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equalseleventhirds · 3 years

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i said i wouldn't write it but i did

vaguely a sequel to this, but far in the future and focused on jon (annabelle features briefly tho. she's fine. annabelle will always be fine in my fics.) with ofc the presupposition that they've failed in one world but kept trying, bcos i think that would be fun*!

*(by which i mean heartbreaking, i'm so sorry)

There are rules, to the traveling, or at least there seem to be. There are certainly questions to be asked and points to be made, about how many instances count as a definitive rule rather than simply a pattern. But Jon likes to think of them as rules. He's always preferred concrete answers, even if it turns out they're less the truth and more just a convenient way of conceptualizing things.

So he has rules.

First: the Fears always come through on the same day. October 18, 2018. Or, given the impact history has on calendars, the equivalent of it; he'd once spent months trying to correlate the forty-third moon of cycle 1852 with his calendar just to prove his point, but the math had all worked out.

(Which does indicate, at least to Jon, that yes, the Fears probably did originate in his home world, Georgie. He'll take his petty wins where he can get them. For as long as he can remember the discussion, and the people, he's proving wrong.)

Second, it is still his tapes that the Fears follow. For every apocalypse there has been a new catalyst, but none of these new rituals supersede his. Maybe it's a testament to the strength of the Web's original plan, or maybe it's just something about Jon himself. He knows what he thinks, but... well, there isn't enough proof just yet.

Third, in spite of endless attempts to trap them and stop them, Jon is always able to travel with the Fears. Perhaps they simply can't stop him, as the original antichrist he apparently is; dozens of apocalypses in dozens of different universes, and Jon can always feel his rightful place as ruler of that terrible fearscape calling to him. He hasn't taken it yet, but it's there, and the Eye cannot abandon its true pupil without his permission.

Or perhaps they simply don't care. Every attempt so far has led to the exact same result, after all: another world left behind, another death by starvation averted, another new feast for the Fears to sink their teeth into.

Fourth, he always passes out upon entering a new world.

It's kind of annoying.

---

It is slightly unusual for him to wake up warm, comfortable, and covered in a blanket, but Jon's not about to complain. It's nice. He doesn't get a lot of comfort, and he likes sleeping in a bed, especially since he's always eldritch-nightmare-free in a new world. For a limited time only, of course.

He's fairly certain he's inside; aside from the softness underneath and around him, the air is still and temperate, the light through his eyelids is artificial, and all he can hear is the faint whirring of appliances and the whispers of two muted voices.

"—complete stranger, definitely dangerous, looks like he's from hell—"

"Okay, fine, but I wasn't going to leave him, and anyway haven't you noticed he's a bit—"

"A bit what? Scarred? Bloodstained? Glowing eyes, because I don't think I need to remind you, Martin, his eyes were absolutely glowing when you found him—"

Martin. Now there's a name. Not an uncommon one, but... he thinks he knows that voice.

Or. Well. He might know both of those voices, actually, which is even more interesting than waking up in a bed.

Jon opens his eyes.

He's met himself before, is the thing. Not in every world, and not always particularly recognizable, but he's met himself. He's met versions of Martin, too, and eventually stopped going completely useless with heartbreak every time. The merest handful of times, he's found both of them in the same world, sometimes something almost like friends, but usually not.

The fact that they have their arms around each other, casual, comfortable, close, is both entirely unexpected and perfectly, wonderfully, terribly familiar. Jon briefly considers crying about it, but there are more important things to be doing. For example.

"The glowing eyes aren't actually that sinister. I mean, they are, but not for the reasons you're probably thinking."

Jon—the other Jon—jumps at the sound of his voice, then leans forward. Curiosity, of course; that hardly ever seems to change. "You—the glowing—who are you?"

"Jon," this new version of Martin scolds, and for just a moment he's back home, with his Martin, with that exasperated tone—but no, this isn't his Martin, and he's also leaning forward now, his voice turning gentle. Concerned. Coaxing, like he's a spooked animal, and Jon doesn't think his Martin has ever talked to him that way. "How are you feeling? We found you unconscious in the street."

He can feel Martin's curiosity too, pushing forward under his concern, just as questioning as Jon but too polite to outright say it yet. He has to cut this off, or he really will cry.

"Mm... no," he says. "Well, yes. But also." Good lord, he's confusing them. Par for the course, but he should probably try to be somewhat comprehensible.

He holds up a hand, extending one finger. "I am... fine. More or less. Trust me, I'm used to this, and this isn't even the worst way it's happened." Another finger joins the first. "My name, as I believe Martin has guessed but then dismissed, is Jonathan Sims. I am not you from the future, nor am I lying, nor am I crazy, because—" a third finger "—interdimensional travel is not only possible, it has happened, is happening, because of and along with terrible monstrosities I am determined to stop, and I have explained this too many times to too many people to have much patience for anyone being shocked and disbelieving, much less a version of myself doing so, so you can either get over it and move on or I can go elsewhere and do something useful."

"Excuse—"

"And," he continues, pushing himself up so he can sit and lean forward even more intensely than his counterpart, "I would actually rather not do that just yet, because I have an extremely pressing question for the two of you."

"Um," Martin says, and "What," says the other Jon.

"How," Jon asks, deepening his voice to exude solemn, ominous, and eldritchly important, "did you two start dating?"

---

It was so... normal. Apparently. Two people, mutual friends, a chance encounter. A prickly exterior ("He hated me," both of them had claimed), but without the insecurity of being Head Archivist and the fear of dread powers beyond his comprehension, their friends had helped him open up and—eventually—apologise. A budding friendship, and then a romance, and then...

It isn't a version of them Jon has seen anywhere else, in any of the worlds he's traveled to. Normal as it is, it's a highly improbably scenario, and certainly not the same as his relationship with his Martin had been. But it was, in an infinite number of worlds, still a possibility.

Jon isn't quite sure how he feels about that, knowing that some version of them could have fallen in love without the trauma, but that they hadn't managed it.

His hands aren't shaking, as he lights his cigarette. At least there's that.

"I quit, you know," his counterpart says from behind him. "Years ago. I'd forgotten about those until you asked."

"Well then, thank you for indulging me." He gestures, meaning the cigarette, meaning the bed, meaning his claims about reality, meaning his intrusive, gossipy questioning. Meaning everything. He's not sure it gets across.

The other Jon laughs, quietly, and moves to stand next to him. "I am my worst enabler."

"Oh, that's hardly true."

"Mm." They're silent together for a while, but Jon is restless (both of him), and eventually this reality's version opens his mouth to ask. "Do you—do you know why I—I don't want to say believed you, I'm still not sure I do, b-but, didn't throw you out immediately?"

"My myriad charms?" They both laugh at that.

"Jonathan Sims," he says, as if that explains anything.

Jon takes a drag of his cigarette, considering. He could probably Know, but... indulging himself. "What about me?"

"No, not you, or. You know. You. But your name. Jonathan Sims. I decided you weren't, weren't a deliberate lie to trick me, or a future version of myself, or a mind-reading monster—"

"Well—"

"—when you said your name, because none of those things would have said that." He smiles then and holds up a hand, and—oh—his ring glints. "I've been Jonathan Blackwood for a while now."

They'd told him married eventually, but he hadn't even thought about his name. He's certainly thinking about it now. "Jonathan Blackwood," he says, soft, to himself. And to himself. "That... that sounds good."

"It does, doesn't it."

Whatever they might have said next is lost as an incredibly loud engine roars nearby and a sleek black motorcycle pulls up in front of them. Jon sighs and takes one last drag of his cigarette as the rider removes her helmet.

"Been off finding yourself, then, Jon?" Annabelle asks.

"Oh, extremely funny, yes. Did you steal that?"

"It was a gift."

"Of course it was."

The other Jon is staring at them both, his eyes repeatedly drifting back to the web-covered hole in Annabelle's head. "Who—what is—is that a—"

"She's a spider monster," Jon supplies helpfully. "She came with me, although apparently she did not pass out in the street this time."

"Two streets over, I think. Pity, I would've loved a nice nap in a proper bed, but I did get this motorcycle out of it. Come on, Jon, you can mope on the way."

"I have not been moping—"

"Haven't you? You're not the one who deals with how maudlin you get every time you meet yourself—"

"Yes, fine, thank you, we can go." He stubs out the cigarette and pauses, looking at himself. "Uh. Tell Martin—well, goodbye, I guess. I'd say I hope we meet again, but if you're lucky we won't need to?"

"...sure."

"And I'm—I hope you—that is, I'll do my best—well." He sighs. "Things are about to get... dicey, for the world in general. But just, look out for each other, and we'll try to handle the rest."

"Jon, we should be going."

"Yes, all right, all right." He gives himself one last, probably not very reassuring smile, and climbs on behind Annabelle.

They do have work to do, after all.

#fanfiction #algie writes things #many thoughts head full...........#i am so many theorizing. u kno how it is.#uhhhh so the TINIEST spoilers for the most recent episode? idk #tma spoilers #once again just TINY ones not actually plot ones #at least not that we didn't already get from annabelle's big explanation episode #jm #but also it's complicated #u kno #jon has bittersweet conversations & thoughts and annabelle gets a motorcycle #it's what each of them needs i think

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lux-i-fer · 3 years

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Believer of Faith and Mortality

Ao3 link

Synopsis: Lucifer and Chloe's victim shouldn't be alive, but the fact that he's currently alive and giving a statement says otherwise. When more and more miracle cases begin popping up, Lucifer believes that their lives aren't being spared out of the goodness of his Father's heart. The knock at the door only proves his theory.

Rating: M

Notes: HAHA HEYYYY! Guess who got the chapter out in under a year?? My most sincere apologies that this fic has been updating so slowly, I am just at that time in my life where everything requires my attention all at once and all the time. Never fear, I have not forgotten about this fic ;) This is unbetaed because in the year of our lord 2021, I have lost all hope in producing properly edited work.

Chapter Number: 6

For a few heavy seconds, the entire world shrank down to fit solely into Lucifer’s palm. The silence was almost suffocating as Amenadiel, Lucifer, and John stared at the silver phlegm dripping from Lucifer’s outstretched hand. Even outside of the harsh California sunlight, it still looked metallic and even glimmered like the chrome finishings on his Corvette. John found it almost blinding to look at directly, but there was a nagging feeling inside of him that demanded that he continue to look. The first time he’d seen it on Lucifer’s handkerchief, he’d only gotten a mere glance before Lucifer had hurriedly tucked it out of sight. Perhaps for him it was also supposed to be out of mind, but not for John. John was transfixed.

Looking at it now, he realized that it wasn’t really silver colored. Even though he never tore his eyes from it, it seemed to shift to a different color at the blink of an eye, changing so fast that it blurred together into one solid gray mass. And he found that it wasn't so much as metallic as it was almost lit by a soft inner light. John leaned forward, curious to see if there truly was something there or if he was imagining it.

A hand caught his shoulder and then the rest of the world seemed to snap back into focus. John blinked and when he opened his eyes, Amenadiel stood between him and Lucifer.

“Did you hear anything I just said to you?” he asked. There was a heavy set of wrinkles above his brow that hadn’t been there at the start of their visit.

John blinked again. He felt a little dazed, and found that he couldn’t quite focus in on the rest of Amenadiel’s face. “No?” His voice came out slow and slurred.

Amenadiel frowned. “Okay, why don’t you--” he walked the both of them backwards out of the kitchen until the backs of John’s legs knocked against the edge of a chair, “sit down.”

John did as he was told and then put his head in his hands. He had a roaring headache.

“So,” he heard Amenadiel say. “As I said before, will someone please tell me what is going on?”

“Apparently zombies,” John muttered, massaging the space between his eyes.

“Well, you’re not actual zombies,” Lucifer corrected. “You’re more...undead than anything. If I didn’t know better I’d say that you lot were resurrected, but our Father does not lower himself to dabble in those sorts of miracles anymore.” Even with his eyes closed, John could practically feel the eye roll in his voice.

“No, I meant how long has this been going on.” John looked up to find Amenadiel gesturing to the silver liquid that Lucifer was trying in vain to mop up with his handkerchief.

Lucifer shook his head. “Not long. Just today. Surely it’s nothing.”

Amenadiel looked to John for confirmation.

John shrugged. “I’ve only been here a day, but I guess it lines up? He coughed some of it up on our way here.”

Amenadiel nodded solemnly, while Lucifer shot him a dirty look, the unspoken accusation of traitor hanging in the air. “It’s not that big a deal,” he sniffed. “Whatever it is, surely it’ll sort itself out. There’s no need to coddle me, Amenadiel, my mortality stint ended ages ago.”

John stilled. “Your what?”

Lucifer waved him off, flicking a few silver droplets in his direction. One managed to hit Amenadiel in the chest and his face crumpled up in disgust. “Luci, do everyone else a favor and wash your hands. For all we know this could be contagious.”

John silently agreed. As if the headache wasn’t already making him nauseous, now he was picturing Lucifer as some sort of supernatural Typhoid Mary. Even though he’d seen some pretty nasty stuff during his time as a beat cop, John had always been a bit of a hypochondriac. Not in any serious sense, but realizing that Lucifer could potentially be hacking up the divine equivalent of a ball of mucus and phlegm definitely made his stomach twist.

Lucifer scoffed, but surprisingly listened to his brother. John sent a silent thanks to God, but stopped halfway through his prayer when he realized that he just may be better off directing it at Amenadiel instead. If Lucifer was to be believed, which John still had a healthy amount of skepticism for, Nietzsche had been right. In all the ways that mattered, God was as good as dead. Between the headache and the whole coming back to life thing, John really didn’t want to unpack that existential crisis right now.

“Is that a thing?” he asked instead. “Can you guys get the celestial flu or something?”

Lucifer sighed. “Don’t be silly, Jonathan. Angels can’t get sick.”

“Well clearly you are, so that can’t be entirely true.”

“John has a point, Luci. Whatever this is, it shouldn’t be happening.” Amenadiel turned to John. “And whatever is going on with souls crossing back over the threshold shouldn’t be happening either. It would be foolish to assume that these two events coinciding is a mere coincidence. I’d like to hear more about how you got back to Earth, John. I have a feeling that Luci has omitted some key details.”

At that, Lucifer tightened his hand around his glass of whiskey. At some point he’d poured himself glass number four, making John certain that he would be DD’ing the Devil himself back to Chloe’s apartment later.

“I don’t think I’m the best one to ask about details.” The image of Lucifer’s wrist covered in “souvenirs” flashed through John’s mind. “If anything, we were coming to you for some answers. All I know is that one second I’m in Limbo with this jackass,” he jerked a thumb in Lucifer’s direction, “and the next my daughter is telling me that I’ve been dead for nearly twenty years.”

“Limbo?” Amenadiel asked incredulously. “What ever were you doing there? Human souls are not supposed to go there.”

“Well I did. Lucifer told me that others go there too.”

Amenadiel looked at Lucifer.

“Times have changed, brother. Humans have more fight in them now, and Azrael has a shorter temper than she used to. Humans still condemn themselves to their respective eternities, but if they are particularly wily and combative when Azrael sees them off, sometimes she doesn’t see the job through. Usually they make it where they need to go without her guidance, but occasionally they do not. Those who don’t end up in Limbo.” Lucifer inclined his head in John’s direction, as if to give an example.

Amenadiel didn’t look convinced. “How could John have been in Limbo if he recalls seeing you? How are you certain that it wasn’t Hell?”

“It wasn’t Hell,” Lucifer said sharply, catching both Amenadiel and John off guard. John wasn’t sure what had just happened, but whatever Amenadiel had implied was obviously a touchy subject.

Lucifer stared at them for a moment, dark eyes unblinking and tracking their reactions like a predator. Then he sighed, and his shoulders relaxed, as if a great weight had dragged them down. His fingers worried his cufflinks again.

“Hell isn’t my only domain. Technically Dad also cursed me with that Dad-forsaken wasteland, but I hardly visited. It was a nice getaway when Hell became too much to bear, but it was just as undesirable in different ways.” Lucifer paused then. His eyes had grown distant, and his jaw was set. His hands flitted back to his glass.

“Do you remember our fallen brethren?” he said, his voice small.

Amenadiel’s brow furrowed at the subject change. “Of course, Luci.”

Lucifer continued to stare into his glass. “I wasn’t the only one who changed after I Fell. Our siblings, the ones that eventually fell too, they burned just as I did. After I had managed to pull myself out of the Lake of Fire, I gave the ones whose minds hadn’t completely shattered during the process positions within my court. They were, after all, family.” He chuckled humorlessly.

“In light of my recent sins, nepotism seemed like the least of my concerns at that point. I was correct, to some degree. Over time, most of the fallen grew twisted and corrupted by sin and they became a new breed of demon--an archduke-- but there were others who never recovered from the Fall. Something within them had broken. They weren’t quite demons and they certainly were not angels, either. They were, for lack of better description, mutilated. Inside and out. Their minds were fractured and their bodies, well--”

Lucifer’s form contorted like a tv glitch. Where his face should have been was replaced with something scarred and horrifying. It vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, but it didn’t matter because John had seen. Lucifer’s regular face was back, but John saw it with new clarity. Even before, he would freely admit that Lucifer was beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, but it was a different beauty now. Now the sculpted angles of his face looked cruel and alien.

He didn’t think there were words to describe the primal sense of fear he had felt upon seeing it. It was like an echo of the morning’s conversation, when he’d discovered the name of the angel that had guided him through Limbo. He wanted to bolt like a spooked horse and run and run until he was certain that Lucifer would never find him. John’s heart raced, but his fear kept him rooted in his chair. He knew he should calm down. He had to calm down. His head felt like it was going to explode. John groaned and put his head back in his hands.

“Jonathan.”

John’s head snapped back up, bringing a wave of dizziness along with it. His heart seized when he realized that Lucifer was staring straight at him. The afterimage of his burned face lingered in John’s mind’s eye, and it was almost impossible for him to look at Lucifer at all.

“Do not go breaking on me now. The Detective will be very upset with me if you do.” His tone was blasé, but John saw a glint of uncertainty in his eye. Was Lucifer upset by his reaction? Why would the Devil even feel that way? John searched his shark-eyes for an answer.

Shockingly, Lucifer was the one to look away first. He returned his attention to his glass for a second time before continuing his explanation.

“The other fallen--the ones driven mad by the Fall-- were little more than rabid dogs, and they had developed an insatiable hunger for divine flesh. I suppose in human terms you would say they became cannibals, but such a human concept does not do their transformation justice. They were truly beastly, mere husks of angels and mutated beyond any demon.” John shuddered as he remembered the feeling of claws tracing along his cheek. Beastly indeed.

“So I locked them up,” Lucifer proclaimed. “I had the archdukes assist me in rounding them up and throwing them into Limbo. There they could live freely, on a separate plane away from Heaven and Hell, and out of my hair. I would only visit occasionally, like I said, for peace and quiet and to make sure that they were behaving.”

The room dissolved into silence once again. Amenadiel seemed to still be processing the information, and John was trying his best not to pass out from pain or fear. He still wasn’t sure which would eventually win out. He supposed by the way his skull felt like it was getting a forced lobotomy he would have to say it was going to be the pain.

Amenadiel finally cleared his throat. “So if I understand you correctly, you have been completely aware that these...creatures have been running amuck in Limbo, and yet you continue to let them roam, even though they're torturing innocent souls?”

In an instant, Lucifer slammed his hands onto the counter. John flinched as the sound ricocheted through his head like a massive bell. Amenadiel stood, unflinching, his face contorted into a stony mask. Lucifer’s eyes blazed and his lips curled back into a snarl. In that moment he looked every bit of the razor-sharp angel that had plucked John from the clutches of his cannibalistic siblings.

“Do not twist my words, Amenadiel, and do not criticize that which you do not know. I made the best of a bad hand. I dredged the land for lost souls as often as I could, but there was only so much I could do. And make no mistake, not all of the souls I found were innocent. I spared rapists and murderers from the clutches of our deranged siblings just as often as I pulled out martyred cops and saints. They all got the justice they deserved, and I carried it out like a good little son.”

At that, Lucifer turned on his heel and busied himself with something on the other side of the kitchen. Amenadiel simply watched his brother sulk and sighed heavily. “Luci,” he said to the Devil sulking in the kitchen. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to pin the blame on you. I jumped to conclusions.”

Lucifer turned back to face them, face drained of any prior anger. “Damn right you did.”

“But,” Amenadiel continued, pointing a finger at Lucifer. “My initial point still stands. It’s obvious that these creatures are dangerous, and yet they roam freely in Limbo. The last interaction you had with John was in the presence of these creatures. Isn’t there a possibility that your illness and John’s return to Earth are linked? They feed on the divine, and you said it yourself that none of the other resurrections occurred more than a day following their initial death.”

“That’s just it,” John chimed in. “Technically, it’s been twenty-or-so years since I saw Lucifer in Limbo. It may have only felt like a couple hours for me, but I imagine for him…” He waved his hand in lieu of finishing his thought.

“Yes, Jonathan is correct. In fact, I forgot about your existence entirely until you started threatening me over breakfast this morning.” Lucifer clapped his hands together. “At any rate, I think we can surmise that whatever this silver nonsense is, it is most certainly a fluke. If these events were truly connected then I would have gotten ill two decades ago. Nothing to do with Johnathan. Nothing to worry about. The resurrections on the other hand...” he shrugged.

“I don’t think we should discount the idea,” John cut in again. “Amenadiel’s right, it’s stupid to overlook the possibility. For now, I suppose we can put a pin in it, but it shouldn’t be off the table completely.”

Lucifer shot him an annoyed look. “Fine, whatever. Gang up on me, then.”

“Luci, we’re trying to help,” Amenadiel chided. Lucifer just rolled his eyes.

“The other bodies reeked of Heaven,” he started again, changing the subject. “I don’t know why or how, but they do, and it’s positively unbearable.”

John didn’t know Heaven even had a smell, but Amenadiel nodded like he understood. “I don’t have an answer or even an idea of how to explain that facet of this mystery. I would have to go to the Silver City to find out any more information.”

Lucifer considered Amenadiel’s proposition for a moment. He finished off the rest of his drink and glanced around the room. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked. “We’re in a time crunch, the sooner the better!” Dropping his empty glass into the sink, Lucifer swept out of the kitchen and towards the door. He turned back to face John and Amenadiel, a hand poised on the door handle. “Brother, I’ll be expecting your answer shortly.” Then he gestured to John. “Are you coming?”

John just sighed and hauled himself out of the chair. It took some effort to get his bearings, and when he finally did he stuck out his hand for Amenadiel to shake once more. Amenadiel inclined his head towards John and offered him a genuine smile.

“It was very nice to meet you, John Decker. Chloe speaks very highly of you. I can see now that her stories ring truthfully. You're a good man.”

John returned the smile, wincing as the pain in his head worsened with the movement. “Well I don’t know about that, but thank you. It was nice to meet you too.”

Before John could say anything else, Amenadiel dropped his hand and simply disappeared into thin air. John stared stupidly at the spot the angel had been occupying just a few moments before. He wasn’t sure what just happened, but at this point, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to find out.

Lucifer made an impatient sound from his place at the door. “Jonathan, you’re dallying. Are you going to stare off into space for the entire day?”

John shook himself and started towards the door. “Yeah, yeah, calm down I’m coming.”

When they reached the parking lot, John ignored the pain in his head and made a b-line for the driver’s side door, just barely sliding his body between it and Lucifer’s hand reaching for the handle.

“Give me your keys,” he said, making sure to use his no-bullshit cop voice.

“No.” Lucifer tried to wiggle his way around John, but John stood firm.

“You just drank four glasses of hard alcohol, I’m not letting you drive drunk through downtown LA.” Lucifer only continued to wiggle and try to squirm his way around John. Fuck, did he ever stop moving? John caught Lucifer’s arm as he tried to reach for something in the car. “Seriously, Lucifer, stop. I don’t care that you’re the Devil, you’re not driving.”

As weird as it felt to say that, there was truth in John’s words. His fear over seeing Lucifer’s other face had almost entirely dissipated.

“I’m not intoxicated, I have a supernatural metabolism!” He wiggled his arm out of John’s grasp and leaned around him to grab whatever it was that he had been trying to get from the car. When he found it, Lucifer handed the mystery item to John. It was a breathalyzer. Police issued. Most likely Chloe’s, John thought. When John did nothing with it, Lucifer pushed it and the hand holding it to John’s chest.

“Test me,” he said. “If I blow under the legal limit, I drive. If I blow over, which I won’t, you can drive. Deal?”

John sighed. He knew Lucifer was trying to compromise, but it didn’t change the fact that John’s patience had been steadily declining since Lucifer had decided to drag him all over the city. “Fine,” he said, exasperated and desperately wishing for somewhere to lie down.

He quickly set up the breathalyzer, his muscle memory taking over for him. Through some small miracle, Lucifer took the test without complaint. John had expected the meter to read at least an .09, but he was dumbfounded when he saw the 0.00 staring back at him.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled. He gave the breathalyzer a little shake just to make sure it had gotten the right reading. The numbers remained unchanged.

Lucifer smirked. “Can we get on with things, then?”

On a day when John’s head wasn’t killing him, he would have asked for a retest, just to ensure that Lucifer hadn’t somehow rigged it in his favor. But John was exhausted and it was almost impossible to fake something like a breathalyzer, especially one that he himself had administered, so he decided to just let it slide. After all, it wasn’t like he was in any better condition to drive.

Wordlessly, John stepped out of the way and climbed into the passenger seat. Lucifer gave a victorious whoop and threw himself into the car. Another twinge of pain drilled through John’s skull and he winced away from his companion.

Now that he could take a moment to just breathe, John could finally acknowledge that he didn’t feel like himself. He felt feverish. Or high. He’d never been high to know what that felt like though. His forehead felt like it was about to split open like an egg, and he brought a hand up to touch it, just to make sure that no cracks had started to form. When he felt nothing, he squeezed his eyes shut and flopped back against the seat, wondering why Lucifer hadn’t driven off yet.

“Lucifer, why aren’t we moving?” he muttered, politeness thrown by the wayside.

“Because you’re doing a rather dramatic imitation of a dying raccoon. I don’t know much about humans, but I know enough to recognize that this isn’t normal behavior.” John must be hallucinating because Lucifer’s voice almost sounded caring. He told him as such.

Lucifer scoffed and finally shifted the car into gear. They drove in silence for about ten minutes before he spoke again. “It is possible that your body isn’t as stable as we initially thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s either that or your soul is unstable. Either way, something, besides the obvious, is not right. I have a feeling this headache of yours has been triggered by some imbalance. Whether that imbalance is in your mind, body, soul, or if my Father has decided to restitch the fabric of the universe, I cannot say for certain. The easiest way to solve it would be to return you back to your prior state.”

“My prior state, as in dead, right?”

Lucifer hummed, a nonanswer. That was all John needed to know that he’d been correct.

“Hey, please tell me we’re going back to Chloe’s?” he said, changing the subject. “It would really make her upset if we’re not there when she gets off work.”

“Ah, actually we won’t beat the Detective home.”

John sat straight up, whipping his head towards Lucifer. “What do you mean we’re not making it home before Chloe?”

