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laudsimogen · 2 years

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This Hunger, It Isn’t You (Ch. 4)

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Imogen spent the next few days—or what she assumed were days; it was hard to tell in the Fog—paying closer attention to what went on around the campfire and in the trials.

The campfire was easy to keep track of, considering she could keep all of it in her field of view. Any movement she picked up on the edges had her attention immediately, but it was never what she hoped for. Usually it was just one of the resident crows or a stray twig falling from a tree.

The trials, though, she couldn’t track very well. It would be callous to interrogate the other survivors when they returned from one, especially those who had died. Her friends were willing to endure her questions, but she could never explain to them why she wanted to know. She wasn’t sure why herself.

“And he didn’t hesitate at all?” Imogen asked. “He didn’t leave anyone alone, maybe let you escape on purpose?”

Orym shook his head. “No, he came after us all pretty equally. If one of us started getting away, he’d go for someone else. I think he spent most of the trial in chase; I could hear the chainsaw the whole time.”

“You didn’t see anything that looked…off? Like they had something on their minds besides sacrifice?”

Fearne shrugged. “Well, the little one doesn’t look like he thinks about much of anything, really. And the big one is just always angry. She hates when we touch the little one. If I get the chance, I like to kick the shit out of him just to make her mad. So, I guess she thinks about him.”

“Have you ever heard a killer speak? Do they ever try to talk to us?”

“Sure,” Chetney said, “but it never makes any fuckin’ sense. They’re not right in the head. The ones that have heads, anyway. Kinda feel bad for ’em sometimes.”

Imogen didn’t have anything to takes notes on, so she just thought everything over as she sat in the firelight. General consensus seemed to be that the killers were not capable of kindnesses, no matter how small. But still, there were remnants of humanity there. If the girl with the sickle was angered by harm coming to her companion, then she must care about him. If the killers knew language, they had to have learned it somewhere, and she doubted the Entity had reason to impart it on them.

And then, there was the Witch. None of her friends had had a trial against her since the last one, but she was still Imogen’s strongest case that the killers could be swayed. There was no way the Witch couldn’t have found her and Chetney in the endgame. Any killer actively trying to make its sacrifices would have checked the gates straight away if it wasn’t already in chase.

And they’d waited. They stayed just outside the exit in case the other survivors they’d come in with came around and needed help, but they never did, and neither did the Witch come to take them.

Which begged the question: why did she leave them alone? Why did she let them escape? Imogen couldn’t think of any realistic reason, and she would never know unless she somehow managed to ask, but who knew how long it would be before she was called into another trial with that specific killer? And, of course, it would be difficult to ask questions if the Witch ended up wanting to kill her next time.

“You’ve been here a long while, right?” Imogen asked Ashton. They sat together late again; Imogen liked the quiet after everyone had gone to sleep, and she suspected Ashton did, too. “I mean, not as long as Chetney, but…a long time?”

Ashton shrugged. “Hard to tell. Time is weird. But, yeah, if I had to wager a guess…at least a few years.”

Imogen looked out at the shadows of the forest. “Do you know if anyone’s ever tried to leave the campfire? If anyone knows what’s out there?”

“I tried.”

Imogen stared at them. “What? You did?”

“Well, yeah.” Ashton chuckled. “I can admit I’m a stubborn person. I was new; I thought I could find my own way out.”

“I guess you couldn’t.”

“Nah,” Ashton said. “It’s their land. See, there—” they pointed across the fire to the area Imogen had seen the Witch. “That’s the Huntress’s realm. It stretches all the way around, to about there.” They gestured toward the opposite corner. “That’s where the Trapper lives. If you go past his land, you get into the Wraith’s territory. Honestly don’t know how I got that far. Don’t know how I got back without being killed, either. Both of them were on my ass, but I think the Trapper was the only one who really wanted me dead. The Wraith only followed me long enough to make sure I was out of his ‘property,’ so to speak.”

“Did you see where the Witch lives?” Imogen asked, probably a bit too eagerly. Ashton gave her an odd look.

“No,” they said. “But her realm is forest, so probably close. Why are you so interested in her?”

“I don’t know,” Imogen said. “She was just…weird. I’m curious about her.”

She was already hatching a plan. A stupid one, but any plan was better than sitting around and waiting for the next trial. She said goodnight to Ashton and bedded down, but she didn’t let herself fall asleep. She just waited until everyone else was sleeping, then quietly removed herself from the group.

Imogen crept toward the woods, at the border Ashton had indicated between the Huntress and the Trapper. At the edge of both territories, maybe she’d run less of a risk of running into them.

She might die. She was probably going to die. But she’d die again before long anyway, and the worst that could happen is she wakes up back at the campfire, right where she started. There was no trial, though, and no template for how things would work loose in the Fog. She couldn’t help but think she would be lucky if she were killed for good.

But for now, she had a goal: find the Witch. She’d been to her realm; she knew what it looked like. She’d know she was close if she started seeing ichor in the trees.

She stood at the very edge of the light for a moment, then took a deep breath and stepped into the shadows.

The air immediately felt different. Any warmth from the fire was gone, and the fog was so dense that the abrupt transition almost choked her for a second. And the silence was so much thicker. It almost felt like a trial, but there were no boundaries here, and if she was careful enough, the killers would never even know she was there.

Imogen felt a chill as she stepped farther away from the light. All of this felt wrong, unnatural—she should be staying by the campfire where she would be safe, where she wouldn’t be hurt—but she reminded herself that if she stayed complacent, nothing would ever change. And maybe this wouldn’t change anything, either, but at least she wouldn’t be able to say she hadn’t tried.

She traveled carefully, stepping around noisy patches of leaves, staying out of open areas. She recognized both trial grounds, so she had an idea of where they ended. At one point, she heard the Huntress humming in the distance, and she took comfort as the sound faded away the farther she walked.

It was when she reached the back edge of the Huntress’s land that she faltered. The forest began to transition into swamp: the trees greying, the rich soil and loam turning to mud. This definitely wasn’t right. The land lying opposite her, bordered by the swamp and the trapper’s territory, looked to be the junkyard in which the Wraith lived, just like Ashton had said.

So, the other direction, then. She would stay at the edge of the swamp and follow the border around to the other side of the Huntress’s woods, and maybe she would find something there.

She didn’t get that far.

Imogen couldn’t see where she was stepping in the mire, and she didn’t see the symbol etched into a log partially submerged in the muck. She nearly tripped over it, but even catching herself, her proximity triggered the trap.

The Hag was on her before she knew what had happened. The short, thin creature appeared before her from nothing, and Imogen yelped in surprise. She almost froze in a panic, but barely managed to slip away without more than a scratch from the thing’s muddy claws. She ran on instinct further into the swamp; at least if she stayed here until she lost her pursuer, she didn’t risk another killer joining the chase.

The Hag’s bare feet squelched in the mud behind her as she dodged around a large tree and ran for a swathe of long grasses, hoping she could lose the killer long enough to find a good hiding spot. But those strange traps were everywhere, and she triggered another one in the grass before she could even decide on a direction to run. She narrowly evaded the Hag’s grasp once more, but just a few steps later it appeared in front of her again, and this time it didn’t miss.

The Hag wrestled Imogen to the ground, and she caught its chest with her arm as it lunged for her face with its mouth, rasping and slobbering like a rabid dog. Imogen cried out as the thing ripped into her arms with its claws, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it back for long. Her strength was failing, and its mouth drew closer and closer to her as it fought its way down.

Her arms buckled, and she screamed again as the Hag tore into her throat with its teeth. Warmth flooded her neck and chest as her blood spilled over them, and she desperately tried to push her assailant back off of her, but she couldn’t gather the strength.

She didn’t see what did pull the Hag off of her—not clearly, anyway. She’d already lost a lot of blood, and there was mud in her eyes, and her vision swam with the pain. But something did wrestle the thing away, and in her last moments of consciousness, she could have sworn that it was the tall, angular form of the Witch.

#critical role #imodna #imogen temult #laudna #my writing #this hunger it isn't you

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mechanicalinertia · 2 years

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STMPD Recommends Bubblegum Crisis Fanfiction: Mike Breen's Father's Pride, Mother's Passion

You know, I wonder if I should tag this with Highlander... eh, nah, wouldn't make a difference. Anyway.

I read Father's Pride, Mother's Passion over the course of several months, really. The first two parts in a burst around New Year's 2022, then I just came back to part 3 and just finished it. It was worth it. Undoubtedly. Perhaps the ending struggles to find its feet for a bit, perhaps you can see the author changing his mind as to where he wants the story to go somewhat last minute, but even so this story continues Death and Life's tradition of being insanely good on every relevant level. Even story beats I don't usually like in other stories I like here.

For context: You can read my original review of D&L here, and access the pages for both these stories (and a few sidestories I haven't read yet) here.

So. Where to start? Well, I'm going to start with the epilogue's author's note, because it says a lot about what FPMP is:

"I got very positive reactions to "Death & Life," and many people asked if I was going to write a sequel. I wracked my brains a bit to figure out where to go with a story, or even if I wanted to. As far as I was concerned, "D&L" was a complete entity, and when I finished it, I didn't really think it needed a sequel. Priss was Immortal, she was the good guy, eventually she'd whack Quincy. Plus the fact I wanted to go back to writing straight HL stories. Simple, ne?"

"Not really. The more requests for a sequel that came in, the more I began to seriously think of one. And the more I think, the more in trouble I get. Many people on a.f.bgcrisis know about my dissatisfaction with BGCrash, and how I felt there was a good story lurking somewhere beneath the crap if only the date was pushed up a year and some explanations were made for the discrepancies between the BGC characters and their BGCrash selves. Oh, yeah, Quincy and GENOM had to be central to the plot again with a suitable explanation for their absence from everyday Megatokyo life, Largo needed to be ejected from the plot entirely, the ADP slacker attitude had to disappear, the hinted-at-in-ep-7 relationship between Leon and Priss needed to be consummated, and Adama had to be severely rethought. Hey, cool. I'll rewrite BGCrash the way I thought it should go. Originally, I was going to write a straight BGC story within the same cycle, but with little or no HL influence beyond Priss' rapid healing and inability to have kids."

"Then they cloned that damn sheep..."

So, yeah, cloning had just been done with Dolly, and that was an inspiration. The desire to see Crash done better was another inspiration. Both good things to draw from.

