. Anyway, I’ve been rambling for long enough. ENJOY!!!
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Janus stood there, in the empty training room. Since King's return, he felt very conflicted, and he hated himself for it.
The king was merciless, he cursed Patton to make him look like a toddler, he removed Logan's vocal cords, he cursed Virgil into torturing himself into deadly downward spirals, and...
And he was very spiteful, he was angry... because he'd betrayed him.
Janus clenged his fist. He couldn't help but remember the look of betray and rage that his King gave him when he discovered his team-up with Logan. Those orange eyes that could burn him down on the spot. Those oh so intense eyes... Damn it, he was back at it again. This is over now. His king was gone. Now it was the King. The tyrant. The side who hurt his friends.
He was standing in the empty room, looking at his reflection by the mural mirror. His now half-half face looked so tired. Was he really this tired ? He was probably very very tired... but he'll rest later, as the memory of his most recent wound was still fresh in his head, replaying this utter humiliation, he just couldn’t sleep. Anger soon filled him up.
He could have tried to stop him. He could have tried to save his friends, and instead he just... froze. He just let it happen like he couldn't do anything. And he knew how to fight ! He knew how to defent himself for crying out loud ! He could've done something, and instead... Nothing ! He recalled the scene, bit by bit. How Logan stood at his left, how virgil was just behind, how the king was looming over them, despite being 10 feet away from them. He remembered every movement, every word, and every second of that moment like it was written in his metaphysical blood.
And in a second, it was like he was dragged back to this hell again.
And he would not let it happen a second time.
He summoned his cane and raised it up at the memory of King. His mind wandered off now. He had to imagine how he would've react. Would he summon his sword or take full creative control to just trap him ? He wanted to think he had a chance, so he chose the sword scenario.
And just like that, the imaginary fight was on. Step forward. Left. Right. Dodge. Go protect them. Put up a fight. He would have rushed toward the tyrant and aimed for the head, the sword would've get in the way and he could uses the top of his cane to project himself back to the group. Go. Dodge. Pare. Block and Dodge and Move fast and Dodge again and Block and pare and send it back. The world was spinning around him and the fight got more and more intense. He may have his eyes closed, but he knew perfectly where he was in the room, and he was completely in his daydream. Left and Right and Block again and Forward and Left and Block and backward and spin and swing the cane for it to stop only an inch away from the face of his enemy. He would have been a threat, and he would have been able to save his friends from the King.
He didn't expect, however, to be met with the actual King in front of him when he opened his eyes.
Janus' eyes widened and he immediately cursed himself for backing up. Great. He was all about putting up a fight and a second later, he was cowering. ‘Talk about blowing smokes.’ He at the very least kept his glare from fading away. He couldn't be scared of him. He couldn't show it. He was simply surprised... He had to make that a challenge for him, Deceit was not a side you could see right through, after all.
« You seem to have a quite... Interesting dancing style » King spoke, an almost mocking grin showing as he looked down at Janus. Crap. Did he knew ? Was he there the whole time ?
As the tyrant lift his hand, Janus snaps back into reality, setting his guard up and putting a stronger grasp on his cane. Only for the object to sudenly float in the air, shining with bright light and transforms into a sword that Janus grabbed back before it falls on the floor. This left only more confusion in the half-snake, confusion which turns into alert when he lifts his gaze back at the King only to be met with another blade. He jumps back.
« W... What ? » Janus was lost.
« Wouldn't you try and learn an acutal fighting technique ... » King's voice was composed, but also slightly amused at Deceit's confusion.
«... instead of the poor travesty I just witnessed ? » until it all vanished in favor of annoyance.
Janus tried to process the words as King switched his position for a dueling one. His sword in front of him, his torso on the side and his feet dug on the ground. Was he.... what ? What was happening ?? One thing sure was that he invited Janus to mirror his behaviour. And so he did, taking a deep breath, and standing still while carrying his sword to cross the others. And before he figured out what to do next, King took three blows and sent Janus' sword flying through the air and crashing on the ground.
« Whoa wHoa WHOA ! Hold on ! » Janus lifted his hands in defense and gulped as the blade of his enemy got dangerously close to his throat.
He then heard a chuckle, and the blade finally got away from his neck. « It was just too tempting. » He snapped his finger and the sword flew right back to Janus' hand, who was still confused.
« Alright, for real this time, I let you give the first blow. »
Janus hesitated, still not sure if the scene before him was really happening, but quickly composed himself. He came back to mirroring King's posture and came with a serious expression. He quickly analysed how he could start and how he could win the fastest. When he assumed to find a way to win quickly, he lifts his sword up and went for it.
Boy, was his assumption wrong.
He thought he'd move faster, but the moment the sword swingged on the left, King's weapon caught him off guard, and it only took two quick slays for Janus' to fly in the air again. He felt baffled and humiliated. And the amused smile from his opponent didn't boost his ego at the moment.
« How ? » He didn't understand. Even his instincts weren't nearly as fast as the King, and the tyrant didn't get the chance to train in years !
He only got an arrogant giggle in response before the sword flew back to Deceit's hand. Janus frowned deeper and dug his feet in the ground, ready to jump. King did not miss, nor cared for deceit's threat.
« Again. » He simply ordered. He only had to move his arm to be back to his initial position. Was there a point to it ? Or did his tyrant just liked to put him through this childish show of superiority ?
For some reason, Janus obeyed.
And lost.
Again.
« Try again. » the King ordered.
The other obliged.
After the 4th time the sword flew back into the yellow side, he had to face it : This was happening. King was training him to sword fight. And he just... accepted it ??? What ?? How was this happening ? Usually, he would try to bite back, make some remark, try to hurt him, but here he just... went along with it. And King seemed pleased with that. He looked...content. He looked satisfied with giving Janus private lesson. This moment... against all odds... felt... not as bad as he expected.
The more they fought, the less cold the tyrant was, and the less tense they both get. King stopped trying to bring him to his knees and instead looked like he a professor, excited to give his student something to work on.
Of course, he would never admit it, but in this instant, in this moment of intimacy and challenge devoted from any animosity... It was calming, it was like a fresh wind coming after a heat wave of chaos, and the adrenaline that came from the fight was giving him enough energy to savour every second of it.
Wait.
No.
No no no no no.
He wasn't enjoying it. He wasn't enjoying it at all. He could not appreciate what was happening : the sadistic bastard was bellitling him and humiliating him right now ! And worst part is ? He couldn't even do anything about it ! Because King is so freacking good at sword fighting and Janus' main weapon has been turnd into a sword for crying out loud. There was no time to lust over past relationship !
And another game lost.
« I told you to pay attention to what was happening high up. Looking at my chest is not going to do much if you want to predict where or when I'm going to hit next. I thought you'd know that. »
« I was simply lost in another train of thought, I hope you could forg- »
DON'T.
FINISH
THIS WORD.
'You be submissive, god dammnit.' He thought to himself before clearing his throat and returning to his cunning voice. He had to keep his distance.
« I don't need you to tell me that. I was simply lost in thought. Do you really I am this much of an idiot ? »
« Well, you didn't prove me otherwise yet so. » He chuckled low and got ready for yet another one. « En garde. »
Even though he couldn't hide the joy he was feeling at the moment, he could mask it behind his usual calm appearance.
« And how many times are we going to do this ? » He asked, his tone playing between teasing and bored
«Until you get some actual fighting skills. » King answered, playing along.
« Ouch. I think I prefer the wounds caused by your sword. »
« Well then hurry up and grab your weapon. » Damn it. Why did they seem to get along of all sudden ?
« As you wish. This was merely a warm up. » he lied
« I do not doubt it any second. »
And just like that, the conversation became non-verbal again.
…
Truth be told, neither knew how long they've been fighting. Was it an hour ? Three hours ? 20 minutes ?
Truth be told, neither cared.
All janus knew is that he was getting better and better, almost becoming a challenge to the King , and the other side seemed glad to step up and fight with more intensity.
And both completely forgot to hide their excitement.
Janus started to tease king, even when he was clearly losing, and the other responded with as much sarcasm and complicity. The two glared at each other with malice and playfulness the whole time. And both couldn't help but smile.
And just like that, it felt as if they never left each other.
When he was younger, Janus and his king would play around with wooden swords, roleplaying like two ennemy seeking vengence in the most childish way. Janus sometimes would fake losing so he could see his king's proud smile which was worth losing 10 times again. His king would sometimes lose and janus would feel a feeling of acomplishment that was very strange to him, in a pleasant way. And at the end, they would most of the time lay down on the green grass and just talk about everything and anything.
And right now, he felt like he was playing with his king. Only the swords weren't made of wood anymore, and it was more professional. But still, it felt the same.
And it felt ...pleasant.
He could hear himself laugh just like when he was younger, and if he listened closely, he could feel king chuckle just like his king.
And it felt … nice.
From the talk, to the movement, both were on edge, calculating every move and waiting for an opportinity to strike. It was an amazing strategy game combined with pure raw strenght. And King's fighting style was both very classical and yet creative. He was very crafty and Janus only had to rival with his own tricks. They were in the moment, living fully the present.
And it felt...
And dear lord, it felt so, so good.
He could feel himself fly as he dodged, he could feel fire in his vein when he was about to strike down, he felt his head spinning, yet everything around him was so crystal clear, it was like a dance. A disturbing, aggressive, cold and passionate dance.
A dance...
They used to dance before.
His king and himself.
Most of the time, when they were done fighting, they would lay down on the grass. Most of the time.
Sometimes, he could have the biggest honor of all.
'Now, my dear, would you enjoy a waltz with me ?' his king offered his hand
-'I don't want to step on your foot again'
-'I told you you didn't hurt me ! Come now, it's not your job to be scared.'
despite his defensive approach, he adored those dances.
-'Alright, I'll dance with you. '
How did it go again ?
1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3.
Left, right, right, wait no, was it left again ?
1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3
step up, forward, step back, and one turn and another. His king would have his hand on Janus' shoulder and Janus would have his hand on his king's waist. And they would dance, and the music filled the air, and his king would have made a room just for them to dance.
1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3
Turn around, then left then back up.
1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3
Then caught in their trance
1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3
They would just spin around, and turn and spin and spin again and everything was spinning around them and they could only see each other and the whole world was spinning and it was just them. Just the two of them.
And they would smile and they would laugh and everything was still spinning around them and it was blissfull, passionate, affectionnate and in they would join their hands once more and their finger would interlace and once their hands was only one thing, they would lift it in the air with bravery as a victory for their hapiness.
And he would lift his hand in the air, with his king.
And they would lift their hands, hold together, in the air.
And they would yell a victory choir.
King's sword fell on the ground.
And he had his hand on King's chest.
Oh lord, he was too close to King.
Their faces were only two inches apart.
And Janus visibly forgot how to breath.
King was staring with wide eyes, clearly not expecting Janus to send his sword flying nor getting this close. None of them dared move an inch, and none of them could breath.
What... what just happened ?
How could Janus get so caught up in his dreams that he erased whatever was happening in front of him ? And how did this stupid dance from years ago helped him beat the King to his game ? And how could he, despite everything, try to search for his king's eyes in the tyrant that stood in front of him ?
Right now, the King's red and green eyes were flickering into orange glimps and his look was just tearing Janus up from the inside. He looked ready to cut his throat open if he had his sword in hand.
And yet …
For only a moment, only for a single instant, did Janus find his King shining through the side in front of him.
Sadly, this bloom inside of Janus' heart got cut fast as thorns grapped him and pulled him far away from his The King, and before he realized what was happening, the thons just gripped tighter and tighter, making Janus unable to hide the jolt of pain.
He struggled, trying to get away from the grasp, but they only tightened and eventually, he stopped, gasping for air. He tried to look back at the tyrant, who was simply observing with a serious expression, the joy of the past moments seemingly dissapeared the moment Janus got too close. And now, he was back to being a threat. Without looking away, he move forward, with slow steps. Janus tried to manage a sentence but the pain was too high for him to form anthing coherent. Eventually, The King was in front of Janus, and the yellow side swore he was about to get killed right on the spot, but instead he just kneeled down, grapping back the sword that flew away.
Oh.
He got up and, with the other hand, brushed over the blade. Without looking away from it, he spoke : « You fought well. » He lift his eyes to meet Janus, struggling not to faint, and determined to look at him with rage. The corner of his lips twiched into the smallest of smirk and he turned back, opening the gap between the two.
And as the King took his steps, Janus' eyes widened, realizing what King was about to do.
'No.'
'No. Not again.'
'Don't leave. '
'Please'
'Don't leave me again. '
He turned into a snake to got away from the thorns and rushed towards him, ready to grip his cape. Anything. Anything but that. He was so close...
But the thorns got Janus back before he could make it.
He couldn't even hear his own grunts of pain. All he could listen to was the sound of footsteps, and a windblow that made King dissapear. Janus froze in place.
And the silence that grew in the room was deafening.
After what felt like an enernity, the thorns let go of Janus, who simply fell on his knees shaking. He hugged himself as hard as he could, and curled on himself.
He tried to fight back tears that wouldn't stop to threaten to fall.
And none of them ever left his eyes. Just like no wound ever left his heart.
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WHOOOOOO What a ride! This was really fun to write and the challenge of putting words on the visuals your head come up with is certainly something. Now, I hope you didn’t expect things for them to get better just like that, huh? ;) There is too much they need to discuss before being close to make peace, so that’ll have to wait! I have other ideas for those two so I’ll see if I get motivated to write it out. Hope you liked it!! :D
#Sanders sides#fanfic#janus sanders#king creativity#Kingceit#fanfiction#King!AU#rondoel#swordfight#The begining of Janus being a pinning disaster with a lot of emotional bagage#probably OOC#not a happy ending#Janus being a nostalgic little man#and King being conflicting as always#most probably screaming internally at the dramatic disaster in front of him#It's not easy being the king of a himbo's brain
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Hi. I used to follow your old blog on a different account. Hope you're doing well. Do you have any tips on thinking up stories that are *not* dark and depressing due to subject material? The last story I was working on I had to quit because the backstory I was developing for my passive male character was super depressing. At times I enjoyed researching it, though what won out was the thought I was wasting my time looking into angsty things for something I wasn't even planning to publish. Now I want to write something a little happier. But I have the most experience in writing angst and cringe comedy 😅 thanks for any help you can give. Stay safe out there!