Lucifer waved his hand absently. “Well you’ve lived in LA, you know how the traffic can be. Plus, we wasted more time than I had anticipated at Amenadiel’s.”

John sputtered and checked his watch. “But it’s like four in the afternoon. Even with traffic it won’t take us that long to get to her apartment, and the LAPD doesn’t usually let cops off until five at the earliest.”

“And you’d be correct; however, we’re not going to the Detective’s apartment straight away.”

“Where could we possibly be going?” John threw his hands up in the air because the alternative was to wrap them around Lucifer’s throat to choke some sense into him.

“I planned on stopping to grab something to eat, since I’m famished and surely you are too, considering we skipped lunch and barely had breakfast. I figured if we aren’t going to beat the Detective home we might as well show up with something to soften the blow. It’s easier to ask forgiveness than it is to get permission, you know.”

Lucifer shrugged. “Besides, it’s likely that she won’t be in a good mood anyways. I missed a call from her around noon, and about an hour ago she texted me saying that she wasn’t feeling well and was thinking about taking off of work early.”

“Did you call her back?” John asked.

“Call who back?”

John stared at him, bewildered. “Chloe. You said she tried to call you. Is she okay?” John’s outrage had been building slowly over the course of the day, but it had skyrocketed more in the last ten minutes than it had in the past few hours. He’d kept himself in check so far, but he wasn’t sure if he could hold it back if Lucifer insisted on being this much of an idiot.

“Oh. No, I didn’t return her call. I’m sure she’s fine, though.”

Something in John’s chest shifted. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he exploded. “First, she tells you not to leave the house, and the first thing you do is immediately go against her wishes. Then, you don’t even have the audacity to return her phone call? You’re acting like such an asshole. I love Chloe and I respect her, but I don’t know what she sees in you. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t deserve her.”

Lucifer stilled. His fingers stopped on the steering wheel mid-drum, and if not for the wind whipping at his clothes, John would have thought that he was made of stone. A drop of fear slid down John’s spine as the weight of his actions settled into his bones. He may have gotten over the initial shock of seeing Lucifer’s true face, but that still didn’t change the fact that he’d just screamed at the Devil. No, not even that, he’d just screamed at Chloe’s boyfriend. Partner. Whatever he was. Someone important to her.

But just because Chloe cares for him didn’t mean that he didn’t deserve it , a voice whispered in the back of his head.

For a moment, John thought Lucifer wasn’t going to respond, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a poisonous smirk.

“You know, the Detective always told me that you were a soft spoken man,” Lucifer said.

John clenched his jaw at the perceived taunt. He turned to fully face Lucifer to give him another piece of his mind, but stopped mid-breath when he saw his face. Lucifer was purposely not looking John’s way, gaze fixed on the road ahead of them. He wasn’t really looking at the road, though, John thought. Even with half of his face obscured, John could tell that he was looking past it and into some distant memory instead, the same soft smile he’d given Chloe the night before playing across his lips. It was an abrupt change from how he’d been just a minute before: flippant, callous, ancient.

John deflated instantly. “I’m under a lot of stress right now,” he replied dumbly. It was all he could think to say.

Lucifer drove on silently. He still did not look John’s way.

“I know being stressed is no excuse for how short I’ve been with you today, but this is a lot for me to take in. I was never the atheist that Chloe turned out to be, but I was never truly a believer either. God, Heaven, you, it’s overwhelming. Not only that but Chloe--” John’s voice broke when he pictured his little girl as the twenty-something he left behind. He cleared his throat, trying to beat down the rising wave of emotion. “I didn’t get to help her move into her first apartment, I didn’t get to give her away at her wedding, I’ve never even gotten to hold my granddaughter,” he said quietly. “She grew up without me and I’m angry with myself for letting it happen. Seeing you with her, you being there for her when I couldn’t, it’s hard.”

That was the ugly feeling that had been sitting in John’s chest all day. That was the thing that couldn’t be packed away into a neat, little mental box to be dealt with at a later date. No matter how many times he’d tried to compartmentalize it, it always came back with full force. He knew it was the reason he was acting so caustically towards Lucifer, but it was as if his time in Limbo had tainted him in some way. It was almost as if simply brushing against those sinful beasts had made him into one too, teeming with new and nasty habits. The very thought left an equally nasty taste in his mouth.

He was used to dealing with jealousy. Penny had groupies and superfans just like any other actress of her day, and it had never bothered him before. He’d always trusted her. Now he found himself unable to bury the jealousy like he had before his death. It was embarrassing to admit. John had never wanted to be one of those overbearing and overprotective fathers.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, Lucifer navigating them through the maze of LA highways, and John lost in thought. The car coasted along an exit ramp, and as they entered back into the city, Lucifer broke the silence.

“My Father was not the kind of father that you were--that you are,” he amended. “He wasn’t kind or nurturing or any of those things. In fact, He was quite harsh with my siblings and me at times. The last conversation we had was the shouting match that eventually got me condemned to Hell.”

John wasn’t sure where Lucifer was going with his anecdote, but he remained silent, just as the other man had when he’d vented out his own feelings.

“Even in the midst of my anger, even when I would scream my throat raw yelling obscenities at Him from down below, some part of me still loved Him and wanted Him to love me in return. I hated that part of myself for centuries. He was my punisher and my jailer, and yet, I still couldn’t rid myself of the longing to be recognized as His son.

“You and the Detective don’t have that kind of relationship, obviously, but I say all of this so that you’ll understand and believe me when I say that the Detective loves you very much. There are very few things that you could do as a parent to make her stop caring for you. Not even death could sever her heart from yours. She has made her peace with your passing, and for both her sake and yours, Jonathan, you should too. If you don’t, your guilt will condemn you to Hell. That’s how the system works; humans choose their own fate, no Devilish temptation required.”

Lucifer grimaced at his poor attempt at a joke. Then, he glanced over at John, as if to gauge his reaction to something. “Amenadiel was correct; you’re a good man and a good father,” he said, eyes drifting back to the road. “You don’t deserve the torment that awaits you there.”

His words echoed in John’s mind. You don’t deserve the torment that awaits you there.

“I’m sorry that I said you don’t deserve Chloe. That was wrong of me,” John said. “It’s not up for me to decide.”

Lucifer made some noncommittal noise.

“We got off on the wrong foot, and I genuinely want to try and get to know you properly.” John hesitated. “If you’ll let me,” he added almost too quietly to be heard over the wind.

Lucifer sighed his back-breaking sigh. “I suppose we can start over.”

At his affirmation, the ugly feeling in his chest subsided. “Good,” he nodded. “I’m glad.”

“But,” Lucifer stuck a finger up in the air, as if preparing to give another monologue. “Just because we’re “starting over” doesn’t mean that I’ll completely stop tormenting you, Jonathan. You’re far too entertaining when your brain is on the verge of melting.”

Lucifer’s tone was light and any malice it may have contained before had been replaced by a vibrant playfulness. John couldn’t fight back the smile on his face.

“Well as Chloe’s father, it is my job to give you a hard time, so I’ve got some tormenting of my own to do too.”

Lucifer chuckled. “I’m the Devil, darling. I’d love to see you try to get under my skin.”

“I’ve got a few cards up my sleeve,” John said. “You never know what might happen.”

Lucifer didn’t respond to that, but a sly smile had plastered itself to his face.

He guided the Corvette down a maze of one-ways, and five minutes later, they slowed to a stop and parked on a quiet street. As John took in the sun-bleached storefronts and crumbling fire escapes, he thought nothing of their location. It was only when he caught sight of a beat up dirt green sign boasting Marisol’s Flower Arrangements that John realized where they were.

“I died at a corner store about a block from here,” he said numbly, all traces of playful teasing draining away. They’d parked too far down the block for John to properly see the store, but he didn’t need a visual, the image of it was burned in his memory.

Lucifer got out of the car. “I know. I parked a block away for a reason. The Detective always says that you shouldn’t let victims see their crime scenes unless they specifically ask to. Something to do with shock or trauma.”

“So why bring us here at all?” John asked, though he already knew the answer. He was just surprised that Chloe still came here after everything that had happened with the shooting.

“Like I said, the Detective doesn’t hate you,” Lucifer replied with a knowing look. He tossed John the car keys. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Lucifer was true to his word, returning only ten minutes later with a takeout bag. When he got back in the car, he traded it for his keys. As they drove back through the city, John tried his best to ignore the bag on his lap. The heat from the food radiated through the cheap paper and into his skin like a persistent house cat kneading at his lap. He hated to think what would happen when he opened the bag. These sandwiches hadn’t just been Chloe’s favorite, once they were his favorite too. He feared that when he would eventually unwrap the foil, he wouldn’t be able to stomach them.

Secretly, John was glad that Lucifer hadn’t expected him to walk into that corner store. He was almost certain if he had, he would have ended up on the tile floor retching at the smell of grease and sweat. He’d choked on that scent as he laid with a bullet in his chest. He could only hope that he wouldn’t choke on the food when it came time to eat it.

John thought back to a time when he had gagged on black tar and maggots instead of grease and blood. He swallowed hard; an echo of oil slid down the back of his throat. Or maybe it was crawling back up. Maybe John would wake the next morning and find that whatever horrors he’d tasted in Limbo were festering inside of him like he was John Hurt in Alien . He supposed if that were true, then it was only a matter of time before it tore through his chest. John shuddered. He absentmindedly touched the space over his heart, as if it too was going to burst out of his chest.

The rest of the drive back to Chloe’s apartment was silent, and neither he nor Lucifer seemed to mind. For John, it was even a welcome reprieve from the madness that was his resurrection and a quiet moment before the inevitable emotional explosion waiting for them at the apartment.

His suspicions were only confirmed when the Corvette pulled into the parking lot. Chloe already had the door open and was standing in the doorframe with her arms crossed. He couldn’t completely make out her features from where they were parked, but John was sure when they got close enough her brows would be scrunched up in an exact replica of Penny’s when she was upset.

Lucifer killed the engine and jumped out of the car. His hands immediately flitted to his cufflinks and then on to smoothing invisible lines in his jacket. At least he was smart enough to be a little nervous, John thought.

“Detective!” Lucifer said when they got to the door. “We bought dinner!”

Chloe’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “What happened to not leaving the apartment?” she demanded.

Lucifer snatched the takeout bag from John’s grasp and held it up as if it explained everything. By the way her eye twitched, Chloe was not impressed.

“Is that the only place you went?” she demanded again.

Lucifer thrust the takeout bag back into John’s hands and flashed her a nervous smile.

“No,” John said flatly.

“Lucifer!”

Lucifer only flapped his hands and slipped past Chloe into the apartment. “It was just to see Linda and Amenadiel!” he called over his shoulder.

Chloe took a deep breath. She sagged against the doorframe, her shoulders tight with tension. “Dad, wherever he dragged you to, I’m sorry. It’s my fault for thinking that Lucifer could stay still and listen for more than a half hour.” She said the last bit a little louder, casting her gaze over her shoulder and making sure the man in question had heard them.

“It’s fine, monkey,” John said, drawing her attention back. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to keep us here. I shouldn’t have gone along with it.”

Finally, Chloe pushed herself off of the doorframe and allowed him to pass. “You shouldn’t have even had to argue to stay here,” she said as he walked past her. Even with his back to her, John could tell she was staring daggers at Lucifer while he busied himself with setting the table.

Just like he had that morning before Chloe had gone to work, John felt out of his element. It was easier for him to interact with Lucifer and Chloe separately. They represented vastly different periods of his life, or death, in Lucifer’s case. With them separated from each other, John could almost pretend that he was still living a normal life. When he was with Chloe, he could ignore his death. When he was with Lucifer, John could accept it head-on. But when they were together, it was difficult. He felt every inch the man lost in time when he saw them together.

All of these thoughts ran through John’s head in under a few seconds, but the existential discomfort of it all made it feel like an eternity.

“Here, I’ll take that from you, Dad,” Chloe said, appearing at his shoulder.

Mechanically, he handed the takeout bag to her, and then went to hang his borrowed jacket back on the hook. Task complete, John turned back to the table, still unsure what he should be doing. He watched Chloe open the bag, as if ready to divvy up their early dinner, and then stop. Her head snapped up to look across the table where Lucifer was pouring their drinks.

“It’s been a stressful two days, I knew you would like to have them,” he said, not looking up.

Lucifer finished filling the third glass in silence. When Chloe still hadn’t responded, he finally met her gaze. John didn’t know what he found there, her back was still to him, but Lucifer’s shoulders hunched.

“Did I get it wrong?” he asked, seemingly folding in on himself in a way that John didn’t know was possible.

“No. You didn’t. Thank you,” she replied softly. “But did you--?”

“No!” Lucifer waved his hand vehemently. “He stayed in the Corvette.”

Chloe nodded, and it was as if that motion cued all the others back to normal. She began setting their food onto plates, and Lucifer fluttered back into the kitchen as if nothing had happened. Slowly, John walked up to the table.

“Can I help with anything?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chloe said, balling up the empty takeout bag, “everything’s already done. Just take a seat.”

He reluctantly did as he was told. He stared at his foil-wrapped sandwich until Lucifer and Chloe sat across from him a moment later. The placement reminded him a bit like an interrogation. In some sense, John thought, perhaps it was. He could tell that Chloe had bitten her tongue about them disobeying her orders today. Surely, it wouldn’t be long before she started fishing for details.

“So,” Chloe began, unwrapping her sandwich. “You went to see Linda and Amenadiel.”

Lucifer took a long sip of wine. “Yes, not that they were any help.”

“Lucifer wanted to look for answers,” John put in, trying to be helpful.

Chloe glanced between the two of them. “What kind of answers?”

“Answers that would help us figure out what in Dad’s name is going on, of course,” Lucifer said.

She raised an eyebrow. “And? What did you find out?”

John was thankful when Lucifer launched into a recount of the day's activities. He loved Chloe, but he simply hadn’t been in the mood to talk since they’d picked up dinner. Speaking of dinner, he glanced down at his untouched sandwich. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat, it was just that he was afraid of what would happen when he did. He knew he was going to have to eat it eventually, or else Chloe would start to get suspicious. The last thing John wanted to do was cause her any more stress.

He forced himself to unwrap his sandwich. Chloe was busy listening to Lucifer, but her eyes were fixed on John the moment he’d begun to remove the foil. With her watching, there was little he could do besides take a bite. Much to his relief, he did not taste tar or ash. It tasted the same as he remembered--rich, greasy, fattening. Even still, it turned his stomach, John realized with dismay.

Under Chloe’s watchful eye, he fought through the nausea and forced down another bite. The ends of her mouth quirked up in the ghost of a smile. Seemingly satisfied with what she saw, Chloe turned back to Lucifer.

It hit him that for her, this was the first time in roughly two decades that they were sharing these sandwiches. In that moment, it was as if their lives had simply picked up from where they’d left off. Had John never been shot, this was what he would have done that night. Instead of choking on his own blood, he would have been up late at the kitchen table, eating these exact sandwiches with Chloe, and then sending her quietly off to bed afterwards.

John finished his sandwich. His stomach twisted itself into new shapes each time he swallowed, but he refused to ruin this for his daughter. She needed this as much as he’d needed to tell her that bedtime story the previous night.

To fend off the overwhelming nausea, he found himself laser-focused on Lucifer’s tale. That was when he noticed the omissions. Before, he hadn’t paid Lucifer’s storytelling any mind. He had been dealing with his own inner turmoil about Chloe and his untimely demise. Now that he had nothing else to do but pay attention, John began to notice the discrepancies.

Lucifer told Chloe most of what they’d experienced that day, with a few key cut corners. He neglected to tell her about Limbo and his mysterious cough. At first, John thought he was avoiding those topics because Chloe didn’t know the truth about who Lucifer really was, but that theory was quickly derailed when she didn’t blink an eye at Amenadiel searching Heaven for clues about their “resurrection problem.”

John didn’t know why he didn’t correct Lucifer. It would have been so easy to mention a detail he’d left out and watch the fallout unfold. Yet, he sat in silence, only adding in an affirmative sounding hum when Lucifer’s tale required it.

He just wanted to see where Lucifer went with it, he told himself. Lucifer had to have a reason he was leaving out key details, but then again, did he? If John was being entirely honest, even though they were on better terms now, he didn’t really know who Lucifer was at all. There was no telling whether or not he would be completely transparent with Chloe. In fact, if their detour around LA was anything to go by, Lucifer seemed to skirt around the truth and bend the rules quite often.

If Lucifer still refused to tell Chloe about Limbo and the cough by the time the night ended, John resolved that he would tell her himself. Chloe was his top priority, she deserved to know the truth, he finally decided. Plus, was it not John’s story to tell anyways? After all, he’d been the one who died and ended up there in the first place.

As Lucifer’s story drew to a close, John grew more and more convinced that he would have to be the one to tell Chloe about Limbo. But then, Lucifer’s story stopped abruptly. He cleared his throat once. Twice. Then he coughed. It sounded wet and thick like it had at Amenadiel’s, except this time it sounded deeper. It was as if Lucifer was a normal human smoker, and there was tar stuck to the bottom of his lungs.

Lucifer quickly pressed a napkin to his lips, but the coughs continued until he was almost gagging.

Chloe worriedly patted his back. “Are you okay?”

John opened his mouth to confess to Chloe that, no, her partner was not, and that he’d been like this all day, but Lucifer beat him to the punch.

“Fine,” Lucifer muttered between coughs. He coughed a few more times before it finally petered out, leaving Lucifer weepy-eyed and with an undoubtedly sore throat. He strategically wiped his mouth with a clean corner of the napkin before folding it up and out of Chloe’s sight. There wasn’t a speck of silver to be seen.

“What was that all about?” she asked, handing Lucifer his wine to wash down the remaining cough.

He shook his head, taking down the rest of the wine like a shot. “Not a clue.”

John shot a glare in his direction, and Lucifer tactfully ignored it.

Chloe stared at Lucifer for a few more seconds. When she found what she had been searching for, she stood and gathered up her dishes. “Maybe those cigarettes are finally catching up to you,” she chuckled over her shoulder as she headed to the sink.

“Darling, we both know my mortality stint ended ages ago,” Lucifer replied, voice scratchy. It was a pathetic recreation of the exact phrase he’d said to Amenadiel just hours before.

Chloe snorted. “Sure.”

John waited until she turned on the tap before he leaned across the table.

“You have to tell Chloe about everything that’s going on, not just the parts that you like or understand,” he whispered fiercely.

“That will only cause unnecessary worry for the Detective,” Lucifer whispered back. He unfolded the napkin and tilted it enough for the silver liquid inside to catch the light. “This is not something that she needs to worry about right now.”

“Lucifer, come on!” He gestured to the napkin. “You’re literally coughing up some unidentified substance. You said it yourself, you’re immortal. So why is this happening now?”

Lucifer’s jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t care what you think you are, Chloe deserves to know.”

The tap shut off.

John glanced over to make sure that Chloe was still busy at the sink. When she was, he turned back to Lucifer.

“Tell Chloe, or I will, Lucifer.”

Lucifer just stared at the silver splatter on the napkin and said nothing.

#deckerstar #my fic #fanfic #john decker #lucifer morningstar #lucifer on netflix

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 3 years

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Superman & Lois - Ep. 102 “Heritage”

In which the Sad Dad vibes and teen angst continues!

Spoilers!

Lois gets the opening and closing narration this week! And generally has more to do, which is nice.

The fam has officially moved to Smallville, so the boys are gearing up to start school...or are they???

Well, Jon is. Jordan is told he has to stay home until he can get his nascent powers under control because they don’t want him to accidentally flash frying a classmate. Which he almost did. Last week.

Clark calls Jordan’s accidental heat vision an ‘ocular release of energy.’

This decision, of course, leads to some FAMILY DRAMA. Jordan feels like a freak! Jonathan is upset that they’ve had to move! Clark feels like he’s failing as a parent!

Oh and also the guy in the Master Chief suit is on the hunt for Kryptonite. Which is, you know. Troubling.

SO it’s off to school for Jonathan and off to the Fortress for Jordan!

Lois, upon Jonathan asking why Jordan gets to go flying with dad: “At least we have the radio!”

One plus side about the show being ‘grounded’ and ‘prestige-y’: the high school drama is of a more believable variety. Still tedious, but at least it’s not dated 90s tropes.

...Well, okay. Not entirely true. Sarah Cushing’s personality thus far is ‘nice girl who’s dating a jerk’ and yes, the line “What do you see in that guy?” is said aloud. So.

Win some, lose some.

MEANWHILE, AT THE FORTRESS:

Love the actor they got for Jor-El. He’s perfect, in that he feels like an homage to Brando, Crowe, but is also his own distinct version. I dig it.

But there’s no giant key made of dwarf star matter because this is GROUNDED and REALISTIC and none of that SILLY CW NONSENSE, WE GOT HBO MAX MONEY.

Back to the Lois vs. Edge plot:

For all the folks wondering how Lois working at the Planet was going to continue, what with the show being set in Smallville...

WELL.

Edge now owns the Planet, so he re-writes a negative article she’s written about him, which leads to her quitting, and going to write for the Smallville Gazette.

Which is operated by Chrissy Beppo.

Who is...named after the super monkey?

Does this mean we’ll eventually meet other Smallville residents named after super pets? Like Marsha Whizzy, or maybe Kenneth Comet.

Seems a weird choice when ‘Bibbo’ is right there.

ANYWAYS.

Best line of the episode: “You know what babe? You do your Superman stuff, and I will do my Lois Lane stuff.”

MEANWHILE, THE SAD DAD VIBES INTENSIFY as Grandpa Jor-El reveals: Jordan...will never be like you, Kal-El. His human DNA is too limiting.

Which is a very interesting plot point (that was sorta mentioned/explored in Future State!)

So, about the boys: I still find them...mostly annoying. But I appreciate the dynamic they’re establishing: Jordan has always required more time and attention due to his anxiety disorder, and Jonathan has always had to look after him and compensate--this carries over into the new status quo where Jordan has the super powers and Jonathan further feels that his brother is getting time and attention and he needs to make sacrifices and changes for him/the family.

This leads to a really lovely moment between the brothers at the end of the episode that I genuinely enjoyed, so. I’m hoping that there will be more of that and less of ‘drama with Sarah’.

(Also if you think that sounds a little like another pair of Super siblings...it does! And also hold that thought.)

The OTHER big twist is that Master Chief AKA Captain Luthor comes from a world with an EVIL SUPERMAN.

To be clear, the set-up is very obviously, ‘Our Clark will prove Captain Luthor wrong re: thinking he’ll turn evil,’ so I’m not seriously suggesting we’re in for a full-on Injustice situation. I just find it funny, how quickly they pulled out the ol’ evil Supes.

(The one we saw in Elseworlds doesn’t count since that wasn’t Clark.)

And maybe this one isn’t either! I admit complete ignorance as to the comics stuff they’re pulling from; I guess it’s somehow connected to Project 7734 (Which is ‘hell’ upside down, as any fifth grader with a calculator will tell you) a counter-Kryptonian force put together by Sam Lane, I think?

IDK. Like I said, comics blind spot.

The episode ends with Grandpa Lane looking a bit spooked at the ominous 7734 keychain Captain Luthor gave him, and Captain Luthor still on the hunt for Kryptonite! DUN DUN DUUNNNNNN.

And now, time for a segment I’ll call: Gettin’ Super Salty w/Stranger wherein I will stash all of my frustration regarding the fact that this spin-off doesn’t really want to be a spin-off.

Okay, so first up! As mentioned, the Fortress design has been changed because the silly Supergirl version does not vibe with the new serious aesthetic.

Their loss! More Legion Rings, baby Sun Eaters, and impractical front door keys for Supergirl!

The sunstone AI details the last days of Krypton, and only one (1) pod is shown escaping the destruction.

Thanks, I hate it.

I do appreciate that Jor-El at least kinda appears to be wearing clothes that match the look of Supergirl’s Krypton. I wasn’t paying close attention to the buildings in the hologram, no clue if they match the architecture we’ve seen thus far.

Like, I get it. There’s no time to pause the plot and be like, ‘hey, just FYI, I’m not the sole survivor of Krypton, my cousin escaped as well’ but also AAAARRRRRGHHHHHH.

You’re using the versions of the characters introduced in Supergirl, the least you can do is namedrop her once. ONCE. That’s all I’m asking. XD

They missed their opportunity, actually; when the boys were like, ‘We have so many questions!’ All you had to do was slip in, ‘Are we related to Supergirl?’ Bam. Done. Never need to go back to it, you’ve acknowledged it, continue on with your solo Sad Dad adventures!

(Except I guess that wouldn’t work, since so much of this is built on Clark being the Lone Protector of the earth. If you allude to other heroes being around, your whole character motivation/struggle makes less sense.)

I get it but I don’t have to like it. XD

They shoulda just set this on another Earth!

Circling back to the sibling dynamic: I hate how now I really want Kara to someday appear on this show and hang out with the boys and be like, ‘ah, yes, I know the feeling, my sister and I were the same.’

That’s it, that’s all the crossover content I need. I realize Melissa is moving on to bigger and better things but MAYBE SOMEDAY. XD (Or maybe I’ll just write a fic, who knows.)

I can’t remember if I brought this up already but it is hilarious to me that anyone still thinks of Superman as a reporter--most modern takes treat it as an afterthought and here, it’s dispensed in the first episode.

It has not been brought up since.

Like, much is made about Lois leaving Metropolis, and what that’ll mean for her career, but no one in Smallville is like, ��Clark, wow! Farming? That’s quite a career change!’

(I assume he’ll be farming, since they mentioned starting the farm up again.)

...You think anyone will drag the writers for tossing aside Clark’s ‘true calling?’

Who am I kidding? Supergirl fandom is not watching this show, they’re just harassing the people running the social media accounts.

SO OVERALL: The good remains good! The meh remains meh! I appreciate that this version of Clark and Lois exist as we inch ever closer to the release of the Snyder Cut! But also the behind-the-scenes stuff continues to hang over everything like a terrible cloud! Here’s hoping those problems are addressed!

#long post #superman and lois spoilers #that supergirl spinoff #stranger rambles

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fictionalrambles · 4 years

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Shadowhunters Fandom Story - Part Nine

Submitted by Mary Kate

Sanctuary by @sfjessii

Why I love this story:

If i have a bad day, i download this, log off and escape into this wonderful world. This is my comfort fic. I adored the way Magnus and Alec had this instant connection. Never too shy to tell the other how beautiful they are, and described so beautifully. Nala, Alec’s dog was such a vital part of this story, i really loved the way the animals were involved, especially the way Nala and Chairman Meow turned into these wonderful characters of theor own. Nala's bond with Alec was beautiful, how she reacted to his feelings, and was a support for him. This story has little bit of everything, fluff, pining, loving, makes your heart burst with love. We had Magnus' family welcoming Alec, then Alec's also welcoming Magnus! Domestic moments, mornings together at the loft, cuddling, making risotto - What’s not to love.

Favourite lines:

[“You buy pumpkins, all kinds, from me, though you’re allergic, you run after me in slippers, you are... really special.” He grins so wonderfully, Magnus can’t but smile, his cheeks suddenly heating up.]

