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ivettel · 11 months

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RARELY DOES WANDERING ON TWITTER send me into a more reflective mood. but, you know, with all the people saying one needs to be part of a certain country to be angry about racism against the people of that country (and wow, that's a mouthful), together with some thoughts already swirling in my head from reading r.f. kuang's yellowface, i'm thinking: in such a globalized world where asian people can lead completely different cultural lives, who gets to be the representative voices to other people?

gets to, mind--not has the right, or deserves. i think there's a very important distinction between all the terms you could possibly use. some of them imply an inherent possession, like a kind of exclusive club that one can be a member of just by being born the right (or wrong) way. some imply a forceful taking of power, a (re)claiming of sorts, with almost a tyrannical nature to the words.

MY CANADIAN-ASIAN FRIENDS AND I are a mix of first and second gen immigrants from east asia, south-east asia, india, etc. we frequently find ourselves talking about diversity and the like, real nerd ass shit (quote unquote) you get from mashing people in the media literacy publication together to talk about media literacy and publications. think socratic seminar, except peppered in with gen-z cringe and (un?)ironic r/im14andthisisdeep.

but for the last four or so years, a more serious thread of convo has always been picked up, that being: are we even allowed to position ourselves as voices of authority on racial matters? are we allowed to, when our particular lived experiences in this country of privilege mean we've lost touch with part of the homeland? after all, points out a vietnamese friend, i never had to live in fear for my life on a boat. then, being a conversation we've rehashed time and time again, we talk in circles.

of course you have a right to speak on the lived vietnamese experience. sure you do, you just don't have an all-encompassing viewpoint. don't act like you know everything, which you're already doing.

and it's so easy among immigrants like us to say shit like that. to say, yeah, i'm from here, but my family's from there. to say, no, i don't speak my people's tongue and be met with understanding. it's like asian-canadianness is its own culture, further alienating us from the cultures back overseas. and that's not necessarily a bad thing: it means it's okay to leave a conversation among us at that intersection of nuance, where yeah, you have an experience, and it might not be The Experience, but it's still something valuable.

when it comes to other people, however, things get messy. they always want to box you in beyond the boxes you sit yourself in.

"I'M SO SORRY FOR EVERYTHING my country has done to yours," says a son of parents from mainland china who didn't immigrate over, but instead sent their child to canada in the hopes that he could obtain a special-looking, foreign degree, and come back home.

he's a doe-eyed, earnest looking guy, well-meaning in his tone and the way he wrings his hands, like he's really very sorry. he's all but accosted me at a film event i'm hosting for the union. i'm decked out in CUPE colours, trying to handle talking to two other people at once, feeling frazzled and more machine than human, the way i'm running this event tightly, no wiggle room for big errors.

he's happened to overhear me offhandedly telling someone that my mom is from hong kong, and he looks like he's two seconds away from crying unless i tell him on the spot that i forgive him.

i don't forgive him. i don't know how. i don't know if i'm allowed to.

it's an incredibly strange feeling, to be looked at like you could be somebody's salvation. not even anyone in my string of exes ever looked at me like that, like if i said, don't worry about it, he could go home to china and say, the hongkongers understand. like anybody outside could understand the magnitude of violence that shook hong kong in 2019 and 2020.

i tell him, "i don't blame the people, i blame the government and greed." because it's true, i don't think the everyday working man in shanghai wanted to bring hong kong to its knees. i don't think the high schooler in beijing trying to make it past their big national exams wanted to make it rain blood over tsim sha tsui. i tell him, "besides, my dad is from taiwan, so i'm not even fully hongkonger."

which is the wrong move, because he goes ashen, and shoves his stupid doe-eyes in my face again, and insists: i'm so, so sorry.

i can't forgive him. i can't not.

what has he ever done except understand that the mainland holds my two home countries at bombpoint?

what have i ever done except grow up white?

MAYBE IT'S ONLY SPRING, BUT it feels like summer, and a family friend from hong kong is sitting across from me in a restaurant with her eyes downcast while she picks at the hem of her thick hoodie.

i haven't seen her in ages. i've only barely kept up with her through social media. her mom and my mom were in nursing school together, roommates and best friends. her mom was the kind of girl to get all the guys, to date all the time and fool around and be the top of the class, while my mom studied her ass off and stayed average. (and mom always says that she never resented her best friend, but i know. oh, i know.)

it's her first time out of hong kong for the last six or seven years. she's changed so drastically, i think i only recognize her face.

put yourself in my sixteen year-old shoes for a second. when i was in high school, she was one of the coolest people i knew: a female percussionist fresh out of some prestigious music conservatory in england, a basketball lover, a confident and self-assured kind of woman, worlds away from the people in my little home city of halifax.

now, when i look at her, her body language is distinctly withdrawn and uncomfortable, and her eyes keep flicking over at the myriad of pretty white people around us, who unnerve the rest of our table as well. i want to say, girl, you chose this restaurant. we could be eating good food right now. i keep my mouth shut. the only thing she does with determination is order a steak and some trendy cocktail. she doesn't ask me about my life. she doesn't open up about anything. it feels like an interview more than a conversation.

we're not even fifteen minutes into seeing each other when the revolution is brought up, and her whole demeanour changes. her mom's whole demeanour changes too. i know secondhand that they've lost almost everything in the ensuing fallout, that they've had to scrape by to find menial work they're far too outqualified for. the country should still be fine for tourists if you ever want to visit, she offers. lots of sightseeing.

i pretend not to read into it too much, but i know exactly what she's saying, and so does my mom, if the look i get is any indication.

you're not really one of us.

"CAN I ASK YOUR OPINION," says my mom, interrupting me while i'm slurping away at my udon like a fucking pro. this is possibly the cleanest i've ever consumed the noodles, barely spilling a drop of broth. (probably because i'm not blogging with one hand while i blindly grab at everything with my chopsticks in the other, but whatever.) beside me, my sister is scrolling through some webtoon, her bowl empty.

i bear the interruption and make a sound, something like an inelegant, "ah?"

mom has her eyes closed, her head bowed like she's seriously thinking. at this point, i'm pretty sure she's going to ask me about some social etiquette faux pas she thinks she's in the right about, again, and god, sometimes, she's so pretentious, it makes me want to give her attitude like i'm the teenager in the room.

but she surprises me and asks: "do you look down on mainland china?"

i'm half joking when i say, "fobs or real mainlanders?"

fresh off the boat, if you're not aware of the slang. refers to new immigrants from the mainland. usually sweating money, can be found noisily revving their custom sports cars, or walking around in groups like some pantomime of an italian mafia, outwardly radiating regina george mean girls vibes like they're paid to do it.

at least, that's how they're usually thought of. i've always seen them more as schools of fish trying to navigate together, almost as though they're establishing a bit of connection in a place that seems to abhor it.

i don't begrudge them for the things they do. white people are fucking terrifying, especially when you don't speak english very well, and they treat you like you're subhuman. the way they're visibly stifling an eye-roll, the way their voices get that particular edge to it, like you're testing their patience, like you're wasting their time. like they're thinking, just learn the goddamn language we use, it's not that hard. like people learning english aren't already trying.

luckily, mom is still deep in contemplation. her best friend, she explains, looks down on the mainlanders. thinks they're filthy pigs for being china chinese, thinks that knowing mandarin means you're not sticking it to the man, that everybody there is a mindless drone, and it's just not true.

(and never mind that taiwanese people speak mandarin. it's really frustrating that taiwan is always just another pawn in a larger chess game, a convenient argument to use or put away as necessary, by china or by the usa or by our own allies in hong kong.)

"it's not true," my mom repeats. "a new immigrant works in my lab, and she's very open-minded."

i don't bother pointing out that there's probably some sampling bias going on.

the real truth is, i get it: when your identity has been taken away from you, when there's a conflict between who you are and what people assign to you, you'll do anything to establish some sort of authority, change the story for yourself.

china used to be a partner. now it's an oppressor. (it's always been an oppressor for people like my dad, my grandparents, my uncle and aunt and extended family who fled with the gmd and never turned back.) chinese used to be an ethnicity thing. now it's a dirty word.

I'M GETTING ON THE PLANE back to nova scotia, and the white, middle-aged lady in the middle seat of my row looks nervously at me.

"will you be sitting here?" she gestures timidly at the window seat. i don't think i'm particularly scary, but maybe the mercedes jacket adds a bit of drama to my otherwise basic outfit.

everybody around me is white too, as per. c'mon, it's nova fucking scotia. they're also looking at me, because i'm holding up the last bit of the line, and what else is there to do while you wait for people to get settled.

i pitch my voice up, lean into my inner white girl private school character real fucking good as i move and smile and explain that no, sorry! i'm in the aisle seat, so i s'pose we'll just plant ourselves here until whoever sitting there comes along.

and it's like there's a collective, invisible release of tension from the people around me, but especially from my seatmate, who immediately brightens. i strike up some bullshit convo about the weather, typical complaints about the airport, y'know. window seat arrives and gets settled. we don't speak for the rest of the flight. thankfully, in front of me is a karen kind of woman with a kid around my sister's age. she's a talkative one, and it's her voice and gerard way's that keep me from being bored for the next couple hours.

when we land, it's immediate emergency alerts, and the entire plane blares to life with shocking, disjointed alarm sounds. chatter erupts after, people discussing their ties to the place in the alert with their neighbourly strangers. i've always kind of loved how wholesome nova scotians can be, or the energy they can bring to non nova scotians--everybody knows everybody by a maximum of 4 degrees of separation around these parts.

middle seat is here for a business conference, so she doesn't actually know anything about the province when we all turn to talk. window seat and karen and i make suggestions on places to visit. karen teasingly calls me a haligonian.

i walk around the city i grew up in and make note of all the changes. i break my own heart, when i can't remember what buildings stood in the place of new condos, or pits of construction. i take photos of places i used to frequent and pray that they'll still be standing when i come back again. i'm starting to think i'm not haligonian anymore, either.

MARTIN BESTIE BRUNDLE SAYS AN ethnic slur on live television for one of the most popular sports in the world, in front of millions and millions of viewers.

i am not one of those millions, but it doesn't matter, because the news reaches me anyway. and i scroll and i scroll and by god, i've gotta go soon, but all i can think about is hong kong, and taiwan, and china, and of course, old white people have to step in and further complicate things.

it's not that i'm not chinese. i'm chinese like i was born with a cunt like i came into this world screaming despair in the early hours of veterans day, because the universe has a twisted sense of humour and said to me, just as i left the womb: baby, war is going to define the rest of your life.

but i'm not china chinese, and honestly, i don't know what i am. my experiences are enough to give me permission to be hurt. i don't know if they're enough to give me a voice.

despite this, i have a soapbox, and i use it anyway, and i use it liberally. i get to be mad on here. whether i'm deserving of this self-righteousness, whether i'm deserving of this voice that i've borrowed, is a different matter altogether.

#long post

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willgrahymn · 4 years

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Crushing Fear

wow can you believe I’m posting one of my fics on tumblr? me neither.

Tags: prinxiety, love confessions, some point close after FWSA, flower language, some swearing, and light angst but mostly fluff (oh and I throw shade at Janus).

Summary: Virgil didn't even remember how long he had spent repressing his dumb crush, but with Thomas falling in love, it felt harder to ignore the feelings welling up in his chest. All he knew was that he couldn't admit it out loud. Luckily for him, Roman was a romantic who couldn't stand to let a chance at love go uninvited, even if he didn't always feel deserving of it.

Word count: 3334

I’ll reblog with ao3 link since I know tumblr is dumb about it :)

There were a lot of things Virgil loved about Roman. He loved the way Roman would push back his hair whenever he caught a glimpse of himself or felt nervous and he loved the way it always fell in his face again. He loved the way his eyes lit up when Virgil asked about a show or a musical he knew the prince liked. To be honest, it was hard to think of something he didn't love. Even things he once thought were annoying had become endearing to him.

It didn’t matter. He had a reputation to at least try to maintain, he’d already gone so damn soft around the others since the light sides and Thomas came to get him back and Roman made that sweet little speech in the darkness of his room.

“You make us better.” It was like a song he played on repeat. At the time, Roman was the last person he expected to convince him that this could be his home – his family – but somehow he did. He may have been a jerk early on, but maybe, Virgil thought, he really was a knight in shining armor. Roman was more like him than he once thought; using fake confidence to cover up insecurities was nothing new.

And now, years later, here he was lying in bed like a yearning gay fool with music that wasn’t loud enough to block out his thoughts. He figured his little crush would be something that he could just hide away until it wasn’t even there. That plan was failing horribly though, especially when Roman could steal his breath by just looking at him. He didn't know how to handle feelings that felt bigger than himself.

Would it be smart to try something now? Probably not. What would he even do? Roman always talked of big, grand gestures that could literally and figuratively sweep one off their feet. Virgil didn’t consider himself good at plenty of things, and wooing someone like he was in a movie happened to be on the list. The farthest he'd gotten with confrontation was making Thomas talk to Nico, all because he couldn't stand to see Roman so heartbroken. He could feel the darkness below his eyes lighten to that embarrassingly glittery purple at the memory of how proud Roman was.

But Roman was Creativity and had his own little kingdom in the imagination. Virgil was sure that if he wanted a boyfriend he could just make the man of his dreams who would do anything and everything for him without the slightest hesitation. It seemed existence wasn’t fair like that.

He could just barely hear a knock sounding at the door, Virgil's eyes immediately darting over to where the sound had come. He debated whether or not he should respond. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like his friends, but his same old avoidant tendencies from before never went away.

“Virgil?” Roman asked. His voice making Virgil freeze and want to melt away at the same time. “Are you awake?”

Fuck, shit, some other words Patton would disapprove of. What time was it? 1:30? He couldn’t blame Roman for assuming he was still out, especially since it was the truth not too long ago. He almost felt sorry for his sleep schedule, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. No matter how hard Logan tried to help he always found himself digging through the kitchen at 5 in the morning, and not because he was an early riser. He paused his music, hanging his headphones on his headboard. Listening to Sally’s Song for the 17th time could wait for later.

He heard Roman laugh, and it felt like roses.

“That’s alright. If anyone here knows anything about beauty sleep, it’s me. The glasses gays are insisting that I awaken the beast though, so you better at least have something on before I barge in.”

Virgil wasn’t sure if Roman was talking to himself or knew he was being heard. He just burrowed deeper under his covers. He didn't want Roman to find him awake and think he was ignoring him, even if it was kind of the truth.

The door creaked. It sounded like something from a shitty horror movie. The heavy footsteps didn’t make it any more calming either. Roman was never this quiet. He refused to open his eyes, even as his blanket was pulled away from his face. He couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath as he felt cool air shock his skin.

“Awh, c’mon! I’m the actor here. Your eyes were closed too tight, for one thing,”

Virgil sighed, opening his eyes and squinting at the light. “I thought you were here to wake me up, not give me acting lessons.”

“Good morning to you too, Mourning Glory. It’s not my fault if you want to hide away all day, I’m just giving tips on being more realistic.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his lip to resist smiling. Wanting to stay calm as if he knew what he was doing.

“You’ve teased me about being a vampire before. Can’t I play the part?”

“Oh, trust me, you’re perfect for the role. Sadly for you, there are two very insistent Sides saying you have to be a real functioning part of the mind, so unless you want me to carry you out there and make a whole scene, you better come down on your own.”

Virgil sighed, rolling onto his back as his eyes adjusted to the light. The two stared at each other. Testing each other. Not getting out of bed never sounded more tempting.

He gave in, rambling. “Sure, okay, whatever.” He sighed, reaching out and taking hold of Roman’s hand, letting the prince pull him upright. Whether it was he or Roman who ended up bringing them so close was something he could stay up late thinking about later. Now wasn’t the time to focus on rough palms or scarred skin that he once bandaged up while cursing out the ever-so-reckless Roman for sneaking out on quests, leaving Virgil to hunt him down with nothing but adrenaline and a certain level of knowingness in his dread.

He tried to bite back a yawn. His eyes widening at the warm feeling of a hand pressed to his face, of a thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone. It wasn’t unwelcome, to be honest, he could probably fall back asleep just like this. He’d be okay waking up every morning if they were like this. If the romantic side offered it. If Virgil would allow himself to accept and experience it.

“How long have you been up?”

“Anywhere between 20 minutes to 2 hours. I don’t really know.”

Roman smiled, betraying the worried look in his eyes. It was probably just the effect of his room, that’s what Virgil hoped it was anyway. He tried not to show any disappointment when Roman’s hand fell to the bed.

“I’ll be down in a few,” Virgil continued, “just let me take care of my makeup first.”

Roman’s eyes trailed him as he got up and moved over towards his desk in the corner of the room, flicking on the light as he went by. Why is he fucking staring?

“While I’m here, I was wondering if you’d care to join me for a quest this evening? Or maybe we could throw a ball for the mind palace? I know it’s not your thing, but I thought it might be fun? Or y’know, something else more low-key.”

“Uh, yeah you know I’m not big on big things,” Virgil replied, looking over to the prince picking at a loose thread on the cuffs of his sleeves. “You know if you want to hang out you can just ask, you don't need some extravagant event going on to get me alone with you.”

Roman nodded, not seeming any calmer than before. Virgil's brows furrowed, worries flowed through him as if it were his blood. He didn't want to make Roman talk if he didn't want to, but god was it nerve-racking.

At the very least, it seemed like he wouldn't be putting on any more black eyeshadow to try and hide its changes.

Roman, on the other hand, decided not to question why the Side no longer seemed interested in putting his makeup on, and being grateful for the fact Virgil took advantage of the fact they could conjure themselves into different outfits rather than changing right then and there.

The two stayed there, an awkward silence taking over the room before a crash sounded from the living room.

“We should probably go.”

Virgil simply nodded, pulling his jacket tighter around as he followed Roman out of the room.

Luckily, the crash had only come from Patton knocking over a stack of DVDs, CDs, and a few other things. Another lost-glasses incident. It was a miracle nothing got broken.

The day itself would have felt completely normal if not for the fact Roman kept looking at him. Starting off as unsure as they did in his room, and slowly brightening like he had finally figured out a plothole in one of his stories. It was even more unsettling when he realized Roman was no longer there, vanished off to do god knows what.

So Virgil spent the next couple of hours trying to ignore the feeling of his fears eating him from the inside out like a moth to a sweater. He wouldn’t mind the holes if they didn’t leave him so uncomfortable. But then again, maybe that was fitting for his aesthetic. Torn-up shirts and jeans to pair with his torn-up emotions. At least he found solace in the darkness of his outfits.

It didn’t take long to get bored of the mundane mind palace.

Maybe I should take Roman up on that quest idea. He thought, his foot bounced, hanging over the side of the couch. Even if it wasn’t in his list of Shit Virgil Can Do Without Fucking Up, it was better than sitting around and waiting for nothing.

Virgil got up silently, giving a quick two-finger salute to Logan who had started reading some new detective novel before he sunk out. Appearing again before Roman’s door. Maybe he was just self-conscious, but it looked bigger than it was. Like behind it would be some hidden treasure that he finally reached.

It wasn’t entirely wrong. Roman was certainly someone to be treasured, even if he made mistakes. He just wished the other Sides would help him understand it.

He held his breath as he knocked, jolting back when it swung open almost instantly.

“You’re here!” Roman exclaimed, bouncing on his heels.

“Uh, yeah. I thought I’d take you up on your offer from earlier… if it’s still up, anyway.”

“Oh! Yeah, totally!” The prince tugged at his collar, not making eye contact. Virgil couldn’t help but smile slightly at the prince's giddiness. “I was just working on something if you’d care to see it?”

“You know I wanna see whatever you come up with, even if it’s some rewrite of Frozen.”

Roman bounced again, holding his hands out, palms up. He looked at Virgil with an emotion he couldn’t name, but it made him feel anxious in a good kind of way. Not anything like the dread he was used to. He placed his hands on Roman’s, and it wasn’t till they were sinking out and into the imagination that he realized it was the same kind of feeling from when Nico first texted Thomas about meeting up again. He held Roman’s hands a little tighter.

When he opened his eyes, they were surrounded by flowers.

“Woah…”

“Do you like it? I had to sneak into Logan’s room and borrow a few of his books.”

“I– yeah. It’s beautiful. And don’t worry, I won’t snitch.” He stepped away, wandering the circular little garden. He could only recognize so many. “Didn’t know you had a thing for landscaping.”

“I try my best. Honestly, I’m just happy neither of us has allergies.”

“Gosh, you’re such a dork.” Virgil laughed, petting the petals of a rose. Not paying attention to the way Roman watched him and shifted his weight every so often nor how warm his cheeks had become. “Do you know what any of them mean?”

“I do, but I think if I tell you, you’ll realize how predictable I am.”

“Go for it.”

“Well, roses are pretty well known. The red ones are anyway. Love, passion, romance, and courage. Things like that.” Roman said, walking closer. His boots clicking against the walkway’s pavement.

He stood close by yet just far enough for Virgil not to feel like he was being dissected under his gaze. It was an unreasonable thing to think after all the time they had spent becoming friends, he knew that. Yet part of him continued to scream that one day Roman would look at him and find out how horrible he thought himself to be and never want to be around him again. Maybe that was why he refused to confess just how much he liked Roman. It was a weight that crushed his chest every day yet made him feel dizzyingly light.

It was all too complicated.

“What about the purple ones?”

“It kind of varies by shade, but most of the time it’s about love at first sight or enchantment. A lot of the flowers here have to do with that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, should’ve been able to figure that one out myself.”

Roman shrugged. “It’s no matter, I just want to make sure you understand what they mean.” He looked to Virgil, again with that unnamed emotion. “You do get what I’m trying to say, right?”

