#but like everything in their lives together it’d all go completely sideways | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

princess-of-inarizaki · 3 years

Note

So, as I promised, Inarizaki New Year request. Inarizaki boys and manager make party at her place, they prepare dinner, decorate the Christmas tree and her home (twins hang the mistletoe everywhere, but manager-chan is clueless so she doesn't know about kissing tradition), exchange gifts, have sleepover etc. Next day they all go together to the shrine and all boys ask to marry her. And they are EMBARRASSED when manager asks them what they ask.

Ahhh Tilli my love! I'll finally use this as a Christmas and New year one combined (eventho they've both passed a long time ago :) and this will be the final addition to the Inarizaki December series!

Once again, thank you so much for supporting me through it all, and showering love on every day's imagine. I didn't expect to get 100-200 notes on some days, but I did!! And I'm really ever so grateful. I hope you'll stay tuned :D

Inarizaki's manager-chan day 25!!

Late merry Christmas!! 💖 (And happy new year)

☃️

It was finally the seventh day of Christmas.

The day everyone looked forward to, filled with so much cheer and joy. The boys couldn't wait to spend it at your house. (They couldn't spend the actual day of Christmas with you, due to clashes in the schedule), but that's okay. They were here now.

It was unorthodox, to decorate the tree and give gifts days after the 25th, but it didn't matter to you, and if it didn't matter to you, it didn't matter to the boys either.

The house was warm, and you were busy baking cookies. The smell of gingerbread and peppermint floated in the air. Suna snuck up behind you and took a dab of the cookie mixture. “I rate this a 10/10”

Kita glared at him. “Suna that wasn't very hygienic” which only caused you to laugh.

Christmas carols were playing from the small Bluetooth speaker near the tree, and you suddenly felt like dancing. After wiping your hands dry and shutting the oven so the cookies could bake, you pulled Kita to you and placed your hands on his shoulder.

“Dance with me, Kita-san”

His eyes sparkled as his cheeks heated up.

“Of course, my lady.”

And the rest of the members watched enviously as you spun around with Kita in tow. You looked gorgeous, and so undeniably happy.

“My turn!” said Atsumu indignantly as he replaced Kita. He pulled your waist closer to him as he picked you up and twirled you around. Your squeals made his heart beat faster as he gently let you go.

“That's enough dancing for one day, now go decorate the tree or something. These cookies will be done soon and me and y/n need to decorate them.” said the gray haired twin.

The boys nodded as they made their way to the big tree in the living room, whilst you were left alone in the kitchen with Osamu.

Osamu swiped a bit of frosting on your cheek and laughed, as he put on the oven mitts, readying himself to take the cookies out of the oven.

You laughed and licked the frosting off.

Damn. Osamu's brain almost short-circuited, but he pushed such thoughts out of his mind and instead focused on the cookies.

“How shall we ice them?”

You mixed food colouring into the frosting bowls and explained you wanted to ice them according to each of the members.

“We'll use white for Kita! Since he's so dedicated and wonderful, white suits him best. And green for Tsumu, because he makes me feel happy and fresh inside.”

Osamu nodded with a small smile. “And what about me?”

“Purple for you, because I feel comfortable with you, you're basically my home. And red for Rin, because red is a sleepy colour, and I just love napping on his lap.”

“Oh and blue for Aran! He makes me feel safe inside. Orange for Akagi, he's such a cheerful person, he's like my very own sunshine.”

Osamu blushed and stroked your cheek gently. “You're my little home too, ya know that? I'm icing yours pink.”

Pink for the way you make me blush, my love.

You beamed at him and began icing the cookies, delicately and carefully, whilst Osamu iced the other half.

The rest of the boys finished decorating the tree as they took a step back to admire their work.

Suna gently adjusted the baubles, before taking a few pictures. He wanted to capture this moment forever.

Suddenly, you and Osamu came to the room with a mixture of cookies and a few mugs of hot chocolate and marshmallows.

Akagi smiled as he placed a kiss on your cheek before snagging a cookie. “Aww you guys are the best, thank you!”

The snow slowly fell outside, as the tree sparkled proudly in the center of the living room.

“Hey we still need to put the angel on top!”

Atsumu jokingly picked you up in his arms “we have one right here, shall I put her on top of the tree?”

The boys laughed as they passed you the tiny angel figurine. “we can't reach it anyways, why don't you put it instead?" Said Aran with a small smile.

Atsumu lifted you up gently as you placed the angel on the top of the tree, completing the decoration process.

“Thanks, you guys are amazing. I'm so lucky to have you.”

Your words were met with a chorus of "I love you's" and "me too's"

And you laughed, as Atsumu pulled you closer to him.

“Tsumu, you can put her down now” said a disgruntled Osamu.

[ 2 hours earlier ]

Osamu: have you placed the mistletoe in random spots?

Atsumu: yes, what about you?

Osamu: yeah, but I've kept one in my pocket. I'll just put it up whenever we're alone and it show to her.

Atsumu: damn that's so smart, why didn't I think of that? :(

Osamu: cuz yer' stupid.

Atsumu: >:(

[present time]

You and the boys play tons of games in the living room, and stash their gifts underneath the tree too.

“Let's open then tomorrow morning! We'll sleep in here too, and it will be fun to open them as soon as we wake up.” you say happily.

Suna leans on your shoulder throughout the evening, and soon his head makes its way to your lap, as usual.

You laugh and ruffle his hair, as he looks up at you breathlessly. You're so beautiful to him. So undeniably gorgeous. Atsumu wasn't lying when he called you an angel.

Suna's pupils dilated as he stared into your eyes. “I love you, y/n”

Not hearing the sincerity and hidden meaning behind his words, you replied with a quick “I love you too, Rin-rin”

And frankly, even if you didn't know how much he truly meant it, it didn't matter. He'd make sure you did, someday.

The plate of cookies were left with only crumbs and the mugs were all empty.

The next part of the night was dinner, and since Kita was the only one who could drive, he'd take you out to pick it up.

“Let's go Y/n-san” said Kita, as a tired Suna whined when he had to lose your lap-pillow.

You nodded and followed him, fastening the seatbelt in the passengers seat as you winked at the boys. “Be good while we're gone, okay?”

Kita turned up the radio. It was a song he didn't particularly like, but you seemed to love. However, you switched the radio off.

“Y/n-san, don't you like this song? Why did you change it?”

“Because you don't like it, Kita-san, and I want to talk to you. Your voice is better than any song.” was your simple reply.

No beating around the bush, you were ever so straightforward, and yet it made Kita's heart beat faster.

“so what would you like to talk about?”

And it started from there. A car-ride filled with the voices of the both of you.

At the traffic light, Kita gave you a sideways glance as he saw your excited expression talking about the cookies you baked.

But frankly he wasn't listening anymore. he was admiring the way your eyes shone in delight, and your cheeks as they were pink from the cold. He smiled at the way your face seemed to light up, and at the beautiful smile etched into it.

And Kita found that beautiful.

“It was delicious, right? And the frosting was beautiful too?” you finished excitedly, by asking him.

“she really is beautiful” said Kita in a trance, as the light turned red and he snapped out of it.

“I mean, yes, the frosting was beautiful!”

After picking up a bucket of KFC, as it's traditionally eaten to celebrate Christmas, the boys greeted you at the door.

“Mom and dad are home” joked Akagi.

“Oh my, so that means y/n's our mommy?” said Atsumu seductively, which earned him a sharp kick from Osamu. “Hey Tsumu, shut the hell up.”

The table was set and filled with cheer and banter from all sides, as Akagi sat next to you, and plated everything out.

You sighed happily. Truthfully, you weren't aware of traditions in Japan, since you were new to the country, but the boys taught you every day. It was Osamu who informed you that people in Japan ate their Christmas dinners at KFC.

“It's kinda like a tradition here” he said, with a small shrug. And you were determined to stick to those traditions.

“Are there any other traditions you practice, here? During Christmas?” you asked, in between bites.

Atsumu smirked at you and held up a small plant. “This is called mistletoe, but I won't tell you what the tradition related to it is”

You were confused, because all the other boys had suddenly turned red, and no matter how much you asked them, they refused to tell you what the significance of mistletoe was.

“Hmm, weird” you said softly, as you finished dinner, and brought your plate to the kitchen to be washed.

As you walked out, you noticed a small sprig of mistletoe above you, and a tall presence looming over you...

[ hello!! This is route time!! There are six members which I have written mistletoe routes for, and the corresponding colours will be for each member, so read whichever you want to!!]

(pink is the general route. no matter which route you choose, the new year's day story will continue with the general route, so please keep that in mind.)

Kita

Osamu

Aran

Atsumu

Akagi

Suna

You looked up and saw Akagi, and he had a bunch of other dishes in his hands. “I've lost a bet, so they've made me wash their dishes”

Atsumu's gleeful voice could be heard as he egged his senpai on. “make sure they're spotless, Akagi!”

You took half of the plates from Akagi kindly and assured him you'd help him.

“my hands are wet anyways. It'd be a bother to dry them after washing only one plate”

“T-thanks” he stuttered softly.

As you and Akagi washed the plates side by side, he felt a slight tug in his chest. It felt so domestic, to come home to you, hug you in his arms, and do the most mundane of tasks with you, like washing the dishes like this.

He wouldn't mind anything, honestly. As long as he was with you, the most grueling of chores would become fun.

And as he saw your brows furrowed in concentration, he sighed. You looked ever so adorable like that.

“Y/n-chan, I don't know if I've told you this yet, but you look very beautiful today.”

It took a lot of courage. Everyone saw him as a jokester, a perpetually happy person, but with you he wanted to be different.

He wanted you to know that when he complimented you like that, he wasn't joking. Not the least bit.

A soft tint could be seen on your cheeks as you continued washing the plates. “why thank you, Akagi. You look really nice too ”

And somehow, with that one compliment, you made Akagi happier than he had ever been.

The kitchen was filled with comfortable silence, and you appreciated the presence of the tall raven-haired libero who stood next to you, as he swore this scene would repeat itself in the future, someday, but with you as his girl.

The late dinner left everyone in a lazy mood, and although the Bluetooth speakers played more music, it became softer, more calm, and everyone felt ready to sleep.

The sleeping bags were arranged in the living room, in a small semicircle as you laid yours next to Atsumu.

“I didn't want to be alone in my room, knowing you guys were just outside, so I hope you don't mind if I slept here too” you said with a small blush.

The boys were overjoyed and eagerly made more space for you.

“I hope it won't be uncomfortable for you, y/n-san.”

You shook your head and settled into the sleeping back. “thank you for the concern, Kita-san, but you guys are here! how could I possibly be uncomfortable at all?”

You laid down in your sleeping bag as Aran leaned over to switch the lights off.

“Big day tomorrow. Let's all get some rest.”

A silent exchange of "goodnight's" was all you could hear, before complete silence, signalling their exhaustion.

But Atsumu, who was laying down next you was far from asleep.

He turned to the side to face you, his eyes reflecting the moonlight beautifully.

“I'm cold” you whispered, as you shifted in your sleeping bag uncomfortably. Atsumu's heart started beating uncontrollably as he made space in his own sleeping bag for you.

“Let's cuddle. Body heat is still heat, right beautiful?”

You smiled gratefully as you slipped in next to him, and his arms wrapped around you protectively.

His mind began to wander, and like Akagi, he wondered if he could get used to this. To coming home after a hard day and slipping into bed with you.

To keeping you warm on cold nights, and holding you if you had a nightmare.

As his fingers gently stroked through your hair, you sighed softly and cuddled closer to his chest in a dream-like state.

You had fallen asleep in his arms, just like he had dreamt for so often, and he couldn't wait till he'd be able to have you with him every single night.

Every single night for the rest of forever. Atsumu wanted to spend every single one of them with you.

He smiled softly as he observed your sleeping features before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You'll truly be the death of me, y/n”

You awoke many times in the middle of the night, but with Atsumu's firm grip on you, and his comforting body heat, you had no trouble falling back asleep again.

Soon, sunlight began to stream through the windows and the small beams of light slowly caused you to wake up.

The boys were all still asleep, so you gently pried yourself off Atsumu, gave him a gentle kiss to his cheek, and tip-toed to the kitchen, to make breakfast.

Aran, who had incredibly sensitive ears, heard the shift of the fridge door, and woke up. In a groggy-like state, he walked over to you and hugged you from behind.

“good morning” he whispered softly. “can I help you with breakfast?”

Although he wasn't naturally a cook, your patient instructions and kindness proved to be all he needed, and the two of you made a pile of pancakes, drizzled in maple syrup.

By now, the rest of the boys were also awake, they were better than greyhounds when it came to sniffing out food you've made.

But as Aran helped you around the kitchen, he couldn't focus on the others. He couldn't focus on anyone but you.

You, with your messy hair and half lidded eyes. With your low morning voice and small smile. You were so comfortable being yourself, and he really was glad.

Morning-y/n, the y/n only they got to see this morning, was pretty darn adorable. And he wanted her to know that.

“you're so cute when you're still half asleep, ya know?”

Although his voice has a teasing edge, a ring of laughter behind it, Aran wanted you to know that.

“aww thanks Aran, I like your morning voice too” you said with a dopey smile, as your flipped another pancake.

Suna stole one from off the plate and nibbled on it “I rate this a 10/10 too”

“Oh no Kita's glaring at me. I never tasted it in the first place”

After breakfast, presents, tons of hugs, and an outfit change later, the Shrine came into view. It was the first day of the new year, and as per the tradition of praying at the shrines for good luck, you and the team were heading there to welcome the new year with hopes and dreams.

“So, you have to clap twice, and wish for whatever it is your head desires for this year” said Akagi with a smile.

The rest of the boys had their eyes screwed shut, as they prayed for their deepest desire; to marry you someday.

Your wish was not so different either. “I wish to be able to be by their sides forever. For their good health, happiness, and safety. I love them.”

As you laid your eyes on their figures, hunched over the shrine, you swore you would do anything to make your wish a reality.

“I love you guys. Happy new year.!!”

taglist : @raychii @dai-tsukki-desu @k-sakusa-old @pocket-of-anxiety @sunasthing @thatthangwasthangin @daydreamingtetsu @ignorantsock @ohrintarou @tilli-san

The professor's note: 😭broooo so I'm like finally done?? This was so long I hope you guys enjoy it <3 (it took like 3 days to perfect it, so likes and reblogs are very much appreciated uwu)

206 notes · View notes

butgilinsky · 3 years

Note

okay I had a thought but idk if you still write for them but I loved blueberry pancakes and the blurbs you did for it. but did u ever do one about like the anniversary of Rafe's mother [death/disappearance/leaving]? cuz just imagine him being all sad and it's all soft 😭 xx

a/n; i haven't written for the boat show in what feels like forever but i liked this idea so here we go (also i'm watching gilmore girls rn and this reminded me of luke's dark day). this also got longer than i expected it to so i’m sry for that. enjoy!

the first year the two of you were together, you had no idea about rafe's dark day. nobody gave you a heads up or told you that it was something you should be on the look out for. you simply didn't hear from him for an entire day, and no matter how much you looked for him around the island, he was nowhere to be found. it wasn't until you had had enough of being in the dark and called topper that you got any sort of explanation.

"he didn't tell you?" anxiety pumped through your bloodstream as your mind raced over all of the possibilities of what that could have possibly meant.

"tell me what?" topper only looked even more confused at the sound of your question, unsure of how you of all people didn't know what today was or where rafe was.

"it's his dark day. every year he disappears for the entire day. doesn't call or text, and we can never find him to save our lives. we stopped bugging him about it around two or three years ago."

you tried to go over everything about rafe that you'd learned in your time together. you weren't sure where he could be or why he'd disappear like that without a single word. the two of you never did that. you talked to each other, communicated efficiently. this wasn't like him.

you decided not to push him for the rest of the day, only opting to ask him about it the morning after when he asked if you wanted to spend the day on the beach.

"where were you yesterday? i asked top and kelce where you ran off to but neither of them knew." he froze at the question, his muscles tensing and jaw clenching. he wasn't angry, wasn't even surprised you asked, but he wasn't ready to tell you the truth.

"i went to the mainland to pick up a few things."

it wasn't until the next year when you were spending the summer back in the obx, home from college and practically attached to rafe's hip, that you found out what his dark day truly consisted of.

he called you a little after 10 pm, drunker than he would've imagined he'd be if you had asked him earlier in the morning.

“baby!” you had to drag the phone away from your ear, taken by surprise by the loud voice booming through your phone’s speaker.

“hi, baby. you doing okay?” you knew it was the same day he had gone dark the year before. he didn’t know that you had written down the date last year and remembered for this very moment.

“i’m great! the mainland is so much better than the island baby, we should move out here. we should move out, period. do you think we should move out? i think it’d be good for us.” you tried to ignore the fact that he was talking about a step neither of you had taken before and tried to focus solely on the slur in his words and the time of night it was.

“baby, where are you? do you need me to pick you up?” he sighed then, one heavy enough for his shoulders to slump far enough to threaten the concrete below him. you couldn’t see him, couldn’t see the distress etched into his features but you could hear the distraught tone he used.

“no, my truck’s here. i can’t leave it here. i’d just have to get it tomorrow and-“

topper gave you a sideways look, one that told you everything you needed to hear in this moment just before he pointed at his keys across the room. rafe hardly questioned why you were with topper or why you were so adamant on picking him up, even on the mainland. it was easier to get his location than you expected it to be and within the hour, you were sitting behind the wheel of rafe’s truck with a drunk boyfriend slouched in the passenger seat.

“i was six when she left.” it was mumbled under his breath and hard to hear but that didn’t stop your ears from perking up at the indication that he was opening up a part of himself that he kept quiet from everyone else in his life. “i remember her waking me up in the middle of the night and apologizing profusely. she couldn’t be with him, said he was crazy. and for the longest time i thought she was the crazy one. i thought she was the one that up and left like there was nothing of importance here for her. but she was right, he is crazy. he’s crazy and i can’t blame her for leaving because if i had the means to, i would’ve been gone the second i got my diploma.”

it changed a lot in your mind. it explained a lot of why rafe was the way he was. it explained the hostile relationship between him and his dad, explained why he never accepted rose into his life. it explained a lot and though it was hard for you to wrap your head around, you were there for him unconditionally. it showed in the way you grabbed his hand in yours and the way you stayed silent through the sobs he choked out on the way home.

“i’ve never healed. i cant. not when i don’t know where she is or what she’s doing. is she safe? is she alive? does she have another family? does she even miss sarah or me?” you turned to him then, only for a second before you looked back at the road ahead of you.

“if she doesn’t miss you she’s crazy. she’s the one that left and while i can completely understand why a person would leave ward cameron, i can’t imagine someone leaving rafe cameron.” he smiled at you, one fueled by his unwavering emotions and clouded mind.

“i love you.” he mumbled softly, using a tone that hinted at his disbelief that your words were true and honest and not fueled by your affliction towards him.

“rafe, i’m serious. anyone who leaves you in their rear view mirror is an idiot-“

“she’s not an idiot.” your lips clamped together in a tight line. you spilled an apology, explaining that you never intended to talk down on the woman who he clearly loved more than life itself. despite the fact that she had been gone for over twelve years, she clearly still played a large role in rafe’s life. “everyone moved on after she left you know? sarah was young enough to hardly notice. dad had rose even when mom was here. it’s like i’m the only one going through this.”

your heart sank at the sound of his confession. all of this stress and hurt was placed on a boy too young to realize that moment would change his life forever. you knew he went through it alone. you’d heard sarah mention that she hardly remembers her mother, that she wouldn’t remember what she looked like if it wasn’t for the picture she had tucked away into her nightstand.

rafe was the last person that people on the island assumed was going through something. they hardly looked past the attitude that rafe exuded and the careless demeanor he always wore. but not you. you were determined to listen to rafe talk about the skeletons in his closet and the way he reacts to them. you were determined to get him home safe and sound from the horrors of alcohol and how it makes him react. you were determined to help him through it all.

so the next year, just before his dark day, you told rafe that whatever he was doing that day, you were doing it with him. he didn’t love the idea at first given that that was one of his only days to himself, but he agreed. maybe he didn’t need to be alone on that day anymore. maybe you were here with him for this reason. maybe he should just be grateful that you’ve stuck around this long and are willing to truly be there for him.

rafe would never spend his dark day alone again.

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #bp blurb #bp #blurb #request #obx #outer banks #drew starkey #blueberry pancakes

88 notes · View notes

xoluvx · 3 years

Text

the last great american dynasty; peter parker

» pairing: peter parker x stark!reader » song: the last great american dynasty » word count: 2.7K

“Look who’s here,” Cap muttered looking down from the large glass windows in the compound. For a place that was suppose to be top secret, it was pretty damn open and obvious. He sipped from his coffee mug watching the woman slide out of the shiny black car. Even from far away, he could see the mischievous smirk on her face that spoke louder than the white feminine suit clinging to her body.

Peter approached Steve from the side, curious as to who he was referring to. It was certainly you. Suddenly he’d forgotten how to breath and his brain had completely given up on him as his mind went foggy and his limbs limp.

“She’s here,” Tony rushed down the hallway and into the common room where both Steve and Peter were standing. They snapped their heads towards him, an ecstatic Tony was rubbing his hands together as he heard the elevator ding.

“Daddy!” you exclaimed pushing your big sunglasses towards the top of your head, your arms outstretching towards Tony who sprinted to you. His arms engulfing you in a big bear hug, just like he’d do when you were younger.

“How was the flight?” he asked releasing you watching you stand there not a hair out of place, you were always so composed. There was no way you had just been on an almost day long flight.

“First class, can’t complain.” You smiled playfully, but others could have said it was more snobbish. By others, I mean Cap who was now approaching you with his coffee mug. His lips pursed slightly until you saw him.

“Uncle Steve,” you smiled stretching your arms again. He chuckled slightly. He may not have been a fan of your lush life and your extravagant arrivals, but there was always a glint in your eyes that reminded him of when you were younger and he relished in those moments.

“How’s the fiance?” he asked pulling away. Totally oblivious to why you were visiting. Why you’d practically lugged your entire life back to America.

“Oh, you didn’t tell him?” you chuckled awkwardly turning to your dad. You wished you could push down your sunglasses and simply vanish.

“I didn’t think it was my place, sweetie.” You dad gave you a slight shrug in the douche-baggy way people were used to seeing from him. Clearing your throat, turning towards Steve again you gave him a tight line smile.

“It didn’t work out.” You weren’t heartbroken. You’d broken it off. He wasn’t who you thought he was and he definitely wasn’t who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. He just wasn’t on your level.

“I’ve gotta head out, Mr. Stark.” A distinct boyish voice, which you’d recognize anywhere, approached the three of you. Diverting your attention from Cap, you looked at Peter. He hadn’t changed one bit. If anything he’d only grown more handsome, his jaw was more defined and his hair. Had he gotten a haircut maybe? It suited him.

“Pete,” you muttered his nickname. You suddenly felt small. Everything you owned and everything you’d projected was just so insignificant in the presence of Peter.

“Hey,” he chuckled slightly as if he hadn’t recognized you. As if you were a stranger walking down the street and he just happened to bump into you and was being courteous because he had manners.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, first thing in the morning.” Tony placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder talking to him directly. Waving his finger at him. Peter nodded as Tony and Steve disappeared leaving him alone with you. Still standing by the elevator.

“You look great,” Peter complimented awkwardly looking at your crisp outfit and your perfectly flawless face. Your lips curled into a smile and you felt yourself growing warmer. He always knew how to make you feel flushed.

“You’re not looking so bad yourself,” you retaliated watching him stand there in jeans and a plain faded grey t-shirt. His hair was somewhat shorter at the sides, but his curls were still there, slightly framing his face in a sideways sweep. He’d matured. But he was still Peter.

“I really gotta go, I’ll see you around.” With that he quickly sprinted towards the stairs. His light footsteps haunting you as he walked out.

•

“Morning, Peter.” Tony’s voice echoed through the compound’s kitchen as Peter entered. He was wearing a baggy hoodie and jeans. It was like his uniform. Comfort over anything.

You were up bright and early. You were also wearing jeans, but they were form fitting and dressed up. The blouse you were wearing elevated the look. The loose chiffon hung on your body, but the built in straps at the neck were done in a neat bow around your neck.

“I’ll be down in the lab in a bit. You want breakfast?” Tony asked lifting up the pan with eggs. He was hovering over the kitchen island serving himself. In your hands, there was a coffee mug and next to it a small bowl of fruit.

“Sure,” Peter said clearing his throat. He was usually a lot more laid back with Tony. His level of respect was still there for the man, but their relationship had relaxed over the years. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so tense now. Maybe it was the fact that you were staring at him.

Or the fact that he hadn’t seen you in years and you were just sitting there now. Pretending like you’d never been gone.

Clearing his throat, Peter muttered a ‘thanks’ as Tony placed a plate of food in front of him. Your eyes never leaving him.

•

“Is it weird seeing her?” Ned asked, his face registering more excitement that concern for his best friend. Ned had stopped by the compound, something he’d do regularly as he’d been able to land a job with the Avengers. You know, guy in the chair and all.

Peter cleared his throat trying to avoid the topic. Ned had seen you, the two of you had a quick conversation before Peter was able to drag Ned away. And now here was a curious Ned.

“It’s a little weird, but-” Peter shrugged not being able to finish his sentence. Simply because he didn’t know what to feel. He felt so much, yet he couldn’t decipher exactly what that was. So he was ignoring those feelings. Pushing them aside, but now Ned was prying. He knew he couldn’t lie to him.

“Okay, but you have to admit...she looks incredible and the way she was looking at you, man.” Ned shook his head chuckling slightly ignoring the fact that he currently had a million things to do.