[Magnus adores the way Alec kisses him after a long day. As if he had missed him every minute he was gone, as if he can only wholly breathe, and be at ease, once he’s with him again, as if Magnus is the reason for his happiness, his sanctuary].

[“It’s not to prove our love, or anything like that. You’re right, we don’t need that, and this won’t change anything, except that this is a once in lifetime experience - well, for us anyway - and I want to have that with you, because you’re the one, the only one, and I... really want to see that glorious wedding you planned, and you outshining everyone in your wedding tux when you bawl your eyes out," he smiles, close to tears, and takes a shuddery breath. "But most of all I want to call you my husband].

In the Sin Bin by @otppurefuckingmagic

Why I love this story:

This fic was my introduction to hockey, i knew absolutely nothing about the sport before this and you really don’t need to, because it’s so well explained in the story. I love the torture of the slow burn before Malec’s first kiss, it was so intense as there was so much anticipation and neither wanted to cross a line but also really knowing that it would eventually happen. Some of the lines in here are absolutely beautiful, and also painfully beautiful like their break-up because the break-up was because the loved the other so much they were trying to protect them which made it even harder and makes it so easy to get lost in this work. There are so many character developments here too but they happen over a period of time and not rushed which i liked and made it feel real and natural. And our protangonists work things out but there are many twist and turns along the way, and a beautiful friendship between Magnus and Max.

Favourite lines:

[“This is crossing another line, Magnus"

"I don't even know what a line is"]

[You know,” Max called out as he approached Magnus, “it’s a pretty well established superstition that if you sit on the Raziel statue that you’re doomed to an eternity of forced abstinence.”

Magnus practically flew off the base of the statue in front of the Angels’ arena at Max’s words].

[Because there’s someone I’m involved with and I can’t deny his importance in my life—no matter what the consequences are. The blackmail, my parents.... I can let all of that shit go on the ice if he’s at my side. He and hockey are the most important things to me right now. I’m fighting for my pride as a gay man and an Angel, Coach. It’s not an either-or scenario for me—it’s both.”]

Power Play by @bbmonarch

Why I love this story:

I had originally seen Art for this story on twitter and i was so intrigued that i had to read the story. The content in this story is heavy and at times quite dark and normally content i hide away from but this one i just couldnt stay away, it’s just so well written with complex yet well-rounded characters & i when i started reading it, i couldn’t put it down, there are two parts to this and i read it all as one and have a sob-fest. But amongst all the darkness there is enough happy/fluffy moments to keep a balance to the story and the deep love that Magnus and Alec have in this universe is one of the strongest i have seen in any other story, part of what drew me to it and why i love it so much. Another thing i liked is the friendship between Jace and Magnus and that is something i always love in a story, like when Jace was there to look after Magnus, making sure he got back back safe and took care of Magnus so he was there and well when Alec woke up in a certain scene. We get loads of fluffy moments and cute when it was just them, the normally fearsome Alec a blushing mess when Magnus calls him everything from, pup, puppy, munchkin etc. Lastly i loved the way they cared/looked after each other when they were hurt/sick and magnus looking after Alec when he went off the rails and helping him through his addiction was amazingly sweet, even when they had broken up at the time summed them up to me.

Favourite lines:

[Magnus smiled and looked down to where Alec was ripping the label into small pieces “Sexually frustrated?” Alec snapped out of his thoughts and stiffened in his seat, Magnus laughed softly “It’s what they say you are if you play with the labels on your bottles”. “I don’t.. I didn’t know” Alec said and pushed the bottle away. “You didn’t know that what it meant or you don’t know if you are sexually frustrated?”]

[“I love your eyes” He let out before he had a chance to think about what he was actually saying. “Thank you”. Alec could see in his eyes that he was smiling, not needing to take his focus away from them. “Do you wear contact lenses or something?” he asked and tipped his head slightly to the side, shivering a little as Magnus hand moved around to the back of his neck and his fingers played with the shorter hairs, like he was trying to twirl it around his fingertips. “No” Magnus was still smiling “I am just a little special”]

[‘Magnus’s eyes were filled with love as he cupped his face, leaned down over him and kissing away his tears. Closing his eyes, Alec felt Magnus’ lips against his eyelids so softly it was barely a kiss. Alec moved his hands to rest against Magnus’ knees, feel his own heartbeat echo off Magnus’ palms as Magnus pressed his hands against his chest.”]

[Alec reached for his hand and brought it up to his face and gently places a kiss against the back of it. “I love you just the same. There may be a little bit less of you but that just means the left-over love I have is spread out equally amongst the rest of you” he said, sounding adorably cheesy.

“I can’t with you” Magnus laughed, feeling better about himself than he had in a long time, maybe even before everything with Jonathan happened. “I love you so much, puppy”. Seeing Alec’s eyes light up at the nickname, Magnus regretted not using it more frequently].

Love Is Not a Victory March by j__writes and @lecrit

Why I love this story:

Tried hard to choose my fave stories for this TOP 5 Favourite's and these two writer have some amazing ones and were so difficult to choose from. I planned to have 'Bright Light's Small Town' and 'Take Me To Church' but this collab had such a huge effect that i couldn’t possibly leave it out. Honestly, one of the most beautiful, deep, meaningful stories I ever read about Alec and Magnus because the raw content and these two writers are hard-hitters when it comes to writing angst. Watching these characters pour their hearts out, falling apart, nearly breaking up and divorcing and then realizing their love was stronger than any of it and starting from scratch, building themselves up again, such an amazing thing to see and also is so very real-life. So many things (and people) had got in their way but they finally managed to communicate and begin again. Watching them fall in love all over again was such a pleasure and so beautifully written.

Favourite lines:

[He wonders how he could have ever forgotten how it felt to fall in love with the wonder and light that is Magnus Bane. He can’t believe he ever let Magnus spend so many days in sadness. That he was the cause of that sadness. There’s so much he needs to make right]

[“There is the rawness of an open wound in their cries, their embrace certainly the only thing keeping them from completely falling apart. The distance between has been washed away,”]

[There is nothing left but the blunt honesty on his features, the same that always leads one of Alec’s earth-shattering declarations. He never seems to realize how the words he utters so candidly can throw Magnus’ whole world off balance while at the same time grounding him to the reality of Alec’s love for him. It is, quite possibly, Magnus’ favorite feeling. “Every time I think I can’t possibly love you more you just–” he shakes his head with a sense of fatality that he seems to welcome gratefully, “– God, I love you so much.”]

[‘Carefully, he disentangles her fingers from the chain, pressing a quick kiss against her tiny hands. When he is done, he slips the necklaces off his neck and tucks them away in the top drawer, smiling down at her.]

[Three years ago, Magnus had a grim, morose thought that perhaps it had been the universe’s way of telling him that this isn’t what he should have, that this life he had dreamed of was but a dream, meant to remain unreachable like the stars. He has to believe now, no matter how foolish, that there is a star out there, far away from his reach perhaps but forever embedded in his heart, that is looking over him, over them. He hopes she can feel it, the love he had for her, and he hopes she will forgive him, for failing to protect her.]

Set Me in Motion by lemonoclefox

Why I love this story:

Such a wonderful story. It’s different from the others i have listed as in this story, we start off with Alec having a boyfriend before anything happened between him and Magnus but its made very clear that this relationship is at times very one-sided and that this Raj is not the right person for Alec and he didn’t seem to have any interest in Alec’s life outside their relationship and hadn’t even met his family. The relationship with Alec and Magnus was so natural, realistic and mature, it was obvious from the start they had chemistry but with Alec in a relationship, nothing was ever going to happen between them and they had this lovely charming friendship. And which moved forward after the break-up primarily thorough Alec looking after Magnus and making sure he was eating when he was working too hard, how sweet is that? The communication between the two is something i really love about this too and you always get the impression they’re both on the same page. There’s wonderful fun and humour between the two and even on the business side, in their jobs , they are each other’s biggest supporter, lastly the story has another thing i love in fic, a friendship between Magnus and Jace.

Favourite lines:

[‘You don't have to sit here and wait for him," he remembers Magnus saying, that first night theytalked. "And if that's what he expects, he's probably not worth it, they never are."]

[“In more ways than one. Even when other stuff was a mess, being with you always just..."He tries to find the words, shakes his head, and Magnus finds the words for him "Made sense," he suggests gently. He turns his head, and he and Alec just gaze at each other for a few moments, the two of them suspended in time].

[I like you," Jace proclaims loudly, throwing his arm over Magnus's shoulders as they end up sitting next to each other in the far back, once the car starts moving. Magnus is squeezed in between him and Alec, and Alec is just gazing happily at his brother and his boyfriend, a drunk smile on his face. "I mean, you're a bit―" Jace gestures exaggeratedly with his hand. "But it's all good. You're alright”]

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction blog

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hopewritcs · 5 years

Text

dancing in the kitchen. nine.

pairing: romantic steve x reader, familial dustin x reader

word count: 1.5k

summary: without giving too much away: the reader is y/n Henderson, Dustin’s older cousin who’s staying in town, due to some family issues. takes place soon after s2.

note: sometimes i laugh because this fic is set during the new year and we’re in july. which makes me feel lowkey bad about it. but also ? wild. i still love this one. this is the final chapter ! with an epilogue to follow ( skipping ahead a few months ). thanks for all the support, y’all have meant everything to me while writing this fic.

other chapters: masterlist

ditc tag list: @stevieboyharrington, ,@thekidsofneibolt, @labgeek, @tyedyedstars, @samisimportant, @madhatterweasley, @pity-mee, @l4life, @restlessmelodrama @darkuserboxes,@princessnancy,@hipsmcgee, @wtf-richarddd @honey-your-bee-puns-sting@whataloadofmalarkey @queenlalybug @im-a-stranger-thing @bilesxbilinskixlahey @ravenclawnerdfromnarnia @trashyemonerd @theslayingavenger (if you wanna be added to the tag list, let me know!!)

Steve had called Y/N every day since their kiss. He’d been dragged away for a family holiday, but had made sure to call the Henderson house every night he was away. The first couple of times Dustin answered the phone.

“Come on Steve, it’s not like you won’t see her soon. Don’t you miss me too?” Dustin had asked once.

“Of course, dude. But can I talk to Y/N? Please.”

After that, Dustin had given up answering the phone at all, knowing it was likely Steve calling for his cousin. He did, however, take to calling them “mushes” from the top of the stairs any time he heard the pair on the phone. He claimed it was gross, but he was happy that his cousin was genuinely happy. Dustin may not know what brought Y/N to Hawkins, but he was glad it seemed to weigh less on her shoulders now that she had Steve.

Finally it was New Years Eve and everyone was gathered in the Henderson household. The parents were over at the Wheeler’s place, but instead of spending the night in the basement and being called up at midnight, the kids decided that spending the night at the Henderson house, with the teens, was a much better idea.

The party was in full swing, everyone having shown up early. They were all going to spend the night too, sleeping bags set up once again on the living room floor. Reminiscent of the weeks prior when they had spent the night there as well. It made Y/N happy to see everyone laughing and mingling around.

Steve had been the first to show up, bringing in tow Lucas and Max. He immediately planted himself at Y/N’s side while she prepared snacks and offered to help her out. But he proved to be more of a distraction than anything else. Earlier, while she had scooped out cookie dough into perfected small bits to put in the oven, Steve had taken it upon himself to grab a spoon and taste the homemade dough.

That had gotten him kicked out of the kitchen and banished to the living room with the rest of the kids who had shown up by then. They laughed, teasing him for getting kicked out of the kitchen by his girlfriend. When Y/N heard that, she felt a blush creep up her neck, pattering her face with heat.

Girlfriend.

Not that she’d forgotten. The night was etched into her memory, dancing in the kitchen to the mixtape with Steve. But it felt like it had been so long since she’d seen Steve that she could have convinced herself she’d dreamt up the whole scene. If not for the multiple phone calls, and the ache of missing him, that is.

With snacks set out around the house, chips and such on the coffee table in the living room and the baked goods Y/N had made resting in the kitchen, everyone was settling in, getting ready to count to the new year. It was still a few hours away, and the kids were deciding what they were going to do until close til midnight.

It was just the kids and Steve that night. Y/N had spent a good portion of the night before attempting to convince Nancy to come by with Jonathan, but her friend explained that they already had plans.

“But I expect to hear everything about you and Steve when I see you on the first day of school in the new year.” Nancy had said.

“You wouldn’t have to wait so long if you just came here tonight!” Y/N countered, huffing softly. She had been looking forward to spending the time with all of her friends, not having expected Nancy and Jonathan to go off and do their own thing--even if it was a warning she’d gotten a couple of days prior when Will had been hanging out with Dustin.

Spending the evening curled up on the couch at Steve’s side? That definitely made up for any feeling of disappointment from not having her friend there too.

The minute that she finished cutting up the brownies onto the platter, Y/N had settled into the living room and curled her feet up onto the couch, leaning into Steve’s welcoming arms and grinning when he kissed the top of her head.

She’d forgotten all about the kids sitting around the coffee table until she heard Dustin speaking. “So they got together on Christmas Eve Eve. Who does that make the winner of the bet?”

“Me.” Will said, and then Mike was grabbing a couple of dollars from his bag, supposedly the betting pool, and handing it over to the other boy who happily pocketed the change. He already knew he was likely going to spend it on something for the group anyway. Something they could all share.

“Still can’t believe you bet on us.” Y/N hummed, shaking her head as she looked at her younger cousin.

“And I still can’t believe I didn’t win. Guess we’re both going to be disappointed, Y/N.” Dustin said, shaking his head as he shuffled the cards that they had been playing with.

Y/N scoffed, “How were you supposed to win if you didn’t even tell us about the bet?”

“Would you have made it so I won?”

Steve and Y/N looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders, “Probably not.” they decided, looking back at Dustin who had had a look of hope on his face until they told him that.

“Well that’s just rude!”

“Fair’s fair, Dusty.” Y/N said, tugging Steve’s arm and bringing him to sit down beside her on the floor where the kids made room for them. Dustin still wore a look of slight annoyed betrayal on his face, but shook it off after a nudge in his side from Lucas. “So, what are we playing?”

Time passed with laughter and jokes as they played a couple of different card games. But closing in on midnight, they turned on the television and put on the ball drop live from New York City.

“What’s it like there?” Lucas asked, turning to look over at Y/N.

“Did you ever go there for the actual ball drop?” Max chimed in, turning around too.

“Is it as cold as it looks?” El asked quietly, turning to peer at where Y/N was sitting. She was almost always soft spoken, and Y/N turned to look at her first.

“Colder sometimes. Once there was a snowstorm and I was walking home to the brownstone and I tripped and fell face first into a pile of snow on the sidewalk.” Y/N explained with a light chuckle, shaking her head as she spoke. “But, yeah, I went to the ball drop the first year we were in the city. All of my school friends were like you gotta go, we gotta go, it’s gonna be epic. But in reality it was just this big old party and I would have rather been home curled up with some of my friends watching movies,” probably sneaking some of her parents stash of booze, but Y/N wasn’t going to tell the kids that, “and maybe checking out the ball drop on television.” Y/N hummed contently as she spoke.

“I’d like to go to New York one day.” Will said softly, mostly sounding like he was talking to himself.

“Maybe when we’re older we could do a road trip there. That could be fun.” Dustin nodded, nudging Will with his arm to show him he heard the comment and that he would like that too. “I’m sure Y/N and Steve would chaperone us.”

“Oh yeah, let’s tell your parents. Hey, we’re gonna take the kids on a trip to New York City. Y/N and I are going to be with them the whole time, just a road trip away. I don’t think they’d go for it.” Steve’s laughter bubbles in his chest, echoing against Y/N’s head, since she had been leaning against his chest.

“They’d totally go for it. Mom trusts Y/N completely.” Dustin spoke assuredly. When a grunt of questioning came from Steve, Y/N laughed softly and looked at her cousin. “Oh, yeah, and Steve too, definitely buddy.” Dustin flashed a bright grin at the pair, turning back to his friends and speaking excitedly about whatever possible New York City plans he could come up with off the top of his head.

“Guys, the countdown’s starting, shut the hell up!” Max said, slapping her hand on the coffee table to get everyone’s attention to the television screen lighting up the room.

All the voices were pounding, shouting out as the countdown began.

10 ....

9 ....

Y/N grabbed a hold of Steve’s hand, intertwining their fingers as she looked up at him.

8 ....

7 ....

He smiled back down at her, both of them ignoring the continued countdown of everyone else.

6 ....

5 ....

“Get a room!” Dustin called, tossing a pillow at the pair.

“Shut up Dustin!” the other kids called back to him.

4 ....

3 ....

Steve kissed Y/N’s forehead and cheek.

Y/N leaned up, about to kiss him lightly when,

“You’re supposed to wait until midnight to kiss, buddy.”

2 ....

1 ....

And they kissed.

And for the moment, it really felt like everything was going to be alright.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #reader x steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #dancing in the kitchen

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beerecordings · 5 years

Note

"Start with the youngest", with Anti n JBM? :D

Yesss I saw this list n I was like oh I KNOW somebody gonna send that one in and then the two of you had me covered hahaha. Love you both and hope you enjoy! REALLY loved writing this one, got pretty swept up in it.

Warnings for hospitalization, intubation, and mentions of torture and blood.

Edit: okay @a-single-green-eyeball made an amazing piece that takes some inspo from this little fic! you should totally check it out here, it’s wicked

He sits with his knees drawn to his chest, his fingers digging into his calves.

Tick, tick, tick, counts the clock on the wall.

Gritted teeth grind against each other in his mouth.

Tick, tick, tick, counts the clock on the –

“Fuck, shut the hell up!” Jackie turns to snarl at it, reaching up to tear at his hair. “He’s trying to sleep, you stupid hunk of plastic!”

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.

Alright, that’s fucking it. Jumping to his feet, Jackie shoves his shitty plastic hospital chair away, leaps across the shitty plastic hospital floor, and snatches the shitty plastic hospital clock off the wall. Distress and sensation crash so heavily across his mind that he feels like he is not thinking at all, and then, before he can summon the energy to care, he is smashing the face of the clock into the shadowed midnight windowsill, striking again and again and again, until what was once a clock is now shards clutched too tightly between his fingers.

For a moment, silence.

Beep, sighs Jameson’s heart monitor. Beep. Beep.

Cars rush by stories below. The lights buzz out a pretend hive mind, harsh and groaning in the ceiling. Heels click on the linoleum floors. Faraway is the swish of a train, distant and dissipating, foam on an unreachable ocean. Two rooms away someone is crying.

“Jackie,” comes a voice, a low warmth in the midst of so much cold noise.

He turns and moves, rounding Jameson’s bed once more. His eyes are wild, he knows. His hair is a mess and there is blood at the nape of his neck and his panic and rage are tangible, olfactory, gustatory, he knows. He shouldn’t be here. He knows.

Chase stands in the doorway, watching him. His eyes are red too. He’s been crying already. Probably since the second he heard about the attack, he’s been crying. He is smaller than Jackie and easier to tears. Jackie cannot bear to see him in pain.

His little brother.

“Jackie,” says Chase again.

Jackie slumps back into his chair and pulls his knees to his chest, chewing on his nails, rocking, waiting, watching his baby brother sleep.

Chase sighs in the doorway.

“They told me they couldn’t get you to leave,” he says, with a step forward. Jackie turns to glare at his feet, gnawing at the end of his thumb. “Apparently you nearly punched the nurse who tried to drag you away. And now you’re not letting anyone get close to him.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jackie snaps, before Chase can work himself into a full-blown lecture.

There’s a long moment of noise, absent Chase’s voice.

“Can I come in?” he asks finally.

Jackie growls low in his throat, his eyes on Jamie.

Sleeping so, so soundly. He’s so white under the mean little fluorescent lights. He’s so small with that strip of plastic inside his mouth, breathing too heavily at the air that it gives him.

“It’s me, man,” Chase soothes, taking another step in.

“Prove it,” Jackie hisses, whirling on him. “I don’t know that. I don’t know it’s you.”

Chase sighs again. Jackie grinds his teeth and shakes out his hands, chock-full of pent-up rage with nowhere to go.

And Chase steps forward, gentle, and takes Jackie in his arms before he can protest, wrapping him up and squeezing him tight, tight, tight, rubbing his shoulders and setting his chin firmly on top of Jackie’s head, until, at last –

Jackie bursts into tears, rocking against Chase’s chest.

“It’s my fault!” he howls. “This is is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault,” Chase answers. He spares a hand to reach out and clutch Jamie’s, but their little brother does not answer, does not wake, does not stir, not for a moment, for a second, for a single sliver of broken time.

“Let’s start with the eldest,” Anti purred.

He trailed his knife down Jackie’s throat. Blood bloomed obediently at the surface of the white flesh.

“Fuck you,” said Jackie, grinning wicked.

Cement walls buried deep in the earth made Anti’s hide-out silent as a corpse, dark as legs torn off of crickets. “Always so proud,” chirruped Anti, straightening his blade against Jackie’s collarbone. “I enjoy that.”

“Yeah? Enjoy this.”

Jackie rammed his knee towards Anti’s stomach, but the glitch disappeared in a wash of shadow, reappearing, a black haze, at Jackie’s side. For just a second, his darkness blocked out Jameson, chained up at Jackie’s side, but then Anti moved again and Jackie could see his little brother, and all was well.

He tried to smile at Jamie. Jamie stared back, eyes large.

Eyes angry.

“Nice try,” Anti sang, flipping the knife around in his hands. Jackie doesn’t even bother to watch it. He was tired of silver in the darkness, and met Anti’s eyes instead. He was proud, yes, proud to suffer for Jameson’s sake. Proud to do anything, anything, whatever it took to spare his littlest brother a single second of hurt.

Anti dragged the knife across his cheek.

Jackie gasped and swore and laughed, loud, at the warm blood sliding down his face. “Best you can do, Anti? You’ll have to try a little harder, you corrupted excuse for a functioning program. We both know that I – ”

Jackie cut off, startled by a stunning sensation in his face. Anti drew back, equally surprised.

Jackie’s face healed.

And Anti turned his gaze to Jameson, who stared right back, his eyes glowing a vibrant silver in the shadows. Silent with his hands chained. Watching with hatred in his fierce youth’s eyes.

“Oh, darling,” Anti murmured.

Moving away from Jackie. Moving towards Jameson.

“No,” Jackie snapped, trying, not for the first or second or hundredth time, to pull his chains out of the wall.

“So you don’t need your clock,” mused Anti, tilting his head. His eyes shimmered and changed colors, venom green to meet the fine silver of Jameson’s gaze. “Interesting.”

For a moment more he stared at Jameson, considering, but then, oh, relief, relief, he returned to Jackie, lifting up his knife again.

“I want to talk about where your precious Sean is.” Anti began to carve, painting blood down Jackie’s torso, and Jackie bit back on a cry, fire burning across his body. “Maybe if you talk like a nice boy I’ll even leave your little dead-tongue alone, and then – ”

But there was no ‘and then.’ Time turned back across Jackie’s flesh, and, in an instant, slices of skin mended themselves back together, blood retreating to untouched veins, scars unscarring on the white curve of his stomach.

Anti watched it happen.

Fascinated.

“Well,” he whispered, tucking his little blade away. There is a larger one on the table across the room. “Now you’re just being annoying.”

He turned to Jameson and glitched forward, and then he was grabbing him by the throat, slamming him back against the wall, and Jackie screamed aloud.

“No!” he cried. Not for the first time, or the second, or the thousandth, he yanks, hard, against the chains that bind him, bruising blue his wrists. “Anti, leave him alone! He’ll stop! Jameson, stop!”

“No, you know, I don’t think he will,” Anti drawled, squeezing until Jameson gagged. “Besides, now I’m intrigued. I haven’t spent much time with the little one, you know. Family, right? They never call, they never come over to be tortured…”

“Anti, leave him alone!”

“I wonder, Jameson – that is the name, isn’t it, or do you just go by Dapper? – I wonder, Dapper, if you’re so very talented at healing your brother, are you equally skilled at saving yourself?”

“Anti,” Jackie cried again. “Leave him alone. I’m the one you want. I’m the one you’ve always wanted.”

“Quiet, pest,” Anti snarled, and shadow coated Jackie’s mouth before he could speak again, drawing away with a gag in place. “Always is over. There’s a new member of the family. And I’ve changed my mind.”

He released Jameson’s throat. Jamie slumped down in his chains – and yet, in his eyes, Jackie saw defiance.

He is the youngest. Jackie was reminded, in that moment, that he was also a hurricane.

Anti picked up the knife and turned back to him. Two forces of nature met eye-to-eye, and Jackie, between them, was only mortal.

“Let’s start with the youngest,” said Anti, and put a blade in Jameson’s chest.

Stalking down the hall, Henrik is not unlike a hurricane either.

“Where the fuck do you get off?” he shouts, and then he grabs Doctor Jonathan Farraday by the shirt collar, and yanks him away from a pleasant conversation with a nearby nurse.

“Damn it, Henrik!” Farraday cries, nearly tripping over the IV someone is dragging along as Henrik yanks him at full-speed toward the room at the end of the hall. “What the hell?”

“You know Marvin and Jameson are my patients – ”

“You’re not supposed to operate on family, Schneeplestein!”

“I’m the best doctor in this OR and not a goddamn screw-up like you – ”

“Henrik, you don’t work here anymore!” squeals Farraday.

“In the words of a close friend,” snarls Henrik. “Fuck that noise.”

He shoves the other doctor against the wall as he yanks open the door to Jameson’s room, fuming like a green-leaf fire.

The sobs Jackie is releasing into Chase’s shirt stop immediately, and Henrik’s big brother looks up with a fight in his eyes, but before he can do anything stupid Henrik is shoving him aside, rounding Jameson’s bed and flipping open the patient report he stole out of Farraday’s desk.

“There you are, Schneep,” sighs Chase, squeezing Jackie’s shoulders again. “Is Marv doing okay?”

“Fine,” replies Schneep tersely, flipping through Jameson’s charts. “Just his usual over-exertion symptoms and one bad cut. Give him two days and he’s fine. Farraday, why the hell is he intubated?”

“He needs the oxygen,” Farraday defends himself frailly. He comes to stand at Jameson’s side, and then backs away at the look in Jackie’s wild eyes. “He took at least four knife wounds to the ribs, Henrik.”

“At least? What the fuck kind of doctor are you, ‘at least?’ Was it four or not? His oxygen levels are fine!”

Farraday shuffles awkwardly past Jackie’s glare and stops at Henrik’s side, and the two doctors stand staring together at Jameson’s vitals reading.

Chase squishes Jackie’s hand in his own and turns to look at JJ, reaching down to brush a limp curl from his closed eyes. Dark lashes touch his white cheeks, but Chase is glad to see that there is at least a little color there, a little sign of life in his soft face.

“Jackie, what happened?” asks Chase, low and desperate, as Schneeplestein and Farraday erupt into argument over the amount of painkillers Jameson requires.