For a moment, he hoped he did.

“Uh, yeah? Princey, I get it, you’re a hopeless romantic. You don’t have to spell it out for me.” He bit the inside of his lip, then asked. “What are they for?”

Roman looked at him with what he could only see as sympathy.

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I really do think you need it spelled out.”

Virgil scoffed, going to argue before he was cut off.

“First,” Roman began, reaching for Virgil’s hand, “You take him by the hand. That’s as far as you got before we both started screaming, anyway. So I suppose I’ll just have to wing it from here. I know I haven’t always been the best to you. I know I still make mistakes, and I really don’t want this to be one of them.”

“Roman–”

“I’m not finished. Virgil, out of all the other’s, you’re always the one who notices when I’m upset. You’re always the one who lets me bitch about Deceit without saying I was wrong for trusting him and then wrong for not. Really, you’re the only one I can bitch about the dark sides to, period. Logan is so reserved about it, and Patton is, well, he’s Patton. He tries to see the good in everyone.”

Roman paused, catching his breath. Virgil thought it best not to speak. He didn’t think he’d even be able to if he wanted.

“What I’m getting is that I trust you. I trust you because you’re my best friend and you listen to what I say even if it’s dumb. Because when I don’t feel like talking you're always down to just watch classic Disney movies and fill in coloring books. I know you don't realize it, but you do a hell of a lot more good than you believe, and I love you for that. You don’t have to say it back or even feel the same, I know you’re pretty reluctant about it. I just need you to know.”

Virgil stared at him, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights of love. Roman had said ‘I love you’ before, but not like this. What the fuck do you even do when your crush confesses they like you, more so, that you aren’t obligated to like them back? Complicated, and now surreal.

“You really mean it? All of it??”

“Of course I do, my Columbine Cutie! I could never lie to someone about love, I hope you know that.” Roman replied. Waving his hand as he conjured a mix of red and purple columbines, tucking them gently behind Virgil’s ear. Both knowing it was the truth, that Roman wouldn’t subject someone to such a thing because he knew how it felt.

But he still trusted Virgil with his love all the same. Trusted that it wouldn’t be taken advantage of or used against him.

“How long have you known?”

“You know, I think I fell for you far before I knew it.”

Virgil huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I uh… I think it was the same for me. Falling for you, that is.” God, it felt so weird to say it. Good, too. “I’m sorry I don’t know what to say. I never thought I’d end up here. I care about you too. I love you, I mean.”

And Roman… Roman just started to beam, shining like the sun as Virgil tripped over his words. He bounced, hands waving as he did. Despite his lingering fear, Virgil couldn’t stop the excitement Roman radiated and the wonder of it all from seeping in under his skin, a feeling like vibrations that he could only try to shake out. And there were hands cupping his face and there were words he didn’t hear. He still knew what they asked. “Fucking yes.” was all he could bring himself to give as a response before Roman’s lips were on his.

Strawberry chapstick and the faint scent of cherry blossom perfume were all that went through his head, it was the only thing that really could. He held onto Roman’s uniform like if he let go it would all disappear. Another dream reminding him of what he thought he couldn’t have.

When Roman pulled away and Virgil opened his eyes, he was still there.

He was real. Everything that had happened was real. He couldn’t help but giggle at how fantastical it was.

Roman brushed his bangs away, just enough to fully show his eyes. “Your eyeshadow changed again,” he announced, bouncing on his heels once again. Virgil groaned, turning away. “It’s a good look for you. Especially with how much you blush, my Lavender Love.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s adorable.”

Virgil knew from the grin on Roman’s face that it had only intensified.

“Whatever. I just�� for what it’s worth– I appreciate it. All of this. I’d probably die never telling you shit about how I felt if you didn’t do it first.”

Roman softened, “Maybe, or maybe you’d end up pushing yourself like you did to Thomas. Either way, I’m happy with it if you are.”

Virgil nodded, the two going silent. Roman rocked back and forth still quietly bouncing, probably thinking of what to say next.

Slowly, Virgil opened his arms, smiling nervously to his crush– lover– whatever they were. He wasn’t all that open to touch, but Roman was so far off from everything else it didn’t matter. The prince smiled, pulling Virgil close to him and pressing a kiss to his magenta-colored hair.

“I’m happy to be your knight as long as you want me to be. Whatever it is that gets thrown our way, I’ll fight for you as you have for me. You deserve to shine every day like you are now.”

“Jesus, Princey. You already made your dramatic love declaration, but... thank you. I want you to be happy too.”

The two held each other, and for the moment, everything was okay. No dark sides, no fear, no challenging life debates. It was unescapable, of course, but it didn’t matter. They could survive and fight this hell of a world. They could make the other realize how lovable they were. Because they had each other.

#Sanders Sides #Prinxiety #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #prinxiety fic #your validation. hand it over SDLCVFH #ugh bye im gonna cry about this #Virgil's Volumes

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virtueangel · 3 years

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limitless.

chapter sixteen.

wc: 2,172. original publish date: november 5, 2020.

"You should put that in water," JFK says, pointing to the sunflower still tightly constrained in Van Gogh's grip. They're back at the house now, the picnic half unpacked on the kitchen table. Vincent puts down the flower only to wash his hands under the scalding water of the sink.

"Are there any vases here?" He asks.

Jack opens one of the cupboards above the sink, and pulls out a tall glass. "Here."

"That's not a vase," Van Gogh responds with a raised eyebrow, turning off the faucet and drying his hands on the rag hanging over the handle of the oven.

JFK reaches past Van Gogh to turn the faucet back on, making sure to turn the cold lever instead of the hot one. The glass fills up with water, and Kennedy holds it out to Vincent. "It serves the same purpose, doesn't it?"

Vincent swallows and slowly reaches out for the glass, taking it from JFK. Their fingers brush, and a warm blaze shoots through Van Gogh, but he doesn't let on. He simply drops the sunflower stalk into the water and holds the makeshift vase in both hands, clutching it to his chest defensively.

"Let's find a place for that, shall we?" John asks, placing a comforting hand on the shorter boy's shoulder. What's his angle? Vincent wonders, but doesn't wriggle free from the touch.

"I know a perfect place," Vincent says instead, looking up to JFK, but holding the flower just as defensively.

"You lead the way," Kennedy replies, his tone neutral and his smile warm.

Van Gogh raises an eyebrow. "Why do you wanna see?"

JFK shrugs. "I just like spending time with you."

Vincent hesitates. "You're just trying to make up for making me mad at you."

Kennedy doesn't move.

"I'm not still mad."

"Can't I just enthuse you for one second?"

Van Gogh swallows and nods. "Fine."

He leads JFK through the archway, through the living room, through the sitting room, up the stairs, and into their bedroom. Jack stops in the doorway, but Vinnie crosses past their bed and the dresser to the dormer window. He places the vase with the sunflower in it on the thick windowsill, tilting the flower's face to look out at the sun. He steps back to admire his work, and JFK smiles at the boy's silhouette painted in the electric white fog. His whole body relaxes and he feels his heart sigh. He's exactly where he's supposed to be.

"Let's never leave this town," John says.

Van Gogh turns around, all the tension gone from his face. He blinks slowly before letting himself smile, his brown eyes twinkling. "I'd be okay with that."

Vincent makes his way back across the room, leaving the sunflower on the windowsill. JFK stays where he's standing in the doorway, watching Van Gogh's fluid movements. He walks with a purpose, like he knows where he's going. John expects the shorter boy to walk over to him, but instead he walks over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and opens the top drawer. He turns around, feeling JFK's gaze still blazing into his back.

"What are you looking for?" Kennedy asks.

"Did you hide the matches?"

JFK blinks, his face relaxing again. The smile dissolves. "I didn't hide them, I just moved them."

"You took the candles, too."

"Why do you want them so badly?" John asks, his tone controlled and stoic.

Van Gogh stops what he's doing. He closes the drawer of his nightstand, holding eye contact with JFK the entire time. He walks up to the taller boy, crossing his arms over his chest once they're merely inches apart. Kennedy wishes he had some bubblegum.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't go through my things."

"Oh, but you're allowed to go through my phone?"

Van Gogh's eyebrows knit together, and his face warps with astonishment. He doubles back, trying to fit some pieces together in his head. "I didn't go through your phone."

"But you thought about it."

Vincent doesn't deny the accusation. "How'd you know?"

JFK scoffs. "Oh wow, so you really did think about it?"

Van Gogh's voice falls hopefully quiet. "Can't we have one nice day, Jack? Without any arguing?"

"This is about Ponce, though, isn't it?"

Vincent shrugs. He can't deny that, either.

"You really want me to stop talking to him that badly?"

Gogh shrugs, breaking eye contact ashamedly. "I just want him to know that you're not available."

JFK bursts out laughing, and Van Gogh squints in confusion when he doesn't sound devious. "Vincent, look around! He does know! Everyone knows! Everyone's always known, except for the two of us, apparently."

An unsure smile stretches across Vincent's lips. "People... noticed? They picked up on... signs? That we didn't even know were there?"

Kennedy shrugs, amused. "Apparently! He asked me why I wasn't in school, and I said not to worry because I was with you. And he asked what our 'deal' was, and I asked what he meant by that, and he said it was obvious there was something there with us. Something more than just friendship."

Vincent closes the gap between him and JFK by wrapping his arms around the taller boy.

"You have nothing to worry about, Vinnie."

"I'm really sorry," he whispers. "I'm really sorry."

Kennedy reciprocates the hug. "Shh, shh, darling. It's okay. I'm sorry I made you worry."

"I don't care about the matches," Van Gogh mumbles into JFK's chest. His sweater smells like the perfect mixture of sweat, deodorant, and washing detergent.

JFK takes a moment to respond. "You cared a second ago."

"I don't like people touching my stuff. You know that, Jack. That's one of the things I warned you about when you suggested that we live together, remember?"

Kennedy swallows before replying. "I'm sorry I took them."

"That's okay," Vincent says too quickly. "It really is okay."

JFK gives Van Gogh a kiss on the head and a reassuring squeeze before letting him go. "Come on, we should unpack our picnic."

John leads the way out of the bedroom, and Vincent follows him into the kitchen.

***

JFK wakes up in the middle of the night to Vincent sitting in the upholstered armchair in the far corner of the room. He has a lamp on, a novel spread across his lap. He doesn't look up, even when he hears Kennedy rustling the bedsheets.

"Vincent, what are you doing?" He asks groggily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as they adjust to the light.

Van Gogh looks up, slowly, as if he expected the question all along. "I'm reading."

"At two in the morning?"

Vincent shrugs. "I couldn't sleep."

JFK rolls out of bed and shuffles across the floor to his boyfriend. He crouches down in front of the boy, resting his hands on Vincent's thighs. "So that's why you wake me up. I'll help you sleep."

Van Gogh slips a thin bookmark into his novel and closes it, making eye contact with John. "I didn't want to disturb you. I know that you need your beauty rest."

JFK chuckles, his brown hair falling into his face. Vincent smiles and runs his fingers through the boy's hair. He prefers it like this, without all the spray and the gel. He likes John better when he's not trying to be anything at all.

Van Gogh giggles. "Actually, I think I like you better without all of your beauty rest."

Kennedy steps away from Vincent, now lost in thought. "Well, clearly you're awake... and I guess I'm up now..."

"Yes?" Gogh presses.

"Remember how when we first drove in, there were those houses with no roofs or floors or anything?"

Van Gogh nods in affirmation.

"I know it's the middle of the night, but what if we went out and found one of those houses? Went to lay on the grass and look at the stars?"

Vincent peers out the window. Even in the dead of night, he can tell that the sky is completely fogged over. "I don't think we'll be able to see any stars, Jack."

He grins in response. "Well, then, let's draw some!"

"I think I lost my sketchbook..." Van Gogh replies, but he's already made up his mind. He'll follow Kennedy anywhere.

"You don't need it, silly!" JFK says, tugging at Vincent's hand.

"It's freezing cold outside!"

"I'll keep you warm," John promises, and Vincent is out of arguments.

The boys grab some blankets from the dresser, and throw on their matching letterman jackets. JFK likes the way the jacket looks on the smaller boy, with his last name stitched across the back. They slide into the car eagerly, and Kennedy immediately turns on the seat heaters.

"Maybe it's colder than I thought it would be," he comments.

Van Gogh wraps his blanket tighter around himself. When he speaks, he can see his breath. "You think?"

JFK idles the car down the row of houses, choosing one that looks suitable and parking in front of it. This one looks like it was built with only one floor, and maybe it never had a floor at all. The ground is covered in damp grass, broken glass bottles and windows scattered about. The boys hop out of the convertible and push through the front door, the singular hinge creaking and threatening to give out. JFK feels a tickle in the back of his mind, urging him to rip the door free. It's not like anyone ever lived in this house anyway.

The two choose a nice spot on the grass, away from all the debris. The grass is wet in this corner of the house, so they lay down on top one of the blankets. Van Gogh, still cold even wrapped up in his own blanket, wraps himself around John and nuzzles his nose into the taller boy's neck. They lay in silence for a while, breathing in each others' scents and soaking up each others' warmth. JFK closes his eyes and has almost drifted back into sleep when Vincent breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry we always argue," he says, drawing circles with his finger into John's collarbone.

"Couples always argue."

"Not this early."

Kennedy goes silent, thinking over his answer. "No, not this early."

Van Gogh blinks, his eyes threatening to well up with tears. There's no reason to cry, he thinks. "Do you resent that?"

"Resent what?"

Vincent swallows, trying to keep his voice steady. "That we argue so much even though we aren't supposed to. Aren't supposed to yet."

John threads his fingers through the boy's orange hair. Even on the darkest night, it glows. "It's fine, Vinnie. We don't need to compare our relationship to anyone else's."

"But there are rules."

"What, the bullshit like how you have to wait three months to say 'I love you' and you can't start fighting until four months in, if you even make it that long?"

Van Gogh gives a small nod, realising how stupid it sounds out loud.

JFK chuckles and pulls the boy in closer. "We can make our own rules, you know."

"It's our rollercoaster..." Vincent starts.

Kennedy kisses the boy's forehead. "It's our rollercoaster," he agrees.

A couple minutes go by, but John doesn't let himself drift into sleep this time. He knows Vincent has more to say.

"I'm sorry I'm keeping you here," he says.

"You're not keeping me anywhere."

"We could continue our road trip," he offers. "Keep driving. That's what you wanted to do, right?"

JFK grins. "What I wanted to do was be with you."

"I'm sorry I got mad-"

"Shh," Kennedy hums. "Stop with the 'sorry's. You don't need to worry. Not with me."

"But I always worry," he whispers. "I told you it wasn't going to be easy."

"Hm?"

"Living with someone so obsessive-compulsive."

John shrugs. "I'd rather get used to it now, while we're young."

"You might get tired of it."

JFK scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. "Mm... no, I don't think I will. We've been friends since elementary school, Vincent. I've never gotten tired of it."

"But you haven't even seen the worst of it."

"Are you trying to convince me not to want you?" Kennedy asks, his face heating up. "Are you looking for a way out that you can blame on me?"

"Jack, that's not what I said-" Vincent cuts himself off, realising how his words had sounded.

"I'm sorry we always argue," John apologises after a moment of silence.

"You're doing it now, too," Vincent says. "My bad habits are rubbing off on you."

JFK shrugs. "There are worse influences, I guess."

"Like my dad."

"Clone, or foster?"

Van Gogh shrugs. "Both."

"I won't leave you alone," Kennedy whispers. "Not like them."

Vincent doesn't say anything for a while. And then, "I'm used to it by now."

"You don't deserve to be."

"It is what it is."

"I won't leave you," JFK says again.

Van Gogh doesn't respond.

Finally, he says, "I believe you."

#clone high #clone high jfk #clone high van gogh #jfgogh #limitless.

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queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm · 4 years

Text

Daminette December Day 5: Fire (Continues from day 4’s prompt of gaming)

——————————————————————————

Damian Wayne Al Gul was never known for backing out from challenges. So when the opportunity came to “unmask” Ladybug, you best believe he was determined to seeing that to completion. A game plan began brewing in his head, “How am I going to get a Parisian streamer/designer to come to the states?” He muttered to himself, “There need to be a reason.”

‘What could make her want to come?’ Damian thought. There in his room, you could smell the oil and hear the gears turning inside his head. He brought his fingers to his temples, completely lost to the world at the momment. And then, it hit him. “I’ve got it!” He almost screamed, “I could make it into a sponsorship!”

“Hey, Demon-Spawn!” Jason barged into the room. A kunai flew passed his head, “Do- Watch it! Anyway Brucie wants us in the living room.”

Damian scowled. His plans would have to wait for now. This had better be good. As he made his way to the living room, Damian didn’t have the slightest clue that old Brucie Boy was about to make his job a hell of lot easier.

*Line Break*

On the other side of the world, our favorite girl had just finished “Tim Drake’s” commission. The client didn’t give much detail into what they wanted, all they said was to make them a suit and mask for the masquerade. Marinette had full creative liberty over the suit and mask. She wanted to go over the top, but on the off chance it was actually Timothy Drake himself it needed the right amount of subtlety to be functional.

(A/N: I’m not really good at describing clothes, but I couldn’t find anything that looks like I have in my head. Sorry!)

Marinette doesn’t do themes often, but she decided this design would become the newest part of her “Elements” collection. The suit jacket itself was a dark green, almost gray, color with multicolored leaves hand stitched into the material. Marinette had barely made it visible, but if one looked close enough it was definitely there. The pocket square was olive green with brown undertones as was the bow tie. The suit’s pants were the the same color as the jacket. The mask, however, the mask made the piece come together. The mask itself was brown, but the small details on the mask were lined with gold thread. Everything about this look screamed nature.

It had taken her a week to complete, and boy was it worth it. Marintte was relieved it was over, but loved the finished result. She packaged the suit and mask duo and placed her handwritten thank you note inside. The note read, “Dear Mr. Drake, Thank you for commissioning me for your gala. I do not know if it is the real Tim Drake and if it’s not please remember you do not have have to lie to get my attention. But if it is in fact Timothy Drake, himself, I want to thank you for this opportunity. I hope everything is up to your standards. Please continue to commission me for anything! Thank you for shopping at “Miss Fortune” Bug our! Signed, Ladybug” Marinette went straight to the post office to ship it to the American adress and returned home shortly after.

The next day at school would have Marinette begging for someone to put her out of her misery. It was announced that the class had won the Wayne scholarship to visit Gotham. And while Marinette was happy her hard work had seen results, it meant more work would be piled onto her. Ms. Bustier had cut her train of thought off, “Oh, and before I forget, we are invited to the Wayne’s annual Christmas charity gala. And Alya, there is absolutely no recording or interviews. If you fail to adhere to these rules, you will be bard from any and all other activities involving the Wayne family.”

Alya looked deflated by that fact. Lila was going to cook up some lie about knowing the Wayne’s, but once again Ms. Bustier had opened her mouth again, “Lila, we all know about your condition to lie uncontrollably. That being said, if you feel compelled to lie about knowing the Wayne family I would keep your mouth shut. Gotham is known as the city with the highest crime rate in the world. The Waynes have been known targets of Gotham’s villains, we wouldn’t want to be put in danger.”

Marinette had smirked at that comment and Lila eye had twitched, “Of course Ms. Bustier!”

The only thought that was going through Marinette’s head after that was, ‘What am I going to wear?’

*Line Break*

A month had passed and the trip to Gotham was tomorrow. Marinette decided to tell her followers on her twitch why there would be no more streams for another two weeks or so, “Today I just want to let you guys know that I will not be going live for like two weeks. I’ll be in America with my school for a trip. We’ll be attending a very important event there! I hope you guys won’t forget about when I’m gone!”

The comments and donations came in hordes. Most claiming that they could never forget about a gaming goddess. There where some asking about where in America she was headed to, “Well, usually I wouldn’t say anything. Buuuut, this is a very large city! We are headed to Gotham city!”

At 3:28 pm Damian Wayne, felt his heart stop. Ladybug would be in Gotham because of her Parisian class for an important event. There was only one Parisian class that had won if he remembered correctly, he’d have to ask Tim. Damian grabbed his phone in a attempt to see if Marinette would answer this frantic texting.

Her phone dings on stream, “Wow, I’m sorry guys I thought I had that on silent,” Marinette silences her phone but pays no attention to the contents on it. Her phone continues to buzz, “I’m so popular today,” she giggled, “To Damian, who I know is watching, can you please stop texting me when I’m live? Please and thank you. And before you heathens ask, no Damian does not know who I am so do go snooping to try and find out who he is,” She said in her heavily accented English.

Damian decided he would talk to her later, lest she be angry at him. The stream was relatively short today, only an hour and a half. Marinette had to go so that she would “actually be alive in the morning” as she put it. And when the cat is away, the birds go and play. Damian donned his Robin persona as he took it upon himself to continue his mission in uncovering Ladybug.

As he suspected, only one class from Paris had won the scholarship. The class president’s name had also just so happened to be none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Damian then deduced that Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Ladybug are the same person. Oh, what fun this was going to be.

During the Parisian class’s time in Gotham, they had left Marinette behind 5 times. Let me repeat that. Caline Bustier, an educator and chaperone, had left one of her students in one of the world’s most dangerous cities not once, not twice, not even thrice, but five times. Thankfully on her first time she had ran into a young Arabic man named Damian. Marinette laughed at how much this Damian had reminded her of her client. He wasn’t wearing her designs though so she couldn’t tell if they were one and the same, spoiler alert: they were!