Peter froze. So he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

•

It’d been weeks of scrutinizing encounters. Awkward bump-ins on the elevator or halls. Did Peter live here? You started to wonder. It was the only logical explanation for why he was constantly roaming the compound.

Neither of you ever held a conversation, except if Ned was involved. Other than that, all interactions were composed of stolen glances and sly unintentional brushes of hands or shoulders.

“Black tie event,” Tony warned pointing at Peter who was nodding his head walking backwards towards the stairs. You glanced at him quickly clutching the fork in your hand. Inside of you, a weird bubbling feeling was brewing. The prospect of seeing Peter in a suit and tie, unlike his multitude of t-shirts and jeans, which you totally didn’t mind, was enticing.

“Black tie, got it!” Peter exclaimed rushing down the stairs.

“Are you excited?” Tony asked looking at you snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah, what could go wrong with hundreds of people, who I haven’t seen in a long time, coming to celebrate my arrival to the states? After I’ve called off my engagement?” You added that last part just for kicks. A smug look on your face as you finished eating your pasta.

•

The sea of bodies consumed the room as you looked for a drink. Everyone was chatting away and it seemed almost everyone had forgotten about you. Good, you didn’t have time to entertain anyone’s crazy theories about why you’d left and why you were now back.

“Thank you,” you hummed taking the glass of wine from the bar. The bittersweet taste coated your taste buds and a sigh of satisfaction exhaled from your body. But your peace was quickly interrupted when two men approached you as you walked away from the bar. He whispered something in your ear that made your body recoil, and you stared at him with a blank face. A subtle shake of your head was indication that you didn’t want anything to do with him, but his friend was instant.

“I’m not going to dance with you,” you exclaimed shaking your head again as you clutched your wine glass tighter.

“No wonder your husband left you,” he spit the words with a vile laugh. The comment didn’t phase you, but the fact that this dimwit thought he could insult you was amusing. “Probably only wanted you for daddy’s money,” he added as his friend laughed quietly next to him.

“It’s funny that you assume everything I have is because my dad is Tony Stark,” you said not raising your voice. Your face expressionless as you took a sip of your wine. People were starting to gather around you. The men drawing attention as they continued to laugh and make childlish remarks.

“I’ll have you know I not only own half of Stark Industries, but I’m heavily involved in everything that happens around here. It’s a shame women can’t have fun and do business at the same time without pathetic men like you and you-” you pointed at his friend while sighing, “-shaming them.”

It seemed like everyone had silenced as you finished your speech, chugging your wine. You handed the man your wine glass before ushering everyone to scram. There was nothing to see here.

•

“He had that coming,” Peter’s voice approached you at the bar. He leaned against the counter slightly watching you take your eyes off your glass, which he was sure was now filled with something a lot stronger. Startled you jumped slightly, now watching him with a playful smile on your face. The playful banter felt familiar. Felt like the old Peter.

“Men,” you scoffed shaking your head with disgust.

“You got that right,” he chuckled nodding in agreeance motioning towards the bartender.

“How’s MJ?” you asked diverting the conversation from you. His eyes bulged slightly as he brought the beer to his lips. His brows quickly furrowing as he grunted, the cold beer settling down his throat. You’d noticed he hadn’t brought a date. Lies. It wasn’t just noticing, you were practically watching his every move. Just like he had with you.

“MJ?” He asked clearing his throat.

“Last I heard you two were getting pretty serious, right?” you said trying not too sound too desperate, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. You stirred your drink moving the glass with your fingers awaiting his answer.

“Uh...no.” He said a bit stunned. “We agreed we were better off as friends. She’s abroad, actually. Has a huge galley.” He chuckled.

Suddenly you get a weight pushing on your chest. It seemed like MJ had rejected him too. Had he lost total hope chasing after women? You couldn’t help, but wonder as you sipped on your drink watching his jaw clench.

“What happened with the fiance?” He teased. That’s what everyone called him. ‘The Fiance’. Like he was so mysterious, almost mythical. Peter had started to doubt if he had been real.

“Men,” you scoffed. “Remember?” you joked letting out a soft laugh chugging your drink.

Peter chuckled nodding his head, not wanting to pry. His beer was growing warm in his hands.

Placing your glass down with a clank on the counter, you grabbed Peter’s free hand leading him out of the room. “Come!” you demanded leading him towards the lab. You felt like a couple of kids sneaking out of a grown-up party. Even though you were the grown-ups.

Peter marveled at the suit in front of him.

“I didn’t want to show dad until it was presentable. What do you think?” you asked looking at the shiny suit. A multitude of laser beams sprouted at the sides with specific information about each feature and setting. Peter’s eyes scanned over the details. A look of approval registering on his face.

He turned to look at you. He was fascinated by the juxtaposition of your soft silky dress and the rough metal suit. The two sides of you. Both of which he’d known so well.

“Have you tried it out?” he asked trying to distract himself from how more attractive you’d grown. He didn’t know you were still in the labs being hands on, but somehow it elevated you further on the podium he’d slowly built for you over the years.

"Not yet. Wanted to get a second opinion,” you said walking with him around the suit. He looked at the suit from every angle. You were touching something on a glass screen, your lips slightly parting as you concentrated.

Placing his beer down, Peter approached you. Maybe it was the alcohol or the smell of your intoxicating perfume. Maybe it was the fact that you were physically here and all his dreams were coming true.

He was standing close behind you. You could feel his breath on your exposed skin; you could smell the traces of beer. Not moving, you felt him come closer. His hand fell on your arm gently as his lips landed softly on your shoulder. His lips were like fire on your skin and you were rapidly melting. Shocks of electricity coursed through your body. Electricity only he was capable of producing.

His lips were soft and gentle on your skin as you pressed your back on his chest. His arm now wrapped around you, fingers spread across your torso. His lips traced a line all the way towards your neck, right below your ear. Your weak spot. He remembered.

A soft moan escaped your lips and with that, you turned your body capturing his lips in a heated embrace. His hands were firmly planted on your back. Yours wrapped around his neck, your fingers softly caressing his hair as the moment grew more fierce and heated.

The only sounds vibrating on the walls were the sounds of your lips colliding and your soft panting as he pushed you towards the table. His lips were intoxicating, shooting bliss right through your veins.

It’d been too long since you kissed him. Since you were this close to him.

You mumbled something against his lips to which he nodded in agreeance, reluctantly pulling away so you could whisk him away to your room. Just like you had when you were teenagers. Sneaking around. Stealing kisses and secret touches.

The door to your room slammed shut, but no one heard it as the party roared all through the night.

•

“Wow,” Peter huffed laying in bed. Your sheets were draped across his lower body, your own body curled into his in peaceful bliss. Your head was resting on his chest, your fingers tracing circles on his torso.

You could clearly see his abs and you knew he’d definitely changed up his workout routine. He no longer had his boyish thin body, his muscles were perfectly defined. He was a man.

Peter’s hand rubbed your arm gently before running across your neck clutching the back of your head pulling you towards his lips. Your lips collided again. This time, they moved slowly. Your lips intimately reacquainting themselves. His grip was gentle, but maintained your head in place as his other hand wrapped around your back pulling you closer.

“I missed you,” he whispered against your lips and you smiled sharing one last kiss before you rested your head on the pillow close to his face.

“I couldn’t tell,” you joked; your lids were heavy as you smirked.

He grabbed the hand that was tracing circles on his torso and intertwined your fingers. Your hand slipped into his perfectly like you’d been molded from the same slab of clay; made just for each other.

The two of you looked at your hands intertwined in the air. His fingers opened and closed around your hand checking if this was real. If you were real. You rested your elbow on his chest gently watching him play with your fingers now. His thumb running across your ring finger. Any traces of previous commitments had vanished.

This felt like a clean slate. A new beginning. One you wouldn’t regret.

folklore masterlist

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker fic #the last great american dynasty #folklore #folklore fics

155 notes · View notes

rockscanfly · 3 years

Text

the stars are not wanted now

The headline was several days old by the date in the corner. The cheap paper was peeling at the corners from the wall it’d been pasted to when Charles ripped it down. His mind was carefully blank as he hitched Lenny’s canvas-wrapped corpse higher on one shoulder. He stuffed the ripped page into his pants pocket.

It stayed there, smouldering, as he loaded Lenny onto Taima. Sadie was already seated on Bob, Hosea laid carefully behind her. Her eyes caught his, red and shining.

Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

Death’s messenger arrived in the form of the front page of The Saint Denis Times. TRAGEDY AT SEA! CARGOSHIP THE OQUENDO SUNK FIVE MILES OFF GUARMA COAST!

or,

Charles Smith, Sadie Adler, and the two deaths of Arthur Morgan.

Read below or at AO3.

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

In the life of Charles Smith, death’s messengers had come in many forms.

The first was in the navy blue uniforms of American soldiers, their ghost pale hands wrapped tight over his mother’s arms as they dragged her from their tent, screaming and kicking.

Ten years later it was in a letter, sent by an old neighbor. It contained his father’s wedding ring, a family photo, and no explanation.

The way the whiskey had wafted off his father’s breath the night Charles left? There was no need for one.

Then it had been the sharp crack of a gunshot—one, two, three. Sean, Hosea, Lenny. There was the frightened whinny of a horse mixed in, and the sick, rotten-fruit plop of Kierran’s head as it fell from his cupped, bloody hands.

This messenger arrived in the form of the front page of The Saint Denis Times. TRAGEDY AT SEA! CARGOSHIP THE OQUENDO SUNK FIVE MILES OFF GUARMA COAST!

It stayed there, smouldering, as he loaded Lenny onto Taima. Sadie was already seated on Bob, Hosea laid carefully behind her. Her eyes caught his, red and shining.

Charles was an hour into digging Lenny’s grave when it hit him: He was never going to see Arthur Morgan again.

For twenty-seven years, careful restraint of his emotions had allowed Charles to survive. He’d never had the luxury of anger, of rage. An outburst from most members of the gang meant getting kicked out of the saloon, a fine, or a night in jail at worst.

For Charles, a length of rope looped over a tree branch was never far. America hated nothing more than a mutt, and to her people Charles was a rabid dog best put down at the first snarl.

So Charles learned control and calm. He learned to bury, to smother, to take everything burning in him and shove it somewhere safe. To put his feelings aside until he was alone and could take them out and look them over with no nervous trigger fingers or hateful eyes waiting for the first excuse—the first bitter word, sharp gesture, first hateful look.

Charles didn’t know what did it, what final burning hurt snuck into the tinderbox of his chest and sparked the blaze. If it was the seventh rock his shovel struck in the soft, sucking dirt, forcing him to fumble in the dark until he could haul it free and cast it out. If it was the heat, the chafe of sticky cotton on his damp skin. Could be it was the flies buzzing in his ears, or the way the sweat from his brow stung his eyes.

Maybe it was the sickly smell of rotting meat already coming from the sacks wrapped around Lenny and Hosea’s corpses, or the way there was no money for coffins to bury them in.

One moment Charles was digging side by side with Sadie, knee deep in the grave that would hold just one body of the second family that fate had torn from him.

And then he was kneeling in the sucking mud, hands fisted uselessly in the torn roots and crawling worms. Anguish tore howling from his throat, muffled against gritted teeth. Charles could taste copper coating the backs of his gums as he hunched in the dirt. His eyes clenched tight as his heart did its level best to tear itself from his chest, to strike out for a life less riddled with bullets, one that didn’t bleed loss like a butchered carcass or burn everything good up to ashes.

Charles was dimly aware, under the pounding of his own pulse in his ears, of Sadie’s soft cursing as she threw down her own shovel and climbed into Lenny’s half-dug grave beside him. The darkness behind his eyes became complete as she shuttered the lamp, plunging them into night. He flinched away as Sadie’s firm hand gripped his shoulder. “Don’t,” he growled. He didn’t want comfort. He wanted exorcism.

Sadie just gripped him tighter, blunt nails digging hard into the hunched muscle of his shoulder. “I know,” she rasped, kneeling before him, sharp knees pressed to his own. A choked cry strangled in Charles’s chest as her skinny, whipcord arms wrapped around him, pressing him to her chest.

“They’re gone,” he managed, gasping through the tightness in his lungs. He couldn’t get any air. “Lenny, Javier, Hosea—Arthur.” Charles made a fist, pounding senselessly at the dirt. “He, we—” Charles cut himself off, dug his nails deep into the flesh of his knee, and tried to claw the pain into his own skin.

A beat passed. One of Sadie’s palms gripped Charles at the back of his neck, cupped the back of his head gently. “Charles,” she said, voice rough and small, gentle. “Charles, I know.”

And it’s possible she did. She was one of the more observant folks in the camp. He and Arthur hadn’t really been very careful. Nothing too blatant, no. But anyone could have read into the casual ease with which Arthur touched his shoulder, the way their knees almost touched as they sat by the fire. The way Charles would return from guard duty with his hair mussed, leaves of grass clinging to the back of his shirt, the trailing ends of his hair. How Arthur would sit on a stump, failing utterly to conceal that he was sketching Charles as he chopped wood or hauled water.

Arthur was not a cautious man by nature. He often made Charles foolish.

More important than any of their thousand tiny, dangerous indiscretions was the fact that Arthur had trusted Sadie. It was possible the big, soft-hearted idiot told her about them. Maybe one day Charles would have it in him to be angry about that, at Arthur for putting them both at risk without asking him first. Reckless, impulsive, trusting.

Gone.

Charles leaned heavily into Sadie’s grip, buried his face in the sweat and dirt streaked cotton of her shoulder. “How did you live through this?” He hissed, breath hitching. It felt like nettles had grown in his chest, wrapping around his lungs, choking like weeds to a garden.

Sadie’s arm tightened over Charles’s shoulder. “Sun hasn’t dawned on a single day I’ve wanted to live through since they killed my Jake.” A filthy hand pet his hair back from his face, streaking dirt through the sweat on his brow. “Two reasons I go on. I gotta put every O'Driscoll on this green earth into a hole in the ground. And ‘cause I got folks as need me, now.”

Charles buried himself tighter against her, hiding from the pain that wracked him. It was ridiculous. Sadie was half his size, if he was being generous. But pressed against her, her clumsy hand in his hair, her skinny arm not even half over his back—he felt safer. Smaller. “They don’t even want me.”

Sadie laughed, a hoarse, half-hearted thing that shook her chest more than it did the air. “You think those boys are lining up to put me in charge? Or, hell, Grimshaw? It don’t matter what anyone wants, Charles. They need us.”

“I needed him,” Charles keened. He sounded like a child. He felt like a child. And he’d never felt so helpless, so lost, since he’d been torn from his mother’s arms. “All of them.” Charles bit back a breath, forced it down. He grasped a handful of Sadie’s shirt, pulling her closer. “I feel like the only part of me that’s good died with them. I don’t. I don’t think I can keep doing this.”

“John ain’t dead yet,” Sadie whispered fiercely. “And neither is Tilly, or Mary-Beth, or me. Even the rest of ‘em. They’re all the family we got, Charles. So cry it out. But then you gotta pull yourself together. I need ya.”

No one had ever needed Charles Smith.

No one who lived.

Charle’s head was going fuzzy, light, in a buzzing, burning way. Maybe he wasn’t getting enough air. Maybe he was choking on his own pathetic sorrow.

Maybe the pain of losing so much was finally going to kill him.

“I should just leave,” he mumbled into Sadie’s filthy, mud spattered shoulder. “Suffering follows me, I think. Maybe if I just go you won’t die, too.”

Sadie’s blunt nails dug hard into Charle’s shoulder. “You leave and you’re yellow or you’re a fool,” she said, shaking him. “The world doesn’t give a shit about any of us, Charles. You know this life we’re livin’ ain’t meant to be a long one.”

Something in that tickled him, in a sideways sort of way. He laughed, a weak, hacking thing that was half-cough. “How the hell is Uncle still kicking?”

Sadie’s shoulder moved under his forehead as she gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Can’t die if you never do shit.”

“You’re right,” Charles admitted. The stupid joke had shaken something loose in his throat. His chest still hurt, but he wasn’t choking on air. “I’m sorry. I just—” Charles sucked down another breath. “I wasn’t ready to live without him.”

Sadie just pulled him tighter, tucked his head up under her chin. Charles wondered, vaguely, what she saw when she looked out into the dark of the Lemoyne night. “I know, honey,” she sighed. “But you will. You have to.”

_________________________

Traditional Kotsoteka mourning is an involved process. Done right, Charles should have burned Arthur’s wagon and killed Peachblossom, Arthur’s white Roan mare, so he would be well equipped in the afterlife.

But there was no body to bury. No grave in which to throw Arthur’s guns, or the bow he’d left strapped to Peachblossom’s saddle on that final, bloody day at the bank. It would have been a shame to snap into pieces, anyway. Charles had made the bow for Arthur, so the other man had always taken excellent care of it.

Fact was, Arthur’s body lay somewhere at the bottom of the sea, and they were too strapped for resources to go burning wagons and wasting supplies for traditions Charles had never been all that good at following. So instead Sadie helped him shave the sides of his head—the left side, to mourn a fellow warrior. The right, because a fellow warrior wasn’t all Charles was mourning.

Together, Charles and Sadie burned one of Arthur’s shirts. There was no wailing, no cutting of arms and chests. As the last few patches of blue cotton caught fire, Charles resolved that, a year from then, he would never again speak the name Arthur Morgan.

______________________________

Six years and too many graves later, Charles was resting on a freshly hammered fence post when a giant, mean-looking mustang rode up the road to Beecher’s Hope. Charles was half-way to drawing his sawed-off when its rider called out to him. “Charles! Charles Smith!”

Charles would know that hoarse drawl anywhere.

Charles jumped the fence, jogging towards the black-clad woman on her suitably terrifying horse. “Sadie? Sadie Adler?”

Sadie swung down from her saddle, running forward. Charles caught her around the middle, swinging her excitedly.

“How are you?” Charles asked as he set her down, hands moving to her shoulders to get a look at her. She’d picked up a few fresh scars, some weather to her skin from sun and wind. But her eyes were just the same as they’d always been, lit with an inner fire.

Sadie smiled, that same bitter half lift of the mouth as six years ago. “Alive,” she shrugged, patting Charles roughly on the shoulder. “You?”

Charles shrugged back. “Better, now. A few months back? Not so well.”

Sadie nodded, walking back to her evil looking mustang and leading it gentle as a kitten to the hitching post. Charles leaned back against the fence, digging around in his jacket pockets for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He lit one, settling it in the side of his mouth. Demon-horse secured, Sadie settled beside him, leaning forward over the fence to survey the homestead. Charles passed her a cigarette, holding the lighter out and flickering as she lit a burning ember in the early morning light.

Sadie inhaled, brown eyes sharp and considering as she surveyed the half-built ranch. “So. You’re, uh. Livin’ with the Marston’s?”

Charles nodded, tucking the lighter back in his pocket. “Just John for now.” He caught himself, laughed. “Well, and Uncle.”

“That old fool’s still alive?” Sadie whistled. “Bless his heart.” Silence stretched out between them. Maybe it should have been uncomfortable, the way it would have been between any two other friends who had parted in bloodshed and hadn’t seen one another in six years.

Instead, it was like a well-worn blanket, warm and comforting in the early morning chill. Charles hadn’t shared a peaceful silence in a long while. John and Uncle always seemed to need to fill the air with talk. The folks in Saint Denis too, and theirs had been a lot less friendly.

Their cigarettes burned down to embers before Sadie broke the peace. “Any clue where John’s at?” she asked. “I got a job for him.”

Charles grunted. “Bounty hunting?”

“Only kinda jobs I run. For now, anyway.”

“He’s in town grabbing supplies. Won’t be back until late.”

“Well, shit.” Sadie cursed, scuffing her boot in the dirt. She frowned, kicking up little clouds of dust while she chewed on her lip. Charles turned, tucking his arms up atop the fence, settling against the sun-warmed wood. Sadie leaned in beside him, shoulder to shoulder, so the fringe of her leather duster brushed against his knuckles. They watched the horizon together for a few long moments, the sun slowly rising higher in the sky.

Sadie let out a long breath, shifting restlessly next to him. In the corner of his vision Charles caught brown eyes flicking consideringly over at him, measuring. “You busy?”

Charles let out an inaudible sigh of his own. “I don’t do that anymore, Sadie.”

Sadie laughed, a little bitter, a little sharp, like a sip of bark tea. “You too good for bounty hunting? Well, excuse me.”

Charles groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Isn’t like that. I just. I’m trying something new.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Ain't no reason you can't help around Marston’s ranch and earn yourself a little money.” She gestured to the half-built house, the piles of timbers and sacks of plaster. “Hell, how you think John’s paying this place off? I know y’all ain’t making any sort of profit yet.”

Charles massaged his temples, willing away the oncoming tension headache. Sadie wasn’t wrong. Charles loved John, knew he needed to look after him for Arthur—at least until John was settled in with his family. But there would be an after, one day. Charles had learned one thing in his thirty-three years: no one stayed.

He’d be watching his own back again, probably not too long from now. And it's a lot easier to do that when you had money.

Charles sighed, pulling his hands from his face. He hooked his thumbs through his belt. “What’s the job?”

Sadie grinned, bitter and mean. “Man murdered his family, looks like,” she said, pulling away from the fence. “He’s wanted in Strawberry. Not even that far of a ride from here.”

Charles walked over to the little campsite, pulling his rucksack from his tent. It was already packed. He hesitated. “Kids?”

“A little girl, around ten. And a boy, round three.”

Charles pulled his tomahawk from under his bedroll, tucking it into his belt. He grabbed some of the nastier arrows—the poison wouldn’t kill a full grown man, but it’d make him suffer.

Some men deserve to suffer.

Charles stalked over to Falmouth, mounting him in one swift motion. “Lead the way.”

Sadie swung up onto her monster. “Good man,” she said, kicking her boot against Charles’s own as she trotted by. “Let’s see how rusty you’ve got, Mr. Smith.”

As they rode, Sadie interrogated him.

“Talked to John a little, ‘bout you,” she yelled over the thundering of hooves. The earth was hard-packed and dusty in the Texarcana heat. “Heard things weren't going too well down in Saint Denis.”

“They weren’t,” Charles called back. “I’d only been there about a year, anyway. Job was going sour.”

“How so?”

Charles laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “Folks were only going to put up with me beating up white men for a living for so much longer.”

Sadie tossed a grin over her shoulder, knowing and vicious. She and Charles had different struggles in their lives. But there was a baseline understanding between them. Most of the gang had been dangerous for what they did. Of the ones who lived, Charles and Sadie were dangerous because of what they were. “Novelty was about to wear off, huh?”

Charles shook his head, whipping wayward hair from his face. “Yeah.”

Sadie turned back to the road, steering Hera around a sharp bend. “Before that?”

The road widened out. Charles urged Falmouth forward, riding till the two horses were running abreast. “Was up in Canada. Helped relocate the Wapiti after...” Charles paused. He had left with the Wapiti immediately after the attack on the oil refinery. Hadn’t even gone back to camp for the rest of his belongings, just taken what was on Taima’s back and. Left.

Charles had no idea if Sadie even knew why Charles had gone, what Arthur had told her.

“That kid,” Sadie asked, breaking Charles’s train of thought. “He died, didn’t he?”

Charles swallowed, the dust from the road cloyingly sweet in his mouth. “Yes.”

Sadie steered Hera over a wooden bridge, hand on her rifle as she scanned each side for signs of an ambush. “I don’t think I understand what all happened with them,” she said. “There was so much going on, towards the end. Folks leaving, Arthur sick, that damn fool plan with the train—How did Dutch even get those folks wrapped up in our mess?”.

“Same thing that happened to all of us,” Charles offered. “Dutch talked a good game, riled them up over things they were already angry about, got everyone in over their head, and was the only one who didn’t pay for it.”

The rest of their ride continued in contemplative silence, broken only by the necessary shouts and calls needed to wrangle their bounty. The murderer was holed up in an abandoned cabin just a little north of town. Hardly worth hiring bounty hunters for, really. Except that the Strawberry sheriffs had always been corrupt, not to mention lazy. Some things don’t change.

Still, working with Sadie again was worth it. It’d just been them those long months Arthur and the rest were lost in Guarma, presumed dead. Sure, the rest of the girls were still around and they pulled their weight. But none of them were as talented in violence—save Karen, maybe.

But she was too far gone over Sean to hold herself together, let alone anyone else.

It’s when they’d divvied up the bounty and stepped into the Strawberry saloon that Charles remembered why those months had been so damn stressful. Besides the Pinkertons, the hopeless fate of half their family, the deaths, John trapped in prison—

Sadie Adler’s temper had always been on a short fuze.

And Charles, fool that he was, had always had a weakness for brave, impulsive idiots.

A big, mean white man took exception to Charles drinking at the same bar as him. Sadie snapped off a sharp warning, stepping around Charles and squaring up to the man twice her size. Then the mean bastard took exception to Charles traveling with, being familiar with, a white woman.

Sadie took exception to his exception, and her exception took the form of a knife straight through the man’s hand and into the scarred oak of the counter.

They were riding hard out of town, ducking the odd shot from the posse riding too slow behind them, Sadie whooping wildly and shooting flawlessly over her back when Charles realized: he hadn’t had fun like that in six years.

They lost the posse in the hills by turning off on a razor thin trail, stashing the horses under an overhang and laying down in the tall grass.

They lay there, panting, laughing, exhilarated. The stars were bright in the sky, glaring down through the clear West Elizabeth sky.

Eventually Sadie sobered, hoarse laughter falling silent. Charles could see her from the corner of his eye. She was still staring up at the stars, hair limned silver in the moonlight. She chewed on her words before breaking the peace. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Charles took a breath, held it. “We had to leave before the Army arrived,” he said. He picked absently at the grass, crushing it dry and summer-sweet between his fingers. “The Wapiti. They were mostly women and children, the elderly. The sick.”