Anyway, yeah. The story is told as a flashback from four hundred years after BGC, after the rest of the Sabers are long dead, where Priss's Watcher interviews her about the events assumed to be Crash. Of course Priss says that what we know as Crash was cooked up as fabrication by Sylia to hide a far stranger Immortal-related truth (how coy, Mister Breen, how coy) and from there the plot kicks off hard. Priss is friends with a fellow Immortal Patrick happens to know from the bad old days in the nineties, she's started to develop her own label alongside said immortal to help finance less idol-y acts like her own -- and then Sylia comes back into town by just emailing Nene (instead of doing some tomfoolery with hacking a game center) and they've got a new set of jobs - and yet, and yet, Sylia isn't afraid to admit the other Sabers are getting older, and that there's no shame in swapping out the old members for new ones over time. This is a running theme, really: winding down the Sabers instead of destroying them in a blaze of glory. Which even Priss, much mellowed by having killed two other Immortals in the last fic, is down with.

So that means shacking up with Leon, and it means trying to get custody of Sho. And, uh, the scene where Priss explains to Sho that she's an immortal is the cutest thing in the whole goddamn world, I am not joking, it's not even close.

But evil never rests. Quincy and Madigan have some seriously diabolical plans tied to Immortality, and they involve planned blackouts, a different kind of MacGuffin, the Illegal Army, and Adama - no, not the Adama you're thinking of. Something infinitely stranger and more twisted, and uh, tied to the themes of the story, about whether or not Immortals can have normal lives given their supernatural status.

Now, despite loose pacing and plenty of scenes of characters just talking, of the ever-closer bond between the Sabers and Patrick O'Brien, I really like everything that happens. It all happens for a reason, see (and it also justifies Nene going full savage for a moment there), there are a few good hardsuit fight scenes against the Illegal Army, and it all builds up until the end of Part 2. Part 3, though, is when it stumbles. The hardsuited showdown we've been building up to, we just don't get. We get some killings, both of two people we care about and of one person you're probably going to want dead by that point, but it doesn't feel satisfying. The only death that cuts deep is - well, you'll see for yourself. Suffice to say that even with poor execution (heh) in that last part, Father's Pride, Mother's Passion ultimately sticks the landing and succeeds at being the kind of story it wants to be, at once triumphant and tragic, the best kind of stuff.

Did I mention all of Priss's parts of the story are told from first-person POV? It's a nice touch, especially since it helps convey how much of a better-balanced person Priss is compared to the original anime, and compared to most fanfic including my own. Another positive quality.

Supposedly there was to be a final part where Priss finally killed Quincy, but it never came about. Fine, it was made clear it would happen some day. And what we've got is still worth a good readthrough. Seriously, give this one a go. If you've read Death and Life, and you want more of that, you will not regret it.

#stmpd reviews bgc fanfic #bubblegum crisis #fanfiction #bgc #fanfic rec

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blackhakumen · 2 years

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Mini Fanfic #960: Stroll to the Grassy Field (SSBU X Kingdom Hearts)

1:43 p.m. at the Ever Emerald Forest......

Pit/Sora: (Eyes Widened in Awe at the Forest Around Them Along With the Rest of the Gang) Wooooah.....

Kairi: It's so bright and pretty......

Kirby: Poyoooo......

Riku: (Turns to Viridi) Is this really the forest you've been telling us about earlier, Viridi?

Viridi: (Happily Nodded While Carrying a Picnic Basket With her Arm) Yep. I've been inspecting beauty for three and a half years now. It's one of my favorite forests out there, ya know?

Kairi: (Smiles Softly) I can see why. You did a really good job looking after this place.

Viridi: (Smiles Brightly) Why thank you, Kairi~ It's not easy being a goddess of everything nature related.....

Sora: Really? I always thought it you guys would be having a good time being gods and goddesses.

Viridi: ('Sigh') Yeah....It's all fun and games at first. But when you been doing this as long as I have...(Lays her Head onto Pit's Shoulder) It always tends to be REAL pain my a-(Notices Kirby is Still Walking Alongside Them Before Clearing her Throat a Little) Neck. It's a real pain in my neck.

Pit: (Starts Snickering) Nice save, Vi.

Viridi: (Starts Rolling her Eyes a Little) Whatever....(Looks Back up to Pit) Also, Vi?

Pit: It's a nickname I thought about calling you for now on. Whatcha think?

Viridi: Hm. I like it. I'll take that over being called Little Miss Catus pot 24/7....

Riku: (Raises an Eyebrow in Confusion) Who the heck would call you that?

Viridi: Take a wild guess.

Everyone look among themselves for a few seconds before turning back to Viridi with deadpinned looks on each of their faces.

Everyone: Hades?/Poyo?

Viridi: Ding ding. ('Sigh') I swear, I don't know that a-hole was able to get everyone from the council to call me that for centuries on end.... (Raises his Habds Up in Anger) It's infuriating!

Kairi: (Smiles Sheepishly) Let's....not worry about all of that for now, okay?

Sora: (Smiles Brightly) Yeah! Instead....(Raises his Fist into the Air) We should be focusing on having the best five way pinic date ever!

Kirby: (Happily Cheers in Rejoice)

Riku: (Nodded in Agreement)

Pit: (Snickering Again) Five way.

Viridi: ('Sigh') Yeah, you're right. (Looks Back Uo at the Blue, Leaves Covered Skies) The day's too pretty out to get stressed out too easily...Which reminds me...(Turns to One of the Keyblade Warriors Behind her and Pit) Hey Sora, can I ask you something?

Sora: Yeah, shoot.

Viridi: That Van-Van guy you and your friends hang out with, you know the one with the similar hairstyle as yours. Is he really your dark, sorta evil twin or......

Sora: Who? Vantias? Nah. He's more of a dark entity to Ventus if anything. (Place Two of His Fingers on his Chin) And I think the reason why he looks like me is because Ven and I have been connected for the so long that he....might have pictured a....eviller version of me, I guess?

Viridi: (Gives Sora a Bit of a Confused Look on her Face) You.... don't say......

Sora: (Smiles Sheepishly While Rubbing the Back of his Head Back and Forth) Yeah, that's a bit of a confusing cans of worms to open from there. But rest assured! I already got two dark entity of my own. And his name is Roxas!....and Xion kind of.

Pit: (Turns to Sora as Well).Is he the guy with the blonde hair. Who....(Raises an Eyebrow in Confusion) also kinda looks like Ventus...hair wised?

Viridi: Yeah, I don't get that either. Are those two are long lost twins or whatever?

Kairi: Honestly, I don't think any of us here knows why those two look identical to one another. (Starts Smiling Brightly) But what we do know is that Ventus is the grandfather, Vantias is the grumpy grand uncle, Namine's the cousin since she's kind of the dark entity of myself, Roxas and Xion are the kids of this established relationship, which overall makes Sora and I.....

Sora: (Places his Arm Around Kairi's Shoulder With a Bright Smile) Their proud, loving parents of some kind!~

Pit: (Turns to Viridi for a Brief Second Before Turning Back to the Duo While Slowly Holding his Finger Up) Uhhhh.....

Riku: (Raises his Up to Pit While Sighing a Little) It's best not to question this any further. (Smiles a Little) How about telling us about how Dark Pit first came into existence instead.

Pit: Ooh! Well, a long time ago, I was tasked to destroy the Mirror of Truth located in Pandora's Labyrinth. So when I came to contact with it and broke, poof! (Smiles Brightly) My grumpy twin brother was born!~

Viridi: He was practically the embodiment of Pit's rehabilious side. (Places her Hand Beside the Side of her Face While Whispering) If he even had one to begin with.....

Pit: (Immediately Pouts at his Girlfriend) Hey! I do too have a rebellious side!

Viridi: Oh please. Pit, you are the most softest marshmallow of an angel I have ever met in my entire life. I highly doubt that there's any bad bones in your body even before you knew about Pitto's existence.

Pit: Um. (Places his Hands on Both of his Hips) Wrong actually. I've done many bad things in the past. Like that one time I stole a bunch of cookies from mom's cookie jar.

Viridi: (Gives Pit a Deadpinned Look on her Face) Pit, that was child's play.

Pit: I-I still got grounded for that!

Viridi: ('Scoffs') Yeah, a like a day or two.

Pit: No, it was for a half and an hour. Probably the longest one I've ever had in my entire life!

Riku: (Turns to Viridi and the Rest of the Gang Before Turning Back to Pit With a Raised Eyebrow) Isn't that equivalent to a time out.

Pit: Time Out, Grounded.....It's the same as tomatoes and tomatoes, right?

Viridi: .................('Sigh') Like I said: Soft marshmallow of angel. (Turns Back to Riku with a Playful Smirk on her Face) I bet your Sora's a Goody Two Shoes too, huh?

Riku: ('Heh') Far from it. (Points at his Boyfriend Beside Him) This guy been a trouble maker ever since we were kids.

Sora: (Gasps Before Glaring at Riku) Excuse me!? You were way more of a troublemaker than I ever was! Need I remind of all of the times you pranked the residents in the island?

Riku: (Glares Back at Sora) I don't know why you're singling me out on this. You helped!

Sora: That was because I was young and naive! That doesn't change the fact that you were a bad influence, ya know!?

Riku: And yet here you and Kairi are dating me!

Sora: Oh don't get smart with me, you-

Kairi: (Cuts in Between her Two Boys) Boys, boys, boys! Let's not fight among each other here. The both of you were troublemakers growing up. (Smles Confidently While Gracefully Place her Hand on her Chest) While I was a most perfect little angel of them all~

Sora/Riku: ...........(Shake Their Hands in Uncertainty) Eh.

Kairi pouts at her two boyfriends before noticing someone was poking her leg.

Kairi: Hm? (Looks Down to See Kairi Is Looking at her and the Others) What wrong, Kirby?

Kirby: (Happily Shows the Trio a Couple of Flowers He Picked From the Ground) Poyo poyo poyo!

Kairi: (Heart Begins to Melt in Pure Happiness) Awwwww!~ Sweetheart, are those flowers for us?~

Kirby: (Happily Nodded as He Hands Them Each a Flower)

Sora: (Happily Receives a Flower Along With Everyone Else) Thanks, little guy. You're the best.

Riku: I think we can all agree that Kirby's the purest angel out of all of us here.

Viridi: (Smiles Softly) Yeah, Kirby's a good boi. (Points at Pit Beside Her) So does Mr. Bad Boy Poser over here.