The night of the gala had arrived and Damian asked to accompany her as her date. Marinette would have normally said “no, thank you” but Damian and Marinette had gotten to know each other over the course of her adventures in Gotham. So instead she said, “Yes!”

Marinette had spent a month on her newest creation. The purpose for this gala and this one alone. It would make its debut in her “Elements” collection, after the trip. Marinette was particularly proud of this one, this time the theme was fire and boy was there going to be one. The mask she wore was lined with blue to symbolize one of the hottest flames there are.

(A/N: As stated earlier I’m not good at describing clothing, so here’s a picture of what I’m talking about. Also this is not mine and kudos to whoever did make it because I want this for myself.)

Damian waited patiently for his date to arrive. He was dressed in the exact opposite way. Cool blues and slivers donned his suit. His mask was white with red linning to contrast Marinette’s blue. None of what he was wearing was of “Miss Fortune” though. There wasn’t enough time for him to ask.

When Marinette exited the elevator, Damian had the wind knocked out of him. She looked like ethereal and in that momment Damian wasn’t sure if she really existed. He had seen the dress on her streams while she was making it, but this was the first time he had seen Marinette wearing it. Marinette was the epitome of regality.

But when Marinette saw Damian dressed like the prince she’d known him to be, Marinette almost fainted. Together they looked like gods gracing mortals with their presence. Anyone who saw them, assumed such as well. They’d stop and stare at Adonis and his Aphrodite.

They walked the red carpet and at that moment Marinette realized three things, one: She would have to reveal herself as Ladybug, two: she would have to explain herself to her followers, and three: Damian is that Damian Wayne???

“Surprise?” He said with a raising of his shoulders.

“We’ll talk later,” she said lowly.

Together they passed the reporters to enter and Marinette made her big reveal, “Miss! Miss! Who are you wearing? It’s gorgeous!”

“I’m wearing my own design! I run a website called Miss Fortune. You would probably recognize me as Ladybug on Twitch though,” she giggled.

Before she could answer anymore questions, Damian pulled her inside to the actual Gala. He couldn’t wait to see the looks on his brother’s faces when they relized who he had on his side. And by the sound of the shriek that ran throughout the halls, Tim and Dick had just found out. They raced over in an attempt to introduce themselves to her.

Marinette noticed that Tim was wearing the suit she had made back in November. She paled when she remembered accusing him of lying in her note, “You are wearing my design. You weren’t lying to me!”

Marinette was apologizing and Tim didn’t need it. She had every right to be suspicious whenever someone claimed to know or be part of the Wayne crew. Jason had a Batcow when he noticed the angel of a girl on the arm of a demon. And then freaked out even more once, he heard who she was.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch. Well... that was before Alya and Lila were escorted out for recording and lying on the Wayne Family name. Oh, boy legal was going to have so much fun with them.

Bruce Wayne seen four of his children huddled around a small French-Asian woman. He thought he should introduce himself. Unknown to Marinette Bruce was also wearing her work. Apparently Damian had commissioned that suit for Bruce’s birthday. Marinette almost fainted for the second time that evening.

As the party came to a close, Damian and Marinette stepped out to chat alone, “I know this is kind of forward, but would you like to accompany me on a date soon?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Marinette smiled as she rested her head on Damian’s shoulder while staring at the sky.

Fire is volatile. It can burn, destroy, and even kill. But fire is also rebirth, warmth, and passion. Marinette is the fire to Damian’s ice. Complete opposites that complete each other, just as it should be.

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A/N: So the two shot is over!!!! Did you all like it? I think this one is my favorite so far. In any case thank you for all the notes, comments, and reblogs on the last part. I really appreciate it! If you want to be tagged let me know in the comments!

@daminette-december2019 @persephonebutkore @gingerdaile @seraphichana @mystery-5-5 @krispydefendorpolice @jardimazul @royalchaoticfangirl @theoryfan205 @goblinwhoships @emeraldpuffguide @spicybelladonna

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imaginehyunjin · 4 years

Text

dance room － part 2

a/n: someone really requested a second part huh. This story’s so good I might do a whole cute story with this oh god. Also I see warnings on other people’s posts,,, idk how sorry just take the risk in reading if u know what I mean ;))) or someone send me what to put pls :(((

Word count: 2440

part 1 ● part 2

＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊

You were lost in your own thoughts for a while. You were wet after the sudden encounter. You need to go to the bathroom.

I hate him! God.

You went outside the bathroom after some while, taking a steamy bath, fully refreshed with new clothes. You tried to find jisung, finally catching him talking to chan and changbin in the hallway. You scoffed, they’re probably talking about the team they’re building. jisung already admitted that a team was really getting formed by chan. He didn’t deny when you two talked about it.

“han jisung,” you called out, catching his attention. His friends looked at you too. You just now realize that you also caught hyunjin’s attention at the end of the hallway, leaning sideways to the wall. He was looking at you intensely. You suddenly remembered what happened this morning. You turned your attention back to jisung, anticipating on what you wanted to say. You smiled at him.

“let’s go to the convenience store together,” you grinned, arm slinging around his. Jisung looked at chan, not knowing where to go.

“we were actually planning to go now too,” chan said. Jisung nodded at me and smiled, scratching his head.

“can I come too? I don’t have anyone to accompany me,” you pouted, getting childish infront of chan.

“yeah sure”

“so are you guys really forming a group?” you asked, slowly getting to the answer you actually wanted. Just to make sure.

“yeah”

“who’s the lucky team members?”

“ we’re planning to get minho, seungmin, felix, hyunjin, jeongin and-”

“oh my god you’re taking jeongin” I said, crying fake tears. “he will be missed, ugh,” you grabbed jisung’s burger just before he takes a bite, taking the advantage and pretending you’re stress eating.

“hey!” jisung cried.

You gave it back after taking a large bite. So it’s true.

“i still don’t understand why hyunjin’s with us,” jisung suddenly said, crossing his arms and leaned against the chair. You laughed, knowing where this is going. You continued eating, trying your best not to join in.

“why?” chan asked. Changbin looks at jisung too, waiting for his response.

“i just have a bad feeling about him,” jisung casually said, glaring at his food.

“just because you have a bad feeling about him doesn’t mean he has no potential,” chan laughed.

you went back to the company to continue practicing, parting ways. As you were picking a song to play, you can’t help but think about what chan said. ’Just because you have a bad feeling about him doesn’t mean he has no potential.’ it keeps ringing in your head, bugging your conscience. Chan really makes you rethink about your perspectives, huh. You sighed, thinking maybe you and hyunjin both stepped on the wrong foot. Besides, you were like him back then. You didn’t really think about dancing as your passion, but when you stepped in the company, you felt like you can let everything out when dancing. It was your escape.

After putting random songs in the playlist, you started freestyling them all. Watching yourself dance in the wall mirror, you felt good. Body locks everywhere when cool beats goes in, swaying your body when mellow music rings throughout the room. Some sexy songs come in, and you find yourself doing some straight up sensual moves. As you turned yourself around, you jumped out of shock. Hyunjin was by the door, leaning on the wall. How long was he in here?!

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you asked, annoyed because you thought you were alone. You shook your head, going to the counter and turning the music off. You looked at him again, hands resting on your hips as you wait for his response. You couldn’t ignore how hot he looks, god. He’s just wearing a normal white shirt and some jogging pants, and he still looked hot? Unbelievable!

“no, go on, continue what you’re doing,” he said while moving his hands, urging me to continue.

“i said what the fuck are you doing here,” you repeated, blood boiling in your veins. You pitied him for a moment, but his cockiness made you throw it far, far away.

“i was just admiring the view here, wow,” he smirked at me before looking around the room, pretending to be astounded by the interior design.

“you think im kidding?” you asked, your patience getting a little shorter. His eyes pierced through you, screaming anger. He walked to you, eyes never leaving yours. You fought his gaze, but getting nervous and excited as he shortens the gap between you two slowly.

“you want to know?” he said as he completely closes the gap between you, his hands holding the counter in each side of you, your lower back hitting the counter. You have nowhere to go, and his face was an inch from you.

“w-what?” you stuttered. You can’t help but lower your gaze to his lips. You licked your lips unconsciously, tempted to do something crazy. You looked back at his eyes, glinting with darkness.

“i was thinking of continuing what we started, what do you think?” he tilted his head sideways, eyeing your lips. His hands found its way to your waist, kissing you softly.

You didn’t even answer him, arms immediately wrapping around his neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. He sucked your lower lip before pushing his tongue inside, exploring your mouth. You moaned in his mouth, sucking his tongue. His hand tightens on your waist before snaking its way in your shirt. He massaged your breast, still wearing your bra. Your hands went up to his hair, fingers tugging in anticipation. He carried you up on the counter, squeezing himself between you.

“i saw you with jisung earlier,” he said after he stopped kissing you. His hand went between your legs, rubbing your clothed heat. He was staring at you darkly, waiting for your reaction. Your head arched backward, getting wet with his hands touching you fully clothed. You looked at him again with pleading eyes. He growled, kissing you roughly, greedy, pressing his thumb harder. You moaned in his mouth, feeling his hand go in your pants, along with your underwear. He swiftly pulls it down to your legs after you wiggled to help him, shuddering at the sudden contact of cold air on your heat.

“what do you mean?” you asked him, breathless. Your head arched back once more, as he inserted 2 fingers inside you. Your breath hitches at the sudden fullness, his long bony fingers pumping you as he looks at you with full attention. You’re panting now as you feel yourself tighten around his fingers, approaching your high.

As you were closing your eyes to welcome your release, hyunjin pulled out. You were about to protest until you saw his eyes flicker with anger and jealousy. He went closer to your ear as his thumb drew circles on your clit painfully slow, leaving you a whimpering mess, wanting to cum already.

“you’re mine, you got that?” he whispers as his lip brushes on your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You nodded immediately, heat pooling more between your legs at the thought of him wanting you to be his, and his only. He looks at you darkly as he puts his fingers in his mouth, tasting you. You whimpered at the gesture, thinking what it would feel if his lips were eating you desperately rough.

“you want to cum that bad?” he smirks at your desperation, parting your legs wider as he went on his knees. Your eyes widen at the realization, moaning louder as his tongue destroys your entrance.

Your eyes close as your brows furrowed at the feeling, threading your fingers through his hair to guide him where you want it. Your uneven breathing and moans rings through the room along with the lewd noises coming from his tongue with your wet folds. He didn’t miss your clit, lips sucking at the sensitive bud ending with loud pops. You can’t help but tighten your hold on his hair, earning a groan from him which sends vibrations in you. You gasped, feeling yourself tighten once again.

You decided to look at him and his tongue fucking you, and you saw him looking at you with lustful eyes. You came undone at the beautiful view, your hand roaming around his scalp. He continues lapping up your juices, your legs quivering at the over stimulation. He stands up, licking his lips as he smirks at your fucked up expression. You stand up also, closing the gap between you two. You smiled as your hand admires his face, he looks back at you, smiling.

“my turn,” you smirked. Before he could register what you just said, you pushed him all the way to the mirrored wall. You didn’t miss the small smile and amused look on hyunjin’s face as his back hits the wall, glad you weren’t a full bottom. You kissed him softly, giving him the full opposite of what he did to you. He easily gave in, cupping your cheeks as he tilts his head sideways for a better entrance. You sucked on his lower lip, pushing your tongue in his mouth. “mmm,” he hums, totally amused by what’s happening. Your hands travelled everywhere on his body, going from his chest to his shoulders.

Your hands tugged on the hem of his shirt. Hyunjin gets the gesture and removes his shirt, hands landing on your waist immediately as you kissed his neck. Your hands travelled on his chest and stomach, admiring his toned muscles. You squeezed your leg between his legs, kneeing his growing bulge lightly. He whimpers at the sudden contact, head arching back.

“oh now you’re whimpering?” you smirk, reaching down on his bulge. You begin stroking it slowly over the clothing as you watch him, earning low moans from the boy, biting his lip. Your other hand reaches for his chin, making him look at you.

“don’t take your eyes off me, baby,” you tugged at his lip, freeing it from his bite. You kissed him passionately as he surrenders on your lips, his facade crumbling before you. You knew that somehow, there was a soft boy inside him despite the strong look on his face. “I want to hear you,” you whisper, looking at his eyes. he nodded immediately. You smiled, how the tables have turned.

You continued stroking his hard on, hyunjin’s brows furrowing as his eyes looks into you, pleading for your touch. His lips parted, －you hear his silent, uneven breaths－ struggling to control his breathing. “fuck,” you feel yourself getting more wet just by his response as you stroke him.

You kissed him again before going all the way down to his stomach, kneeling in front of him. You reach for the waistband of his jogging pants along with his boxers, freeing his hardened length as it hits his stomach. “mmm,” you hum, mimicking him. You look up to meet his gaze, seeing him panting as he wait for your next move. You started stroking him, earning a low groan from him. Swiping your thumb over the tip, his hips bucked forwards at the sensation. You held his hips with your left hand, keeping him in place. He looked up, breathing heavily. You didn’t bother telling him to keep his eyes on you, as you also liked how his throat looked. You stood up, kissing him on his throat as you jerked him.

“stay still, baby” you said before you bite his shoulder, earning a moan from him. You looked at his face as you continued stroking him, and he looks at you back with needy eyes. You went down again, licking a strip up his length before putting it in your mouth. Hyunjin lets out a loud groan, as you bob up and down on his length. You sucked hard, hollowing your mouth, hearing hyunjin’s pants shallow. You pulled out, earning a loud whimper from him as his knees gave up.

“oh sorry,” you looked at him and smiled, eyeing you with his almost fucked-out eyes.

one

two

three.

In a moment, you found yourself bent out in front of the mirrored wall, holding it for dear life. “watch me fuck you,” hyunjin growls, pushing his length in your core. You screamed, looking at him in the reflection. His eyes darken at your sound, fastening his pace more than ever. You feel like the mirror would break somehow, as you and hyunjin’s groans echo through the room. You feel your core tighten around his length, making hyunjin pull out. You stood up and faced him, ready to question why－

he pushed you to the wall, back aching at the sudden pain. He hooks his arms under your knees, bringing you up to his hips, pinning you to the wall for support. He pushed inside you again, making your head arch back with the sudden change of position. You can’t help but moan at his every thrust, as his tip hits your g-spot. Hyunjin’s uneven groans against your neck wasn’t helping the situation, coming as he bites on your shoulder. He thrusts one more time, coming inside you.

You stayed still there for a while, feeling his length soften inside you. Both of your heavy breaths were the only ones you can hear, until he puts you down. You both were putting on your clothes back, thinking to yourself you needed another shower. Hyunjin goes at the door, stopping for a bit to look at you. You arched your brow, anticipating what he wanted to say.

“let’s eat together sometime.”

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charlie-kingsboro · 3 years

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Family | Zara&Charlie

Discord thread featuring: Charlie and Zara ( @x-heartbreaker )

When: March 24th 2021

Description: Charlie receives a phone call from back home which leads her to discover a lost connection. Seeming too good to be true, she invites Zara over to dig further into things.

tw: mention of death

Charlie

Things we’re starting to make sense. Her past was locked up in a dusty box which had been processed and accepted had just been pulled out again, half full of sadness and then excitement. She never thought this would be happening. Even while studying her birth certificate, waiting for the knock at the door, Charlie found herself confused and almost angry at the fact that this could possibly be something she’d missed out on in her life. It showed as she pulled the door open with a little too much force, her face softening as she found Zara the other side of it.

Zara the brunette honestly has no idea why Charlie has invited her over, or why she was asking about what little information Zara had on her parents. She tries not to overanalyze it on her way over and had a cigarette just before arriving to help calm her nerves. As she arrives she knocks and waits for Charlie to answer, the force in which the door opens surprises her and she hopes she hasn’t done anything to make anyone angry. “It’s fine. Is everything alright?”

Charlie Now that it was a possibility, Charlie noticed the little things they had in common. They were tiny and hardly there, but she noticed. Maybe this was happening. “Yeah... uh, come in,” she quietly said, gently closing the door behind the girl. “I’m so sorry to be weird and invite you over so urgently, I just... just take a seat.” Charlie would always get nervous over the smallest of things, but her palms started to become sweaty as she took a seat at the table and picked up some paper. “Do you know anything about your parents? I’m sorry but, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Zara Zara is usually good at reading a situation but this time it wasn’t easy and she couldn’t figure out what this might be about. She steps inside “you don’t have to be sorry. Usually it’s only this urgent if it’s a booty call or something,” she joked and takes a seat. “Not much. Just mums name - I know that and that they decided to drop me off at the local hospital one day and that was that. Why?”

Charlie It took her a moment to find her words, knowing there was no easy way to say it, before she spoke. "I had a phone call earlier from the UK, and they said some things and told me I had a sister called Zara but they didn't know where she was," she slowly said, hoping she'd understand. "My mum's called Sarah and we grew up in the same area."

Zara she sits in her chair and attempts to read the expressions on Charlie’s face to see if she can figure out what this might be about but she comes up empty. So instead she just listens. “Hold on. I’m sorry. What?” It’s taking a moment for her to process what Charlie is telling her. Of course no one could get ahold of Zara she’s had more phones and phone numbers than she could ever keep track of because it’s rare that she can afford to keep her mobile service. “Are you saying that’s me? That your mum and my mum are the same person?”

Charlie At the question, Charlie nodded, “I think so.” There were brief, blurry memories of her mother before she left but none to help the situation. All she had was what they told her on the phone, and the dots to connect from Zara. It all added up. She only hoped she wasn’t jumping to conclusions. “They rang to uh... they said she’d died. A few weeks ago. They didn’t know who to contact, then they found that she had two kids but could only find my number.”

Zara it was taking Zara a moment or two to wrap her mind around everything that Charlie was saying. Throughout the years she came to accept that her mother wanted nothing to do with her and therefore Zara never bothered looking for her or any family. But it seemed to have found her. “I’m sorry I’m totally stunned. Not about her...” it might be sad but Zara wasn’t upset about the passing, her mum was a complete stranger to her. “I’m just. Wow....how are you feeling about it?”

Charlie It felt messy. But right. Zara could've ended up anywhere on the planet, but she happened to live in Kingsboro where Charlie did. She nodded at the fact she wasn't stunned about their mum. Hopefully they would feel the same way. "I'm just confused, I guess," she softly answered, watching Zara. "Mum left me in our apartment when I was four... I didn't think she wanted anymore kids. I accepted I was on my own, but now..." It wasn't a spiteful feeling towards Zara, it was just a big thing to process. There were lots of emotions and Charlie knew it would take her a little time. But she wasn't alone anymore. If she didn't wake up and find out this was all a dream, she wasn't alone. She had somebody.

Zara perhaps the stars had aligned, if her best friend hadn’t made the move to the states, Zara probably wouldn’t have either and then she and Charlie never would have found each other. “She clearly didn’t want any more kids,” Zara scoffs and rolls her eyes even though she’s come to terms with the fact that her mother wanted nothing to do with her, it was still strange to think that someone could abandon her children the way she had. “It’s kind of neat I guess. Knowing at least some of my family....” though she never had any kind experience with actual family “up until now I’ve just had friends.”

Charlie The girl nodded, understanding everything for once. It was bizarre to suddenly have someone who understood on the same level. It was strange to think that she had a sister. “I’m sorry, I...” she started, losing her words a little. “If I’d known, I would’ve tried to find you.” Even if her ex husband would’ve stopped her, Charlie would have tried. Maybe if they’d have had each other, things would have been a lot different. Maybe she wouldn’t have ended up with her ex husband. “Do you want like, a DNA test or anything? Just to be sure?” she asked, still not sure how the other felt about the situation. “I can cover the cost. I don’t mind.”

Zara The girl was shaking her head, “you don’t have anything to apologize for you haven’t done anything wrong. There’s no way that you could have ever known so I’d never hold that against you.” This was a lot to process so she was just trying to take it step by step. “A dna test, I hadn’t even thought of that,” a hand moves through her hair, pushing it out of her face. “I don’t know do you think we should? To be sure?”

Charlie “Only if you want to. I mean, I’m literally connecting dots,” she mumbled, looking to her hands. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have one done. This is just... weird. Sorry if I’m being weird.” It was just the process of working through how she felt, but the overwhelming thought of not being a good enough sister was probably the only thing on her mind. That’s just how she was. Charlie had suddenly gained the responsibility to look after her younger sister, and she would only do that if she could do it perfectly.

Zara “honestly I don’t even know,” she has to laugh because her mind is just flying in so many different directions. “I think the timeline seems to make sense so its more than likely the case. No it’s ok I think we’re both being weird because how else are we supposed to be? We’re both kind of overwhelmed with this information. And with the fact that died. I don’t know about you but I don’t really feel sad about it, but I feel guilty about not feeling sad?”

Charlie It made sense in her head, but she couldn’t get it out. Charlie felt bad that someone had died but not bad about the fact that her mum had died. It was all disconnected. “Yeah, no I feel the same. In the nicest way, I don’t care about anything but the fact that I basically have a sister now. I don’t think I could be sad over anyone who has two kids and leaves them to fight for themselves. I can’t talk for you but my life up until Kingsboro was absolute shit.” Her words became solid and anger dripped through her words at the end, but she quickly took a breath and regained herself. This wasn’t the time for anger.

Zara It was a strange mix of emotions to process knowing that the person that gave her life now want living, and even more mind boggling that all of this time she had a sister she might have never known about. “I guess it was meant to be for us to find each other. Oh calling it absolute shit is an understatement. Foster care was a nightmare as I’m sure you know. So many terrible things happened...” she was shaking her head trying to push the memories back down. “I’m just glad that I’m able to kind of start over.”