Sadie huffed, turning on her side, propping up on her elbow to glare down at him, hair frizzled into a messy halo behind her head, all lit up by moonglow. “Ya could of wrote,” she insisted.

Charles kept his eyes fixed on the night sky, on the stars in their cold, beautiful distance. “To who?” he scoffed. “We all knew the gang was on its last legs. By the time we crossed the border into Canada I’d already seen the papers. Interesting, how they left you out of it.”

Sadie went quiet. She collapsed back beside him, thumping softly in the bent grass. “Is that how you found out?”

A copy of The New Hanover had been pinned to the wooden wall of the trading shack where Charles was selling pelts for food and medicine. He’d left for Beaver Hollow the next day. “Yes.”

Sadie sucked air through her teeth. “I went back, few years later,” she muttered. Her boot knocked against his, a rough comfort. “You uh. You did a good job, Charles,” she said. Her fingers sought his in the tall grass, brushing against his lightly. Like she was scared to spook him, maybe. “We watched the sun come up together. He woulda liked it.”

Charles drew his hand back, pressing it over his heart. The hollow, dull ache that lived in his heart sharpened, brightened. A fresh cut on an old scar. “He’d have liked it better if he’d lived.”

Sadie made a noise, propping back up on her elbow to lean over him. “You know that ain’t his fault,” she frowned at him. “The man was sick, Charles.”

Charles’s head hurt. His whole body did, in a cold, numb way. This wasn’t the burning, searing grief at the bottom of Lenny’s shallow grave. It was older, rooted deeper down. “Don’t,” he rasped. Grit from the road coated the back of his throat. “Just, don’t.”

Sadie charged on, implacable. “You know he wasn’t gonna leave without John.”

The stars were so bright. Charles could feel the headache building, like a creature clawing out through his temples. “They could have left together,” he snapped at her. “We all could have left together, before the bank. All of that mess in Lemoyne—none of it had to happen. Arthur didn’t stay for John—he stayed for Dutch.”

Sadie scrubbed her free over her face. “The man raised him,” she tried. The excuse was hollow, empty. Even she didn’t buy it.

Charles turned on his side, faced Sadie properly through the tall grass and moonlight. “Don’t give me that, Sadie. Not you.”

“Fine, Charles! He was a fool!” She threw her hand up in the air, exasperated. “He was scared, he was foolish, and he loved Dutch because he was an idiot.” Sadie fixed him with a glare. “There, did that make you happy, big man? Speaking ill of the dead?”

It didn’t. “I shouldn’t be speaking of him at all,” Charles said instead. “That’s not how—we’re supposed to let go. It’s been years.”

“You loved him,” she insisted.

“Look at how much that mattered,” Charles said, anger furrowing his brow, burning low in his stomach. Had he ever let himself be angry, with Arthur, with the choices they made? “What did loving him buy me, besides a heart that broke twice?”

Sadie’s eyes softened, understanding dawning warm and terrible. “I know that’s not how you really feel,” she said. Sadie reached out, again, with careful fingers. When Charles didn’t stop her she tucked the hair plastered to Charles sweaty forehead back, away from his eyes.

It was the first gentleness anyone had touched him with since he left the Wapiti for Saint Denis. Charles’s breath caught in his throat, trapped, terrified. Vulnerable.

It would have hurt less if she’d socked him in the stomach.

“You don’t ride back from Canada, on your own, to bury a man who you hated,” Sadie continued. Her calloused hand settled on his jaw, thumb behind his ear. She held him steady, made him look her in the eye. “You don’t spend a year of your life helping his kid brother get his family back.”

“Arthur didn’t need me, at the end,” Charles managed. “Rain Falls needed me—and then they didn’t. No one did.”

“Why Saint Denis, Charles? You hated it there,” Sadie asked, resigned. She already knew the answer. She was being cruel, making him face it out loud.

Charles swallowed. No one had ever accused Sadie Adler of being kind.

“I was waiting to die.”

Sadie nodded. Yes, of course. “And all this with John? What next, once he doesn’t need you?”

Charles glared at her, mouth tight and stubborn.

Sadie laughed in his face. “You and Arthur,” she sighed, shaking her head. “You were made for one another, weren’t ya? No understanding how to live in this world for yourselves.”

“You’re one to talk,” Charles shot back.

“I’m happy with my life,” Sadie said firmly. “I had love, but I never wanted a family. I just wanted Jake. He’s gone. So I’m doing what makes me happy.” She paused, staring down at him, considering. “What makes you happy, Charles? You’re the most competent, most stubborn man I know. What do you really want? You know no one could stop you from getting it.”

Charles shook his head. “I have no idea,” he admitted. He climbed to his feet, offering Sadie a hand. She accepted, pulling herself to her feet. She kept hold of his hand, squeezing tight.

“Don’t stop looking,” she commanded. “What you were doin’ in Saint Denis, waiting to die? You’re better than that, Charles Smith.”

Charles shook his head, pulling Sadie into a one armed hug. Grief, Arthur, his life—they hadn’t solved any of it, laying out in a field and snapping at one another under the stars.

But the wound hurt a little less, like a lanced infection.

“I hope so, Mrs. Adler,” Charles said into the mess of Sadie’s hair. She chuckled into his chest, punched him half-heartedly in the arm. They separated, fetching and mounting their horses.

They separated at the fork in the trail. Sadie headed east, back to her base camp just outside Valentine. She had work to do, bounties to catch. The world may have been more ‘civilized’ in 1907 than it was in 1899, but work was still plentiful for a rider and marksman of Sadie Adler’s skill.

Charles rode west towards Beecher’s Hope, sun rising over his shoulder.

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

A/N: Charles and Sadie are my favorites, and they should have spent more time with one another. They're not exactly similar people, but they've been through many of the same trials.

I also think they were both done a disservice by the epilogue. Charles's feelings regarding the gang's collapse are largely unexplored, despite him canonically being the one to have buried Lenny, Hosea, Mrs. Grimshaw, and Arthur.

We also don't get a good explanation for why Charles ended up in Saint Denis as part of a fighting ring. Certain lines from Charles--"It seems like I was put on this Earth to hurt and to suffer myself"--have always led me to believe that he suffers from suicidal ideations. Him ending up in Saint Denis, surrounded by people who wish him harm, reads to me like a sort of 'death by cop' form of suicide.

On the subject of Charles's heritage: Rockstar is a trash fire, so beyond being half-Black and half-Native we have very few clues about Charles's culture and his history. I settled on a particular band (the Kotsoteka, or 'buffalo eaters') of the Comanche who would have had a decent amount of contact with Black Freemen post-Civil war. They live in Oklahoma and Texas, buffalo are a central part of their traditional lifestyle, and one of their mourning traditions involves shaving their heads in a manner similar to Charles's hairstyle change post-Guarma arc.

I'm white and if anyone has constructive comments about my inclusion of Kotsoteka funerary traditions I'm happy to hear and act on them.

The Oquenda was the name of a Cuban trading ship from the 1870's. It was primarily used to transport indentured Chinese workers to the Cuban sugar plantations.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #charles smith #sadie adler #charthur #arthur morgan #cw: suicidal ideations

24 notes · View notes

heartbreakgrill · 4 years

Text

Serious; Luke Hemmings (Pt. 1)

a/n: I cannot tell you where this came from, but it IS ACTUALLY REALLY GOOD OMG. please enjoy, there WILL be more parts probably tomorrow. (Also omg I’m dying my hair, should I post a selfie? I’ve never done a face reveal lol)

description: he came with the falling of the leaves, and left with the cold breeze of winter. maybe this time, he’d stay.

The gentle cracking of a leaf breaking under your weight snapped your eyes to the sidewalk below. Your boot-clad feet ran into another leaf, a smile pile, and a dozen subway-like cracks caused by years of distress. You looked back up, afraid to run into anybody who wasn’t walking on the opposite side of the sidewalk. Luckily, you did just in time, because you dodged a group of girls jogging at a steady pace.

Your brows drew together; They weren’t in workout clothes. You looked for fear on their faces, but they passed quickly, without a hint of what you weren’t hoping for. Your head followed them, pace slowing, as you scanned their outfits. Some of them were dressed cute, in fall outfits similar to yours, but two or three were merchandise from a band- 5 Seconds of Summer.

You stopped completely. Your feet drew you to the wall behind you, as if they knew you were going to get ran over if you didn’t move. Your mouth fell agape slightly, and your heart raced. Fingers reached for your cellphone, hesitantly opening the contacts and scrolling past ABCDEFGHIJK...

A sweaty thumb hovered over the sideways call button, tongue circling dry mouth for some kind of coping mechanism. Suddenly, it was ringing, but not from your actions.

Luke Hemmings.

You quickly answered, the hand that was still in the pocket of your jean jacket curling. “Hey,” a breathless tone, a feeling of desperation.

“I’m in town. I wanna see you,” he mumbled into the line, unable to speak much louder due to who all must be around him.

It’d been a year, a year since 19 year old Luke came crashing into your world like a hurricane. The leaves had been falling then, too, harsh winds whipping through until a calm autumn Sunday recruited your attention, the eye of the hurricane. It was a one night stand, fleeting kisses and dodging eyes when a phone number was hastily left on your bedside table.

You’d called. He’d answered. And after a month of relentless calls and texts, the winter winds took his blazing blue eyes and washed them out with read receipts and unopened Snapchats.

Of course you’d fallen for him so quickly. You were vulnerable, empty at that point in your life. Now, you were more stable, but you couldn’t resist seeing him.

You needed him, craved, as if some Pavlovian affect took hold as soon as the temperature dropped below 40 and midterms wheeled themselves into your schedule. It was Thanksgiving break, now, two weeks off from stressful deadlines, so you had time.

And, God, you were so willing to give it all to him.

“How long are you in town?” You muttered back, afraid someone on the other side would hear you.

“Week and a half. Five shows, 7 days off. Free today.”

Your eyes flickered between the people passing you, the crosswalk ten steps ahead. “I have plans for lunch, with a friend, but come over at 4. K?”

“Okay. See you soon.”

You hung up, taking control of the situation in the slightest. You wanted to grip onto the wall, your body flailing through space in his head and your own heart. There was no gripping the sand between your fingertips.

You went ahead to lunch, fingers tapping relentlessly on the tabletop, your inner thigh when you noticed Sheila glaring at the rhythm. Eventually, after you’d gulped through two ice waters and a sand which, she cleared her throat. You looked up from the floor, suddenly realizing how dry you’d been the last forty minutes.

She spoke, “okay, what is up with you?”

You and Sheila had been roommates last year, still were this year, too. Only, she was leaving today to visit family for the holiday. She’d been out running errands for before she left, and wanted to see you before she wouldn’t for half a month.

Your mouth was dry already, but you swallowed again to try to salivate it. Provide clarity to your words. You shrugged, knowing how embarrassing this would be, “Luke’s back.”

Sheilas eyebrows rose high, her arms crossing over her chest. She leaned back in her chair, tongue clicking in bashful anger. “Oh, really? For what? To apologize?”

You dryly chortled, though you didn’t smile. “No. He has some shows to do. I completely forgot. I haven’t even seen him post on Instagram in forever.”

“Y/N,” Sheila reached across the table and tightly gripped your wrist. She loosened the hold when you met her eyes. “You’re going to get hurt again.”

“I know,” you shrugged. “I just can’t say no, ya know? It sounds stupid, but maybe this will provide me closure. Or maybe this time he’ll stay.”

“You know he won’t.”

Her words didn’t hit you that hard: She was right.

The last time he’d been around, he was still with Arzaylea. You were a getaway for him, his escape from the flashing lights, the public state of his relationship with her, and the screaming fans. You promised him to never, ever tell anyone about the incident. the public would hate him, his fans would be angry, and he’d lose listeners.

“I don’t.”You denied her, though it was true, in the edge of an argument.

Sheila opened her mouth to speak, and you could tell by the breath she took, that she was going to reprimand you. You suddenly reached to the ground, hand snapping from her fingers, and tugged your back over your shoulder.

“I gotta go. He’s coming over in two hours. See you when you get back.”

Sheila sat in stunned silence, eyes barely following you as you bounced out the door. Your glare stared hard at the concrete beneath your feet, more and more leaves crunching below.

Soon to be an analogy to your heart.

You showered when you got home, brushed your teeth, washed your skin with glittering lotions and rose-scented body washes. He didn’t deserve all of this, no, but the way he’d make you feel for the next few days did. You should just move on, but your mind had been on him for the last year, and, yes, you would make sure this would be closure.

Or a new beginning.

A knock on the apartment door came firm and sharp at exactly 4:01. You were sitting on the edge of your couch, ignoring the text messages from Sheila, and the group chat with your other friends. Your knee was bouncing and you hoped to God he wouldn’t smell your anxious sweat.

You wiped your brow before standing and moving in shaky legs to the door. You shut an eye, peering through the peephole. There he stood, in all his rockstar glory, a leather jacket and black skinny jeans holding clenched fists, pouty pink lips framing the frantic look on his blue eyes. God, had they always been that pretty?

You opened the door wide, allowing him to move in beside you. You shut it, turning to face him.

And it all came back naturally.

Luke reached out to your waist, pulling you flush against him in a warm hug. You held his neck between your arms, fingers tucking themselves into his curls, which were much longer now.

“How are you?” His accent had faded much more, but it was still there to haunt the goosebumps on your skin.

You tugged away, fingers splaying across his leather jacket. “Okay. Uh, nervous,” you shared a laugh before he moved his hand to cup your cheek.

Your eyes melded into his own, his blue pupils flushed wide open with intoxicated lust. “Don’t be. Just me.”

You pressed your lips to his own, feeling the same balloon pop in your chest. And, some time later, you were flush against the bed, Luke’s body collapsed on top of yours. Your heaving chest puffed up with each deep breath to meet his own before he rolled over beside you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, opening them as he moved his arms around you. You turned to face him, eyelashes now fluttering against his chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” he smiled softly at you.

“Your hairs gotten longer,” you replied. You reached up and curled the strands around your pointer finger.

“Yeah, decided to grow it out after I broke up with...” he trailed off, “well, you know her.”

This was the first you were hearing of the breakup. Your eyes lit up, but you surpressed your grin. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

Luke shrugged, “S’okay, though. I’ve been better without her. Hell, even Petunia is happier. I got my own place in LA, living with Ash and Cal now.”

“How are they?” You asked him, letting your head falling into the cavity between his breasts.

He drew across your skin, “Good. Yeah, Ash has a girl. Kay, is her name. Cal’s still single, but he’s good. Michael’s still with Crystal. They’re living together now.”

You hummed. “And you?

His eyes met yours and he smiled sadly. “Still getting over it. But, I think this could help...”

He kissed you again. You held on, unwilling to let go until his phone started to ring. He answered it, other arm still holding you close to him.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in an hour.”

Your bottom lip poured, moving with Luke was he sat up. He stood and began to put on his boxers, but left the rest of himself naked. You admired his chest, more defined now that he was somewhat taller and healthier.

Maybe you didn’t regret being the other girl if she had really taken that big of a toll on him...

Luke hung up the phone with a goodbye and sat on the edge of the bed. You wrapped your arms around him from behind. Your lips grazed the skin beneath his ear and his head fall back against your shoulder.

“Everything okay?” You kissed.

He nodded, “Gotta get back for some celebration shit.”

You sighed as he turned to face you. He hugged you better, forehead pressing against yours. “Hey, pretty girl, I’m not going anywhere for another hour.”

“Another week, right?” You smiled. His head rocked forward. “Good.”

“We talked about me some, let’s hear about you.”

Luke got more comfortable after handing you his T-shirt. He leaned up against the headboard, allowing you to lay your head in his lap. His hand fell in your hair, the other splayed across your stomach.

Your fingers played with his. “Not much has changed, Lu. I’m better, I feel better. But it’s still just college, work, internships here and there. Can’t wait to graduate and just travel.”

“You look better,” the hand in your hair traced your jawline. “You look healthier and happier. I could see it in your walk.”

“I got a therapist,” you giggled.

He applauded you jokingly before his hands found their spot again. “I’m proud of you. I remember you telling me how nervous you were for that. But look at you now. Beautiful as always, but happy with yourself. That makes you the most beautiful.”

Your cheeks flushed and you looked away. “Yeah, well, thanks.”

“Where do you think you’ll go first?” He continued to inquire.

You shrugged, “I wanna go to France. Or LA.”

An awkward beat passed. Would he think you were asking to come visit? Was he going to pull away then, did he still wants no strings attached?

You cleared your throat and Luke’s tongue clicked in response. “LA’s beautiful. Not as good as home, though.”

Was that an invitation?

“Australia?” He hummed at the question. “Id like to go. See an ostrich or a kangaroo.”

He laughed, “Out of everything there is to see.”

“What do you want me to say? ‘Oh, gosh, I can’t wait to go to Australia and meet Liz Hemmings! She is the real star here.’”

You laughed loudly at the joke and Luke joined you until silence took over again. You felt him shrug. “I think she’d like you.”

“Who?” Your brows furrowed.

He traced them, feeling down to around your chin and brushing the hair away from your neck. “Mum. She’d like you. You’re kind, bubbly. Like her.”

You blushed again. “I’d like to meet her.”

“I...” Luke trailed and never picked up from it.

It was nearly 9 pm now, and your eyes were beginning to fall close. You hadn’t realized how stuck on a schedule you were from college until your body relaxed completely into Luke’s lap. Your hand held tightly to his, though, fingers threaded with them.

He glanced at the clock on your bedside table, methodically rubbing circles into your hairline. His lips puckered and he leaned to place a firm kiss onto your cheek, nose, forehead.

He gently set you onto the bed, pulling the sheets out you. He tugged in the muscle tank top he’d work under his shirt, his leather jacket, jeans, and boots before tucking away his phone. He would bear the cold for you to sleep in his shirt.

Luke kissed your forehead again, causing you to stir. You groggily opened your eyes, meeting the electric blue right above you.

“Gotta go, pretty girl. I’ll see you tomorrow? Maybe you could come to a show,” Luke squeezed your wrist.

You pursed your lips and he pressed a kiss to them. “Okay. see you.”

He was gone with the click of the lock in the door and you rolled over, wide awake.

TAG LIST: @mantlereid , @boxofteenageideas @dinosaursandsocks , @ashhdaniellee95 @stephaniemelville-blog @zhangyixingxing1 @verlaneswiftie13

#5sos fanfic #5sos fluff #calum hood #calum hood imagine #calum hood x reader #calum hood x y/n #calum hood x you #luke hemmings x y/n #luke hemmings x you #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings fluff #luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings imagine #luke 5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings #luke hemmings angst

144 notes · View notes

hoodoo12 · 4 years

Text

Fortress

A request for “the reader is having a bad time mental health wise and they make a blanket fort together and just. Chill? Maybe cuddles and some reassurances?“ led to this, with some other influences. We could all use some comfort nowadays.

Mature (Dewey Finn/reader)

@thewolfisapartofmysoul @janitor-boy @beejiesbitch @turtlepated @beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @mimiscappinisideblog

Enjoy! `

It’d been bad. So bad. You were tired and more than that, weary. Everything was too much but still you pushed yourself through each day, because it was expected of you, because people counted on you, because there wasn’t anything else to do anyway, during these times.

You got up, went to work, came home, went to bed. On repeat. Day after day. You wanted to see Dewey--really see him--but he’d been following the stay at home orders in his apartment, so all you really had were text messages and the occasionally zoom call. Each time you saw him on the grainy video, his hair looked wilder, his beard more scraggly.

He listened to your complaining. He made appropriate noises when you told him how tired you were, and how sad you were that everything had been turned upside down. He wasn’t much into traveling, but nodded when you started crying about the fact a trip you’d been looking forward to had been canceled. He might have been bored, but he never voiced that to you. Instead, he reassured you that everything was going to be okay. You never realized how much you missed hugging him or watching him play Guitar Hero. Just being with him seemed like a luxury that you never realized until it was taken away.

The very rare occasions you mentioned maybe some sexting or even maybe possibly some mutual video sex didn’t end well due to embarrassment. Both his and yours.

Dewey Finn wasn’t a dick pic kind of guy.

So there was nothing to do but keep plodding along. Every message between you ended with, “I can’t wait to see you again.”

Until one day, almost two months into this, instead of, “I can’t wait to see you again,” he said, “Why don’t you come over?”

“What?” “Come over. We haven’t actually been together for so long.” That’s what you wanted. Exactly what you wanted. But now that it was officially offered, you worried. “I don’t know, Dew--you haven’t been out, if I got you sick because I’ve been working this whole time . . . I don’t want to be the reason you get sick!”

“I’m not gonna get sick.” His reassurance crashed against the rocks of your worry. “It’s not like there aren’t people around. I get Door Dash. I even go down to the lobby to get the mail.” His little brushes with the outside world were nothing like yours: you were required to work and deal with random members of the public. It was a huge component of your stress, just having to be out and around people while everything on the news was dire and worrisome. Dewey knew all that; it was one of the things you mentioned repeatedly when you spoke with him. Still, he insisted. “I miss you, baby. I want to see you again. I want to hug you again. Don’t you miss me?” That was something else you lamented to him frequently. For him to toss it back to you was a low, but effective, blow.

“Okay. I’ll come over. But I’m not taking my mask off!”

He pointedly ignored your threat. “Good! Great! Awesome! I’ll have something delivered--you want those street tacos from the place down the road? I wonder if they’d deliver a frozen margarita--” You laughed, told him you’d see him tomorrow at seven, and he blew you a kiss that you returned. Worry was still a companion, but you had to admit you were excited to see him too.

⁂

It felt weird to be out on the street and now walking up the stairs to someone else’s apartment. For two months it’d been nothing but hurrying to work and home, then a quick shower and trying to keep your low grade anxiety away until you fell asleep to do it all over again. It was that same anxiety that made you carry an extra set of clothes with you; you weren’t going anywhere near Dewey with clothes that had been out in the world, possibly contaminated. You were going to change the second you got in the door before he had a chance to hug you.

At his door, you knocked, heard a muffled, “Come in!” and actually sighed in relief that he wasn’t opening the door for you. That’d give you a chance to put on your spare clothing.

Opening his door and stepping inside the short hallway that served as an entry into the apartment, you were confronted with a barrier only a two, maybe three feet away--basically just enough for the door to swing inward. Dewey had created a wall of cardboard that blocked the hallway completely. Although there was a small entrance at the bottom, near the floor, you couldn’t see into the rest of his apartment at all.

“Dewey, what the hell . . .” “Come on in, baby!” he called from somewhere deeper in, his voice almost as muffled as before. “There’s some hand sanitizer if you want!”

No lie; he’d left a pump bottle of sanitizer near the hole at the floor. This was weird but oddly intriguing. With a sigh, you quickly shed your outerwear and your street clothes, doused your hands in sanitizer, and slipped into the soft pants and tee shirt you’d brought along for what you’d thought would be an evening of just lounging with Dewey. You hadn’t expected any of what you’d seen so far.

“Okay. I’m coming in!” you said loudly, crouching to look into the hole.

It was dark in there. What the heck had Dewey done? “Okay, baby! Can’t wait to see you!”

Keeping your phone clenched in your hand for some light, feeling a little like Alice going into a rabbit hole, you awkwardly started to crawl on your hands and knees into the entrance.

Dewey had created some kind of cardboard tunnel. Where he’d gotten all the cardboard and duct tape was beyond you, let alone figuring out how he’d even come up with something like this. He’d never mentioned anything like it to you in any of your conversations.

Scooting along, it was longer than you expected, with a couple of switchbacks and one place tall enough you could stand in, although you had to turn sideways to squeeze along the corridor he’d created. Occasionally he’d call out to you, saying you were doing great, that it was just a little further; that he couldn’t wait to see you.

It almost sounded like he’d put cameras up and was watching your progress, but you hadn’t seen any. The shaking of the structure as you made your way through it must have been advertising where you were enough.

Finally, after crawling on his floors through an semi-creepy cardboard tunnel for what seemed like too long for the size of his apartment, you saw a light up ahead.

After one more corner, you found that, although still enclosed in a dome of cardboard, it opened up to a larger--for lack of a better word--cavern. A pile of blankets and pillows filled the space. A lamp, with its electrical cord snaking out to somewhere that wasn’t inside this cave, lit the area. Sitting in the middle of all of it, was Dewey on his mattress, grinning like a fool. He wore no mask, and you saw he’d trimmed his beard.

“You made it!” he greeted you, holding his hand out for yours. The space wasn’t tall enough to stand up in. You crawled out of the tunnel and next to him, sitting up. For a moment, all you could do was hug and then you couldn’t help but want to kiss him, so you ditched the mask you insisted you would wear. It made your heart pound to feel how strongly he returned the affection. Finally though, after kissing him so long your lips tingled, you had to pull back and ask, “Dewey, what is all this?”

He shrugged. “Just something I did for you, baby. We can’t travel anywhere, so this was the best I could do like an adventure. Here--I got those tacos.” He reached to his side and grabbed a paper bag. “Contactless delivery,” he assured you as he pulled individually boxed food out.

With a smile, you accepted one. While the two of you shared the messy meal, he told you about how he’d planned out this whole thing: a vague outline of how he wanted it to be, collecting cardboard from the neighbors and bodega around the corner, ordering <i>so</i> much duct tape. The construction had taken some time, and he’d given up living space to create the structure. You let him talk, happy to hear about something that was creative and unique. It was nice to focus him and what he’d done for you, instead of the anxiety that threatened to drag you under.

Finally, full of tacos and still so happy to just be with him, you lay back on his mattress. After shoving all the garbage back into the bag it’d arrived in, Dewey joined you. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “One more thing!”