Jackie turns to him with tears in his eyes. He tries to steady himself through a stammer, struggling even to get the words out, let alone to say anything that will make sense to Chase. “It took hours before he stopped healing,” he chokes. “Hours and hours, and by then he was so exhausted it was like he was dying anyway. There was all this blood from his nose, and then his ears, and then his mouth, but Anti just kept going and going and going – ”

He buries his face in Chase’s shirt, sobbing again.

“Let’s just be glad Marvin found you in time,” Chase soothes, rubbing his back.

“But what if he didn’t? They told me a couple hours ago they weren’t even sure he’d make it through the night and now – ”

“Why the hell you are speaking so much bullshit!” Henrik shouts, loud enough to regain their attention. “He’s fucking fine! Take the goddamn tube out! No, forget it, I’ll get it myself! Get out of mein sight – my sight – go! Go!”

Farraday nearly falls over himself in his haste to escape, but the others ignore him. Jackie rises from his chair, hope waking up in his chest. “Henrik, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know what that idiot had him on. He’s not so bad as they told you.”

“What?”

“Look, see, how his vitals are mostly okay, just a little weakness, a little trouble breathing. I put the oxygen in his nose instead of down his throat like this and he’ll still be okay. Poor little guy. He does look so small, doesn’t he? Shit, I’m sure Farraday botched this whole thing. I am looking at his chest.”

He draws back the blankets and begins unraveling the bandages coating Jameson’s chest with a warm and professional hand, drawing away layers that Jackie could have sworn were coated in blood just hours before. Reaching bare skin, Henrik stops and gently, gently, runs his hands across Jameson’s chest.

Together, they watch the wounds disappear as though they’d never existed.

“Mein Gott,” whispers Henrik.

“Whoa,” Chase breathes.

And Jackie looks up, and sees, and Jameson opens his eyes.

Smiling through the tube in his mouth.

“Little brother,” cries Jackie, and falls upon him, clutching him close, squeezing his unscarred body tight, tight, tight. “Little brother, little brother, little brother!”

On the wall, the shattered clock has remended itself.

#jackieboyman #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #jse egos #trigger warning torture #bee writes #short but sweet!!#owletry #kitnkas #dapper and badass

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ok-anon · 5 years

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How Did It End Up Like This? (”Mr. Brightside” Roger Taylor x Reader) Chapter 1

PLEASE REBLOG AND LEAVE COMMENTS, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH IT HELPS. ALSO REQUEST BOX IS OPEN!

a/n: this is a submission for @yourealegendfred ‘s 3k songfic challenge (congrats love, you fricken deserve it) and i’ve worked for a bit on it. even if you’re not a Queen/Bohrap fan, maybe give it a shot? this fic could be for both universes. also THIS IS A SERIES and if y’all like it, let me know so I can continue it! thank you all so much, i love you all

pairing: roger taylor x reader

word count: 1.2k

Backstage should not have felt as sweltering as it did. There was no plausible reason for the thin sheen of sweat enveloping his scantily clad body, especially in the brisk month of January. But nevertheless, the young drummer felt the blood under his pale skin begin to simmer.

How long had she been standing there?

Roger, of course, was talking about the Queen’s regular groupie who had been tagging along for the past few months. However, groupie was definitely not the right word. As an amateur photographer, she wasn’t there just because she loved the band. She was there because she felt the insane exhilaration from their performance that the rest of the band did, and wanted to capture it forever in film. After examples of her remarkable talent and willingness to work for a professional referral alone, she scored a proper position on the team. And Roger Taylor was addicted to her.

He first noticed that she never tried to catch his attention, quite the opposite actually. Wanting to take candid photos, ‘Rog, for Christ's sake, stop staring at the camera!’ often left her mouth. But how could he help it? When she would crouch on the sidelines to gain a level perspective, bottom lip wedged between her teeth, one radiant eye scrunched shut as she trained her gaze on her target. How on earth could he look away?

And the relationship between the two twenty-somethings was, in Roger’s opinion, close to perfection. He adored their back and forth, the relentless teasing, the soft smiles of encouragement he’d receive before rushing out on stage. She would take the piss out of his mistakes, and while he’d never admit it he looked forward to her badgering. He would describe them as...friends. Not particularly close, but a warm feeling always followed her presence. And there was a specific reason that every girl he took home at the end of the night, was not that. Because once you slept with someone, you risked losing what you had before.

Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t want to sleep with her. She was obviously fit. The second she showed up for her first soundcheck, there was an irremovable stirring in his lower stomach. He had hoped that it would eventually dissipate. Seeing her tonight, was honest proof that it never did. Her typical work jeans and button down was replaced by a restrictive skirt and blouse that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her heels clacked teasingly against the worn cement as she cleaned the lens of her beloved camera. A nervous habit of hers, he noted. It couldn’t be pre-show jitters however because if she still had those she had always managed to hide them well.

Ignoring the university student currently carding her manicured fingers through his lengthy blonde waves, Roger’s eyes were locked on the girl shooting a test shot of the sound crew. He was thinking on how the two had never shared a one-on-one conversation, always keeping a safe distance and the company of others. But maybe, that was time to change. His legs had just begun straining to push his weight off of his resting spot when he paused.

Who the hell was this guy?

The simmer in his blood increased to a boil when his gaze trained on the tall metrosexual placing his hands on her waist, in an all too familiar fashion. Pursing his lips with enough pressure to bruise, Roger’s brows knitted together. He watched her, the girl who could admittedly make his current bout of nausea feel alluring, slide her palms across his button up clad chest. Seeing their lips connect was enough to cause his hand on the strawberry blonde’s thigh to clench uncomfortably.

“Ouch!” she hissed through her teeth, and he removed his touch instantly. He barely muttered an apology as he rose to his feet. Stalking forward, knowing very well he could make one of his hot-headed mistakes, he needed to know who this blazer toting twat was.

“Roger Taylor!” his voice leaving her lips did not help the turmoil in his gut, but did cause the corner of his mouth to quirk up famously. “Meet...Jonathan. My boyfriend.” No. Absolutely not. Someone as exhilarating and vibrant as she would never choose this absolute paper bag of a human being. The hand that was outstretched by their unconcerned guest was limply shaken as the drummer attempted to hide his grimace.

“So thrilled that you all came to the area, it’s nearly impossible to take a break from my classes at Cambridge.” Roger couldn’t help the scoff that erupted from his throat as he clicked his tongue.

This prick. This golden triangle, pressed shirt, photographer stealing prick.

“Sure, mate.” He offered, bitingly. He rolled his shoulders back, challenging eyes not leaving the other male. Despite the testosterone pumping through his veins, the blonde’s searing skin instantly erupted in goosebumps when he felt her tender touch dance across his exposed upper arm.

“Rog has definitely been my sanity on the road. Even if he’s a right arse most of the time.” The mix of her comment and subsequent laugh caused an unexpected reaction within Roger. It wasn’t realizing that his trousers had gotten particularly tight, or imagining what was under her fitted blouse. It was a shiver of utter affection. Knowing that she enjoyed his presence as much as he did hers made a tender smile appear on his face. Before he could respond, he felt himself being dragged towards the stage by a certain curly haired guitarist.

“C’mon Casanova. You’re needed to do, you know…” Brian chuckled as he slapped drumsticks into the disgruntled male’s palm, “...your job.” Throwing a crude symbol towards his bandmate, he planted himself onto the worn vinyl stool behind his instrument. Tosser. Tapping out a habitual beat, his glower shifted from the empty audience to the wings. There she was. Where she always stood. And typically, it would provide him the adrenaline that he needed to get through the show. But seeing Mr. Cambridge, with his hands placed on her waist was enough to make him feel utterly ill.

That feeling stayed throughout the entirety of sound and as he stood, downing his fourth beer with the deafening crowd awaiting. He rocked back and forth in his boots, feeling his mind swim with everything that had happened that evening. He hadn’t seen her since his glimpse earlier in the day and would be lying if he said that it wasn’t because he couldn’t stand the sight of his hands on her. As Queen stepped onto the stage, he was feeling far from the high he had normalized. His feet shuffled as he climbed the platform, ready to force himself through the next few hours. That was until he heard her.

“Rog! Try to stay on the beat!” Her call could rival that of angels. He allowed himself to catch her teasing gaze, and a grin crossed his lips. Jonathan wasn’t there. She stood on her own, staring at him, just like it was meant to be. He responded by hammering out a spontaneous beat, to which she pretended to swoon. But he chose to hope that it was real. That he got her going. That when her boyfriend’s fingers roamed her body, she imagined they were the calloused digits of the drummer. That small ribbon of hope was all Roger needed to perform the hardest he felt in a while. Because this time, he had something to prove.

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buffyfan145 · 6 years

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Fandoms: Victoria, Vicbourne, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Rating: M

Summary: For the Vicbourne FB group's Halloween Dark Vicbourne event I've made this long one-shot fic combining it with my very first online fandom and the one I wrote my very first fic for "Buffy the Vampire Slayer". :D This reimagines Victoria's life if not only was she destined to be a queen, she was a slayer too and her Prime Minister also happened to be her Watcher. I loved writing this short story, included some "Buffy" shotouts as well as one with "Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell" as the Duke of Wellington was a character in it and it fits, hope you enjoy, and Happy Halloween!!! :D

"In every generation there is one, a chosen one. One to defend against the vampires, demons, and all else that is evil. She is the slayer."

The slayer line has long since existed since almost the beginning of time it's self and many girls are marked as potential slayers, but only one will become the slayer. They are only replaced when the previous slayer has died and are activated as a teenager. While there have been many slayers, only one so far has also been a queen.

Princess Alexandrina Victoria had been born in England to carry on the monarchy and keep the succession line going for the House of Hanover. She was destined to be queen and with luck a great one. She would need training to complete that task but was held almost captive at Kensington Palace by her mother and Sir John Conroy. But little did they know that she also processed the potential to be the slayer.

The Watchers Council had kept as close of an eye on her as they could, but it was difficult with her controllers. The Duke of Wellington had long since been a member of the Council and even employed the help of warlocks/magicians in his battles against Napoleon and the dark forces. This could never be revealed even to the monarchy, even if the next queen could be a slayer herself. The princess was appointed a Watcher, just like every potential slayer, but this Watcher was reluctant to go back to the life he held before and complicate his current position as Prime Minister. But for Wellington that was why he thought it was the perfect choice.

William Lamb had seen so many things in his lifetime both as a Watcher and in his chaotic personal life. His now deceased wife was driven to madness by a poet who acted like a vampire but was just truly a horrible person. The potentials William trained hadn't become slayers so he focused on politics instead since the Watchers Council approved. He was trading one group of quarreling men or another.

When he was approached with the task of being the princess' Watcher, William at first was angry. This poor girl would be their queen and they already had no idea what she would be like as she was hidden away and treated unfairly. He would be her Prime Minister and advisor. Surely that would be enough and some other girl would be slayer.

"But it must be you William." Wellington said matter-of-factly. "If she becomes the slayer it would only be wise for her to use your assistance and guiding in both politics and supernatural things. Please William, this is your duty."

With a sigh William conceded. "I will carry out my duty as best as I can."

On June 20th, 1837 King William IV died and the princess was now Queen. William rode up to Kensington Palace to meet her and found a small girl dressed in black. She surprised him with all her determination and he assisted her when she met the privy council. He saw a fire in her eyes and the queenly nature.�� "I wish to be called Victoria." She announced and he smiled in approval. "Queen Victoria." He repeated as the new name was perfect.

Since the shock of becoming queen was enough for one day William decided to wait a few days to bring up Victoria's other calling. As the staff was readying everything for the move to Buckingham they had some time alone. "Ma'am, there's something I must tell you."

As he explained everything about the slayer line, the Watchers Council, and that all things from fairy tales, myths, and legends were real something changed in Victoria's face as if things became more clear to her. "And I will protect everyone with these powers if I am chosen?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "The whole world will depend on you to keep everyone safe. It's a much bigger calling than being a queen."

She still didn't seem afraid. "That explains the dreams. I have vivid dreams with all sorts of people and creatures in them."

"Yes, that is part of the slayer abilities. It all will be fully awakened if you are activated."

"And I will need training? By you?" She asked.

He nodded. "As your Watcher it will be another duty of mine."

Victoria smiled. "You already have helped me so much and I know I can trust you to guide me with this too Lord M."

A smile came to his face too hearing his new nickname again. "I will do my best your majesty."

The shared another smile thinking it could be put off a while, but however in only a week the current slayer in France would be killed by Angelus, one of the most feared vampires of their time.

~*~

That late July morning was almost a month to the day she became queen and Victoria awoke in her new bedroom with a start, startling Dash. She knew something had changed. She felt different, more stronger, more powerful. Lord M came to the palace earlier than usual requesting he meet with her alone for an urgent matter had come up. That moment confirmed it for her: she was the slayer.

Hearing Lord M explain everything about slayers was both fantastical yet also right. Things made more sense to Victoria with the horrors this world possessed. She always knew she was destined to govern and protect, but this was a new exciting challenge and she wanted to make the best of it. Lord M being her Watcher was amazing. Ever since they met she had been captivated by him and his character. He was a good man and a good advisor. He would teach her so much, and there was so much she needed to learn. Once he shut the door she asked, "I'm the slayer now, aren't I Lord M?"

He seemed sullen but prepared. "Yes, it's begun. We must find a way to train you to be ready for your first patrol. There must be a reason why it's you and London for you to protect directly. England needs it's queen so we must be careful." He then picked up a vase. "But first, just to make sure..."

Before she realized it he threw the vase at her. Without thinking she caught it extremely fast before it could hit her or break. "What in the world?"

"Your reflexes have been enhanced.. Now we can begin."

And begin they did. Lord M secured time after their daily dispatches to take her below stairs to an unused part of the palace. The servants and others wouldn't think they'd be down here and there was plenty of space to train. Lord M, with the help of the Watchers Council secured various weapons, books, and ingredients for spells. He revealed he knew some magic thanks to his mother and grew things for spells in his glasshouse at Brocket Hall. Harriet Sutherland and Emma Portman were more practiced in witchcraft and would be of assistance as needed.

Victoria was thrilled when she discovered her new strength. She could lift things nearly double her weight. The weapons, even a sword, felt light and easy to handle. The sword fighting with Lord M, which they did more at Windsor, was exhilarating. Lord M was so much more trained and muscular than she thought. She got to see him in a state of disarray as they trained and wished she could wear less restricting clothing but she couldn't fight without that in town.

For her first patrol they enlisted her ladies maid Skerrett to obtain clothes for a woman who could get to town unnoticed. Skerrett kept her word not to tell anyone what she saw and helped along with Harriett to dress Victoria for patrol, hiding weapons about her person. When Skerrett saw a stake she figured out what was happening but agreed to help sneak Victoria out and let her back in when finished.

Lord M met her at the gate, dressed himself in modest clothes. Victoria also felt excited to go to town pretending to be a normal couple. He would be with her to assist and protect like he always did.

It wasn't too long after they got to town that night that they heard screams. Victoria drew her stake, as did Lord M, and they ran into an alley behind a tavern. Victoria finally saw in person a vampire, and it was more grotesque than what the "Vampyre" book's drawings showed. Their faces were distorted and fangs drawn.

"What's this?" The vampire asked. "The Calvary come to save the day?"

"Something like that." Victoria said smartly and the vampire dropped the young woman before charging for Victoria. The two started fighting and the vampire was surprised by Victoria's strength. He must have not known about the new slayer being in town. While they fought Lord M rushed to the lady to make sure she was alright.

"What are you?" The vampire asked after Victoria threw him to the ground.

Victoria gave him a grin. "I'm the slayer." Then she drove the stake through his heart which caused him to explode into dust.

The woman thanked them for saving her life and they made sure to escort her back home. As they walked on afterwards Lord M spoke. "You were brilliant ma'am."

"Thank you Lord M. Maybe I can use that on Sir John to get rid of him." They both shared a laugh and she actually did prove that true when he did confront her and Victoria lost her cool lifting him off the ground by his neck threating to snap it. He finally took that peerage in Ireland and left for good.

~*~

Over the next year Victoria progressed in her training and took on her slayer duties as wonderfully as her queenly duties. The Watchers Council was worried though as most slayers didn't live long into their twenties and England needed their queen. They spent so much time researching to see if there could be a way to transfer her powers into that of another potential but so far couldn't find a way expect death. For now it would be William's main role besides all his others to keep her alive.

Victoria's patrols went well. They saved so many people, including a boy from the Pratt family would wound name his son William after Lord M, not realizing this son would end up being more well known in his second life as the vampire Spike. Many vampires, demons, werewolves, and creatures were stopped by Victoria and Lord M. She took her roles as slayer and queen to heart and would do anything to protect her people. William couldn't be more proud, especially at her coronation watching her get crowned.

Of course he knew part of this was the feelings he was developing for her. Even though it was discouraged it was natural for a Watcher to develop feelings whether romantically or fatherly towards a slayer, and vice versa, but for William he didn't expect the former. Victoria was both alike and unlike the women in his past and the more they spent together the more he couldn't help but love her. He knew if they had been the same age there was nothing that would've stopped him from acting on his feelings. But with age came wisdom and he couldn't jeopardize the crown.

For Victoria she felt the same. She had fallen for Lord M the moment she saw him dismount his horse when she became queen. It just got stronger every day they spent together going over the boxes, riding, at events, and their trainings and patrols. Victoria in particular loved the training as it was like dancing and Lord M could touch her even more than when they danced. He would linger sometimes as his hands would be on her waist or he would be behind her to show her a proper stance to be in to fight off an attacker. She sometimes hoped he would move his hands to other places or kiss her neck. It wouldn't have been that hard and she fantasied about it often enough that only her own touches would stop the thoughts at night so she could sleep. She read in the slayer and Watcher journals too many of them had paired off over the centuries much to the Council's warnings. It was understood that being so close together and trusting the other so much that things would happen. She smiled often at the thought of being able to be with him.

William, meanwhile, thought of these touches too during training and was at war with himself to stop. He was close to committing treason and he had to control it. Things were made much hard the night of the coronation ball when Victoria had the night off from slaying and drank too much champagne. He danced with her, which they both enjoyed, but she grabbed a hold of his hands saying "I want to dance with you all night." There was a moment when they both couldn't speak as she stared up at him with her chest heaving and he wanted her so badly it hurt, but he backed away. He could tell she was hurt by it but he wasn't mad, just grateful they weren't seen.

It did cause a distraction though when Victoria did go on patrol a few nights later. William was doing a spell to stop a gang of vampires from entering Dover House while Victoria was battling one of them with her stake. The female vampire withdrew a dagger and plunged it into Victoria's side as Victoria was staking her.

Lord M rushed to her side as his butler finished off the other two vampires. The spell had worked and he carried Victoria back into his house. Even with the fast healing abilities of a slayer she needed to be attended to quickly. One of the maids came to help undress Victoria to check her wound, while William got some supplies he kept on hand for this. Thankfully the cut wasn't too deep but needed to be sterilized to prevent infection. He took the alcohol and heard Victoria let out a cry of pain as he dabbed the wound. Soon she was asleep and he hoped the salve he made would work to excel the dealing as she needed to be back in the palace in the morning.

After a few hours he checked on her and at first just watched her sleeping form. She looked so at peace and beautiful. It then dawned on him that she was naked, only covered by the sheet as to treat her they had to cut away her clothes. There already was a fresh change of clothes for her to dress with once she was awake. He readied himself as he needed to check her wound but now had to be extremely careful so she would stay modest and him not seem deceitful.

"Victoria." He quietly said to wake her and she started to stir.

"Lord M?" She opened her eyes and smiled, which was a good sign. "You used my name."

"That I did." He couldn't help but smile back. "You remember what happened?"

She nodded and looked a bit worried. "I got hurt."

"Yes, and I need to check your wound." He explained.

"Alright." It was then she realized her nakedness and a blush came over her face and chest, which William tried hard not to react to. "It seems I'm not decent." Instead of being shocked she seemed amused.

He shook his head. "We had to cut away your clothing to tend to you. There was some blood." More than what he expected. "Just keep the sheet around you and it'll be able to cover the rest of you."

She nodded and gingerly sat up, keeping the sheet secured around her chest. "It doesn't hurt to move."

"That's good." He came around and sat on the bed. "I'll just need to move the sheet a little to see the wound." She nodded again and he first moved her hair aside before taking the sheet to see the left side of her body. There were a few bruises on her back from the fighting but she mostly looked alright. He tried his hardest not to see her backside but there it was, as was a partial side of her left breast as the sheet barely covered it. Then he focused again once he saw the wound. Thankfully it had healed much already, though it would still be sore. She winced a bit when he gently touched it.

"It's healing up nicely ma'am. I'll put some more salve on it for the pain and give some to Skerrett but you'll be fine."

"Thank you Lord M." Victoria said. She was so grateful to him for saving her. It was scary but they had stopped the attack and prevented an infection. Being naked in one of his bedrooms was unexpected but a part of her was thrilled. She felt the urge to rid herself of the sheet and to thank him in other ways, but now wasn't the time. Hopefully it would be soon.

His fingers both felt cool on her skin as the salve relieved the pain, but she also felt fire and something else start to coil in her belly. She closed her eyes as he rubbed more of the salve on her wound and felt a sort of please at his touch.

"There. We can get you back to the palace now." He said as he moved away to wipe his hands, but he was still seated next to her.

Victoria turned towards him. "Thank you William, for everything." He was stunned by her use of his first name that she took her chance and met his lips with her own. It was a quick kiss and she backed away shortly afterward. The look of desire on his face was confirmation enough that he felt the same. They could continue this later. "Call for the maid Lord M so I can get dressed. My country won't wait."

He was still dazed but finally nodded. "Yes, yes I'll call her now ma'am." William couldn't believe what happened but he had to get out of that room before he did something he'd regret. Little did he know his slayer queen had a plan and she would get what she wanted.

~*~

A few weeks later they had moved to Windsor. London would be watched over by the Council and thankfully there wasn't too much supernatural activity in Windsor. It was a place they could relax more and Victoria could rest from her slaying duties as well as her queenly ones. The timing couldn't have been more perfect for what she was planning.

She was restless in so many ways but one in particular that she knew only her dear Lord M could provide relief for. Victoria knew that being a slayer made her senses amplified and she could even feel emotions from others. Harriet confirmed to her this sensory amplification was an ability from the slayer side but only part of why she was feeling this way. The woman side of her was still mostly in control and what she was feeling was normal. That even she could tell Lord M felt the same way about Victoria. It was the perfect timing of the month for Victoria if she chose so.

After Victoria went on patrol and arrived back at the castle she was informed by Skerrett that Lord M had already retired. It was the result she hoped for and Victoria prepared herself. She would get what she wanted tonight and she wouldn't be denied. Making her way through the servants stairwell and passages she usually used to meet Lord M to train Victoria followed Skerrett's directions to Lord M's room.

Victoria opened the door quietly and saw Lord M was still awake but appeared to be reading as his glasses were perched on his nose. He only used them for this task but she liked how distinguished he looked.

He didn't realize she was there till she shut the door and he looked up at her startled. "Ma'am, what are you doing here?"

She smiled at the sight of him in bed with those glasses wearing his night shirt and being able to see his neck and forearms so clearly. It reminded her of seeing him in disarray at Dover House but she preferred this. "I had to see you Lord M." She placed her candle down on the side table.

"But I was already informed you returned from patrol." He took his glasses off and set them down on the night stand with the book he was reading.

"Yes, patrol went well and I seem to have the whole night free." She walked over a bit closer starting to feel nervous. She felt insecure a lot but Lord M was always there to reassure her about whatever was worrying her, whether it be a speech, her training, or even her looks. Hopefully he would do the same now like she wanted.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" Lord M looked at her confused but she saw his expression changed as she got closer to the bed.

"I've been feeling things Lord M, things I didn't know I could. I thought it was due to being a slayer but I know it's so much more now." She paused and watched him look at her with those intense green eyes. "I know I'm young and my duties as both slayer and queen mean so much, but those of me as a woman and my heart shouldn't be denied either."

Lord M looked at her and she saw what looked like fear come over his face. "Ma'am, you need to..."

"No." She said it with the voice she used as queen. She was in charge and she would remind him of that. He stayed quiet. "I know what I feel and I love you Lord M. I have for so long and I know you feel the same for me." When he didn't respond but still looked at her with amazement she knew she had guessed right. "As a slayer I usually have a short life and the council is trying everything to keep me alive and change my fate. Make another girl slayer. But we don't know if that will work or how much time I'll have left if they can't. So I won't be denied the chance to experience love and be with the man I love with my whole heart."

She took the final step to Lord M's bedside. "William, you've taught me in so many ways that I'm so grateful for. Now I trust you to teach me in one final way so I may know what it's like to make love with a man that fully loves me more than anything." Before he could utter a word back Victoria untied the knot of her dressing grown and pushed it off her shoulders to the ground.

William stared at her in shock seeing her completely naked body before him. He couldn't believe this was happening. This woman he loved with his whole heart and soul standing before him asking him to make love to her. Something he had fantasized about for months, especially after that kiss, never thinking it was possible. Now here she was and she was glorious and so bold. She looked like a painting with all those curves, pert breasts, and hair cascading around her shoulders. He hardened so suddenly just staring at her but he did force himself to rise from the bed to stand beside her.

She looked up at him with those large blue eyes and he felt her tremble as he placed his hands on her shoulders. How could he push her away? This woman meant everything to him and she was giving herself to him. He couldn't deny her or himself anymore. Even if it was just this once he would show her how much he loved her. "You are so beautiful my love."

Victoria felt tears come to her eyes and she couldn't help but smile as she saw him smile too. He called her "my love". She was right about his feelings. "You love me."

"Yes, I love you with everything I am." Lord M replied before leaning down to kiss her. The kiss was so much more than that chaste kiss she gave him. He enveloped her into his arms and deepened the kiss. It felt so good kissing him, their hands exploring each other, pulling each other close as they could. He started kissing her neck as his hand went in between her legs to where she wanted his fingers to go, letting a moan escape as he teased her.

"You're so wet for me." He said as he kissed her again and she could tell this was a good thing as his fingers kept playing in her and she didn't want him to stop.

But they did separate as he had to get his night shirt off. When he did he was standing now before her just as naked as she was. Though he had the part till now she had only seen an artist paint or sculpt. He was made beautifully and still so muscular for his age. He could tell she was confused though. "It's so large."

"Yes," he couldn't help but laugh as it was amusing, but his laugh was playful. "It doesn't look like that normally."

"It's smaller?" She asked him and he realized he had so much to teach her.

He nodded. "It only does this when I'm aroused." He touched her face. "When I feel desire for someone." His hands went into her hair. "You feel it too with the fire in your stomach and your wetness between your legs."

She felt another jolt in both places when he said that. "Yes," she moaned. "I made you feel that way?" She asked amazed.

He kissed her in reply. "So many times." He replied. "I've had to touch myself many nights to make it stop."

"So have I." She admitted and saw a grin come over his face. Then looking in his eyes she asked, "Can I touch you?"

"Please." He replied in a desperate voice which she liked.