Pit: (Glares at Viridi Again) I'm not poser! I WAS BAD TO THE BONE!!

Viridi: Of course you are, dear. (Kiss Pit on the Cheek) Now calm down, will ya? We're here.

The gang turn to see the a bright, grassy filled field with a large tree under a hill from a far distance

Sora/Kairi/Pit: (Amazed in Awe at What They're Witneesing) Wooooow......It's so bright and pretty.

Kirby: (Eyes Begins to Sparkle at the Field Itself) Poyooooo.......

Riku: (Eyes Widened a Little at the Whoel Thing Himself) I knew I should've brought my camera here with us today......

Viridi: I'll send you pictures of the field when we get out of here. (Smiles Brightly) In the meantime, let's mosey our way out there and-

Without any warning, the sound of thunder and lightning came out of nowhere as the rain begins to drop down on the field and the entire forest alike.

Viridi: (Eyes Widened in Complete Shock) What in the he- (Groans Before Speaking Again) H-E- DOUBLE HOCKET STICKS IS GOING ON HERE!? It wasn't supposed to rain here today!

??????: You sure about that shorty?~

Gang looks up to see a woman with blonde haired woman hovering around them with a bright, playful smile on her face while giving them a peace sign.

Viridi: (Glares at the Woman in Question) You.........

Pit: (Eyes Widened at....) Phosphora? What are you doing out here?

Phosphora: Just doing my usual duties as the force of nature. (Giggles Softly) Duties~ (Giggles Some More)

Viridi: By ruining our picnic!?

Phosphora: (Gives Viridi the Fakest Sad Look She Has Ever Seen) Aww. But not on purpose, you know? ~ I was sent an email for the forecast this week and I have to make this place rainy.

Viridi: Who the h-e-double hockey sticks set you freaking forecast in the first place!?

Phosphora: I'll give ten seconds to guess who.

Everyone thought about it for a brief second before groaning and facepalming at the obvious answer.

Everyone: Hades?/Poyo?

Phosphora: (Smiles Brightly) Correctamundo!~ I don't like the guy that much either, but I'm not crazy enough to confront him. A job's a job. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more forests to rain down. Y'all stay beautiful down there!~ Especially you, Cutie Pie~ (Winks at Pit)

Pit: (Immediately Blush at Phosphora's Sudden Flirt) U-Um.....

Viridi: (Immediately Glares at Phosphora While Holding Pit's Arm) HEY! Back off, sister! He may be a cutie pie, but he's also taken!

Phosphora: Oh I know that! I'm not gonna steal your man from you, Little Miss Cactus Pot. (Gives the Gang Another Peace Sign) Catch y'all on the flip side!~ (Flies Off in a Bolt of Lightning)

Viridi: (Glares Turns into a Pout) Hmph! You better! (Shakes her Fist in the Air) AND MY NICKNAME IS VI!! ('Sigh') So much for the picnic date......

Sora: How about we go back to our place. (Smiles Brightly) It'll be our treat~

Kairi/Riku: (Happily Nodded in Agreement)

Pit: (Smiles Back at the Trio) I'm down to that.

Kirby: (Smiles Brightly as Well)

Viridi: Sounds good to me I guess.

@keyenuta

@26shann

@khtext

@cyber-wildcat

@caleb13frede

@chompycroc

@ma-lemons

@albion-93

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wanderingcas · 4 years

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C’mon Inn destiel, 3k words. a commission for @jensenackhles, who had the most AMAZING prompt of “what if Dean and Cas stayed at an inn that kept making them go into each other’s rooms?”

. . . .

There is absolutely no way that Dean Winchester would ever stay at an inn. Much less a bed and breakfast. Breakfast should be a hearty plate of bacon and pancakes, not unsalted egg whites with freshly-picked garden vegetables piled on top of it. And especially not topped with garnish.

Dean full-out shudders when the innkeeper (an older woman in her fifties with greying, tied-back hair) explains the meal to him. And he would have gotten the hell out of dodge right then and there, too, if Cas hadn’t elbowed him sharply in his side.

“That all sounds wonderful,” his ex-angel partner says with a forced smile. “What time are you serving it?”

“Seven in the morning,” the innkeeper, Cherry, cheerily proclaims.

Dean grins at Cas’s horrified face. Serves Cas right for suggesting this inn of horrors in the first place. “Bright and early, huh?”

“Oh, yes,” Cherry says. “And don’t be surprised if you hear me down in the kitchen earlier than that—I wake up every morning at five, without fail.” She winks.

Dean is beginning to see why this inn has such an open vacancy in the first place, more than the fact that there’s cat wallpaper and decorations on every inch of the walls.

“That’s…” Cas works his jaw and forces a smile. “That sounds wonderful.”

Cherry beams. “Now, which room would you like: Tabby cats or Maine Coons?”

Dean resists an eye roll. “Whichever is fine.”

“And I’ll take the opposite,” Cas adds.

“Oh, you won’t—be staying together?” Cherry asks. At the shake of their heads, her face twists into a frown. “Oh dear. This inn is really for couples only. I know it sounds strange but it’s really better if guests are staying in the same room.”

Cas looks down at their bags with a face that Dean knows well: he calls it Cas’s if I don’t get into a bed and sleep right now I’m going to lose it expression. Dean leans forward onto the welcome desk and gives Cherry his sweetest smile.

“Listen, my friend and I—we’ve had a long day,” Dean says, “and all the hotels in a thirty mile radius are booked up for some god-forsaken reason—”

“The Big Ten Championships are in Columbus this year,” Cherry pipes in.

“Okay,” Dean says, teeth clenched in a smile. “So basically, ma’am, you’re the one who’s deciding if we’re sleeping in a car or a bed. Which one is it gonna be?”

Cherry looks between them. She sighs, and holds out two keys. “Second floor. The Maine Coon suite is right when you walk up the stairs and the Tabby suite is at the end of the hall.”

Dean’s shoulders sag in relief and he grabs the keys. “Great, thanks.” He yanks his duffel bag over his shoulder, along with Cas’s, ignoring his friend’s glare.

“Just, before you go,” Cherry calls after them, tentatively. “If you notice anything—well, strange. Just call me down here in the front desk.”

“Strange?” Dean repeats.

“Yes. Anything unusual.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Whaddaya mean—”

“We will,” Cas says impatiently, pushing at Dean’s back. “Thank you.”

“You think we should keep our eye out here?” Dean whispers to Castiel as they climb up the narrow staircase. “She seemed kinda freaked.”

“I don’t care if a Wendigo comes out of the closet,” Castiel replies, wincing at each step of his injured leg. “I just want to sleep.”

“Fine, you big baby.” Dean deposits Cas’s bag in front of the Maine Coon room and turns the key in the lock. “You can take this one.” He opens the door, switches on the light, and looks in horror upon the Maine Coon wallpaper and framed photos of various Maine Coon cats.

Cas he walks through the door, eyes wide. “Do you suppose this counts as something ‘strange’ to notify Cherry about?”

Dean snorts. “Well, you gotta appreciate a woman who knows what she likes.” He picks up a Maine Coon plush toy from the dresser and grimaces.

“If I wasn’t injured, I’d be tempted to salt and burn this room,” Cas groans, lying on the bed with mud-stained clothes and shoes and all, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, dramatically covering the stuffed animal’s ears, “they can hear you.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “Dean, as much as I typically love your antics—right now, they are very irritating to me.”

“Which means you want me to—”

“Leave, yes.”

“Nice way to treat a guy who carried your bag all the way to your room.” Dean picks up his own bag, pointing to Cas’s leg wound. “I’ll be back to clean and dress that thing in the morning.”

“Fine,” Cas sighs, already turning over and pushing his face into the pillow.

After a moment of hesitation, Dean walks to the bed and pulls the quilt over Cas’s body. “You don’t want to catch a cold, idiot,” Dean explains to Cas’s questioning look as he tucks the blankets around Cas’s shoulders.

Cas rolls his eyes, but nonetheless says, softly, “Thank you, Dean,” as Dean shuts the door behind him.

. . .

Dean wakes in the middle of the night with a raging urge to pee. He blames it on the Gatorade that he chugged at the gas station after the hunt. He lays in bed for a minute, considering his options, and deciding that peeing where he sleeps would not be in his best interests.

Hauling his aching and bruised body out the bed, he scratches at his bare chest and stumbles to the door of the attached bathroom. He opens it, and—

Comes face to face with Maine Coon wallpaper.

He blinks into the dark room. Cas is snoring loudly on the bed, limbs flailed across the bed and head tilted back. Dean looks back at his own room, through the door of what he thought was the bathroom, then back at the bedroom.

“I’m dreaming,” Dean says to himself. “Either that, Winchester, or you hit your head a little harder than you thought on that damn hunt.”

He backs up, shuts the door, and goes to use the bathroom in the hallway.

Cas is running a fever when Dean checks on him the next morning. He peels the bandage away on Cas’s leg, and hisses at what he sees.

“Is it bad?” Cas asks, gritting his teeth in pain.

Dean examines the deep gash and the red splotchy skin around the edges of the cut, thinking about how to put it nicely. “Well, you’ll probably lose the leg.”

Wide-eyed, Cas grabs at his thigh. “What—”

“Nah, it’s just an infection. You’ll be fine.”

Cas flops his head back onto the pillow. “Has anyone told you that you have the worst bedside manner?”

“Maybe Sam, once or twice; but he’s a natural-born complainer.” Dean starts winding a fresh bandage around Cas’s leg. “You’ll have to rest up for a few days, get your fever down. No way we’re traveling while you’re like this.”

“That means we’ll have to eat—” Cas winces at the pressure of the bandage around his wound, “—inn breakfast.”

“There’s worse things, Cas. Like, for instance, having to amputate your infected leg.” Dean ties the bandage tightly for emphasis and smiles sweetly at Cas’s glare.

. . .

“Your friend won’t be joining you?” Cherry asks as Dean picks scones off one of the many plates scattered across the table.

“Uh, no. He’s feeling sick. Actually, I should be getting some food up to him, so I can’t really stick around.” Thankfully, Dean doesn’t say.

Cherry seems put out, but forces a smile anyway. “Oh, that’s fine!” She watches as Dean piles eggs on a plate (they’re scrambled with cheese, Cas’s favorite) and a few pieces of toast. “You didn’t notice anything strange last night, did you?”

Dean frowns at the lack of bacon on the table, or meat at all for that matter. “Strange?” he asks distractedly.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just—I’m just wondering.”