Charlie It hurt knowing that Zara had probably gone through similar things that she did. Regardless if they were related, she felt sorry for the girl and wouldn't wish it upon anyone. "Did you move around a lot? In foster care?" she carefully asked, knowing that it was more than likely a sensitive subject.

Zara “all the time. Thankfully I only had to change schools a handful of times because I could stay in the same vicinity. What about you? Some people have ok experiences with it...” although she didn’t think that either of them had been that lucky.

Charlie Nodding, "Me too. It wasn't bad for me, it just wasn't good. I take it you weren't adopted?" She'd try to keep her own story close for now, and only Parker really knew about what happened after Charlie turned 18. She wanted to keep it that way. Telling people about it would only show how fragile she was from a stupid asshole who she thought was her husband.

Zara “I guess it not being bad is something,” she chuckled “it was really all I knew so other than what I saw in the movies and stuff I don’t really know how a functional family is supposed to work,” she shrugs her shoulders. “I wasn’t. Just aged out of the system thank god. Were you? How long have you lived in kingsboro?” 26 March 2021

Charlie Everyone knew the older you got in foster care, the less likely it is to be adopted. It sounded as if they both accepted that from a young age. “Yeah, I grew out of it, too, then I moved in with someone and stayed there until I was 24,” she recited as if it were a book. “It’ll be 4 years in a few months since I moved here. How about you?”

Zara when she was a young child she remained hopeful that she might find a “forever home” but that hadn’t happened. Each year she got older she knew the chances lessened tremendously. “Moved over here or stayed there for a bit and then came here? I’ve only been here a little over a year now.”

Charlie

“I moved here about 4 years ago,” she clarified, “I just kind of packed up what I could and left within about 3 days so I didn’t bring much.” Charlie hoped that Zara’s life here was better to her. Kingsboro felt more like home than her hometown ever would, which was a relief. “Only a year? Do you prefer it here?”

Zara "You said you stayed with someone until you were 24 so I'll assume that was before you moved here, if you've been here 4 years already. Yeah I didn't really have much to bring so," the girl shrugs. she still didn't really have much but there was a roof over her head so she was grateful for that. "only because people i care about are here. i think id prefer it anywhere that way, you know? even if it was back in the uk. i dont really find anything about new york to be too spectacular, i know that's like blasphemy around here."

Charlie “Oh, yeah,” she said quieter. “I was with my husband from like 18 to 24 before I moved here.” Charlie understood where she was coming from, and felt lucky that it actually felt homely to her. Maybe Zara would feel that way soon, too. “The people make it home, sometimes, and that’s okay. I don’t think I’d stay here long if I didn’t know the people.”

Zara “sounds like at least one of us is decent with commitment,” Zara laughs. She’s not sure that marriage is even in the cards for her but that’s another idea that she’s grown comfortable with, it is what it is. “Yeah. I miss certain things once in a while but I would much rather be around my friends. I guess you can kind of build a life anywhere. You work in the bakery right?”

Charlie She nodded, completely understanding. Home could be wherever you wanted it to be as long as you had the people you loved around you. “Yeah, I kind of work there like part time and then I also just signed a contract with jet records... so there’s that,” she sheepishly added, still not sure how she felt about the whole thing.

Zara Zara finds that over the years she doesn’t really have a concept of home and she’s ok with it. She can live where she feels happy and as long as people that she cares about are around that’s all she needs. She feels strangely like Charlie should already be included in that but she doesn’t know her very well yet. “How’s that going? Are you going to record an album and everything?”

Charlie It was a strange feeling. There was an invisible rope connecting the two but Charlie also felt an uneasy emptiness between them. She couldn't quite wrap her head around it. "I guess so... I'm currently recording an EP, whatever that is, and they're booking some summer shows around New York so that'll be terrifying," she explained, really not looking forward to the whole standing in front of hundreds of people thing. "You should come along to one of them. See what a total mess I am." It was half true, half said through a nervous laugh. If they were to be sisters and they wanted to be in each other's life, they had to start somewhere.

Zara “oh like just recording a few songs to see how well they’re received and then going from there. That’s pretty cool though. Will they be original songs or covers? Do you know yet?” She hopes she isn’t asking too many questions but she definitely prefers to be the one doing the asking rather than the one being asked. “Yeah just let me know when. I’m sure you’re not a mess at all. I think most people get a bit of stage freight it’s completely normal.”

Charlie "I'm a mess," she repeated, smiling a little. "Trust me. I like singing but have no clue about anything else." Charlie still stood by her decision to sign the contract, but that didn't mean there was no doubt. This was for her. A middle finger up to her ex, if you will. The start of a new life with Parker. "I'm a nervous wreck half the time and end up having a panic attack over the tiniest of things, and that's before I get up on a stage," she rambled on, looking to her hands and suddenly feeling self conscious.

Zara “but do you like to sing in public?” Zara asks with a chuckle, “I can understand stage freight I suppose. But if you don’t really like that aspect of things maybe you could do more behind the scenes work? Or, what is that you hope to do? Gonna be the next big Brits winner?”

Charlie She paused, and truly thought about the question. Maybe she was going down the wrong route. Even if it was a massive middle finger up to whoever, was it really worth it if she constantly felt like she was trying to stay above water? All she could do was shrug, "Maybe. I don't really think I know what I want." Charlie never really did know what she wanted. "I'm sorry to dump all of this on you with the phone call and... mum thing. I just always thought I was on my own."

Zara She didn’t mean to make a big deal of it, but she was genuinely curious. Zara may not have any crazy talents but that’s probably why her job was a fairly simple customer service one for the most part. “If it is what you want, you’ve got to be confident in it and enjoy it, otherwise what’s the point? Besides money at least.” But that was what made the world go round after all. “It isn’t your fault you don’t have to apologize. I know it’s pretty strange to think about.”

Charlie "Yeah," Charlie quietly confirmed. It was new territory for both of them, but Charlie had a feeling Zara would be okay with it all. They seemed to get along well and at the end of the day, they didn't have to act like sisters if they didn't want to. Having that option, though, made her feel less alone. For once she wasn't the only child who her mother left behind. For once, she didn't feel as if the whole mother thing was personal.

#tw: mention of death #tw: death

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dhwty-writes · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2 - Facades, Family and Forgery

Chapter 2 already, wow! We are now 10k words in and there is no fucking way this story will be told in under 10 chapters. I guess more fun for you readers? This chapter is mostly me figuring out the different plot threads out. And to do the Jaskier has ADHD tag justice. The executive dysfunction is strong in that one. Also, I am still looking for a beta reader for this fic, if you’re interested.

Summary: Jaskier wakes up with two new additions to his household. Time to get the plan on tracks.

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

Read on AO3

When Jaskier woke up the next morning he couldn't quite force himself to get out of bed. There were days like that, he knew. When the world outside of his pillows and blankets just wasn't interesting enough to lure him out of his heavy cocoon of warmth and bliss. Not that the world inside was any more interesting, but at least he didn't have to move to get there.

It wasn't as if there weren't enough things to do. Melitele have mercy, there was a whole fucking lot to do. There had been some complaints about taxes lately what with the war and a cow had died on the far end of Lettenhove and then there was the matter with Cirilla and Geralt and- ughhh.

He flopped over on his stomach. "It's too much," he complained into his pillow.

He supposed he really should get up, though. The matter of the lost princess half the continent was looking for in his house was somewhat time sensitive, after all.

Ah, there was the other problem. Not only had he woken up already bored, he had also woken up feeling guilty. He wasn't a cruel man; he didn't want anyone to suffer. Anyone but Geralt, and even him just a little bit. He was just angry and he didn't think he'd be able to trust him again for a long time and- great, his mind was getting side-tracked again.

What had he been thinking about before? He groaned again, trying to force his body to get up while he attempted to sort his thoughts that were hidden behind some mysterious fog in his mind. Not a muscle moved. He hated the fog days. He much preferred the days when his mind moved too fast for anyone to follow instead. Well, anyone but Geralt, that was. He had always been rather good at that and now that he was back it could be like that again, maybe. 'No!' he told himself determinately. 'I am still cross with him. I can't allow him to get under my skin that easily again.'

He started tapping out a rapid rhythm on his blanket. 'Oh good,' he thought. 'So, I can move. You know what would be great now? Getting out of bed.' He continued tapping his rhythm, the rest of his body still not moving.

Jaskier sighed heavily. What had he been thinking about? Cirilla, right. Truth be told he was glad, that she was here now. And that she was with Geralt. He didn't want any harm to come to her and there were... approximately two people and a dead horse on the entire continent he would trust her life with.

'Pity that Roach died before making it here,' he caught himself thinking. 'I think she would have liked it. Maybe I should get him a replacement? And the princess, too, they can't very well ride double all the time and I won't allow Geralt to make the poor girl walk the whole way. I know what that's like, I had to suffer through it long enough. I wonder if she likes flowers? She deserves a nice saddle. And nice clothes, too! Oh, maybe I can call a tailor. That would be a great opportunity to get Geralt into something resembling fashion, too. Maybe even a bit of colour? Oh, bad memories, that went totally sideways the last time we tried-'

"Fuck!" he cursed quietly. One moment he had been thinking about Roach and the next about Pavetta's betrothal - how had he even gotten there? And what had he been thinking about before that?

Right, two people and a dead horse. One of them had nearly died on Sodden Hill according to his intelligence and the other one was somewhere in Lettenhove Hall - preferably in his room next to Cirilla (of course he hadn't separated them, he was no complete monster). He should probably go talk to her soon. Welcome her, apologise for his harsh treatment of the day before, that sort of thing.

Ah, yes, like that he could put the cranky villagers off for a while. Slowly, he sat up. 'Finally.'

He still needed a plan. Jaskier groaned and dropped back down.

"Why did I do this?" he whined into the empty room. "It's always easier when I'm already sitting."

Well, now he wasn't sitting anymore. Great. And the idea of meeting the princess was not enticing enough to move him again. Great.

"I really need to get better at this..." He just laid there for a while, staring at the canopy above, following the same colourful threads with his eyes he had stared at a thousand times, bored out of his mind. Yet, every time he tried to pull a thought close it either vanished or actively tried to get away, to be replaced with the insufferable chorus of The Fishmonger's Daughter. 'Why on earth did I write such a despicable song?' he asked himself not for the first time.

His salvation came in form of a firm knock. "My lord?" the voice of Jakub, his manservant sounded muffled through the wood. "Are you up yet?"

"Almost!" Suddenly, it was very easy to jump out of bed and scurry over to the clothes laid out for him. "You, Jakub" he exclaimed excitedly when he entered with a tray of food, "are god-sent. You see, I just couldn't bring myself to get up and go about my day and the you appeared and now it is all very easy- Oh, are those raspberry tarts? I love those-"

"They are, my lord," he answered calmly and moved to lace up Jaskier's shirt, while the latter shoved little raspberry cakes into his mouth.

He could see his exasperation plain on his face when that didn't keep him from talking: "I couldn't even think right, I was thinking about Roach and the witcher and do you think the girl would like an embroidered saddle? I was thinking buttercups, though, no, that would be better for my next one. Can saddles be embroidered posthumously? No, that's not the right word, I seem to have forgotten it- Jakub, you are very silent today, is everything alright?"

"Quite, my lord. You are very talkative today. I wouldn't want to interrupt you."

"Right," his mind seemed to slow for just a moment. "I am sorry about that. It seems I am having one of those days."

The servant shook out the doublet and held it for him to slip into the sleeves. "Shall I inform the staff, my lord?"

"I think that would be reasonable. How are my dear sisters?"

"Very vocal about their displeasure to share a roof with a witcher, my lord." He buttoned up the last of Jaskier's doublet.

Jaskier frowned and popped the last two buttons open again. "Only Janina, I hope?"

"Indeed, my lord. She has also pronounced her plans to leave for Goldfurt immediately. They are already packing. Lady Józefa, on the other hand, appears quite smitten with... both of your guests."

He wrinkled his nose and ate the last of the raspberry tarts. "As I have feared. Stop the packing at once, no one is to leave Lettenhove unless I tell them to. Until further notice. Make time in my schedule for both of them." He halted and sat down to let Jakub put on his boots. "Actually, clear my whole schedule for the day." He sucked the last of the sour berry juice from his fingers. "But be sure to put the names of my sisters and my two guests on it. And think of solutions."

"Think of solutions, my lord?"

He shot him a confused look. "Did I say something else?"

"Not at all, my lord," Jaskier admired him for keeping a straight face. "I just wanted to make sure."

"Good." He looked around. It was obviously light in his rooms, so it couldn't be that early anymore. He only hoped he hadn't wasted half of his day. Again. "What time is it?"

"The sun has risen an hour ago and your witcher with it. He is stalking the halls in the guest wing and frightening the servants."

Jaskier frowned. "Send someone to tell him to stop. I won't have that."

"If I may be so frank, my lord?"

He waved his hand as a sign for him to continue.

"I fear you may be pressed to find some kind of occupation for him lest you want this to be a frequent occurrence. As long as he is meant to be in your service, I mean."

"I know. I am already thinking about it." He flashed him a bright smile. "That is exactly why you will put 'think of solutions' on the schedule. If he gets too restless before I find one, send him to the stables. He's good with horses."

"Shall I write down the issues you need to find them for, too?"

He smiled even brighter. "See? That is why you are in my service. You are very clever."

For a moment he thought, Jakub smiled, too. "Thank you, my lord." He surely had to be mistaken.

"Just do not put the names of my guests on it, if you please. Such a document would be very dangerous indeed."

He blinked. "I do not know the names of the witcher and the girl yet, my lord."

"Even better." He leaned back and folded his hands across his stomach. "Now go. I believe you've got a witcher to chastise."

Jakub looked very uneasy all of a sudden. "And the girl, my lord?"

Jaskier stood and straightened his doublet. "And the girl, indeed, Jakub. And the girl, indeed."

He made his way towards the door and was only stopped when Jakub said: "Your sword, my lord."

"Right!" He whirled around and took the offered weapon, tightening the belt. "I'm bad with new things, I'm sorry..."

"Always the same routine, Lord Julian," he said quietly and Jaskier half suspected that he wasn't supposed to hear that.

"Right," he answered cheerfully, "and I always forget." He was already out the door when he peeked his head back inside. "Don't forget the schedule," he reminded his manservant with a quick smile. "And the pacing witcher."

For the first time in a long while there was an odd little spring in his step when Jaskier walked. He even smiled at some of the servants, startling poor Marta that she dropped the pitcher of water she was carrying. When he apologised and bent to pick up the shards, she dropped the mop, too.

It was just his luck that that was the moment Józefa rushed along. "My darling sister," he jumped into her way, "how are you this morning?"

"I'm fine, Julek," she kissed him on the cheek lightly. "It seems you are, too."

"It seems, doesn't it?" He smiled at her. "Where are you going?"

She rolled her eyes. "What do you want?"

Jaskier gasped and clutched at his chest in mock hurt. "Why, can't a man not crave a simple conversation with his sister to wish her a good morning?"

"A different man, most certainly. You are not that kind of man. So?"

He smirked and batted his eyelashes at her. "Will you do me a favour?"

"Depends," she crossed her arms. "What's in it for me?"

"You get to spend more time with our lovely young guest, uh-"

"Fiona?" she supplied.

"Fiona! That's good! Show her around the castle, will you? The stables, the gardens, the library. Find out what she likes."

"I will. Will you tell me who she is in turn?"

Jaskier laughed. "Most certainly. A hundred different stories. Will you spread them for me?"

"I have already written Nadia and Irena about it; the word will be out in no time. You know they cannot keep their mouths shut. Will any of these stories be true?"

"Perhaps. Not a word about who she arrived with, I trust?"

She frowned. "What are you talking about? She arrived alone. The witcher isn't due to arrive until tomorrow."

"I do love you, Józia." He smiled and kissed her on the cheek, too. "Why have you never come to Oxenfurt? I am sure Dijkstra would be delighted to have you in his faculty."

"I would have. Alas, I think one runaway is enough for the family." She winked. "Off you go, brother, I'm sure you have a lot of things to do."

He groaned loudly. "Don't remind me..." Still he walked away, quickly bending out of the way of a servant. "See you at dinner," he called after her, "and keep Janina out of my hair for a few hours, will you?"

She laughed loudly. "I'll do my worst. Good day, my lord." And with that she had twirled around a corner and vanished.

Jaskier took his time to check upon the kitchens and the stables and his new horse, Pegasus. He was still small, hardly large enough to be ridden yet, but in a year or two he would make a very fine steed, he hoped. Not that he knew anything about horses but he trusted that he would be in good hands with his stablemaster Wiktor. He also informed the man that he could expect a very grumpy witcher to join him in the course of the day who he was advised to treat kindly.

"Why?" Wiktor asked distrustful. "Is he dangerous?"

Jaskier smiled brightly at that. "Not in the slightest. It is I who do not take kindly to insults made about my guests."

The old equerry shrugged. "As long as he's kind to the horses he won't find any trouble here."

"Good." He turned to leave. "Should there be trouble regardless, call for me if you will."

He grunted in reply. 'The two of them will get along very well,' he thought. He passed Cirilla and Józefa on his way inside and smiled and waved at them. When his sister signalled for him that Janina was nearby, he slipped away quickly.

When he shouldered the door to his study open, laden with an array of heavy tomes there was his schedule on his desk already. "Good man, Jakub," he muttered and began sorting through the books and sheets of parchments. Once satisfied he plopped down on his seat.

"Now, father," he murmured and pulled open the drawer of the desk, closely examining the writing utensils, "let's see what kind of semi-legal activities you were prepared for."

A fully developed plan had settled in his mind during the course of the morning. All that was needed now, was a tiny bit of forgery and they would be on their merry way. It should be done in no more than four hours - with some kind of allowance, he was a bit rusty after all.

He was just correcting the last few strokes on the fake latter he had written, when there were furious steps in the corridor. "Julian Alfred Pankratz!" The door flew open with a bang and nearly knocked an unspeakably ugly vase off its pedestal.

"Not the vase," Jaskier said emotionless, "Father loved it oh so much."

Janina ignored him completely as she stormed inside with swirling skirts. "What," she demanded and slammed her hands on his desk with just enough time for him to save his handiwork, "were you thinking?"

"Good day to you, too, dear sister," he said and blew the ink dry. "What has gotten into you?"

"You can't just order me to stay!"

He tapped the tip of his quill against his lip as if he were contemplating the issue. "In fact, I can." He pointed her quill at her. "I already have."

"I will not tolerate this! I refuse to live under the same roof as a mutant-"

He rolled his eyes as he tried to secure as many breakable objects on his desk as possible. "Here we go..."

"- who steals and eats children!" She grabbed a bar of seal wax and chucked it across the room. "I knew you were eccentric; I knew you travelled with one of them for two decades though I cannot fathom why, but bringing on here? Forcing me to share my home with him? A home you haven't even deigned to visit in the last quarter century? You are going too far, Julian!"

"Are you finished?"

"Finished?" she shouted. "I haven't even started yet!" Jaskier sighed and leaned his chin on his palm. That could take a while. He suffered through her tirade dispassionately, trying to flesh out the last details of his plan while she raged on and on and on. He had long learned to stop listening to her rants. Until- "And the child!"

He sighed. "What about her?"

"Who is she even-"

"None of your business."

"-one of your bastards? Did you bed a monster to need a witcher to bring her here?"

He stood abruptly. "Janina, you go too far."

"No, Julian, you went too far! Twenty years ago, when you just vanished! And then you just show up again and get the title."

"I didn't want it!" he shouted back. "I still don't want it! It was what father wanted, not me. Do not confuse your anger at him with your anger at me!"

"You still took it!"

"Take it back once I am a dead, for all I care. But as long as I am breathing, I am the Lord of Lettenhove, whether we like it or not. When I tell you, you do not leave, you do not leave. Get it together, Janina. I will not have you insult my guests any longer."

She narrowed her eyes to slits and leaned in close. "I hate you," she hissed in his ear. Then, she whirled around and stalked from the room.

"Well, you're not my favourite sister at the moment either!" he called after her, though his voice was drowned out by the bang the door shut with.

With a sigh he sat back down and pulled his letters out again. It was not his best work, he had to admit, though anything he forged these days could hardly compare to what he had done during his time in Oxenfurt. He had memorised the handwriting of all of his classmates perfectly and of quite a few professors and nobles, too. That had been one of the reasons why Dijkstra had recruited him in the first place. Well, that and that there were not many people who were as reliable as him when it came to spreading as well as listening to rumours.

He was just dispassionately drawing a scrawly sketch by young 'Fiona' - always a nice touch - when the door flew open again. "You frighten Ciri with your shouting," Geralt growled.

Jaskier was very glad that an angry witcher had long lost its effect on him. "You frighten my people with your pacing," he shot back.

Geralt snarled. "I have stopped."

"Good," he answered and turned back to his sketch, purposefully smudging the lines. No child ever drew without smudging the lines. When the witcher was still in the door a few moments later he looked up again. "I have stopped shouting, too."

"Just... don't do it again!"

"I'm sorry," he said slowly and put his pencil down. "What did you just say?"

That gave him the opportunity to see something truly marvellous happen: for a moment he saw a witcher - oh no, not just any witcher, but Geralt of Rivia - pale. "Nothing."

"Interesting sounds you make when you say nothing."

"I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear?" Geralt's eyes darted around like a doe's before being shot. "Fuck, Jaskier, I can't read you anymore."

He allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. 'Good.' "I want another tone, witcher. You're forgetting who you're talking to. And I want you to never utter that name within these walls again."

"Jaskier?" He sounded confused. 'Poor man.' "It's your name, what else should I call you?"