Victoria placed her hands on his chest slowly going down to feel his muscles. His skin felt so good and warm. Then she got to this new part of him and gently took him in her hand. He made a hissing noise and she realized she didn't know what to do. "Just stroke it my darling. From the base to the tip." She did as he said and got a loud moan from him in return. "Perfect, Victoria. God, just perfect." After a few strokes she realized she wanted what came next and kissed him again. She could've picked him up and carried him to the bed with her strength, but she wanted him to take her instead.

Lord M did as she wanted and took her hand leading her to the bed. After she lay on it he climbed in and hovered over her. Looking into her eyes he asked, "Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes," she replied. "I love you."

"I love you too." He replied with a kiss.

They kissed some more till she felt him align with her center. They locked eyes as he pushed in and she did feel some paint but only for a slight moment till her body adjusted to the feel of him inside her. It felt so glorious and so right together that she couldn't believe it would feel any better till he started moving. He came in and out of her with such exquisite movements that she felt like she was in heaven. Why was this deemed so wrong when it felt so wonderful? They found a rhythm so perfect and kissed and touched when they could. Then Victoria reached the moment she knew would be the end and felt herself shatter into bliss. Lord M followed soon after with a cry of his own and spilled himself into her.

It took a few moments to come back down and they rested against each other. He was still inside her and she never wanted to let him go. She was his friend, lover, the slayer to his watcher, the queen to his prime minister. They would always be entwined but this was the real connection between them. They were two halves of the same whole, supposed to be together. She would never regret this night and was glad he didn't either. Tomorrow was a new day but they would face it together.

~*~

As the months went on Victoria made a balance out of each day for the royal duties, her slayer patrols and battles, and indulged in time with Lord M whenever she could. Some of their training sessions would turn into kissing or hastily touching. An uneventful night on patrol would turn into a passionate night in bed. They were cautious to protect her virtue as best as they could and her monthly time came as it should, both grateful to be without that consequence. But they couldn't escape the rumors or talks of them always being together, and Victoria's uncle Leopold insisting she marry, and preferably marry her cousin Albert.

The country needed their queen safe and needed heirs to keep the monarchy going. The Watchers Council worked endlessly to find a solution, while Lord M slowly dreaded and accepted he was going to lose Victoria. It would break him to where he could never recover, but if they could transfer her slayer abilities and she would live a long life, so be it. Victoria had no idea what the Council would do or if she would have to die, something that oddly started not to be frightening. She had experienced love of the purest kind with her William that she would be happy. But the people needed her.

Then one day as they were in the library Lord M had brought one of the Watchers Council members Edward Giles to consult on anything they could do. Giles found a possible answer when he spotted Mary Shelley's novel "Frankenstein" in the shelves. "You know somewhat of Mrs. Shelley, William, did you not?"

"Yes," Lord M answered uneasy. He was always reluctant reliving that part of his life with the whole acquaintance with Caro and Byron. "I never met her or her husband though."

"But the story of the monster being reanimated was based on something she saw?" Giles asked.

Lord M nodded. "Yes, I believe she was at a demonstration using electricity to give life to someone."

"What does this have to do with me?" Victoria asked.

"There's been some research into using an electrical charge to revive someone after their heart stops beating." Giles explained. "If it would work it would save many lives, especially when used for medical procedures."

It dawned on Lord M what Giles meant and it scared him. "What you're saying is if we control how to stop Victoria's heart we could revive her through this?"

"Precisely." Giles responded.

"And a potential slayer would be called in my place." Victoria realized.

"Yes, your majesty, and you would live again as normal as a queen does." Giles smiled.

Lord M turned and walked brusquely to the window alarmed. Victoria noticed and went over to his side. "This could work Lord M."

He turned towards her and she could see the anguish in his eyes. "But it might not ma'am and you could lose your life." The emotion was hard to hide in front of Giles but Lord M didn't care.

"I'm willing to take that risk." She touched his hand as their backs were turned. "I'm ready to just been a queen and a woman again. It's time."

Then it was decided Giles took the idea to the Watchers Council and they all agreed to investigate the idea. They procured a doctor who had already been testing his new machine on patients and his results had worked most of the time. The council made sure to gather all the potentials they had kept track of in London and hopefully if the plan worked one of these girls would be the next slayer.

When the day approached Victoria felt an odd calm. They had found a type of spell that would allow her to fall asleep while the doctor would inject a fluid to stop her heart. Then once that was confirmed and electricity would be used. Lord M was a nervous wreck. He never thought he'd watch another person he loved die, even if there was a possibility of a revival. But this time was more like that of when he lost his children as he loved Victoria with everything of his being, and she equally loved him too.

They waited till nightfall when the royal household would believe Victoria to be asleep, that way if there was a death it wouldn't be as suspicious. When it was time Victoria followed Skerrett in the passageways through Windsor to the old dungeons below. No one would hear anything and they could conduct what must be done in quiet.

The doctor awaited for them and bowed low to Victoria. She was glad he was a faithful subject and she hoped she'd be able to thank him when she woke again. Lord M stayed at her side and helped her get on the table. Giles stood aside as did a few others from the Council, including the Duke of Wellington.

Victoria took Lord M's hand and smiled. "Don't be afraid Lord M. I'll see you soon."

He's couldn't help the tears that came to his eyes and he leaned down to kiss her in front of the others, not carrying anymore as he needed to kiss her. "You are so strong and brave my love. Don't leave me yet."

"I love you." Victoria said with tears of her own.

Lord M kissed her hand. "I love you too." Then he slowly let go to back away and stand with the others.

Victoria then looked at the doctor and nodded. One of the Watchers Council members came over and cast the spell with aid from Harriet and Emma, causing Victoria to fall suddenly asleep. Then the doctor took a syringe and injected a dark liquid into Victoria's hand. Giles went to Victoria's neck to feel her pulse. After a few moments he spoke. "Her heart's stopped."

Lord M felt a huge blow to his chest. She really was dead.

They all then saw what looked like a bird fly in and then go into the Watcher that cast the spell. "The next slayer had been activated." He said in a weird voice of one of the ancient ones, which was how they knew the slayer line went on. Later they would know it was a 16 year old Italian girl.

Now the doctor's machine started as a great whirling sound took over the room. He held what looked like two paddles and he rubbed them together before he moved towards Victoria. When he lowered the paddles onto Victoria's body they heard the release of the charge and were all frightened to see Victoria's body convulse. Giles held his hand to her neck but shook his head. The machine whirled to life once more and the doctor pressed the paddles to her again. Giles still shook his head no and everyone was scared that it might not work and never would've guessed how violent it would be. Lord M prayed at that moment with all he had for God to bring her back to them. Even if she did marry another and he lost her forever, as long as she was alive that was all that mattered.

The doctor turned the dial and it whirled louder before he lowered the paddles again. Victoria's body convulsed harder but they heard what sounded like a gasp. Giles check her neck and smiled. "She's alive! Her heart is beating again."

Everyone was overjoyed, but nowhere near as much as William. After thanking God he rushed to his love's side. He gently took her hand and bushed back her hair with the other hand. Victoria started to stir and he couldn't help but smile.

It took a little while before she came to, but when she did she started to smile too. "Did it work?"

"Yes." Lord M took her hand and kissed it. "We have a new slayer and you're alive."

She took a deep breath feeling a huge weight leave her. Her life would go back to somewhat normal, that of which a queen could do, and be in much less danger. She was so happy that tears came. For now she was so glad to be alive and have Lord M with her. Whatever came next they would face it, but she had her whole life ahead and she hoped it'd be long and Lord M would be with her for a long as possible. "I'm so happy."

"We all are your majesty." The Duke of Wellington answered before the others started to leave to go help the newest slayer and watcher, leaving the doctor and ladies to watch over Victoria so she would be taken back to her room when ready.

Victoria placed her hand on Lord M's face and wiped his tears away. "See I wouldn't leave you."

He smiled an laughed slightly. "I should never doubt you again."

"Never my darling. Now kiss me." She demanded.

"Yes, ma'am." Lord M said as he leaned down to kiss her, both so happy they found a way to save her from a terrible fate and keep the world safe with a slayer to take her place.

#vicbournefic #Vicbourne #queen victoria #lord melbourne #jenna coleman #rufus sewell #buffy the vampire slayer #my fics #my art #victoria

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crayonwriting · 6 years

Text

The Lady Killer

Summary: “The ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”

Word Count: 2, 663

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love for my Eggsy fic! Literally did not expect that. I don’t know what to say really. Just THANK YOU SO MUCH! As for this one, I did not expect this to turn out this long. This is the first time I’ve actually written something like this. I didn’t proofread this so, I’m sorry for any errors and inconsistencies. Tbh, I don’t like how this turned out. I think I could’ve done better. I hope you guys enjoy this.

—

It was a typical Saturday afternoon in the small town of Hawkins, Indiana. The sun was high in the sky; some kids were out in their yards. You, Y/N Y/L/N, were riding your bike just enjoying the homework-free weekend.

Despite what everyone says, you loved Hawkins. Its somewhat gloomy and mysterious aura makes you feel excited and keeps you on your toes for adventures to come—not to mention the one you had only a few months ago.

You parked your bike by the front steps of the arcade. You rarely go there but days like this were an exemption. You stared at the purple, glowing neon sign and smiled to yourself. You were a regular at The Palace. Video games were one of your stress-relievers. You heard the familiar ‘ding’ of the bell as you push open the door. Beeps and bleeps of the games and the flickering lights of the screens were reflected on the faces of kids and some teens. The arcade was packed with people but you didn’t care.

“Hey, Keith!” You greeted the teenage boy. He worked at the Palace and was almost in charge of everything that’s going on in the arcade. “Can I have change for two dollars?”

“I will if you let me take you out on a date.” He replied. You just let out a small chuckle and handed him the bills. He just stared at you, chewing on a Cheeto—which is something he always had—while waiting for your answer. You continued to smile at him, saying nothing. Keith let out a sigh and rang up the register. “Or you could set me up with Nancy. I don’t mind both choices.” Once he handed you your change, you smiled up at him and said,

“Keith,” you started, “Nancy is with Jonathan so, you can scratch that off your list,” you pat his shoulder, “as for me, well, maybe next time.” You smiled at him one last time before turning around and walking away. You let out a huff and put your change into the pocket of your jacket. You started your way to your favorite game of all time, Galaga.

It had almost been an hour since you’ve been playing non-stop. You smiled to yourself when you reached the third highest score on the roster. Satisfied, you decided to switch to a different game before going home. As you scanned the place you suddenly saw a familiar mop of brown hair in one of the games, surrounded by four boys shouting god-knows-what at him.

You recognized that mop of hair anywhere. It belonged to none other than the King of Hawkins High, Steve Harrington. Well, they say he’s not the king anymore—Billy Hargrove, a new student, and a classic jerk, claims the right to that title. You had been classmates with Steve since you started high school, but you have never spoken to him until you were sucked into the world of demogorgons and the Upside Down.

You had been babysitting Dustin when he suddenly asked for you to give him a ride to the Wheeler’s house because there was an ‘emergency’, only to find out that Mike wasn’t there. You and Dustin met up with Steve and the rest was history. You eventually decided to quit babysitting Dustin seeing as that position had already been taken by Steve, but it was a mutual decision. You walk dogs now, which was less work than babysitting.

You approached the boys but jumped when one of them—obviously Dustin—shouted loudly.

“What the hell Steve?!” He had his hands on top of his head with his mouth hanging open. Lucas, who was beside him, had his arms crossed and was shaking his head.

“I was pressing the damn button but it wasn’t working!” Steve argued. He put his hands on his waist—a signature move of his—and bit his lip in annoyance. He flicked his eyes from the screen to you and back before realizing that you were actually there, standing beside the group. “Y/N?”

The rest of the party looked towards you and you waved at them and mumbled a small ‘hello.’

“Y/N! Thank god you’re here!” Mike said in relief. “Finally, someone who takes video games seriously.”

“What seems to be the problem?” You asked.

“We’re trying to teach Steve how to play Dig Dug.” Will pointed out. “He hasn’t even gone pass the second round. He’s been playing five games already.”

“Hey, the console’s broken. I’ve been pressing the goddamn button and it’s not responding correctly!” Steve countered. “It’s a stupid game anyways.” Steve ran both his hands through his hair, frustrated.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Dustin replied.

“Shut your mouth dipshit.” Steve continued to argue.

You laughed at the bickering between them. If anyone told you that the Steve Harrington was hanging out at the arcade with a bunch of middle schoolers you’d probably laugh your ass off, thinking it was some kind of joke. But here he was, doing exactly that.

“Well, I guess Steve isn’t meant for Dig Dug.” You looked at the teenage boy who was, surprisingly, already looking at you. “I’m sure you’re good at other games, right Steve?”

He didn’t answer you right away—he had his mouth open but no words were coming out—because he was gawking at you. There was a glint in his eyes that you couldn’t quite figure out. You tilted your head in confusion until he looked away, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah. Of course I am.” The boys were giving him a skeptical look when he said that. “What? I am good at other games!”

“Whatever Steve. I’m hungry. You promised us food. C’mon let’s go.” Dustin patted Steve’s back and then headed for the exit. The rest of the party followed suit, leaving you and Steve.

“Wanna come with?” Steve asked, pulling out his sunglasses which were previously hanging on the front of his shirt. “We’re going to Benny’s; just some milkshakes and fries.”

“I think I’m good. I still have a few spare change in my pocket,” you shook your jacket pocket, hearing the coins clang and jingle, “and I plan on wasting it on Pacman.” You jingled your pocket.

“You sure?” Steve asked.

“I’ll be fine.” You smiled up at him, rocking on the balls of your feet.

“Steve! Come on!” Dustin shouted from the door. Steve put on his sunglasses and flashed you a million dollar smile.

“See you around, Y/N.”

You waved goodbye at them as they were walking out towards the exit and you, towards Pacman.

“Bye Y/N!” The party bid their farewell as Steve held the door for them. As you stood in front of Pacman, you took a quick glance at the door and saw Steve, still looking at you. You lifted your hand up and wiggled your fingers in greeting. He smiled and waved back at you before Dustin was pulling him outside by the arm. You giggled at the action and continued to your game.

Those kids have Steve wrapped around their finger and you can’t help but think how adorable it was. Those boys—and also the girls, Jane and Max—liked Steve and you know that Steve likes them back, whether he admits to it or not. You also know that Steve would do anything to protect them, given all that had happened with the Upside Down.

If anything, Steve Harrington makes a damn good babysitter.

After that day at the arcade, you have been bumping into Steve more frequently than ever. And for every time that you saw him, he was always with the party.

- - -

First, it was at Bradley’s Big Buy, where your mom sent you for the weekly grocery shopping. You fell in line, ready to get checked out when you noticed that he was the one in front of you.

“Fancy seeing you here, Harrington.” He jumped a little, looking behind him seeing you in line.

“Hey Y/L/N.” The smile he gave you made your stomach flutter for a second. You brushed the feeling away and smiled back at him. “You here alone?” He asked.

“Yep. Just gettin’ some groceries for my mother.” You gestured to the cart in front of you. “How about you?”

“Well, I—“

“Steve! We’re short! 2 bucks!” Max interrupted him, pulling at the sleeve of his jean jacket. Max looked at you and waved. “Hi Y/N!”

“Hi, Maxene.” You teased. She put her tongue out at you and you did the same before letting out a giggle.

“C’mon Steve. The others are waiting.” Max persisted and Steve let out a breath. He pulled out his wallet and brought out two dollar bills, giving it to the cashier.

“Come with us.” Jane, who came up behind Max, gestured to you.

“I’m sorry kid. I have to get these back to my mom and help her cook dinner. Maybe next time?” You offered. You gave her an apologetic smile. She let it sink in for a second before flashing you a smile.

“Steve! Max! El! Let’s go!” Lucas shouted from the entrance. You peeked behind them as you saw the rest of the party. Steve looked at you as if he was gonna say something but you cut him off.

“Duty calls babysitter. Your kids are waiting.” He chuckled and waved goodbye at you.

- - -

The second time you saw him was at Benny’s Diner. You sat by one of the tables, waiting for your takeout when a loud shout came from one of the tables. When you turned to look, you saw Dustin and Steve, seeming to be in a heated discussion. Steve looked like he was telling Dustin to shut up. Dustin was waving his hands animatedly as if he was proving a point.

‘I wonder what they’re talking about.’ You thought to yourself. Not long after, you got your food and headed out. Before leaving you glanced back at the two. Dustin saw you and waved. You waved back and left, not noticing the longing look Steve gave you.

“Focus Steve!” Dustin smacked him in the head.

- - -

The last time you saw him was at the public library. You assisted the librarian on some of your free days. While you were returning some of the books, you heard faint whispers from one of the aisles. As you approached the sound, somebody shouted.

“This isn’t gonna work! It’s just crazy! She’ll—“ Steve walked out of the aisle and bumped into the book cart you were pushing. “Oh shit, I’m sorry about that.” He picked up the fallen books and put them back in the cart.

“It’s okay Steve.” You replied, getting one of the books from him. He looked up abruptly at the sound of his name and was shocked to see you there.

“H-hey!,” he stood in an awkward position, trying to look casual and said, “What are you doing here?”

You giggled at his appearance before answering, “I volunteer here, Harrington. What brings you here?”

“Oh nothing. Just.. you know… reading.” He tried to laugh, but it came out more of a choke.

“Are you okay?” You stepped closer to him, concern written on your face.

“Me? Yeah, yeah! I’m fine! Never been better.” He huffed. He fixed the jacket he was wearing and ran a hand through his hair.

‘Since when was Steve this nervous?’, you asked yourself. You turned to look at the aisle you came from and saw the kids looking at you. They gave you a wave of their hands and you waved back incredulously. You raised an eyebrow at Steve, but he just gave you a tight-lipped smile.

“Okay…,” you started. “Just, keep it down, you guys.” You pushed the cart and went back to work. Steve went back to the kids and you could hear their hushed whispers coming out like bullets. You shook your head and just let it go.

—

It was like he was a mother goose; always with his baby ducklings, keeping them in line and making sure none of them gets in trouble. The only place he wasn’t around them was when you guys were in school.

“Hey Y/L/N!” You heard a familiar voice shout in the hallway. You searched the crowd for the source only to see Steve waving his arm to catch your attention.

“Hey, Steve.” You smiled as you approached him.

“So, uhm, I… no, the kids…” Steve stuttered. You laughed at this. My, my. The Steve Harrington, nervous at your presence. He let out a deep breath before saying, “What I mean was, I’m meeting the kids at the arcade. Do you want to come with?” He bit his lip nervously.

Several thoughts ran through your mind. Was this a date? No, definitely not. The party is gonna be there. Why was Steve nervous? It’s not like he likes you or anything… or does he? Stop it, Y/N! But look at his face… it’s flushed! Poor Stevie is blushing. You giggled at his adorable face.

“Well, I’m free for the rest of the day…,” his eyes widened a little, anticipation shining in his eyes, “Yeah, sure Steve. I’ll come with.”

“Yes!” He cheered. He shook it off immediately before playing it cool again. “C’mon. I’ll give you a ride.” He held your hand as you both went out of the school doors. Steve didn’t seem to notice but you were a blushing mess walking behind him.

The rest of the day flew by with you, Steve and the party playing video games. You stepped outside for a bit, pulling out a pack of M&Ms. Not later, Steve had gone outside too and Sat beside you. You offered him some of your candy but he politely declined. It was silent for a few moments between the two of you; just the sounds of the arcade in the background.

“You’re great with them.” You started. Steve looked at you in question. “With the kids, I mean,” he chuckled at your statement, “They like you so much. Hell, I think they even look up to you sometimes. And I know you won’t admit it but you like them too.” You looked at him. He was looking down at the ground but he had a soft smile on his lips.

“Yeah. Those dipshits can be annoying sometimes. But they’re okay.” He breathed out a sigh. “Besides, the ladies love a guy who’s good with kids.”

You laughed at this. “Oh really? And how is it coming then? Is it working?” You asked.

“That depends. I haven’t asked you yet.”

“What?” You felt your breath hitch in your throat. ‘Was Steve just… Did he just… Does that mean…’

“Do you like guys who are good with kids, Y/N?” He asked, looking at you with his doe eyes and a hopeful look on his face.

You couldn’t believe it. Steve Harrington was trying to impress you. Steve Harrington is asking you if you like him. Steve Harrington likes you. Not being able to hold it in, you let out a giggle which turned into a laugh. Steve was a little shocked at your reaction.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just that…” you waited for your laughs to die down, “You didn’t have to use the party to get me. I like you for you, Steve Harrington.” You finally said it. You gave his arm a squeeze, reassuring him that he didn’t have to change. He wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly. You found yourself feeling comfortable in his embrace; your head fell perfectly on his chest and your arms were draped around his waist. He planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

“I like you too, Y/N Y/L/N.”

Moments passed before you piped up,

“Although I have to admit, being good with kids does give you extra points.”

He laughed.

—

Posted: December 28, 2017

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #joe keery #joe keery x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #joe keery imagine #stranger things 2 #b writes

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willelbyers · 7 years

Text

My Hand in Yours

Summary: Five times Will held Mike’s hand and one time he really knew what it meant.

Pairings: Will/Mike, mentions of past/implied Mike/El

Notes: It’s a 5+1 fic, about 4,500 words, most characters are involved. There is a scene with the bullies and you can kind of imagine what they say, so fair warning

Hey, look at that, a byeler fanfic I already posted on Ao3 ages ago but didn’t on this lovely site! It’s linked here as well as written out under the cut. Hope you enjoy!

“Will!”

His friends spilled in the doorway to his hospital room, and he felt his face light up despite the pain in his chest and stomach, the strong and overwhelming smell of antiseptic, and the tubes snaking around him. Dustin and Lucas looked rumpled and vaguely tired, like they’d been sleeping while waiting to be able to visit. Mike, on the other hand, looked like he hadn’t slept in days. But Mike, smiling one of his biggest smiles of all time, barreled right into his arms and buried his head into Will’s chest. Will felt the air leave his lungs, and it did hurt a little, but he didn’t care because he was home and this was Mike.

“Byers!” Mike laughed brightly, Lucas tumbling after him. Dustin pulled the other two boys off of Will so he could hug him himself. Jonathan chided them as he and Nancy walked in, telling them to go easy on him, but he saw him beaming and knew he wasn’t really mad, even if he did launch into a coughing fit as they told him about his funeral, Jennifer, and Troy.

“You okay?” Mike asked, nudging him cautiously as he regained his breath. Will stared up at him, slightly breathless, as he tried to figure out how to respond.

“It got me,” he said finally. “The Demogorgon.” He didn’t know how else to explain himself—the seven, he rolled a seven, and then the monster got him.

But Mike understood, because all he said was, “We know.” He grinned weakly, a dark curtain dropping down behind his eyes, Will’s own gaze tracking his face. “But it’s okay. It’s dead. We made a new friend. She stopped it. She saved us. But she’s gone now.” He stopped, biting his cheek.

Dustin took over. “Her name’s Eleven.”

Will frowned. “Like the number?” Because that was weird, but it also rang a bell.

“Well, we call her ‘El’ for short,” Lucas said fondly.

“She’s basically a wizard,” Dustin continued, eyes wide for dramatic effect.

Lucas grinned. “She has superpowers.”

“More like a Yoda,” Mike corrected Dustin.

“She flipped a van with her mind and these agents were trying to shoot us—”

“Yeah, it flipped over us—!”

“Then she squeezed the brains out and blood was pouring out of their faces…”

Will took it all in as they continued regaling him with stories of Eleven, eventually sorting themselves out into a proper storyline. To be honest, it was crazy, but not any more crazy than his past week. And when their parents came to collect them, they all fought to stay, saying they had more to tell him and that they couldn’t leave because Mom, it’s Will!

The argument only worked on Karen, and that was mostly because of Mike’s slight guilt-tripping and Nancy’s promise to stay there with Jonathan.

“It’ll be fine, Mom,” Will heard her tell Mrs. Wheeler after the Hendersons and Sinclairs had left. “I’ll be with Mike the whole time. Besides, you know that… thing… is gone.”

“I know Michael will be okay,” Mrs. Wheeler replied, and next to him, Mike started into full awareness and consciousness when he heard his full name. “It’s you, Nancy. With Barbara and everything—”

Nancy’s voice adopted a sharp edge. “I’m fine, Mom. Seriously, it’s fine. I’ll call you in the morning. Go make sure Holly and Dad are okay.”

“What happened to Nancy?” he asked Mike as Mrs. Wheeler’s voice faded.

Mike looked down at him, brow furrowed. “The Demogorgon got Barb, too. But unlike you, she’s not okay.”

Will knew Barb. She was sometimes over at the Wheeler’s house while Mike was holding campaigns, and she had always been nice to them. “Oh,” was all he could say.

Mike sent him a forced smile. “Yeah.” He hesitated for a moment. “Do you want me to finish the story?”

“Of course,” he replied. “You’re the best storyteller I know.”

Mike grinned, wrapping up the story with a few interjections from Jonathan and Nancy. He explained how they built the sensory deprivation tank to help El find him. He talked about Eleven killing the soldiers who were going to kill them, and how the Dr. Brenner guy from the labs had been attacked by the monster. He choked up as he described El pushing him back and vanishing. Dying.

When Nancy fell asleep in her chair, head on Jonathan’s shoulder, they brought their conversation down to a whisper—Will asking about Eleven and Mike supplying answers. Sometimes those answers came easy, but more often, they didn’t.

Jonathan crashed next, his own head lolling onto his chest as his breathing slowed. Will expected Mike to settle down to sleep, but he didn’t.

Just as he was about to tell Mike that it was okay to rest, Mike turned it around on him. “Are you not tired?”

Will wanted to avoid the question, but he knew he couldn’t, especially since he had Mike’s undivided attention. “Of course I am. But I can’t sleep. What about you?”

Mike gave him a look. “Says the boy who came back to life. No, really, I’m okay. It’s been rough the past week, I can handle one more day.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes until Will had to ask. “I had a funeral?”

“Yeah,” Mike said sullenly. “Your plot is still there. Jennifer Hayes came.”

“That’s… nice, I guess,” Will shrugged. “Good to know that people cared enough to come.”

“Well, you’re not dead, and I don’t plan on attending your funeral again,” Mike snapped suddenly.

“Whoa, Mikey,” Will said defensively, reverting to Mike’s childhood nickname in hopes of calming him. “I’m not planning on dying again anytime soon. I promise.”

Mike visibly relaxed. “Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” he assured. “Just… startled.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike repeated, insistent. “I just… when they pulled your ‘body’ out of the lake, I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know what to do. And Troy…” he grit his teeth. “Troy said some nasty things about you at the assembly for you. He… he called you all these horrible things.” Will didn’t need to ask to know what words he meant; he’d heard it all before. “And he said he was glad you were dead.”

“Mike,” Will said softly, shifting so he could look Mike in the eyes, grabbing one of Mike’s hands with the hand free of tubes. “I’m still here. Nothing can change that. And I’m alive thanks to you.”

Mike stared down at their hands, and Will suddenly flushed, going to pull away. Then Mike wove their fingers together and said, “It really wasn’t me.”

And Will knew what he meant: he wanted to say, We’ll find her, but he didn’t want to tell a lie so he just squeezed Mike’s hand a little harder.