“Nope, nothing strange.” He balances a plate on one hand and two mugs of coffee clutched in the other, giving Cherry a nod. “Thanks for the breakfast.”

He’s really focused on balancing the plates, so it could just be a matter of him not paying attention; but when he goes through the swinging door of the dining room, he only has to walk a few steps when he’s once again in the hallway, right in front of Cas’s bedroom door.

“Huh,” he says to the empty hallway. Making a point to investigate that later, he walks into Cas’s bedroom to give him his breakfast.

. . .

It keeps happening so many times the rest of the day that Dean can’t even chalk it up to distraction, or a concussed head, anymore.

He walks through his bedroom door to the hallway after a phone call with Sam only to find himself in Cas’s bedroom again. Cas goes to bed early that night, and ends up back on the porch where him and Dean were sitting, trying to get some fresh air. Dean walks through his walk-in closet door only to find Cas in the shower, who’s yanking the shower curtain around his body to shield himself.

“Something’s very wrong with this inn,” Dean says, sitting on the bed next to a dripping wet Cas.

“I didn’t even get a chance to condition my hair,” replies Cas, petulantly.

“Dude, you could have finished your goddamn shower.”

“How could I finish, when you walked straight into the shower curtain, Dean? Would you really like me to have continued washing my hair while you were—”

“Okay.” Dean holds up a hand. “Focus on the real problem here, Cas. This inn has something supernatural going on with it.”

Cas frowns down at his bare feet. He wiggles his toes a bit, and Dean instructs himself not to find it adorable. “Does this inn seem malicious to you?”

“No. More like it’s fucking with us.”

“Then there’s our answer.” Cas gives him a lopsided smile. “I hardly think a bed and breakfast that likes to play practical jokes is something worth fretting over, Dean. It’s just some harmless entity. I sensed plenty like it when I was an angel.”

Dean crosses his arms. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like it because you presume everything supernatural is going to be dangerous.”

Dean opens his mouth to protest—closes it when he sees the smile in Cas’s eyes. “Fine,” he says. “But if it does anything to piss me off—”

“We’ll investigate it, yes, of course,” Cas says. “Can you please leave my room so I can continue showering?”

“No shower, only a bath,” Dean says, pointing to Cas’s injured leg as he stands. “I don’t wanna have to pick your ass off the floor when you slip and fall on that bum leg of yours.”

“Okay, mother,” Cas says with a roll of his eyes. Dean sniffs in annoyance as he turns the door handle and yanks open the door to walk into the hallway.

He meets Cas’s surprised eyes when he walks right back through the closet door of the bedroom. “Son of a bitch inn!” Dean barks.

. . .

Cas’s fever spikes in the middle of the night. Dean only knows this because when he goes to the bathroom to get himself a drink of water from the sink, he ends up in Cas’s room instead.

“Not again,” he groans, beginning to turn around, when he hears Cas’s rough voice call his name.

“Cas? The hell are you doing up?” Dean whispers in the dark.

“My leg, there’s—” Cas hisses, his words cutting off, “a lot of pain.”

Dean forces down the spike of worry in his gut. He flips on the bedroom light and walks to the bed, where Cas has burrowed himself deep into the blankets. Putting a hand on Cas’s sweaty forehead confirms his fear. “Okay, buddy, you’re burning up. I have Tylenol in my bag, just hang on.”

Cas nods, wincing as he adjusts his leg on the bed. Dean turns before his eyes linger too long on Cas’s pale face. He walks through the door to the hallway… only to find himself back in Cas’s room via the closet.

Dean grinds out a curse and tries again. This time, he makes it to the hallway, but instead of walking through his room, he finds himself in the middle of Cas’s bathroom. He stalks out to the bedroom and ignores the amused look on Cas’s face.

“Look, you goddamn house, I’m trying to get him some freakin’ painkillers!” Dean yells up to the ceiling. “I’ll be right back, so don’t get your panties in a bunch. Jesus.”

“I don’t think the inn has ears, Dean,” Cas says.

Dean points a finger menacingly. “Shut up and rest, and let me deal with this.” He shakes out his shoulders, takes a starting pose, and sprints through the door to the hallway before the house can realize what he’s doing. He continues running down the hall, like an idiot, to his bedroom.

“At least it’s providing you a shortcut,” Cas says sleepily from the bed as Dean walks through his bathroom, Tylenol in hand.

“This inn is an asshole,” Dean replies. “Sit up.” Parking himself at the edge of Cas’s bed, he hands Cas two small Tylenol tabs and a plastic water bottle he found at the bottom of his bag.

Cas eyes him as he drinks the water, his throat a long column as he swallows the pills. “Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“Your worried face. It makes me worried.”

“So your leg got clawed to shreds by a ghoul, you have an infection, and you want me to not be worried? Is that what you’re sayin’?”

Cas leans against the headboard, arms crossed. His eyes are glassy from the fever, but they still retain a fire of defiance. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Dean gusts a frustrated sigh. “You’ve barely been human for a month, Cas. I don’t want you pushin’ it.”

“Dean.” Cas lays a hand over Dean’s, and Dean represses a shudder. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Yeah. As an angel.”

“Being human doesn’t make me any weaker.”

Dean glares at their joined hands. “Yeah, whatever.” His thumb rubs over Cas’s knuckles distractedly. “You still can’t beat my ass at pool.”

“That doesn’t require strength, Dean. Simply skill.”

“A-ha!” Dean points triumphantly at Cas. “Last time you lost, you broke a pool cue and said it was the stupidest game in human history and now you admit that you were wrong!”

“Oh my god. I’m going to bed.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says as Cas rolls over, his back to him, “just say that again real quick. I’m gonna record you on my phone.”

“Dean, please. I could die of a fever tonight.”

Dean knows it’s a joke, but that annoying prick of worry pokes him again painfully in his chest. He stands and deposits the Tylenol bottle forcefully on the bedside table. “Take this in four hours, okay, drama queen? I’ll be back to check on you.”

Cas peeks over his shoulder at Dean. “Fine.”

They hold the gaze for a few heavy moments. The offer to stay with him is on the tip of Dean’s tongue.

“Just go to sleep,” Dean blurts, turning quickly on his heel. He shuts off the light before he leaves the room, and opens the door. He takes a steadying breath, and forces himself not to succumb to the pull of wanting to get into bed with Cas, holding that feverish little idiot to his chest until he sleeps off the infection.

But Dean’s resisting Cas’s gravity for years—so he resists the pull, and walks through the door.

Only to end up inches away from Cas’s bed.

They stare at each other, again, by the light of the moon spilling through those gaudy pink curtains. Dean works his jaw, trying to figure out what to say.

Cas finally shakes his head, and pulls the blanket up from his body; an invitation. “Well, we may as well do what the inn says.”

“Uh. Are you—”

“Dean,” Cas says.

With a grumble, Dean obeys, tentatively sliding into bed with Cas next to him. He clears his throat awkwardly as he settles in next to Cas, carefully not touching him, pulling the fluffy comforter up to his chest. They both lay next to each other on their backs, staring up at the ceiling.

“I have a thought,” Cas says into the dark.

“Did that hurt?” Dean asks.

“Shut up. I’m serious.” Cas takes a deep breath. “I feel as if the ultimate motive of this inn is to bring us together.”

“Okay.”

“So perhaps we should—I don’t know. Let it.”

Dean swallows a rock in his throat, and his voice is husky when he replies, “Uh-huh.”

Cas turns his head to the side to look at Dean over his pillow. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Cas, I’m not an idiot.”

But Dean doesn’t move. The fear won’t let him. And Cas sighs with the exhaustion only an ex-angel would have, saying, “Dean. My leg hurts very much, and I would like to sleep. Can we please just—cut the bullshit, as you would say, and you just—hold me?”

“You really are a grumpy bastard,” Dean says. The words come out gruff because of his nerves. He rolls over to push his chest into Cas’s back. He wraps one arm around Cas’s waist, and slips another under Cas’s neck. Cas grips Dean’s arms, and finally relaxes against Dean’s chest. Dean feels like he can die happy.

“I still think this inn is an asshole,” Dean mutters into Cas’s hair.

“You can burn it in the morning,” Cas says, placatingly tapping Dean’s arm where it lays across his chest.

And Dean may be imagining it, but as they drift off to sleep with their breaths moving in tandem, the walls sound as if they’re settling into a contented sigh, the buzzing energy of the house wilting into a dull murmur.

There is no way that Dean Winchester would ever stay at an inn.

But if it means holding Cas in his arms as he sleeps—maybe he’d do it again.

#destiel #destiel fic #everyone go tell tatiana how GENIUS HER BRAIN IS for this prompt #a huge thank you to #woefulcas #and #rauko-is-a-free-elf #for helping me beta this #and reading through it #starlightcastiel #inacatastrophicmind #fluff #bed sharing #spn nonsense #wanderingwrites #wandering writes

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neutron-stars-collision · 4 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 9 - ‘The Kindest of Kisses Break the Hardest of Hearts”

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4 , Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8 (swear I’ll make a masterlist soon)

Summary: Back in London, you find unexpected help in the form of Ives. But when Neil comes back sparks fly... ✨

Warnings: Swearing.

Author’s Notes: So here’s the chapter I’m incredibly excited about... Suppose I should thank Dior for inspiration in this one. Hope you enjoy this as much as I loved writing the last scene! Please let me know what you think!

You did not remember the last time you were this happy to be back in London. After the mission in Paris was done, Jasper went back to Boston, and you were free to do what you wanted. You contacted TP, told him how the mission went (without certain details), and in return, got told to wait for more information regarding the next steps. By your estimation, it was less than two weeks left till Kiev and the day when the mysterious plan will be set into motion. You were scared.

Ever since that day in Paris when Neil called, you had a difficult time maintaining normal conversation with him. He would message asking about something as mundane as how your day went, and you would only respond with a short sentence. You could not really explain it if asked. It was as though after hearing his voice and letting yourself have that conversation with him, all the doubts came back with a tripled strength. Suddenly you could almost believe Jasper and his harsh words suggesting that you were not important in Neil’s eyes. Maybe he just liked flirting, and you were conveniently there? That sounded rather plausible. Ever since you started naming those thoughts, an ache in your chest was hard to ignore. And so you did the best you could, which in this case meant low-key ghosting Neil and losing yourself in training and work.

Surely with enough time and space, you would get over it (him), right?