You expected that to lead to another kiss, but were wrong. Dewey stretched around and fumbled with the switch for the lamp, Managing to turn it off, the small space was plunged into darkness. Reaching for him to help settle him beside you, you said, “Dewey, what--”

“Shhh. Just look.” Faintly, as your eyes adjusted, luminous specks became clear on the cardboard above and around you. There was no pattern to them; it was like he’d flicked a brush of paint randomly at the cardboard. But here and there were actual stars of varying sizes, drawn in the little-kid way of one line crossing over itself to make the five points.

In the absolute dark, the pale green-white of the paint gave a passable impression of a starry sky.

Dewey settled snuggly beside you. It was comfortable in this nest of blankets, with him so close.

“I wanted this to be a safe space for you. Something far away from out there,” he whispered. “Just you and me and a galaxy above us.”

Lucky for you it was dark, because then he couldn’t see the tears that filled your eyes. You were pretty sure he knew anyway, as you buried your face in his shoulder and neck and made them both wet, but he didn’t say anything of it. You managed to give him a whispered thanks in return, and spent the rest of the night pressed against him, sheltered in a cardboard cave. fin

The inspiration for this came not only from the prompt, but from Will Blum’s self-made quarantine project: “Floyd Collins”. Check it out (and the ‘making of’ documentary called “Through the Mountain”, also available on YouTube); it is amazing and truly a labor of love.

#writing #fanfiction #Dewey Finn #Dewey Finn x reader #School of Rock

74 notes · View notes

twokinkybeans · 3 years

Text

The Arachnoids: ROCK BAND AU [STARKER] - Chapter 9: WARY WORDS

READ “CHAPTER 9: WARY WORDS” ON AO3

Find the masterpost with all the chapters linked here!

Taglist: @crystallinecrimsonmoth & @staticwhispersinthedark (Let me know if you want to be added!)

Chapter 9: Wary Words

Tony’s gone.

That’s the first thought that crosses Peter’s mind when he stirs back to life after a short but good sleep. The room is empty and quiet, and it’s not just the man that has vanished. His bags are gone too and the sheets Tony slept under are neatly drawn up over the mattress. If it weren’t for the cologne lingering on Peter’s shirt, he could’ve sworn it’d all been a dream. It’s real, he reminds himself. It’s all real.

Peter doesn’t like the uneasy feeling that settles under his skin. He clamps his jaws together and blows into his cheeks, then letting the pressured air escape past his lips in a defeated sigh. He doesn’t know what to do. While it’s clear that something has to change for Tony, Peter wouldn’t know where to even start. He does realize it’s not his problem to solve, but he wants to help Tony however possible. It’s idle hope, though, to think the solution might come easy.

Tony’s gone, and there’s no sign of him until the live performance. It physically aches Peter’s chest to watch how freely Tony moves around the stage. No anxiety. No spiraling thoughts. Just Tony living through his music. The stage is Tony’s home. Performing is his home.

But after thanking his Finnish fans for supporting them today… There’s no trace left of where he could’ve gone. Tony’s hiding once again.

Latvia.

Poland.

Hungary

The next few days are all the same. No sight of Tony other than soundchecks and shows. No one knows where he is. And Peter realizes, horrified, that as much as everyone’s worried about Tony’s behavior, they don’t really care. Not truly. As long as Tony shows up to sing they seem awfully okay with it.

Austria

Italy

Spain

Peter still hasn’t managed to catch a moment alone with Tony. From a distance, he can see that the man looks paler. Tired. Lonely.

France

Belgium

Germany

Peter’s fed up with Tony evading everyone and he decides that he’ll do everything it takes to connect to him again. He will talk to Tony. As soon as he gets the chance.

Netherlands

“Hey, Stark!” Peter greets the man cheerfully as he finally finds the man by himself in the large Nijmegen venue. Tony’s leaning against the front barrier, looking up at the stage. “I’ve been thinking about your offer and I’ve decided to take you up on those guitar classes.” Tony tenses up and he grips the front barrier so tight his knuckles turn white. Oh no. Slowly, Tony turns around to face Peter. Tony looks straight at him but Peter can tell it takes everything the man has, to not avert his gaze. Peter’s heart clenches at the knowledge that the man’s been hurting so much lately, that it's a habit for him to hide everything.

“Hi, space boy.” Tony sniffs once and straightens his shoulders, faking a wide grin. Peter frowns at that. Does Tony still have the feeling he has to pretend so much? Tony continues talking before Peter has a chance to resume the conversation himself. “Wouldn’t you rather do another one of those sleepovers? ‘Twas quite a messy night, huh?”

What?

“That makes it sound like we had an actual one night stand,” Peter says slowly, eyebrows raised. If Tony wants to approach it like this, Peter will try to play along. Tony huffs a startled laugh at that. “That’s what happens when there’s only one bed,” he jokes. Tony’s smile falters soon after. He casts his eyes down to the floor. “I’m really sorry about that night, though… That… Wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What wasn’t?” Peter asks, tilting his head. He kinda expects Tony to cut the conversation short and make a run for it, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. “The panic attack- I never wanted to drop that on you. The hug…” Tony’s cheeks turn a little bit redder at that. He’s ashamed, Peter realizes. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Tony tenses at that once more. He blinks a few times, unsure of what to do. Peter swallows. The last thing he wants is to chase Tony away himself. “Hey…” Peter speaks softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” “No,” Tony pushes out. “You did. And you’re right, I guess. I have been avoiding you.” Tony glances around real quick to see if there’s no one else around. When he confirms they’re alone he sighs. “I’ve never been this vulnerable around anyone. I… don’t know how to deal with it.” Tony sits down on the floor to lean against the front barrier and he shakes his head. Peter carefully walks closer to him.

“That’s alright. It’s hard,” Peter breathes as he sinks down onto the cool metal plates as well. “I know my story isn’t nearly the same…” He continues. “But I was young when I lost everyone but Aunt May. I closed off. It fucking sucks when people watch your every move ‘cause they’re not sure what to do with you and your emotions.” Tony looks up at that. His eyes contain the exact spark of recognition Peter had hoped to ignite.

“Sometimes, it’d be much easier if none of it ever happened - or if no one knows. So that you can pretend it never did, even if just for a few minutes.” Peter pauses, trying to figure out the right words to continue. “But- If you never allow yourself to be vulnerable, no one’s gonna understand why you keep pushing them away. Eventually, they’ll take it as rejection. They give up. And it leaves you lonelier than you were before.” “Sounds familiar,” Tony mumbles quietly. Peter’s lips curl into a faint smile. “Yeah... And I’m not saying you always have to talk about the shit that’s going on, but you can let people know you’re not okay. Confide in them. You need that sense of community, Tony. Especially when things are bad.”

They’re both silent after that. It’s not an uncomfortable silence. Not at all. At one point, Tony’s composure softens. He goes less rigid, and his left knee falls against Peter’s right one. Peter lets it happen without a single thought; perhaps he too likes the warmth coming from the other’s body. Someone who, even though the story is different, shares the emotions Peter knows so well.

“Thank you,” Tony finally breathes. “That’s… You’re right- I-...” Tony groans when the words don’t come easy. Most likely unconsciously, he presses his knee into Peter’s a little more. Peter doesn’t say anything to give the man his time. He does press his knee back, though. Hoping to comfort Tony. Tony swallows and slowly continues. “Talking to you makes me feel like I can breathe, even if just slightly.” The words cause a gentle warmth to spread through Peter’s chest.

“I meant what I said the other night, Tony. I’m gonna be here, alright?” “You barely know me...” “Isn’t that enough of a reason to get to know each other better? I mean, we already slept in one bed after all,” Peter says, trying to lighten the conversation with a small joke. It seems to work. Tony snorts. “I think you’re my favorite one night stand,” Tony grins. Somehow, even though it’s obviously meant as a joke, it catches Peter completely off guard and he blushes. Tony notices and he grins. “Ooooooh! You liked it too!” Tony teases. Peter growls in response and leans sideways to bump into Tony’s shoulder. The man laughs, actually laughs, and the sound reverberates in Peter’s chest. Is this the lighter side of Tony he hasn’t seen yet?

“Hey,” Tony mumbles once his snickering died down. “I have to go do this stupid interview. Harley will lynch me if I don’t show up.” “Shouldn’t Bruce and Happy be the ones to do that?” “They don’t really bother with me. They’ve given Harley the most prestigious task of babysitting me.” “Harley seems nice though, isn’t he?” Peter tries. Tony hums. “For sure. He’s a good kid.”

Tony’s silent after that and Peter bites down his bottom lip. He feels like the conversation isn’t over yet. He drops his head to one side to look at Tony. Tony raises his eyebrows. “Will you be okay?” Peter asks quietly. “I…” Tony sighs. “I guess? Interviews trigger my anxiety quite badly. Nat, Steve, and Harley know about the medication shit, though. They try to help me through. They just don’t know about… Morgan.” Tony’s voice wavers when he chokes out her name. “I’ll manage. I promise.” Peter smiles and leans into Tony a little bit more, trying to bring him some comfort.

“Alright. Promise me one thing though,” Peter whispers. “Or, two actually?” “What’s that?” “I want those guitar classes,” Peter states and Tony snorts, shrugging and shaking his head. “Sure, what else?”

Peter hesitates and he clasps his own hands together, leaning forward onto his upper legs. From there, he eyes Tony carefully. “Don’t rewatch it.” Peter takes a breath. “The interview. Answer their questions and then forget about it.”

Tony takes a few moments to think about that before he swallows and nods. His eyes sparkle when he raises his head to look Peter straight into his eyes. “I promise.”

Peter mindlessly helps Ned set up his drums for tonight. Ned loves the new set, even though it’s not nearly the same quality as the one he has at home. It’s got a nice sound, Peter has to admit that. He doesn’t know enough about drums to give a solid opinion, but if Ned’s happy, so is he.

“So, what’s up with Tony?” Ned asks, fiddling with one of his drumsticks when Peter finishes tightening the last hi-hat clutch. Peter leans back, eyeing Ned curiously. “What do you mean?” “He seems… So… Nice? Today? I dunno,” he mumbles. “He’s not himself.” “Oh?” “Yeah, he-”

Before Ned can finish his explanation, the door slams open and Peter looks up startled. MJ comes rushing in and she throws herself into Ned’s arms. “Help!” She squeaks. “Hey, hey! What’s wrong?” “I- Harley, he- He asked me out,” she chokes out. “And my dumb ass said no. But when I ran off I- I realized I wanted to say yes and I don’t know what to do.” MJ groans and presses her lips together.

“Please, you gotta help me.”

Read the next chapter >> 10: Blossoming Bond

25 notes · View notes

stereksecretsanta · 3 years

Text

Merry Christmas, vyxynheartssterek!

For @vyxynheartssterek. I hope you enjoy it!

Read On AO3

*****

Forward Motion

Claudia rocked back on her heels and brushed her hair out of her face. “Well, I think that was the last box.”

Stiles admired their shelves, the glossy dark wood lined with dusty tomes that they’d finally hauled from home. They’d been in the attic, the basement, the kitchen and the living room for longer than Stiles had been alive, and seeing them on display, all together and organized neatly instead of piled haphazardly on a box of old baby clothes was surreal and a little thrilling. “It looks great.”

She gave him a sideways look. “We still have stock to put out, pal. Don’t get comfortable.”

He laughed, knocking their elbows together. “Yeah yeah. It still looks good. I told you it would.”

She snorted. “Save the “I told you so”s until after opening day. Why don’t you go get us some caffeine to power us through until lunch, then we’ll get your dad to help us with some of this?”

“He said he’d help this morning, too.” Stiles stepped over a crate of crystals, around two stacks of boxes, and through a maze of shelves they’d yet to fill. “Usual order?”

“Yes, please. Oh, can you move that shelf to the window on your way out? It’s where I want to put the potted herbs.”

“Sure. Be right back.” He maneuvered the herb shelf—still empty for the moment—over to the window, adjusting it until it was lined up with the window, before he stepped outside. It was chilly out, just on the edge of cold, with a breeze that smelled like wood smoke. He turned and stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, balancing his sneakers on the curb so he could admire their sign.

It’d just arrived the day behavfore, and installation had only taken minutes. The Beacon’s Raven curled in the deep red Claudia and Stiles had chosen weeks ago. The window had a beautifully painted raven with its wings outspread on it, front and center, and off to the side, a neat list of their hours. A banner hung over the glass door: “Grand Opening: 2 Days!” It was satisfying to see people passing by, peering in the windows on tip toes to see deeper into the store, chatting about how soon they could go in and poke around.

Stiles headed for the coffee shop down the road. He’d finally talked his mom into opening a real, actual store after years of her (and, eventually, him once he’d gotten old enough to grind herbs and mix potions) operating out of their house. The supernatural community of Beacon Hills had known and trusted Claudia and her family for generations, trusted and knew their magic and quality of products. It only made sense to finally move from backdoor sales to a real shop, where people could browse and where they could store extra potions without accidentally mixing them in with the cooking spices.

Although Stiles still thought John was overreacting about accidentally putting a sleeping potion in the chili that one time.

The coffee shop on the corner, Mocha Latte Memories, was also relatively new—only two years old, which in Beacon Hills meant it’d be referred to as “the new place” for another thirteen years—but it was doing great. It also happened to be Claudia’s favorite, so she’d dragged Stiles there as soon as he’d come home from college; they’d both been going at least once a week ever since.

Stiles caught sight of his reflection in the big bay window of the café and paused. His hair was covered in dust bunnies and cobwebs. “Gee, thanks, Mom,” he grumbled, using the window as a mirror to bat the dust away. He spent a minute combing through his hair with his fingers so he looked less disheveled.

A shadow moved beyond the glass.

Stiles reared back. “Oh! Oh, gods.”

A man on the other side of the glass was grinning at him, apparently watching while he fixed his hair.

Heat rushed to his face. “Oh my god.” He turned on his heel.

Claudia laughed at him when he told her why they wouldn’t be having coffee and why they should promptly move to the next town over. She called John to ask him to bring lunch and coffee while still tearing up with laughter.

Stiles worked through his mortification by sweeping aggressively.

“You two,” John sighed when he arrived. He took a drink of his own coffee while they were digging into their lunch. “The place looks great already.”

Claudia smiled up at him, heels bouncing off the crate she’d perched on in lieu of a chair. “You should’ve seen Stiles with the books.”

“My organization skills are legend,” he muttered, biting into his sandwich.

John snorted. “I still can’t believe you’re putting them out like this.”

She shrugged. “Beacon Hills is our town. We’ve always shared the knowledge anyway, and this way, they can look for themselves.”

The family spellbooks weren��t for sale; they’d dragged them all out and to the shop with a different idea in mind: at the back of the shop, they’d created a little reading room filled with chairs, two-top tables, and jars of pens. Witches and starter spellcasters could come to research spells and potions from their collection if they wanted, copy down instructions, or just read a while, rather than asking Claudia for a copy of a spell they’d heard she had.

And as an extra bonus, whatever they needed for most of the spells, rituals, and potions could be purchased from the shop before they left, if they wanted.

Stiles couldn’t wait to get started.

John stayed to help until well into the evening, when he made them leave for the night. “Your boxes will still be here in the morning,” he sighed. “Let’s go get dinner.”

Claudia set out one last display container, waiting to be filled, and let her fingers trail over the shelf, smiling as John led her out.

Stiles hung back, watching them hold hands down the sidewalk. He and Claudia had come in the jeep this morning, but he figured she’d ride back with John. He brushed dust off his cheek and smiled to himself. He’d missed them while he was away at school, he’d missed Beacon Hills, and being back, opening the store…it felt right.

“Absolutely not.”

Claudia grinned, shaking a box of amethyst at him. “Stiles, don’t be a coward.”

“Mom, don’t be annoying.” He ducked when she swatted at his head. “Why don’t you go get the coffee, and I’ll finish putting the crystals out?”

“I have a plan in mind, I need to do it a certain way.” She arranged the amethyst in the display box she had on the shelf, then tilted her head, studying the effect. She bent to grab some jasper.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You just want me to embarrass myself again.”

“You did that all on your own.” She set down the jasper next to the amethyst, then wrinkled her nose. She faced him, putting her hands on her hips. Her white POISON shirt was smudged with dirt and old paint stains, hair braided back with flyaways sticking up around her face. “What are the odds of seeing that same guy again? And,” she continued before he could reply, “what are the odds that he’d even recognize you? The man saw you for a total of ten seconds, kid.”

He made a face at her. “What if he works there?”

She smiled.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But you’re getting the coffee next time.”

“Of course. Next time it’ll be my turn.” She shooed him and turned to the flat carts of planters, which were filling the shop with the heady scents of jasmine and lavender.

Stiles preferred to make potions with dried plants himself, but a lot of people were into growing their own lately. He didn’t stop outside this time—he didn’t want to give himself time to chicken out and go to Starbucks further up the road.

Mocha Latte Memories was right between the breakfast and lunch rushes when he got there; there were three girls at a table posing for a picture and an older man sipping from a mug and reading a book, but otherwise, the place was empty.

The walls were strung with photographs and every other table had an instant camera set up on a bolted tripod next to it. There were also disposable cameras set on the bookshelves, the counters, some tables, the window sills, and the console by the door, with a laminated sign on the wall explaining. The cameras confused Stiles until Claudia had dragged him and John to a table, set the timer on the instant camera, and took a photo of the three of them, waving it in his face.

Patrons were encouraged to take pictures with any of the cameras so they could be displayed on a rotation—they were also just allowed to take the instant photo home, if they wished. After a week on display, the pictures could be claimed by the person who took it or who was in it.

It was cute, Stiles thought. There was potential for creepy people to abuse it, but from what he’d seen, the staff kept a sharp eye on the cameras and who claimed which photos, and the owner was an old high school friend of Claudia’s and had gotten some witchy protections against that kind of thing. Photos taken of people without their consent would show up completely blank, as far as Stiles knew. There were other protections in place, but he hadn’t gotten any further details.

“Hey, Stilinski,” the barista, Cora, called out. “The usual for you and Miss Claudia?”

“Yes please.” He used his card to pay and found two fives in his wallet. Feeling cheerful—one day until opening and they were nearly done setting everything up—he dropped one into the tip jar, making Cora grin.

Behind him, the bells set above the door chimed as someone came in.

He set the five on the counter. “Put that toward their order?”

Her grin widened. “If you’re sure…”

“Yes, please.” He moved off to wait by the pick-up counter, looking at this week’s photos while he waited.

“Hey, thanks for the coffee.”

Stiles winced. He knew Cora was quick, so he’d kind of hoped his drinks would be done before the guy could notice him. He turned. His smile froze on his face.

The guy’s eyes lit up with mirth and recognition.

“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed. He looked down and wondered how hard his mom would laugh at him if he filled the place with smoke and fled.

“You do remember me. I’m Derek.”

“Stiles,” he managed, strangled. “I-I—we’re—there was dust,” he blurted. “There was dust and I was trying to get it out of my hair, okay, and I don’t think it was that big of a deal, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek said, still looking amused. “I didn’t say it was a big deal.”

“Right.” Stiles eased back, even more mortified. “I-I-”

“Stiles! Drinks are up,” Cora called.

“Bye,” he croaked. He snatched the drinks and left as fast as he could.

Claudia was waiting outside when he returned, a worried frown on her face. “I felt you panicking, what-”

He shook his head. “I bought,” he gasped, “the guy coffee.”

Her brows shot up. “Start at the beginning,” she said, so he did.

He was right: she laughed at him.

The Beacon’s Raven opened at nine sharp on Saturday morning, doors flung wide and a mixture of orange and lavender smoking gently, filling the place with Claudia and Stiles’s favorite scents. The shelves were full, neatly organized, and inviting, the floors gleaming clean, and there was a carafe of hot chocolate and individually wrapped cookies set up by the register. Claudia turned on lively violin music and Stiles kept himself busy straightening the shelves.

“Mrs. Stilinski,” a familiar voice called out. “It looks wonderful in here, doesn’t it, Mom?” Lydia and Natalie Martin came in, arm in arm, already holding two other shopping bags.

“It does! Good job, Claudia.” She grinned, crossing to give Claudia a quick squeeze. Like Lydia and Stiles, Natalie and Claudia had gone to school with each other. “I wanted one of those wind chimes you make for Lydia’s new house and we thought we could take a look at the tarot cards—I’ve never been much of a reader myself but we think Lydia’s a bit of a sensitive.”

Lydia rolled her eyes at Stiles, but followed their mothers into an aisle anyway.

Two more people, witches Stiles recognized as regulars for dream talismans and ritual potions, came in, chatting about the store. Dotty, dream talisman buyer, spotted Stiles and shot over to commend him on the choice of orange and lavender— “Peace and energy in one, what a good idea for the first day,” she said, catching his arm.

Melissa and Scott showed up after that, then Heather and her boyfriend, and a group of local witches and some shoppers who were non-magical but interested in the local-made jewelry they were also selling.

Stiles kept busy ringing people up, helping a man pick out the right set of rune stones, and bagging things, keeping up a steady chatter about the store, so he shouldn’t have noticed one more person entering the shop. He should’ve heard the bell and called out a greeting and let Claudia handle it. Something made his head snap up. His eyes narrowed.

Coffee Shop Derek waved at him.

A tall, dark haired woman stood next to him, reading from the back of a crumpled receipt.

Stiles blinked back to his customer and smiled. “Thank you, have a great day.”

Mavis smirked at him. “Oh, you too, Mischief.”

He grimaced.

Mavis had been buying ritual herb bundles from Claudia since Stiles was three. She knew too much.

Claudia crossed to Derek and the woman and, to his surprise, hugged the woman. She gave Derek a sober handshake, smiling and saying something Stiles couldn’t hear.

He didn’t really recognize them aside from some vague familiarity, but Claudia clearly did. He glanced around, but everyone was busy looking—they were crowded, which wasn’t surprising. Beacon Hills was small enough that everyone and their grandmother had heard that little Dee Gajos, no, Stilinski now, and her son were opening a shop finally, and they all had to check it out, witches or not.

Stiles flicked his fingers.

“-Mom wanted some new talismans for the house, and Aunt Nettie wanted some cleansing potions for the party we’re having,” the woman was saying. “Mom also wanted us to congratulate you and let you know she’ll be out to see the shop as soon as she can.”

“Thank you, that’s sweet. I know she’s busy. Oh, one moment.” Claudia turned. “Stiles!” Her voice boomed, making him clap his hands to his ears.

Crap. He’d definitely been caught eavesdropping.

Her smile was far too wide. “Sweetie, why don’t you help the Hales find the things on their list while I run the register for a while?” Her voice was still too loud—raised so he could hear her across the store, if he hadn’t been eavesdropping.

He had two options, and only one of them would preserve what little dignity he had left at this point. He sighed and rounded the counter.

“Hey, I’m Laura.” She smiled when he approached. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Stiles.”

“Oh, really?” He narrowed his eyes at Derek, cheeks going red. Two mildly embarrassing run ins and the guy goes blabbing to his family.

“Yeah! You’ve met my mom Talia Hale a few times when she was picking up talismans from Claudia.”

Stiles’s gaze snapped up to Laura, then skimmed over her. “Oh, you’re werewolves. And Hales. I’ve met some of your pack.”

She laughed. “Yeah, that’s us.” She passed the list to Derek. “I actually wanted to talk to you about some blessed candles, Claudia, if that’s alright? I’m sure Stiles and Derek can handle the list.”

“Oh, sure. Here, we can go up to the register and talk.” Claudia smirked over her shoulder.

Stiles turned his back on her. “So.”

Derek lifted a brow. “You aren’t going to run away this time?”

“I’ve got nowhere to run,” he muttered, making Derek laugh. “Besides, I didn’t run. I just—I had things to do.” He cleared his throat. “Your mom buys talismans from my mom. I’ve helped make them before,” he added with a grin, deciding that he could push past his embarrassment. “She likes her bases covered, huh?”

Derek chuckled. “You have no idea. She’s going crazy over having the whole family at the house for our winter gathering. That’s why she wants to replace the talismans now.” He checked the list. “Four talismans, a house cleansing potion for Aunt Nettie,” he yawned widely, “new bells for the windows and,” another half-stifled yawn, “my uncle wants bloodroot.” He made a face.

“For what?”

He lifted that brow again.

Stiles flicked a hand at the shelves behind them. “I just mean if he’s making something for protection, we can make a bundle that’ll help more than just one plant.”

He shook his head. “No idea. He just came in and scribbled down bloodroot when we told everyone where we were going.”

“Ah.” Stiles shrugged. Not his problem. “Well, if they’re all concerned about the house, we can get some herbs to help with that, too.” He glanced at Claudia, but she and Laura were still talking. “The talismans take three days to make—they’re specific, so we don’t typically have them ready-made.”

“Oh.”

“Everything else is ready though.” He led Derek down the prepared potions aisle; already-made potions were popular with werewolves, shifters, and regular humans who couldn’t make potions themselves. He handed him the teal-colored cleansing potion. “There’s a tag with instructions on the cap, but I know Annette Hale buys this every few months.”

“She does.” Derek yawned again as they made their way to the herb aisle, stifling it in his elbow and shaking his head, like he was annoyed.

Stiles scooped bloodroot into a bag, avoiding eye contact. “Did you have a…long night?” he asked, and cursed himself for being so awkward.

Derek shook his head. “I just keep having these weird, vivid dreams, and when I wake up, I feel like I haven’t slept. And then I can’t make sense of the dreams.” He shrugged self-consciously.

“Have you tried-?” Stiles paused and frowned at him. “Sleep potions don’t work for werewolves.”

“Nope.”