II.

Will Byers had always felt weak.

Three days after Christmas, 1983, he still felt that way, but when Lucas said, “Guys, my cousin sent me the perfect movie to watch tonight!” and produced a copy of Psycho, he made his decision.

Will Byers would not be weak ever again. Even if the only way he would prove it right now was by watching horror movies and not flinching. Unfortunately, his ordeal had made it impossible to get through even a half hour of Star Wars before the roaring of aliens overtook him. So a horror movie? No, the screaming itself did him in.

This time, however, he was determined. So thirty minutes later, he found himself bundled up in a sleeping bag in Mike’s basement trying not to tremble as the other three boys stared at the screen, glued to the inevitable jumpscare.

At one point, he let out the tiniest squeak—Dustin and Lucas didn't react, so Will was sure they didn’t hear. But Mike, sitting next to him, gave him a concerned look.

I’m fine, he mouthed, forcing himself to stay calm. Mike looked at him suspiciously for a moment longer before turning back to the screen.

Not ten minutes later, Will was suffocating in his sleeping bag, it suddenly feeling as stringy and sticky as the goo of the Upside Down. He clamped his mouth shut to shut in his terrified noises, but he shook against Mike’s side.

“Will,” Mike said quietly, head dipping down toward Will’s ear so his words didn’t go unheard. “You’re not okay.” But he didn’t say anything to Lucas and Dustin, because he seemed to understand that Will wanted to do this.

Instead, Mike’s hand found the zipper of his sleeping bag and pulled, loosening the grip on Will and freeing his hands.

“Thanks,” he muttered, suddenly clamming up again when someone screamed on-screen.

Mike shot him a concerned look and grabbed his hand, reeling him in closer to the bundle the other three boys had inadvertently formed. He didn’t release his hold on Will’s hand.

Will suddenly found it simultaneously easier and harder to breathe.

III.

He came to on the ground, staring up at the sky. Squinting against the sun, he was relieved when a figure stood above him and blocked the light. Then his heart plummeted when he realized who it was.

“Come look at the undead freak!” Troy shouted, kicking him in the side and drawing people’s attention. In moments, a small crowd surrounded them. “Look at the stupid queer, who fainted! For no reason whatsoever, too. That’s pathetic.”

Oh no, he realized. Oh no oh no nonononono…

Troy kicked him again, but Will couldn’t even curl up against the brutality because his muscles still felt like lead, heavy and weighted down. Several people looked like they wanted to step forward—his family had garnered a fair amount of sympathy in the last year. No one actually helped, though, because everyone knew how Troy’s fury had escalated since Mike (and El) had embarrassed him at the assembly. “Stop,” Will croaked out. “Stop.”

He knew what was about to happen—for the last three months, every time he had blacked out, once he woke back up the same thing happened. But it had never happened at school before. Once in front of his mom and his friends, but never in front of everyone.

“Troy, stop, please,” he insisted, regaining feeling in his hands.

“And the Boy Who Came Back To Life has been reduced to begging!” Troy laughed, nudging him with a toe. “How does that feel? Not so immortal now, huh? No weirdo girl to protect you or the other freaks, either.”

“Will!” someone shouted, face out of his line of vision. Whoever it was made Troy smirk. “Get away from him, you bastard! Get out of here! Let me through!”

Will knew the voice.

“Look at that, Byers,” Troy laughed. “Your boyfriend is here to protect you—if he can get through the crowd, anyway. Don’t worry, though. I’m going to kill you first.”

Will felt a smile involuntarily spread across his face. “I was about to say the same thing.”

The world exploded, and Will’s vision turned red. Seconds—or was it hours?—later, his senses returned, sight dim and ears ringing as he hunched forward on his knees.

“Will!” he heard someone vaguely shout. Mike. “Will!” Mike finally broke through the crowd, which had been thrown into chaos by whatever Will had done. As the people dispersed, Mike appeared into his line of vision, heading right to him. Max appeared as well, but she stayed back, shooing people away.

Will expected Mike to hesitate, or to step back before touching him, especially considering he had been there when it had happened before and had seen how that turned out. But Mike didn’t do that. He dropped to his knees beside Will and grabbed his hands, wrapping around them and holding tight.

Looking up at Mike, Will saw all sorts of things in his eyes: shock, hope, concern. No fear. No hate.

“Will, are you okay?” Mike let go of his hands for a moment to grab his shoulders, looking him over for injuries.

“I—yeah, I…” he trailed off. “Why aren’t you afraid?”

“Of you?” Mike grinned slightly, hands sliding down Will’s arms back to his hands. “Please. You’re my best friend, and no matter what you did to Troy, I know he deserved it.”

He shook his head. “I can’t control it, Mike. I can’t. I don’t know how she does it, I don’t know how I haven’t died yet, I can’t.”

Something alighted in Mike’s eyes at she, but he didn’t move away. If anything, he pressed even closer, pushing into Will’s personal space. “You can, Will. I know you can.”

A bubble of emotion was trapped in his chest—he couldn’t be sure which one, but it didn’t feel bad or wrong. So all he said was, “I’m trying, Mike. But I’m losing.” The bubble popped, leaving his chest empty and pressured. He wanted to win so badly. He wanted to live, to just be normal for once in his goddamn life. He could never be normal. His voice shook. “I’m losing.”

Mike shook his head adamantly. “I’m not losing you again, Will Byers. You promised me, remember?”

He stared up at him, pained. “I don’t know if I can keep that promise, Mike. I don’t know what’s happening, and I can’t stop it.”

“I broke a promise to El,” Mike said, squeezing his fingers. “You’re not breaking a promise to me. We’re going to figure this out. I promise.”

IV.

He woke up in a hospital.

“Hey, hey, bud,” Jonathan’s voice came from his right. “Easy. Do you remember what happened?”

“No,” he said.

“What do you last remember?” Jonathan pressed. When Will made an annoyed grumble, he tried, “This is important, Will. We have to make sure you don’t have brain damage.”

“I hate hospitals,” he muttered, shifting slightly. “Um. And I called you and Nancy and Steve because… because… I was with Mike and Lucas and Dustin and Max and…” His head suddenly snapped up, causing him to wince, but he shook it off. “El!”

The telekinetic girl was lying in a bed just a few feet to his right, Mike asleep in a chair between them. Her hair had grown out from her buzz cut enough to splay across her pillow. Her face was peaceful for once—no fear or confusion etched into her features. She looked pale, but otherwise okay.

“It’s been three days, and she hasn’t woken up yet,” Jonathan said quietly. “When you called me, we drove as fast as we could, but by the time we got there, the monster—”

“Thesselhydra.”

“—the Thesselhydra was gone and you two were passed out. Lucas tried CPR, because he apparently knows how to do that, while Dustin was his assistant, Max came to lead us to you, and Mike just freaked out,” Jonathan explained quietly. “Nancy was able to do a little more once we got there, but you, uh… you died twice on the way to the hospital.”

“Ouch,” Will said rubbing the space between his heart and his collarbone. “Feels like it, to be honest. But what about El?”

Jonathan took a breath. “She’s fine—”

“Well she’s obviously not!” Will whisper-yelled, causing Mike to stir a little but not wake.

“Seriously, she’s totally fine. The doctors don’t know what’s wrong. She’s just not waking up. We think her powers have something to do with it, but we can’t exactly tell them that!” Jonathan exclaimed, and Mike stirred again.

They were quiet for a moment before Jonathan said, “Everyone else is outside: Lucas, Dustin, Max, Nancy, Steve. Our parents have been taking shifts watching us. I sent Mom home a few hours ago to get some sleep. There are only two or three visitors at a time, depending on the hours, but Mike has been here whenever he could.” He sighed. “He hasn’t been home since this happened—his mom tried to drag him out, literally, but he wouldn’t go. I think he feels a little responsible, though for what exactly, Dustin and Lucas haven’t been able to tell me.”

“I… I need to think,” Will said, voice faltering. “Jonathan… can I get a few minutes alone, maybe?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jonathan nodded. “I can wake Mike, if you want, and get him out—”

“No, it’s fine,” Will replied. “From what you just said, he needs his sleep.” Jonathan nodded, frowning slightly before leaving. Then Will did exactly what he had told Jonathan not to do, leaning over to Mike and shaking his shoulder. “Mike! Mike, wake up!”

Mike almost fell out of his chair, but steadied himself at the last moment. Then he met Will’s gaze and jumped up. “You’re awake!” His hands shot out but stopped at the last minute, like he was afraid to move the various tubes on Will’s hands.

“No, no, help me up,” he insisted, pulling all the tubes he could out.

Mike stepped back, eyes wide at his actions. “Whoa, Will, I seriously wouldn’t—”

“I have to help El,” he said. “I can fix her, I know I can.”

“Will, wait,” Mike stopped him. “Will this hurt you? If it will, I can’t let you up.”

Will fell silent, staring at Eleven. She looked so frail, nothing like what he had gotten used to in recent days.

He had to fix this.

“No, I’ll be fine. Please, Mike.”

Mike grabbed his hands and pulled him onto his feet, brushing away the wires tangling around Will. A rush of dizziness washed over him, but Mike’s voice pulled him back. “Do your thing.”

Sending out a mental probe, he reached out to her… and he got feedback, like there was too much empty space. He jolted. “Okay, I know what’s wrong. Mike,” he said, glancing back at him. “Did Eleven do anything weird while we were fighting the monster?”

“Other than throwing the thing around with her mind?” Mike laughed humorlessly. “No.” He hesitated for a moment. “Well, actually… right at the end, she kind of pointed at you. Right after that, you disintegrated it and you both collapsed.”

“That’s why, then,” he said to himself. Seeing Mike’s confused look, he continued, “she must have transferred some of her powers to me, and she’s too drained.”

“But then why don’t you have… I dunno, extra power?” Mike asked. “You were out for three days.”

“Because I used the power to kill the monster,” Will realized. He reached out a hand, pushing Mike’s shoulder and urging him back. “And I also died twice. It’s fine. I can do this.”

“Will, I don’t—”

Blocking out Mike’s voice, Will closed his eyes, drawing energy from within. Holding out his hand, he let it hover over El’s motionless figure for a minute before pushing his hand down, an invisible force stopping his palm about an inch above her. The lights flickered, and Will bit his lip. Then the lights turned out, and the connection broke. The lights flickered back on as he stumbled back, crashing into Mike’s arms.

“Will!” Mike yelped, supporting him as he suddenly went limp.

“I think I did it,” Will remarked drowsily, struggling to stand up on his own again.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Then why isn’t she awake—ah!”

On cue, Eleven bolted upright, startling Mike. “Will,” she gasped, eyes frantic.

“I’m fine, El,” Will said sluggishly, regaining his footing as Mike grabbed his hand. “You did a really brave, really stupid thing, giving me your power.” He grinned. “Thank you.”

“He did give it back, though,” Mike said, regaining his composure and smiling at her.

“Mike,” she beamed back. “I’m happy you’re alive.”

Mike shook his head, and Will could see tears welling up in his eyes. “Likewise. I didn’t want to lose you again. Either of you.”

Then he squeezed Will’s hand, and Will felt like everything could be okay.

“Goodnight, El,” Will called as he watched his sister (of two years, now!) walk inside. Lucas and Dustin left about an hour ago, wishing Will one last happy birthday before their parents drove them off. Max took off not long after, grabbing her skateboard and disappearing up the road.

“Yeah, night, El!” Mike added. The girl waved before closing the door, and then Mike turned to Will with an excited grin.

“I’m suddenly scared,” Will said jokingly. “You’ve got that look again.”

“I don’t have a look,” Mike protested, still smiling.

“Yes, you do,” Will insisted. “You get all smile-y and giggly and your eyebrow does this thing.” He poked Mike’s left eyebrow lightly. “You, Wheeler, have a look.”

“Fine,” Mike threw his hands up. “I have a look. But I also have a surprise. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” Will asked as Mike walked toward Castle Byers. “Not my own backyard, right? Because that’s not much of a surprise.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Mike rolled his eyes. “I’m just grabbing my bike.”

“Oh, should I get mine?”

“No, that’ll take too long. You can ride on the back of mine,” Mike suggested.

“Mike, we’re not twelve anymore,” Will said nervously, eyeing the bike as Mike lifted it. “I don’t know if we’ll fit.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t the same bike I had when I was twelve, either.”

“Oh, how could I forget?” Will laughed. “This is only the super amazing bike that your parents got you for your sixteenth birthday and you talked about it for weeks.”

“Hilarious, Byers,” Mike rolled his eyes again. “Get on.”

Complying, Will gripped Mike’s shoulders as the taller boy pedaled away from the Byers house, away from the road.

“You sure you know where you’re going?” Will said loudly over the wind.

“Yes, William,” Mike insisted. “And if I don’t, and we get lost, I brought my Supercom and we can just call Lucas or something.”

“Fine, Michael,” Will relented, lapsing into silence.

They rode on for a few minutes longer, then Mike abruptly swerved to a stop. “Sorry,” he apologized before Will could even say anything. “I wasn’t sure if this was it, but it is.”

Will hopped off the bike, Mike grabbing his hand to steady him. “So, what was the surprise?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady and ignore Mike’s hand in his.

Mike didn’t reply, just tugged at Will’s hand and pulled him forward. “Wait,” he said suddenly. “Close your eyes.”

“Mike,” Will sighed fondly, doing as he was told. Mike pulled him forward, then stopped. He hummed under his breath for a moment, sounding considerate, then let out a satisfied huff.

“Okay, Will, you can open your eyes now,” he said.

Will did so and his eyes widened. “Mike…” There was a clearing in the forest in front of them, grassy instead of bedraggled and gross, starlight beaming down.

“I found it last week,” Mike said softly, voice sounding a little shy. “I know it doesn’t really compare to the paints I got you, or Max’s skateboard, or Lucas’s pencils, or even Dustin’s book, but. I, uh, thought you’d like it.”

Will just gaped, trying to comprehend this. Mike Wheeler was doing all this for him. For him, Will Byers, the screw up, freak, whatever. Mike was doing this for him.

“So,” Mike said stutteringly, uncharacteristically nervous, “what do you think?”

“I think it’s beautiful,” Will said honestly, looking up at him, the starlight reflecting in his eyes and, god, he’s waxing the poetic or whatever Lucas calls it. So are you. “Thank you so much, Mike.”

Suddenly, Mike’s arms were wrapped around him and Will’s head was tucked comfortably in the crook of his neck. “Happy sixteenth, Will.” He pulled away and grabbed Will’s hand again, pulling him forward, and that’s when the pieces began to click in Will’s mind.

“I missed you,” Mike mumbled into Will’s hair, curling into the smaller boy as Will struggled to sit up on his bed.

“It was one week, Mike,” Will laughed. “I was gone for one week to go work at a camp.”

“But it was a long, boring week for me,” Mike complained, sounding like his eight-year-old self for a moment.

El snickered from the doorway. “Wow, Mike, eighteen years old and can’t even go seven days without your boyfriend.”

“Shut up,” Mike blushed, grabbing one of Will’s pillows and burying his face in it, still trapping the Byers boy within an embrace.

El just shrugged. “Hey, I think it’s cute.”

“I also think it’s cute,” Will agreed, trying to free his arms, “and I definitely think you’re cute”

Mike grinned into the pillow while El groaned. “You’re so sappy,” she told them. “It is cute, but also gross. You’re so domestic.” She grinned wickedly as she emphasized the last word.

“We’re not domestic!” both boys exclaimed at the same time, as they did every time.

“Yes, you are,” Joyce called from the living room, and laughs—hers, Hopper’s, and Jonathan’s—subsequently rang out.

“Thanks, Mom!” Will shouted back.

Eleven laughed. “I’ll leave you guys to your reunion now. Jonathan and I are making dinner, and I invited Dustin, Lucas, and Max. Nancy said she and Steve might drop by, too. You’ve got maybe an hour.”

“Thanks, El,” Will smiled softly at his sister as she walked back down the hall, waving his hand to shut the door.

Mike shifted to make himself more comfortable, closing his eyes and burrowing into the blankets despite the hot summer weather and pulling Will down with him.

“Hey, Mr. Clingy, is there maybe another reason you’re hugging me so much?” Will asked, teasing but also genuinely concerned. Mike wasn’t usually this touchy.

“No reason,” Mike insisted, discarding the pillow. “I just really missed you.”

“Well, I missed you,” Will replied easily, and Mike shifted again, wrapping his arms around Will’s torso and making a contented noise. Will leaned back against the headboard, feeling Mike’s breathing start to slow, deep and even. He ran his fingers through Mike’s dark hair, smoothing out the tangles in the wavy mess. Mike mumbled something and reached up, gently taking hold of Will’s other hand.

“I can stop,” Will offered, but Mike shook his head and turned slightly, meeting Will’s gaze. Something in his eyes had shifted from the playfulness of before, and were instead open and soft.

“I love you,” Mike told him quietly, face so honest and vulnerable that Will was suddenly on the verge of tears. He’d heard the words before, but it hit him hard every time.

He swallowed the bubble of joy that threatened to pop in his throat and spill over in the form of happy tears. “I love you, too,�� he said, smiling down at this beautiful boy who had chosen him above everyone else against all odds.

As if sensing his sentiment, Mike tilted his chin up, and Will complied with the silent signal with no complaints. Pulling Mike up into a sitting position, he drew their mouths together, one hand still in the other boy’s unruly hair, the other hand clasped between Mike’s.

Will closed his eyes as Mike pressed forward, crowding him against the headboard. “I love you,” he said again, and Mike repeated the words against his mouth. Will felt Mike’s hands squeeze his, and it had taken so long but this time, he knew what it meant.

And then they lived happily ever after! But seriously. They all deserve happiness.

the timeline:

i. basically an extension of the hospital scene (november 1983)

ii. three days after christmas, 1983

iii. first half of season 2, not long after the scene from the trailer where will has some vision as his friends and mom watch. late october/early november, 1984

iv. second half of season 2, after the defeat of the monster. november, 1984

v. will's sixteenth birthday, 1987

+1. summer of 1989. they're happy and safe, I insist!

comments are, as always, appreciated.

To be clear: this was written a while ago, before a lot of the trailers dropped, so it’s not really canon-compliant anymore. But still, I hope you enjoyed, check out more of my stuff on my Ao3!

~Logan

#stranger things #stranger things season 2 #byeler #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #eleven #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #jonathan byers #fanfic #nancy wheeler #fanfiction #long post #agh jeez i'm so nervous posting this here #idk tell me if you guys liked it because who knows!!!#logan writes stranger things stuff

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dingusandsmartypants · 7 years

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List of Fics I will be working on soon:

So I’ve been getting a ton of stranger things fic requests and I’m super super happy because I love writing stranger things! Since I know my blog can be a little disorganized, I thought I’d make a post so that everyone who requested a fic can know kinda when to watch out for the one they requested!

I don’t have set dates for these because life gets in the way of writing sometimes, but these will be the order in which the next fics will be posted (and as always requests are always open! Just read the description on @lizzy-writes for guidelines – if I get lots more requests it is possible the order of publishing these will change but as of now this is what it’s looking like):

(if there isn’t a Status on it, then I have not started it yet)

• Christmas Photo - El decides she needs Christmas photos with her makeshift family and Santa Claus - probably a oneshot (characters: The Party, Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, Hopper) Status: Finished and posted on @lizzy-writes

• Inconvenient Illness - Steve has bad case of the flu, but the kids need him so he hides it and toughs it out until he just can’t anymore. (Characters: Steve, the party, possibly Kali depending on if I go as plotty with this fic as I think I’m going to) Status: Currently writing - just posted part seven, and the first half is now posted on @lizzy-writes.

• Dinner with the Hendersons - As far as Steve and Dustin are concerned, they’re brothers, and Mrs. Henderson couldn’t be happier. - possibly a holiday fic - probably a oneshot (Characters: Dustin, Steve, Mrs. Henderson)

• Stages of Recovery - Steve’s beating from Billy leaves him more severely injured than he’d expected and he’s having trouble coping - (Trigger Warnings: seizures, depression) (Characters: Steve, The Party, Joyce, Hopper, you’ll see a little bit of Nancy and Jonathan, but probably not a whole lot)

• Like a Fish to Water - The Party plans a beach day, but El doesn’t know how to swim, so Hopper asks Steve to teach her (Characters: El, Steve, Hopper, you’ll see some of the rest of the party but not a whole lot - probably a oneshot)

• Nancy…? - Steve needs his appendix removed, and Mike wonders if he really does look like his sister, because damnit, this is the third time!

• A Different Kind of Challenge - Steve gets roped into watching Holly Wheeler for an afternoon and proves once and for all that he really is a damn good babysitter... although it may not feel like it at the time. (Characters: Steve, Holly, Mike, Nancy, Karen -- probably a oneshot)

• Cat People - While hanging out with Dustin at his home one day, Steve comes to learn that he loves cats – well, at least this cat – much to Dustin’s amusement. (Characters: Steve, Dustin, Mrs. Henderson, Tews the cat - probably a oneshot)

• Reinforcements - Steve comes down with a bad case of the stomach flu and the kids try to help. It gets too bad for the kids to handle, though, and they call Joyce and Hopper for help. (Characters: Steve, the Party, Joyce, Hopper)

• Rescue - The Bad Men take Steve to find out where El is, which of course the teenager refuses to divulge, resulting in injury. Cue the kids coming to the rescue, with a little help. (Characters: Steve, the Party, Nancy, Jonathan, Joyce, Hopper)

• Fatherly Instincts - Steve sees Billy and Tommy picking on the kids and takes matters into his own hands; finally winning one for himself and the kids. (Characters: Steve, the Party, Billy, Tommy – probably a oneshot)

• Everyone Needs Mothering Sometimes - Steve has become the Party’s designated ride during this incredibly cold and snowy winter when they can’t ride their bikes or skateboard to get around town. …That is until he breaks his leg and can no longer preform this task. Now the mothers of the Party have to take turns running a carpool for the kids… and Steve. - or Steve has the middle school experience he never got to when he was a kid. (Characters: Steve, the Party, Joyce, Karen Wheeler, Mrs. Henderson, Mrs. Sinclair, maybe Mrs. Mayfield/Hargrove, I’m not sure yet)

• Playing Favorites - Every parent plays favorites with their children whether they mean to or not, and Steve Harrington is no exception. Dustin knows this and uses it to his advantage whenever he can, much to the annoyance of the rest of the party. (Characters: Steve and the Party - probably a oneshot)

• One Hell of a Long Night - Steve’s had the shit beat out of him, fought demodogs, burned down some other demential thing he still doesn’t totally understand, and now just to add insult to injury, he has the flu. (Characters: Steve, the Party, Hopper, Joyce, Nancy, Jonathan - probably a one or maybe a two shot)

• The Lost Brother - Steve has been hiding his abilities since he’d found out he had them when he was very young, just wanting to fit in. But now in the tunnels of the upside down, he has no choice but to use them to keep the kids safe from the demodogs. - or, Steve is one of the children that Brenner experimented on and El finds out she has a brother. (Characters: Steve, the Party, Hopper, Joyce, probably Brenner and Kali in flashbacks)

• Always Have Your Back - Steve protects Will from the bullies at school, and Will helps Steve when things get too bad at home. (Characters: Steve, Will, Joyce, possibly the rest of the Party, and Jonathan and Nancy)

• Draw Up the Adoption Papers - El becomes Steve’s not-so-secret favorite of his gang of children. After everything she’s been through, he just can’t say no to her and she gets pretty much whatever she wants when Steve’s in charge. - or, Four times Steve had a soft spot for El, and one time El had a soft spot for Steve. (Characters: Steve, El, the Party, probably a little bit of Hopper)

• Stupid Teenagers - Steve takes a night off from responsibility and hates every second of it. Thankfully Nancy and Jonathan are there to help. [Warnings: underage drinking] (Characters: Steve, Nancy, Jonathan, Billy)

• Six Kids and a Puppy - The Byers have a new puppy, and it’s cute as hell. …It’s also a goddamn nightmare to look after, just like the rest of those little shits. - or Steve gets roped into babysitting the party and a puppy at the same time; needless to say, it doesn’t go smoothly. (Characters: Steve, the Party, a little bit of Joyce, possibly Nancy and/or Jonathan - probably a oneshot)

• Keep a Strong Face - Steve’s leg gets broken during an adventure with the kids, but they need his help, so he keeps pushing himself despite the agonizing pain until he collapses from pain and fatigue. Cue the kids freaking out and trying to take care of him despite his protests. (Characters: Steve, the Party, possibly Joyce and/or Hopper)

• Line of Fire - Things don’t go exactly as planed on Steve’s first day of the force working with Hopper – thankfully he remembered to wear that stupid vest. (Characters: Steve, Hopper, possibly the Party – probably a oneshot)

• A Pretty Damn Good Father -- Several years after becoming a sort of surrogate father figure for the Party, Steve is left with a newborn of his own and isn't entirely sure he knows what he's doing. (Characters: Steve, the Party, Hopper, Joyce)

As far as I can remember, that’s all the requests I’ve gotten that I haven’t started posting yet. If I missed any, please feel free to drop it in my askbox again, and if you haven’t sent in a request yet, or you got a new idea for another fic you’d like me to write, drop it in my askbox!!

I hope this helps if anyone was worried I wasn’t going to get to their fics - don’t worry! I have a plan!

And just a reminder that when I finish a fic, I post the whole thing on my fic archive blog @lizzy-writes - which is a lot more organized than this blog 😜

Thanks for all the prompts and requests everyone! I can’t wait to write all of these!!

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things writing #stranger things prompt #stranger things prompts #stranger things request #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #jane hopper fanfic #jane hopper #jim hopper #jim hopper fanfic #dustin henderson #steve and dustin #dustin and steve

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letmewritemylife · 4 years

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Lara Johnson (Part 1)

Try to tear us apart but know that we'll wear our scars. - I Prevail (Scars)

A/N So, I've finally decided to post all my Instagram fics here on Tumblr to give a sense to this blog and don't just repost other people's stuff even though it's far better than mine. As a side note, sorry if you find any mistake but English isn't my first language and I suck at it.

TRIGGER WARNINGS Mentions of violence, death, abuse, blood, self harm, attempts to commit suicide. I don't think I'm too graphic, but be careful nonetheless.

In 1982 Alan Brown, a brilliant scientist from the suburbs of Boston, published some revolutionary studies about an unknown substance he had discovered and worked on for a couple of years. This substance, which he planned on calling after himself, seemed to have the ability to manipulate matter and was originated from a parallel dimension unknown to anyone else.

Despite the great value of his work, no one seemed interested in financing his studies, until Mark Feige offered him fifty million dollars to work with his team of scientists. Just before signing a contract with the man, Brown realized his discovery was not only revolutionary but also extremely dangerous. He understood having so much power over the structure of the universe itself was too great risk, so he left the country after burning down all his work.

Unfortunately for him, Mark Feige, businessman and head of one of the greatest terrorist organisations in the world, the Agency X, wasn't used to be denied something. His men found Brown even before he left Massachusetts, killed him and stole the last piece of unknown substance existing: a piece that was no bigger than an almond and that Brown had foolishly decided not to destroy. After naming it Substance Y, Feige used it to bring all of Brown's works back to reality. For the following year, scientists from all over the world were hired by Feige to study the Substance Y in hope to use it on his agents and get some sort of advantage on S.H.I.E.L.D, Feige's greatest enemy.