"Oh? I thought I'd told you already. You may call me "my lord", here."

Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Jaskier could see how he was fighting with himself. "Forgive me, my lord," he said finally, "I did not mean to." He didn't clarify what he hadn't meant to but for the moment that was enough for Jaskier. "Is there anything else?"

"Come sit with me, witcher," Jaskier said and pointed to the chair opposite to him. "Time to tell you why you are here."

Begrudgingly he pushed away from the door and sat down across him. If he didn't know it any better, Jaskier could have sworn he was limping. "Why am I here then, my lord?"

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. "First things first: The girl you didn't arrive with is one my cousins."

"Cousin," Geralt deadpanned.

He waved his hand around. "Distant relative, I have a lot of them. You see, she normally lives with her family down in Verden but has recently been orphaned. And because I have such a soft heart, I have decided to take her in. I have visited my dear cousin Daniela not three years past and have become acquainted with the girl then. We have been in contact ever since I got here. Look, not three months ago Daniela even sent me a sketch Fiona had made!"

He held up the drawing he was working on and let Geralt scowl at it. "It's hideous."

He very nearly pouted. "Don't be mean, witcher. Cousin Fiona drew this!"

He sighed. "Fine. That's a good story but what if they discover you don't actually have a cousin named Fiona?"

"What do you mean? I actually do have a cousin Daniela in Verden! Well, did, she died in the cradle but that's the least of my problems." He turned the big tome he had been working on around. "Good thing Lettenhove uses the good parchment for the family records, eh? So easy to scratch one date off, replace it by another and add a new name. It's clear as day, witcher. The girl staying at my home is Fiona Nowak and no-one can doubt it. And we are all thrilled to have her here."

Geralt stared at the family tree and the letters in disbelief. "How did you..."

"I didn't attend Oxenfurt Academy for nothing, keep it up, witcher. Anyways, where was I?"

"You wanted to tell me what I am doing here."

"Why, you're just an old friend of mine, arriving tomorrow, by the way, enjoying my company and drowning your grief about your dead child surprise you never knew in my wine cellar while I comfort you with my ballads."

"Really?"

His expression grew serious once more. "No, witcher. My wine cellar is off limits. As are my ballads."

He nodded, looking over the letters again. "That is more than I hoped for, actually," Geralt confessed. "You do not have to keep us here. My lord."

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully. "I assume you had a destination with Cousin Fiona?"

He grunted.

"Words, witcher."

"Kaedwen."

He sighed. "And I assume it is not exactly near Montecalvo? Or Mirt? Or anywhere within a reasonable distance of here?"

"No, my lord."

"I didn't think so. So, your plan was to cross one mountain range travel through probably half of Kaedwen in what? One month before your wherever-you're-going becomes inaccessible due to the snow? The leaves start falling already. Normally you were nowhere to be seen by now."

Geralt blinked stupidly as if he was realising only now just how ridiculous that sounded.

"No, witcher, I think it is better for you to stay here for the winter and start out again come spring. So, you are not only staying a week. Which is why I need a good cover story to explain how my household has gained two new members."

He didn't reply to that for a while, just sat there and ducked his head. Then, very quietly: "Thank you, my lord."

"Do not thank me yet. Thank me once we have weathered this winter without being disturbed. I am a bit concerned about... some of the loyalties in my hose."

He snorted. "I noticed. It seems not all of your family are as inclined to my kind as you are."

"You'd do best to keep your ears to yourself here, witcher." Jaskier frowned. Of course, he should have thought of that before starting a screaming match with Janina. Well, he would have to remember for the future.

"I will. Though if you ever needed someone to talk to, my lord-"

"I will certainly not call upon you." That hurt. He could see it in Geralt's eyes. 'Not as much as the mountain, I bet.'

The witcher wrinkled his nose in disgust, grossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

Jaskier did his best to turn back to the letters, he still had to age them after all, but his skin prickled under the intense stare of his former friend. "What?" he snapped after a short while.

Geralt raised an eyebrow in answer.

"There's something bothering you, I can sense it. Out with it. Now."

He sighed and leaned forward. "Where are all the people, my lord?"

"What people?" He scoffed. "I'm just a viscount, witcher. And although I might be famous for my life before returning to my rightful place, we do not entertain big courts. The biggest thing that happens here is the annual fair. Then people from my other two villages and a few in the area come here to get drunk and leave again a week later."

"You're still rich, though. I expected-"

"What?"

"- a bard, maybe?"

"Why would I be in need of a bard?"

"Some friends from Oxenfurt, then?"

"I appear to have lost them when I took to the Path for a quarter century."

"You have two other sisters-"

"Married."

"Nieces and nephews-"

"Too young."

"Cousins-!"

"Stop it!"

"You're evading my questions, bard."

"And you're overstepping your boundaries," he hissed. "I am no bard anymore. Back off, witcher!"

Something changed in Geralt's expression. A tiny part that had been soft, hardened once more. "Right..." he said quietly. "In that case, my lord, forgive me."

"Leave," Jaskier ordered icily.

"Jas- my lord-" Geralt started but he didn't even let him finish: "I don't care, I tell you to leave, you leave."

He got up with a quiet sigh. "Sure. Whatever my lord commands." The door still shut behind him with a bang.

“If all of you,” he shouted after him, “could stop abusing my poor doorframes, it would be greatly appreciated!”

The door opened again and Jakub peered inside. “Is something the matter, my lord?”

“No,” he huffed as he collected the letters. “Everything is going just peachy. Why wouldn’t it be with my witcher-hating sister – who also hates me by the way – a witcher, his- charge and everyone else in my household who dislikes me for some reason or another!”

He blinked, obviously overwhelmed with the burst of words of his lord. “My lord?”

He sighed and rubbed his temples. “Just forget it. Find out if the witcher's injured. Once you have an answer, come to me at once."

He bowed quickly. “Of course, my lord.”

And with that he brushed past him out of the study, armed with letters and family tree alike, looking for his sisters. The viscount had news to deliver.

#my writing #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #the witcher #geraskier fanfiction #of witchers bards and broken hearts #OWBABH

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fandomsofafeather · 3 years

Text

Save Me From The Dark

Supernatural reversal!au

Angelic!dean

Human!cas

CHAPTER 1: DEATH'S DOOR

Introduction:

It's been months...

I can't take this life anymore...

I've given too much...

I'm sorry...

Castiel Novak the righteous man is the one to be the true sword. A vessel of sorts and he doesn't know it yet but he's in for an eye opening experience. His brother is the rebel of the two not always following familial orders from their father, and Balthazar is a loose cannon in certain situations.

Per usual they are traveling the states far and wide to a job and just waiting for something to strike. Feeling the sense of hunger kicking in for both

of the brothers they stop at a tiny restaurant in the middle of nowhere. Balthazar, "I'll grab food just keep the car warm". Cas nods slightly to balthazar hardly paying attention and listening to the hum of the radio. It takes a minute for castiel to realize his brother has completely disappeared. He gets out of the car and frantically goes into the restaurant to find defiled and dead employee's.

Cas, “son of a b-” BALTHAZAR!! WHERE ARE YOU!? He pulls his gun out as a precaution. He searches the place inside and out but his brother is long gone. He gets back into the car and drives immediately to Raphael's place.

He shows up in distress and Raphael is reading up on some lore as cas busts in like a bat out of the belfry tower.

Raph! I need your help, Balthazar is missing and there was sulfur so I'm thinking demons took him. Calmly Raphael replies, "what do you need Castiel? What do you mean demons took your brother? What could he possibly be needed for?" Cas, "I need a tracking spell maybe I can find him that way." Alright, I'll see what I can find and Castiel we will find him I promise you.

Balthazar wakes up in an abandoned town, now very acutely aware of the situation and is on high alert. Hello!? Is anyone out there!? No response for now but he reaches for his gun and it's gone. Damn, he says and marches out in search of someone, anyone. It takes a while but finally a noise is heard.

Balthazar, "HEY! WHO'S THERE? A timid and scared voice answers. They sound hurt as well, hello..? I need help, I'm hurt pretty badly... Balthazar now calmly goes into the building to find a short, light brown hair, pale from blood loss. M-my name is Nazeren I've been trapped here for months.

My name is Balthazar now softer in tone, hey tell me what hurts I can maybe patch you up just enough. I've lost a lot of blood, I think it's my leg and it's a pretty deep cut. I'll need stitches. Balthazar quickly works on the injury gathering enough material to make a tourniquet to stop the blood and maybe save this girl's life. Nazarene, "Wow I-I didn't know I'd be getting a doctor's worth of treatment." Balthazar, "I'm no doctor kid I just know how to make things work."

Castiel and Raphael finally figured out a tracking spell and were able to locate within a thousand miles. They notice a pattern of old churches and railways. Castiel, "a devils trap seriously? What are they trying to keep in?"

He thinks to himself quiet, and then it hits him. They are trying to keep in the gates of hell these churches were built way back when holy! Samuel Winchester was the most famous hunter of his time and he was so good at what he did he was able to retire out of life along with trading off his most prized possession...the colt it was the master piece of equipment. It's bullets would kill anything and everything.

Raphael takes a deep breath, "We've still got over a thousand miles of ground to cover." Cas, "we'll split up, I'll start at the center you take the outer portion and we will meet in the middle." Raphael, "What happens if we get cut off from each other or worse?" We need to prepare ourselves this is bigger than the three of us". Hell if your father knew you were going after demons he'd be pissed. Castiel, "your point? They have my brother!" I have to do this and I don't care if it kills us both at least we went down swinging!

Raphael sighs knowing there won't be a way to calm Castiel until his brother is found and he gathers up as much holy water and even makes a recorded exorcism on his phone just in case. Balthazar now carrying the woman to a more secure place in the abandoned town he notices an old church off in the distance and the cemetery to boot. "What are you looking for?" Nazarene asks.

"I'm looking for iron, maybe a safe space so I can maybe find some thread may not be the freshest thing in the world but at least your leg will be stitched up, and maybe we can get outta here, just bare with me for the moment kid," he says just barely listening as he heads over to the church and while noting the cemetery and spots a huge crypt in the middle and a devils trap on the door.

"Oh no", now realizing what that crypt is and why he's here with Nazarene "Kid we are screwed". Nazarene, "well obviously" she smiles and now out of Balthazar's arms. She's standing like nothing's wrong. Nazeren, "did you really think that I was here for the good of my health" she says as she pulls out a gun. It looks old 1800's almost and it doesn't help that it looks like the key to that crypt either. Balthazar, "Damn it and I thought it was going to be just fine, I'll help the girl and maybe get out of here but nope." Nazarene cocks the gun and points it at Balthazar.

"Well pretty boy let's get this gate open and let some demons out to play!" she sneers. She quickly runs to the crypt's door and sticks the gun in and Balthazar is hot on her heels and tackles her to the ground. Clanking and whirring can be heard from the door. "Hell on earth!" Nazarene smiles sinisterly. Balthazar rushes to get the gun. Finally, showing up to the party Castiel and Raphael just in time to see the gates to hell open.

Castiel, "WE GOTTA GET THIS CLOSED NOW!!" the wind howling as hundreds of demons escape. All three of them rush to shut the doors. They manage to shut them, Castiel pulls the colt from the door and notices it's cocked, he shoots Nazeren and they take off with the colt.

Balthazar, "Nice timing brother but how the hell are we going to clean up this mess?" Castiel replies, "I don't know I just know we need to get outta here, ya got that?" Raphael, "I'm glad your ok Balthazar and Castiel we are going to be in so much trouble." They get back and there waiting is Castiel and Balthazar's father Chuck.

"Where have you three been?" He asks calmly. Uh nowhere, I was working a job, and I was picking up supplies. Hoping that would satisfy their father and ease him into accepting that but he doesn't. Chuck, "liars" as his eyes flick yellow and a smirk is wide on his face. Castiel quickly cocks the gun again and aims it at their father. Balthazar speaks up in a stern and cold tone "what do you want?"

Chuck, "all I want is for our leader to play his part ya know and do something great! Ya know it's funny to me when I found out about you two, the boring brothers who will risk it all for each other." Well I'm not gonna stand around and wait for something to happen I'm gonna take matters into my own hands. Suddenly a swift and loud crack is heard by balthazar and castiel. It sounds like bones being broken and immediately Raphael drops to the floor and so does Balthazar. Castiel, "NO!" he says as it falls on deaf ears and then the demon leaves as chuck drops to the floor as well.

Castiel waits a few months and then finally makes the call to go to the crossroads. Broken and beaten cas waits for a demon to come and finally one shows. "Who dare summon me and for what reason?" The demon is stuck in a devils trap. "Aww look what the cat dragged in," the demon almost mocking Castiel. "I wanna make a deal," he says, desperate and tired. Really a hunter making a deal that's just pathetic but fine I'll bring' em back but you screw with the deal they drop. Also you get six months that's it and you go to hell. Hope what your after is worth all this.

Castiel, "deal."

#jensen ackles #dean winchester #misha collins #castiel #destiel #supernatural #reversal

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i-growl-growl-growl · 5 years

Note

OMG OMG OMG OMG ur doing yandere now! Could I pls have a NCT yandere of their s/o trying to escape them? pretty pls with cherries on top! I love you so much!

Wow. OK. I uh…….. I…….was unaware that the yandere-verse fans would come for me so quickly. Dang!

Well, I guess I’ll get started on this for you.

Just be aware that some reactions are extremely short while others are longer in length, also also, I’m not a yandere au expert so some reactions may push the boundaries of Yandere…… or maybe I’m just being paranoid.

I did NCT ot21.

Hope this lives up to your expectations.

~Savie

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WARNING: If you’re sensitive to yandere, stalker, kidnapper themed scenarios/reactions then DO NOT read this reaction thread.

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Taeil: He can sense your intentions to escape before you even know that you have them yourself. Any time he senses something remotely off key in your guys relationship he’ll bring it to your attention and remind you that he’s the only one who loves you and doesn’t want to hurt you. He’ll tell you that he’s the only one who can protect you from all the evils of this world and if that isn’t enough to get you to stay and obey him then he’s got a trusty shock collar and long chain that he can bind you with to keep you from leaving or making too much of a fuss.

“I don’t want anyone or anything to happen to you baby, please stay with me. If you choose to be a brat then I’ll have no choice but to force you to stay with me”

Taeyong: This man will build a fortress if he has to to ensure you can’t escape from him. He’s smart and he’ll think of any possibly scenario that could play out before he even approaches you. He might give off too strong of a vibe for you to be comfortable around him? That’s OK, he knows how to play cute and innocent for you. You might hesitate in agreeing to being in a relationship with him? That’s OK, he can just manipulate you into believing that no one else would ever want to date you. You might find out about his obsession over you and try to leave? Nope! Not on his watch! He’ll just have to lock you up in one of the rooms that has no windows and can’t be unlocked without a scanner card or code lock.

There’s no way for you to escape from him, mentally or physically. Before you know it, he’ll have every part of you wrapped around his finger, completely dependent on him for survival.

Johnny: You wouldn’t even have a chance to escape from Johnny no matter how much you wanted to. He’d make sure that you never left his sight from the moment you fell for his trap and started a relationship with him. Even if it meant that he’d have to follow you into the restroom, he wouldn’t allow you to leave his sight.

Sorry sweetie, but you’re SOL if Yandere Johnny sets his sights on you.

Yuta: “no no no sweetie pie, you can’t leave me that easy. If you don’t want to be punished more than you already will be then I suggest you turn your butt around and head back home. Actually, why don’t you come with me, we’d get there such much sooner if we both just ride back in my car. I wouldn’t want to risk you running away any further if I drove home on my own.”

Kun: Kun was right in front of you before you even knew it. For a moment it seemed that you would actually succeed in escaping as you ran down a long, windy road that lead back to civilization after escaping from the house he’d been keeping you hostage in but, unfortunately, you had chosen to escape while Kun was just taking a long stroll.

He was able to notice your running figure approaching him as he began walking back home. He wouldn’t panic upon seeing your escaped figure because he knew that there was still quite a ways to go before you’d hit civilization even if you managed to get past him (which wouldn’t be possible).

He continued to walk towards you at a steady pace as your figure came closer and closer, still at a full sprint since it seemed as though you had failed to realize that the man you thought was going to be your savior was actually your captor all along. Once you were close enough to realize that you weren’t saved but, instead, were face to face with your ‘boyfriend’, your legs gave way and you began screaming for any help possible as you kneeled on the pavement with exhaustion and fright, tears streaming down your face.

“Hey there darling, glad you decided to join me on my daily stroll. You must be exhausted from all that running to catch up with me. Let’s get you off the ground and get you back home, this is more exercise for you than you’ve had in quite a while, we wouldn’t want to push you past your limits too fast now would we? Oh C’mon now, there’s no need to cry, I’m here now. You managed to catch up to me. Everything’s OK so wipe away those tears OK”

Doyoung: Today was your chance to escape, your boyfriend-turned-captor had finally left you alone after so long of being pent up in this apartment with him always by your side. He’d left to go get groceries since supplies had been running low recently.

You’d be reaching for the door knob to the front door of your shared apartment with nerve-racking chills pulsating through your body at the thought of being caught. This has been the closest to the door you have ever been since Doyoung brought you here and has held you hostage. You imagine all the times that he’s told you that he’s doing this for your own good, that the outside world is too dangerous for you, that there are people who want to steal you away from him as your hand grasps the door knob and begins to slowly twist it open. Most people would be in a rush to escape but the overwhelming sense of anxiety washing over you was telling you that this all seemed too easy and that something, or someone, could be right behind the other side of this door- preventing you from seeking your freedom.

You’d come to far to turn back now, besides, who knew when you’r next chance to escape would be? It was now or never, if you don’t leave now then you may end up being stuck here with Doyoung forever.

Once the door knob has been twisted completely open, you prepare to dash out of the door once you manage to calm yourself down a bit. Low and behold, your paranoia had been right. Upon opening the door you only manage to take a few steps out the door before you’re being held up, held up by no other than Doyoung himself with a large gun aiming straight at your chest.

No no no, of course he wouldn’t actually shoot you, even if he would- fortunately for you-this gun is unloaded- but you were’t aware of that and he knows it. He wouldn’t say anything as he tilts his head, placing his finger around the trigger. “I suggest you get inside sweetheart, I’d hate for you to get hurt.”

A cold sweet would break out over your body at his stern voice that was filled with warning. All you could do was begin taking steps back while keeping your eyes trained on the gun being pointed at you. “That’s right darling, keep going, get back inside where it’s safe.”

He’d follow you into the apartment until you were in his bedroom before putting the gun down. “I’ll go and get the groceries later. First I should punish you for being such a bad baby.”

Ten: hoooooooo hooooo, god forbid anyone try to escape from ten, they’d be regretting it forever!

Lucky for him, Ten knows he has a charm like no other, one that has you stopping in your tracks and staring into those deep, dark brown eyes of his, getting lost in the beauty of them. Those eyes, along with his sweet voice, can hypnotize you into doing anything he wants, even obeying to go through any punishment that he sees fit to teach you a lesson.

So, when you decide you couldn’t be with him after finding his hidden shrine filled with photos of you that he’s taken over the years (the years before you even knew him) as well as some of your clothes and trinkets that had gone missing laying at the bottom of the shrine, you’d run to your room and pack a bag of clothes. When he’d get home and find you in the midst of your packing he’d ask what was going on an get an answer he’d hoped he’d never hear.

He wouldn’t panic because, as mentioned, he has his hypnotic charms and can easily have you unpacking your bag and laying on the bed in wait for him to come and punish you without you being consciously aware of it until its too late for you.

“You won’t leave me. You can’t leave me. No one can. You belong to me. I won’t let you leave. now unpack you bag and lay down before you get hurt.”

Jaehyun: He had been reading the emails and texts that you had been sending to your friend who had agreed to put in a good word for you at the business that they worked at (which just so happened to be a rival business of Jaehyun’s.)

Let’s just say that these emails and texts did not make Jaehyun happy in the slightest. What made it even worse is that you had sent the emails through the office computers while using your office email so he was able to monitor not only who you were sending the emails to and what the emails consisted of but, also, he could tell that you were planning this while you were supposed to be working.

He’d call you into his office immediately and have a long talk with you about how unprofessional you had been and how you owe him by staying in his company AND by going on a date with him.

“All this time I thought you were my best employee, turns out you’re nothing but a slacking backstabber. Here’s the deal, I’ll forgive you for being so unprofessional if you agree to stop this nonsense and stay with my company. You’ll also have to be at my beck and call whenever I wish, however I wish. If you disagree to these terms then I’ll send in a report to any company that you dare to apply for telling them that you steal corporate fundings and slack off on the job. You wouldn’t want anyone believing that you’re that bad of an employee would you? No? Good. Glad we could sort this out. I’ll see you for our first date tonight after my shift.”

WinWin: tears would be streaming down your face as you fought against the rope wrapped around your hands. A long section of it was being used as a leash to lead you back to the room that you had just escaped from.

WinWin was obviously at the other end of the rope, tugging it harshly to get you back into the room. It was shocking how much he seemed to be enjoying this. He didn’t seem mad at all that you had just tried to escape in fact he seemed happy about it. A big smile was plastered on his face as he continued to drag you back into the white room that had come to be your personal hell ever since the bubbly “innocent” boy had first trapped you here.

“C’mon y/n! c’mon back to your room where you belong. Don’t you miss it?”

Jungwoo: Jungwoo is such a clingy person, good luck to anyone who wants to escape from him. The only way to escape from him is if you find a way to kill him then pry his dead hands away from you.

“I love you y/n. I want to hug you and feel your warmth forever! Lets be together forever OK?”