By the way, good on you for dropping that manga you used to follow. I was happy most of the characters lived, but other than that, it felt "meh" to me (granted, I didn't read all the way from the beginning). The author was probably going for a "people will always be fighting each other" theme, but some of the imagery of what happened after a time skip could definitely be taken as pro-fascist. And I was disappointed the protagonist basically said he wanted to bring about destruction! I'm glad I didn't spend any money to read it.
Wow, hi! I’m doing all right, thanks for asking. I hope you’re doing all right, too. :)
As far as “that manga” goes, I’ve kept tabs on it. I’ve been on the fringes for the last two-ish years; I dedicated something like four real life years to that fandom and mostly had a good time while I was there (made some friends I hope to keep for life), so it was one of those situations where I just had to find out how it ended. I realized at some point that I was in a very negative space in the fandom, and felt it was better to publicly drop the series and the blog associated with all of my meta/discussion than to play in what had become a toxic pool for me. I didn’t really want to drop the account after my time there, but I couldn’t have dealt with the nonstop questions/messages/etc that would have piled in over the years, and eh, when you’re done you’re done. I criticize Hallmark television for fun, now, instead. It’s a lot less stressful! And literally nothing is That Deep so there’s very few delusions, at least on the Tumblr side of things. (Reddit, however, is insane, but I don’t post in the fandom there.)
As far as writing advice goes, I am going to apologize in advance for muddled thoughts. I just got out of work and have been staring at numbers all day, so it’s hard for me to think lmaoo.
In my opinion, any sort of character or personality type/flaw/whatever could have developed via a negative OR positive influence/catalyst, so that’s something to consider. I also think people tend to reach for “sad” or “traumatic” pasts either as a way to cope with their own issues/pasts/whatevers, or because it’s the “easy explanation” for why a character is the way they are.
If you WANT to write things a certain way, it’s sometimes a matter of changing the lens through which you’re viewing life, the story, the characters, or character writing in general. This is never easy, especially when you find a genre you feel comfortable in, but it’s always possible. When I was in college and submitted an autobiographical piece (Rot Tooth) for a creative writing final, I received multiple comments from classmates and even the professor that my talent/skill was in writing comedy. COMEDY!!!! I don’t think anyone who has read my writing from the last decade would say that I was a comedy writer. I stopped labeling ‘fics as humor/romance so long ago I can’t even remember when it was. But boom. I had written a comedy piece.
I don’t think I can ignore that most of the comedic elements in Rot Tooth were brought about because humor is one of the ways in which I cope with things, but it was also a very conscious choice I made. I wanted people to be able to engage with the story without being grossed out, without getting bored, without feeling that it was a poor-pathetic-me story, and humor was the classiest way to do it. Here, read this long story that includes journal entries from Ye Olde Livejournal days, but it will make you laugh often enough that the depressing aspects of the story don’t weigh it down too much! It was probably the only way to make the subject matter widely palatable.
As often as I joke about characters or scenes or moments that “just write themselves” the author does have control. I mostly write fanfiction, so let’s go with examples from that.
I’m (very slowly) working on a ‘fic called Three Years which features a character who, when last seen, was headed off to serve a prison sentence. They haven’t been on the show for three years and thus I assume they have been serving that sentence for the last three years. The story starts when this character is released from prison. They are a woman. This is a historical piece of fiction. Prisons were vile to women and yet...this is fiction. I have a choice. I get to choose. Does she get to start her life off carrying 25 bags of trauma or just 2? It would be unreasonable to expect that someone, especially a woman, who was imprisoned for 3 years in the early 1900s wouldn’t have some issues (at the very least, the isolation would have been awful), but it doesn’t really have to be much worse than that. It doesn’t.
I have the power to choose.
A character has anger issues. Sure, he could have had a traumatic past with an abusive parent who took his anger out on him or his mom or whatever...or maybe it is an inherited personality trait and the parent figure with the problem was never really That Bad about it, but seeing it normalized makes it harder for the character in question to realize it’s a huge problem and part of their character arc is realizing they need to get help, not because they don’t want to be like their dad, and not because they hate their dad, but because they just want to be a better person/they don’t want to let that struggle consume them.
Someone’s sweetheart goes off to war. Guess what? They don’t have to die there to force a traumatic past. They don’t have to come back a raging alcoholic either. Maybe the time apart, and the time fighting a war just puts a natural sort of crack in the relationship by making it clearer to each character what they want in life/what matters to them in their life.
A character is super passionate about their work/hobby. Maybe they have ADHD and it’s a hyperfixation. Maybe they’re autistic and it’s a Special Interest. It doesn’t have to be “their parents ignored them and forced them to be alone all the time and they used this thing to cope so it means everything to them because it’s always been there.”
Maybe you have a character whose greatest fear is losing the people they love. It doesn’t have to be because a pet died in their arms when they were four and it traumatized them. It doesn’t have to be because they only have one person they love in the whole world. It can just be a thing because that’s a valid fear literally anyone can reasonably have, and maybe it’s a bigger deal because they don’t have siblings or aren’t close to many people! (And the “aren’t close to many people” thing doesn’t have to stem from trauma, either. Most busy adults for example who get to choose their friends, are just like that.)
A perfectionist might just have the personality type; it doesn’t mean their parents criticized everything they ever did. A person with three failed marriages might hesitate to fall in love and try again but it doesn’t have to be because those three failed marriages were abusive. A quiet character may just be shy or introverted by nature.
I think everyone carries some kind of trauma with them, so it’s never unreasonable to have some in a person’s past (you can’t write an ugly character without having to think about the fact that they carry some trauma from what it’s like to grow up ugly), but it doesn’t have to define them. It doesn’t have to overshadow everything else in their past.
You can always ask yourself, “Why am I reaching for angst every time I create a backstory?” Literally everyone has some kind of angst. Most kids were hurt by things said to them in school, for example, or made fun of for some reason. Most people did something extremely embarrassing as a kid and never got over it. There are a thousand little moments in our adult lives that go back to these little points—you might call them the tiny traumas. But they’re not defining. They’re not so heavy they also live in the present. Not all of them.
Why do you reach for the darkest corner? Why not for the light? Or a middle ground?
I encourage people to write basically whatever floats their boat, but it sounds like you’re at a point where you just feel weighed down by that sort of stuff, and that’s not a great way to feel, especially when it discourages you from working on a project entirely.
My final suggestion: look at some of your favorite characters from various types of media. Are they all traumatized? What are their defining characteristics? Black Beauty has some depressing stuff in it, but is ultimately a story with a happy ending. Pride and Prejudice has drama, but nobody’s past is filled with the darkest stuff imaginable. North and South has awful things to consider in it (cotton mills were sooo awful) but the characters are not wildly traumatized people.
What kind of story are you trying to tell? Do the characters need to be traumatized to tell it? Does the story have to be dark to get across the message you want to send?
Way back in the day, when I was into “that manga” I made an RP blog for a one-off character that nobody gave a damn about. Like, he was so one-off that even back in those days nobody even remembered him having existed. It was sort of a joke RP blog that wasn’t supposed to be serious. The only canon information we had about this character was that he enjoyed drinking. I decided to make him a lighthearted character because the series was pretty dark and I wanted to send people hilarious starters instead of wading through the muck of depression with everyone else’s sad, abused characters. I decided his family was old money and he had a brother. Nothing super traumatizing in his past. Some family issues but not the sort of thing that would haunt anyone. He was not traumatized in his recent past any more than other characters were. Mostly just “a regular guy.” I really loved RPing him. He was fun! The story could get heavy but he didn’t have to be.
Anyway, dive head-first into the dark angst if you want, but if it’s not necessary to tell the story you want to tell, just remember you don’t have to go there. You have the choice.
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My DA Day Story
I didn't submit to @unofficialdragonageday because I've had too much going on to put my words together in time. So, I thought I'd share my DA story today on Dragon Age Day!
I first played DAI about three years ago. My husband, not knowing much of the series, asked for it for Christmas, thinking it sounded like a fun game to try. He played it a few times. I watched a bit. And then started my own game. And essentially pushed him back onto Fallout so I could play through it obsessively (sorry, honey, love you!)
I had never played the other DA games, however, even without knowing the rest of the story, DAI became such an amazing world for me. I loved how in depth the game was. The music was beautiful, the areas were vast, and I became obsessed with exploring every nook and cranny to find every stupid shard. I had no idea you could romance people. When I realized you could, I had no idea Bull was going to shove my Inqy against the wall (I distinctly recall my husband coming home at that time and me yelling at him to come back later in what was truly the beginning of my DA thirst.) I found myself obsessed with the game, the people. I replayed it over and over, exploring different options, restarting when horrifying choices went horrifyingly awry.
I truly fell in love with this game, and started writing. My characters became complex to me, truly real people in my mind who held my heart and made me ache for them. I hadn't posted a fanfiction online in well over ten years, after posting on FF.net as a young teen and being ripped apart by people who wanted to criticize a child's writing. I was terrified, but my husband encouraged me. So I dipped my toes in the fandom, to feel out a bit beforehand. And created this blog.
I've been on Tumblr since 2011, but it's drastically changed since then. I still maintain that I wish I would have created a main blog for this, rather than a side blog, but I had no idea how much this fandom was about to change my life. I began reblogging all the wonderful things people post on here, the things that make me laugh, the things that make me cry. And, most importantly to me, I created an Ao3 account and posted my first DA fic. And I've had nothing but support, and love, and encouragement from this fandom. To Weather the Storm is still in process. In slow process, because (as my followers know) Lanistair has eclipsed my heart. There's a lot I would like to go back and change, and maybe someday I will. My writing has changed since I first began writing that fic two years ago. And it's all because of this fandom - because of your passion, because of how supportive you are, because I have never been in a fandom more obsessed with other people's OCs. It's kept me writing, creating. And I've started drawing, for the first time since I was in elementary school (yet another creative outlet stifled by criticism that's come back to me with your support). I put my best work into my DAI cosplay (pic below, because I'm still so proud of it and honestly, this fandom was my motivation).
Not only has this fandom awoken a creativity in me that had been lying dormant for so long, I've met the most wonderful people in this fandom. People I can call friends, who check up on me through the ups and downs of my health struggles, who do their best to cheer me up (and so often succeed, even if it's just for a moment). I hear a lot about the cattiness of this fandom, but by some stroke of luck I've managed to only collect the best in my corner of the internet. You are all wonderful, kind people. Even those of you I'm not mutuals with, those who haven't spoken directly to me - your reblogs, your likes, your anonymous asks that keep me on my toes - you all brighten my day so much. My health changed so drastically in the past few years to where I don't make it out of the house much, but this fandom has given me a sense of belonging, a connection that gives me a reason to wake up in the morning when I'm feeling down. Dragon Age gave me an escape, but you all are what makes this fandom what it is. Don't ever forget that. Dragon Age, this fandom, my life, would not be the same without each and every one of you. So, thank you, creators of Dragon Age. Thank you, everyone who follows this blog. Thank you, everyone who likes or comments or kudos or reblogs my silly fanfictions and encourages me to keep creating. My life would not be the same without any of you. Today is your day ❤️
(of course, in true Tumblr fashion, Tumblr is making the photo below look awful, so, click here for better quality pretty please. I swear I don’t edit my photos to look blurry :| )
#dragonageday#dragon age#d4day#seriously you all have no idea how much impact you have on my life#so#thank you <3
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Rules: List 5 quotes from various fics you love and link to the fics! Quotes can be short or long. Tag as many people as you want! (tagged by @leafenclaw - thanks so much! :D)
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tagging: Idk who I follow and who follows me who hasn’t done this yet, so, if you want to do it, go for it and please tag me so I can see!
Okay, so I’ve decided to twist the rules a little and use this as a rec list for my current top five Sherlock fics and my top three Fable fics, in no particular order, so people who follow me for either fandom have something to go through. Under the cut because...long.
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BBC Sherlock
Inevitable Destruction by @jimswestwood (formerly Dionysisch)
(Ao3; Sheriarty) Bored, Jim invites Sherlock into his home, Sherlock decides to stay. — It’s a beautiful 4 part oneshot series that deals heavily with existentialism and wanting, framed in an almost elegant, bordering on philosophical light. Oh and it makes me cry. It makes me cry a lot.
Sometimes it would hit him so hard it became painful even to breathe. The meaninglessness of it all. It all dissolved into the same ephemeral prettiness of clouds, of smoke, of things that could fascinate but hold no substance at all, vanish at the touch. The air in his lungs, the wall he kept staring at. Himself. The words flowing through his brain. Nothing. Just a casual connection, weak strings giving intolerable heaviness to sounds and letters. In the end, the more he repeated something, the more he realized emptiness. Sounds rolling in his mouth numbing his palate, as he took another mask, another voice, another self - an evocation of something he forgot along the way, and in which he forgot part of himself.
Bored, bored, bored. Bored.
His thin lips part slightly, tongue darting gently over scabs of a tormented nature, sign of a certain carelessness betraying a polished image in all its destructiveness. “Bored,” Jim repeats, again. Just a murmur. Gentle, quiet, making sure not to disturb the non-existent life in a bubble of static silence. It makes him think of grey, grey dullness, something like quicksand but gripping at his brain and his heart and paralyzing him until he cannot breathe and exploding into a million pieces sounds like the most tolerable image. Scattering himself like cosmic dust. He wonders if, in that case, he would give life to other stars or just decay. Once more.
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Not Until Then by @jamlocked
(Ao3; Sheriarty, Sherlock/James Moriarty) After Sherrinford, Sherlock goes to see Jim’s brother. What follows is in no way straightforward. — There was a three-way tie for me between this fic, Daemon, and Between Shadows and Sunlight, but this fic. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it and I still can’t say for certain what I think is really happening. It’s gorgeous, elusive, and I love how much it makes me think. Jam’s a master at well-crafted, incredibly twisty plots and I’m just...endlessly fascinated by this one.