That was the state of your mind the day when rather surprising help appeared. You have been back in London for a few days and have not really interacted with anyone. Usually, you would spend two hours in the shooting range and then in a sparring session. After you were done, you would retreat to your room and try to ignore the texts that were still occasionally coming.

“How’s London treating you? Say hello to Anna from me” you glanced at the screen and frowned.

The instant temptation to text back was still there. Only now, it was tainted with much more anxiety and uncertainty.

“It’s alright, rather quiet. I haven’t seen her around though. Maybe she’s moping after you”

Like I am? You sighed and chose to focus on notes from the physics class. You were saved from the study by an unexpected knock on the door. Without thinking, you got up and opened it, only to see Ives standing there with a cheeky smile on his face.

“Hi” you muttered, worried you have forgotten how to behave like a human being.

“Hello, love” he grinned “Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“No, I was actually rather bored” you admitted with a sheepish smile.

You heard the distinct buzz of a text message but chose to ignore it. You were slowly getting better at the game.

“That’s terrific because I thought we could have a coffee in the canteen and chat” Ives’ thick cockney accent was somewhat adorable.

And you could definitely do with a distraction.

“I’d love that” you beamed back at him and left the room, locking the door behind you.

As you walked side by side along the corridor, you struggled to say something.

“How did you know I’m here?” finally you settled for a rather easy question.

“I’ve seen you at the shooting range in the morning” he watched you closely for a short moment “You’re fucking amazing, did you know that?”

“Oh no, I’m really not” you felt your face heat up.

“Yeah you are” he playfully nudged you in the side “You could probably teach me a thing or two”.

You glared at him and then quickly considered your options.

“Only if you taught me how not to be knocked out within the first two minutes of the hand in hand combat” you knew you could use help in that department.

“Deal?” Ives stopped and turned to you with an outstretched hand.

“Deal” you shook it with a grin.

Once you made it to the mess hall, you noticed with relief that it was rather quiet. You both made coffee and sat down at the table in the corner. After a few moments of comfortable silence when you sipped your drinks, Ives spoke up:

“What have you been up to?” he was eyeing you curiously.

Even though you barely knew him, you felt at ease. There was no enigma of TP to him or Neil’s intensity. Instead, he was just a friendly bloke with sharp wits.

“Oh you know, shit mission in New York and now even shittier one in Paris” you frowned at the fresh memories “Though I suppose the recent one at least ended with success” you mused.

It was true not all of your missions have ended with a huge fuck up. And that was somewhat encouraging.

“With Jasper?”

“Yeah” your frown deepened, and Ives grinned.

“My condolences. He’s a right pain in the ass”

“Well said” you laughed, finally feeling some of the tension of the last few days dissolve.

But it was not meant to be for long. Before either of you spoke again, you heard your phone buzz. You took it out of the pocket and glanced at the received text. It was him, of course. You grimaced and placed the phone screen down on the table as if to avoid the temptation. All the while you felt Ives’s attentive gaze. He has not missed a thing.

“Neil?” he asked, watching you closely with a neutral face.

“Yeah…” you shrugged, avoiding his stare “I’ll probably sound pathetic… but do you know where he is?”

Once the question was out of your mouth, you felt your cheeks heat up. It was one thing to worry about him daily. Another to actually voice the worries. But Ives did not seem to mind. He quickly considered something before leaning over the table.

“He’s in India, dealing with some sudden disruption. I was there with him in the beginning” at your unspoken question, he added “He’s fine, often said that’s partially thanks to you” he eyed you carefully, and you looked down at the table, flustered.

“It’s more that if I wasn’t there, he wouldn’t even need help in the first place” you mumbled, feeling the guilt gnaw at your heart.

Still, sometimes you kept wondering why on earth had he decided to shield you back in the bar. But any possible answer to the question meant having to assume something about Neil’s intentions. And that was dangerous territory.

“Should I ask?” Ives’ question brought you back to the present moment.

“Better not” you smiled wryly, and he just nodded.

“He wouldn’t shut up about you sometimes, you know” he spoke up again after a short silence, making you look up.

You were not sure you liked the cheeky smirk that appeared on Ives’ face. You were not going to give in.

“He’ll get over it in no time, I’m sure” you feigned nonchalance as you finished your coffee and met his gaze.

“Are you two good?”

You just shrugged. To be frank, you had no clue how to answer that. Was there even such an entity as ‘you two’ when it came to you and Neil?

“Well, whatever is going on, know that I’m ready to slap some sense into him if needed” Ives grinned at you, and you beamed back.

“Appreciated”

The next few minutes passed in companionable silence. That is until your brain rudely decided to suggest another pressing question.

“Is he there… alone?” you cringed as soon as you said it aloud.

No point in trying to sound disinterested…

“Nah, Wheeler stayed with a couple of others” his stare was way too knowing.

You felt a sharp stab of pain in your heart. What even… There was no reason to be jealous. Right? As you were internally debating what the new feelings were supposed to mean, you failed to notice Ives’ grinning at your distress.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous” he was enjoying it way too much.

“What? No, I’m not” you tried to scoff at this insinuation but failed miserably.

“Yeah, you are” that’s how you learnt that Ives had his own version of a shit-eating grin.

Was that a part of the Tenet work application?

“Mate, Neil and Wheeler wouldn’t fuck each other even if I paid them. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you” Ives wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and you groaned.

You glared at him, unable to come up with any good response.

“What? I may have only seen you two together once, but it was clear to me that dear Neil is interested. Very much so” he smirked at your wide-eyed stare “But I don’t think that’s in any way news for you” he squinted his eyes as though trying to see right through your soul.

“Please, let’s leave psychoanalysis for another date” you grabbed the phone from the table and looked at him pleadingly.

“Of course” he grinned “When shall we have our first sparring lesson?”

“Tomorrow morning. Be there at 9” you got up “Thanks for the chat”

“Anytime, love” he waved as you left the canteen.

*** Combat lessons with Ives have proven to be a gift from the gods in the days that followed. He would accompany you to the shooting range afterward as well under the pretence of wanting to learn from you. Even though you were sure it was utter bullshit as he could hit the marks as well as you, if not better, you appreciated the sentiment. To say that his help in the sparring sessions meant you have greatly improved would be an overstatement, but certainly, additional tips slowly started to make a difference. All that distraction meant you also spent much less time wondering about Neil’s whereabouts and asking yourself existential questions about your own feelings. That was probably the best outcome of the situation.

Another morning of the sparring session began with you and Ives meeting in the gym as usual.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked as you entered the gym.

“More or less” you grinned, stifling a yawn.

Last night you spent way too much time overthinking the text exchange with Neil. All it took was for him to mention ‘the fun you had in New York’ and then compare it to the recent night undercover. To you, it meant that Jasper was right, and you were just another ‘flirting companion’. And that shit hurt.

“That will have to do then” he tossed a water bottle in your direction, and you caught it easily.

You set it down on the side and the mat and stood facing Ives. After a short warm-up, he began showing you the way of blocking punches aimed at your upper body. While the demonstration always looked easy, once you went onto the practice, you have begun to struggle. After getting a third light punch to the shoulder, you huffed:

“Maybe I should just give up and become a sniper” you rubbed the aching spot.

“That could work” he grinned “Though I’m not sure how Neil would feel about that career change”

“Fuck Neil” you made sure to put up your guard, expecting another punch.

“I see how it is” Ives smirked before he threw a hit towards your other shoulder.

This one you blocked. And the one afterward as well. Slowly, with only a few mistakes, you got the hang of the game. That is until you were interrupted by someone clearing their throat by the door. You both turned to see Anna standing there.

“Y/N, can I speak to you for a moment?” she sent you a fake smile.

Christ…

“Of course”

You looked at Ives with panic in your eyes before you followed her into the corridor. Anna was clearly uncomfortable with having to talk to you, and that did not ease the tension.

“What’s the matter?” you spoke up first, hating the awkwardness of the moment.

“Neil called me yesterday” she paused, and you frowned.

“Yeah?” if she wanted to torture you, she has succeeded.

“He wanted me to let you know that they got Steiner in New York” despite Anna’s best attempts at keeping her face neutral, you knew she was enjoying this.

“Okay, thanks” you smiled weakly, trying to ignore the jealousy building up in your chest.

“Oh, and he says he should be back next week” now she was smiling dazzlingly.

“Great” you mumbled and showed her your brightest grin “Thank you”

With that, you chose to end the tortures for you both and went back into the gym. At Ives’ questioning stare, you just glared. He understood instantly.

“Fuck Neil?” he offered you a sip from the water bottle, which you gladly accepted.

“Mhmm”

There was so much to unpack from what Anna told you. Partially, you knew your ghosting was to be blamed for the situation but still, it hurt. Especially the unspoken fact that Neil has called her. You knew you were being ridiculous but could not ignore the feelings that were attacking every fibre of your being.

“Ready for another round?” Ives looked at you worriedly.

“Absolutely”

*** A few days later, as you left a meeting covering suspicious activity around London, your head was most certainly elsewhere. Ever since the awkward situation with Anna, you were not sure what to do with yourself. Only carefree moments were those you spent in the shooting range or learning hand to hand combat with Ives, who was surprisingly great at distracting you.

Walking along the corridor, you were too busy worrying about all those texts you have ignored to see where you were going. With eyes trained on the floor, you barely registered the surroundings. And that is why you were incredibly surprised when you unexpectedly collided with something solid standing on your path.

“Fuck” you muttered before slowly realising that you have, in fact, walked into a person.

You felt someone’s hands reach out to steady you by wrapping around your waist. The next thing you registered was the smell. A very familiar one that you have tried to repress from memory for the past few weeks. You felt panic surge through your whole body before you let out a long exhale and lifted your head.

“Didn’t expect our reunion to be that dramatic, but I’m not complaining” Neil grinned at you with that smug look on his face you have grown to hate.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you” you choose to stare at his tie.

A nice burgundy one which he has worn in New York, during the mission. At the memory, your cheeks grew somehow warmer, and you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping to be swallowed by the earth. But to no avail.

“Are you alright?” his voice broke through the increasing paralysis.

“Yeah” you forced yourself to look up at him again.

The concern in his eyes only made your desire to run stronger. But his grip on your waist was unyielding. You were acutely aware of standing in the middle of the corridor. Anyone could pass by and see you like that. But it looked like Neil did not care.

“I tried calling you last night” his voice was tense.

Shit.