“Huh.” Stiles touched some vervain thoughtfully, then shook his head. “No. What about an herb bundle?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never tried any of this stuff,” he admitted. “I don’t usually have trouble sleeping, either.”

Stiles dropped his hand and wandered over to the bells. “Maybe you should put a bell on your bedroom window instead.” He examined the smallest bells they had on display and picked out a silver one with a raven carved into the side; some of the bells had symbols or animals carved in them for extra protection, and others had nothing, a blank slate, but Stiles thought Derek could use the raven for some clarity. He held it out with a smile. “If anything is causing bad dreams, the sound will ward it off, and it should help make the dreams clearer so you can figure out what’s going on.”

Derek held the tiny bell in his palm. “Thanks.”

Stiles nodded, then looked back at the others. They had sets and singles. “Did Talia say what colors she wanted?”

“Oh, uh, no. Just some basic, uh, bells for us to string above the windows this winter.”

“Hmm.” Stiles chose a brassy gold set and a few tiny yellow gold chimes, and added a coil of delicate, triple braided twine. “Your mom will know how to string them.” He helped Derek carry everything to the register. “We’ll get the talismans started today.”

Claudia smiled as they set everything on the counter. She was wrapping up a full set of candles for Laura already. “One of you can come back to get them on Tuesday,” she assured them. “Oh, bloodroot alone? But-”

“Uncle Peter only asked for bloodroot.” Laura shrugged. “Nettie tried to get him to explain but he wouldn’t.”

“Huh.” She shook her head. “Maybe he’s got something in mind.” She rang them up while Stiles carefully bagged the rest of their purchases.

“Maybe.” Laura poked at the silver bell.

Derek snatched it and put it in his pocket. “That’s mine.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh-kay. Thanks again, Claudia. We’ll be back on Tuesday for the talismans.”

“No problem, thank you guys for coming in!”

Derek turned back so he could wave and smile at Stiles one more time as they were leaving.

By the time they closed at seven, Stiles was dead on his feet; the plan was for them to open again the next morning at the same time, and be closed on Mondays and Thursdays, but he wasn’t sure they’d make it to Monday at this point. They needed to hire some more people.

Claudia was sprawled in a chair in the reading room, beaming and as exhausted as Stiles. “That was…better than I had hoped for.”

Stiles flopped into a chair across from her. “I told you people would come.”

She shrugged. “It’s different, selling little mixtures and plants from my kitchen and selling it in a store.” She flung her hands out over the arms of the chair. “I expected…well, you know how people here can be.”

“Assholes.”

“Fickle,” she shot back. “Supportive one second, and then the next saying I’m thinking too highly of my skills.”

He snorted. “I would love to see anyone from Beacon Hills claim that. They know you, Mom.”

She smiled. “They can be assholes, a little bit,” she admitted, and he laughed. “I was thinking of hiring some part timers, to cover us when we need breaks and a day off. Thoughts?”

“Yes, please.” He dropped his head over the back of the chair. “If we have more people here, we can close a little later, stay open most days without working everyone twenty-four seven, and be able to help more people. Also, we have to get the Hale talismans going.”

“Right.” She tapped her fingers on the edge of the chair. “What did Derek Hale need one bell for?”

Stiles lifted his head. “Hmm?”

She shot him a look. “Don’t play dumb. One silver bell.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Well, he kept yawning while we were finding the stuff his pack asked for, so I asked him if he was having trouble sleeping. He said he was having vivid dreams that were keeping him from resting, so I thought a bell would help, you know, in case it was something coming in.”

She frowned. “But they’re not nightmares?”

“Apparently not. Just vivid dreams.”

“That’s odd.”

“Maybe the bell will help.”

She nodded. “Okay! Let’s go straighten up, count the till, and get started on the talismans for the Hales.”

Because they’d known they would be brewing potions on-site, they’d picked this building in part because it had a kitchen already, so they wouldn’t have to have one built.

“We really need more people working here.” Stiles rocked to his feet.

“I’m working on it. Natalie Martin was interested already, but I’d like a few more witches on staff, too.”

“Dad can help out.”

She smiled as they headed for the kitchen. “He’s bored now that he’s retired.”

“He needs a hobby.”

“Please.” She handed him a broom. “Sprinkle some orange and violet ashes for luck first.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

It wasn’t quite as busy the next day, although they were making an almost equal amount of sales—fewer browsers, Stiles guessed. Around noon, Claudia left him alone to get some coffee and lunch, which was when Derek wandered in. Stiles straightened from the counter and smiled.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he replied uneasily. “Um, your talismans are still soaking in the first potion.”

Derek looked blank. “Oh, no, that’s not why I’m here, but thanks. I actually—the bell didn’t help,” he blurted.

Stiles frowned.

The woman over in the reading room sneezed, making Derek jump.

“Alright…let’s try an herb bundle.” Stiles rounded the counter. “Something to promote deep sleep, good dreams, some peace….that could help.”

Derek followed him. “I’m willing to try, I’m exhausted and the dreams don’t even make sense.”

“Hmm.” Stiles picked up a mesh sachet and skimmed through the dry herbs, letting his magic pick for him. He sprinkled in lavender, which was an obvious first, a tiny bit of valerian followed by peppermint mostly to disguise the foul scent of the ashes, chamomile, a tiny bit of eryngo, and some gardenia to tie it together, then sealed the bag. “Okay, there’s enough in here for you to sprinkle a tiny bit around your room, and keep the rest in this bag under your pillow while you sleep.” He put the sachet in Derek’s hand.

“You didn’t look at a recipe,” he pointed out.

Stiles frowned, plucking at the hem of his shirt. “Well, I don’t need one for that. I was just…feeling out what seemed right for you.”

“Do you do that for all of your customers?” he asked, smirking. His hair was damp from the chilly rain turning everything gray outside, curling over his forehead.

Stiles focused on a drop forming just above his eye. “No, not really. But none of them have asked,” he added defensively. He crossed his arms. “I was trying-”

“Excuse me. How much is this journal, young man?”

Stiles held his finger up at Derek and went to help the guy in a patchy tweed jacket with the journals. To his surprise, Derek was still waiting when the guy had paid and left. “Yes?”

He lifted the sachet. “I haven’t paid.”

Stiles blinked. “Oh, I—I was giving that to you.” They stood, blinking at each other for a prolonged moment.

Slowly, Derek’s cheeks reddened. His eyes went wide. “Oh, I didn’t realize. Thank—you?”

“No problem.” He smiled. “Did you ever figure out what your uncle wanted the bloodroot for?”

He shook his head. “He just took it and left, didn’t even thank us. He’s been annoyed all day, too, which for Peter means he’s been insufferable.” He turned the sachet over in his hand, then lifted it closer to his face to sniff.

Stiles glanced around the store, but the only person there was the witch in the reading room still. “We have some cookies left from yesterday, want some?”

“Sure.”

Stiles went to get them from the kitchen and poked at the talismans that were gently simmering in a warding potion. The first of three; the next would be applied later that evening. He scooped up the cookies.

Claudia had returned when he got out to the front, asking Derek how his parents were. “The cookies are still good,” she added with a quick smile in Stiles’s direction. “Why don’t you two eat in the kitchen while I watch the store? I can eat after you’re done.” She smiled again. “I got an extra sandwich.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes.

She winked at him and looked at Derek again. “You have time, don’t you, Derek?”

“I…uh, sure.”

“Great!” She thrust the sandwiches at Stiles. “Derek, I hope you like roast beef on rye with mozzarella and onions?”

Derek looked between her and Stiles. “Yes…that’s…my favorite.”

“How lucky,” she chirped.

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, “lucky.” He glanced at Derek, who looked surprised but not suspicious.

He clearly hadn’t spent enough time around witches.

Stiles took the sandwiches to the kitchen anyway. “You don’t have to stay,” he told Derek. “She’s just…” He didn’t know what she was doing. Teasing him for his two embarrassing encounters with Derek? Being overly friendly? Trying to help Stiles make friends like a shy five year old?

“It’s okay. I was just going to get lunch when I left anyway.” Derek looked around the kitchen, the glass front cabinets and the crockpot simmering on the counter. “I guess customers aren’t really meant to be back here.”

Stiles shrugged and set the sandwiches on the table. He grabbed some napkins, gesturing at the seat closest to Derek. “It’s only our second day open, we don’t have rules yet.”

Derek tucked the sachet into his pocket before he sat and unwrapped his sandwich. “You guys have been selling potions and talismans and stuff for a while though, right?”

“Yep.” Stiles licked mustard off his thumb. “Mom’s been doing it her whole life—before she and my dad got married, she and her parents sold supplies and stuff from their kitchen.” He rotated his wrist. “Beacon Hills is getting bigger and it was getting harder to run all this from our kitchen without overrunning the whole house with it.” Stiles took a minute to eat a few bites, watching with his head lowered as Derek did the same. “Your mom and your brother Sean, your dad Leo and your cousin, I think, Connie, I’ve met them all in passing. Annette, too. Amulets, talismans, potions, herbs, crystals—Connie bought a crystal when she was doing her midterms, more for a worry stone than anything, I think.”

“She still has it,” Derek said with a smile. “She wears it on a chain.”

Stiles smiled, too. “See, I’ve met several of your family members—your pack mates. But you’ve never come for anything.”

Derek shrugged. “Everyone else always had plenty and I never really needed anything.”

“Until now.” Stiles nodded at him, indicating the sachet in his pocket.

Derek flashed a grin. “Until now.”

After Derek left, thanking them for lunch and smiling at Stiles an extra time before he left, Claudia whirled on Stiles, beaming.

“What are you up to?”

“Absolutely nothing, how dare you accuse me of being up to something.” She wiped the counter with a damp rag, a smile playing on her lips.

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was accusing her of quite yet, so he fell quiet. He’d bide his time and get her back later. Three giggling high schoolers came in to ask about love potions and, having already been subjected to the Love Potion Lecture at age seven, and then twelve, Stiles made himself busy straightening the shelves and checking the plants for dry soil.

Claudia went into the back to eat after the girls left, so Stiles was left to deal with Mrs. Howard’s very particular taste in rose quartz for her daughter’s birthday. It wasn’t so bad, not nearly as bad as the PTA parents wanting “luck” potions for a bake sale.

John wandered in when things died down, while Stiles was drawing mindlessly on a legal pad. He leaned over. “Anything good?”

Stiles studied the shape. “Not sure yet.” He added another line. “I think it might need…copper. Amethyst.” He tilted the pad. “Some spirit quartz for an added layer, maybe, to clear things up.” He rubbed his finger over the top curve thoughtfully.

“Who’s it for?”

“Dunno. It just keeps coming to me.” He finally looked up and grinned. “What’re you all dressed up for? I thought you were strictly into jeans these days.”

John ran a hand down the neat button down shirt that he’d paired with a completely wrinkle-free pair of khakis. “I’m here for a job interview,” he said grimly. “Think I got a chance with the boss?”

Stiles grinned. “I dunno, she’s pretty strict.”

Claudia came out of the back wiping her hands on a towel. Her eyes widened. “Well, now, Sheriff, don’t you look handsome.”

Stiles, still grinning, shook his head and hopped off the stool behind the counter to hunt up some of the materials he needed for the amulet he was going to make. Chips of amethyst and flint were his first ingredients, and the rest, he figured, would come to him as needed. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, just copper wrapped around three very small stones in the shape he couldn’t get out of his head.

He rang himself up after he’d gathered a few more things, then put his supplies aside—his tools and the other things he needed were at home.

“What’re you making?” Claudia asked after watching him tuck his bagged purchases away.

“An amulet, I think.”

“Hmm.”

John was across the shop enthusiastically helping a witch select a chain for her new pendulum.

She looked amused despite the fact that John clearly had no idea what to direct her toward.

“He always was better with herbs,” Claudia mused. “I can’t believe he hasn’t picked up more from us after all these years.”

“Maybe he should just run the register.”

“He’s got it.”

Stiles shrugged and went back to his rough sketch, tracing the spirals with his finger.

He spent the evening coiling copper wire at the kitchen table, carefully wrapping it around the smallest piece of pearl dolomite he’d been able to find, then spirit quartz, and finally a tiny piece of flint. The amethyst chips went along the wire, and after that he sprinkled gardenia and lavender ash on it to sit for the night. He studied it; it wasn’t his best work, but not his worst, either. The amulet would need to be charged with his magic to bind it together, and he’d need a chain for it before it could be worn. The amulet itself was small, about the size of a silver dollar.

He left it overnight and took it to the shop the next morning. Stiles and John were handling the front while Claudia retreated, with a miserable growl, to do the accounting.

Her day job, after all, used to be the head of an accounting firm, and she had the most experience. Besides that, she wasn’t ready to hire someone else to take care of it.

“I’m still not sure, this one over here is really beautiful.” The customer indicated a hand painted tarot deck made by a local witch Claudia had grown up with.

“If you’re just starting, a basic deck is the best way to learn how to read the cards.” He smiled. “You can get fancy later, I promise.”

“Well…I suppose you’re right.” She sighed. “My mom said the same thing, and I definitely knew that was the right way to do it, but the hand painted deck is so…” She picked up the deck Stiles had pointed out to her. “Do you guys carry altar cloths? I would like to get a new one.”

Stiles grinned. “We do, actually. Dominic Birch embroidered them, his work is unbelievable.”

After she’d paid and left—with two new journals, an altar cloth, and her tarot deck—John helped a guy pick out a potted aloe plant and Stiles sold three necklaces and a ring.

The bells chimed as he was restocking with more jewelry. “Hi,” he called out, turning.

Derek waved awkwardly and held up a piece of paper. “Peter wants some more stuff.”

“Ah. Did he say what it was for this time?”

“Nope. He’s just as irritated today, too.” He passed the list to Stiles, thumb brushing the back of his hand. He was wearing a blue sweater in concession to the chill hanging in the air, and the fact that the sleeves were just a little too long for him was too much for Stiles. “Oh, hey, I think those herbs you gave me worked, last night I barely had any dreams at all.”

Stiles smiled at him. “That’s great.” He flipped the list over. Buchu, rose, dandelion—dried and ground. Huh. “Did he say how much of this stuff he wants?”

Derek shook his head. “But he did send his debit card, so feel free to ring up as much as you’d like.”

Stiles snickered. “I’d love to, but I think we should try to keep our reputation good, you know, since we’re so new and all.”

Derek snorted. “If he noticed, I doubt he’d say anything anyway. There’s so much going on at home, though, I don’t think he would notice.”

Stiles bagged the herbs as they talked. “What’s going on?”

“Just the usual holiday madness. For our winter celebration, our extended pack—that’s everyone who’s moved away and joined or formed other packs—comes to visit. All three houses are overrun for days.”

Stiles laughed as he tipped a scoop of dried dandelion into a bag. “That sounds awesome.”

“I guess it is, sometimes. That’s why everyone is freaking out, though. It takes a lot to prepare for all those werewolves.” He rubbed the back of his head, sighing. “I’m gonna have to share my room with a couple of my cousins.”

“Aw, didn’t you miss your cousins?”

“No.” He scowled, then sighed. “Yeah, a little bit. There’s just a lot of them—we all end up completely sleep deprived by the end.” He took the bags Stiles held out. “But it is fun. You guys should stop by. The festivities start on the twentieth.”

“You make it sound like a carnival,” Stiles laughed as he walked him to the counter.

“More like a circus,” he muttered. “But I swear it’s fun, and there’s enough food to feed at least three armies.”

“Won’t your family mind if we crash a family gathering?”

“No, I’m pretty sure my mom invites Claudia every year, only she always had plans.”

“Yeah, we usually do year end rituals and stuff, but I can probably, uh, stop by. If you wanted.” He studiously avoided the way John was looking at him while he rang up Derek’s purchases.

Derek beamed at him. “That’d be great.”

Stiles smiled. In his pocket, the amulet grew warm, then hot. His hand jumped to it, closing around the wire, and his eyes widened. “Should—should I bring…anything?”

“Just yourself. Maybe some earplugs. Aunt Nettie’s sister-in-law just had triplets.” Derek grinned at John. “Sheriff, you and Mrs. Stilinski are more than welcome, too. My mom will probably be calling sometime tomorrow or the next day to invite you herself.”

John smiled. “Maybe we’ll stop by this year.” His gaze inched over to Stiles and his smile stretched into a grin. “Just to make sure Stiles stays out of trouble.”

“Very funny,” Stiles muttered. “I’m an angel.”

“Lying is a sin, angel.”

Stiles, unable to flip him off, stuck his tongue out, and got a pitying look in response. He remembered Derek a second later and flushed, whipping around so his back was to John. “Uh, uh—let me know how—if the weird dreams come back,” he stammered. “We can try something else.” He cast around for something else to say as they inched away from the counter and noticed Derek’s bag. “Your uncle isn’t…trying to see the future, is he?”

“No idea.” Derek peered into the bag. “Why, is that what this stuff is for?”

Stiles tilted his hand side to side. “They can be used for a few different things, but yeah, divination and visions are some of the more popular things.” He shook his head. “Not that it matters, it’s not a big deal. Plenty of people use herbs for prophetic visions,” he assured him. “Us, we prefer crystals if we’re trying to see something.”

“Do you look into the future often?”

Stiles shook his head and met Derek’s gaze. “I prefer to be surprised. The future can change, so what’s the point in worrying about one vision you saw once, by chance, that might not even happen?”

Derek’s lips quirked. “Speaking from experience?”

He glanced back at his dad automatically; Claudia had joined him at the counter, their heads tipped together as they spoke. “Yeah, I peeked and I didn’t…” He shook his head again. “Doesn’t matter, it’s already changed.” He smiled at Derek.

“What kind of magic do you use, if you don’t try to see the future?”

He lifted his shoulders. “All kinds, I guess.”

“What are you good at?”

He laughed. “You want me to brag about my skills?” He waggled his fingers.

“Yeah.”

Stiles laughed again, he couldn’t help it. “Well, I’m pretty good with water-based magic, and my telekinetic prowess is, if I do say so myself, pretty awesome.”

“You’ll have to give me a demonstration sometime.”

Stiles nodded and lifted his hand, palm up. Water formed on his fingers and slid down, gathering into a ball. He flexed his fingers. It froze solid.

“Okay, that was impressive.”

“A Stilinski, flirting by showing off, why am I not surprised.” Mavis’s voice made Stiles jump, the ice ball flying out of his grasp. “How utterly predictable.”

Derek snatched the ball before it could hit the ground and shatter.

“Mischief, you are just like your mother, I swear. You can do better than that to impress the man. Claudia,” she called in her croaking voice, “did you see what Mischief was doing?” She shuffled away from them.

Stiles covered his eyes. “Good gods.”

Derek mouthed, “Mischief?” but dropped it when Stiles shook his head. “Well, I thought it was impressive.” He held out the ice.

Stiles closed his hands over it. “There’s no reason to do big spells indoors, Mavis.”

“Balls of ice aren’t impressive, Mischief.”

He rolled his eyes at Derek. “I’ll see you later, I have to go chase an old lady with a broom.”

He laughed. “Good luck.”

Stiles finished the amulet on his break, holding his hand over it and binding the ingredients together, all the pieces, the copper, the flint, the quartz, the dolomite and amethyst, with his magic. He found a black chain he thought went well with the copper triskelion and attached it, then stared at the completed piece. It’d come to him for a reason, amulets usually did, but he just couldn’t figure out who it was meant for.

Claudia put the Hales talismans in the last potion while he was still staring at it. “Looks good. What made you use a triskelion?”

“I’m not sure, it just…came to me.” He shrugged. While Claudia had always had an instinct for talismans, Stiles had the same instinct for amulets, the shapes and materials often coming to him and hovering in his mind, behind his eyes, like he’d stared at a light too long. She’d found him making them enough throughout his life to know he hadn’t made it for himself.

“Have you figured out who it’s for?”

Her tone made him look up, eyes narrowed. “No…why?”

She poked at the talismans, then covered them again. “Well, the triskelion is the Hale pack’s symbol. They use it to identify their pack.”

Stiles looked at the amulet. “Huh.”

“Maybe you made it for Derek,” she teased.

“Mother, are you implying something?”

“Just that he keeps coming here…daily…and that he invited you to his family gathering.” She shrugged. She had an ivy leaf caught in her hair from that morning.

“He’s just being friendly.”

She snorted. “Laura, maybe, Nettie absolutely, but from what I’ve noticed, friendly is an optional trait in the Hales and they don’t bother unless they think you’re worth it.” She held her hands up. “Could be he just likes you as a friend, that’s true.” Her eyes gleamed. “But I say you take that amulet over on the twentieth and see if he says no when you ask him out.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“If he turns you down, I will admit I was wrong, somehow.”

“Not good enough.”

She tapped her fingers on the table. “If I’m wrong, what would you like?”

“Grandpa’s book of charms.”

“Oh, Stiles.” She shook her head. “They’re messy.”

“Blood?”

She held her fingers a half inch apart. “But it’s more in the mud and clay and wet ashes way. Trust me. Messy.”

“I want them.”

She put her hands up. “Fine, since I’m sure I’m right, if Derek shoots you down, I will dig out your grandfather’s book of charms. Only if I’m wrong. If he accepts, you do Laura Hale’s interview. She wants to work here,” she added with a smile.

“That’s absolutely not on the same level.”

“Those are my conditions.”

“Ugh, fine. Are you and Dad going?”

She smoothed the wrinkles out of her black and pink dress, smiling serenely at him. “We have to be there, dear, it’s only polite.” She turned on her heel, ponytail swishing as she left.

“You’ve got ivy in your hair!” he shouted after her. He looked down at the amulet. “Damn it.” He needed to find a box for it now.

The twentieth arrived before Stiles was fully prepared. They’d been busy with people coming for ritual kits, herbs, potions, and gifts, enough that they could consider their first two weeks of being open a resounding success. Stiles found a decorative cherry wood box with a small raven carved into the side to put the amulet in, on a bed of gardenia and lavender, and dressed casually for the party.

Cora at Mocha Latte Memories turned out to be another Hale that Stiles hadn’t met and had told him to just show up whenever. “The dress code?” she’d repeated blankly when he’d asked. “Uh…casual. We’re a mess, don’t worry about it. Some of the littler kids probably won’t even be dressed.” She’d shrugged. “Shifters, you know.”

So Stiles wasn’t sure what to expect as he headed to the Hale property. It used to be just one house, but they’d added two more to accommodate their growing pack. Stiles hadn’t seen it in a while—not since he was a teenager, wandering the preserve at night with Scott and Heather, being stupid—so the sight of about twenty extra cars and a camper clogging the long driveway and part of the yard, plus about six people on the wrap around porch just chatting, was something of a surprise.

Stiles parked behind a blue SUV and turned the jeep off deliberately slow. He stared at the little box on his passenger seat and sighed.

John and Claudia had come over earlier, just after noon, but Stiles had managed to procrastinate so long that he now had to arrive alone. Maybe he could just sit here until he spotted Derek and act like he’d just arrived.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

‘Coming in at any point, son?’

Stiles scowled. He figured blocking her wouldn’t work, so he just shoved it back in his pocket, swiped the box, and got out. He had to weave through several cars to get to the yard, where he could see a flattened path from everyone walking the same route.

Behind him, someone shouted, “Quit it!”

He turned.

Fifteen feet away, Derek got tackled by a tall, skinny werewolf with short dark hair.

Stiles tensed, but it wasn’t until another werewolf, shorter, partially shifted and snarling through long fangs, joined in that he started running. “Hey!”

Derek snarled and rolled, but the shifted werewolf bit his ear, making him yelp, while the other sat on his legs to pin him down.

“Hey!” Stiles shouted again. He stopped before any of those flailing claws or fangs could hit him and studied the ball of werewolves.

Someone up on the porch noticed them and snickered.

Stiles flinched when blood spattered the grass, a yelp coming from the bottom of the pile. He rolled his eyes and put his free hand out, then swept it aside.

The taller werewolf tumbled aside, landing on his butt a couple feet away.

Stiles caught the other one and flicked him away, too, leaving Derek disheveled and a little bloody. Stiles turned to the two that’d tackled him and shook his head. “Two on one is shameful,” he scolded. He could see now that they were teenagers; their partial shifts had made them look older, but as the fangs and tufted ears melted away, they looked young.

The taller one looked petulant while the other simply looked mortified.

“He drank our hot chocolate!” the tall one snapped.

“Uh—what?”

Derek sat up. “You can’t prove that.” Blood trailed down his cheek, but the cut had, thankfully, already healed.

“It’s always you,” the embarrassed one piped up. “Uncle Peter says you keep stealing his coffee, too.”

Derek’s ears went red. “He’s exaggerating.” He looked up at Stiles sheepishly. “I always refill the cups after. I’m just useless in the morning.”

“You’re always useless.”

“Markus,” a man on the porch snapped.

He rolled his eyes. “Sorry.” He looked at Stiles. “How’d you do that?”

“He’s a witch, dummy.”

“Todd,” the man scolded.

Todd held his hands up. “But he is.” He squinted at Stiles. “Right?”

“Right.”

Todd smirked at Marcus.

Stiles held his hand out to help Derek up. “Brawling with teenagers?”

“They hit me first.” He smiled. “I thought you’d decided not to come when your parents showed up without you.”

Stiles shook his head. “Just running behind.”

Derek nodded, fighting a huge yawn that nearly wrenched his jaw apart.

He lifted his brows. “Dreams again?”

He nodded. “They came back a couple days ago.” He looked toward the house, ears going red. “You were in them this time, even though they still don’t make sense.”

Todd rolled his eyes and pulled Markus to his feet. “Stop stealing everyone’s drinks!”

“I thought it was Peter’s coffee,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to steal your hot chocolate.”

Markus rolled his eyes. “Make your own coffee, jeeze, Uncle Peter’s right. You are nose blind.”