Sherlock watches his chest stop moving. David’s head tilts a fraction, like he’s listening to a far-off sound. And then…
…and then, his left hand moves to his left knee. It’s an instantly familiar gesture, one burned into Sherlock’s hard drive. Every other thought falls away. Sherlock feels his eyes widen and his mouth drop open, a gasp stuck behind his teeth. The cold, the silence of the country, the light of the windows, all melt to nothing as he watches David ripple his fingers (beats like digits) over his bent leg, pushing a slight emphasis on the roll of his thumb.
For a few seconds, he can’t breathe. His eyes snap up to David’s face - and it is David’s face, it is, but all he can see is Jim. Jim sitting there with his eyes closed and his hair a mess, slumped in exhaustion but still, always, drumming his own beat. Except that wasn't his beat, that was theirs. He knows of no one else who ever saw Jim make that move, and there’s no reason anyone ever should. That was part of their game.
He whirls to the side, back into darkness. His shoe makes a noise as it shifts on the gravel, but it barely registers. He blinks rapidly, playing the movement back, checking he saw what he thought he saw, not just what he wanted. Why would he want that? (Except wasn’t that his secret hope, wasn’t he sad when he realised he was wrong?) He doesn’t want that. It was just…
Logic. Logic. They’re brothers. He doesn’t know what characteristics they shared, and he doesn’t know when they last talked. There are any number of explanations; indeed, they’re lining up in his brain, each one ready to squash down the live-wire burst of shock. Coincidence (rarely so lazy), or wishful thinking, or his brain overlaying a strong moment from his past onto something innocuous.
Sherlock breathes out, and looks back through the window. David is rinsing the plates at the sink, ready for the dishwasher. Just a too-thin, tired man. Sherlock calms himself, and walks back around the house to let himself back in. He has to see this through. He has to know what he’s doing here, and then there’ll be no need to come back.
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To What End? by collaborativesheriartyparty
(Ao3; Sheriarty) Texting, drinks, and...something more. Unique. Possibly dangerous. Definitely addicting. — I don’t know what to say about this series that someone else hasn’t already said but gods, they (the writers) are so good. There’s a depth and a complexity and a lovely, wonderful vulnerability to how both of them write their respective characters and watching Jim and Sherlock’s relationship unfold feels incredibly intimate and, at times, like I should have given them a bit of time alone. It’s fantastic. <3
Sherlock had a funny way of getting revenge, of paralyzing his enemy. Jim appreciated it. Why do with effort what could be done with a whisper? The nights he’d dreamt of the detective had transformed his mornings, either giving him a renewed sense of patience or a real urge to get creative in his ventures. Jim had wanted to give Sherlock every chance to notice him, and chase him down. If Sherlock slipped cuffs on his wrists right now with a ‘gotcha’, would it be worth it?
Yes.
“I think…” Jim murmured, his tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips and, oops, brushing Sherlock’s lobe in the process, “that you should be texting John.” How he managed sing-song just now was a bloody feckin’ wonder. Maybe because he only took John so seriously. “Telling him you’ll be home…soon,” Jim continued, tone back to a distracted drawl, and took another deep inhale of Sherlock, his leg almost brushing the other’s now. To Jim, they were the only people in the bar right now, in the world. His eyes had closed, and it took every effort to keep his hands off Sherlock. “Instead of starting something you don’t want to finish.” He’d intended warning, but somehow it had turned out sounding like a challenge.
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Circadian Disruption by @like-the-direction
(Ao3; Sheriarty) They are many things--brilliant, determined, enemies, lovers, human only in looks--and, if Molly has any say in it, soon they’ll also be free. — It was a tie for me between this series and Corpus Callosum--both invoke similar levels of internal joyful screaming, but I seem to recall CC being recced recently, so I thought it might be a good idea to rec this one. And oh, gods, what to say about these fics. They’re so incredibly well written--the prose is beautiful and feels impeccably well-thought out. There’s so many layers to everything that it’s impossible for me to read without finding myself just sitting there, wondering. And crying. This one makes me cry, too.
“Do you dream of waterfalls?”
Sherlock pauses mid-step.
“Waterfalls,” Moriarty says, hushed, “and a precipice. You, and me.” There is something in his voice, a quiet heartbreak, and it cracks ever so slightly when he asks, “Do you dream of falling?”
Slowly, Sherlock turns. Moriarty is deadly serious when he meets his eyes.
“Victorian clothing,” he goes on, while the image - the recurring dream Sherlock has had since the day he met James Moriarty face to face - begins to form in his mind’s eye. “Me, all in black. You, wearing that fucking--”
“Deerstalker,” Sherlock says in unison with him, unsure what is happening, but feeling in his bones that it is significant, important somehow. Moriarty nods a bit, and Sherlock slowly continues, “I...refer to you as--”
“‘Professor,’” Moriarty finishes with him, and Sherlock is dimly aware of his pulse rising as he makes his way back toward Moriarty at the ledge. His adversary’s eyes briefly appear wet, but it’s difficult to tell in the light. Moriarty says, “We stand at the cliff’s edge, and I ask you something. I ask, ‘Shall we--’”
“‘Shall we go over together?’” Sherlock whispers with him. They are standing so close. Sherlock can see his reflection in Moriarty’s eyes. “Why do you know that?” he asks faintly, looking between his twin reflections. “How could you know that?”
“You tell me, Detective.”
It’s a test - Moriarty knows, certainly he knows - but Sherlock thinks he may, as well. “It...wasn’t a dream.”
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dinner by @very-trivial
(Ao3; Jimcroft) Mycroft Holmes is a dangerous man--mysterious, isolated. Sherlock and Jim are convinced he’s secretly a top government official, but they can’t begin to comprehend the scale of his power. To clarify: Mycroft Holmes is a food critic. — This fic never fails to cheer me up. It’s lovely and the descriptions of food, as well as the character interactions, are so amazingly spot-on. Jim and Sherlock’s insistence that Mycroft is a scary government-man is surprisingly funny, particularly alongside Mycroft’s worry that they’ll figure out what his job really is. Also, the end is oddly heartwarming? The whole thing is just really good.
“You’re a crit-”
A hand slapped over Jim’s mouth.
Despite everything Jim now knew about Mycroft Holmes, in this very moment, he looked scarier than ever.
“I’ll tell you everything, but not a single word passes through your mouth - not now, not ever,” the man hisses, sotto voce. The silencing hand did not relent one millimeter as he pressed on. Jim was starting to regret seating them in a corner booth away from prying eyes.
“If my identity so much as appears as a rumor on the D-list food vlogs , I will make sure you never eat in this town again. You’ll never be able to order curry without wondering if the dish has been tampered with. Maybe poison, maybe they just spit in it. I have clout in this world, Jim Moriarty, and you don’t. You put my name out there and I will use it . I have friends in high places, sir , and they owe me favors. I’ve made careers, I’ve launched veritable nobodies into international stardom. Don’t think for one moment you’ll ever be able to set foot into any decent restaurant again if you cross me. You'll live off cheap instant noodles for the rest of your life. Not even the good Korean kind.”
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Fable
The Sergeant by deadpan riot
(FFN; m!Sparrow & Reaver) Reaver returns home from Samarkand to find Sparrow has usurped his home. Oh, and Sparrow has a new pet. — First things first: I adore deadpan riot’s Sparrow; our Sparrows are somewhat similar, so it makes this fic (well, actually series but the series isn’t up in full) a really easy read for me. This fic balances out the ridiculousness and hilarity of poorly-paired roommates (with a pet balverine) and the solemnity and almost depression that comes from everything that happens in Fable II and all the choices one makes but still manages to keep the story lighthearted and well-paced.
"Did you know, my dear boy, that that beast of yours has, in fact, retained a marginally functional knowledge of the human language? Illiteracy aside, of course…" Reaver toyed with one of the bottles nearest him, watching the hero through his bangs. Smiles had again gone to try his luck at bottle roulette.
"Well, yea, I guessed as much since he does tend to listen to me…But what the hell are you two doing?" Sparrow was now coming down the stairs, prompting Reaver to stretch languidly across them.
"Whiling away my time banished to the foyer, what else?"
Sparrow stopped on the step above Reaver, eyeing the pirate, the bottles, and the general disarray of the room at large. "So 'whiling away the time' includes turning all the pictures upside down as well?"
Reaver cast a glance at the reversed paintings. "As a matter of fact it does, oddly enough."
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Snow and Stones by Lilith Encodead
(FFN; f!Sparrow/Reaver) Reaver hears rumours that someone new has taken control of Bloodstone only to find Sparrow and a cursed snowglobe waiting for him. — Considering I prefer platonic Sparrow and Reaver fics, you might be surprised to learn this is my favourite Fable fic of all time. And it kills me that it’s not complete. Lilith creates such an amazing atmosphere in here and there’s such a gravity to the fic that everything, even the lighter moments, just seem to carry a lovely weight to them. The way she writes Sparrow and Reaver is gorgeous too, and I just...Lilith, wherever you are, please??? finish??? fic??? D: Please???
"I'm not going to play your stupid little game." she sneered slowly. "If you want answers - look around."
Reaver did not move. He did not speak. Then, ungraciously he eased his grip, before giving his pistol one last shove into her head. Her fontanelle was knocked back into the stone Cullis Gate, as the force reverberated through her skull. With an aching head and blurred vision, Sparrow watched him rise up and survey his surroundings.
Reaver examined the hauntingly empty area briefly, before looking straight back at Sparrow, as if averting his eyes from something disgustingly gory. Around the two of them were the smashed remains of once mighty stone ruins covered in ivy and surrounded by dandelion weeds. Jagged lumps of stone nested the Cullis Gate, depicting faded carvings of the Old Religion bleached by sun and faded with time. A standalone rock archway stood crumbling in front of them; beyond which was a chalky white path leading down to the town.
Every water, every cell, of Reaver's body could sense a foreboding danger through the archway, down the dusty path, and back to his past.
"This is a trick." he insisted. "An elaborate deception fabricated by a vindictive Will-user."
Sparrow remained sat on the Cullis Gate, knowing that Reaver would knock her down again if she gave another dissatisfactory answer.
"Its not." she said simply, as if talking to a child that should know better. "You know it's not."
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That Which Moves the Stars by ingresviolin
(Ao3; f!HoBW/Reaver, f!HoBW/Ben Finn) Beatrice, empath and princess, embarks on a quest to find her missing father shortly after her mother’s death. — It’s still in early days, but there’s something very charming and curious about this fic. I love that the quest is mainly research-based so far and that all the characters have a wonderfully defined depth and clarity. I’m so curious and excited to see how it all comes together in the end.
"You look very young for being very old," Beatrice whispered at a nearly inaudible level. Her mother and Logan did not catch the comment, but both men at the table did. Reaver glared at her with the same menacing expression as earlier that day, but his eyes were darker than before. Beatrice felt an internal prickle of excitement: her favorite feeling.
She didn't need to touch Reaver to know he was upset, but as his glare darkened her excitement turned to fear. She could see her own image in the darkness of his pupils, as well as the glowing flames of the fireplace behind her. And she could have sworn to Avo that the two were not separate, but that the Beatrice-shaped homunculus at the center of the tiny conflagration in his eyes was being burned alive.
#thanks for the tag!#memes#fic rec I guess#very long post#sorry this took so long I wanted to reread my favs to make sure I was getting my actual fav fics/lines#there are so many fics I wanted to put in here but couldn't because of space#I'm sure some people will be surprised by my Fable fic choices buuuut...yeah#the Fable ones were hard though; I have too much history with some of these writers#maybe one day I'll do a proper rec list#leafenclaw
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Just To Let Go (4)
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
Masterlist here
Full fic on AO3 here
Fandom: Real Person Fiction (Richard Armitage)
Summary: You and Richard Armitage are best friends and during a meeting in London, the two of you find that your relationship takes a very serious turn. You are terrified of letting yourself go and loving Richard, despite knowing deep down that you adore him. Your insecurity is keeping you both from being together, and you also find pictures online of the two of you in public. Richard begs you to accompany him in New York and make the move, but will you overcome it all and finally find your strength?
Warnings: Bad language, sexual references, angst, insecurity
Pairings: Richard Armitage x Fem!Reader
Comments/Notes: Originally posted under fizzy-custard as an imagine with no official story title. Now condensed into 4 parts. If you wish to be added to any character, series or fandom tag lists, message me or send an ask. Thank you @tigereyesf for requesting the final part of this fic...which I forgot to post as I felt everyone has lost interest. This is for you! ;)
Follow Forever tag list: @himoverflowers @shikin83 @theincaprincess @deepestfirefun @nowiloveandwilllove @houseofrahl @mynameisnoneya1991@blankdblank @captainrainbowpanda @cd1242 @c-s-stars @thorins-magnificent-ass @patanghill17 @trees-and-ink @inumorph @leah-halliwell92 @msjava1972 @bespectacled-bunny @ghostlyandee @raindancer2004 @dottiechan @captain-almighty @hobbitlover23 @catthefearless @epicallychrissy @nelswp @adaliamalfoy @spn-obsession @armitageadoration @peneigh-dzredfohl @here2have-fun @xxbyimm @greendragonette @littlebird54 @thophil2941btw @princessoferebor94 @banlaochranda @wilhelmyna @gabrieleaquaman @rachel1959 @serpensortia06 @rcrispina @kategorically-challenged @tigereyesf @jumpingmanatee @alae-megallen @tschrist1 @inlovewithamantwicemyage @aspiringtranslator
Richard was watching as each person walked through the arrivals area at JFK airport. He smiled as families were reunited, couples embraced and friends met for the first time in years, or maybe for the first time. He held a rose in his hand, waiting for you. The rest of the roses, all three bouquets, were back at the apartment, arranged on the bed for you with a bottle of wine and two accompanying glasses.
He checked his watch as the dozens of passengers disappeared through the terminal and off towards their final destinations, and then he looked up at the arrivals board. Your flight had definitely landed: United Airlines from London Heathrow came in at midday.