Lucas: you knew you were screwed as soon as you saw the look on Lucas’ face when he found you just hours after your escape.

“well well well my pretty, someone has been very naughty haven’t they? Play time is over, no more Hide N’ Seek for you. Lets get you back home so that I can teach you a lesson about how to behave hm.”

Mark: “I can’t say that I’m surprised about this y/n. I always had a feeling that you were lying about reciprocating the feelings that I have for you. No worries though, after I teach you a lesson you’ll know better than to hurt me like this ever again. Now, if you don’t want this to be so painful I’d suggest staying still otherwise I may end up braking more bones than I intend to.”

Xiaojun: “here’s the deal y/n, I’ll lessen your punishment for trying to leave me but only if you get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness and tell me why you’d try to leave me. I don’t deserve this. I’ve been nothing but kind to you. I’ve done nothing but love you. How dare you try and rip my heart out of my chest as if our relationship means nothing. Start begging!”

Hendery: “hey babe, where do you think you’re going? Oh, you thought you could escape? Well, I’ve got some news for you.”

Renjun: He was less than impressed to come home to an empty apartment. When he went to your room and saw that some of the drawers had been ransacked and a luggage case was missing he lost his mind! He’d scream out your name and go from door to door asking if any of his neighbors had seen you. With no trace of you left he knew that he’d have to start out with obvious places that you’d think to go and, if it turned out that you weren’t at any of those places, then he’d have to search high and low for you.

Renjun wouldn’t hesitate to tear down the city if he had to in order to find you and bring you back home.

Even if it took him months to find you again, he’d wouldn’t give up his search. He had to make sure that you were safe and that no one would hurt you or steal you away from him……….. maybe that had been what happened in the first place.

He’d begin to think that maybe someone had found you and wanted you for themselves so they found a way to sneak into his apartment and kidnap you from him.

A few months would go by with no trace of you when suddenly, he’d find a familiar figure sitting at a booth in a restaurant that he had decided to stop by to get some lunch. He’d take a better look at the figure and find out that it was you. You looked different since you had cut and dyed your hair but that didn’t bother him one bit. He had finally found you!

You’d feel an eerie presence all of a sudden as you sat at the dining table, waiting for your lunch to be delivered to you. After a figure approached you and stood at the end of your table, you decided to look up from your phone- imagining that it was the waiter who was here with your food. When you did look up from your phone what you saw wasn’t the waiter that you had been hoping for but rather your worst nightmare, Renjun.

You’d see him staring down at your frightened self with a blank look before a smile would swipe across his face and he’d wave at you.

“Hey babe! Long time no see huh!? I hope you don’t mind if I sit here with you…. well of course you wouldn’t I’m your boyfriend after all lol .So, what have you been doing all this time? Why haven’t you called me? Haven’t you known how worried I was about you? I’ve missed you so much! I can’t wait for us to catch up during lunch then head home. Home hasn’t been the same with out you. Oh, speaking of home not being the same, I’ve made some adjustments to it that I thought would be necessary for when you return home. I’m sure you’ll like them. You’ll feel much safer than you did before and no one will be able to steal you away again. What?…. What’s wrong? Why are you shaking so much? Are you scare?….. Oh no no no, that can’t be it. You’re probably just so happy to see me again that you’re getting emotional. Yeah, that must be it. Well, no worries, I’m happy to see you again to.”

Jeno: “an eye for an eye y/n. You keep trying to leave me so all I can do is keep finding ways to prevent you from doing that. All I want is your love. Is that too much to ask for? I love you, why can’t you just love me back. Can’t you see that punishing you hurts me as much as it hurts you? I don’t want to do any of this to you. I want us to be happy together.”

Haechan: high or low, near or far, sun or snow. No matter what, no matter where, no matter when, Haechan will never be far behind you. The love he has for you will never end and it will always lead him to you. You’ll never be able to completely escape. It like there’s a tracker planted in you or something, he always manages to find you any time you try to get away from him. Yandere Haechan is no joke! He’ll track you down until you give up and agree to be with him and never leave him.

Jaemin: He had known what you were planning on doing because he had been secretly reading the messages on your phone that you’d been send to your family for the past three weeks.

Obviously, your plans to escape wouldn’t fly with him. One night you’d fall asleep in his arms, everything seeming to be going normal, but the next morning you’d wake up to find a long chain wrapped around one of your feet with the other end being locked around leg of your bed.

You’d look over to Jaemin’s side of the bed and see him holding your phone in his hand. He’d look at you, seemingly upset, before telling you that you weren’t going anywhere as he sat up on the edge of the bed, ruffled his hair, then pulled out a hammer from the drawer next to him and smashed your phone to pieces.

“I told your family that we talked things over and everything is fine so don’t expect anyone to come looking for you anytime soon.”

YangYang: He’d be less than impressed with your attempts to escape. Each time you tried his punishments would get worse. Eventually he’d lock you away in a dark, soundproof room with no windows or furniture other than a mattress for you to sleep on. There wouldn’t be a blanket since you’d be trapped in a straitjacket that he had somehow gotten his hands on. He’d leave you in there for a few days to think about what you’d done before you’d get any form of human interaction, food or light.

Chenle: He’d block the doorway as you tried to get away, essentially rendering your attempt to escape futile.

You’d stop dead in your tracks and immediately begin to beg for mercy upon seeing the evil glare that he was sending your way. You may even try running back to the room he’d been keeping you hostage in for the past week in hopes that he’d drop it and not punish you, but ohhhhhhh would he still punish you.

“I’ve been nothing but kind to you, I’ve done nothing but love you and this is how you want to repay me?! By running away! Oh no cupcake, that’s not happening on my watch!”

Jisung: Jisung would stand over your unconscious body as he catches his breath from the long swim that he had just endured.

He had arrived back at the cabin he had bought for the two of you to find you swimming away, far off in the distance within the large lake that wasn’t too far from the house.

He’d drop everything he had and sprint into the lake, swimming as fast a he could to catch up to you and bring you back home before you’d possibly drown. Once he caught up to you he’d wrap his long arms around your body and try his best to tow you back to land. You’d struggle and scream at the top of your lungs as he succeeded. Once he got you back to land, he’d begin dragging you towards the cabin again, whispering sweet nothing into your ear in hopes that you’d calm down but you’d only fight against his hold even harder.

Before he could get you completely out of the water you’d manage to squirm you way up of his grasp. He’d try grabbing at you again but you’d run as best as you could in the other direction (back into the lake). You wouldn’t get far however because you’d end up tripping on a large submerged log and fall into the water, your head hitting the rocks hard enough to knock you out.

He’d rush over to your unconscious body and heave it over his shoulders, carrying it as far back to land as he could before having to put you down so that he could catch his breathe. Once he did he’d pick you up again and take you inside, tying your unconscious form to the bed before he’d break down crying breathlessly.

“Why would you try to leave me y/n? I thought we loved each other? Have I ot been showing you enough love? Why would you do this?”

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itssamanthaa · 5 years

Text

About Johnny’s Abuse Claims.

(Excuse the profanity, but I’ve lost my patience)

Seriously, fuck anyone who is dismissing Johnny’s evidence of being abused by Amber Heard as "they were both abusive."

Fuck anyone saying "we don’t know everything" and "I won’t take any screenshots or statement seriously until there’s a court verdict."

And fuck EVERYONE that is trying to say "of course when it’s a man, he’s blindly believed."

Amber was believed from day one! No one bothered to look into it more. No one questioned why her stories didn’t make sense. NO ONE listened to his side.

Amber’s Side:

•amber sold her photos to a magazine/ there was no metadata (time stamps) for the photos

•her "bruises" were in impossible shapes and places for what she claimed caused them, there wasn’t swelling around her eye!!

•her "bruising" moved and disappeared. First it was a (impossibly straight) red line next to her eye, six days later there was a brown bruise (aka pimple) on her cheek. Those photos where it looked dark under her eyes...same bruising seen with nose jobs

•her only witnesses were her best friends that had conflicting stories (one of which bailed on her already) and his ex managers he was suing

•the police officers reporting that night saw NO signs of an altercation, she refused to file a report (they’re also in Johnny’s witness list), she claimed those pictures were taken before the police came-why weren’t they seen?

•building employees and tenants saw her multiple times that week with no makeup and no bruises

•she claims they made a nickname for his 'alter ego'? Sure Jan.

•she was terrified of him but still had the guts to 'playfully' hit him in the Overhallin episode

•the video-highly edited and shows her purposely edging him on. It is also illegal to film someone without their consent...so it wasn’t even admissible to court

•she sent an extortion letter literally saying she would go to the media with claims if he didn’t give her spousal support, cars, etc. He knew she would do this and let her.

•she refused to sit for her deposition three times until she had no choice

•she dropped the case with prejudice and hired a criminal defense attorney

Johnny’s Side:

•she punched him in the face because he was late to her birthday party and threw his phone off the balcony

•she threw a glass bottle at him and it broke his finger to the point of it needing to be completely stitched back together! And no, she wasn’t away filming-she filmed her role in Danish Girl on Feb 27 (she wasn’t seen in London again until March 30) 2015.

•his body guards said she had to be pulled off of him repeatedly because she would throw things and charge at him in anger!

•his friends all said they witnessed her manipulate him and he was too in love with her to end the relationship

•his appearance changed drastically during their relationship. Hello? That’s the biggest sign of abusive relationships. Weight gain! Looked sick and unhealthy! Didn’t care for his appearance!! Oh but noooo, he just suddenly started drinking heavily out of nowhere. Riiight.

•he has nearly 20 impartial witnesses (including police) saying they saw amber without bruises and she acted strangely

•he has 87 survaliance videos from the building they lived in to show her out and about without any injuries

•he has photographs of his injuries (plus metadata) and medical records

•he has text messages between amber and her makeup artist

•he has her deposition with an admission from 2016 -> in fact, his 30+ pages of court documents are from 2016

•he’s going through the legal system to get justice instead of running to the media

•he always denied her claims, she has not denied his. He is suing her for defamation for using abuse claims to ruin his career and advance hers. She has a previous arrest for domestic violence against her ex wife.

After reading all this (and hopefully researching) and you still think what I brought up at the beginning...wow.

You CAN NOT go onto these support threads and say that shit if you didn’t give Amber the same treatment. She was immediately believed. There’s a difference between being cautious and just being in denial.

And if I see one person come on here saying "but TMZ reported amber saying this, this, and this" leave. This post isn’t for you.

Sorry, I’m done ranting now ✌🏻

https://www.courthousenews.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/DeppHeard.pdf

#johnny depp

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hillywooddestiel · 5 years

Text

The Retreat Chapter 18

Characters: CEO!Bucky x reader, Caroline, Natasha

Warnings: Angst, lots and lots of angst, this one might hurt a bit

Word count: 1.8k

Description: Y/N Y/L/N: determined business woman, sought after by most businesses, creative visionary for advertising. She has it all. Or so she thinks. Life has a way of kicking you sideways when you least expect it, want it or are in anyway prepared for it. Numerous times. How can Y/N remain from cracking under the pressure when her career isn’t the only thing on the line and everything isn’t all that it seems?

A/N: This one is a painful chapter, nothing really good happens, I’ll tell you now. It’s NOT happy! So enjoy, sort of xx Series Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

Story:

Bucky’s POV

“Caroline…” I moan her name, forgetting where I am and what’s going on for merely a moment. What am I doing? I have Y/N, what am I doing screwing that up? “Caroline, stop. Stop!”

“What’s wrong, Juju?” Caroline snakes one hand to the nape of my neck, threading her fingers through my hair. This was one of her favourite manipulative moves when we were together if I said no to something she really wanted and I’m ashamed to admit it worked more often than not.

“I said stop, Caroline. I’ve moved on and so should you.” I step back from her cloud of perfume to try and clear my head. She is one manipulative, sly, intoxicating, suffocating woman. Not a day goes by that it doesn’t baffle me I ever thought I loved her- enough to want to marry her!

“Moved on? Darling, could you really let me go so easily? Because I doubt it.”

“Well I have. So you need to get over this, us, and accept it because…”

“Because what, Juju?”

“Because I love her.” Wow, didn’t expect that to come out. I love her. I love Y/N. Caroline looks taken aback by my sudden confession, a sour glare in her unblinking eyes like I just said the worst thing she could ever hear.

“You love her… Who is she?” her voice has gotten lower and I notice her fists are clenched so tightly they’re turning white. She seems almost dangerous in this state. I have, in the past, seen just how bad her temper can get and it is not something I wish to see again (not to say I don’t have a few anger issues myself sometimes). We went jewellery shopping and they didn’t have the necklace that she wanted. The screaming tantrum that both myself and the store clerk had to endure was ear piercing and so offensive to the point I tipped the poor man for his patience with her.

“It’s none of your business who she is. Goodbye Caroline.” I nod my head before backing out of the gardens and going back to the benefit- I think it’s time Y/N heard my confession too.

Everyone is considerably more drunk than when I headed outside; Steve is actually stumbling around the dancefloor and he is no lightweight. Wanda and Vis are getting along swimmingly which is good to see since I’ve been rooting for the pair since she pulled out his name for secret santa. Natasha is the only person sat on their own but I assume Clint will return soon. And Y/N is nowhere to be seen- she must have just gone to the bar or something.

“What’s wrong Barnes, you look a little lost there.” Nat asks with a mysterious smile, like she knows a secret and wants you to ask about it.

“Have you seen Y/N?” I ask back, scanning the crowd by the bar and not seeing the eye-catching red of her dress.

“I have. Is there something going on there between the two of you? You were looking quite… close earlier.” She’s very wise with her words, is Natasha. But I do not have time for this right now.

“None of your business Romanoff! Where did she go?”

“Ugh, you’re no fun. She left in a hurry about two minutes ago, looked pretty upset too. I asked her what was wrong and she told me to bite her so someone clearly pissed her off. Wasn’t you, was it?” she laughs, her evening’s alcohol intake boosting her playful mood. She can keep wondering for now. I stride quickly to the front doors and out into the cool evening air, most of the press having cleared their cameras and left. There are a few smokers hanging around and a couple of other people dotted along the street waiting for taxis and limousines. None of them I recognise as Y/N. She must have caught a driver’s attention already. Damn! Giving up quickly in my search thanks in part to the chilly breeze, I wander back inside to the table to finish the drink I forgot about when I spotted Caroline lurking in the corner. “No luck?”

“No. I must have just missed her. Did she say where she was going when she left?”

“Well I thought she’d gone looking for you earlier but then she ran back through nearly in tears. I didn’t want to get yelled at so I let her go. You know I don’t like getting involved in arguments.” Nat tells me before sipping on a fresh martini. She came looking for me? Surely she didn’t see me with Caroline. Oh God, she must have! I need to call her, now!

Y/N’s POV

I attack the punching bag so ferociously I feel like I could break it from it’s chain. A sheen of sweat has broken out across my skin and my muscles ache from the repetitive exercise but I can’t stop- I need to get all of this anger out of me and this is the healthy way to do it right?

“Do want to take a break?” Nat huffs from holding the bag for me, concern bringing her brows together in a frown.

“Nah, I’m good.” I pant, bracing my legs for the next set. She steps back from the bag before I can start and sits on the bench with her water bottle, gulping nearly half of it down in one, “Fine, we’ll take a break.” I stay stood, grabbing my own bottle from the floor.

“You okay?” Nat leans back on the wall, regarding me.

“Yeah, I’m not tired yet.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Damn, I’m not as good of a liar as I thought.

“I’m done with men. That’s all.” I punch the bag weakly, causing it to swing in the air. Nat laughs and sits forwards with her elbows resting on her knees.

“Men too? Just a few weeks ago you were giving me your power speech on how you’re completely done with women and never want to see boobs again unless they’re your own or in porn.”

“Okay, well clearly I was exaggerating about that part. I’m just done with dating and shall remain single forever.”

“Sure… who hurt you?”

“That guy that I decided to go for it with? I caught the douche getting with his ex.” I admit, leaving out all of the details.

“Really? What a dick. What did he say?”

“He doesn’t know I know. But he keeps calling and I never want to hear his stupid voice again.” That might be a little tricky with us literally working together but I can always get a new job. I saw Stark Industries was hiring.

“And you’re not even going to give him an explanation? Ruthless, I like it.” Nat stands back up, strapping her gloves on for her turn at punching. “What if he tries finding you in person to talk, what do you do then?”

“I… don’t know.” I’m going to have to face him. I’m going to have to face that cheater’s stupid fucking face and tell him it’s over. He may not even be sorry, he may fire me on the spot, he might try to lie his way out of it all. I just don’t know. I do know, however, that I’ll probably end up crying at work in front of everybody and everyone will find out we slept together and HR will get involved and it’ll turn into one big mess and I may never find work again and end up living with my parents-

“Y/N, breathe! You got stuck in your own head again.” Natasha runs up to me and grabs my hands, making over-exaggerated breathing motions until I stop hyperventilating. I have got to stop doing that.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I think you have a lot of thinking to do. On your own.”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

My arm muscles are so sore and my legs feel fuzzy when I finally flop onto my bed, home from the gym. I can still feel the pain from my morning hangover ebbing slowly away too. But none of it compares to pain I felt last night seeing Bucky with Caroline again, back with the woman he claimed to despise more than anyone on the planet (even more than Stark). Back with the woman that cheated on him for God knows how long with an intern from his own office. He’d seemed so genuine with me but I guess it was all an act of happiness until he could get back with her. Just the mere thought of him faking every smile, every moment with me, sends a sickening, twisting feeling through my heart and puts a bitter taste in my mouth. This stings much more than when India left, strangely- she just packed her things and called it quits. Bucky cheated. I don’t even know if any of our so-called relationship was real. I do know that I wish he would stop calling though. Letting my phone ring through, I stare blankly at my own reflection in my vanity mirror as I often like to do when my life is falling apart before me. He’ll leave a voicemail, adding to the 12 already in my inbox and the 26 texts I haven’t read and yet… I can’t bring myself to do the smart thing and block him. I’m about to step into the shower (yes, I don’t dare put one foot in the gym showers, bleh) when I see a different name brighten my screen- Steve. It could be baby news! Peggy was due a scan at some point and as it turns out, she was a few weeks further along than she thought. I quickly swipe to answer.

“Steve! Any news on Baby Rogers?”

“It’s not Steve, Ava, it’s me…” A deeper, pained voice informs me- Bucky. That sly bastard!

“What do you want?” I ask with such venom, I hope it comes across that way on his end.

“I wanted to see if you’re okay! You’ve not been answering your phone all day and you ran off last night. Where did you go?” He sounds upset. I hope he is.

“I went home. I saw you Bucky so don’t bother trying to deny it.”

“I… I didn’t-”

“You know what? I don’t want to do this right now.” I hang up and toss my phone on the bed. This shower better be a magic shower if it’s going to calm me down even a little after that.

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #ceo!bucky x reader #ceo!bucky #ceo!marvel #ceo!au #ceo!bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #marvel #mcu #marvel x reader #marvel x you #mcu au #marvel au #the retreat

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vacationcalendar · 3 years

Text

7/18/21

Good morning Max!

So.

We are steadfastly embarking here on a blogging journey only about 3 entire weeks after we had this fantastic idea. One might argue that a *start* to an endeavor can’t be steadfast; steadfast is a pace that is maintained over a period of time, it indicates a consistency that can’t be identified after mere seconds of typing. But I would argue that that steadfast pace is going a certain speed, and we as a society have a collective idea of how fast that speed is, whether we’ve ever said it out loud or not. And I believe it is that speed at which I am embarking. So there. You bear with me and try to visualize THAT idea, and I’ll try and learn more words so we don’t have to keep having these little thought experiments every paragraph or so.

OK GREAT! WE’RE OFF! I have literally taken two full length breaks since I’ve started writing this. Why was I so scared to get this thing started anyway? Writing comes so naturally to me, like breathing, or shitting. I can’t believe people actually get paid to do this.

Alright, in all honesty, I know this is going to be wildly difficult for me to do with any consistency at all, much less DAILY (good lord...). So in order to make this a more surmountable task, we are going to make the topics and form that the blog takes on a little more free flowing than I might initially want them to be. We don’t care how the river is shaped at this very moment, just so long as there is water flowing down it.

Here are some creative writing projects constantly hanging over my head that might just rear their ugly heads in some form or another during these posts: Comedy Sketches Stand-up bits Segments/ideas for my eternally unfinished novel Standalone essays that I think would work as a youtube video, because of course an introverted depressed guy who thinks he’s interesting in 2021 wants to have a youtube channel. Etc.(?)

There, I finished the list with etc., even though I had no more concrete ideas for creative writing projects. That makes the list instantly 300% more official, and doesn’t paint me as wildly unconfident in my own personality AT ALL. I did mention to my mother that I was working on assorted creative writing projects to keep busy, and she immediately asked, “Oh! Like a [auto]biography?”

She’s pretty confident that I’ve got a bestseller on my hands if I just recounted the sad and lonely details of my life up until this point. She also called it a biography as indicated in my direct quote there, and I tried to fix it in post like any good editor would. But now I’m noticing that “fixing” the quote to say autobiography like she *meant* to say changes the proper article before the word from “a” to “an,” and I have no idea what the protocol for that correction would be...

Maybe it’s [an auto]biography? An [auto]biography? Maybe it’s [an autobiography], but then it’s much less clear what my mother’s initial mistake in vocabulary was, and I don’t want to let her off the hook so easily. Maybe I google this later, if I can think of what the hell you would type into google to find an answer to this. I guess my point bringing this up at all, is maybe I do actually try and use this space occasionally for a journal. Wading through the slimy, fetid bog of my younger days sounds extremely unfun, and, to a point of contention with my well-meaning mother, distinctly unprofitable. But unpacking my current self’s thoughts onto this page periodically does actually sound nice.