“I am not!”

Stiles prodded Derek’s shoulder. “Excuse me, did you just say you’ve been drinking your uncle’s coffee?”

Todd nodded, aggrieved. “Derek steals everyone’s drinks, every year.”

He looked guilty. “Only when it’s really early, and I always refill the mug, brats.” That last bit was directed at his cousins, who were clearly unconvinced.

“You do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“You can sleep in Cora’s room tonight,” Derek hissed.

Stiles shared an exasperated look with Todd, though he was sure Todd was more bothered by the hot chocolate theft than he was. He had a bigger problem. “Derek.”

“Yeah.”

He tried to think of a nice way to phrase it, but… “Are you, possibly, nose blind?”

Todd and Markus cackled.

Derek looked insulted. “No!”

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Uncle Peter is the uncle who’s been sending you to get potion ingredients from my shop, right?”

“Yea—ah, fuck.”

Markus’s mouth opened in a wide, wide grin. “I’m telling Aunt Talia.”

Todd’s hand shot out, catching his shirt. “Derek can buy our silence.”

Markus’s eyes went even brighter, delighted.

He glared at them. “What do you want?”

“Take us to the potion place.”

“Excuse me?”

“We never get to go to witch stores, we want to buy magic potions.” The boys looked excited by the mere idea, breathless at the power that was just in their reach.

Stiles leaned around Derek. “If you go find Miss Claudia in the house, she’ll tell you all about magic potions. That way when Derek takes you, you know which one to pick.”

They looked at each other, smirking, then ran for the house.

He straightened up. “That lecture should keep them busy for at least twenty minutes.” He swung back around to Derek. “You’ve been drinking coffee laced with potions.”

“Apparently.”

“Potions for prophetic dreams.”

“Yep.”

“Then refilling the cup before anyone noticed the coffee was gone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Which means your uncle has been drinking regular coffee thinking it was laced with potions, and probably getting annoyed that it’s not working—stop laughing!” But Stiles was laughing, too. “This is serious, you could’ve poisoned yourself.”

He shook his head as he wheezed. “Peter’s been so pissed lately, and it turns out it’s because his experiments aren’t working—because I’ve been drinking them.” He shook his head, overcome.

“Didn’t he—no, you said he didn’t tell you guys what it was for.” Stiles rolled his eyes. The cold was starting to seep under his jacket finally, chilling him.

“No, he didn’t. Serves him right for not telling us what he was making us run errands for.”

Stiles lifted a brow at him.

“Hey, I got my payback by losing sleep.”

“Somehow that doesn’t seem to compare.” Stiles looked at the box in his hand and sighed. “When was the last time you drank his coffee?”

“Yesterday morning,” he admitted sheepishly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and shuffling his feet. They were barely an arms’ length apart, over the muddy disturbed grass where he’d been wrestling with his cousins. He scratched drying blood off his temple.

“You’ve probably got another couple nights before the dreams wear off.”

He nodded. “Hey, I’m—I’m glad you came over.” He smiled shyly.

Stiles smiled back. “Me too. Now I know why none of my usual tricks worked for your weird dreams.” He tapped his finger on the box. “You don’t remember any of them?”

“Nothing that makes sense.” He shrugged.

Too bad. He shook it off and held the box out. “I brought this for you.”

“Thank you.” He took it carefully, tilting it so he could see the carving on the side. He traced it gently with one fingertip. “You guys are fond of ravens, I guess.”

“They’re a thing with my mom’s family. And they’re good friends.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to wait ’til sundown to open it, you know.”

Derek made a show of examining every inch of the box before he pried it open. His lashes fluttered. “You made this.” Not a question, no surprise. A fact.

“How’d you guess?”

He lifted his gaze. “I can feel it. You weren’t kidding about your magic being powerful. Can I wear it now?”

“Of course, I made it for you to wear.” Stiles had to look away, his neck prickling. He normally didn’t make a big deal of his amulets and the receivers of them typically followed his lead. He didn’t know what to do with such gravity. When he looked up, Derek was wearing the amulet around his neck, the triskelion resting just beneath his collar bones.

“How’s it look?”

Stiles nodded. “Pretty good,” he squeaked. He looked over his shoulder, but everyone who’d been on the porch was gone. He took a deep breath. “Well, now that I’ve given you fancy jewelry…”

“A protective amulet,” Derek corrected, cupping his hand over it as if he was shielding it.

“Right. I was—I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out on a date. Maybe get coffee from somewhere your sister doesn’t work.” He caught his breath and reminded himself that either way this went, he would get something he wanted.

He just, maybe, wanted to date Derek more than he wanted that book of charms.

Derek smiled. “Sure, that sounds great.” He lifted his gaze and winced. “But, uh, first we have to survive this.” He pointed.

Claudia and Talia were watching from the door, both grinning, while noses pressed against nearly every window around them.

“We could make a run for it,” Stiles said out of the corner of his mouth. “I think I can hold the door closed from here and we can make it to the jeep.”

“You can’t run from every problem.”

“I am fast enough to out run most of them,” he pointed out.

Derek caught his hand, twined their fingers together, and tugged him up toward the house. “There’s not that many of them in this house—most of them are out in the backyard.”

“Your mom is in there,” he whined.

Claudia winked.

“My mom is in there,” he added under his breath.

They laughed together and moved out of the doorway, linking arms and heading toward the kitchen, by the looks of it.

Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand. “Because you didn’t shoot me down, I have to give your sister a job interview.”

“If you can survive this, interviewing Laura will be nothing.” Derek kissed the back of his hand, making him flush all over, before he went into the house.

“Derek!” a man growled, followed by a yelp and a thud.

Stiles shook his head and went inside to save him from Peter’s wrath.

#vyxynheartssterek #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

24 notes · View notes

twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

Text

Written In The Stars CIV (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Not to toot my own horn but this fic really is one of the best things I’ve ever written -Danny

Words: 3,498

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Enemies’ -by Lauv

Chapter Two: Expected Mishaps.

"You may think he doesn't like you, but he's got a knack for interrupting your flirting with others," Fred smirked.

"Shut up," Mel groaned.

It was chaos in the kitchen. A bunch of people trying to discover why and how Harry had seen himself in the position of having to use unauthorized magic. Mel chuckled bitterly as she entered the living room.

"This is why I don't worry, I've been acquainted with my uncle's ways for far too long to even bother– Harry was being watched, wasn't he?"

Hermione gave her an irritated look.

"You're talking about your best friend!"

"He's alive, isn't he?" She sat on a chair lazily. "Explains my headache..."

"Your headache?" Ginny asked.

"The point is," Mel brushed it off, "Dumbledore will find a way to fix it."

"They'll give him a hearing on August twelfth, he won't be expelled just yet!" Her mother's head peered from the doorway before disappearing again.

"See?" The girl smiled sarcastically. "Harry Potter and his bloody luck..."

'I've just been attacked by dementors and I might be expelled from Hogwarts. I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here.'

She'd been glaring at the piece of parchment for days. The nerve! No letters whatsoever to ask about how was she doing and the first time he writes is to demand things! As if they knew more than him...

The moment she'd gotten the letter she locked herself in her room and refused to think about it. Everyone downstairs couldn't stop talking about Harry and she just wanted a nap.

Her mother walked in with a very grim expression, holding a cup of tea.

"You missed dinner."

"M'sorry," Mel said hoarsely, rubbing her eyes. "My head was hurting..."

"Was it Harry?"

"I guess," She sulked. "This connection is a pain..."

"You must be dead worried–"

"I never said that," Mel replied promptly. "It annoys me, that's all."

"I know it hurts when things don't happen the way we want to, but I hope you know better than to treat someone poorly because of it, especially when they're not to blame."

Mel let out a short and dry chuckle. If only her mother knew...

Harry wasn't to blame on his trauma, that much was true, but when it came to the way things ended between them, that was a different story. If he'd handled things differently they'd be together. Mel would be waiting for him, he would have someone to come home to.

He messed up and yet he still had twenty people running around doing everything in their power to help him, she was allowed to be a bit shitty.

"I know," Mel replied, but it sounded condescending. "Is he coming tonight?"

"Yes. He's coming guarded."

"Because he's bloody Harry Potter..."

"Language," Her mother warned her, standing up and taking the empty teacup with her.

Ginny came in and sat down next to her, an anxious look on her face.

"What?" Mel grinned. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

Ginny inched closer.

"I promise I won't ask again, you'll have me off your back..."

"What's going on?"

"Are you avoiding him because of me?"

She didn't need to explain herself. For almost a year Ginny and Mel had kept their mouths shut about their feelings for a certain dark-haired boy in order to keep a good friendship, but tonight the wall was falling apart. They had to be clear in order to move forward.

"Not at all!" She smiled tensely. "I'm so sorry if you thought I was, I didn't mean to worry you."

"Oh!" The girl turned scarlet. "I was starting to feel guilty, especially now that..."

She stopped and sent a furtive look to the door, Mel cocked her head to the side and smirked.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm dating someone."

Mel let out a short gasp.

"Who?!"

"A Ravenclaw from your year," Ginny responded happily. "I met him during the ball, his name is Michael..."

"I know him!" She exclaimed. "Quiet boy, kinda looks like he's falling asleep all the time?"

"Yes," Ginny laughed. "He's really nice, though..."

"I'm happy for you!"

The girl beamed at her, but her eyes grew shy as she continued.

"Why did you stop talking to Harry, then?"

It'd be easier for everyone if she just started lying. Ginny knew her enough to know she wasn't being entirely honest, but Mel was determined to work on it until it was true. She wasn't going to feed a stupid illusion, by the end of the year, Harry Potter would have no place in her heart.

He was going to have a place in her life though, he proved as much three seconds later, when his voice echoed from the second floor:

"SO YOU HAVEN'T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU'VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN'T YOU? YOU'VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I'VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS' FOR A MONTH! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT — WHO SAVED THE SORCERER'S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?"

Ginny and Mel shared a look.

"Sounds delighted to be here," Mel said sarcastically.

"Should we go check on him?"

The older girl changed her posture awkwardly.

"Dunno Ginny, things kinda went sideways last time we spoke..."

"It's Harry! He can't be mad at you!"

"I'm mad at him," She corrected.

"Don't be a baby," Ginny stood up. "He'll be happy to see you..."

They continued to hear his yelling as they went downstairs.

"WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME! BUT WHY SHOULD I KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING?"

"He's out of control," Mel rolled her eyes, starting to feel a bit annoyed. "I'm sure everyone's listening downstairs, I'd be embarrassed if I were him..."

"CAN'T'VE WANTED TO THAT MUCH, CAN YOU, OR YOU'D HAVE SENT ME AN OWL, BUT DUMBLEDORE MADE YOU SWEAR — FOUR WEEKS I'VE BEEN STUCK IN PRIVET DRIVE, NICKING PAPERS OUT OF BINS TO TRY AND FIND OUT WHAT'S BEEN GOING ON — I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP HERE TOGETHER —"

"...What kind of idiots does he think we are?"

"He's stressed, I mean, he's been alone hasn't he?"

"Four weeks!" Mel exclaimed. "Barely a month! Sirius spent a whole year hiding just to be sure that twat was okay!"

A loud cracking noise came from Ron's room followed by Hermione's scream, Mel chuckled.

"Your brothers have arrived at the crime scene..."

"At least that way Harry won't be able to snap at us," Ginny smiled.

When they reached the door, she hesitated. Mel stood behind her, her smile vanished completely and her palms were awfully sweaty.

"Whatever the fight was about..." Ginny said. "I'm sure you'll make things right."

"Yeah..." Mel said weakly. She really, really wished she could've avoided Harry for a few more hours. "Let's just..." She gestured vaguely to the door, which Ginny opened.

"Oh hello, Harry!" She heard her say. "I thought I heard your voice." She walked in, Mel following with a quiet groan. "It's no go with the Extendable Ears, she's gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door."

"How d'you know?" asked George.

"Tonks told me how to find out– You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."

"Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."

"Snape? Is he here?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," George walked past, giving Mel a funny look before carefully closing the door. He sat down and Fred and Ginny followed. "Giving a report. Top secret."

"Git," said Fred.

"He's on our side now," Hermione reminded them.

"Doesn't stop him from being a git," Ron replied. "The way he looks at us when he sees us..."

"Bill doesn't like him either," said Ginny matter-of-factly.

Harry was skinnier than ever, he had dark circles under his eyes and his hair was even more unkempt than before. But what really hit her, what made her realize how long they'd been apart, was the fact that he'd finally surpass her in height by at least six inches.

"You've grown," She stated, a mix of sadness and outrage.

"I know," Harry replied. His voice was no longer angry, and his eyes had softened at the sight of the girl.

"Good."

Mel tried not to think about the way he was looking at her. Was she supposed to hug him? To ramble about how happy she was? She didn't even know if she was happy...

The group was looking back and forth with increasing interest.

"Well," She cleared her throat. "Welcome..."

"How's Emily?" Harry stepped further.

"Fine. So is Sirius and Buck–"

"How're you?" He looked positively anxious now, eager to get closer.

For some reason, that irritated her.

"I'm having nightmares and headaches, thank you very much... You would know if you had written to me."

Harry's face fell.

"You didn't write to me either!"

"So?" She responded.

Harry looked like he wanted to reply, but Fred moved and that caught his attention, he remembered they weren't alone.

"So... Bill's here?" He asked, clearing his throat and looking away from her. "I thought he was working in Egypt."

"He applied for a desk job so he could come home and work for the Order. He says he misses the tombs, but," Fred smirked, "there are compensations..."

"What d'you mean?"

"Remember old Fleur Delacour?" said George. "She's got a job at Gringotts to eemprove 'er Eeenglish —"

"— and Bill's been giving her a lot of private lessons," Fred grinned.

"Charlie's in the Order too," said George, "but he's still in Romania, Dumbledore wants as many foreign wizards brought in as possible, so Charlie's trying to make contacts on his days off."

"Couldn't Percy do that?" Harry asked.

Mel sat down, feeling ten times heavier than an hour ago. She let Hermione silently rub her back as a way of comfort.

"Whatever you do, don't mention Percy in front of Mum and Dad," Ron said quickly.

"Why not?"

"Because every time Percy's name's mentioned, Dad breaks whatever he's holding and Mum starts crying," Fred said.

"It's been awful," said Ginny.

"I think we're well shut of him," said George darkly.

"What's happened?"

"Percy and Dad had a row. I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that. It's normally Mum who shouts..."

"It was the first week back after term ended," said Ron. "We were about to come and join the Order. Percy came home and told us he'd been promoted."

"You're kidding?" said Harry.

"Yeah, we were all surprised, because Percy got into a load of trouble about Crouch, there was an inquiry and everything. They said Percy ought to have realized Crouch was off his rocker and informed a superior. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't going to complain..."

"So how come they promoted him?"

"That's exactly what we wondered. He came home really pleased with himself — even more pleased than usual if you can imagine that — and told Dad he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts — Junior Assistant to the Minister. He expected Dad to be all impressed, I think."

"Only Dad wasn't," said Fred.

"Why not?" said Harry.

"Well, apparently Fudge has been storming 'round the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore," said George.

"Dumbledore's name's mud with the Ministry these days, see," said Fred. "They all think he's just making trouble saying You-Know-Who's back."

"Brilliant," Mel said bitterly. "More people thinking we're mental..."

"Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's in league with Dumbledore can clear out their desks," said George.

"Trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad, he knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession —"

"But what's this got to do with Percy?" asked Harry, confused.

"I'm coming to that. Dad reckons Fudge only wants Percy in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family — and Dumbledore."

"Bet Percy loved that." Said Harry.

"He went completely berserk. He said — well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been — you know — not had a lot of money, I mean —"

"What?" Harry spat.

"I know... And it got worse. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he — Percy — knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family anymore. And he packed his bags the same night and left. He's living here in London now."

"Bastard..." Harry swore quietly. She would've laughed at his outburst hadn't been because she was upset about Percy too.

"Not that he deserves being in your family right now," Mel grumbled. "That idiot..."

"Always thought you were his fan, Lady..." Fred teased.

"If he's stupid enough to stand behind Fudge, then I clearly had the wrong impression."

"Mum's been in a right state," Ron continued. "You know — crying and stuff. She came up to London to try and talk to Percy but he slammed the door in her face. I dunno what he does if he meets Dad at work — ignores him, I s'pose."

"But Percy must know Voldemort's back– He's not stupid, he must know your mum and dad wouldn't risk everything without proof —"

"Yeah, well, your name got dragged into the row. Percy said the only evidence was your word and... I dunno... he didn't think it was good enough."

"Percy takes the Daily Prophet seriously," said Hermione.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"Haven't — haven't you been getting the Daily Prophet?"

"Yeah, I have!" said Harry.

"Have you — er — been reading it thoroughly?"

"Not cover to cover. If they were going to report anything about Voldemort it would be headline news, wouldn't it!"

"I haven't read it at all," Mel didn't want anything to do with the world for as long as she could, that included the newspaper. The rest would discuss it during breakfast, but her brain would sort of tune out whenever that happened.

"Well, you'd need to read it cover to cover to pick it up, but they — um — they mention you a couple of times a week."

"But I'd have seen —"

"Not if you've only been reading the front page, you wouldn't. I'm not talking about big articles. They just slip you in, like you're a standing joke."

"What d'you — ?"

"It's quite nasty, actually," said Hermione, Mel could feel her tensing. "They're just building on Rita's stuff."

"But she's not writing for them anymore, is she?"

"Oh no, she's kept her promise — not that she's got any choice, but she laid the foundation for what they're trying to do now."

"Which is what?"

"Okay, you know she wrote that you were collapsing all over the place and saying your scar was hurting and all that? And that Mel was a dangerous loony that would do anything to keep you happy?"

"Yeah?"

"Clear as day," Mel grumbled.

"Well, they're writing about you as though you're both deluded, attention-seeking people, they say Harry thinks he's a great tragic hero or something. They keep slipping in snide comments about you. If some far-fetched story appears they say something like 'a tale worthy of Harry Potter' and if anyone has a funny accident or anything it's 'let's hope he hasn't got a scar on his forehead or we'll be asked to worship him next —'"

"I don't want anyone to worship —"

"I know you don't," said Hermione. "I know, Harry. But you see what they're doing? They want to turn you into someone nobody will believe. Fudge is behind it, I'll bet anything. They want wizards on the street to think you're just some stupid boy who's a bit of a joke, who tells ridiculous tall stories because he loves being famous and wants to keep it going."

"And they want me to look like a blind follower?" Mel asked. "A desperate, mental girl?"

"I didn't ask — I didn't want — Voldemort killed my parents!" Harry continued heatedly. "I got famous because he murdered my family but couldn't kill me! Who wants to be famous for that? Don't they think I'd rather it'd never —"

"We know, Harry," said Ginny.

"And of course, they didn't report a word about the dementors attacking you. Someone's told them to keep that quiet. That should've been a really big story, out-of-control dementors. They haven't even reported that you broke the International Statute of Secrecy — we thought they would, it would tie in so well with this image of you as some stupid show-off — we think they're biding their time until you're expelled, then they're really going to go to town — I mean, if you're expelled, obviously, you really shouldn't be, not if they abide by their own laws, there's no case against you."

The sound of steps came from outside the door. Fred grabbed his Extendable Ear and both twins vanished. Mrs Weasley appeared.

"The meeting's over, you can come down and have dinner now, everyone's dying to see you, Harry. And who's left all those Dungbombs outside the kitchen door?"

"Crookshanks. He loves playing with them," Ginny said.

"Oh... I thought it might have been Kreacher, he keeps doing odd things like that. Now don't forget to keep your voices down in the hall. Ginny, your hands are filthy, what have you been doing? Go and wash them before dinner, please..."

When the four of them were left alone, Mel had a hard time avoiding Harry's gaze.

"Look..." He started, but Hermione quickly interrupted.

"We knew you'd be angry, Harry, we really don't blame you, but you've got to understand, we did try and persuade Dumbledore —"

"Yeah, I know... Who's Kreacher?" he asked.

"The house-elf who lives here. Nutter— er," Ron looked at Mel with a bit of fear. "I mean, never met one like him."

"He's not a nutter, Ron —" Hermione started.

"His life's ambition is to have his head cut off and stuck up on a plaque just like his mother... Is that normal, Hermione?"

"Well — well, if he is a bit strange, it's not his fault —"

"I found him on the cupboard during my first morning here, he followed me for days thinking I was going to steal the cluttery–!"

"He's just doing his job!"

"Hermione still hasn't given up on spew —"

"It's not 'spew'! It's the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, and it's not just me, Dumbledore says we should be kind to Kreacher too —"

"Yeah, yeah– C'mon, I'm starving."

Ron and Hermione walked out first, a hand caught her wrist and dragged her back inside. Mel growled loudly, snatching her hand away.

"I'm not a ragdoll, you know?" She snapped.

Harry stepped back, raising his hands in surrender but looking rather decided.

"I want to talk to you."

"I'm glad you're okay but there's nothing to talk about."

"I didn't want you to react like this, I didn't want to hurt you–"

"I don't believe you," Mel replied bluntly, starting to leave. "After all we went through and you had the nerve to tell me you didn't want me close! You told me you didn't like me! Fair enough, for the first time in our lives I think I'll listen and leave you alone."

"You know it was the right thing to do, you're safer this way!" Harry rubbed his neck. "Look, I don't want you to be angry at me– I... I've missed you."

She stopped at the door, looking over her shoulder one last time.

"That's not my fault, is it?" Mel asked coldly. "Oh! And you did a splendid job with the dementors, by the way..."

'Just another thing you no longer need me for...' She thought, conscious of how all of her happy memories had to do with him.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

19 notes · View notes

misteria247 · 3 years

Text

Forgotten

Chapter Four

April stood on the sidewalk, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for Casey to arrive at her apartment. From the moment she'd called him last night, the two had began to plan. Since they didn't know if what the driver saw was actually who they hoped it was, the duo had decided to keep the information to themselves. The last thing they wanted was to get the others hopes up only for it to be a bust. Which led to their current plan. Search the gas station and the surrounding areas. See if they find anything and go from there. Not really the brightest idea the two had come up with but it was better than nothing. April sighed and pulled out her cellphone to scroll through her social media while she waited.

The sounds of the early birds echoed throughout the usual busy streets as April scrolled, enjoying the somewhat peace and quiet that was rare for New York. Then again it was rather early for anyone other than workers or animals to be awake. April had insisted that she and Casey left early in the morning when she'd called him, wanting to use as much time as she could to search thoroughly for any sign of Leonardo. Surprisingly Casey agreed with her, the young man itching just as much as she was to get the search started.

'Hopefully we'll find something....'

April thought, trying not to let the feeling of doubt overwhelm her. She wanted to be somewhat positive with this and hold on to hope that she and Casey would find something. Even though it seemed unlikely. After four years of nothing but grief and mourning only for something like this to happen out of the blue. It was suspicious if she thought about it logically.

'It could be a trap, after all The Shredder is still out there running at large.'

Her mind supplied. The woman couldn't help but feel a hot shot of anger consume her as she thought about the Foot Clan's master. The Shredder, the most dangerous enemy she and the boys have ever faced. He was cunning and ruthless and downright monstrous when given the chance to be. He lived for the suffering of others, especially the Hamato family. The Shredder who had caused so much damage and suffering to many innocents in New York City. April was so caught up in her angry thoughts that she didn't notice the large van pulling up in front of her until the sound of a beeping horn startled her half to death. April jumped tripping backwards onto the sidewalk as she let out a startled shriek. Her startled state turned into annoyance as the sound of familiar laughter filled the air.

"Oh God! You....! You should've seen.....! Your face....!"

Casey said in between bouts of laughter. April felt her face break out into a bright red blush from embarrassment and anger as Casey wheezed in his van.

"Casey Jones!"

April seethed standing up with a glare. Eyes narrowed she nearly tore the passenger door open and hopped into the van, fuming while Casey tried to calm down.

"Sorry....Ape. Here a peace offering."

Casey said with another shutter of laughter as he handed her a hot cup of fresh coffee. April glared at it for a beat before taking it with a grumble while Casey smirked in amusement. Once April was buckled into her seat Casey took off towards the city limits, his dark eyes focused on the road. The duo was quiet as he drove through the streets, watching the sun start to rise over the tall skyscrapers. The silence didn't last too long as Casey finally decided to break it.

"Do you really think it could be him April?"

Casey asked his voice serious and quiet, no longer filled with his earlier amusement and laughter. April stiffened a bit before letting out a sigh.

"I....I don't know Casey. But I have to go and look. If I don't I'll never forgive myself."

April replied softly her voice wavering slightly. Casey gave his companion a slightly concerned look. He knew how much this effected her, how much it effected the Hamato family. He just like her had been grieving for the loss that they'd experienced. When he'd received the phone call last night he'd been shocked to say the least. The news that Leo could still be out there.....that he could still be alive had shaken him more than he'd care to admit.

"If he's out there Ape, we'll find him and bring him home."

Casey said giving her a determined side glance. April looked at him before a small dull smile came onto her face.

"Yeah....we will."