Richard saw an immigration officer walk past and enquired as to whether the plane you had been scheduled to board had landed. The officer, a middle aged, white haired man, grunted, saying that it had and walked on. Surely the officers wouldn’t have had any issues with your visa and entry, so you being detained was highly unlikely.
Back in England and you had resorted to calling upon your parents for help and you were temporarily living with them until you could get yourself back up on your feet. Your mother had already told you how much of an idiot you were for giving up your job and home for a man you had only just gotten into a relationship with.
Two days before you were due to join Richard and you had been messaged by an ex-colleague from the cinema you had just resigned from, with a link to an online article. The article had shown pictures of you and Richard walking hand in hand down a London street, both of you completely unawares to any photographer in the area. But the worst part had been all the degrading comments you had read beneath, slating you for being with Richard and calling you very disgusting names like ‘dog’ and ‘ugly bitch’. You knew these were just jealous fans, but the comments had cut you deep, re-rooting all the insecurity that you felt you were just putting to bed.
The comments kept playing through your mind as you slept, when you showered, when you ate, and in the end you had decided against joining Richard. But you were a coward and couldn’t be up front and tell him.
Around early evening of the day you were due to land in New York, you looked up at the clock, knowing that it would be time your flight would land and Richard would be in arrivals waiting for you. Your father was too busy watching a quiz programme to even be concerned with your worries, and your mother was taking a nap after an overnight shift at the local hospital where she worked as a nurse.
Your phone began to vibrate on the coffee table so you grabbed it and disappeared into your room. Your heart hammered painfully as you saw his name across the screen in large letters.
“Where are you?” he asked, sounding frantic as you accepted the call.
“I never got on the plane, Rich,” you told him, the pain in your chest rising upwards so you began sobbing.
“W....wha? I’m stood in ARRIVALS WAITING FOR YOU!” he shouted down the phone. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? What’s going on? I can’t keep this up!”
“Well, you don’t have to,” you snapped back at him. “Thank all your wonderful, dedicated fans for this.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Richard growled.
You closed your eyes and exhaled, gathering your thoughts as much as you could from the fog that had descended on you. “Photos were published online of us, and some of the comments made against me were disgusting. I’ve never been called anything like that by people who KNOW me, let alone people I’ve never met before. I can’t stand that.”
“Why should anyone else’s opinion matter?” Richard’s voice had lowered in volume, but the frustration was deepening. This was when you knew he was at his worst; he didn’t shout, but his voice became a quiet growl. “You’re playing me around now, and I can’t carry on like this with you, not knowing what’s going on and when you’re going to break up with me next. I mean, come on, you’ve sold your stuff and moved out. Where are you now?”
“I’m with my mom and dad.”
“Who you don’t get on with?” Richard almost mocked. “You gave up your job and flat to now let this stupidity get to you.”
“Why is it stupidity?” you argued.
“I have this every day of my life. My name and my job are dragged through shit by critics and God knows who else. You’ve got to learn to get over it. And I know that’s easy for me to say, but you need to stand against it and go for what you love in life. That’s if you love me...”
“You know I do,” you whispered, tears falling down your face. “I love you more than anything.”
“Then you need to focus on me, on our future, and fuck everyone else.”
***
Those horrible, degrading comments that Richard’s fans had put online about you still raced through your mind. You would lie in bed, constantly sifting through the words, wondering if they were right. Your relationship with Richard was still on the brink of breaking down due to the fact that you would not agree to go to New York.
Richard had been on the phone with you again, and it was now a week since you had been scheduled to meet up with him at JFK airport. He slumped down on the bed and sighed in exasperation; he was tired, frustrated and didn’t know how long he could continue fighting for you.
Each day that passed, that you were physically absent, and it became harder for Richard to function. The brief taste he had had of you back in England had left him hungry for more, pining for you more than ever. In meetings regarding an upcoming play he was considering, and Richard was distracted, slipping into daydreams, imagining you saying ‘yes’ and finally coming to New York to be with him.
He looked at the large wine stain in the carpet where he had smashed a bottle of wine against the wall a week earlier in a fit of rage once he had returned to his apartment, without you. The roses had been stuffed away in the rubbish as tears had fallen down his face, and his hands bled from thorns digging into his flesh.
And things now were still no better with you. Your whole relationship was hanging by a tiny thread, threatening to tear apart at any moment. It was barely even a relationship, and had only been anything remotely like what it should have been for a handful of days.
In bed you let your mind think of wherever Richard was. All you could feel were his hands on you, him inside you, and his lips slipping over every inch of you. You had never been so wanted, cherished and needed. Richard treated you right in every way a person should be in a relationship. The truth was this, you adored him, loved him more than you had ever loved anyone before, and it was all scaring you. You had put your fear aside once, giving in, and now those hateful comments were plaguing you. There was no one you could tell, apart from your parents. Richard’s career was always something you kept quiet; when you were both friends, you only said that he worked in London and New York to other people, never elaborating on the details.
All you had done was consider your own feelings, never Richard’s. Everything, so far, had been about you. You looked at your clock and saw it was nearly midnight, so it would be evening for Richard. You had already text a few times that day, passing the usual pleasantries to each other, but with tension lingering behind your words.
You picked up your phone and let it call out to him. Within half a dozen rings and he answered.
“Hi,” he said softly. You could sense a smile behind the greeting, as though you could hear it pouring down the phone line.
“I’m sorry if I’ve bothered you, Rich,” you apologised, pulling yourself up in bed.
“You never bother me,” he replied. “I’m just glad you called. I...erm, miss you so much.”
“I miss you, too,” you said, closing your eyes. You squeezed your lips together and tried to push the painful lump in your throat away. “I lie awake at night and I want to be next to you. I imagine how it all felt when we slept together.”
You heard Richard’s light chuckle down the phone. “Then come out to me. I’d come to you but I have so many meetings to finalise my contract for the upcoming play.”
“So you’ve decided to do it?” you asked.
“Don’t dodge what we were talking about. I know you. Come out to me.”
The more you heard his voice, and the way it pleaded for you, and the easier it was for him to break your resolve. All you wanted was to feel him, see him and be wrapped up in his arms.
“Alright, and it’ll be a definite this time,” you promised.
***
You laughed as Richard called you just as you were sat at the airport gate, waiting to board your United Airlines flight to JFK airport. “Are you sure you’re boarding this time?” he asked, chuckling. Then two minutes later into the conversation he playfully interrupted you and asked again.
“Oh, shut up, you daft idiot,” you laughed back at him. The tension and frustration that had lain between you both the last couple of weeks had dissipated, leaving peace, happiness and excitement in its place. Your interaction with Richard had become what it once was: playful banter, heart to heart conversations and philosophical debate. Usually the philosophical debate came from a book that Richard had been reading, and you had no idea what he was talking about, but would try your best to keep up.
Suddenly a voice came over the tannoy. “Welcome to this United, non-stop flight to JFK International Airport. All business passengers and Star Alliance card holders are now welcome to board.”
“Boarding is starting,” you told Richard. “I should land at around two, and hopefully the queue through border control will be quick.”
“I can’t wait to see you,” he replied with a sigh. “I love you. Safe journey, angel. I’ll be waiting in arrivals for you.”
“I love you, too,” you told him, meaning each word.
The flight seemed so long, so much longer than seven hours. However, this was only your second ever flight. Normally Richard came to you in London, and the only other time you had flown was when you had gone on holiday to Spain in your teens with your parents, and hated every minute of it. The take off was the exiting part but once you were in the air, you felt the tension in your muscles at every tiny bump. The loud sound of the engines did not ease your nerves either. The landing was even worse; you braced yourself for the whole descent, feeling as if you were crashing.
Finally you were on the ground and you saw the terminal. You followed everyone out, holding your large weekender bag with your valuables in. The sights and sounds were completely alien to you, but the thought of being with Richard again meant that you didn’t concentrate on the new environment as much as you should have.
Immigration was swift despite the long queues; an officer asked you a couple of questions regarding your entry clearance which showed up against your passport. You gave Richard’s address where you would be staying, and explained you were coming to join your partner. Then you had your fingerprints taken. The officer stamped your passport, smiled, and allowed you to go.
Next you collected your large suitcase from the carousel and began your walk to the main arrivals area where friends, family and taxi drivers waited.
Your heart began to race and you felt the butterflies hit your stomach as you walked through the vast terminal towards the exit. You walked through the door, exhaling loudly, and then you saw him.
The butterflies flapped viciously and you laughed, dashing towards him. You never noticed the large bouquet of roses in his hand as he grabbed you tight and kissed you, not caring who was watching.
You looked at him for a couple of seconds and brushed your hand down his cheek, feeling his beard beneath your touch. “This is it, Rich. I’m yours,” you whispered.
Fin.
#Richard armitage#fanfiction#real person fanfiction#writing#final part#just to let go#Richard armitage x fem!reader#Richard armitage x you#Richard armitage x reader#Richard x reader#Richard x fem!reader#Richard x you
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Annual Writing Self-Evaluation 2018
The lovely @1diamondinthesun tagged me to do the annual writing self-evaluation! 2018 wasn’t my strongest year in writing, but let’s do this!
All answers should be about works published in 2018. (Skip any questions you don’t want to answer, but please leave them on the list so that others can answer them if they want.)
1. Number of stories (including drabbles) posted to AO3:
Eleven (two long fics and nine drabbles)
2. Word count posted for the year: 154.876
3. List of works published this year:
Tell The World We Finally Got It All Right
Belting out sunlight, shimmering love - The Spring Drabbles series
Joy and fresh days of love accompany your hearts - The Summer Drabbles series
The leaves are ready to begin falling again, as I am for you - The Autumn Drabbles series
Make Your Heart Remember Me
4. Fandoms I wrote for: One Direction
5. Pairings: Harry/Louis
(putting the rest of the questions under the cut because it became a long post lol)
6. Story with the most…
Kudos / Bookmarks: Make Your Heart Remember Me
Comments: Make Your Heart Remember Me & Tell The World We Finally Got It All Right (both have 27 comment threads)
7. Work I’m most proud of (and why): Although MYHRM is my longest fic this year and even though I’ve envisioned it for two years before finally getting a start on it and spending months working on it, I have to say I’m proudest of TTWWFGIAR. This fic is part of a series that I love with all my heart as if it was a child. @regulusarcblack and I have created such a wonderful world for Muggle!Louis and Wizard!Harry that just getting to write more of their story, no matter if it’s something small and silly, and no matter if people don’t even pay attention to it anymore, it will always have a special place in my heart. I’m very proud of how MYHRM turned out and for the amount of attention it got as well, but TTWWFGIAR owns my heart.
8. Work I’m least proud of (and why): It’s not that I’m least proud of them, but I don’t precisely have much emotional connection with the drabbles series. I’m proud of myself for managing to condense three stories the way I did, but as for the stories, they don’t hold a lot of meaning for me.
9. A favorite excerpt of your writing:
I have two.
One from TTWWFGIAR:
Louis fixed his still wet fringe over his forehead and closed his eyes for a second before he answered her back. “That’s a funny story, actually,” he laughed again, “I… we came back here.”
“We? Who’s we, Louis? I’m sure it’s not Lottie because she came back yesterday morning and she was just as lost on where you’d be as I was.”
“It’s Harry.” He decided to cut to the chase and just spill it out. As soon as he spoke he opened his eyes again to see Harry walking inside the room, a white towel around his middle just like the one Louis had on himself, and a smirk on his lips.
It took a moment for his mother to speak again. “Harry? Is… he there now? With you?”
“Yeah, he is.” Louis watched as Harry got the sweatpants and jumper he had conjured for himself the day before and started getting dressed.
“And are you going to explain to me how and why he’s there with you?” Jay wasn’t demanding anything and Louis could sense she was feeling more relaxed to know that new piece of information. “I mean, I’m not mad that you’re there with him. I’m just confused, love, that’s what. What happened?”
Harry looked back at Louis when he finished dressing himself and was putting his hair up in a bun. “Is that your mother?” There was a small frown on his brows as he walked closer to where Louis was sat on the bed.
Louis nodded, mouthing a “yeah” and quirking his lips into a smile.
“Do you want the short or long story?” He talked back to his mother as Harry approached him, his eyes not leaving Louis’ as he softly ran his fingers through Louis’ hair.
“I’m gonna go make breakfast while you talk to her, okay?” He moved his hand down to Louis’ face, caressing his cheek with his thumb.
“Okay,” Louis murmured before turning his face a bit to leave a gentle kiss on the inside of Harry’s palm.
He saw Harry’s eyes soften with the gesture and scrunching up his nose as he leaned down to kiss Louis on the cheek before he turned around to leave.
And from MYHRM:
“Dad?”
Harry hears Lily’s voice very low before he can focus his vision on his daughter in front of him. It’s still dark but he can see her sleepy face yawning as she looks at him.
He startles himself a bit, forgetting for a moment where he is. Then, it hits him as he feels an arm around his middle and the press of Louis’ body behind him as they’re lying on the couch. He doesn’t remember when they decided to move from their sitting positions and sleep right there.
Louis’ breath is serene on Harry’s neck and he smiles at himself before he speaks to Lily.
“Yes, petal?”
“I woke up to go to the bathroom and you weren’t in the bedroom with me.” He sees her rubbing her eyes with one hand. “Can I sleep with you and Louis here?”
Harry wants to laugh because Lily could’ve asked him to go back to the bedroom with her, but the fact that she wants to sleep there, on a sofa that barely fits Harry and Louis together, only warms his heart.
He’s too sleepy to say no or to reason that he should really get up and move to the room and also wake up Louis, or even to think about what Lily has made of him and Louis sleeping together like that. So he simply squirms a little closer to Louis to give Lily some space, opening one of his arms so she can lie there and snuggle up to him.
“Goodnight, dad,” she says against his neck and Harry kisses the top of her head as he tries to get comfortable again to sleep.