And this is a trade secret between you and me (you’re the only one reading this Max, sorry), I think it would behoove you to include several autobiographical moments in your perpetually ethereal novel. You need all the cheat codes you can get to get this wretched thing off the ground. We should lock the name in on that sucker by the way, just to help save you some keystrokes at least. I know I wrote down ‘Elements of War’ a loooong time ago as a placeholder. And I can confirm as of Sunday, July 18 2021, I don’t like it. It’s no good. I look at other titles of other stories, looking for inspiration, and they all seem to work just fine for the story their attached to. Harry Potter is just the name of the main guy, and that worked INCREDIBLY well. “Harry Potter and the [insert magic themed adventure keywords here].” Foolproof.

The main problem I have with a title is simply the fact that I know so little about the contents of my book at this point. It stands to reason that the book should find a title for itself as part of the process of actually writing the book. Seeing the events transpire in the story from a bird’s eye view would give you just about everything you could possibly need to title your book. Choosing a title for a story BEFORE the story really exists feels a bit like working backwards, even though the title would technically be the first thing anyone reads. I guess I could see it plausibly being created in either order. You don’t necessarily need to know the entire story you are setting out to tell to understand the story you’ve shown up to tell. Breaking Bad ostensibly didn’t know many of the finer details of its story before Vince Gilligan picked its title. Hell, it didn’t know many of its details before literally airing on TV. And there was never any consideration of changing the title of the show retroactively, once the showrunners figured out the ending, right? Stories need a title. And I don’t think I’m making some irredeemable authorial error by picking out a title before getting too far into my story-writing process. Although I’m often reminded of the They Might be Giants song “Experimental Film” when I dream up things like titles or dramatic plot points or the like:

“I already know the ending, It’s the part that makes your face implode, I don’t know what makes your fact implode, But that’s the way the movie ends.”

We all want that awesome moment. We all want to create that life changing piece of art. But creating is hard, and dreaming is easy. Or rather, dreaming is natural. We all have a dream at night, we get one simply by virtue of being awake. Understanding the dream, communicating the dream is hard. Hell, communicating anything can be hard. Part of me thinks that creative project that will define my legacy (wow, try unpacking that sentence later buddy) will be an interview show where I work with my guest to try and manifest the story they dream of telling in there head, but have never tried to tell it. Tell me that’s not a million dollar idea! If Ira Glass announced that show next week and Barack Obama was his first guest, you better believe that thing’s taking off like the fucking Quinjet from the Avengers. But you wouldn’t even need a big celebrity guest! I believe that literally everyone has the ingredients of a completely unique story kicking around in their heads. And to conclude this thought, I will often times pretend I’m the guest on this podcast (of course it’s a podcast), and I’ll try to play out what that interview would sound like. And I’ll be honest, that show would need a VERY smart host to keep the flow going. And in my interview fantasy, I’m also the host; so it’s admittedly hard. I think the “Experimental Film” song would be the theme song for that show for SO MANY reasons.

Ok, I’ll be honest. I took yet another break in the middle of that last paragraph, and I may have lost the thread a teeny-tiny bit. So I’m going to try and finish out any relevant thoughts and then I’m going to do a hard break and just move on to a completely new thought.

I actually had an idea of what my (at least for now) title should be. ~The Franz Lion~ This is the name of the ship in the story that all the main characters travel on. This is the primary setting for the majority of AT LEAST the first series of events in the book. I imagine if my story moved far away from the boat, by that point I could that “Part 2,” or it could be like a whole second book. Like the first book is called The Franz Lion, but then a new book comes out and you find out the series is called like “The Greatest Windybilly”; and Book 2 is like “The Drowned.” I don’t know, and I don’t care at this moment. I just know that all signs point to “The Franz Lion” as a fine title for this book. I admittedly can see a world where it’s more of a phrase, like “Aboard the Franz Lion” or “Weaver and the Franz Lion”, but right now, I don’t see something like that being better than just “The Franz Lion”.

The Franz Lion is one of the VERY FEW things that I feel like I’ve hit a home run on. That to me is a fucking great name for a boat. It’s memorable, unique, easy to get on board with. I am aware that the boat from Legend of Zelda: Windwaker was named “the King of Red Lions”, so it’s not COMPLETELY unique. But I’m pretty confident that there is plenty of real estate in the Lions + Boats territory. So confident, in fact, that I’m locking that name in HARD. And then the name of the boat just works great as a title. Literally no one would be confused or lost or tempted to look too far into it. AND THEN, if they did look into it, I think there would be puh-lenty of symbolism and theming to pull out of the boat’s significance in the characters’ lives. And man, I know we talked about autobiographical elements, that’s unmistakable; which I am legitimately happy about. Fran Lyon was a HUGE figure in my life. Our relationship signified a change in my life that I literally was never able to come back from. And using that as inspiration for a ship that literally carries the main character away on a life-changing adventure seems like as great a place as any in trying to tell MY story. One day I can be Kurt Vonnegat-like good at writing stories, and I won’t have to borrow from real life to make convincing plots and characters, but for now this makes all the sense in the world to me. So, yeah, The Franz Lion. It exists in my head and one day it will exist on paper. And then I can die I guess. Wouldn’t that be nice? I look forward to trying to bring a teensy bit to you on your calendar here. Wish me luck!

----------------------------------------------------

Ok that was the break. This wasn’t THAT hard. Thank God. Cuz we have to do a lot more than this to be satisfied. We quit our job on my 30th birthday in part because the notion that I was missing the chance to do *this* was constantly gnawing at the back of our head. Honestly the fact that I literally forgot that this was the writing project I was supposed to be doing for like 18 days may just be a testament to how hard I had been trying to just read.

I bundled writing with reading when I decided that I needed to be writing more. I said, well writing IS reading, and I can’t just sit down and read for shit. So if I’m going to really put writing at the forefront of my brain, I’m going to have to read too, dammit. And then I tried to sit down and read for, no joke, 2 entire weeks. And it fucking killed me. Unbelievable. Unbelievable how hard it was to incorporate into my life. I still don’t get it. So I quit with the intention of picking up these habits. And then I would evaluate how fulfilling it all felt, before I continued onto my path of adult life. You know, working, trying to meet new people, idk what else.... etc. And now that I can confirm how hard it has been to really stick to this and grind out being creative, all I know at this point is I’m not ready to go back. I can tell I want to be more competent at all this before I can make an assessment on what role being creative will play for my future. Seemingly my whole life I have teetered back and forth between wanting to be creative and being too scared to really try, and wanting to have the full life that hard work gets you; you know, the life that society sculpts for you. A wife, kids, vacations, cooking, friends, parties, movies. It’s not a matter of figuring out how it all works, it’s just a matter of going out grinding it all out. Securing it all piece by piece by putting in the requisite work. It’s not easy, but it’s also not complicated. And I guess ultimately I like to think I’m not someone who’s afraid of hard work. But if I’m not afraid of hard work, then why have I not put in the work to secure a career or friends or a partner or physical fitness or anything? Because I don’t want to? Do I really not want to? Or maybe I AM afraid of hard work.

But let’s take a second to unpack that. I put in hard work at Olivia’s. I truly did. I worked hard enough there to qualify as working hard, period. And it felt good. I know this. I shouldn’t forget that. I worked hard, it wasn’t impossible; it wasn’t unsustainable. And it felt good. This is mostly why I tell myself I’m not afraid of hard work. Because it’s not some dark mysterious unknown entity. I’ve been on the other side of it now. It’s the main reason I didn’t think I HAD to be creative anymore. I’ve seen the whole path of hard work, and it actually looked traversable. I sometimes wonder if I had been so drawn to being creative because I was so afraid of travelling on the path of hard honest work. It would explain why it felt so good to actually work hard for once. It would explain why the idea of abandoning the creative path felt so good once I had it. I would imagine the idea of quitting “comedy” would be a pretty mournful one, to someone like me who had clung so desperately to that dream for so long. But it wasn’t. It was a relief in a way. To know that I didn’t have to pull out some wild success in this tumultuous field to be ok; it felt like taking off a heavy backpack. I just felt more capable, more free. The simple act of allowing myself to “quit” felt ok simply by virtue of spending years of my life thinking I couldn’t do ANYTHING, and that being creative was the only way to be ok with the prospect of being alive. Thinking about abandoning that dream told me I was more normal than I had managed to be for over a decade at this point. I looked up for the first time since I had been in college and had the thought that I could work hard and succeed, whatever that might mean. College was the place I first realized I was useless, and now Olivia’s was where I realized that that wasn’t true, I just wasn’t old enough yet. I am aging much slower than the average population; I haven’t exactly figure out why yet. But it’s clear that I am. And for better or worse, this is THE factor that has cast me aside from the le person. Figuring out why would be nice, but the truly important thing to do clearly is to use this to my advantage. Get my leg up the world with my unique vantage point. And as far as I can tell, in fact it seems quite obvious to me, my leg up is going to come from a creative outlet. A twenty year old having his 30th birthday is only going to have diminishing returns in the traditional American dream. It’s like getting paid 70% of what my peers are making. Part of me knows that even 70% of the full salary isn’t that bad. It’s plenty if you’re a hard worker and know how to live in the moment; but another part of me knows that only a fool should take less than he’s earned. I don’t actually know if I can make up all this time I’ve lost, being the proverbial time traveler that I am. I don’t know how on earth I would ACTUALLY go about recouping my salary back to its rightful 100%. I can’t manifest lifelong friends; I can’t rewrite my relationship to my parents and siblings; I can’t pick up 10+ years of romantic experiences from a youtube video. I could technically go back to college, but I don’t really want to. I only want to do that as much as I want to hop in a time machine and actually be the age I’m supposed to.

Now that I think about it, if there was a story about a man who accidentally travels to the future and the finds out the world moved on without him (I mean there is, it’s called Rip Van Winkle). Yeah, now that I think about it, my story is very similar to a Coma patient’s. I just seemingly was given less time than I was promised. And I have to deal with that. But, what I’m saying is, it stands to reason that if this WERE a story, that character wouldn’t shine under those circumstances. They would wilt. They would lament and diminish. Only the rarest and most inspiring would rise up and overcome their disadvantage. Because it is a disadvantage. It’s not a unique vantage point. It’s not a matter of optimism vs pessimism. The glass is not half-full or half-empty; it is considerably less full than halfway.

Right?

Hmm. What is my point here? I have suffered. Unequivocally. And to suffer is to be alive. Again, unequivocally. So maybe my time-travelling has actually gone the other way. I’ve lived far longer than the scant 30 years my birth certificate claims. It certainly feels like longer than 30 years, even though the activity log of my life would disagree. Maybe that’s it. I’ve replaced my life with dreams. I’ve suffered in places where I was meant to thrive. And in doing so I’ve gone far under my quota of accomplishments and memories, and gone far over my quota of misery and regrets. In that sense I’ve lived out less of my life that I was meant to in some ways and lived out substantially more of my life in other ways. And I can’t say that unhappy (or rather that I don’t love myself as I am), but I can see why I never ever heard anybody recommend living your life this way.

“I am young. I am old”

Why can’t I be the age I am? Why was that so hard to accomplish? What did I need to do to fix that? And why do people think I should enjoy my birthday? Can’t they see I’ve been time-traveling? This birthday was for someone else. I don’t actually know when my birthday is. I only know when it isn’t.

Now that I’ve thought about it, I think a time-traveler is a perfectly fine person to be a creative type. He might not be the smartest or the fastest, and he’ll never be the happiest; but it’s safe to say he cheated and got wiser than his peers will ever get a chance to. At least if he was paying attention he got wiser. We all know what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But then we all go spending our life trying to get stronger, and rarely do we ever get close enough to getting killed. So I have to show up like the man that survived the fatal disease, and got stronger than anyone should have to, without even really trying*.

Ok calling it here. Day 1 in the books. The daily blog is still at 100% completion rate! Nice

Love you, be good.

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austennerdita2533 · 6 years

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A/N: Here’s a Part 2 to my KC/Hades and Persephone drabble, “Fill Me with Your Kissing Death,” I wrote for AU week. It can be read as a standalone, but both parts/chapters are here under the title “Our Lips Are Raw with Petals and Pomegranate”:

(A03) (FFnet)

I’d also like to send a special shout out to the lovely Helen, @klarolinessecondbreakfast, because her stunning KC edit (here) reduced me to a flailing fangirl within seconds *cries: it’s so beautiful* and provided me with the inspiration to f i n a l l y finish this damn thing. And thanks to my beloved Sadie Sadie, @kickassfu, for listening to me bitch, moan, and complain about this story (and all of my writing) without cease.You ladies are the best!

Enjoy lovelies.

xx Ashlee Bree

Drain Me of This Blushing Neglect

Many eons ago, in a land rife with sharp, barbed edges which were thicker than mountain bone yet more slippery than a snake’s shedding skin, and throughout a kingdom forged out of tinted glass the color of dragon’s breath and oppressive temperature swings that clattered teeth or beaded flesh with sweat, a god-king paced the dim crooks and corridors of his home at all hours like a wraith. And like a wraith, he floated through his duties and demands. Lost to all dreams of delight.

It was during a time when loneliness still cracked hard along Klaus’s knuckles as well, charring blood between his bones until it drained into deeper pits of nothing because there was only empty air to hold, because there was only that whistling despondency around each muscle, around each tendon of his fists. It was in a moment, too, when midnight felt like a silk rope around his neck: exquisite in its strength and power to bind, but so tight he wanted to choke while his fingernails pried at the prickly coffin. Crying out for a rose-snowed droplet of life. Gasping for the swell of cerulean waves and dawn’s preening feathers.

As he skulked beneath the dense fog of another unbearable death-day one evening, however, a yellow daisy suddenly appeared like a vision to slip through the full but dark moon above his head. With naught but a single petal, it slithered open the center with a flawless vibrancy that made it impossible for him to blink. Eager, it seemed, to dig itself through the earth’s dirt and worms so it could wilt somewhere against the austere rock below, near his feet. Perhaps even die. For, there, in the Deadlands, the only water which existed came from tears which weren’t plucked—never plucked—but scratched from a cemetery of miserable, tormented, bloodshot eyes.

Klaus monitored the daisy’s progress with rapt attention. Curious, of course, but also flummoxed by the crumbling stones of the plum sky which fell to the ground like droplets of hail as the petal sliced its way inside. Humming vivid streaks of moisture atop blunt peaks and ashy ravines. And also illuminating the air with songbird waves that were slowly taking form. Down the center of the moon the flower cut with smooth purpose and precision, seeping into the Deadlands with a gush so it could unfurl all its spring curves before him like a million rays of honey slipping from a budded sheath.

It expanded toward him in silky green leaflets first, and in peachy feminine limbs second. Revealing to him, not a flower, but a garden of a woman not yet in full bloom. A sagacious, cheerful young woman, who, like him in a complementary way, was an outcast in a cosmos where multifaceted hopes or ambitions were stifled—blackened until they could no longer breathe. And yet…

The young maiden planted herself before him like a partially eclipsed tree: half shaded, half shining rays of gold.

“Sorry if the light stings a bit, but you’ll adjust to it in time. And to me,” she said, beaming. “My name’s Caroline, by the way.”

Like a perfectly off-kilter dichotomy, she then offered Klaus a sprite “hello” with no bow. Unafraid, it seemed, to match him eye-to-eye; nor to face him, toe-to-toe.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I thought it proper to introduce myself.” Caught off guard, all he could do was blink. “You know,” she added with a flippant hand gesture plus an anxious bounce of her toes, “since I’m to become queen and everything?”

“Truth be told, love,” he sighed and scratched the back of his neck, “I don’t recall placing an order to the Sky for a midnight bride, so I’m at a loss here. What are you saying? And how did you manage to squeak through the gates of my home without prior—ah, what’s the word?”

“Death?”

“I was going to say invitation,” he said with a twitch of his mouth, “but frankly…yes.”

“Oh, that.” Caroline rolled her eyes then snorted like the answer was obvious. “I came of my own volition, silly! I found and ate your lovely forbidden fruit.”

“You…you what!?”

“No need to pretend to be shocked or anything. That pomegranate was a devil to procure, sure, but not impossible by any means. (Personally, I think on some subconscious level, you hoped someone would find it and that’s why you didn’t obscure it from view completely.)”

“Besides,” she continued lightheartedly, “I was determined. I needed a new home where I could cultivate my extremes, and you…” she bit her lip, “well, you needed me.”

Klaus blanched for a second time, recovering only long enough to arch a brow at her.

“Don’t look at me like that. You do.” Caroline fixed him with a penetrating glance and crossed her arms. “You need me—I can feel it.”

Chuckling, Klaus mused over this last comment before billowing around her with an acute gaze so he could assess her, head-to-foot. He took in her green-thorned thumbs, her soil-hemmed gown, her hair woven through with dandelion weeds, and couldn’t help but think her an anomaly. A beautifully assertive and provoking anomaly, mind you, but an anomaly all the same.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” he said in reply, “but I assure you I require nothing and no one. I never have and I never will. Moreover, the absolute last thing I desire is a spring queen.” “In fact,” he added with an air of protracted arrogance and a voice which boomed with commanding certainty, “were I so inclined to choose a bride for myself at all—which I neither am nor plan to be (I prefer to rule alone, unchallenged, you see)—what makes you think I’d dare to select one as fresh or as perky as you are, hmm?”

“Wow. Are you so greedy and bitter that you refuse to share the falling granules of Time with me? Seriously!?”

“And what if I am?”

Caroline gaped.

“You know,” she narrowed her eyes; placed her hands on her hips, “I rather expected you to be glad of some eternal company down here after all your time alone…but nope!”

“Instead, you’re nothing but a stubborn and pretentious jerk who’d rather sift along in solitary sameness, absolutely miserable, than usher in an opportunity for change and cohesion! You’re…you’re a coward! Terrified of the mere possibility of intimacy, you are,” she scoffed. “You want it more than anything, but you’re too damn afraid to let yourself have it even though I’m basically gifting it to you for free! And let me tell you, pal,” Caroline added with an arm-crossed humph and a pout, “being alone by choice is infinitely more tragic than being alone by command.”

“Pretentious jerk, eh?” Something twinged hard against his ribcage. “Coward?” It was his heart. It was his heart twingeing; it was his heart heavying in his chest.

“That’s not so awful,” Klaus said with forced apathy as he let the stinging truth of her words sink in. “I’ve been called much worse than that.”

“What?” Caroline’s brow furrowed and she softened. “By who?” she asked.

“My father…earthlings…tormented souls…” He offered her a tight, painful smile. “Anyone and everyone, I suppose.”

“Really?”

Klaus shrugged, glancing away to kick at a rock.

“I’m sorry that’s…that’s not okay. I shouldn’t have—you’re not that bad, okay? You’re just a little…rough around the edges is all.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Don’t let it go to your head or anything, and definitely do not make a habit of infuriating me, because I will throttle you,” she said, daring him to try with a look, “but I kind of like that you’re enigmatic. You’re vexing in a good way, you know? You keep a girl on her toes.”

Caroline drifted closer then, and it thrummed something deep inside of him because he could smell her authenticity. He could feel how much she meant what she said.

Soft and delicate, this spring darling was spun from thread that burned gold with candor, consideration and care; so instead of flaming into annihilation when another’s anger or pain snipped at one of her split ends, she curled herself around the wound like a compress and shined hope against it until all felt possible. Until all was healed again. Not healed in the way it once was, mind you, but doctored in a way which stitched all the residual agony together, making one feel better about the jaggedness it left behind in the end. More calm and controlled about it, so to speak.

She was nourishing in presence as well. She cultivated growth in a way that required the shoveling up of his old roots to study tangles and bends because she believed it was the only way to see where the neglect first started, because it was the only way for her to calculate when the rot would win out if there were no intervention.

(Not that Caroline wouldn’t work like hell before disease encroached that far, of course. Because she would. She did.)

Hair trickled over her shoulders like blades of grass bending in the breeze, too. It framed her in shades of mercy so blonde, and so glossy, she reeked of pure sincerity and compassion, infecting everyone she met along the way. And while the trunk of her was deep and grooved with shadows—not to mention full of thick sap Klaus smelled but couldn’t see without sawing further beneath her rings, the leaves of her were airy and graceful and constantly swaying in a fashion which he considered to be most distracting. Yet…

Also (much to his chagrin), grossly enchanting.

This young woman, who had appeared in his kingdom without beckoning, was beguiling in an unsettling way. She unnerved him with tender words and mannerisms until the distrustful paranoia in his mind began to thaw…until the cold armor of his chest started to fall with a settled plonk near his ankles.

Something about Caroline primed his ears to listen and consider before he spoke. Where, with anyone else, his mouth wouldn’t hesitant to strike out or blast.

So, why the discrepancy? What was so halting about her, how was she so melting?

She was everything Klaus shunned, after all. She was everything Klaus pertained to loath here in this jarring domain…amid these burdensome, endlessly lamenting, clutching souls.

A woman who, with a chirping voice much too high and sweet when she spoke her three-syllable name: Caroline, Caroline; plus a smile which held the promise of sharp green, yellow, blue and pink demands, and a chin stained with the red-orange juice of a pomegranate, had asked upon her arrival, if he’d clip open the iron cage around his heart for her. Wondering, sanguinely, if he’d make room for a white-blossomed girl with nothing to offer him but seeds.

But would he?

Could he?