She said softly before turning to stare out the window. The two didn't talk anymore after that, both lost in their thoughts. They knew that this was a shot in the dark, that they'd most likely come home empty handed and devastated but they wouldn't give up on that small sliver of hope. Not now, not after four years of nothing. They had to hope or else they'd completely break.

~~~~~

The drive out of the city felt like an eternity before they'd finally made it to the gas station. Casey drove the van into the old gas station's parking lot, the tiny building looking old but still working. Finding a place off to the side to park Casey parked the van and turned it off. The duo exchanged a quick look before they unbuckled and got out of their vehicle. April blinked as the sun hit her face, the early morning rays painting the somewhat small woodland area and gas station in shades of pink and white. April had to take a breather as she started to process that this was happening. She and Casey were really doing this thing.

"So where should we search first?"

Casey asked opening up the back of his van and reaching for his duffel bag. April spotted the familiar baseball bat sticking out of the one side as Casey slung the bag over his shoulder.

"We'll go inside the station first and find a map of the surrounding areas so we can keep track of which places we've looked. Once we've got our map we'll start with the wooden area behind the station here. If whatever that driver saw was near the gas station then it probably couldn't have gone too far."

April stated adjusting her jacket a bit. Casey nodded and shut the van doors.

"Alrighty then. Lead the way red."

He said with a small smirk. April shot him an unamused look before walking towards the station to get a map. Inside the building was small, much like a small home owned store. The old sounds of an air conditioner could be heard as April and Casey made their way inside to search for the map section. Looking through the racks April skimmed through them before finally finding what she was looking for. Grabbing one she made her way to the checkout. Shortly after Casey joined her with a few snack foods, granola bars and several bottles of water. The cashier looked at them before scanning their items and asking for the payment. One payment later and the duo were again back outside and made their way into the woodland area near the station and began their search.

~~~~~

Nothing.

They'd found nothing.

Other than the normal things and trash that littered the woods from time to time, April and Casey had found nothing. No footprints, nothing out of place, no broken branches or any other signs of recent interference other than old garbage. It was soul crushing to say the least. Casey stood a few feet behind April as he watched her search in an almost desperate way. It broke his heart seeing the usually strong woman look so broken down.

"April....I think we should call it quits......"

Casey said in a somewhat hesitant manner. April stopped in her searching at his words, her posture going rigid.

"But....but Casey...."

April started to say, turning her head towards him. Casey couldn't help but flinch as he saw the broken expression on April's face. He'd known that the chances of finding anything involving Leo were slim and he knew that April knew that too.

"We knew that there was a slim chance of.....of finding him alive....."

Casey said softly his tone shaking slightly. April stared at him, looking so broken down at that moment. He couldn't help but think back four years ago, when she'd given him that same broken look when the news of Leonardo's demise was told to them.

'Maybe this was a mistake. Coming out here and chasing ghosts from the past. She's still not over it. None of us are and we probably never will be.'

He thought as he went to squat next to her. With a small movement he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into a hug. As soon as she was in his arms the damn broke for her as April began to silently cry into his shoulder.

"I.....I had hoped......damnit why....?!? Why!?!"

April choked out gripping his shirt. Casey just held her tighter.

"I know, I was hoping too April. Let's just.....let's just get home. We've done all we can."

He said soothingly. April nodded slowly before letting him go. Wiping her eyes she tried to pull herself together but it was hard. Logically she knew deep down that this was the outcome of searching for Leo but emotionally she'd dared to hope that maybe she and Casey would find him. Sniffling she let Casey help her up onto her feet and with a gentle but supportive hand he started to led her out of the area they were in. The walk back to the station was about thirty minutes to an hour depending on how long the person walking them took. The duo started their journey back, a somber silence stretching between them. The sky was growing dark and the crickets began to chirp around them, the evening surprisingly peaceful.

April should have known that it wouldn't last long.

It'd only been a good five minutes before everything went to hell in a way. She hadn't watched where she was walking too consumed by her grief when her foot went sideways causing April to stumble over. She let out a startled shriek as she fell, grabbing onto Casey and unintentionally dragging him down with her. The two went tumbling rolling on the uneven ground as they descended. In a pile of limbs they landed on the ground off of the trail, pained hisses and groans coming from them.

"You ow, alright April?"

Casey groaned out as he was elbowed in the ribs by accident.

"Shit I'm sorry Case, and I'm good just bruised....."

April mumbled out before trailing off staring straight ahead of her. Casey managed to get untangled from her and sat up rubbing his ribs before noticing that something was wrong.

"Ape? You okay? What's gotten you so...."

Casey stopped dead in his sentence as he looked in the direction that she was, his dark gaze going wide. There a good few feet or so away from them was a small shelter, just hidden from view with leaves and branches. It was new and hastily made but it was serving its purpose.

"You've got to be kidding me...."

Casey breathed stunned at what he was seeing. April didn't say a word instead stumbling back up to her feet and she scrambled towards the shelter to look at it better. Casey was right behind her, his own klutzy footsteps following. The two stared at it in a stunned silence, daring to hope once again.

Could it be.....?

April reached forward with a shaking hand and moved the leaves from the entrance way to look inside. Littered on the ground was a bag with all sorts of things in it from herbs to granola bar wrappers. All of it new and barely a day or two old. April snapped her gaze to Casey, her eyes shining so brightly it nearly blinded him.

"Casey....! I think we found him-!"

April didn't get to finish her sentence as something large came from above them and slammed them into the ground. April let out a pained yelp as she felt an arm swing out and slam into her gut. Casey's pained swear rang out as he was kicked to the ground. April forced herself to breathe as she watched Casey recover quicker than her and pull out his baseball bat swinging it as hard as he could. The thing that attacked them remained unseen, dodging out of the way. From there out a full fight broke out. Casey swung and fought the shadowy creature, while April got herself together again to try and help him.

'It's fast-!'

April thought startled as the creature kicked Casey in the chest making him stumble over. April didn't think as she grabbed a nearby branch and swung it hitting it in the back. She heard a pained hiss before it turned on her and launched itself at her. April fell the thing on top of her and pinning her down. She barely managed to make out the hint of metal in its hand as she squirmed to get free.

'Knife, its got a knife!'

She struggled to get out from under it as it raised its blade ready to run her through when Casey came up from behind and smashed the baseball bat against its back. A pained scream rang out as Casey grabbed April and yanked her up before shoving her behind him ready to attack again when they both froze. Now bathed in the fading light of the evening sun they finally saw who their attacker was. Dark green skin, a hard shell and two terrified and pained blue hues stared at them. April's heart stopped.

"L-Leo....?"

She whimpered out making the turtle stiffen. Confusion filtered his gaze before he snapped out of it and went for them again, his eyes wide and desperate. Casey didn't hesitate as he swung the bat again this time knocking him down for good with a hit to the head. Leo fell to the ground in a pained yelp before going out cold. The only sounds were of April and Casey's heavy breathing as they stared at their friend, shocked and confused. It was only a second later before the two of them broke. Casey dropped his baseball bat and began to apologize over and over again as he fell to his knees to look the unconscious teen over. April's legs gave out as the adrenaline wore off and the shock and disbelief and pain overwhelmed her. The red head didn't even stop herself from bursting into tears as she shakily grabbed Leo's head to look at him, the look he'd given her burned into her mind forever.

The fear, the pain, the lack of recognition as he attacked them in what she now understood was self defense. All of it came crashing down and broke her in a way. She was conflicted, emotions fighting within her. Relief, shock, disbelief, hurt, guilt. All of it swallowed her and she could see that Casey was feeling the same way.

They'd found Leonardo.