“Night, petal.” He closes his eyes and just before he can allow himself to rest again, he feels Louis kissing the back of his neck and moving his arm from Harry’s waist to hold not only him, but also Lily in one embrace, intertwining his fingers with Harry’s over Lily’s middle.
This is the happiest he’s been in a long time, and it doesn’t matter that they are all cramped on Louis’ couch or that he and Louis haven’t actually talked about them and their future. But if the future involves more nights like this, with the two people he loves so much, then he truly can’t wish for anything better.
10. Share or describe a favorite review you received:
I didn’t get many reviews on my works this year, but I have to say @derekhaleace’s thorough comments on MYHRM really lifted my mood! @doctorrainbows’ comments on TTWWFGIAR too (Rosie I miss you <3)
And I want to add one that was not my favorite, but it gave me a lot of perspective on MYHRM:
“Good story idea but written with too much decriptions and info ended up skipping a lot of the story.”
This comment really made me laugh out loud, not in a bad way though, but because this was exactly how I was feeling and why I struggled so much with that fic. I wasn’t content on how I was writing it because it felt like I was dragging the story. I was writing and writing and the number of words only kept growing and I felt like I wasn’t advancing on the plot. I took this as a constructive criticism and I know some people have validated me saying that for them the story didn’t feel like that, or others saying that the amount of description was just enough... So, yeah, I know it’s matter of like, but it helped me to be more critic about my own writing.
11. A time when writing was really, really hard: This whole past year tbh? first it started with the fact that I got a serious pain on my right hand, I didn’t know if it was tendinitis or what, so I went to the doctor, did physiotherapy for about 2 months? and in the end the end the only thing that helped the pain was arthritis medicine lol so for MONTHS I couldn’t write properly because if I forced my hand, it would be worse, that’s why I kept doing the drabbles challenge, because 100 words each was easier than trying a full fic. Then in august I finally started writing MYHRM, but it took me longer than I planned because of writer’s block and lack of motivation and a lot of self-doubt about my writing, so it wasn’t easy either :/
12. A scene or character that you wrote that surprised you: That’s a hard question, but probably Lily from MYHRM. I had already written a kid fic before, but it hadn’t been like this, because this whole fic focused on the interaction of Harry and Louis with Lily and I wasn’t sure how I would write her, and I needed to remind myself not to forget about her haha In the end, I think I did a pretty good job, her personality is so precious and I love her.
13. How did you grow as a writer this year: I think I stopped caring too much about people paying attention to my fics? It was something that always bugged me, expecting more people to read them, finding them in fics recs and so on. Obviously, I still want people to read them, but if only a few people read notice the and enjoy them, that’s what matters, and mostly, that I’m happy with how my fics turned out.
14. How do you hope to grow next year: I hope to keep writing more for myself, keep thinking of stories that I have fun writing and reading and care less about making it to the famous author’s niche in the fandom. Maybe also try to have some of other ideas I’ve had for other fandoms come to life, who knows.
15. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer: As always, @regulusarcblack who has to listen to my ramblings, even if she’s already sick of them lmao but she’s the one I seek when I’m writing and she always helps me put my idea in place. But I also have t give a HUGE shout out to @britpickerhl for sticking with me for another year, for dealing with my dumb mistakes, for having so much patience with gdocs and me, but mainly for helping me improve my writing and being my cheerleader!
16. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: I never know, because I’m not a person with much experiences, so there isn’t much to include in my fics lol I think I reflect some of my personality when I write Harry, but that’s it. And I’m a hopeless romantic and sap and fluff hoe, so that’s what my fics end up looking like hahaha
17. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: Keep writing for yourself and for the people you know who enjoy your work and try not to feel down if you are overlooked by the fandom. If you are happy with your story, that’s what matters. Also, try venturing to other pairings and fandoms, don’t stick to only what you are familiar with (not only regarding writing but also reading), it will give you a broader perspective of how readers and fandoms work.
18. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting or finishing in the new year: I’m writing a wip, which I can’t talk much about yet, but I’m quite excited about it because it’s been incredibly easy for me to write and I’m having so much fun with it, so I hope to kick off 2019 with this one in a good place about my writing!
19. Tag writers whose answers you’d like to read: I don’t know who has already done it lol so I’ll tag @mediawhorefics @emperorstyles @louisalbumnow @hrrytomlinson @hogwartzlou @tofiveohfive if you haven’t and want to do it!
#i read last years evaluation and i have to laugh lmao#anyway#here's to a better 2019 in writing#my writing#writing evaluation
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The Handheld Secret [Evil Drye AU fanfic #2]
Y’all who created the AU gave me such positive feedback on my last fic, which made me so happy that i decided to do more! in fact, now that i’m familiar with more characters and plots in the AU, i’m planning on making a small series of these fics. i hope you’ll continue to enjoy them!
For those of you who don’t know, this AU was created by @undertale-cat, and involves the contribution of his friends. Each friend has one (or two?) characters in the AU. (i’m not really part of that group idon’tthink, i just write fics for y’all XD)
But anyway -- this fic involves Lieutenant Cat by @undertale-cat, King Drye by @dryeguy, and YOU the reader! once you’re done enjoying this fic, i encourage you to go check out those blogs! they do lots of cool stuff that i’m sure you’ll like!
One last note: this fic is set in a time soon after the situation in this audio by DryeGuy, which i suggest you listen to before reading this. the first part of the fic is set in an earlier time (right after the first part of fic #1), but as you’ll see later on, it’s “the reader” having a flash back)
HOkay, here it is! enjoy!
The moment King Drye and I exit the dungeon cell, I notice several guards lined up along the dim hallway. One of them looks different from the rest, both because of his nobleman attire and the way he immediately begins walking alongside the King and I. As soon as he notices me, his hand darts for the sword he carries in a hip scabbard.
“That won’t be necessary, Cat.” the King quickly stops him, making the the guard reluctantly release his weapon. “Our... unexpected guest will be staying with us for a little while longer.”
Chills run up my spine as Cat quickly scans me with critical, disapproving eyes. The short man takes wide strides to keep up with his master, rapidly beginning to gesture with his hands. I, on the other hand, limp unsteadily behind them. I really wish the King wouldn’t expect me to walk right now; I still feel like a horse used me as a doormat.
Even though King Drye obviously tries to ignore him, Cat walks ahead of Drye and turns around to face him, moving his hands with agitated quickness. Is that sign language? I can’t understand it, but the movements appear too intricate to be simply emotive.
“Enough. I have made my final decision.” Drye says firmly, putting a hand up and making Cat rest his own. “Don’t think I didn’t consider that before I let them live… besides, just look at them.”
The King stops and grins at me over his shoulder, then says with a chuckle, “i don’t think they’ll be causing us any trouble.”
Wow. that’s got to be the nicest way I've ever been told that I look pitifully harmless.
Cat isn’t convinced, however, judging by the glare he gives me. I can see it in his eyes that he still wants to protest, but he knows better than to try his master’s patience.
“The poor fellow can hardly walk… Cat, help them.” King Drye commands, then faces forward and continues down the hall. I make one last attempt to walk competently, but Cat doesn’t care to wait and see if I succeed. I give an uncomfortable grunt of pain as he jams himself up under one of my arms. He proceeds to usher me instead of help me walk, forcing me to keep up with the King. he’s having none of my slow, crippled business.
“Uhm… sire?” I murmur, as soon as Cat pulls me up to the King’s side. I’m not sure how to say this, or even if I should. “If I may ask, who is…”
“This is Lieutenant Cat, my personal bodyguard and advisor.” Drye replies. “Well, I never gave him the latter job, but he seems to think I did. You’ll have to excuse him for not introducing himself. He cannot speak.”
That explains the sign language, I think to myself. I dare to glace at Cat out of the corner of my eye, and notice his ever-so-peeved expression. To be fair, if I were lugging a crippled criminal around, probably getting blood and dirt on my fancy clothes in the process, I think i’d be irritable too. It already seems like Cat and I aren’t exactly going to get along, but I suppose that’s nothing to worry about, as long as I stay on the king’s good side.
A loud THUMP echos through the library as my book falls out of my hands. I’ve just been daydreaming again, thinking back to my first day of living here in the palace. Cat turns to look at me as I pick my book up and sheepishly place it back on the shelf. Satisfied with that, Cat looks away and continues his search for a book of his own.
I remember thinking that Cat would always resent me, but our acquaintanceship has gotten better than I thought it would. At least he no longer stares at me any time that i’m not sitting still. He used to be so distrustful of me that I literally couldn’t sneeze without him analyzing my movement. I suppose that’s just part of his job; he’s unquestionably loyal to King Drye, and would like nothing more than to save his master’s life by sacrificing his own. That being said, it’s no wonder he used to keep such a sharp eye on me, the stranger at Drye’s heels. Now a days, he still checks on me every so often, but he’s no longer under the impression that i’m itching to slit the King’s throat.
It doesn’t really bother me that Cat doesn’t trust me; in all honesty, I don’t trust him either. And I don’t mean that as in I don’t tell him my true thoughts about being here, because I don’t reveal that to anyone as is. I mean that he does things that lead me to think that he’s hiding something from me… something that I need to know.
Cat has always communicated with King Drye through sign language, and Drye’s response is almost always vocal. Cat isn’t deaf, after all, so there’s no reason not to speak to him. However, i’ve noticed that on occasion, Drye will reply to Cat using signs as well. His hands aren’t quite as fast as Cat’s, but he appears to have a firm enough grasp on the language. I’ve counted since it first happened, and since then, he’s done it three more times. The reason for it could be that Drye doesn’t want any staff in the vicinity to eavesdrop on him and Cat’s conversation. But no matter how many times I tell myself that, for the sake of putting my mind at ease, I can’t get myself to believe it. My relentless anxiety insists that whatever the King and Cat sign to each other involves me in some way; a way that they don’t want me to be aware of. What might that be?
Well… honestly, I can’t accept that King Drye welcomed me into his home out of nothing more than fondness and generosity. Don’t get me wrong, I do think kindly of myself, but I doubt there’s anything about me that’s special enough to capture the King’s attention. The fact that he even let me live that day, even though I had so little to offer him, is a marvel all on its own. What’s even more bizarre is the fact that he believed me, when my words were simple enough for any desperate prisoner to say. If the King were really that gullible, the resistance would have overthrown him long before now. When I consider all of this at once, it just doesn’t make enough sense. There must be a hidden motive in Drye’s mind, which I believe he shares with Cat when they speak in hands.
What they don’t seem to know is that I am no longer deaf to them. I taught myself how to read sign language.
About three weeks ago, King Drye took me to the library for what I think was the fifth time. Our visits there are very frequent, since i’ve been blowing through my novels so quickly. While no one was watching me, I took advantage of the opportunity and retrieved a textbook for sign language. It was a rather slim book, so I managed to hide it beneath my shirt until we made it back home. I didn’t want anyone to know what I was doing, especially not Cat or Drye. Every day, I kept it hidden in my room until I could study in the late hours of the night. I was desperate to learn the language as soon as possible, lest I miss my next chance to translate their conversation. This made me stay up terribly late and gave me an obviously exhausted countenance during the day. The King noticed this, and told me he would only take me to the library again if I learned to get to bed earlier. That’s actually why i’m here today. I finished learning sign language and then followed the King’s instructions, just in time to come and see the new shipment of books.
“Lieutenant Cat?” I call softly off to my side, catching the bodyguard’s attention. “Do you happen to recognize any of these novels?”
Cat makes his way to me and looks over the new selection of books, while I wait patiently for him to pick one of them for me. Our similar taste in literature makes him helpful for telling me which books I ought to read. He’s done this a few times in the past, which I appreciate.
He finally takes a book off the shelf and hands it to me, tapping it and nodding as I take it in my own hands.
“The scarlet letter? I suppose I already know what this will be about…” I murmur, cracking the book open and glancing at a few pages. “Did you enjoy reading this?”
Cat replies with a small nod. I hold the book to my chest and give him a warm smile.
“Then i’m sure I will as well. Thank you, Lieutenant.” I say in a kind tone. Much to my surprise, he reflects my smile back at me. That’s such a rare sight, but a pleasant one nonetheless.
Never being one to forget his duty, Cat leaves me almost as quickly as he came, off to check on the King again. He finds his master busily inspecting the latest additions of maps, which he has spread out over a long library counter. I wave shyly to him when he looks up, meeting eyes with Cat and I.
“Are you two enjoying yourselves?” Drye asks us with a light grin.
I nod politely and watch as Cat signs, “yes, thank you” to the King. I easily understood that gesture, but then again, it’s one of the most simple in all of the language. I can only hope that i’ll remember the more complex signs if and when they are needed.
Before the sun sets behind the west forest, the King, Cat, and I arrive back home for supper. I’m delighted to have a few new books to keep me company, including the one that Cat picked out for me. I think i’ll be reading that one first, since the thought of Cat’s smile has given it a sort of allure.
It’s evenings like this that I feel more accepting of my predicament. The weather is warm and calm, the castle is looking as lovely as ever, and both the King and Cat are in good spirits. Those small but prominent details give me a sense of peace and contentment. As long as I just ignore my many troubling thoughts, I can spend the rest of this day enjoying myself.
As soon as King Drye steps into the Foyer, one of his staff approaches him with a small package in his hands. Drye’s voice takes on a delighted tone as he accepts the item and excuses the staff.
“Wait, before we go any further…” he says, turning around and looking at me, “i have something for you.”
“F-for me…?” I stutter, taken aback. Cat looks rather surprised as well. My cheeks turn red as Drye hands me a small jewelry box, fastened shut with a satin ribbon. I nervously untie it and open the box, gasping when I see what’s inside.
A familiar piece of fine jewelry lays under the lid. It’s a broach, but not just any broach. it’s almost identical to the amber heart on Drye’s chest, except for the color; deep crimson red. Its lustrous charm leaves me at a brief loss for words.
“Oh, sire, it… it’s beautiful!” I gush, looking up at him with a genuine smile of awe and gratefulness. Drye chuckles with delight as he carefully takes it out of the box and pins it to the left breast of my suit.