“Sorry I was busy” you were a terrible liar.

And, of course, he saw right through you. You noticed how the look in his eyes went from concern to serious worry, and you desperately wanted to flee the scene. He was studying your face, and you tried to look anywhere but at him. After a beat, he must have found some answers in your conflicted expression because he relaxed the grip on your waist, giving you a way out.

“If I said anything wrong…” you were thrown off by the slightly wounded look in his eyes.

Now that you actually could run away, you did not want to. Not without making sure he understood.

“You haven’t” you took a deep breath, trying to calm the racing heart “It’s… just things that Jasper said and stuff… it made me think” you mentally groaned, annoyed at how you could not form a coherent sentence.

But Neil understood as he nodded and reached for your hand. You let him lead you to a quieter spot in the adjacent corridor. You were still paralyzed with conflicting feelings, but now also curious. The voice in the back of your head kept on reminding you how much you have missed him. You had your back pressed against the wall and stared as he slowly stepped closer, making your personal space non-existent. It was suddenly hard to think about the reasons why you should not let him be this close. The look in his eyes was unreadable to you.

“I don’t know what that idiot told you or what’s going on in your head, but it’s all wrong” you felt his free hand slide up your arm to rest on your neck and gently caress the skin there.

It was embarrassing how you responded to his touch with your body tensing and goosebumps appearing where his fingers made contact with your skin. It was hard to lie, even to yourself.

“Why should I believe you?” your voice sounded breathless already.

You knew you should have never let him get this close before you talked. But still, the way he looked at you was surprising. Any train of thought was interrupted when he brushed the pad of his thumb over your lower lip. His eyes were darker than usual, and the intensity of his gaze alone made the flutters in your stomach appear.

“I’ve got a few reasons”

Gently he tilted your chin and covered your lips with his. You gasped at the contact and felt him smile against your mouth. Then, as though a switch was flipped, Neil started kissing you hungrily, and you responded in kind, letting your teeth graze his lower lip. When his hand wrapped around your neck, you felt lightheaded and breathless. But still, you deepened the kiss, making all the feelings you have tried to stifle lead the moment. It was scaringly easy to do. Only once you felt like you had no breath left, you broke the kiss and stared back at Neil with a dazed expression. That was not what you expected from your reunion.

“Hope that beat whatever Jasper had to offer you” he grinned, and you enjoyed the sight of his subtly swollen lips.

“Please don’t remind me” surprisingly, you could still form a sentence.

But that ability was soon to be gone as you watched mischievous sparks shine in his eyes. His lips curled into a smirk, and you knew you were fucked. In every meaning of the word. Before you could react, he leaned in closer again, kissed the corner of your mouth before leaving a trail of kisses down to your jawline, and then crook of the neck.

“Neil…” you breathed out, trying to somehow stop the situation from getting out of your hands.

“Yes?” he interlocked his fingers with yours, pinning your joined hands to the wall.

Perfect leverage. Thinking was getting increasingly difficult.

“I… I’ve missed you” that was not exactly what you wanted to say.

You heard him chuckle with his lips brushing the skin on your neck.

“Quite right” he kissed the spot beneath your ear “Too”.

You sighed at the sensation, tightening the grip on his hand and letting your other palm splay on his chest. Through the fabric of his shirt, you could feel the fast heartbeat. It was somewhat encouraging to know that it was not just your heart that was beating wildly. He was kissing your neck with something akin to reverence, which made you feel faint. The traces of reason left in your brain started screaming for attention.

“Neil” you huffed, annoyed at how you were unable to voice the mess of thoughts.

Slowly he lifted his head and looked back at you.

“I really like how you say my name” the roguish grin that began it all was back to haunt you “So breathless” his voice was huskier than usual.

He wanted to kill you, evidently.

You met his gaze helplessly, feeling vulnerable with how he could see right through you. He looked almost fascinated by your stunned expression. Then his eyes softened.

“I missed you too” you felt his hand travel down your body to settle on the hip “So much”.

That admission was all it took for you to lose it. Again. You leaned in and initiated another kiss, unable to deny the need you felt. Neil was ready as he easily matched the tempo you have set. This time neither of you wanted to rush it. Instead, you kissed slowly and delicately, enjoying the careless moment. You tangled your hand in his blonde strands, tugging lightly to bring him even closer. He groaned at the sensation, making you feel a new kind of tension. You wanted him to make that sound again. But before you could find ways of achieving that, on the periphery of your attention, you heard the distinctive sound of footsteps approaching fast. Then they stopped abruptly and were replaced with a shocked gasp.

You opened your eyes and found yourself staring straight at Anna. Fuck. She was frozen in the spot three meters away and had a bewildered expression on her face. You knew there was no way in hell she has not realised what was going on. You could only watch as her face scrunched up in a scowl before she turned on her heels and almost ran back down the corridor. That image was enough to help you wake up from the daze. Gently you disentangled from Neil, who looked confused. Despite the reality of the situation downing on you, you grinned seeing his ruffled hair and disoriented gaze.

“Well done, now Anna hates me” you warily eyed the corridor before settling your eyes on him again.

You watched as he slowly absorbed the information, frowned, and then brightened up again when he met your gaze.

“Pretty sure she did already” he eyed you carefully as though assessing the state he brought you to.

Conscious of how you looked, you smoothed your hair and patted your blazed cheeks. There was no pretending that nothing happened, even if you wanted to.

“Why?” you arched your eyebrow at the implication.

“You know why” he just smiled as though it explained everything.

You didn’t know why. At all. You watched as he ruffled his hair even further by combing a hand through it, and your eyes settled on the exposed forearm and rolled up sleeves. For some reason seeing him like that was very thought-provoking. You knew he caught your stare when you heard him chuckle.

“Like what you see?” it was that smug smirk again.

You could not help but roll your eyes at him. This time the voice of reason was not so easily ignored.

“We really should talk before…” you did not even want to finish the sentence.

“Before?” Neil took a step closer again.

“Before we do something much more reckless than… this” you gestured vaguely and took a step back.

“Would that really be so bad?” he bit his lip and eyed you curiously again.

You have had enough. Placing a hand on his chest, you pushed him back. That clearly surprised him.

“Let’s just talk. Please” you put on your best puppy eyes just for him.

That did the job. Thankfully.

“Couldn’t say no to that” he grinned and took your hand in his “C’mon”

Now you just had to figure out what to tell him. The only issue was that you had no idea about how you felt… Fun.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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alfred-braginsky · 3 years

Text

RusAme Secret Santa 2020

My secret santa this year is @grapeautumn !!! I hope you like it, Merry Belated Christmas!

Gift requested: Human AU Alfred accidentally summons a demon while making Christmas cookies. The problem comes when Alfred just vehemently doesn't believe in demons and just figures some random guy showed up at his house. The demon, Ivan, starts out fairly miffed but warms up to Alfred (Comedy/fluff, any rating)

Shit, shit , shit, shit!

Alfred simply cannot believe he forgot to make the Christmas cookies for the office potluck. Well, he could believe it. It was common knowledge that he was known to have one or two things slip from his mind. There was no way he could go out now at this point in the night. The roads were icy, and it was too snowy for anyone to see in this weather even with their brights on. All he had to make cookies was lingering ingredients in the cabinets. There wasn’t even a recipe he could follow, everything online looked like either too much work or too basic.

He couldn’t exactly serve up ‘banging your head against the wall’ at the party, so what could he do? A sense of clarity washed over him. He would call his friend Francis! After all, his pastries always seemed to kick ass at any event, formal or just your average potluck. Pulling out his phone he dials his number.

No answer.

Things seemed bleak. There was no hope. Nothing he could do. He didn’t have an inkling on the seemingly complicated mysteries to baking cookies. Another thought came to him in his time of need. There is no other choice. He was going to have to call Arthur.

Alfred shuddered at the thought of having to call his cousin for baking advice. The first reason being is that he would never hear the end of it from Arthur. He would have that smug smirk on his face as he brings it up every other Christmas with the family in that condescending tone Alfred hates so much.

The second reason being that any recipe he would get from him would probably end up as piles of ash. Arthur isn’t exactly known for his baking. Alfred hoped his improvisation skills would save him as long he had the building blocks for a cookie.

Swallowing his pride didn’t seem so hard when he was this desperate. As the phone range he immediately regretted his decision. Too late to hang up now, Arthur would know he called.

“Hm, hello?” the line stopped ringing as Arthur’s sleepy voice answered.

“…”

Alfred hoped if he didn’t say anything maybe it will just be just be ignored and Alfred can go back to panicking in peace.

“Hello? Alfred? This better not be another prank call; I won’t fall for it twice! I’m hangin---”

“No! Wait…I’m sorry. This isn’t a prank, I swear.”

“What time is it there? Did something happen? Do I need come over there earlier than expected?”

“What? No! I need your help with something, and it doesn’t require you to come over.”

Arthur was silent for a moment out of curiosity.

“What do you want?” with cautious hesitation.

------

Alfred had explained everything. Arthur was as smug as expected. Luckily for Alfred, he didn’t need to write anything down. Arthur stored some of the books he likes to read at his place for when he comes over for the holidays. An unpublished cookbook that Arthur had written himself was among the box of books.

Alfred went to the hallways closet and quickly located the box. Rifling through the book he was intrigued with a mix of disgust at how many cheesy romance novels were in the box. They all looked the same. His eyes widen as he spotted a book that looked different from all. The book was black and faded. It didn’t seem like Arthur’s style, but it was the only one that was different. Well, maybe if he looked more…

Nah!

There was no time for that. Alfred flipped through the book and was positive there had to be something in there. If it turned out to be Arthur’s diary, that was even better! Maybe he could find some dirt on him.

Speaking of dirt, it seems like that was the first ingredient for the cookies. Weird? But Alfred wasn’t going to question it.

He grabbed his coat and tried to get as much dirt as he could from the frozen ground. He collected all the dirt required in a bowl. Next step was flesh? Okay…this was going a bit off the track of cookies, but if this is what the recipe asked for who was he to question it?

He grabbed chicken nuggets from the freeze and heated them up in the microwave. Once heated up he put them in the dirt and began to mix the ingredients.

Alright, what did he need to do next? His eyes scanned the very old pages and his eyes widen at what the recipe asked for next.

“What the hell, cut a lock of my own hair?!” he exclaimed.