In 1983 Sean Ward and Emily Clarke got to lead the newborn Project 58 after they discovered Substance Y's radiation could be used on people not only to make them physically and mentally stronger, but also to give them powers such as matter manipulation, creation and destruction. It looked like Substance Y wasn't affected by any Physics or Chemistry law.

Tests on humans started in 1984 thanks to two volunteers, Abraham and Sandra Houghton. In less than a hour, they both became stronger than any other man or woman alive. But everything comes with a price. Abraham developed several anxiety problems and Sandra went crazy with power. Knowing she and her husband were the first enhanced humans after the well-known super soldier made her feel invincible. She forced Feige to test the Substance on children too and promised to give the scientists a child to work on.

Sandra's plan were ruined by some repeated attacks by some rival organisations, which led to a one-year gap before her son Jonathan Houghton and his little sister Lara, who wasn't even born yet, became the first children to be experimented on with the Substance Y. Forced out of her mother's belly when she was no more than a fetus, Lara was exposed to an insane amount of radiation and kept alive in an artificial machine.

When she was born on 10th November 1986, Sandra was informed Lara had not passed the tests that were supposed to confirm the effectiveness of the scientists' work. Considered by everyone just a failed experiment, the little child was given up for adoption and adopted by her parents' neighbours, Robyn and Ashley Johnson.

Robyn, a chef in a little restaurant in the centre of the city, and Ashley, employee of a bank not far from her husband's workplace, knew nothing about the baby's already tragic past, but still decided to leave their hometown in favour of New York City, where the two had found a better job not a lot of time before.

The Big Apple got to see Lara growing up in a happy and supportive family, completely unaware of her origin. She was just like every normal girl, with a great passion for science and martial arts, until everything scientists believed about her turned out being wrong. She was only fifteen when she casually found out she had inhuman abilities on the control of matter. Scared and horrified by her newfound powers, she hid them from everyone, starting from her own family, in a desperate attempt to forget about them, to get rid of them by simply ignoring them.

Constantly living in fear of being discovered, Lara developed several anxiety issues which led in high school to repeated bullying. No one, not even the leader of the bullies group Nick Millain and his sidekick Jonas Feige, could imagine the girl they were always making fun of was actually stronger than all of them combined. Years passed, Lara went to college to study chemistry hoping to become a researcher, still haunted by her hidden powers and her bullies.

Everything changed one day when Nick and Jonas assaulted Lara, pulling her hair and making fun of her. Alone in the school library with her assailants, Lara tried to push them away but accidentally knocked Jonas out with her powers. Nick stepped away with a scream, calling her a monster and saying he would inform the police about her actions. Devoured by rage, Lara punched him in the face and threatened to kill him and his friend if any of them had ever told anyone about that afternoon.

The following day Jonas disappeared. Some people said he had joined a gang in the suburbs of the city, others said he had simply quit school. Nick, on the other hand, moved to another city, finally leaving Lara alone. Those events convinced Lara even more that she couldn't control her powers and made her decide to hide them even better, controlling all her emotions to avoid instinctive reactions.

When Lara brilliantly got a degree, she accepted to work for the Stark Industries. She hated that job and she found her boss rather annoying, even though she rarely saw him, but she needed money to pursue her studies.

One day, while Tony Stark was visiting her laboratory, he saw a purple aura around her fingers. Curious to find more about it, he called her in his office and interrogated her until she admitted the truth. Tony then did something that would completely change Lara's life. He proposed her to become some sort of testimonial for the Stark Industries, using her powers to promote his company. Insulted by his proposal, Lara refused, but Tony went on trying to convince her for weeks, months, until Lara came to hate him more than her own curse.

Lara came to the conclusion she couldn't go on like that, she needed to stop Tony's annoying behaviour. She met him in an isolated place and threatened him with her powers, but lost control of them and almost killed him. The destructive magic she had hidden for too long took over her and destroyed her face, leaving deep and painful scars and making her faint. Tony ran away, believing her dead.

None of them knew that someone was spying them. Frank Linch, trainer for the Agency X, recognized in Lara the signs of the old Project 58 and brought her unconscious body to his hidden basement away from the city.

When Lara woke up, he offered her to train her and give her a work for the Agency X. Lara had no other choice: going back to her family would have meant being arrested for attempted murder. She accepted, but asked Frank to inform her parents and tell them she was doing some stage for the Stark Industries. Frank never actually told Lara's parents anything, afraid Tony would find her or someone would take Lara away from him.

Lara's training with Frank was one of the worst and most useless things had Lara ever experienced, forced to work all day long with someone who knew nothing about her powers. Furthermore Frank took advantage of her over and over, abusing her for a whole year until she found out the truth. Discovering she was missing, Lara got mad at Frank and when he tried to attack her she took one of his eyes out of the socket with her powers, before running away.

Back in New York, Lara was told her parents had gone missing as well and the police had found evidences of their death. Blamed by everyone, including herself, for what had happened, Lara mourned her family for a long time before realizing she couldn't go back to her past life. It was 2010, Tony had just defeated Ivan Vanko and Justin Hammer, her parents were dead and she had no one to go to.

After deciding to give up her powers forever, Lara covered her scars in any way she knew, created herself a new identity and joined the Agency X as a normal agent.

Amanda Ross, the woman she had become, proved herself stronger and smarter than most of her colleagues, becoming one of the best agents in her department. She met Elize Shinn, daughter of the Head of Department. Elize had been forced to work for the Agency by her father, but lacked every skill needed. She was too soft and kind to kill, she didn't have the need to get revenge that her father admired in Lara.

Despite their huge differences, the two women became great friends and Lara even confessed her who she really was and what had happened to her. After hearing her story, Elize tried to convince Lara to quit the Agency before it was too late. "You're more than some killing machine, Lara. I believe you have, deep in your heart, the ability to do beautiful things for this world."

One day during a mission, an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D tried to shoot Lara, but Elize took the bullet for her. The hit was, unfortunately, lethal and Lara could do nothing but see her friend bleed out in front of her, blood soaking her trousers as she knelt next to her. Elize's father didn't cry a single tear for his daughter, who had proved herself unable to meet his standard of perfection long before.

It was Lara who cried all the tears the cold hearted man had denied Elize. She refused to do anything for days, feeling like she had stolen the life from someone who deserved it much more. She took the blame for what had happened and was haunted for months by her friend's ghost.

Her heart seemed to heal when she met Alex Main, a kind young agent who worked in her same department. She fell completely for him and was blinded by what looked like the most heavenly love she had ever felt. But Heaven's not on Earth and Lara would soon learn it.

After a period of time in which Alex had been no less than an angel, he showed his true self. It all started with sporadic insults, evil comments, exaggerated jealousy, verbal abuse, possessiveness. It ended with repeated torture, daily violence, hate sold as love and death masked as life.

Alex's violence tasted of cocaine and alcohol, blood and spit. Lara couldn't go anywhere without Alex, not even on missions. Smiling at any other man meant having her face crashed against the sink over and over. Complaining was always followed by knife cuts, sometimes light stabbing. Rape and torture became Lara's closest friends. And she prayed, she prayed to die more than once, but Alex seemed to only get entertainment from dragging her to the edge and then leaving her there, broken and torn apart.

It was not like she couldn't see what their relationship had become. She knew that wasn't supposed to be love, she knew that wasn't supposed to be okay. But she was afraid. She was afraid no one would listen to her if she spoke, she was afraid people would come after her. As time went on, a devilish voice inside her head made her believe she deserved it, she was paying for her sins.

Elize's words and her attempts to redeem Lara dried, strangled by Alex's sick conception of love in the same way as he did with his girlfriend's throat almost every night. And Lara became angrier, full of a rage she couldn't use against her executioner. All the hate she couldn't set free in the hell she lived in, she channelled it into crueler and crueler ways to kill and torture rival agents, sickenly eager to feel the way Alex felt every day with her.

All until one day during a mission Alex decided his human toy wasn't worth his attention anymore because he had found a better one. And what better way to get rid of an old object than to burn it down? He locked Lara in an empty office in the basement of a S.H.I.E.L.D base and set to whole building on fire, leaving with his new oblivious victim. When Lara understood what was happening, she felt the last pieces of her heart somehow breaking again and piercing through her flesh. With an inhuman effort, she escaped, although physically and mentally hurt.

Aware of all the pain the Agency X had brought her in just five years, she stole a car and moved to a cheap motel near Philadelphia. Desperate and alone, Lara had a violent breakdown. She screamed, cried and hurt herself over and over, until she reached for the mirror and threw it to the ground. Holding its sharp pieces in one hand, she decided to end the torture her life had become. She covered her arms, face, legs in deep cuts, her face stained with tears and her body with blood. When she closed her eyes, she hoped not to open them anymore. The light of midday woke her the following day and made her realise she was not only alive, but also that her wounds had been closed by some obscure force, probably her own powers.

For the following two years she lived dozens of lives all across the USA, all different but all characterized by one common event: attempted suicide. Lara didn't want to live, she hated herself so much that she couldn't stand to look at herself in the mirror, but somehow she always survived. There was always something, someone to drag her away from the edge, as if not even death wanted her. She tried to shut her conscience down, drinking until she passed out, getting high on the worst things, cutting her skin to pass time. Anxiety and panic attacks became more and more frequent, almost normal.

In 2017 she went back to New York and, since she missed working as a chemist, she found a part time job in a lab. There she met Alissa Ibberson, smart and extrovert woman who made it her mission to become friend with Lara, even though her colleague had pushed her away every single time.

Alissa wanted to find more about Lara, about her past and the reasons why she was the way she was, but she wasn't the only one interested in her. When she found out a little too much, she got to meet a team of agents from the Agency X, who forced her to give them Lara's location and then killed her, making it look like a suicide.

Alissa was pushed on the train rails right in front of Lara, who recognized the man who had done that terrible gesture: Frank Linch. As she ran after him, Lara was stopped by Ben, Alissa's brother, who accused her of being the cause of his sister's death because of her behaviour. Lara tried to defend herself, trying to explain to the policemen she had nothing to do with it, but Ben attacked her.

And it happened. She instinctively reacted by pushing him away with her powers. In less than a minute, she had five guns pointed to her head, people all around her murmuring and whispering insults, Ben still screaming nonsensical words at her.

But she didn't want it to end like that. It wasn't her fault for what had happened. She attacked the police with her powers, hoping to escape and finally be able to find Frank. It quickly turned into a fight.

She fought like a scared animal, who attacks because it's afraid of being killed. Furthermore Lara had no idea what she was doing: she tried to push someone out of her way but she involuntarily threw him meters away, she tried to stop the fire she had caused but it only became bigger. It was her against herself against the police.

The mess she was creating didn't go unnoticed. Lara was just about to leave when she was thrown to the ground by some golden, sparkly spell she had never seen before. When she sat up looking for whoever had cast the unknown spell, she saw a tall dark haired man walking towards her with golden circles around his clenched fists.

She quickly got up and tried to shoot fire at him, but he stopped her attack easily.

"Who are you?" The sorcerer asked after temporarily immobilizing her hands.

She threw him a deadly gaze. "That's none of your business," she spit out angrily before pulling a knee to his shin.

Freed from his spell, Lara had to face another sorcerer, shorter than the first one and with shorter hair. Fighting such powerful wizards for a long time without even knowing what she was doing was hard, but it was even harder trying not to kill anyone in the process.

Lara stared at the Asian sorcerer with terror in her eyes when she involuntarily threw him against a window and fear took the place of blood in her veins when her attempt to push a policeman away made the ground under him open in a huge hole. Stepping back, she tried to run away but was stopped once again by the tall man.

"Let me go, you idiot," she screamed against the chains he had conjured. "I'll… I'll kill if you don't." She tried to steady her voice in a futile attempt to sound confident.

"Not until you've told me who you are and what you want." He got no response but some grunts as Lara tried to fight his spell. "You can try as hard as you want, you can't fight magic that way."

Lara raised her eyes to him and clenched her teeth. "With you, it worked just fine." She threw a quick glance to the her surroundings. "But I can arrange something," she added before pushing the man against a wall and making a building fall on him. As soon as she was free, she ran away towards Frank's house.

The small building was north of the Bronx, the dark wooden door wide open. Lara stepped into the living room, the tile floor covered in dirt and garbage. She carefully avoided a can of beer, then a syringe, clothes covered in food and blood stains, balls of paper everywhere. The woman moved across the house, inspecting every room, every corner, but finding no one, nothing but chaos.

Exiting in the backyard, Lara leaned with her ear against the broken door of the small tool shed between the barbecue and the dried hedge. Slowly stepping in, Lara found herself surrounded by gardening tools and nothing more. The floor creaked under her weight as she looked around herself. She hissed in pain when her foot met the sharpness of a piece of metal, hidden between floorboards. Hesitantly reaching for what seemed to be a handle, Lara opened a manhole she had never seen before and carefully went down the ladder.

The room she entered was little and smelt of rotten meat. When she turned on the neon lights on the ceiling, they emitted a wobbly light, their noises as loud as her steps on the broken tiles. She looked around herself, wondering where she was. Moving her hand on they greyish counter, she found her fingers covered in dust.

Then her eyes were caught by a big wardrobe-like freezer, the white iron doors stained with what Lara wanted to believe was just red dye. She barely touched the cold handle, curious yet scared of what a psychopath like Frank could ever side in such a place. The moment she opened the doors, a scream came from behind her.

Lara couldn't believe her eyes. The light coloured doors hid two frozen and unstably placed bodies that not only fell down on the woman, but were also easily recognizable. They were her parents. The two bodies tortured and mishandled belonged to the people Lara had never stopped mourning, to the people she had loved more than anyone else.

"I- I can explain." The voice behind her had never been so obnoxious to her ear.

Holding back tears she got up and stepped towards the man, towards Frank. "So it was you all along." She was trying to calm down, to stop her magic from taking over again.

"They were in our way, I- I couldn't just go and tell them you had joined a terrorist organisation. I did it for you," he stuttered, slowly stepping back.

Lara clenched her jaw, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. "You did it for me? You DID IT FOR ME?" She screamed, clenching her fists by her sides. "You killed them, you killed my family and I took the blame for it. I blamed myself for what you had done." She was tearing up, tears filling her eyes, ready to burst out. "You'll pay for it," she said, her voice just above a whisper.

Her hands freed a purple energy, some sort of magic that slowly, so slowly began devouring Frank's skin. Centimetre after centimetre, his body was destroyed by fire, ice, acid, iron and everything Lara's rage could conjure. The room was filled with screams and crying, blood covering the floor and staining the woman's boots. She hurt him and she medicated him just to torture him longer, more harshly.

She finally took Frank's life only after almost an hour, letting his dead body fall on the floor, as destroyed and torn apart as her inner self. Having lost control of her powers, she let magic destroy the room around her slowly but tirelessly.

Stepping back, she let out a scream before kneeling on the ground, tears streaming down her face. The foundation that had covered her skin dripped down her cheeks, revealing the bloody mess her face had become. Anger and sadness melt in a desperate, ugly cry, occasionally interrupted by screams and death begs.

"What happened?" An uncertain voice echoed in the destroyed room.

Lara looked up from the floor to meet the sight of the tall sorcerer she had met at the train station. Breathing heavily, she didn't dare looking at him in the face. "I thought you were dead."

The man slowly stepped towards her, who instinctively got up like an animal surprised by a predator while it was laying under the sunlight.

"I could help you," he said calmly.

"I don't need your help." Her voice trembled. "You can't take this away from me," she added, "no one can."

The sorcerer's eyes darted to her fingers, that were now covered by a weak purple aura. Everything happened fast. Lara tried to use her powers to cut her chest open, but the man stopped her and immobilized her to the floor with his magic and his body.

"What the f*ck do you want from me?" She screamed at him, trying in vain to move the sorcerer from on top of her and free her hands from his tight grip.

"Now you listen to me," he said, completely ignoring her question. "Why didn't you kill me?"

Lara shrugged. "Do I look like someone who knows what she's doing?"

The man sighed. "You stopped that building from collapsing on me. You could've killed me but you didn't. There must be a reason why."

"I wouldn't trust her too much if I were you, wizard. You'll end up just like her friend over there." The deep voice of a man drew the two's attention to the other side of the room. An agent was standing there with a gun pointed to the sorcerer's head, surrounded by other four people.

The sorcerer stood up as golden circles formed around his hands. "Do I know you?"

The agent smirked. "No, but she does." He threw a glance at the bloody mass that once was Frank and then turned to Lara. "You better come with us if you don't want us to get rid of you and your friend."

Lara got up, looking attentively at the agents forming a circle around them. "Kill me then."

A blonde woman attacked Lara with a knife, but she punched her in the face and pulled a knee to her stomach. She nudged the following agent, before another one wrapped his arms around her from behind, immobilizing her. She headed him and turned to face him, punching him on the jaw. When he tried to punch her back, she stopped his hit and turned his arm around just enough to earn a suffocated scream of pain from him. Looking behind herself, she found the other agents had disappeared. She heard a hiss and turned just in time to see the guys she had fought falling down golden portals.

"I took the liberty of sending them to the closest police station," the sorcerer commented.

She nodded not convinced. Looking just beyond where the agents had been, Lara met the sight of the two very well-known corpses and felt tears coming to her eyes again. "Whatever. You're the sorcerer, not me." Her voice cracked for the first time, but she didn't dare admitting it.

The cold air coming through the open manhole sent shivers down her spine, her dark shirt not warm enough to protect her from the cold of the incoming winter. She took a deep breath and brought her hand to her mouth, trying harder and harder not to cry, not again, not in front of a total stranger.

"I'm sorry." The sorcerer whispered, getting closer but not too much.

Lara blessed the distance between them that wasn't allowing him to see her tears. "It's okay, I'm- I'm used to it," she answered, her voice rougher than usual.

"You don't deserve to."

Those words hit Lara like daggers. She suddenly turned, clenching her fists hard enough to feel her nails digging in her palms. "How are so sure?" She screamed, completely ignoring the fact that she was destroying all her attempts to mask her sadness. "You have no idea what I've done 'cause if you did, you wouldn't be here with me." She buried her hands in her hair. "My parents are dead because of me, as well as hundreds of other people, and you act like you know how it feels, but you really don't." She took a deep breath. "Or at least I hope so," she concluded, her sad tone cracked by an incoming rave of emotions.

The man let out a breath before crossing his arms on his chest. "And that's where you're wrong. I perfectly know how it feels not being able to cope with losses and taking the blame for what you can't control."

Lara breathed out a laugh at the impossibility of what he had just said. He didn't look like the type of person who had done a lot of things to be guilty of. "Listen, it was kind of you coming here and pretending you actually cared about a total stranger, but now you better go." She crossed her arms on her chest. "Unless you want to end up like any of these people, of course."

"And what if I wanted to help you?"

She threw him a confused look. "I'm sorry?"

He stepped closer to her. "You heard me. You're obviously not okay and you have obviously no control over whatever your powers are."

She sighed. "And how are you going to explain the police you want to be my therapist, mister-?"

He was fast to reply. "Doctor Stephen Strange, and you don't have to worry about that. Do you want me to help you or not?"

She stared at him for a second, examining his face. Was his offer too good to be true? Probably, but his blind confidence in his abilities made it convincing. What other choices did she have? Waiting for a bunch of incompetent agents to kill her in her sleep and throw her body in the nearest river? She didn't want it to end like that. She wouldn't have allowed it.

She shrugged. "I seriously doubt it'll work, but okay, if it makes you sleep better."

She looked for a moment away from him, unsure whether she should tell him her real name or not. Go on pretending or give up the role she had played for too long? Could she trust him with her name, something she had hid from everyone for years, desperately trying to bury a life that she herself had destroyed?

"I'm Lara Johnson," she finally said, deciding to shut down the devilish voices in her mind for once.

#lara johnson #agata varano #scar #marvel #mcu #oc #writing #original character #mcu fiction #oc fiction #lara johnson backstory #stephen strange x original character

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stateofmybed-blog · 7 years

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Fairytale Man (Doctor Who x Reader)

Summary: You became a foreign exchange student to see the world. Instead, you saw the universe. With the help of a man in a blue box, of course.

Pairing: Teenager!Companion!Reader x Tenth Doctor (Platonic)

Notes: This is my first ever Doctor Who fic! I'm excited to take the plunge, as I'm finally getting back into the show. Disclaimer: There will be no romantic relationship between The Doctor and the reader, as the reader is only a teenager in this fic. I want this story to be centered around the main theme between companions and The Doctor: two great friends exploring the universe.

The cold winter air invading Britain had everyone and everything feeling the same way: gloomy. Formerly plowed streets were beginning to be given a new thin blanket of snow, while the piles and buried grass hardly noticed nature’s far from warm gift. The clock was hardly striking 5, but the thick clouds overhead made it feel as though dusk was nearing.

Snowflakes clung to your coat and eyelashes as you walked down the sidewalk of a mostly forgotten road. Your black jacket and maroon bottoms stood out in the monochromic geography, and your hands remained cold despite their place in your pockets. The sidewalk ran alongside a park, a park that had grown to be neglected over the years. It was old to children, as some of their parents had memories of running in the open grass and bobbing up and down on the now rusty teeter-totter. And yet, they kept coming back. You were never sure why, as much of the city’s more intimate parts of history remained a mystery to you. An effect of being an exchange student, you supposed.

The school’s exchange program was still in a beta process, and you were one of the willing candidates right from the start. There was a small fee of $750 american dollars to gain access to the program, and while your parents thought it was a scam, it turned out to be blissfully true. You couldn’t quite remember the details - maybe the school wanting an easily accessible program while also gaining traction for previous structures? - though the price had always een clear to you. $750, and you had a dorm room the size of an apartment complex in a building you shared with other foreign teenagers your age.

Your parents had almost stopped you from attending. They first made the money excuse, as you were well aware that your family was a middle-class one. You quickly pointed out that after 5-6 months of saving the income you gained from your job at the small and local grocery store, to which they grew silent. Of course, that didn’t mean they consented, and you quickly realized this in the months to come.

By the time you had saved up enough money, you had lost track of how many fights you had gotten into with your parents. They made every excuse in the book, including your younger sibling and your future. You had given up on bartering in due time, but the fighting still ensued.

Ironically, the night you and your parents completely lost it was the night they agreed. It was an average night; your shift had finished and after the short walk home, you walked in to see your parents sitting in the living room. You made your way to the kitchen, because this wasn’t the first time they had left you no dinner, but a snide comment made about how many late hours you worked stopped you dead in your tracks.

You didn’t remember most of what was said, as all you could recall was the screaming. Things were said that no one meant, and at the same time, hidden things in both hearts and minds began to surface. Eventually, the three of you came to a compromise. It was surprisingly quiet, considering the circumstances. Still, with tear tracks on their faces and whispered words admitting emotional attachment weren’t enough to convince you to stay. While the program had driven a wedge between your relationship, you continued to be relentless as you fought for the chance to prove yourself. Perhaps that’s why you had yet to tell your parents that you hated life in England.

Back in America, you assumed every part of the way you lived would change. While the culture in England was incredible - almost too good for words - your personal (particularly, your social) life in the country had yet to grow desirable. You still spent every night in your room, wasting hours on the internet. On the good nights, you felt nothing. On the bad nights, you scrolled through your classmates’ social media accounts and felt a sharp pain in your heart and a shortness in your lungs. And, on the worst nights, you cried yourself to sleep, asking yourself and anyone who was listening why you couldn’t just be normal. It was easy to hide yourself in your studies, but it wasn’t enough to convince yourself you were okay.

That old coffee kiosk was still at the end of the road, like every other time you took this path back to the dorms. Mr. Jonathan, the owner, was decked out in his usual knitted red hat with a pattern of black on white stitched into the middle of the yarn made piece. His old grey coat reached the bottom of his heavy looking boots, and the familiar details brought some ease to your unsteady mind.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, sir?” You said once you reached the front of his mobile shop. You didn’t know much about Mr. Jonathan, besides his adult kids and him being a widower, but your heart no longer raced when you spoke to him. You always took that as a good sign.

“Beautiful?” he asked with a scoff. “Pretty, maybe, but colder than hell.”

You half smiled at his bitter reaction while digging in your pocket for stray change. You came back with three quid. “The only thing cold that needs changing is your attitude.”

“That’s a brave statement coming from someone ordering coffee,” he remarked, yet mirrored your amused smile.

You let out a laugh and dropped the coins onto the counter separating the two of you. He got right to work at filling a medium-sized disposable cup, which gave you a few spare seconds to look around and at your surroundings.

Kids zoomed past each other with cries of happiness, while others giggled and played on the structures. A curly-haired girl was on a set of swings, smiling widely at the boy who sat beside her. Parents filled the benches near the playground equipment, but on one stray seat near a tree that had shed its leaves sat a lonely looking man. His brown hair stood up in strands and rustled in the occasional wind in the same way his tan coat did, and he stared ahead blankly, like his eyes were fixed on something worthwhile. You tried to follow the trail of his gaze and found nothing.

“Your change, Miss,” Mr. Jonathan spoke up as he set a few coins on the counter beside your freshly poured coffee. You looked back at Mr. Jonathan, then to the stranger again. You then looked down at the coins and your drink, and after letting out a shaky breath, spoke.

“Can you make it a double?”

Mr. Jonathan raised his eyebrows, though he grabbed another cup from the piled stack. “A lot of studying tonight?” He asked, referring to your sudden additional order.

You shook your head. “No sir. It’s for someone who looks like they need it.”

“You mean it’s for that man who’s been sitting there for about-” he paused to check his watch, “-2 hours?”

“That long?” You asked as you pulled your arms closer to your body. He was right: the snow was pretty, but the wind was the monster it hid.

“I don’t think he’s moved a muscle,” Mr. Jonathan confirmed. “I have no idea when he got there, either. One second he wasn't there, and then… there he is. It’s like the man appeared out of thin air.” He picked up a disposable tray, and after setting the new drink in it, he placed yours in it as well. “Not sure he’ll want coffee, sweetheart.”

“I have a favorite teacher that I left behind in the US,” you explained, “and he told me that kindness travels greater distances than even the stars reach.”

“Is that all it takes to charm someone like you? A little poetry?” Mr. Jonathan teased, then grew more serious. “If he gives you any trouble, give me a shout, yeah?”

“Yes sir,” you nodded firmly, then smiled and picked up the tray. Your heart was thumping at the idea of offering a complete stranger - a weird stranger, at that - a coffee, so his words helped soothe you.

You walked through the open space of the gates around the park’s perimeter, and you hardly even noticed the people staring at you. You couldn't remember when you became the apple of the public eye, though over the years, it was something you had gotten used to. You stopped feeling the urge to question it, even to just yourself, a long time ago.

You were close to reaching the stranger, and now that you were closer, you could see red scrapes and a few cuts decorating the side of his face. This only increased the shaking in your already nervous hands, but you simply trudged forward through the snow.