“You see, I was just so proud of you for your show of obedience last week, though I know it was hard for you. So, I thought… perhaps you deserve a reward for such good behavior. I ordered this to be made special for you, in the color I noticed you’re most fond of.” Drye explains.
Last week… no, I don’t want to remember that dreadful occurrence. I force the thought out of my mind and focus on the King’s thoughtful present.
“I make it a point to wear my heart every single day. It’s become part of me.” he says, stepping back and admiring the sight of his gift adorning me. “Would you do the same?”
“If it would please you, my King.” I reply, bowing my head to him.
Drye smiles and lifts my chin in his hand, gazing into my eyes with a look of adulation. I try not to shiver as my cheeks burn warm with blush. Even in this dazed and bashful state, I notice Cat tensing beside me.
“Excellent… now, come along. Our dinner awaits.” Drye finally says, releasing me and turning away.
Cat and I take our places at the King’s sides as we make our way toward the dining room. Curious about his reaction to all of this, I glance to the side at Cat. His expression is nakedly grim. Perhaps he’s envious of the King and I?
Before I can analyze Cat’s expression any further, I see him raise his hands in preparation to speak. Though I try not to make it obvious, I watch his hands very closely.
“Why would you do that?” his hands say, moving harshly as if to physically emote a firm tone. “What if someone saw what you just did? Your guest is merely a commoner. Forgive me sire, but… I must inform you that allowing yourself to have feelings for the likes of them is most inappropriate for a King.”
I can’t say I disagree with that… i’m equally surprised that Drye would show me affection, especially in such an open way. But more importantly, i’m understanding Cat’s signals very well. This could be the moment i’ve been waiting for.
As soon as I see the King’s head turning toward me, I avert my eyes back to my broach and feign disinterest. His gaze lingers on me for a moment before he looks back to Cat, raising his own hands now.
Yes, this is it. I keep my eyes glued to his hands as he signs his reply.
“Do not mistake my strategic flattery for infatuation. This is all meant to prepare them for the important role they’re going to play.”
… what?
My heart sinks into my boots as the realization hits me.
He’s not showing me affection or generosity… he’s just blandishing me! But for what?! What role could he possibly need me to fill?!
I can’t even stop to question that as my spark of shock quickly fans into a furious fire. I have to clench my fists firmly at my sides, just to avoid the overwhelming temptation to rip the broach off my chest and smash it on the floor. My blood boils as I come to grips with the fact that every kind gesture the King has given me has all been part of a clever ruse. The only thing I feel besides anger is shame, for i’ve been falling for his tricks. I let his flattery persuade me to accept betraying my alliance and being here at his side. But I never should have stopped resenting him! The King made me execute a man only a week ago, and i’ve already forgiven him for it! This is wrong!
But no more… now that I know it was all a lie, I won’t be won over again. I have to remember where I am, and stay determined to make it out alive. There’s so much I can tell the leaders of the resistance, just as soon as I escape.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply as I promise myself that I won’t let the bliss of my new life distract me ever again. For now, I have to feign respect and obedience, but I won’t let him take control of my mind.
Whatever “role” he has for me, I swear I won’t play it!
to be continued...
#hnnnngh these are so fun to do#i hope all my fan stuff isn't annoying y'all#i'll be including more people's characters as the series goes on#thanks again for all your love for the last fic#it really made me so happy#okay serious tags now#evil drye AU#Dryeguy#Undertale-cat#king drye#lieutenant cat#fanfiction#self insert
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Wow, I finally finished this old fic....
Chapters: 4/4
Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series), Perc'ahlia - Fandom
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vex'ahlia
Additional Tags: Modern AU, hotel au, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Winter Special I guess :D
Summary:
Vex doesn't trust 'free' offers of any kind. But when she's stranded in a foreign city with no hostel bed and not enough money for a hotel, she can't deny the handsome stranger offering her a free stay at the swankiest hotel in town.
Vex didn't clearly remember how they'd made their way to the elevator.
She remembered a hand reaching out to help her up as a waiter pulled away her chair and she realised she was a bit more drunk than expected.
She remembered a smile as she stuttered out a not so sly „a gentleman should make sure his date gets home safely, right?“.
She remembered another hand, maybe the same hand, just as warm, on the slope of her back as they passed through the foyer. Nothing too inappropriate, of course – they were still in public, after all, but for a split second she wondered just how many eyes were on her and the owner of the goddamn place with his hand on her back, right now, right here, in front of everyone.
But they were in the elevator now, that she remembered, nobody else but them.
Percy barely had time to start on his sentence – the topic certainly didn't matter right now – before he was silenced by her lips. He didn't seem to mind.
She pulled away after what felt like hours, smiling, then pulling him back down by his collar to whisper in his ear.
„I changed my mind, actually.“ She could almost feel the heat of his face as her breath trawled past his ear. „I think I'd much rather be escorted back to your room.“
And that remained the only sentence said in the elevator.
The door opened with a soft 'ding', and they were both relieved no one was standing in front of them in the hallway. It would've taken quite some time to straighten their clothes, and even more to explain away what was very clearly going on.
Sixth floor, Vex thought to herself for just a moment. The same floor her room was on. Did he know that? She might have been drunk and excited and very much occupied with this entire... situation, but she was still smart enough not to take a stranger back to her place. If anything, this made it easier to sneak out if needed – maybe soon, maybe in the morning.
Percy pulled her out of her thoughts and out of the elevator. He seemed quite a bit less insecure now, covered in lipstick marks – though blushing heavily enough to almost hide them – as he kept leading her down the corridor, fingers intertwined. He still fumbled with his keycard at the door, but that could be chalked up less to insecurity and more to her hands under his shirt.
There was a lot of stumbling involved as they went into the room, over each other's legs as they tried to get across without letting go, over dresses and shirts and shoes on the floor, finally over a small stack of books that sent Percy straight down onto the bed behind him.
Vex, never against taking the chance of opportunity, was already climbing on top of him, her hands busy with his beltbuckle, her mouth somewhere around his neck, when she felt the quiet groaning in his throat turn into words.
„Vex.“ He was out of breath, but his voice got stronger as she continued. „Vex.“
She looked up at him, his glasses askew.
„I don't – this is probably... I mean, just...“ He was stuttering nervously as he sat up halfway, and her hands drifted away slowly. There was no way she could've misread this situation, surely?
„I don't want you to think that I, I tried to... buy you, or anything, with the-...“
She couldn't help but smile as she shifted towards him again, planting a soft kiss on his lips.
„Oh, darling. Trust me. Even if you handed over everything you own, you couldn't afford me.“
He returned her smile before pulling her down again.
--------
She was half asleep when a sharp knock on the door jostled her. Percy, peacefully next to her with his face hidden in the nape of her neck, only grumbled.
The knocking continued.
„Oh, for god's sake.“ He sat up, collecting together what few items of clothing he could find around the bed – his pants, at least, an older tshirt thrown over a chair, everything else seemed to have stayed in the living room area into which he trodded now.
„Yes, alright, just a moment, goddamnit.“
Vex shifted around, trying to hide herself under the massive down duvet. The bed wasn't visible from the door, thank god, but she noticed a mirror placed conveniently across the room that gave her only a half-obscured view of the door as Percy opened it with an angry flourish.
A young woman was standing there, hand still in the air from her continuous knocking, a stack of papers in the other. Cassandra, Vex thought immediately. It was hard not to see the similarity in their faces, the curve of the nose, the dark eyebrows – a bit thinner on her than on Percy, but still. He confirmed her guess with his annoyed sigh.
„Really, Cass? Really? It's almost past midnight.“
„Well, I was told you were busy every time I asked for you.“ Her voice was very matter-of-fact as her eyes trailed down her brother's less than presentable outfit, then darted to the clothes strewn across the floor. Vex could only imagine her boots and blue dress standing out against the light woodflooring. „It seems like that's true, but I hope you're not busy now. I'd hate to interrupt anything, but-“
„Cassandra.“ He sighed again. „What. do. you. want.“
„I need your signature on several documents-“
„Can it not wait until tomorrow morning?“
„Well, I suppose it could but-“
„Good.“ He closed the door so quickly that the last thing Vex could see of his sister was the glaring shock in her eyes while she tried to get another word in.
She was still giggling under the covers when he climbed back into bed.
„I'm sorry about this.“
Her hands were already under his tshirt again, pulling him closer, as a random thought sprung into her mind.
„Didn't you say you were only partially the owner of the hotel?“
„Yes? Well, I had her put into the bill of ownership as well, since she's running the place and deserves it, in my opinion.“
„Does she really need your signature for anything, then?“
He stared at her, and even in the dark she could tell the gears clicked into place as he almost snarled.
„I'm going to- I'm- she's going to get the talk of her- I'm so sorry.“
„Don't.“ Her hands stroked along his cheek, and his furrowed brows softened a bit. „I'm pretty sure I would've done the same with my brother.“ She could clearly recall her many, many friendly visits to Vax's room the first few times Keyleth had come over, asking if they wanted some coffee, or some of the cookies she just bought, or if they wanted to order some takeout with her, or... until her brother finally threw one of his pillows at her and barricaded the door. Percy's reaction had been just as effective, it seemed, since there was no more knocking.
„It's still very rude.“
„I don't know. If I only heard second-hand reports of my brother dining and drinking with a strange woman, I'd want to check out what was what too.“
„Oh lord.“ He ran his hand across his face as he turned onto his back, her hand still under his shirt coming to rest on his stomach. „I didn't think our employees would be that gossipy.“
„Don't worry.“ She pulled her arms back to herself without thinking about it. „I'm pretty stealthy. I'll be out of here tomorrow before room cleaning shows up.“
„No.“ He didn't seem to be thinking either, considering how quick his answer was. „I mean, you don't have to. Unless you want to.“
She smiled as she felt his hand crawl into her hair. „Do you not want to hide your torrid little love affair from your staff?“
„If you think I'd mind people seeing a gorgeous woman at my side, I'll have to dissappoint you. Also, I recall the promise of a drink at the Winter's festival. That's quite a public place.“
„True.“ She laid her head down on his chest as he continued to sift through her hair. „Plus I got this free room in the hotel for, like, three days. I think that's enough time to show me the town, and show me around town as well.“
„I'm not sure.“ She could hear the laughter in his voice. „Whitestone is not a big town, but there are a lot of interesting places.“
„I've also heard spectacular things about your New Years fireworks.“
„Oh yes. I should know. I've built half of them.“
She sat up again, looking at him with innocent eyes even as she grinned.
„I think I have no other choice but to use your gifted card for a few days more than intended.“
He again returned her smile before pulling her down into a kiss.
Vex turned the key in the familiar, paint-chipped door of her tiny flat with a sigh and stepped in. After over a week in a high-class hotel, it was hard not to compare the dark frontroom with her airy suite – not that she'd spent much time in it.
She was expecting an empty apartment or a still grumbling brother, but she was instead met by an excited squeal and a flurry of red hair as Keyleth pulled her into a big bear hug, with Trinket excitedly barking and shuffling around their legs.
„Welcome home! Merry belated christmas! Happy new year! Oh gosh, you were gone so long!“
„Hello, darling, and a happy new year to you too.“ She put down her backpack, ruffled through Trinket's fur and looked around the flat – Keyleth had apparently spend the first day of the year deep-cleaning it, as Vax would've never left it so pristine while she was gone.
„My brother's at the hospital, I assume?“
„Yeah, he won't be home until 9pm. Sorry. I made cocoa! With, um, with baileys. Do you want some?“
„That sounds lovely.“
Vex pulled out her phone while Keyleth basically jumped back into the tiny kitchen corner.
Hey Doofus, back home. Think you need to monitor your gf's sugar intake.
The reply came only seconds later.
Welcome back Stubby. Prep 4 big hug and scolding 2nite.
She could only smile at the message while sitting down at the kitchen table, a steaming cup shoved into her hands right away. Keyleth sat across from her, almost shaking from excitement, a giant grin on her face.
„Tell me. Everything.“
It took about an hour to get everything out of her system. She omitted the more... delicate parts – Keyleth certainly didn't need to know that much, nor did her brother, who'd hear everything from his girlfriend the moment they were alone, she was sure.
Keyleth was bobbing up and down in her chair.
„Wow! Vex! This is like, a movie story! A wayward girl getting swept off her feet by a mysterious Lord!“
„It's most definitely not.“ She'd been trying to get her head back to reality on the bus home, after this whirlwind of a week, and Keyleth's optimism certainly didn't help. „It was a wonderful time, yes. But it was. I mean, Whitestone is hours away, and I'm not even sure if Percy is planning to ever see me again anyway.“
„Are you sure? Cause it doesn't sound like a one time deal to me, the way you told me- OH!“ Keyleth was suddenly up and across the kitchenette, sorting through a heap of mail. „That reminds me – this letter came for you yesterday – it says, like, Whitestone Hotel on the adress!“
She handed over the letter, just as elegant as all the stationary Vex had seen during her stay. Ripping it open and reading down the page, she couldn't help but bite her lip to avoid giggling.
„What is it? What is it???“ Keyleth was still standing, trying hard not to read the letter over Vex's shoulder.
„An invitation. To the Whitestone Easter Event.“
Keyleth was still busy squealing and hugging her shoulders from behind the chair when Vex noticed a smaller envelope inside the already opened one, and a handwritten note on the bottom of the printed, official looking invitation. The writing was very familiar. She'd read the few sentences she had of it over and over again, after all.
I have included the customary voucher for returning guests. I assume you know how to use it.
Love, Percy
-
P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm; }A:link { }
If you think I did a good job writing this, and you have some copper to spare, consider buying me a coffee?
#Perc'ahlia#Critical Role#CR#Vex'ahlia#Percy de Rolo#Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III#Vox Machina
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Day 8: Part One || The Woods
Connor Murphy x Reader
Word Count: 1680
Summary: Connor x Reader walk the train tracks and skip school. [This is part of an in progress series. You can follow along here.]