Klaus already knew no one wanted to amble through the dank and troubled air of his thoughts, of his kingdom. Just like he understood no creature in existence thirsted for his smoldering artistry, either.

It seemed people feared the scraping of his charcoal fingertips through their heads because he tended to linger over their memories, dreams, and friendships until they shivered or sweat. The cretins never once appreciating the skill it took to sketch out every folded swoop of longing he found wound around their bones like shoelaces. Which was laughable, frankly. Truly laughable. After all, what was so hard to fathom about a king, sentenced to the dark, who knew how to paint others’ misery?

All beings shrank away from his hunger, though. They always had. They found fault with his voracious creativity and called him the Sculptor of Shadows behind his back while they tittered.

(And they were always tittering.)

Something unsettled earthen kind about the way his glare ripped them apart to draw what once was in the realm above, to paint that which was no longer their’s to hold or hide. With his eyes brushing against all the weight their hearts had to bear in life, he colored all conflict out of them and stroked it into the air for review.

Each piece was unique in its daunting, but exquisite, truth, too. No two stories, no two people, were the same.

Klaus had an innate talent for depicting with whom another’s life was shared, for how long it was felt, why it was relished, resented, or missed; and when it all came to an end—but most people hated it. Hated him for his creations. Every single one of them were unable to understand precisely why their old lives must be preserved on ghost canvasses that could echo, but could never be touched again. They couldn’t reconcile how much agony it cost him to portray things he longed to experience himself, but most likely never would.

Klaus knew, too, that no soul, dead or alive, cared for knowledge or insight into his bruising history. People preferred ignorance. People preferred not to hear.

It mattered not that his step-father, Mikael the Mighty, kicked him from the cloud-castles of his birth and into the pits of hell because he thought him a plague on the Original family—a repulsive half-blooded beast, you are; and no son of mine, he’d said before punting Klaus into the Deadlands to rot; to be forgotten; to roast in the flames like garbage—only that people distrusted the moonstruck yellow of his seer eyes more. They were eyes which stalked through so much of others’ loveliness and adventures, but reflected no such contentedness of his own in their depths.

Unfortunately, suspicion and aversion were the emotions which won out first and foremost among the once-living. It was easier for earthlings to fear him. Loath him. Misunderstand him. It was easier for them to condemn his pledge to preserve everlasting memories in death than to understand that he’d never waltz in the arms of the changing seasons himself unless he did so vicariously: through them.

Perhaps it was too difficult for anyone to believe Klaus might know something of dejection, too? Or grief. Or wonder. Or longing for something alive. Perhaps it was impossible for anyone to fathom that the Kindred of the Damned might know something of suffering, too?

“You can’t fool me, you know,” Caroline cut in like a chirping dove.

“No?”

“No.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I…” Eyelashes flicking to his face, gaze unwavering, she shuffled forward with tulips trailing in her wake to place a tentative but steady hand on his chest. “Because I hear the muffled howl of your heart full of holes—how all of that emptiness blows straight through you. It calls out like the notes of a flute every time the wind rustles in the hopes that someone out there will hear it and rush into your arms. That’s why I came. I heard it, I felt your aching melody in my veins,” she said, her voice as soft as a feather. “I still do.”

Reaching for his hand, she beamed up at him with the rose-gold softness of a million suns as she intertwined their fingers in a tender, comforting way he’d never been shown before. The gesture caused Klaus’s throat to scratch uncomfortably. His lungs tingled with the warmth of a coming sunrise, making it almost difficult to breathe.

“That doesn’t mean you can dethrone me, though, sweetheart,” he replied in a low drawl.

“It doesn’t, you’re right. But if you let me,” Caroline said with a tilt of her head and a spreading smile, “I could occupy one next to you so you always have someone by your side?”

Those words, as legend later would claim, changed everything.

For, although she left behind a small lesion on the moon’s sooty, weathered face where her perfectly-petalled tip punctured it with grace and light, she showed Klaus the finesse of bending instead of breaking. She replenished his rotted insides with laughter, with hopes of forever which tangled them together like two onyx-shamrock stems dancing in the wind. She taught him how, sometimes, a heart given freely beats louder and longer, feels fatter and fuller, and gushes softer and surer than a heart that’s taken forcibly.

Before long, Klaus realized her nectar burned too bright for him to resist the urge to close his eyes and revel in her liquid sunshine taste…so he breathed Caroline in until he was blinded. And here’s a little secret:

He never regretted it once, either.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction #half agony half hope #our lips are raw with petals and pomegranate #this is kind of a birthday gift to myself #because no way in h e l l did i think #i'd manage to get another drabble out #before the kc valentine exchange #so happy i-can't-believe-i-wrote-this-fast day!#but also this fandom rocks my socks #so thanks for keeping me inspired; encouraged; and writing #*blows kisses to you all*#ashlee bree's writing endeavors

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winsister91 · 6 years

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The Best Present Awards

Summary: @spnaddict11283 asked: Well, if you wanted a suggestion... my birthday is next Friday. Maybe a fic where it's the readers birthday and Dean didn't know, but Sam or Cas told him? (Deanxreader btw. And maybe they're in a relationship?) If not that's fine, just a suggestion!! btw, smut it pretty cool *wink wink* Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Cas Word Count: 3375 (Yeah, I got lost in this one for a bit) Warnings: Smut, fluff A/N: @spnaddict11283 I’m so SO sorry I’m a couple of days late with this!! This is my general failing as a human being. I hope you had an amazing birthday!! Now go enjoy it with Dean ;) Unbetad so all mistakes (which there no doubt will be plenty of) are mine! Feedback always appreciated guys!

My Masterlist! ~ Dean and forever tags are open! ~

Your eyes slowly open as you hear the clunk of crockery being placed on your bedside table. You’re already alerted. It couldn’t be Dean. He never wakes up before you.

“Morning Sweetheart,” he cooed, his voice higher pitched than normal, “Don’t get up so fast! No rushing around for you today.” You narrow your eyes. He was chirpy. Too chirpy. You take a sip of your fresh coffee and sigh in content as the caffeine rushes to wake you. Then you turn back to the Winchester.

“What?” you smirk, “You’re saying you remembered this year?” Dean chokes on his words for a moment, “W-what? Is that what you really think of me?”

You lean back into your pillow with a chuckle. “Well I’m just going off your track record babe,” you wink, “Three years and you still haven’t remembered it.”

“Well I have this year!” his eyes are wide, his voice lacking the confidence he likely intended, “I-I got loads of stuff planned!”

“Hop to it then,” you fold your arms and blow him a kiss.

He quickly turned on his heels and practically ran through the door. You rolled your eyes, taking another sip. It honestly didn’t bother you when Dean forgot your birthday, it was lucky if he remembered anyones with all the stuff on their plates. You had to tease him though, it was just the right thing to do.

After finishing your morning pick me up you made yourself decent, swapping one of Dean’s old flannels for a black tee and skinny jeans. You grabbed your tattered old boots, your favorites. Boy, they had been through the wars though. The black leather was so scraped and battered it barely resembled leather anymore. The laces are torn and frayed. Rare a day went past that you didn’t wear them, but today marked one of those occasions. As you shoved your foot in, there was a loud rip sound and the leather finally gave way. “Are you fucking kidding me?” you whined, holding the boot on your foot with your toes poking out of the end. You take a moment, removing the boot and sitting helplessly, holding the limp scrap piece of animal hide in mourning. You begrudgingly settle for your Y/F/C converse. A trusty backup, but they could never be compared to the hard kick of a boot.

Finishing the last few lukewarm sips of your coffee, you venture out of your and Dean’s room. You drag your feet along the floor, they felt so light and almost naked without your trusty boots. They were expensive too...gonna be a while until you can replace them. Arriving in the main room, you spot Sam and Cas at the table waiting for you with big smiles.

“Y/N!” Sam cheers, coming to you with open arms. He wraps them around you like you’re being hugged by a huge cuddly yeti, “Happy birthday!” “Thanks,” you blush at the attention.

Cas follows suit, gripping you in a tight hug. When he eventually releases you, you spot two parcels wrapped on the table.

“Thank you guys,” you smile sweetly, trying to hide your schoolgirl giddiness at presents.

“This is from me,” Cas picks up the smaller parcel of the two packages and passes it to you, “I...uh...wasn’t sure what to get. This came highly recommended.” You rip off the plain paper to reveal a jar. The contents inside were black and a large sticker plastered on the front said, Yankee Candle, then a big picture of a night’s sky with a full moon, underneath that it read, Midsummer’s Night. “A Yankee candle!” you cheer, genuinely surprised.

“Scented candles can induce a state of relaxation,” Cas expanded, “I feel this could help you relax when you return from a hunt.”

“That’s really sweet,” you smile at the angel, “Thank you Castiel.”

The angel smiles, shuffling his feet. Sam now thrusts the second parcel towards you, a big square one.

“I hope you like it,” he smiles genuinely. “Let’s see!” you beam, tearing into your second gift.

Your ripping reveals a huge leather-bound book with silver gilded pages. The words The Complete Fiction of HP Lovecraft are beautifully designed on the cover. You take a moment to stare, somewhat dumbfounded.

“Wow…” you mumble, flicking through the silver pages.

“You seem to like your horror stories,” Sam shrugged, “So I thought I’d load you up with some classics.” “This is amazing Sammy,” you close the book and turn to him with a smile, “Thank you so much.”

“Your welcome,” he nods, clearly happy with the reception to his gift, “You want a coffee?” “Dean already made me one,” you reply, “But one more wouldn’t go amiss.” “On it,” he gets to his feet and heads for the kitchen. “Where is Dean anyway?” you shout after him, “I thought he was in here with you guys?”

“He...uh...nipped out,” came your answer from the kitchen. “He really did forget didn’t he?” you turn your gaze to Cas. Who gave you sympathetic nod in reply. You fold your arms, you felt very happy and loved looking at the gifts before you. But it didn’t do much to hide the sting you felt towards Dean. If Sam and Cas can remember, why couldn’t he? Hell, why didn’t they remind him? They must have said something this morning for him to grovel with coffee and then run out. Now you felt guilty. Gifts are just materialistic at the end of the day. He brought you coffee in bed, that was sweet of him. You just wanted some time with him. You and Dean. Just having him in your life was all that mattered really.

When Sam returned with a fresh mug of coffee, a crash came from the bunker’s metal door. Dean came in, scurrying down the stairs with what appeared to be some fast food bags.

“Breakfast!” he announced, dropping the bags on the table, “The fast and greasy kind.” “Great,” Sam grimaced at the bags.

“Fine by me!” you cheer, grabbing one of the bags and claiming one of the sausage and egg muffins.

“A little special something for you too Sweetheart,” shoving a small bundle towards you. Something clearly bought with haste, wrapped in a brown paper bag, “Your favorite.” You narrow your eyes and unravel the bag, delving inside to reveal a packet of Twizzlers.

“Um…” you raise an eyebrow, “It’s...Red Vines that are my favorites…” “Oh…” Dean’s shoulders slump in defeat, “I thought you hated Red Vines…”

“Nope, its Twizzlers I hate…” you smile at him sympathetically, his face looked broken and that broke your heart, “Look. Don’t worry about it. You’re here and I just wanna spend the day with you, that’s all that matters.”

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

“You’re taking me to the mall?” you questioned as he pulled the Impala into the carpark, “Dean, you know I hate shopping.”

“One of the things I adore you for,” Dean chuckles as he parks up and shuts the engine off, “‘cause I hate shopping too.” He leans to you and plants a quick peck on your forehead, you giggle and shove him away playfully.

“Then why are we here?” “You’re gonna pick something out. Anything you want. Then I’ll get it for you!”

“Dean, really, it doesn’t matter, can’t we just hang out together or something?” “It does matter! To me anyway. I’m not having my little brother win the best present award.”

“You’re an idiot Dean Winchester.” “Your adorable idiot. Now c’mon, most chicks would love their guy to give them free reign in the mall. Go!”

You sigh. Dragging yourself out of the car. You hated the mall. Too many people. Too much stuff. It was all very OTT to you. You aimlessly wandered, hands locked with Dean’s. He made you stop at clothing stores. Nothing interested you. You gave up on the luxury of fancy clothes when it dawned on you that they only get ruined when hunting. You had a small selection of nicer clothes for going out and such, but you mainly went to dive bars so was wary of being overdressed for that setting. He tried you with jewelry stores, you scoffed. You rolled your eyes at the perfume boutique. Dean shook his head at you when you wanted to look in the bookstore, making some comment along the lines of “Sammy already checked that box”. Time passed, no success. Dean looked heartbroken that his plan wasn’t working. While doing a second lap of the mall something suddenly caught your eye. A small stand in the center of the walkway selling necklaces. Nothing fancy, just small metal pieces attached to a piece of black thread. “I like this…” you mumble, picking one out. It was simple, but that’s what drew you to it. A small metallic heart. “That?” Dean scoffed, “It’s like something a crappy teenage boyfriend would buy.” “It’s cute!” you protest, “I like it…”

“Then it’s yours I guess…” Dean shoved a hand into his pocket, grabbing some change and handing it to the vendor. You throw the necklace over your head and smile looking down at the little heart sitting on your chest.

“Thank you,” you stand on your tiptoes to reach up to him and have your lips find his. He reciprocates but gives a deep sigh when you break apart.

“C’mon, let’s get some food or something,” you take his hand and smile cheerfully.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Your second fast food dish of the day. Burgers. You giggled when Dean’s eye lit up at the thought, especially when you suggested the possibility of pie for dessert. You were halfway through your burger, sat in the mall’s food court when Dean had finished his. “It’s like you’ve never been fed,” you chuckle as Dean sits back in the chair in undeniable food comfort. “Nah, you just eat horrifically slowly,” he joked, “Actually...um...do you mind if I just run off for a sec? I need to grab something while I’m here.”

“Oh…” you tilt your head in curiosity, “What is it?”

“Nothing major, just wanna stock up on some supplies we’re low on, I won’t be long.” “Okay, don’t leave me alone here forever or I might kill someone.” “Noted.”

He gives you a wink, before getting to his feet and taking off. You enjoy the view as he leaves, embracing the knowledge that you know what hides beneath them baggy jeans. You turn your attention back to your burger when he’s out of sight. Readying a huge bite when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Hey Y/N, hope you’re having a good day. Just letting you know me and Cas are heading out. So...if you wanna get anything out of your system, please do it now so I haven’t gotta listen to it later? Sam.

“Jerk,” you mutter, shaking your head with a laugh and not even dignifying the text with a response. Part of you wanted to hold out until later now just to make Sam suffer for that text. The temptation of an empty bunker though...

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

“About time!” you shout when Dean finally reappears. “Sorry, I dropped the stuff off at the car first,” he panted, seems like he’d rushed his way back over here, “So what d’ya wanna do now?” “Well... a little bird told me that the bunker currently lies unoccupied,” you whisper, eyes darkening.

“Oh yeah?” he grins, pulling you to your feet and into his embrace. His arms wrapped around your hips and hands grabbing your ass.

“Public place Dean,” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Like I give a damn.”

“Why don’t we head on back, stick some Netflix on and just….chill?”

“Do you even need to ask?”

You giggle and shove him back before grabbing his hand and hastily jogging back to the Impala.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

You crash through your bedroom door, Dean holding you up on his hips. Your legs wrap around him tightly while your lips continue to crash and collide with each other. He drops you on the bed, making you squeal at the sudden drop in altitude. Looking up at him, you can see he’s already removing his shirt. You fold your arms behind your head. “Enjoying the show?” he teases. “Damn right I am,” you smirk. He unbuckles his belt, the jingling of the metal echoing and bouncing off the walls, “Do I not get a show?” “Maybe. It’s my birthday after all though,” you stick out your tongue, “Why don’t you take them off for me?” Dean didn’t need telling twice. He straddles you on the bed, his belt and jeans left hanging open invitingly. He pulls you up to a sitting position, grabbing the bottom of your t-shirt and bringing it up and over your head. The cold air of the bunker hitting your skin makes goosebumps rise up. His arms wrap around you as he moves to unclasp your bra, bringing much-appreciated warmth with them. You knew you wouldn’t be cold for long however. He lays you back down after freeing your breasts from the bras confinement. Kissing you again, his tongue grazing your lips in an ask for entrance. You welcome it, gasping as he simultaneously thumbs one of your hard nipples. Your hand rakes up the back of his dirty blonde hair, clutching at a clump of it. You sigh deeply as you feel your body starts to come alive. Every sense became heightened and you could already feel your head starting to become light. He parts his lips from yours, moving them to your other nipple, twirling his tongue around it before sucking hungrily. You feel your core tremble with pleasure, no doubt soaking your pants.

“Dean…” you gas with a smile, “What about the rest of my show?”

He looks up at you, his green eyes darkening lustfully. “You’ll be patient that’s what,” he jokes, sliding down to your jeans and unbuttoning them. You raise your hips, allowing him to pull them down and off of you. You squeal again with laughter when he hastily grabs your ankles and pulls you down the edge of the bed. He kneels down, throwing your legs over his shoulders. “Oh god…” you sigh, feeling his hot breath over your entrance. He runs a finger down your slit, sending small jolts of electricity through you. You buck slightly at the sensation, and you hear him hum happily at his teasing. He strokes your clit, going in little circles which makes your start and writhe and clench at the sheets. You feel his fingers start to open you up, and his warm tongue enters slowly. He starts with small simple strokes, then starts to build up the pace. Twisting and turning so he brushes every angle of your walls. You can’t suppress your moans, impossible with Dean’s tongue taking you on a pleasurable ride to bliss. He moves his tongue to your clit, flicking, twirling and sucking. He brings two fingers inside of you, curving them to reach your g-spot and rub against it perfectly and forcefully. “Fuck…” you groan, clenching your eyes shut and trying to suppress your gasping. “Come for me baby,” he mumbles, his voice low. The words alone drive you crazy as you feel your coil tightening. “I’m so close,” you gasp again, your legs involuntarily twitching on his shoulders as you can feel any sense of control starting to leave you. He quickens the pace, taking you over the edge. You cry out his name as you come, he laps you up, tongue back inside you which keeps you going for even longer. “Fuck…” you gasp as you start to come back down, but you were far from done yet, “Dean...I…” You don’t need to finish your sentence as Dean was already throwing his jeans to the floor. His cock standing hard and ready for you. With a low grunt, he climbs back on you, trailing kisses all up your body until you are face to face. Your tongues meet once more as you scratch your nails down his back making him growl in want. You reach a hand down and start massaging his tip, spreading the pre-cum around the head and line him up with you. He clenches his jaw while he slowly eases in. You arch your back so he can go deeper, moaning as he stretches you and you adjust to him. He kisses your neck while he starts to pull back and harshly thrust back in again. You cry out, throwing your head back on the pillow while he continues to do this, gradually building up momentum. “Ugh,” he grunts, sending new tingles down your spine as he starts to pant and get into rhythm. You start bucking your hips, every thrust in filling you as you tighten yourself around him. You reach up and start to kiss his neck, making him grunt again at the new sensation. A harsh breath escapes him, you find yourself crashing back down to the pillow as Dean grabs your wrists and pins you down with one hand, the other going back to clit. You clench at the bed frame unable to keep your breathing steady as Dean starts to fuck you hard, whilst thumbing away at your clit. “Oh god,” you whine, feeling your coil begin to tighten once again. “F-fuck,” Dean hisses through clenched teeth, before burying his head into your shoulder as his thrusts started to lose rhythm and become erratic. You can feel his hot breath coating your skin as he heavily pants while he gets closer. You can feel your body start to shake as he hurls you over the edge for the second time. Vision going white, you can barely hear your moans through the pleasure. “UGH!” Dean moans, hard thrusting into you one more time and holding himself there while you feel his come coating all inside you.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

“Well…we didn’t even get around to putting Netflix on,” you giggle. Both of you still laid in bed recovering. Dean had an arm wrapped around your shoulders while you rested your head on his chest. “Who needs Netflix when you just want the chill?” he smirks, “I need to get up…” He starts to shuffle, and move, making you whine, “Really? Why?” “Just give me a minute,” he gives you a wink before throwing on some boxers and his long grey robe, “Don’t go anywhere.” “Trust I’m not moving anytime soon,” you laugh in reply as he leaves. You grab your laptop, logging onto Netflix and readying the next episode of Stranger Things for his return. This was all you wanted. Just you and Dean to have the day to yourselves and hang out. The cute little necklace around your neck was a bonus, but you needed nothing more. “Hey,” Dean smiles on re-entering, a large bag in his hand, “Here.” He drops the bag on the bed before you. You sit up, raising an eyebrow in suspicion as you look at the shoe shop brand printed on the side. “The hell is this?” you ask, glaring at the Winchester. “I may have lied earlier when I said I was just going for some supplies,” he explained, “But...I couldn’t help but notice your favorite boots were completely destroyed so….” “No way…” you mumble, wide-eyed removing a large box from inside the bag. “So I figured you needed some replacements…” he sits himself down next to you. Opening the box, the most beautiful pair of boots you’d ever seen sat before you. Polished black leather, sturdy metal buckles, the toes even seemed to be steel capped to add an extra bite to any kick. “Dean they’re perfect…” you whisper, almost welling up. “They’re just boots,” he shrugs. “Yeah but…” you wipe your eyes, trying to avoid getting too emotional, “Well...they’re better than a damn packet of Twizzlers!” “Better than a crappy book and a smelly candle I think,” he jokes.

You elbow him in the ribs playfully before pulling him down into a deep kiss. “Did I do good?” he asks with a wink, “Did I win the best present award?” You laugh ridiculously before looking him deep into those green eyes, “God damn, I love you, Dean Winchester.”

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