But at what cost?

~~~~~

All was quiet in the lair save for the lone rat that sat in the dojo alone, a small shrine in front of him. His sons had retired for the night leaving him alone with his thoughts and grief. Splinter stared at the shrine with a broken look, a picture of his eldest son and his broken katanas hanging on the wall. The old rat fought the wave of pain that threatened to consume him, silent tears running down his fur.

Four years.

It's been four years since the death of his eldest son.

Four years since he and his family struggled to overcome their grief and loss. Many would think that after four years would ease the pain for the ninja master but it didn't. It still tore him apart, it still ate away at him slowly. Losing one of his children was one of the worst things the rat could have ever experienced in all his long life. Splinter loved his sons more than anything in this world, he treasured each and every one of them. He raised them and cared for them. He taught them to defend themselves and the innocents of the city. He taught them the importance of family and everything else he'd learned in his lifetime. Yet nothing could have prepared them for this. Splinter gripped his robes, fighting off the grief as he remembered that day. How his youngest children Donatello and Michelangelo had made it back to the lair.

How they'd waited for the two others, Leonardo and Raphael to return home. How his second eldest son came home, bloody and bruised and cradling something in his arms in a protective way. He remembered how his boy, his strong son fell to his knees and sobbed as he laid the two broken swords on the ground and the sentence that had broken their entire family.

'Leo's gone. The Shredder....he....he killed him.'

At that moment something broke in Splinter and his sons. Like a string that held their family of five together had been snipped and with it his eldest son. For four years he and his sons grieved and mourned for their loss. For four years they felt nothing but rage towards The Shredder who had already taken so much from them. Splinter had noticed that over the years his sons had began to harbor hatred towards their enemy, especially Raphael. Not that he could blame them for he too deep down held some himself. Before Splinter could dig deeper into the memories the sound of a phone ringing sounded out through the lair. The old rat got up from his position, saying a small prayer to the shrine before going to answer the phone. Stepping out of the dojo and into the kitchen he grabbed the house line phone and answered it.

"Hello?"

He spoke his voice raspy and somewhat thick sounding. He cursed himself for it.

"Master Splinter? It's April."

April's voice spoke through the phone.

"Ah Mrs. O'Neil. I wasn't expecting a call from you this evening. Is there something that you need?"

Splinter asked somewhat nervous for some reason. April was quiet for a moment before she took a deep breath. Splinter felt himself stiffen up at that, his whiskers twitching in his unease. When she answered the world spiraled into chaos.

"Master Splinter. We found him, Leonardo's alive."

*Whoop we're on a roll tonight aren't we???? I honestly wasn't expecting this to become a series but I'm a self indulgent bastard so I'm sticking to the train lol. Anyways I've decided that the turtles are probably gonna be the 2012 ones with a little bit of the 2003 ones (sorry 2018 boys maybe next time). Maybe a little bit of the 1990 ones mixed in who knows. Also it seems we're finally getting somewhere with our main boys! Anyways if any y'all read this I hope you enjoyed it!!!!*

14 notes · View notes

theskyeandsea · 3 years

Text

Get Well Soon || Erin & Skylar

Timing: February 9th, 2021

Location: Skylar & Rio’s Home

Tagging: @corpse--diem & @theskyeandsea

Description: Erin offers Skylar help one last time. This time, Skylar takes it.

TW: Addiction, Drug Use mentions

Shivering, Skylar pulled her jacket tighter around her as she padded around the house. Since she’d woken up in the Cave of Voices weeks ago, she hadn’t ventured out into the town. And now that she was learning what she’d done, the thought of stepping foot outside made her stomach churn. She didn’t want to see the expressions on the faces of the people she’d hurt, she didn’t want to have to pass by Fondante’s and see the storefront in ruins, knowing that she’d done that. She didn’t want to go to cemetary and see the fresh graves that had been added because of her. Skylar’s hands shook as she leaned against the marble countertops of the kitchen, the surface cold against her skin. Everything was cold now, as though to make up for the weeks she’d spent feeling nothing at all. She just needed to… needed to put a stop to all of this. Which is why she’d asked Erin to come to her house.

Dundee poked his head around the corner, his beady eyes staring at her intently. Tapping the back of her hearing aid, Skylar winced as she felt the gap of flesh, the missing chunk of her earlobe. It, like her heavily bandaged hands, was just one of the many reminders of what she’d done. And she would carry it with her forever. As she clicked on the hearing aids, she realized that there was a knocking at the door. With a steadying breath, Skylar made her way to the front door. She paused for a moment. If she opened this door, there was no turning back. But, she had to. She had to be better, she had to get this out of her house. “Hi Erin.” Skylar said quietly as she opened the door.

Some soft classic rock song played quietly in the background, mingling with the hum of the engine as Erin sat outside of Skylar’s home. There had been no hesitation getting here--Skylar needed her and she’d dropped everything. With the reality of what she was about to do staring down at her in the form of a quaint, dark townhouse, she gave pause. There wasn’t going to be anything pleasant about this visit, much like each recent one before this. Just heavy and heartbreaking. There was a glimmer of hope with this one, buried beneath that dirt, but she wasn’t naive enough to think it wouldn’t be work to get there. It was the kind of digging she didn’t mind, and it was much preferable to the kind she thought she’d have to do for her over at Candleton. Like ripping off a bandaid, she finally pulled herself from the car, bag of supplies in tow. She had no clue what the girl would need so she brought a little bit of everything. Couldn’t hurt.

If she thought Skylar had looked rough before, this version of her--bandaged, exhausted, scarred and scabbed and sunken in--left her momentarily speechless. Any anger that had been stored in her gut dispelled immediately and she reached softly for her shoulder, concern filling her features. “Skylar,” she started, shaking her head. “What happened?”

The way that Erin stared at her, the way she seemed to almost take a step back, Skylar couldn’t help but wonder just… how bad she looked to the people around her. She knew that she didn’t look great-- her clothes didn’t fit her anymore, too loose and baggy around her frame, and the perpetual weariness she felt had left heavy bags under her eyes. “A lot.” She said, moving out of the way to let Erin inside. “I don’t know, I don’t remember exactly what happened. But,” She grimaced as she made her way through the house, the motion tugging at the still healing cut across her ribs. “It wasn’t good. I hurt a lot of people. I did some… terrible things.” Skylar mumbled. It would have been so easy to try and run away from it. To just lose herself, mind and body, to the drugs that had landed her in this situation to begin with. She could just… go on forgetting, go on drowning the painful memories away in a see of Bliss. She could easily go to her dealer, give him vial after vial of her tears in exchange for whatever he had tucked in his pockets.

But, as… easy it would be to do that-- because it would be easy, it would be so, so easy-- Skylar couldn’t. She’d hurt people, scared people, destroyed people’s businesses, killed… killed people. Curling in slightling on herself, Skylar folded her arms across her chest, as though holding herself together would keep her from falling apart. “I need to fix things. But I can’t while I still-- have things here.” She said, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I didn’t listen to you.” Skylar paused and swallowed past the lump that had formed in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry that I… did all of this.”

Erin followed Skylar into the home, sticking close but not trying to smother her despite the overwhelming desire to pull her in and squeeze her tight. God, she looked awful, though, and from whatever was going on behind those tired eyes that held more than what she could or would say. Skylar was being vague for a reason. She’d done something she couldn’t even put to words and a part of her could understand that. Her circumstances were completely different but she got that part. Nodding slowly, she set the bag on a table and took a long breath, watching Skylar closely. “Then you’ll fix it. The best that you can, anyway. That’s all you can do now,” she said with a firmness that buffered the soft concern in her voice. “You can tell me what happened now or you can tell me after we’ve gotten rid of everything. But I’m here. So we’re going to sit down and we’re going to talk, and I’m not going anywhere.” She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to let her emotions get the best of her just yet. “There’s nothing you can say that’ll scare me away or make me look at you any different. I’m doing my best here too but I can promise you that.”

Fix it. If only it was that easy. Skylar didn’t even know how to begin with trying to fix things, only that she had to. She needed to make things up to Nate, to tell Shiloh that she’d help pay for repairs with what money she had left, had to tell Rio she was so so sorry for what she’d said and done to him, talk to the man at the convenience store who’d found her. And the students, that been… that had died. She didn’t even know what she could do for them. “I don’t know how to fix some of the things I’ve done.” She said, the words coming out like a whispered confession. Glancing up at Erin, Skylar let out a shaky breath before glancing towards the door of her bedroom. She hadn’t been in there since she’d managed to stumble home, clothed only in the fur she’d draped over her shoulders. She’d been lucky it had been early, that she’d been able to stay out of sight long enough to get here. But, she’d stayed away from her room, grabbing old clothes from the laundry room instead. Because she knew what was inside. And she didn’t… she couldn’t let herself go in there alone. “I need… to get rid of everything first. I need to get rid of it before I can talk about it.” Because if I talk about it, I don’t know if I could stop myself from going back. “I can’t go in there by myself. I don’t-- please. Can you help me?”

I don’t know how to fix some of the things I’ve done. Those words struck a sharper chord in Erin than she was anticipating. Some things couldn’t be fixed or made right, she knew that all too well. “It’d be worse if you didn’t try,” she assured her. She knew that feeling intimately too. Hated that this regret and self-loathing was something Skylar had to live and deal with now--probably for the rest of her life, depending on just how terrible this terrible thing truly was. “One step at a time. I know that’s super cheesy and probably sounds overwhelming but--it helps. Tackling one thing at a time helps,” Erin assured her the best that she could. Briefly, she touched Skylar’s back, encouraging her to follow her towards her room, but she pushed on ahead of her. What she saw when she opened that door was so much worse than she expected--she didn’t know why she was surprised, given the way Skylar looked right now, she could only imagine this was the result of what had to be weeks or months of binging on whatever the fuck it was she was taking now. She brought a hand to her mouth, wiping her fingers across it, trying to hide the shock on her face. “Jesus, Skylar,” she mumbled under her breath. Pills were scattered across all surfaces, the gleam of needles poked out from various spots, blood marking the sheets in various spots. The room was just as disheveled as the rest of Skylar. She leaned down, grabbing a small trashcan beside her desk and let out a long breath. “Let’s get going,” she nodded at her, starting to swipe the obvious trash and pills into the can. “You’ll let me know where it all is, right?” She glanced sideways at her. “Everything?”

“One thing at a time.” Skylar repeated, taking a deep breath in to steady herself as Erin moved past her. She hesitated outside of her door, letting Erin take the lead. She didn’t want to go in there, didn’t want to see it. She knew what would be behind it, knew how it would look. And she didn’t want to go back to that place again. As the hallway light shone on her room, Skylar grimaced, averting her eyes. But, looking away couldn’t hide the truth. It was still there. And she had to deal with it, had to get rid of it. Glancing at Erin, she could see the horror on her face and a rush of shame washed over Skylar as she tentatively followed the older woman into the room. “Okay.” She said as she pressed herself into a corner, as if that would keep the yearning at bay. There were glittering, half full vials of Bliss strewn around the room and it took everything in her not to pick them up, not to tuck them away. The promise of painless, hazy unreality seemed far better than the harsh light of day and dealing with the consequences of her actions. But she had to. “My desk. There’s… a box, taped under the drawer. It’s got, um. Needles. And other things, they’re in there.” She said before directing Erin to other spots around her room. The baggie of pills taped to the back of her bed frame. The rolled cigarettes tucked away against her bookshelf. She told Erin everything, while a troubling thought grew in her mind. How could she remember all this and not what she’d done?

Erin hadn’t meant to look so appalled by the scene around her and she busied herself with the task ahead of them to distract from the awful things welling in her chest. And once she started, it was already going quickly. She was glad Skylar kept herself at a distance. It was easier to keep an eye on her from there. Following Skylar’s instructions, she yanked the box, the contents rattling from the force. Her jaw tensed. Didn’t even bother to open it, just tossed it right into the bin and moved onto the next. “Anything else?” She asked, chancing another glance back up at her. In the mess, it was hard to find everything but as long as the worst of it was accounted for, that’s all that mattered. She paused momentarily, hovering above the stained sheets. Wasn’t that she was squeamish by any means but knowing they were from wounds on someone she cared about stung a little different. She worked her jaw and started to pull the sheets off. “How are you feeling right now?” She asked softly, genuinely curious.

Hugging herself, Skylar tried not to focus on everything as it was being thrown into the garbage bin. The mushrooms, the pills, they were what had gotten into all of this. They were what had made her act like that. And if she wanted to get better, she needed to get rid of them. She needed to change. She had to be better than the monster she saw in the mirror. As Erin stripped the sheets from the bed, a few loose pills scattered across the floor. Several skittered to a stop before her and Skylar flinched before moving to gather them up. “Here.” She said and dumped the pills into the bin, holding her hands up to show she’d thrown them all away. But, out of the corner of her eye, she could still see a pill lying under her bookshelf, tucked away behind one of the legs. She should tell Erin. She should tell her. She should just go and get it and throw it away-- “Hm?” Skylar blinked, looking at the woman with a slightly confused expression before realizing what she’d asked. Guilty. Worried. Regretful. So, so much regret. Angry, with herself. But even through it all, she couldn’t help but yearn for the nothingness that came with the drugs. “Not good. Not really. I just, I know that this needs to happen. And it’s, it’s for the best.” She said, the fingers of her good hand clenching the hem of her shirt as she spoke. “I didn’t intend for this, for any of this to happen.” She said, thinking back to the Hall of Mirrors and the broken, dying version of herself she’d seen that day. She’d been that girl in the mirror for too long. And she needed to change.

God, it was everywhere. In the sheets, under the bed, on all of the flat surfaces. Erin’s throat tightened, the severity of Skylar’s problem seeping in slowly but steadily, like a building dread. She knew she wasn’t doing well, that was all too obvious, but this? She could only pray to every and any entity that this was finally her rock bottom. “You’re doing good,” Erin insisted, glancing up from Skylar’s empty palms with relief. “It is for the best,” she agreed. “And It’s good that you’re helping, even just a little. I know this has got to be really hard for you but actually doing this yourself helps. It’s supposed to be like… a physical representation of you letting this all go, or something like that.” Her eyes narrowed as she tried to explain. She didn’t have in-depth, personal knowledge of how this all worked but she knew enough from her counseling classes in school and other media to help her for now. She’d need more qualified help after she walked out of this house again though. The sheets followed the pills into the trash. Skylar didn’t need to see those stains as a reminder, and even with enough bleach, they’d be hard pressed to get them out entirely. After a moment, she sat on the empty bed, listening to Skylar’s stilted, emotional words. “I know you didn’t,” she said simply but earnestly. She knew Skylar well enough by now to believe that. “Do you want to tell me what happened now?

It didn’t feel good. None of it did. But, Morgan had said as much when Skylar had talked to her. The fact that it was hard and that it hurt, it was part of what made it so important to do this. And maybe, maybe she could get better. One step at a time. “I hope so.” She said, her face weary as she tried not to look at the bin. When Erin tossed the sheet on top, some of the tension eased from Skylar’s shoulders. It wasn’t much, but the barrier helped distance her from the drugs that had consumed her life for the past few months. She could pretend they didn’t exist, that they weren’t there. And she could pretend that she was getting well, even if it didn’t feel like she was. As Erin asked her if she wanted to talk, Skylar knew what she wanted to say. She wanted to say no. She wanted to lie to herself, to lie to Erin. To tell her that it was okay, that she would be okay. But, Skylar had spent so long lying to everyone. And the truth was out there, for so many to see. She had to be honest, and she had to come clean. “The last thing I really remember was being so… angry after the-- the intervention. I was just so angry and I didn’t want to think about anything you’d said. And I went and I bought… a lot of things. And I took a lot of things. After that, I only remember bits and pieces.” She paused, taking a steadying breath as she leaned against the wall of her room.

“People screaming in the woods. Blood. A knife. More blood, more yelling. Bright lights, people talking. And then feeling cold, feeling so… so cold on the beach.” Skylar shivered, arms wrapping tighter around herself. “I found out after that I made… a lot of mistakes. I hurt a lot of people. Some of them,” Her voice broke as her shoulders shook with grief, tears spilling down her face. “Some people died because of me. And I hurt Rio. I stabbed him. I destroyed Fondante’s. I almost hurt Leah. I did so many awful things, Erin. And I can’t even remember it.” She sniffed, wiping her face with the heel of her palm. “But, but I can remember where the mushrooms I hid in my room are? I can, I can remember exactly how much Bliss we’ve thrown out?” What was wrong with her? What was wrong with her?

Instinctually, Erin was expecting to get shut down again. Months and months, maybe as long as she’d even known Skylar, everytime that question was asked she’d been humored with a simple and stubborn I’m fine. When the confession and tears started spilling from the young girl, Erin was unprepared. “You stabbed Rio? Is he okay?” she blurted in her uncertainty, despite the wave of grievances that Skylar continued to unload. She blinked, shaking her head unbelievably. Shit. This was way, way worse than she thought. But the regret and pain on Skylar’s face was so palpable it made her own heart ache again. God, Skylar. She shook her head slowly, trying to wrap her mind around the drug-fueled frenzy--tried to picture Skylar doing these things and failing each time. Didn’t make it any less true, of course. What if they had just pushed a little harder to help? What if they’d done something else after the intervention? What if she hadn’t just walked out when Skylar needed them more than ever? Maybe she could have helped prevent this. Maybe she could’ve done--something. Something could have been done, right? Skylar had needed to come to grips, hit that rock bottom you hear so much about, but this? People were dead, her friends were hurt. There was rock bottom and then there was whatever this was.

Moving over on the bed, she made room for her to sit and moved the trash bin of discarded drugs further away from her. “Hey, come here,” she gently urged her. Comforting words and practical solutions weren’t coming to her easily right now. There wasn’t much she could do here really though, except to be here and to listen, and to do the thing she’d come here to do. Right now the listening part was the most important. “This stuff screws with your head and you’re never going to understand the why’s of it. Don’t bother trying, okay? Right now you can just--you can let yourself fall apart for a little bit. And then you pick up the pieces and then you do everything you can to make it right. It won’t ever feel totally okay and it might not be but you have to try, right?” She looked at Skylar pleadingly, chewing her lip for a moment and gestured towards the trashcan. “Because not trying is what’s going to bring you back right to that. To this.”

Skylar wiped the tears away with the heel of her bandaged hand, trying to contain the grief that was overwhelming her. How had she let this happen? How had she been so stupid, so selfish, so unable to see how bad things were before it was too late? She had no one to blame but herself for this, for everything. She had done this. And she had to live with that fact. “He told me he’s okay and he hasn’t, hasn’t said otherwise.” She knew he was a Hunter, that his body healed quicker than any normal human should. But, Skylar had no idea if Erin knew and it wasn’t her secret to tell. She’d already done so much harm to Rio, she didn’t want to hurt him any further. “I threw a knife at him. I can’t even remember doing it, but I did and Shiloh was there too-- she saw… she saw everything that I did. And even after it all, they both still wanted to help me.” She said, her good hand clenching around the hem of her shirt, balling it up in her palm.

At Erin’s encouragement, Skylar sat on the bed, crumpling in on herself as she did so. She buried her head into her hands, elbows resting on her legs as the tears continued to roll down her face. “People died because of me. I didn’t, I didn’t kill them myself, but I might as well have. A, a werewolf. I did something in the woods and those college students, they, they died because of me. How can I make that better?” She asked, the words muffled as she spoke through her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Erin. I don’t know what to do.” She knew Erin was right. That not trying would only be worse. But how could she even know where to start?

Rio was okay. He was a hunter and if he said he was okay, physically anyway, he’d meant it. Erin made a mental note to check in on him later anyway. Right now her focus was on Skylar, and the questions she’d posed to her. Questions she was still figuring out the answers to in her own life, that’d brought her to her own knees more than a few times in the past few months. “I don’t know,” Erin answered softly, honestly. She shifted stiffly on the bed, hands wringing themselves uncomfortably in her lap. Skylar was being honest with her though--didn’t she deserve the same treatment in return? “I don’t know exactly what you’re going through right now, Skye, but I get--I get that part of it. I had to do some things I didn’t necessarily want to, and a lot of people were hurt. Some of them died. And I’m still working through that.” She paused, glancing over nervously, trying to summon everything in her to keep going. “And it sucks, and it hurts, most of the time I can feel it--but every time I want to give up or think it’s too much, I try to remember that if I did, it just makes their deaths and all of that pain even more unnecessary. You have to keep going because they can’t.”

Looking up from her hands, Skylar focused on Erin, hanging onto her words. People had died because of something she’d done too? More death. It seemed to cling to this town like a disease-- she’d had her own brushes with death, more than she’d cared to think about. The hunter. The bonedoggles. And now this most recent time, in a situation of her own making. This town, this town. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” She murmured. She wasn’t sure who she was apologizing to-- Erin, or the people who’d died, the people who’d been killed, never knowing the reality of this place. As the other woman continued speaking, Skylar swallowed past the lump that had formed in the back of her throat. “I know that I’m not-- I’m not… well.” The words came out haltingly, the first time she’d admitted outloud that she had a problem. Because she did. She did and she had to face it. So many people had been hurt because of her refusal to acknowledge that she was out of control. “I know that I need to get better. For them.” For everyone she’d hurt, she needed to fix things.

There was something close to relief in Skylar’s words. Not quite relief, that didn’t feel right, but something right about them. She had a problem. She’d said the words, she was admitting it to herself, which meant there would be forward momentum--in theory, anyway. But the pain in Skylar’s voice and the grief written all over her face felt sincere enough for Erin to believe that she would try. That’s all anyone could really ask of her here. “And for you,” she reminded her, cautiously reaching for Skylar’s hand, placing it gently on top of her’s. “You need to get better for them and you need to get better for you.” She glanced over, trying to find her eyes. “Might not feel like it right now but there’s still a lot of people here who care about you, Skylar, no matter what you did. Myself included.” She gave her hand a gentle squeeze when she felt her heart pang again, the reality of how useless she felt in this sort of situation coming and going in waves. If she could just keep reminding her that she was here, that she had support, maybe that could be enough. “You have no idea how young you are and how much good you can still manage to put back into this world. If anyone can, it’s going to be you. Just--promise me you won’t stop trying, okay?”

And for you. The words echoed in Skylar’s mind as Erin gently held her hand, offering a comforting squeeze. That was part of all this mess, wasn’t it? She’d tried to… act as though she was okay with what she was for others, because everyone else said there was nothing wrong with being a selkie, that there was nothing wrong with not being human. She’d tried to drown her pain away with the drugs in an attempt to put on a smiling face for others. She’d done so much to herself, trying to be someone for everyone else. And now, she needed to do this for herself. She had to try. “I know.” She said, hoping that putting the words out into the air would make them more real. “I know I need to do this for myself too.” But trying for herself, it felt so much harder. Even now, she was acutely aware of the garbage bin in the room, full of pills and bliss and mushrooms and needles. She hated how much she wanted them, how much her body yearned for the nothingness that came with them. “I… I promise. I promise I’ll try.”

More than anything, Erin wanted to believe that. That’d she’d try, and that’d she’d get better and do better for herself. That one day this would all just be a horrible nightmare of the past. But it was never that easy and this would likely be something Skylar would struggle with for the rest of her life. She hated that for her but that was just the reality for someone with addiction. “Good,” Erin nodded after a moment. “That’s a start,” she added. Just like this was--the pills in the trash can. She pulled her hand back and grabbed the can again, a half-hearted smile on her face. “What do you say we finish cleaning up here and I’ll make you some dinner? We can watch some movies and curl up on the couch with Dundee? Or--whatever you want to do. But I’m not leaving here until you eat,” she insisted, standing with a slight groan and gave Skylar’s shoulder a good squeeze. She’d be fine. She’d be fine, she told the nagging at her stomach. This was all on Skylar now and she had to hope that she was strong enough to do the work necessary ahead of her. “I brought burgers. You like burgers, right?” She asked, calling out as she slipped out of the room for a moment to empty the extra full can.

This was a start. A start in what seemed like an impossible journey. But, Skylar knew that it was a path that she needed to take. She couldn’t continue like how she had before, she couldn’t live her life the same way. She had to change. As Erin stood up, Skylar offered a wan smile. “Mm. That sounds good. Thanks, Erin.” She said and stared down at her hands, avoiding looking at the bin as the other woman took it away from her room. She could do this. She could do this. She could change, she knew that she had to. She listened as Erin’s footsteps echoed down the hallway before creeping towards the bookshelf, her fingers searching for the final, fallen pill. Staring at the flat white pill on the palm of her hand, Skylar’s lips pressed together in a thin line. She should throw it away. She should have told Erin that she’d seen it fall. She should flush it down drain.

But she didn’t do any of those things. Skylar tucked the pill carefully into her pocket before letting out a shaky sigh. She’d get well soon. She’d take the first steps. Just… not yet.

#p: gws #p: erin nichols #addiction tw #drug use tw #//as always if youd like a tw free recap just let me know!#wickedswriting #chatzy

8 notes · View notes

vtscasefiles · 3 years

Text

Case File # 321-5

Trigger warning: blood, gore, violence, death, firearms, injury, rape mention

Case begun: 5/09/20**

Case Concluded: 5/11/20**

Case Locale: [REDACTED], Florida

Marked as Closed

I arrived in Florida, the humidity already fucking with my sinuses. How anyone can live in this swampy shithole I will never understand. But I was offered a job, and my bank account was practically beating me over the head with it’s need to be filled. The pay was too good to turn down, so I loaded up my gear and headed out.

What I wasn’t expecting was a fucking ghost pirate. I mean, of all things, how fucking cliché can you get? The client, Rosie [REDACTED], welcomed me with that famed “southern hospitality” that I’ve heard so much of.

“You the girl with the gun? I expected you to be bigger.”

Fuckin’ peachy. “Yes. I’m the girl with the gun. You got a haunting problem?” I replied, trying not to let my irritation get the better of me. I’m fucking 5′9″. I’m not that small. For fuck’s sake, I can bench two hundo with no problem. Why the --

[Editor’s note: this continues for fifteen minutes. For your convenience I have removed VT’s rant.]

After getting a brief rundown of the case, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Everything pointed to a simple haunting, it wasn’t something I was considering a challenge, or even something that’d take longer than a few hours.

After doing this job, you think you��ve seen just about all the SC* has to offer. My two best friends are a lich and a witch. Yes, they rhyme, shut up. Point being is that I have never seen a haunting manifest on such a massive scale. Usually it’s restrained to a building, or a patch of land, but this...the whole fucking coast line was haunted. It wasn’t even a Cluster**, it was one. Singular. Spirit.

My first day, as the usual, was spent at the library. The spirit in question, one Captain Fresni, was an infamous pirate in the seventeen hundreds. Played a role in the American Revolution, albeit a small one. According to the books I’d found (mostly useless, but I did manage to glean some insight), his ship The Crooked Jess, was riddled with canon fire by the British. Captain Fresni, a violent fighter if ever there was one, realized there was no way out...lit every barrel of gunpowder he had on board and rammed his ship into the oncoming fleet. The following explosion wiped out three ships, packed with soldiers and set fire to another six.

I was impressed. If the spirit was Captain Fresni, as Rose claimed, then it could simply be a case of the body dying so suddenly and violently that the spirit didn’t realize he was dead. There was one passage that stood out, I won’t repeat it due to it being hella long, but in summation it stated that near the southern tip of Florida there was a hidden cove that served as the pirate captain’s base. Might as well start there.

It was around 9pm on the tenth before I even stepped foot in the cove. Immediately, the air changed. Despite it being disgustingly humid, the air turned frigid and dry. I walked up and down the coast to find a spot that wasn’t freezing, but to no avail. The whole place was a spook zone. We’re talking a good three hundred acres of land completely under the spirit’s influence. Even by a Cluster’s standards, that’s a massive area.

This area was mostly undisturbed, being a historical site. Being in the profession I am, meant that didn’t mean a roasty pile of dogshit. If I got caught disturbing anything here, it only meant one thing: prosecution, if not a bullet through my head. I’m aware of what my ethnic background means; prejudice, racism, outright hate. Hell, it’s dangerous to drive, let alone stand somewhere that I shouldn’t. So I try to be subtle. Try not to pack too much ordinance. Today I only had my duffel bag full of Elinor’s*** special ammo. I’d say it “kills” ghosts, but you can’t kill a spirit. You can however, force it to reconcile with it’s past.

The worst part about this job was I was going to wind up in the water. I hate swimming. Forget what chlorine does to the dye in my hair (red. Blood red. Always.), but just the thought of driving across the country with my clothes soaked in salty water was already putting my teeth on edge. Looks like I’d be hitting a thrift shop on the way home.

I dropped my duffel bag on the beach and sat in the sand next to it, pulling off my dad’s old combat jacket and stowing it inside. I did a quick inventory. I hadn’t brought anything major. Salt. Blessed water (courtesy of Ramona****). A black beeswax candle and, my trusty companion, Peace.

Peace is the name I’ve given to my custom-made revolver. All together, the setup weighs about three pounds. Each part bears a custom engraving that’ll combat just about any supernatural force...even so, there are some things that Peace can’t solve...even with the right ammo. But I had one solution sitting in the backseat of my car: a can of kerosene. If bullets don’t solve the problem, a liberal application of fire will.

The time was midnight, the opening of the “Witching Hour”. I had until 3am to get something. Anything. The spirit wasn’t answering to any of the usual callouts (their name, questions, requests for an audience), so I settled in on the beach to doze. Wasn’t much else to do.

Mother fucker, I wish I hadn’t.

When I woke up, it was to the freezing cold iron around my wrists. The bob and weave that told me I was on the sea. The air smelled of something...something that every fucking time I smell it, I almost lose my lunch.

Corpses.

The deck outside my cell was slick with blood and viscera. I’ve seen my share of gore, don’t get me wrong, but this was a massacre. What was worse...it looked (and smelled) fresh. The good captain had been busy, it’d seemed. What began as a simple haunting was quickly turning into something more sinister. Rosie hadn’t mentioned that the spirit was violent...though I should have assumed, given the amount posted on the job. Even still, this was...a little more than I’d prepared for.

But first there was the matter of the shackles on my wrists.

Lockpicking is an artform that every PE invests time in learning. But that’s usually deadbolts or doors made post 1970. The manacles on my wrists (though they looked brand new) were easily something seen in the eighteenth century. There was even a maker’s mark next to one of the keyholes. I’ll spare you the details on how I got out, but my thumbs ache to all hell.

The second I laid hands on the bars to my cell, they swung open...I’d never been locked in. This worried me. The spirit wanted me free...the manacles were just a precaution. Each step I made was met with the squishy splort of combat boot on viscera. I took my time, as I didn’t relish the thought of slipping and falling into the mess beneath my boots. Proud to say that I didn’t fall. Not once.

[Editor’s note: judging by the stains on VT’s clothes, she fell.]

As far as I could tell, I was on the lowest deck. The stairway didn’t lead up into the fresh air of day, but rather into what I assumed was a galley. Tables and benches had been scattered, and cooking implements rusted on their hooks. Dangling from one of those hooks was my firearms...just waiting for me.

I expected a trap, I anticipated the trap. By that I mean I picked up a piece of busted bench and hurled it at my gun. It fell off the hook with a loud clatter which had me willing myself to fade into the shadows. Nothing. Nothing but the creak and groan of the ship.

Well, I say nothing, but I distinctly heard laughter from the top deck. Feminine, bright laughter. I picked my gun up off the floor, holstered it and climbed the stairs.

There was no ghost crew, as I’d anticipated...but at the helm was a sight that still gives my heart a jolt. It’s no secret that I’m gay. I love women. But what I saw at the helm...fuck me, sideways. She was tall. 6′6″ if she was an inch. Her raven hair captured the moonlight and practically sucked it in. Her breasts were bared to the wind, heavy tattoos that seemed to glow covered just about every inch of bared flesh. I’d have thought her living if not for one thing: her eyes. Pitch black like the void.

“Ahoy, mate.” she purred, setting my teeth to clench. “Found you on my little hideaway, snoozin’ like an infant. Come to join Captain Fresni’s crew, little pet?”

“I ain’t your pet.” I snapped, glowering up at the spirit. “You’ve been killing people, Captain...and everything I’ve read says that you’re a man. Are you actually Captain Fresni, or is that just some title you picked up?”

“Funny how men’ll give the most vicious fighters a cock in death that they never had in life, hm?” the pirate snickered. I took notice then that her arms were like two thick pythons that, any other time, I’d like to see just how much weight they could hold. “I offered my services to old Georgie and he thought me funny. At least until I broke his nose.”

“Georgie? As in Washington?”

“Ye know of him? Interesting. He refusing the afterlife, too?”

Everything I’d assumed about this spirit was wrong. Captain Fresni wasn’t a man, for one. Not to mention she knew very well that she was dead. That still didn’t answer the most pertinent question on my mind. “The bodies...or what’s left of them. Was that you?”

“Aye.” she smiled, wickedly, but offered no further explanation. I was being baited.

“Can I ask why?”

“Ye just did.” a hard spin of the wheel almost sent me tumbling. “But I suppose I can oblige a pretty little thing like you.” I fucking hate being demeaned. And all attraction for this undead bitch was flying out the window faster than you could say “eat my ass”.

I can’t remember most of her explanation. Looking back, now...it’s like the whole of that night is just a drunken fever dream. What stands out to me is her reasoning. “I only murder the dregs, girlie. Rapists, mostly. Kidnappers. Violence done to women is met with brutal retaliation. It’s the simplest way to clean up this world, savvy?”

Oh, I was savvy. Quite savvy. If anything, I agreed with her and her method. Trash like that shouldn’t be allowed to breathe, let alone exist. “If that’s all you’re doing, Cap, then I see no reason we shouldn’t go our separate ways. You have your work and I have mine.”

“Aye? And just what is your work, lovely?” I didn’t detect any further demeaning playfulness...only curiosity.

“I’m a PE. A Paranormal Eliminator. Usually, I’d have to ask or make you pass on, but as it stands...I think we can say live and let live. Well...live and let un-live.” she’d laughed at that. A warm sound that had my guts twisting around my stomach like some sort of horny serpent.

“So, you came out all this way to end the dread Captain Fresni...only to find a kindred spirit, is that what I’m hearing?” she asked, grinning like the Cheshire Cat with a Glasgow grin. “And now you want to leave, just like that. Don’t a get a kiss or a nice romp? I think I’m owed something after all. I didn’t kill you for trespassing.”

That raised my hackles. Again, this pillar of muscle was underestimating me. What I’d fought, what I’d killed. For fuck’s sake, I’ve killed enough Wendigos to put half the men in my profession to shame. There was that weird case where the woman who hired me was fucking the Wendigo, but...that’s another story for another time.

[Editor’s Note: We’ve never discussed the Wendigo-coitus case. I sincerely want to hear it.]

“Fuck you. You got the drop on me, like a coward.” I regretted the words the instant they left my mouth. I was on her ship and at her mercy. She could sink this ship and I had no idea which way shore was...let alone the hazards that went with swimming in open water.

Instead she’d only laughed. “Little girl, I’m a pirate. I’ve no intent to fight head on when I can sneak up on someone. Honor is a man’s game. It’s what gets them killed, more often than not.” Again, I agreed. I’d put enough bullets in the back of a head to know that stealth is preferable than a face-to-face fight.

“Look, I lost my temper. Can we just...end this and I can go home? We both agree on your method, and I see no reason to stop what you’re doing. Sure, the “authority” of the living world won’t like it...but no one likes them, so they can eat a steaming pile of shit.” I said, frowning. “I don’t want a fight. I just want to get paid and go home.”

The look about the spirit changed, marginally. The tattoos seemed to be rippling along her flesh(?) and her smile faded into a frown. “Missy, we still have a glaring problem we’ve yet to address. I’m one woman...and I need a crew. So, unless you’ve got a solution to that particular snag, you’re it.”

All my like for this spirit (begrudging as some of it was) vanished in an instant. “So I’m being kidnapped.” I responded, feeling my heart start to hammer in my ears. “Just like those men you killed. So, what I’m hearing is, you’re no better.”

“Watch your words, girl. Your pretty face won’t save you from my blade.” she’d snarled. It took all that was in me not to balk, though my teeth desperately wanted to chatter.

“I’m using your own words against you, Captain.” I responded, hoping I sounded calmer than I felt. “Don’t blame me if they don’t line up the way you want.”

“One more word out of you -- “

“I’ll give you two: get. Fucked.” that had torn it. The rippling gave way to something that I’d come to expect. This was no run of the mill spirit: Captain Fresni was either a wraith or a revenant. The only real difference between the two was the level of violence capable. A wraith tends to hunt one person, or their family. A revenant hunts whoever they want...and now I was on the list. I couldn’t fight her here, not out in the open. She’d tear me to shreds. Already her jaw was gaping, revealing razor teeth. Her nails, cut short, were lengthening into something akin to talons...and believe me when I say those things hurt.

I feel no shame in saying I sprinted below deck and ducked into the galley proper. I wish I hadn’t. She wasn’t just killing people, she was eating them. Body parts, half chewed, dangled from the ceiling and littered the ground. My hand clapped over my mouth and nose to keep the smell out and my dinner in. I heard her footsteps and, as silently as I could manage, I checked my firearm. Peace was still locked, cocked and ready to rock. Well, not cocked. Gun safety, kids.

I pulled one of Elinor’s special bullets out of the cylinder. What made these so special is that, instead of lead, bone served as the projectile. The easiest way to deal with something dead is by using something dead against it. I don’t ask where Elinor gets her bone, and I think I’ll be perfectly happy to continue not knowing.

[Editor’s note: I know. It’s horrific.]

“Little pet, little pet, where are you?” she crooned. Well, I say crooned...more like...rattled. A revenant’s physiology is strange, but once they reveal their form it’s almost as if their bodies begin to decay. I peeked around the corner to see her back facing me. I took aim and...nothing. My gun clicked loud enough to sound like a scream in an empty hallway, but no roar of igniting gunpowder. She turned and...smiled. I think. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” I responded, standing on shaking legs. “Soup’s on, Captain.” she ran at me, talons held out at her sides like sabers. I did the only sane thing I could think of: I ducked as she swung. Luckily, the big swing didn’t hit me. Unluckily, she had another hand. Claw. Whatever.

So, there I was, a talon embedded in my shoulder and blood gushing from the wound like a waterfall. A little known fact about revenant wounds: leave the talon in. If it’s withdrawn the wound will immediately fester and become gangrenous. A lot of PEs have died that way.

I slammed the barrel of my gun against the base of her claw and it snapped off. She screamed her pain and rage and took another swipe at my torso. I barely managed to get far enough back in time. The fact I had to compensate for a long talon still imbedded in my shoulder didn’t mean much, as I was operating off a cubic fuckload of adrenaline. She did however manage to shred my tanktop. Which sucked, because I loved that thing. Said “Boss Ass Bitch” on it and everything...I guess I could see if Ramona would make me another one...

[Editor’s note: RIP tank top. Ramona is making another one at the time of writing.]

I sprinted past her, she’d over balanced and given me time to escape. I went down, back to the cells. I was soaked in a cold sweat by now and thankful that my hair tie had held, despite my panicked movement. I smoothed the strands away from my sweat soaked face and looked for a place to hide. Nothing was presenting itself...but an idea struck. It was a stupid idea. A terrible idea. I ran into a cell and pressed my back to the wall.

When Fresni reappeared, she was smiling. “Ran out of room to run, little rat?”

“Seems that way.” I panted. My head was spinning from the loss of blood. Thankfully, that brief moment I spent pressed against the wall had redoubled my courage...and helped me remember one little fact. “Look, Cap...I’m dead. We both know it. The second this talon is removed, my life is over...so...I guess I’m askin’ if that place on your crew is still available.”

That shocked her, if only for a moment. “You can’t lie your way out of this one.”

“No lie. Kill me now. I’d rather just go ahead and get it over with, thanks.” I said, praying that this would work. If it didn’t well...you wouldn’t be seeing this, would you?

She approached, brandishing those eight inch talons. She clicked them together, thoughtfully. “Stand still, then.” she snarled as I held my breath. “One through the heart, and it’s all over.”

Three more steps. Two. One. I stepped in and latched onto her arm, and...I bit down. I felt fetid blood fill my mouth and choke me. I immediately began to gag and then...voided my stomach, all over my aggressor.

A revenant’s true power isn’t from the change they make, though it definitely looks it. A revenant is best known for it’s insidious way of making the unreal real...so long as its concentration remains undisturbed.

When I finally finished tossing my cookies, I looked up. No ship in sight. Just a revenant, me and glorious land. The sand was disturbed, probably from all my running, and my blood left trails showing my passage. I’d been running in circles for the last hour...while she just watched.

“Shouldn’t play with your food.” I coughed, wiping my mouth. “It’s how you get killed.” she screeched in rage, her partially coagulated blood oozing from the bite mark I’d left. The talon was still lodged in my shoulder. I reached for my gun, ready to put an end to this only to pull out... “A fucking banana? Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

She roared and charged. My weapon, my baby was strapped to the rotten leather of her belt. She’d touched it. No one touched my weapon except Ray***** and myself. Not even Ramona.

That pissed me off in a way that nothing else does.

Naturally, I charged straight for her. She took a swipe with her injured arm, but instead of dodging out of the way, I leapt into it. She made contact, but only with her palm. I felt one of my ribs crack and gasped in pain, pure instinct was the only thing that drove my fist into the shredded flesh on her arm, courtesy of my teeth. She balked and I snatched.

Peace was in my hand, albeit barely. She noticed and lunged again, sending us both into the sand. Her pirate nature showed in the way her head collided with my nose, sending fresh gouts of blood over the both of us. She thought me stunned. An easy kill. She thought wrong.

“Any last words, my pretty?” she cackled, her maw open wide. She wasn’t just going to kill me...I’d pissed her off enough that she was going to bite me. My death wouldn’t just be painful, but slow...and my soul would erode right along with my body.

“Yeah.” I croaked, feeling the end of my stamina quickly approaching. “Choke on it.” I rammed Peace as hard as I possibly could into that gaping maw, hearing her gargle in rage around it. My wrist jerked as I fired once, twice, three times. Bam. Bam. Bam. A faint gargle, a twitch...and about two-hundred pounds collapsed on right on my cracked rib, finishing the job her arm had started and broke the damned thing.

I wheezed beneath the re-corpse for...ten, fifteen minutes? When I finally managed the strength to push her off of me, I immediately emptied the last three rounds into the ruined mess of her skull. Say what you will about my methodology, but I like to be thorough.

It wouldn’t have done just to leave her body there, for a mundane to see. The SC likes it’s secrecy and to risk exposing it? There was no faster way to end a career than to leave a loose end behind. I made the long trek back to the car and returned with the kerosene can. I stood by the raging fire until there was nothing but ash and blackened bone...though I know a certain lich who could make use of revenant bone.

All in all, a happy ending. Had a vampire doc fix up my shoulder to avoid dying of infection. Rosie paid me what I was owed and Elinor bought the bone off of me for further profit. Sure, my shoulder still hurts so damned bad that I can barely lift it, but...thanks to Ramona, it’ll be healed up in no time. Probably.

Yo-ho-ho, mother fucker. Case closed.

Editor’s farewell: This is the first case file VT asked I upload. It’s one she’s particularly proud of and one with a satisfactory ending. There may be names or terminology that you are unfamiliar with, but I have taken the time to star each of them as to explain. They are as follows:

SC*: Supernatural Community. This is self explanatory. Includes all beings, regardless of death, undeath or birth. IE vampires, ghosts, revenants, werewolves

Cluster**: A colloquial term amongst PEs. Used in reference to a small locale with a massive collection of spirits. Usually all working as a coordinated group.

Elinor***: Elinor Lyktor. Lich. Proprietress of Ellie’s, a shop frequented by PEs for their gear. Specializes in Osteomancy.

Ramona****: Ramona Torrez. Witch. A close friend of VT’s. Offers support, healing and consultation. A good 75% of VT’s equipment is blessed by Ramona.

Ray*****: Raleigh Kane. Gunsmith. Took the name Ray from her father, proprietress of Ray’s Armory. Forced into the Supernatural Community by VT during a case. Since, she has dedicated her craft to making weapons to deal with the malignant forces that threaten the community as a whole. Extensively researches customers and will not sell her works to those she does not trust.

#tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: blood #tw: gun play #tw: gun violence #tw: gore #tw: death #tw: dark content #tw: rape mention #horror #pirates #ghosts #VTverse #writing #OC

7 notes · View notes