Author Note: I’ve been struggling to write the past few days. I know this isn’t exactly a great fic but sometimes you just need to push yourself through the block to help a story along. Hopefully part two will be up within two days. I’ll give myself a deadline. Enjoy! ~xo Katie
“Not everyone is out to get you. Stop thinking that. It’s annoying” you mumble under your breath. Connor and you were walking down the train tracks that cut through the outskirts of town. You balanced on the left side of the track while he took the right.
One foot in front of the other.
September was bringing in the fall weather with each afternoon breeze. Your loose hair blew across your face and tickled your nose. It caused a sneeze which threw off your balance. Your foot slipped off the smooth metal track and you stumbled into the overgrown grass.
Connor stopped. “This is the fifth time you’ve fallen and we’ve been walking for less than three minutes.”
“Sorry I’m not an Olympic gymnast like you apparently are. I’m not a balance beam expert.” You shrugged your book bag higher onto your shoulders and got back onto the railway.
Connor refrained from rolling his eyes and held out his arm over the tracks. “Here. Hold my arm. It will help you balance.”
You eyed him suspiciously. “Okay but don’t pull me.” Your arms extended and clutched onto his.
The moment your hand gripped onto the sleeve of his jacket, he pulled you sideways, causing you lurch across the tracks and crash into his side. He let out a mischievous laugh.
You pulled your arm away and gave him a hard shove into the bushes, “Fuck you, Murphy.” You tried to mask the smile on your face by letting your hair curtain your expression from his view. “And stop trying to change the subject. We were talking about you, not my lack of balance.”
Connor returned to the tracks and resumed his same spot from before he was pushed. “I don’t like talking about me. Hold my arm for real this time. I promise I won’t let you fall...maybe...depends how annoying you get.”
You stuck your tongue out at him but jumped back onto the smooth, slim metal. Both your arms reached across the rails. You held onto his forearm and he gripped under your elbow. You already felt more stable with his added support.
You liked it when he touched you.
The train tracked lined the forest to your left and a row of older houses to your right. When you were younger, the neighborhood had petitioned to get a noise barrier fence put up between the houses and the tracks. Apparently they didn’t like the noise of trains passing by throughout the day. Nothing ever came of their petition. What did they expect when they moved into a home with train tracks practically in their backyards? It wasn’t rocket science.
Connor and you walked in silence for a few minutes.
You didn’t fall once.
Before you had tripped, he had been telling you about a group of kids in your grade who were always giving him weird looks. They never did anything to him. They just allegedly stared whenever he walked by. Then he described the gas station clerk who also eyed him funny as he was buying cigarettes. Then there was the older woman walking her dog, a guy at the bus stop, and some middle school kids at a basket ball court. You were beginning to think Connor had issues with paranoia. He was always on edge around other people. You repeated yourself from earlier, “You know not everyone is out to get you. Sometimes people just...stare at shit.”
“Are you calling me shit?”
You fumbled over your words, “What? No! That’s not-” You looked over to catch him smiling at you and you relaxed. “I just meant that not every person you meet is instantly going to criticize you. Maybe they just like your face and wanted to look at it a longer than normal.”
He snorted, “Yes. That’s exactly it. You’ve solved all my problems. Thank you so much.”
You felt his thumb brush casually back and forth against the material of your light jacket hugging your arm. It made your heart beat a little faster. You knew what that meant. It wasn’t the first time you started to develop a crush on someone. You just weren’t ready to admit it to yourself yet. Your feelings were still in their infancy stages. They were curious and alert but were incapable of surviving on their own.
It had been exactly 8 days since you had met Connor. You two were still essentially strangers but strangers who kept stumbling into each other’s lives at vital points. Strangers who were friends. Connor was a mystery. A scary, intimidating, attractive mystery. A mystery who would have been dead had you not unknowingly stepped in the way. You didn’t like that thought.
He had seen you at some shitty points in your life and you had seen him in the same. It was like when two people survive a horrible, tragic incident together and they become bonded for life simply because only the other can truly ever understand what they went through. Connor had looked into your eyes and saw the raw, stripped down version of yourself. He had stared into your pitiful soul and, as a result, you two were entwined in each other’s lives. Fate had taken away all your friends and shoved Connor Murphy into your lap instead. It was turning out to be an okay trade.
Silence fell between you once more. You were content to walk the tracks, arm in arm, with him. It was a sunny Wednesday morning. You were skipping school. Within the first five days of your senior year, you had already managed to skip three and a half of those days. That wasn’t normally like you but walking the halls this year had become a nightmare of a chore. Walking the train tracks with a new friend was a breath of fresh air, however.
The tracks under your feet began to rumble. Judging from the sun in the sky, it must be the ten o’clock train passing through. You tugged Connor off the tracks and into the forest tree line. You sat on a rock as the train rumbled passed. You tried to count each car of the train as they flashed before your eyes. You had reached eleven when Connor began tugging on your sleeve.
“Come on. Let’s go explore the woods. Maybe we’ll find a dead body.”
You scrunched up your nose in disgust, “This isn’t Stand By Me. I don’t think I’m ready to go on a coming of age journey that involves a dead child at the end.”
His footsteps crunched over fallen leaf debris behind you as he walked further into the woods. You let him wonder away from your spot on the rock, half listening to his footsteps retreating further away and half listening the sound of scraping steel as the train passed. You continued counting the freight cars.
There were roughly 50 total once the train had finally passed. Fifty was a good number. You sighed to yourself and glanced behind you, looking for Connor. The forest in your line of sight showed no signs of him. You weren’t exactly surprised. He wasn’t the kind of person who waited around for other people. You slid off the rock and walked a few feet into the trees.
“Connor?” You called out. Waited. No answer.
Assuming he would have walked in a fairly straight line back from where you were sitting, you trudged into the forest in search of him. Every few minutes you called out for him again. And every time, you were greeted with silence. This was bullshit. How far could he have gotten in less than ten minutes?
“If you’re trying to scare me, it isn’t funny, Connor!” Your voice echoed off the canopy of leaves over head. Still nothing.
You looked behind you back towards civilization. The neighborhood houses welcomed you with safety and familiarity. The forest expanding in front of you held the mystery of the unknown. Somewhere in that mystery was Connor Murphy.
You chose Connor.
You continued deeper into the trees. There was no path to follow so you made your own. The further you ventured, the more dense the forest became. Sun beams broke through the leaves to create a golden aura. Each cool breeze that passed shook the branches to allow the golden light to dance across your skin. Birds called out to one another in song. A frog croaked in the distance.
It was heavenly.
How were you expected to sit inside a school all day when the world had such wonders waiting for you right in your backyard? This was true beauty. This was what peace felt like. You closed your eyes and inhaled the earthy air. It made you feel alive.
A smile graced your lips as your eyes opened again. You were still alone. Well...that wasn’t exactly true. You didn’t think you could ever truly be alone in a forest. There was life surrounding you in every direction. But you were still missing the one person you had come in here to find. You couldn’t bare the thought of calling out for him again. It would feel like a sin to break the ambient sounds of the earth with the shout of your own voice.
You settled for walking deeper into the woods. Your ears were on high alert for any crack of a twig or crunch of leaves. Your eyes scanned the view around you. He was nowhere to be found. It was like the forest had simply opened up and swallowed him whole. By now you had been walking for a good twenty minutes. The fact that Connor had so easily walked off without you made you feel a bit forgotten. Ever since this summer, you had been much more vulnerable to the feeling of being left behind. Something nagging in your brain pushed you forward. You would not be abandoned again. You would find him. He was certain to be up ahead somewhere. You began to walk on auto pilot.
Deeper and deeper into the bowels of the forest.
#connor murphy imagine#connor murphy fic#connor murphy x reader#dear evan hansen imagine#dear evan hansen fic#deh#deh fic
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hopping into puddles [Final]
Pairing: Tsukishima Kei/Kuroo Tetsurou
Summary: Tsukishima Kei has bad luck when it comes to a lot of things, mainly when it comes to love. In fact, if it were up to him, he wouldn’t be looking in the first place. But because of a curse brought upon him by his idiotic ancestors, his only hope for a normal life is to find someone who accepts him and his…particularly abnormal nose. Not that it’ll ever happen…
Or at least, that’s what he’s accepted.
Then Kuroo Tetsurou shows up.
Rating: T
Warnings: None
Note: I can't believe it's the end! Thank you all so much for reading my first multichapter kurotsuki fic, I appreciate all the support and comments I've received along the way <3 I hope I can write a lot more for this pairing in the future, I love them so much <3 Thank you @emeraldwaves for reading this whole fic over ^^ Enjoy!
Kurotsuki Gift Exchange Sign-ups still open!
AO3
Like all trends and hot topics, the story of Kei's situation and the curse which caused it, faded into obscurity. The world moved fast, new tragedies, new highlights, they all soon overshadowed his once overpowering headline. Now his story, where he was and what he was doing, was relocated to page three of the paper, then page seven, and then not at all. He hadn't disappeared of course, sometimes when he'd be walking down the street people would recognize him, would squint at the scarf he still kept around his neck (more out of convenience than actual fear at this point). It was aggravating being stopped every now and again, people asking if it was really him. He'd flip them off, and if they were truly persistent, lift up his scarf for a split second or two. He hardly cared anymore if people saw, but he hated the attention, and especially giving into strangers.
After a while though, even that diminished, people forgetting all about him. It was nice, more than nice, since he didn't have to worry about people interrupting his grocery shopping or dates anymore.
And speaking of...
"Hey beautiful, ready to go?" Kuroo stood in the doorway to their bedroom--bigger now, since getting their new apartment. He looked good even dressed so simply, in just a hoodie and skinny jeans, and Kei wondered when the spark would wear off. It had only been a few months since the wedding, a year since they'd met, and something about Kuroo standing there made his heart race as strong as ever.
Kei scowled, rising from the bed as he tied on the shoes he'd been searching his wardrobe for. "You better not call me any of that crap in front of your coworkers." Since Kuroo had booked a more permanent singing gig at the bar, the management had apparently needed more part time bartenders, and the two newbies had invited Kuroo out for a movie. Polite socializing, Kuroo had called it, getting to know the new workers to make sure they were good guys. Kei didn't much mind, though meeting new people was never his preferred way to spend a Friday night. But alas, Kuroo had promised him plenty of sweets at the movies, and that's all he really needed to survive. Kuroo was keen on doing most of the talking anyways, and Kei secretly felt sorry for the guys, having to be analyzed by his critical husband.
Regardless, it sent a surge of fondness through him all the same, and he touched his wedding ring in appreciation. How he had ended up so happy, he didn't understand, but he was thankful to wake up next to Kuroo every morning.
No matter how annoying.
"Aw, but how will they know how in love we are?" Kuroo smirked as Kei shoved past him, making a beeline for the front door. "Why do you think I asked if I could bring my husband? I gotta show off."
Kei rolled his eyes with a slight smile, knowing full well they were going to a movie anyways, and Kuroo wouldn't have much opportunity to be his usual sappy self. "You're gross."
"I'm wounded."
Kei gave him a flat stare, but there was only so long he could look at Kuroo's stupid grin and painfully mismanaged hair before he cracked, laughing as he got ready to pull a scarf around his nose. Before he did so, he paused, waiting for the kiss which he knew would come automatically. And ah, it did, Kuroo's lips planting firm against his, the other's tongue trying to sneak past his lips for more action. Usually Kei would indulge, but they were on a time crunch as it was. He pushed the other away with a huff, making a note to continue where they'd left off later.
Kei didn't know how the night would go, but for some reason, leaving the safe confines of his home with a kiss always seemed to calm his nerves. He couldn't remember when he'd gotten used to this routine, but he dared not question it.
Kuroo smiled at him, linking their hands as he opened the door to the chilly air. I better be getting popcorn too. Something told him he didn't have to say it though, Kuroo already knew.
With a pleased sigh, Kei tied on his scarf securely, and followed Kuroo out into the night .
--
"Ah thanks for all the tips about the manager Kuroo, I wouldn't want to get on his bad side."
The two coworkers, Shun and Yuto, ended up being decent company. They were polite when they'd introduced themselves outside of the theater, but had for the most part clung to Kuroo throughout the time before the film started, eager for work insights and tips. Kei hardly minded, content with eating his snacks and listening to his husband talk about the job he loved. The movie had been fairly decent too, but Kei might've been biased due to the actors. Not to mention he was blissed out on the candy, popcorn, and soda Kuroo had gotten him. When the lights had dimmed, Kuroo had grabbed his hand firmly. In short, everything was to Kei's liking. So far.
Now they were leaving the theater, it had gotten darker and colder, and Kei bundled up as best he could. He'd never been built for chilly weather, he could barely handle keeping the fan on in his room. The parking lot was clearing out pretty quickly, and Kei hoped the talking wouldn't go on terribly long.
"Yeah no problem," Kuroo said with a laugh. "If he gives you a hard time let me know, he doesn't always mean to."
"Thanks! And hey, thanks for coming, we should do it again soon," Shun said, and Yuto was nodding along with him.
"Yeah, and of course your husband is welcome too," Yuto said, and Kei nodded politely, brain on autopilot while his body dealt with the chill. The comment seemed to direct Shun's attention to him, and Kei reached up, gripping his scarf to provide him with more warmth. The motion caused Shun to bite his lip, and Kei wondered if his theory was right.
When they'd first been introduced, both men had looked at his scarf oddly, but had said nothing out of respect. After a while, the weird moment had faded, and the evening had went along smoothly. However, there was just one thing Kei kept noticing, even as the two men began to take their leave. Shun hadn't stopped staring at Kei's scarf for the whole outing, eyes flickering to it occasionally, as if the question was eating at him. Kei had of course, expected this. He'd be a fool if he didn't think either man would make a comment, but he wished Shun would get it over with.
They were in the middle of the parking lot now, Kuroo's car in the opposite direction of the other two's, but Shun halted, coughing as he looked at Kei. Any day now or not at all would be nice...But soon the other managed to force the words out, barely keeping his grin back.