That had to be some kind of health code violation. Alfred is certain that the recipe will call for him to take it out later. The recipe required a few more ingredients that he was able to find nearby. After it was all mixed together, he rolled the nasty concoction out and began using Christmas cookie cutters to make them into holiday themed shapes. He sprinkled them with peppermint for a pop of color.

The final step was to leave them under the light of the full moon. Alfred looked out the window to see the entire moon above him. What luck! With a yawn he set them down with the window open for the full effect of the full moon’s rays. Baking took a lot of work and he deserved to rest. After taking a quick shower, he got into some comfy pajamas, and went to sleep.

The next morning, Alfred woke up to the sound of his alarm blaring in his ear. Letting out a groan he put his phone on snooze and shut his eyes hoping for a few more minutes of sleep. His eyes snapped open as he heard a loud crash coming from downstairs. He jumped out bed and immediately dug through his closet and pulled out a wooden baseball bat.

With caution he tipped toed out of his bedroom and around the corner where the banging and clashing was coming from. Swallowing hard, he gripped the bat tightly, ready to swing at whatever was in his kitchen. What made him think that leaving the window open at night was a good idea?!

Maybe it was a hungry raccoon. Maybe a party girl who went into the wrong house. Or maybe---

A tall man dressed in all black EATING HIS COOKIES!

“What the hell are you doing? Do you know how long it took me to make those!” Alfred shouted as he lowered the bat, his mouth dropping open in disbelief. His eyes held a pang of defeat. He was going to get scolded by his boss for not bringing anything to potluck again. His boss already didn’t like him. God, he was the fucking worst. At least bringing these cookies would have gotten him off his back today. Well, that is if this stranger hadn’t eaten them!

“Watch your tongue mortal.” A sweet yet threatening voice came from the intruder.

“What? Shut up! You’re the one who broke into my house and ate my Christmas cookies!” Alfred was so frustrated with this entire situation. The day started out so poorly he doesn’t know how it could possibly get any worse.

“You made me an offering. I was supposed to eat the offering.” The man had calmly explained. His previous demeanor shaken when the human who summoned him spoke to him in that way. No mortal has spoken to him like that, but he was unable to harm the entity who summoned him so there was nothing he could do about it.

“What offering? Dude, you literally broke into my house and ate the cookies that took me all night to make!”

“I am a demon from the 5th realm of Hell. I would not be in the house of someone like you if I was not called upon.” For the most part, people who summoned knew what they were doing. This man seemed clueless.

“A demon, huh? Where are your wings? Got any horns? You look like someone dug you out of the clearance section at Hot Topic.”

This references completely flew over Ivan’s head. This is taking into account that he could speak any mortal language, but he could not understand what it is the other man was going on about.

“I am in my most simple form to survive in this realm. You added unnecessary things to the offering, I could not come in my true form.”

“So ya can’t even prove it then?” Alfred crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow.

There was a moment of silence. Ivan was trapped in this realm with no powers, and no one to call upon. He hung his head in defeat.

“No. I cannot.”

Alfred sighed. Well, there was nothing he could do at this point.

“Alright, you’re gonna come to the grocery store with me and replace the ones you ate. Wait there, I’m gonna get dressed.” Alfred held a calm tone as he noticed things becoming less hectic. He nodded before leaving the kitchen.

Quickly getting dressed and packing his work stuff into his side bag, Alfred comes back to see the man standing in the exact same spot. This man has not moved an inch.

“Are…you alright?” he asks hesitantly, looking at him up and down. His eyes landed on the strange man’s face. Their eyes locked. He had purple eyes. How strange.

Alfred’s face flushes red as he realizes he was staring at him.

“Yes, I am fine. I was told to wait. You on the other hand look feverish? You are quite red.” His tone did not waver.

“Y-Yeah! I’m fine. Let’s just get going, don’t think I forgot about you eating my cookies.”

“I have already explained myself, that was an offering!” The demon becoming increasingly frustrated with the other man. Ivan was at a complete loss as to how this man did not know he had summoned him.

Alfred rolled his eyes and exited his apartment with the other man in tow. They got to his car and Alfred proceeded to get in. The demon looked confused.

“What are you standing around for, get in!”

The man had a look of embarrassment.

“I do not know how.”

Alfred was inclined to believe him, although it was something so unbelievable. However, his tone seemed too meek to say otherwise. He gets out of the car and makes his way over to the other man as snow crunches under his boots.

“See this? It’s a handle you just pull.” His voice laced with patience as he explained the tricky technology that was a car door. He was a faster learner, on the second try he managed to open the door.

Both were seated in the car and Alfred began to drive away.

“By the way you never told me your name. I’m Alfred. Alfred F. Jones!” A bright smile adorned his face as the other had a tint of red on his cheeks. Probably from the cold.

“My name is I̶͖̠͋̿̐́v̸͈̥̗͇̂a̸̺̿́̆̈́͑n̸̞̐͑̑.”

Alfred could not understand the sounds the other man had just made. He blinks in confusion and clears his throat to hide his nerves.

“What?” asking for clarification.

“Ah, I am sorry. My accent is very thick. My name, to translate it into something you would understand, is Ivan.”

Alfred rolled the name around on his tongue. He offers him a kind smile.

“Cool!”

They arrive at the grocery store. The doors had just opened and it was full of elderly people and tired moms. Alfred hopes the lines aren’t too long, he really doesn’t want to be late, who knows what his boss will say.

“C’mon. We’re here for one thing.” Alfred motions Ivan to follow and he does. The grocery store was just like any other.

Full of food, noises, smells, bright lights. Ivan hates this place. The demon follows Alfred a little too closely. The shorter man can practically feel his body pressed against his own. Damn, he was so touch starved.

“Hey buddy, you think you can take a step back or two?” Stopping in his tracks to confront Ivan about the problem.

“I am here to serve you. I cannot do that if I am far.”

“Yeah, I’m not asking for 6 feet, just a few inches.” Alfred massaged his temples, so this was how the day was going to go, huh?

Ivan thought it over and took a step back.

“Very well then.”

“Thank you.”

The grocery store wasn’t as packed as he thought. Although, because it was only a few days before Christmas he wasn’t sure how likely it was that there were going to be any cute cookies left.

Rushing over to the baked goods sections his eyes zeroed in on the last box of Christmas cookies. A smile curled on his lips that fell just as quickly when he spotted an old woman reaching and then grabbing the box of cookies he so desired.

A look of sadness washed over Alfred; a defeated smile replaced his disappointed frown. Ivan watched as his bright energy seemed to vanish. Something inside of him told him that he needed to do something. They haven’t known each other for very long but the way Alfred has been treating him has been different than the other humans who have summoned him in the past.

The demon has some magic left on reserve for emergencies. Seeing the smile wiped off Alfred’s face was considered an emergency.

A dark aura enveloped Ivan and in an instant he appears in front of the now frightened older woman.

“You are not worthy of those cookies. Your mortal hands are unfit to hold possession of the power and responsibility they yield. Put them down and you shall not be harmed.” Ivan’s pitch was lower than Alfred has ever heard. The man just stared in shocked with his jaw dropped as the older woman practically threw them back on the table and went off speeding as fast as she could with her cart.

Ivan immediately went back to his human form. He picked up the mostly intact cookies and brought them to Alfred.

“For you.” He says, moving his hand up to Alfred’s face to shut his open mouth.

Alfred’s eyes were still wide.

“W-Why did you scare her like that? It was important but not that important she probably shit herself!”

“You are very crass. I did it for you.”

Alfred was upset but the action was very endearing. The way the black aura shrouded Ivan was pretty hot. Wait, why was thinking that? He needed to stop.

“Thank you. That was really nice of you. But you can’t scare old ladies like that! Maybe next time, ask her if she’s willing to give them up. You’ve probably traumatized her for life.”

“It does not seem like she had much time left.” Ivan said with complete seriousness. Alfred elbowed Ivan trying not to laugh.

“Alright! Let’s go pay for this bad boy.”

“Why must we pay? We fought for this, we won. We deserve to keep the spoils.”

“That’s not how it works, big guy.” Alfred claps the taller man on the shoulder as he leads them to the cash register.

“By the way. You gotta show me that magic trick you did earlier with the old lady.”

“Magic?”

“Yeah! Like did you have some smoke bombs? A voice changer?” Alfred’s eyes sparkle never taking his eyes off Ivan as he pays.

“I am a demon.”

“I see. A magician never reveals his secrets.” Alfred nods in understanding. “Artie’s the same way! He never thought we could see him practicing. But he wore this goofy cape everywhere.”

They talk as they make their way back to the car. Ivan opens the passenger door like a pro. The cookies seated safely on Ivan’s lap as they continue to talk.

“Artie?” he asks, the name tumbling clumsily on his lips.

“Yeah! My cousin Arthur. Yeah! He’s the one I got the book from that had the recipe of the cookies you ate.”

Ivan felt like he was talking to a brick wall. Alfred seemed nice enough, but he simply cannot believe that he is a demon and that Alfred summoned him. He needed to save his strength and peace of mind and just played along.

“Come with me to the office Christmas party? We get a plus one and since you’re already with me, and since we’re already on our way.”

“Yes.” There were too many things in Alfred’s sentence that flew over his head and it was just easier to accept them. He doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.

They park by a plain building with grey brick, the parking lot covered in the fresh snow that was falling. Getting out of the car, Ivan vowed to protect these Christmas cookies with his life. He would ensure their safety until they arrived at their destination: The Break Room.

Alfred pressed a button, and they entered the elevator. He saw Ivan flinch and took his hand to calm him. Ivan’s shoulders dropped as he took a breath; he was grateful for the hand. The hand was soft and warm against his. The elevator bell dinged, and Alfred let go much to Ivan’s disappointment. Both of them stepped out and into Alfred’s workplace.

The shorter man greeted a few of his co-workers as he wore a friendly smile making his way over to the break room. His boss was there already, telling a story clearly no one wanted to hear.

“Look who made it on time for once, huh?” As he laughed. Ivan saw Alfred twitch and the demon narrowed his eyes at the small man. The party had plenty of treats and goodies. With more than enough cookies.

“Oh, I thought you asked me to get the cookies?” Alfred asked through gritted teeth.

“Huh? Oh yeah, I figured you wouldn’t so I asked Martina to bake some instead. Sorry, completely slipped my mind.” Alfred wanted to kill him. He has never wanted to murder someone so badly.

“I mean you’re not exactly the brightest, which is fine, we all have our strengths.”