He glanced up at you, just for a moment, and your feet stopped moving. You immediately froze, like a child being caught in the middle of disobeying. You felt a small breath brush over your parted lips, and couldn’t help but notice that the man’s expression had yet to change. His eyes, they softened quicker than snow stuck on clothing and skin melted, but his face still appeared colder than the flakes falling around both of you.

After a small burst of courage, you closed the small gap of space between you and the empty space on the bench. You pulled at your coat the moment you took a seat and let out a forced sigh that you hoped sounded content, or at least relaxed.

“I’m used to the snow,” you started and set the drink holder in the space between you and the stranger. “It’s the rain that was hard to get used to.” You picked up one of the two identical cups and offered it to him.

The man looked over to you, and then to the cup of coffee. Your extended hand was shaky and sweating, though not from the warm beverage you were holding. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of the stranger contemplating, he accepted the drink. His face split into a half smile, one corner pulling up more than the other. You felt yourself relax a little.

“Ahh, well, that’s England for you,” he took a sip of the coffee. “Makes the sunny days worth it, doesn’t it?”

“I haven’t seen too many of those,” you admitted. “I’ve only been here since September. But, to be fair, I don’t know much of anything about England. Besides the things everyone knows.”

“All it takes to know is the want to know,” he informed, and spoke with a ease that almost seemed impossible. “The city, the culture, the legends… they’re living and breathing, right around you.”

“I’m the only thing stopping me,” you said, and maybe you shouldn’t have said it like it was a fact. Funny thing was, you practically knew it as one. “That sounds about right.”

“Though I suppose that’s easy for me to say,” he began to counter his own statement, “I’m the one who’s always leaving. But I always come back, don’t I?”

“Sounds like you grew up here,” You replied, referring to his accent. “I’d find it hard to abandon my hometown, even though I’m not always there.”

“Many, many parts of me grew up here,” he agreed, and although you were confused, you somehow understood what he meant.

“You must be good at telling stories, then,” you smiled. Simply the way he spoke gave this off: that he’d always have something to say.

He smiled as well, in the same manner he did before, but something about the expression didn’t add up. Maybe it was the change in his eyes, or that it didn’t seem as genuine. Regardless, spotting the difference was easy. “It’s what I do for a living.”

“What is it that you do?” you asked, taking your first drink of coffee. The mix of cool air and time between made it the perfect temperature. “Novelist, historian, teacher..?”

“I guess you could say I’m all of the above.”

Normally, you would have dropped the conversation upon hearing this, or at the very least, frown. This time, however, you rather continued to stare at him, though you eyes did narrow slightly in confusion.

“Who are you?” You asked, then rephrased, “what’s your name?”

The stranger hesitated for a moment, then replied with, “The Doctor.”

“That’s a fairytale name, Doctor,” You remarked, though didn’t question his answer.

He grinned like he knew something no one else did. “I’m a fairytale man.”

You pondered for a moment, wondering exactly what he meant by ‘a fairytale man’. Were you right in guessing he was a writer? Or maybe he implied he lived in his head, building castles that could never exist. Regardless, you were certain of one thing: this Doctor man was only giving you enough to keep you curious.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, which to your surprise, made both you and him jump in surprise. You fished the device from your pocket and read the preview of a text message from your roommate: Imani. Without opening the message, you knew what she was asking of you.

“That’s my queue,” you said as you stood up, “my roommate wants me back for dinner. Says I spend too much time out and about.”

“I need to pay you back,” The Doctor protested, and you weren’t surprised when he dug around in his pockets, only to come back with nothing.

“You can tell me one of your stories sometime.” You offered a method of payment without even thinking before speaking. What were the odds of you ever seeing him again? And before that, what were the odds of him even ending up in this park again?

Somehow, the answered satisfied The Doctor, because he looked satisfied as he nodded a single time. You offered him one last smile, this time a one with a closed mouth, and you walked back around the playground and out the gate.

You walked for a few more steady blocks, nothing but the wind and falling snowflakes to keep you company. You were more than okay with this; walking past strangers was far from something you enjoyed.

You turned the corner beside the unused and currently withering courthouse, and the second you did, something felt off. Of course, to you, something felt wrong. So, you quickened your pace and crossed by the front steps to the abandoned courthouse in half the time it would usually take you. This didn’t stop you from noticing the big blue box with glowing text at the top sitting in the alley.

After retracing your steps and getting a better look, your heart began to thump loudly in your ears. Your throat tightened with anxiety, and your chest jolted at your sudden gasp for air.

If there was one thing you didn’t like, it was change.

“Hello?” you asked reluctantly. You couldn’t tell if you were grateful or even more nervous when no one answered.

‘Police Public Call Box’. That was the illuminated font near the top of the box. You could remember reading about the sort of thing before, though your head began to ache trying to recall from where. Maybe the idea was vaguely mentioned in a textbook before, or you briefly read about it in a news article. Unlikely, sure, but not impossible. The only thing impossible in this situation was that was was here, right before your very eyes.

“This isn’t supposed to be here…” you said, more to yourself than to anyone potentially in the box. It was jammed between two uninhabited buildings, and of neither were a museum. So what was the beat up and ancient looking thing doing there?

One of the two doors creaked open, and you jumped backwards the second your heart leaped into your throat. You were breathing like you were coming down from one of your rare panic attacks, chest heaving and limbs shaking.

You don’t know what possessed you to lean forward, only for a split second, and push the door fully open.

You watched the door creak open the rest of the way with your back pressed to the brick wall farthest from it. You couldn’t see anything inside because of this, but you were at least thankful that no one came out.

Each step you took was hesitant and quieter than a mouse scurrying across a kitchen floor in the dead of night. Your eyes were fixed on the newly ajar door, ready to detect any change of movement. You reached the the door in less than five paces, and not even your overly analytic head could have prepared you for what was inside.

A metal ramp with matching railings lead up to a strange, somewhat circular device in the middle of what appeared to be a massive room. The walls met at the top to create an unsteady dome, and you could see that there was depth beneath the metal floor that held the texture of a fire escape.

You slammed the door shut and practically ran out of the alley, pulling at the edges of your coat as you trudged through the snow and into the school’s dorm complex.

“You expect me to believe you spoke to a stranger on your own free will?” Imani asked.

The two of you were sitting in a local diner, one that served breakfast until noon. The clock was drawing closer to 11:00 AM, and while you would normally be eating lunch around then, a finished platter sat in front of you, waiting to be taken back to the kitchen. Imani was digging into her third plate of pancakes.

“He was just… sitting there,” you said, tapping at your mug of coffee in thought. “He looked so alone.”

“What’s his name?” Imani asked through a mouthful of her brunch, “you never told me.”

“He called himself The Doctor,” you replied, “Whatever that means.”

“Sounds creepy,” Imani thought aloud. “What kind of man has a title and no name?”

“What kind of exchange student goes out for lunch rather than finishing her homework?” You countered with a false grin. You were desperate the change the conversation.

“You stood me up at dinner. Again,” Imani pointed out, “this is the only way you talk to me. So, I do it.”

“If I get a free meal out of it, it’s a win,” you smirked, and raised your coffee cup to your lips. You took in the grounding scent and felt the warm steam tickle your nose. Finally, you took a sip, and felt the hot liquid rush down your throat and into your stomach. After setting down the mug, you did something you did every time you were in public: you scanned your surroundings.

In the left corner seat sat a student typing away at a laptop. Books were sprawled on the table before them, along with a large mug and a clean plate that sat close the edge. In the seat next to the student sat a charming elderly couple. The woman was making pleasant conversation to the listening man across from her, who seemed to be multitasking by also eating a meal.The table beside the couple seated a young mother and her baby that occupied the stroller she was rocking back and forth. Satisfied, you shifted your focus to what was happening on the other side of the cafe’s massive front window.

Cars whizzed by quickly compared to the people that filled the sidewalks. Crown Street - the one you were currently on - was practically made up of shops, and thus made it one of the busiest streets in Kensington. You didn’t mind this, as you lived a considerable distance away from the crowded road.

Anyone walking was always in a particular rush. You’d lost count of how many people had shouted into their phones or shoved past people due to their quick pace. Life doesn’t bend to you either, you thought. Maybe that should have made you feel a sense of relief. It didn’t.

Your eyes followed a man dressed in a suit who had a girl in his arms and a boy by his side. The girl was reaching off of him so she could reach the boy, who was jumping up to play with her. The man, who you supposed to be their father, was speaking into his cellphone. Perhaps he was bargaining with his boss for his tardiness, or with a babysitter who failed to show. Obviously, you would never know, and your propositions ceased when they passed by the right side of the window. You had been caught up in theorizing that you almost didn’t notice that The Doctor was leaning against the side of a building from across the road.

He was staring at you, and it made you wonder for how long he had been standing there. Normally, you noticed the sort of thing, so to be completely oblivious concerned you. Him being so close to you without you realizing along with him having somehow tracked you down only made your worry increase.

“That philosophy paper’s due date was bumped to Friday, by the way,” you lied as you ran a finger along your mug’s rim. “Ms. Hayn wanted me to pass the message along.”

“Are you serious?” Imani almost choked on her pancakes. Your expression didn’t change, which made her jump out of her chair. “I’m heading back,” She declared while tossing £7 onto the table. That was more than enough money, but you weren’t about to get in her way.

“I’ll meet you back there,” Imani decided, and like a bolt of lightning, she was out the door and up the road.

You matched the amount of money she laid down to cover both your expenses as well as a tip. You picked up your backpack, the smaller one that you used as a traveling bag, and found your way to the door.

Just as you had expected, The Doctor hadn’t moved. You were outside, only aware of the winter month because of the winter wind, and he had yet to move a muscle. You were starting to wonder if this was a reoccurring theme of his.

There was a break in traffic, and against your better judgement, you crossed the street. A car coming closer laid on their horn when you passed the line and walked closer to The Doctor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. They weren’t about to reach you in time, and you weren’t about to get hit by a car. There wasn’t much else to worry about.

“What are you doing here?” You asked the moment you stepped onto the sidewalk. “Have you been following me?” You continued, and couldn’t help but notice that the cuts and scrapes on his face had disappeared without a trace.

“You opened the door,” he said instead, which made you frown in confusion. The Doctor shimmied aside, and once again, you laid eyes on a mysterious blue box.

“Do you always park it in alleys?” You asked, looking over the box. Nothing about it had changed from the previous night. “How do you move it, anyways? I don’t see a tow truck.”

“I normally don’t have to,” he said. “Park it in alleys, I mean. Hardly anyone looks twice. Well, you being the exception. The only one, actually. I don’t think anyone’s done that before.”

“You mean no other passerby has opened it?” You raised your eyebrows. “It’s a blue box taller than a man in the middle of London! How can people not be prodding at it?”

“They aren’t curious enough,” The Doctor explained. He spoke in a tone that made everything sound obvious, yet he didn’t seem to be condescending. It was a conflicting combination. “But you are,” he continued as he stood up straight, “and i don’t even know your name.”

“Y/N,” you told him. “My name is Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N,” The Doctor started, and he was smiling like there was something to be satisfied about, “I still have to pay you back.”

“You can tell me a story,” you reminded. “You’re good at those, aren’t you?”

“Anyone can tell stories,” He shrugged off your remark. “It’d be more fun if I showed you one. Don’t you think?”

“My friend’s waiting for me,” you nodded your head to the side Imani ran off in, “back at our dorms.” You wondered how far he would push it.

“The one that ran off? I could get back sooner than she can. And we could have some fun doing it. Good ol’ fashion, running for the hills fun.”

“That’s a big promise, Doctor,” you said. You couldn’t believe you were even considering taking off with him god knows where.

“It’s a promise I can keep.” He was back to leaning against the wall. “That’s what’s important, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” you replied, because maybe it was. Who were you to decide that? The Doctor didn’t reply, which made you glance down at your feet, and then back up to him. “Well, what are you waiting for? Show me a story.”

He grinned like a child in Christmas Day and practically jumped into the box. The door, however, stayed open from his actions, and you found yourself setting one hand on the closed one as you stepped into a place that made no sense.

If all else fails, you had a can of pepper spray in your backpack.

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jilliancares · 7 years

Text

Another Guardian Angel Fic

Summary: Dan has a guardian angel blah blah blah

Word Count: 3k

TW: underage drinking + hints at molestation almost happening (attempted non-con/drugging)

i found this in my drafts from like a year ago??? and since then i’ve written another guardian angel fic?? anyway this is also a guardian angel fic with a different premise from forever ago

Dan could distinctly remember the day that he’d been assigned to a guardian angel. Mostly because he’d been terrified out of his mind, but whatever.

At first, Dan had been convinced he was being haunted by the devil. Contrary to popular belief, angels didn’t wear white and have halos and shine like the rays of the sun. Or at least, Dan’s angel didn’t. Dan’s angel wore a color so dark it seemed to absorb light, and sometimes it was hard to spot him because of this, as he had an easy time blending into the shadows and staying out of view.

He also had big, great black wings, just as dark as his clothes, that could span ten feet if he opened them to their full potential. The angel’s hair was a slightly lighter black than his clothes, though Dan suspected that this was only because it managed to catch the light occasionally and reflect it.

The angle was the epitome of opposites, like a personal yin and yang, because whereas his clothes were darker than a pitch black night, his skin was almost as white as snow. Dan wondered if that was where the original concept of angel’s wearing all white came from.

The only thing colorful about the guardian angel was his eyes. They were a bright blue, constantly shining like light reflecting off of the ocean. And they were always glaring, usually at Dan.

So it wasn’t a surprise that Dan was terrified when he first saw the man. Or, boy, more-like, because he aged as Dan aged. He’d been eleven at the time, and it’d been the middle of the night. It’d been a nightmare that’d woken him, something about some of the mean boys at school chasing him, and his heart was still pounding as he slowly came to awareness, sticky with sweat.

He’d sat up, prepared to get a glass of water from the kitchen and try to ignore the unease in the pit of his stomach, when he’d seen him. Dan’s mouth had gone completely dry, the saliva disappearing to his hands, apparently, as they’d immediately started to sweat profusely. His body had started shaking, and he’d clenched his blankets close, hoping that he was imagining things, hoping that if he stayed still enough he wouldn’t be seen.

The angel had been standing in the corner of his room, glaring, eyes locked on Dan. Dan hadn’t know how long he sat there, clenching his blankets to himself and praying for forgiveness from a god he hadn’t previously believed in, before he’d finally resigned to run away. He’d thrown the blankets back and leaped from his bed, sprinting out of his bedroom and down the stairs.

A wild glance back had shown the horrible image of the angel, back then thought a demon, following him swiftly and silently down the stairs. A moan of despair had escaped Dan, before he whipped around the stair’s banister and slid into the kitchen, slamming the door shut. He’d been panting, more from panic and fear than exhaustion, and his breaths had sounded shaky and scared even to his own ears.

“What…” he’d began, talking to himself, “was that?”

“Your guardian angel,” had said a hard voice from directly beside Dan. His eyes flew open, not even realizing he’d closed them as he leaned against the door, and whipped to the side. Less than a foot away from him had stood the demon-angel, and Dan had scrambled backwards, trying to get away. How did it get in anyway? Dan had closed the door before it’d gotten there, he knew he did!

“What?” Dan had whispered, eyes wide with fear, still backing cautiously away. The angel hadn’t followed him, and it didn’t speak to him again either. Not for many years.

Finally, back pressed against the fridge, he’d sank to the ground and pressed his face against his knees. He’d wrapped his arms around his shaking body and begged for it to not be real. Tears had escaped from the corners of his eyes, and back then, when he was only eleven, he hadn’t minded crying, so he hadn’t cared.

Accidentally, Dan fell asleep there, pressed against the fridge. Though when he woke up, he was back in his bed, the comforter tucked firmly around him.

Was it just a dream? he’d thought, sitting up warily.

His eyes locked on the familiar terrifying figure, standing once again in the corner of his room. Dan’s face paled in fear, though he clenched his mouth shut. If the demon-angel-thing had wanted to hurt him, it would’ve done so when he was asleep and vulnerable.

Plus, it had apparently carried him back to bed (Dan had shivered at the thought of the demon actually touching him) which suggested that it wasn’t entirely evil.

Finally, Dan had stood up, deciding to just ignore his guardian angel, if that’s what it really was. He made his way to the bathroom, closing the door firmly while looking at the angel. Dan had turned around and jumped about a foot in the air, seeing the angel standing in the corner of this room as well.

Luckily, the angel had stayed on the other side of the shower curtain, as well as the door leading to the actual toilet. Still, Dan had taken one of the fastest showers of his life, and he’d dressed while still in the tub.

It had been terrifying, realizing he was the only one that could see the angel. That morning he’d gone down the stairs warily, knowing his parents would be just as terrified of the figure as he was. When he arrived in the kitchen, however, the angel standing just behind him, his parents didn’t even notice. Just greeted him normally and served him breakfast, never commenting on the dark entity standing at the corner of the room.

Dan had never actually believed that the angel was really his guardian angel until nearly a month later. He’d accidentally stepped on Jonathan’s shoelace as everyone was leaving school, causing the taller, older boy to stumble slightly. He’d turned on Dan immediately, hands shooting out, but Dan was too fast. He’d turned around and sprinted away, darting into the forest in hopes of hiding in the trees.

“Get back here, loser!” Jonathan had yelled, making Dan run even faster. He’d stumbled though, and gone flying forward, hands and knees scraping against the uneven ground. He’d scrambled away, still on his hands and knees, before collapsing against a tree. He’d been in too much pain to keep running, and he’d thrown up his hands, hoping to at least protect his face from Jonathan’s fists.

“What the hell?” a furious voice shouted, sounding slightly muffled. Dan’s eyes flew open, only to find himself nose to nose with his guardian angel. The angel’s wings were extending, wrapping around himself and Dan, and for once his furious expression didn’t seem as if it were being directed at Dan.

Dan reached out, tentatively, and grabbed the angel’s hands, clutching them fervently. His body was shaking in fear, and this time it wasn’t because of his angel, but because of what the angel was guarding him from.

Finally, angry footsteps stomped away, and Dan idly wondered what it had looked like as the angel had protected him. After all, no one else could see the angel, so maybe Jonathan hadn’t been able to see Dan either.

The angel had continued to hold Dan’s hands as he helped him up, and when he let go, Dan stared at them in amazement. The scrapes on his hands, complement of tripping in a forest, were completely healed, leaving nothing behind to even show they were there. The angel had bumped Dan’s knees with his own, and Dan felt the pain ebb out of those, as well.

“Wow,” Dan had breathed, standing less than a foot away from the angel and gazing up at him in amazement. “You really are my guardian angel.”

——

“Come on!” Tracy whined. “We’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry up.”

“I don’t know what to wear,” Dan said, his closet doors thrown open before him.

“What, like you ever wear anything other than black jeans and a black shirt anyway?” Tracy demanded, and Dan shrugged.

“I have different black shirts.”

“Just pick one already.”

Dan snagged a shirt, a white button up with moths on it, just to prove Tracy wrong, and put it on. He wanted to look good at the first party he’d ever gone to, and he straightened his shirt meticulously. He glanced over at his guardian angel as he did so, who was currently glaring at Tracy instead of him. The angel had always seemed to hate Dan’s girlfriend, though Dan didn’t know why.

When Dan was twelve, sick and tired of not having a name to call the angel, he made on up. When he’d informed his angel of his new name, which Dan had spent many days pondering before deciding on Phil, the angel had raised a single eyebrow, his glare transforming into amusement.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Dan finally announced, to which Tracy thanked god, and they headed down the stairs. Tracy drove, mainly because she’d had her license for an entire year, being seventeen, and Dan had only just gotten his, being sixteen. Phil sat in the backseat, glaring hauntingly the entire time. They arrived at the party not much later, and Tracy was quick to make use of the alcohol.

Dan was one of the youngest ones at the party, which for some reason made him a target in most drinking games. People were constantly picking him to drink, and the more he drank the worse he became at the games, which led to him having to drink more.

“Let’s play strip poker,” someone suggested. At that point in the night, Dan could barely recognize faces, much less names.

“Too tired and… drunk,” Dan muttered, directly into Tracy’s hair. He was sitting on the ground, leaning heavily against her.

“Nonsense, you can still play!” she laughed, and so Dan was dealt into the game. He let Tracy deal with his cards, finding it too hard to focus on the numbers and pictures on them. Apparently, though, she was really crap at the game, because Dan’s deck kept losing, and he was finding himself with less and less clothes.

“I’m cold,” Dan complained when he found himself sitting in just his boxers, surrounded by strangers and Tracy. Laughter rung out around the group, and Dan hugged his knees to his chest, feeling self conscious.

“This’ll warm you up,” someone to Dan’s right said, handing him a cup.

“Thank you,” Dan answered politely, causing more laughter from the group of people. He shrugged it off, downing the drink it hopes to get warm. He suddenly caught sight of Phil, standing against a wall across from Dan, and Dan smiled at him. The angel, perhaps noticing his drunken state and willing to amuse him, waggled his fingers in Dan’s direction.

“Dan! You lose again!” someone shouted, and then his underwear was being pried off his body, and Dan was wondering just when he became so bad at poker. His movements were quite suddenly slow and sluggish, and by the time he’d reached his hand down to try and grip at his disappearing boxers, they were gone.

“Wha’ was… in tha’ drink?” Dan slurred, turning to look to the person beside them. They did something with their eyes, closing just one of them, and Dan blinked at them in confusion.

“Where are m’ pants?” he questioned, to more laughter. He was having trouble moving his limbs, and some distant part of Dan’s brain was beginning to feel alarmed. Dan tried to figure out why he was feeling anxious and scared, but his thoughts were slurring just as much as his words and movements are.

Tracy, very suddenly, put her hand on his thigh. “How about we take this upstairs?” she purred seductively. Dan, also very suddenly, felt like he might throw up.

“What? No!” he exclaimed, shock and fear helping to straighten out his words. Tracy just smirked, and slid her hand lower, causing Dan to jump, startled.

“S—st-stop,” he managed, his tongue feeling too fat and heavy to assist him in making the ’s’ sound.

Then, a black figure descended around Dan. Momentarily, Dan was confused, wondering who’d turned off the lights, before he looked up and saw his angel’s eyes. Dan closed his eyes thankfully, and leaned against the figure. The room seemed to be spinning, and his hand clenched tightly against the angel’s while it did. The angel rarely let Dan touch him, and he felt privileged to be able to do it now.

Somehow, when Dan opened his eyes, he was in his room again, wearing boxers. He was endlessly thankful to be out of that party, but he felt cold and sick, his body shaking despite already being underneath the blankets.

Phil was standing in the corner of the room, as usual. He never slept, and he always stared at Dan, glared, most of the time.

“Phil?” Dan whispered into the quiet room. The angel shifted slightly on his feet, showing Dan that he was listening. “Can you come here?”

His angel somehow knew exactly what he wanted, and he lifted the covers to Dan bed, crawling into them. Dan pressed his face against the angel’s chest, and his shivering slowly lessened.

“Sleep, now,” Phil whispered, and Dan took his advice, letting his eyes close and sleep overtake him.

—

When Dan awoke, he’d been expecting to find the angel in the corner of his room like always. It was a surprise, however, to find himself laying half on top of Phil, his arms curled tightly around the angel.

Phil’s hands were carding steadily through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and twirling the strands around his fingers. Dan hummed quietly, tilting his head to the side to allow Phil to scratch another area. Dan felt as much as heard Phil chuckle, and he smiled against the warm skin of Phil’s chest.

“Does this mean you’ll start talking to me?” Dan asked, voice muffled against Phil.

“I don’t talk to you for your own good. You’re scared of me.”

Dan scoffed. “I haven’t been scared of you since I was eleven.”

From then on, Phil slept in Dan’s bed every night, in case he had nightmares. Or wanted a cuddle.

Unfortunately, Dan had other dreams than just nightmares.

One night, he was having a particularly good dream. He wasn’t aware of the fact that he was pressed up against Phil, breathing shakily onto his chest and rubbing himself against Phil’s thigh. Phil did nothing, figuring that he was here to help Dan in any way, and if this was helping him…

Dan eventually stopped, his body shaking with aftershocks, his boxers damp against Phil’s leg. Phil’s entire body felt warm, and his lower body felt weird, stiff unlike ever before, which he decided to ignore. Instead he simply hugged Dan closer and let him continue to sleep.

When Dan woke the next morning, still lying on top of Phil, he shifted slightly, before freezing. His entire face exploded in a vibrant red, and Phil squinted at him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I— uh,” Dan managed, before sliding off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. Phil was transported to the bathroom as well, and he watched as Dan stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. Humans, Phil scoffed inside his head. Barely articulate and never explain their feelings.

The next night, the situation arose again, Dan’s fingers clenched in Phil’s shirt as he rubbed himself desperately against Phil. Dan’s eyes suddenly flew open, and he gasped, before throwing himself off Phil.

“What’s wrong?” Phil asked calmly, while Dan was staring at him, mouth lolling open, traumatized.

“I was— I was— humping you!” Dan whisper-yelled in embarrassment.

“So?”

“So,” he began. “It’s wrong! It’s— it’s rape! I shouldn’t have been doing that to you without your permission.”

“But you were asleep,” Phil argued. “You had no idea what you were doing.”

“I—I—”

“Besides, if it’s something you like, then I’m happy to do it for you,” Phil promised. He then brought his hand down to Dan’s crotch, which made Dan gasp and arch upward.

“Oh god,” Dan whispered, as Phil continued to squeeze his erection, dragging his fist up and down. Dan reached over to the angel, feeling his way down Phil’s chest to a similar arousal.

“Woah,” Phil breathed, jerking at Dan’s touch. Dan turned his head to the side, staring at Phil as he continued to touch him.

“You’re beautiful,” Dan informed, gasped, as Phil squeezed him on an upward stroke. Phil finally turned to look at him, and he smiled, panting.

“So are you,” he breathed, and Dan leaned forward, pressing his lips against Phil’s.

The kiss was short, as they were both too busy trying to get any air in their lungs. Dan’s hand movements began to speed up along Phil, and Phil did the same to Dan. They were both arching upwards, and Phil came first, jerking in Dan’s hand and gasping loudly.

He immediately sat up on his knees, before positioning himself between Dan’s legs. He grabbed Dan by the knees and yanked him closer, so that Dan’s knees were bent over Phil’s shoulders with only Dan’s back on the bed. His hips were in the air, and Phil bent forward, taking Dan into his mouth.

Dan moaned very loudly, bucking upwards and grabbing for any part of Phil he could reach. His body was soon jerking as he came, and he whimpered as it happened, panting as Phil swirled his tongue around him and sucked lightly.

Dan was set gently back on the bed, body flushed and sweaty from the exertion.

“I think I could get used to this,” Dan relayed, and Phil swept him into his arms, nodding tiredly.

“Me too.”

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #uuuummm yeah #i mean it's not my best buuut #i'm trying to clean out the documents from my computer #if i find any other finished but unpublished things i'll let you know lol #and sorry for that dumb scene where dan was getting dressed oh wow #and for that abrupt ending #i just figured it'd be better on tumblr where someone could enjoy it than elsewhere

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