"Ah, sorry but...I gotta ask," Shun said rubbing the back of his neck. His excitement was clear, and Kei figured he'd be another one of those weird enthusiasts, the ones who wanted a picture or proof. Whatever, it was better than the ones who outright insulted him. It was frustrating still, but it didn't make him as humiliated. "You're the one right? The cursed one with...well, you know--"
"The pig face," Kei stated, shivering slightly from the cold. Kuroo stayed silent beside him, and Kei knew it wasn't a good sign. Kuroo tended to get more offended about people bringing up Kei's face as a negative, but for now, Shun wasn't, so Kei hoped he'd keep his cool. "Yes, that's me."
"Oh shit you're kidding! I thought the scarf was weird but I didn't seriously think it could be true!" Yuto jumped in, and Kei resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was all over the news months ago, his picture, and his height tended to set him apart from the crowd in the first place. And it wasn't like he'd moved far or anything...he could get to his parents' place in fifteen or so minutes if he wanted.
Kei waited for the questions he was used to from the usual fanatics.
"Can we see?"
"Can I get a picture?"
"Does it hurt?"
Simple questions with one word responses, that's what he was used to, what he could handle. It wasn't what he got.
"Shit, and you don't care at all Kuroo?" Shun laughed, and Kei's stomach plummeted, because shit this is not going to go well. "I...I mean no offense, I'm happy for you but I don't know if I'm that open you know?"
Kei rolled his eyes outright this time, not caring. I'm right here you bastards. "Um--"
"Yeah like...okay not to be weird, but when you guys kiss or...do stuff like, it gets in the way yeah?" Yuto whispered, as if it was some taboo thing, kissing Kei, being intimate with him. Whatever, the fact of the matter was it really didn't get in the way. Not more than a normal nose anyhow.
Kei was basically over the conversation, he was cold, and he wanted to curl up with Kuroo in bed, maybe catch up on that series they were watching. Not deal with these losers. But that was him, and Kuroo was a different story. Kei glanced over, noting Kuroo's clenched fists and set jaw. He looked calm, too calm, but Kei could tell when he was fuming, when he was on the verge of decking someone right in the face, and Kei had to intervene before it reached that point.
Yeah these guys were assholes, but they were people Kuroo had to see and work with everyday. It wasn't worth it.
"No it doesn't, and before you ask, it doesn't hurt either. Is that all?" Kei asked, grabbing Kuroo's hand as he did so, pleased when it relaxed considerably.
"Man just...that sucks, I couldn't imagine," Shun breathed, looking at Kuroo, and Kei knew the statement was meant to sympathize with his husband and not him. Because dating someone with a facial deformity must've been so damn hard, pft. Idiots. "Anyways it's late, we'll see you at work next week man!"
The two started to walk off, and Kuroo did manage to give them a proper goodbye, as forced as it was. Kei didn't drop his hand the whole time, maybe as an effort to ground him. Over time, Kei had grown more and more immune to harsh criticism or slights about his appearance, though his views had changed. He didn't ignore them because he thought they were true anymore, no, he knew they were baseless and had no reflection on his actual personality. Again, they were upsetting, but he paid them no mind.
Kuroo on the other hand had never been comfortable with it, was protective to a fault. It was simply his instinct, and Kei was grateful, but he hated seeing his husband getting so riled up.
Nowadays, it was the only reason he ever found himself wishing for a normal face, only to spare Kuroo the idiocy of other people Kei had to deal with his whole life.
Oh well, we can't have everything.
And that was fine, because Kuroo made him feel like they did.
They made it to the car, the doors shutting to encase them in a tense, emotion heavy silence. The keys dangled in the ignition from the force Kuroo had put them in, but hadn't been turned. Kuroo set his hands down on the wheel, taking a deep breath. The car was freezing, but Kei suddenly didn't mind it. He just wanted Kuroo to be alright.
"Tetsu..." Kei breathed into the quiet of the car, watching Kuroo's hands shake from how hard they gripped the steering wheel. "Tetsu, it's ok--"
"Let's just...go home first alright?" Kuroo interrupted, voice trembling with the anger Kei hated. It was so unlike him, so weird to see something make his husband genuinely upset. The fact that it was on Kei's behalf was both touching and irritating, and it made Kei want to go back and slap Kuroo's coworkers in the face for their ignorant words.
But for now, they could go home, talk about it amongst themselves, and in the morning it would be better. Or at least, Kei hoped.
"Okay," he said, settling easily back into his seat as the car's engine roared to life.
--
Kei wasn't ashamed to admit that as soon as he was through their door, he toed off his shoes at lightning speed and flung himself onto the couch, burrowing into the blankets he kept there. So fucking cold.
It didn't take his mind completely off the predicament, in fact it made him more aware, now that he wasn't so focused on getting warm. Naturally, without thinking, he'd made space for Kuroo on the spacious couch, and his husband followed after him, movements stiff.
Ah, he doesn't know what to say. Not a good sign.
Kuroo always knew what to say, even if it was pure nonsense.
His husband's arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. Kei was on his back, Kuroo on his side, making eye contact mandatory. Not Kei's strong suit, but he knew it was necessary. How to even broach the topic was another issue, and Kei wasn't good at that either, but he could try...
He looked into Kuroo's eyes, and the intensity of the emotions inside them almost made him choke on his own. Fuck, how could he have ever doubted Kuroo loving him, when he gave him faces like that? The other's golden eyes were sad, searching, as if ready to offer any comfort Kei needed. It was nearly laughable. Here Kuroo was, worried about Kei, when Kei was only worried about him. Guess that's how relationships went.
"Tetsu, you know I don't care right? So you can stop looking at me like that," Kei said, trying his best to sound annoyed. Maybe if he tried to bring back some normalcy, Kuroo would forget about what his coworkers said. But his voice was small, not convincing in the slightest. I just don't want you to be upset, you ass.
Those coworkers...they weren't worth it.
Kuroo shook his head adamantly, his voice carrying tremors of his earlier anger, and his grip tightened on Kei's waist. "You heard what they said about you, how they..."
"It doesn't m--"
"It does matter. Kei...I won't let people say those things about you! I love you," Kuroo said, louder, his voice carrying through the apartment. His eyes were desperate as he brought a hand to Kei's face, and Kei wished the mood was different, so he could kiss him. "You know it's not true right? All that stuff...I don't think you're hideous or have problems kissing you, or regret--"
"I know." I know. Kei bit his lip, remembering their wedding, Kuroo's efforts to gain Kei's forgiveness when they'd first met, every small and intimate gesture from Kuroo. His husband showed his love in a thousand ways, so thoroughly and sincerely that it was impossible for Kei to doubt him. The blond almost felt guilty, making Kuroo worry about whether Kei believed him.
"I'm serious Kei, no matter what I--"
"Tetsurou," Kei said, rising from the couch in a sudden surge of certainty. The tables had turned hadn't they? To think Kei would have to comfort Kuroo about this. He would gloat, but he knew this was important. He had to be clear. Once he was, they could leave this behind them forever, fuck what anyone else said. "I believe you. I...I love you too so, ugh! Those guys were stupid, everyone is stupid! I don't care what they say, I'm not worried about you leaving me or being grossed out anymore."
"But--"
"I used to be, yeah I know," Kei continued, watching as Kuroo's eyes went wide. His husband rose from the couch too, face now directly in front of him. Kei didn't know if he was crying, but he wouldn't acknowledge it even if he was. "But I'm not anymore. I swear. I..."
Kei's breathing stuttered, and he remembered. He remembered being laughed at, being run from. All the matchmaking meetings, his mother's worries, being holed up in his room wishing he was either dead or someone else, all because of his face. But he'd done fine with this face hadn't he? He had friends he'd made on his own, he had Kuroo and his family, he was well educated and had hobbies he enjoyed. He was...he was happy. He'd be that way, with or without this face. If anything, his face had brought him so much, had taught him so much...how could he begin to resent it?
"Babe?" Kuroo looped his arms around Kei once more, their faces close enough to where Kei could feel his breath against his cheek, and he knew the answer for sure.
"I..." He breathed once, letting his forehead touch Kuroo's as a flush took over his cheeks. "I like myself the way I am, alright?"
The air was gone out of his lungs the next second, the world spinning around him as he fell back off the couch. He could hear Kuroo call his name in panic, but it faded away into oblivion, and Kei could do nothing but hope for the best. Images flashed in his head, the sounds and smells accompanying each memory whirring past his senses. The sound of people running, his mother crying, a servant perishing in anguish because of a scorned love...
It was as if he watched his own family tree from the roots up, every sin and birth, the crimes and accomplishments, all until it came to him. For whatever reason, as he felt his eyes watering and the world coming back into view, it was his mother's voice he heard, mixed with one he couldn't place.
"Never give up honey!"
He hadn't, he'd found what he was looking for.
"Not until one of your own kind accepts you as their own, shall the curse be broken."
The phrase repeated itself over and over again, booming in his skull. The curse, the myth, all replaying in his mind.
One of your own kind....
And then the sound stopped, and he was staring at his ceiling, the silence of the apartment sinking into his bones as he took what felt like his first breath in hours. Kuroo was above him, eyes wide and jaw slack. In any other situation, Kei would make fun of it, but he felt lightheaded, like something was amiss, and he couldn't place it.
"K-Kei...are you...you're..." Kuroo was at a loss for words again, abnormal, and Kei squinted at him as he sat up from the floor.
"What is it? What was that? I..." Kei brought a hand to his head, willing himself to relax. He breathed in through his nose slowly, the nostrils expanding as it scrunched up. He made a noise of confusion, and his hand slid down to his nose as if compelled, fingertips tracing the curve.
The singular, smooth curve.
No ridges. No snout.
He shot up from the floor, ignoring the dull pain in his head. Kuroo's arms were behind him, telling Kei his husband had cushioned most of the fall. He kept his hand on his nose, and Kuroo's jaw remained open, staring as Kei tried to remember how to breath correctly.
It's gone...is it...
Kei made a dive for his phone, opening the camera app, confirming his suspicions with a magnitude he was unsure of how to deal with.
His face was normal. Or, as normal as he'd once desired. Back when he'd fretted over his appearance and accepted every cruel criticism about it. There was no snout, just an average, human nose, fitting on his face perfectly.
"T-tetsu..." Kei called, for no purpose other than to know if he was dreaming or not. But ah, he wasn't. Kuroo was there in a split second, cradling his face with the same gentle smile as always. Nothing had changed below the surface, and it almost put a damper on the shock Kei felt. Because honestly, normal nose or not, this life of his was perfect.
"My nose is...I broke the curse." Kei finally said, and it felt strange to finally acknowledge the legend aloud, now that the proof of it was gone. It felt like a weight fell from his shoulders, the past crimes of his family finally moving on into oblivion.
Kuroo grinned at him with a shrug, mirroring what Kei already understood. This would change nothing. "Yeah moonshine, I guess you did."
--
His mother reacted about the way he'd expected. She fainted.
Luckily though, Kuroo must've seen it coming, and stopped them from taking an impromptu trip to the emergency room for her concussion. That he could anticipate, that he could handle. His family being happy for him, overjoyed even, coupled with confusion over how and why now of all times the curse was lifted.
What he couldn't have expected was the surge of emotions which came after. It was natural to suspect his family would blame themselves for the curse, but Kei hadn't even thought of it that way.
"We could've broken the curse a long time ago..."
"Oh honey, we should've accepted you as you were from the start! None of this would've ever happened!"
"You must hate us..."
The tears had been too much, the words more so. Kei had swallowed his pride and outright hugged his inconsolable mother, because of course what they all said was untrue. He could never hate them, no matter how annoyed he'd get or how dismissive. His family was his family, and they'd been there since the beginning. He didn’t know if they’d ever let go of the guilt, but he hoped so. And in the meantime, he visited and called often, never letting them doubt his appreciation.
"Alright Akiteru, I should go," Kei said into the phone with a yawn. He'd been working for a few weeks now, but the early rising was something he continued to be against. Mornings were not his friend. "My shift starts soon, and Kuroo gets whiny if I don't walk out with him."
"Hey! You're right but I'm offended," Kuroo said from where he stood in the doorway, dangling his keys in a subtle push for urgency. Kei nodded, grinning smugly.
"Ha yes, yes, I won't keep you two," Akiteru said, and Kei was thankful his brother chose not to tease him for once. Kei thought after a few months of being married he'd stop hearing it, but he'd been wrong. "I'll see you at dinner tonight. Later!"
Kei said his goodbyes, loving how he no longer had to untangle his phone from his scarf when he hung up. Sometimes, he found himself reaching for it before leaving the house, a force of habit after so many years. It was a benefit to breaking the curse, not having to hide, and an even better one was his vanishing presence in the media.
Conspiracy theories about the mysterious disappearance of the pig faced boy surfaced throughout the internet and tabloids, and they were fun to laugh at with Kuroo when they were bored, but for the most part, Kei was hardly found on any major news sites. No more pictures, no more attention. The world had moved on. Now he could enjoy the world he'd created for himself in private, without the interruption of 'fans' or uncaring journalists.
And of course, Kuroo was his husband, and Kei loved him. But that wasn't new, was it?
Kei smiled as he walked past his husband, and it was then his stomach chose to let out an embarrassing growl, ratting him out.
Fuck.
"Keiii, did you not eat breakfast again?" Kuroo's worried tone made Kei roll his eyes. Normally it was endearing, but Kei had been in a rush this morning. Besides...
"So? Neither did you."
Kuroo looked as if he was about to protest, but luckily for Kei, his husband's stomach chose to growl at that exact moment, winning Kei's case for him. Kei snickered as Kuroo pouted, opening the door as Kuroo leaned up for a surprise kiss on the blond's cheek. "Yeah, yeah. C'mon."
Kei smirked, but nonetheless felt his skin warm up, his heart and mind content in ways he never thought he'd get to experience.
Kuroo grabbed his hand, and Kei squeezed it, walking through the door of the home they shared together. And yeah, this was definitely something he could get used to.
In short, Tsukishima Kei was cursed with a lot of things; an unpleasant attitude, a smart mouth, and so far today, an empty stomach. But as he watched Kuroo walk towards his car, stopping for a final kiss before they went their separate ways, he thought he was blessed with plenty too.
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