Ivan has no clue what is happening, but he knows Alfred is not as stupid or forgetful as this man is making him seem. From what he has seen Alfred is kind, generous, and patient. Qualities he does not see from most mortals.

“Just let this be a lesson for ya, okay?” walking over to Alfred and putting a hand on his shoulder. Alfred was visibly uncomfortable. Ivan snapped. It didn’t matter if it used up the last of his power in getting home. The black aura returned along with blue flames. Horns protruded from his head as dark wings ripped through the back of his shirt. Wings that expanded the entire length of the break room.

“How dare you say such things when you are nothing but a miserable pile of waste. You are a pitiful excuse for a mortal. You are a worm beneath my feet and the feet of the one who summoned me.”

Ivan stomps over to the shaking manager and effortlessly picks the man up by the throat. The manager struggles in his grip. The employees gasp and watch with shocked expressions.

“You will show some respect and reverence to those who deserve it since you are only the dirt under my foot.” Ivan drops the man with a thud and the manager wriggles away and hides behind the other employees. Alfred stands tall as Ivan turns to him and reverts to his human form. Ivan lets out a heavy sigh as Alfred wraps his arms around the other man and kisses him. Ivan doesn’t know what this means but his human form seems to know instinctively to kiss back.

They break it and Ivan sweeps Alfred off his feet and picks him up bridal style. Alfred laughs and wraps his arms around his neck. Ivan goes to leave but Alfred stops him for a moment.

“Also. I quit. Merry Christmas, bitch!”

#rusame secret santa 2020 #rusame #aph russia #aph america #christmas #aph #my shit

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babylooneytoonz · 4 years

Text

Blood Trails [ Pt. 5 ]

Chapter Summary : A shocking revelation shakes Bucky to the core. How would he react after finding out that the woman he thought was dead five years back is not only alive but is working for HYDRA? To what extent will he now go to seek you out for the answers that he is looking for ?

Warnings : Violence , Mentions of torture , almost drowning, minor angst

Word Count : 3000+

Link to Blood Trails Masterlist -> here.

Ever since the Avengers had managed to eliminate most of the HYDRA guards in that facility, rescued the Winter Soldier’s daughter and set foot back on the Quinjet and were on their way back home, they all had noticed how quiet the little girl was.

She hadn’t spoken a word ever since she had stepped into the Quinjet and Bucky was worried. He had tried almost five times to get the little girl to talk but all she did was stare at him with her seemingly large glossy orbs, and then turned her head away, so she could stare at the window and look at the darkness outside.

“I don’t know Sam, I don’t know what’s wrong with her. She hasn’t spoken a word ever since we’ve got her back. I just want to know if she is okay.” Bucky looked at her daughter, as he stood next to Sam, who was right now piloting the Quinjet, while Tony Stark was lazily sprawled on the metal bed not much distance away; already snoring heavy.

“She is just in shock, maybe we should give her time.”

“I don’t know Wilson..” Buck sighed in a low, punctured way but did not speak much on this again.

Now they were back at the Avengers Towers, and Tony had gotten a few doctors to check the little girl. All her reports were clear, except for a few bruises here and there, but she was okay, and Bucky finally breathed free, and in relief. However, he was dying to hear her speak, say anything, just anything at all. Filling up a tray with her favourite fries, and a large oreo shake, he slowly found his way to his apartment. Gently, he pushed open the door, and his sight fell on the little girl. She was sitting on the bed, her knees huddled together against her chest, her cheek resting on her knees as she stared into the space.

“Now who wants to have the best snacks in the world? Fries and a good ol’ Oreo Shake huh? Doesn’t my little princess just love it?” Bucky announced, but the girl still didn’t respond.

Bucky swallowed the lump forming in his throat. For the first time in days today, ever since Natasha had left for this classified mission, he was finally missing her. If she was here, maybe she would have gotten through to her. Maybe what Sasha needed right now, was a mother, a friend, someone who could understand what she was going through right now. With slow, dejected steps, he lowered himself against the mattress, and placed the tray on the bedside table.

“Sasha?” he whispered, and the girl reacted by slowly turning towards him and giving him a tender smile; that made his heart melt, and his heart shatter at the same time. She was only a five year old, and she acted fifteen at times. He didn’t know if he was supposed to be proud, or sad that she had to grow up so fast.

“Daddy?” she finally whispered, her voice so low, that Bucky had to strain his ears to listen to her.

“I want to go back.”

No, maybe he hadn’t heard it right. Nah, he definitely hadn’t heard it right, right?

“What, малышка?” He tried to smile, but he couldn’t.

“I want to go back. I miss her.”

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as he fervently swiped his palm over his face, and his stubble, “Miss who, принцесса?”

“Her. They hurt her daddy. They do things to her. She cries herself to sleep. She protected me when I was there.”

“You mean that woman ? The one you didn’t let me shoot?”

Sasha finally scooted over, so she was now climbing into Bucky’s lap, who sat back now, his back resting against the headboard of the bed, his metal arm protectively wrapped around her tiny frame.

“That man daddy.. he was.. evil.. he hurt her.” Tears had now formed into her eyes, as Bucky immediately drew her against his chest, stroking the back of her head in a soft, comforting motion. “hey now, hush.. she was a bad woman, Sasha. She was the one that took you..”

“No, don’t say that. Please don’t say that about my mommy! She didn’t hurt me! She saved me dad –“

Bucky wasn’t listening to what she was saying any longer. He was just squinting his eyes, his brows now furrowed in confusion, as he tried to understand what his girl had just said to him.

“What do you mean your mommy Sasha? Your mom is on an Avengers mission.”

“My mommy.. daddy.. the one from the picture in your wallet.. you said she went to heaven, she didn’t.”

Bucky froze, the metal hand that was holding her against him fell down his lap when she said those words. The look he gave her only meant one thing; his brain had suddenly stopped working, like someone had messed with the tuning of his mind. He suddenly couldn’t breathe, as he, with shaky fingers , reached for his wallet that was placed in the bedside drawer. His hands didn’t stop shaking, and neither did the tears that were forming in his eyes dry away, even though he was blinking incessantly now as he opened his wallet, and with trembling fingers, pulled out an old photograph of you and looked at her.

“Yes, daddy... it was her. Please.. can you bring mommy back? I'm scared of that bad man who hurts her."

Bucky slid his feet out of the blanket, and he sat down against the edge of the bed as denial kicked in, and he found himself shaking his head, "I just.. go to sleep, Sasha.. you must be mistaken."

"But daddy I"

"That's enough Sasha."

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

“You’re telling me.. you just managed to lose her to that fucking Avenger scum? Ты чертовски серьезно?”

You knelt down in front of Vasili; or you would rather say, you were pushed to the ground in front of him, while men around you stood with their guns in their hands, their eyes everywhere but on you, as you were crouching on your knees, and Vasili had his claws dug into your hair, pulling them back with such force, you were forced to look into his eyes.

“Vasili, please.. it was a mistake. They were too many..I – “

“What is that one thing HYDRA never does? Скажи мне, дорогая.” He yanked at your hair once again, but this time, he pulled so hard, a pained screech exited your lips, and you were forced to clench your eyelids shut in an attempt to mask your tears in front of him.

“Well, возлюбленная, HYDRA never fails,” he eerily whispered against your ear, his tongue sliding out as he ran it along the side of your neck, and you started squirming, trying to pull yourself away, when he smacked you hard across your face, causing your body to jerk to your side, as you fell face first against the cold metal floor of the new building your handler had brought you to.

“Get up.”

You kept your eyes clenched shut, you didn’t want to listen, but you knew you had to comply, at least the brainwashed little puppet inside of you. You pushed yourself up again, and Vasili nodded, a content smile breaking out against his lips, as he threw out his palm towards you that you hesitantly took.

“Where .. are you taking me?” You tried to inquire, through pursed lips, but all you got was a tap on your hand that he was holding using his other hand, followed by a grin as he mumbled, “Ты был хорошим солдатом. Я думал, что награду тебя за твои … добрые услуги. (You’ve been a good little soldier. I thought I would reward you for your… diligent services.) The sarcasm, and the hint of a darkness in his voice did nothing to quench the fear that had started to grow inside the pit of your stomach.

You quietly kept walking alongside the blue eyed man, your fingers forcefully laced with his , three of the guards following the two of you as he walked down a hallway, until he was standing in front of a door. He raised his palm in the air, and dramatically swiped it in the air, as though he was slapping an imaginary entity, and the guard stepped forward to immediately unlock the door. Dread pooled into your stomach, knots of uncertainty forming inside you as you awaited what was inside that room; a surprise like Vasili put it. You had expected a torture chamber, but when you saw the bathtub inside, your heart dipped into a swimming pool of a sudden gloom.

“Come on, your surprise is …waiting,” he drawled, laying emphasis on the word waiting, as he nudged your hand and made you enter, pulling you along as he made his way to the bathtub. You couldn’t help but scan the little room; a small window stood low, with thick iron grills that looked impenetrable. The walls were a dull grey, and the room was lacking any furniture, except for that one metallic bathtub that stood forlorn in the center, and a small ottoman that rested next to it.

“Sit.”

Giving him a blank look, you slowly lowered yourself on the ottoman, as you found him flipping you slowly so you were now sitting with your back turned towards him, your hands holding the corners of the bathtub in front of you, your own reflection peeking out from the water and giving you a view of it. Vasili’s hands; his fingers chilly, came to rest against the back of your neck as he slowly started massaging the back of your neck.

Suddenly, what started as a massage, turned into your biggest nightmare; when his grip against the back of your neck tightened, and he pushed your head into the water.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Two days. James Buchanan Barnes was in his thoughts for two longs days; his thoughts dwindling between denying what Sasha could have told him was true, and contemplating if he should give her a chance even though there is a fair chance that the little girl just got messed up and confused perhaps. In the end, Bucky lost this mental raging war in his mind, and he ended up doing something he never really thought he would.

The air in the meeting room was so brittle, it could snap. No one spoke a word, for no one wasn’t sure what was going on. So, they quietly stood in different corners, watching Sergeant Barnes, leaning over the interrogation table, his metal hand resting against the surface of it, his deadly eyes glaring into the doctor’s frightened ones.

“This was going to blast up on your face one day,” Bucky snarled, almost slamming his metal fist against the table, ignoring the roll of the eyes that Tony gave him, mumbling under his breath, “that table alone cost me a fortune, and look at Mr. Tin Foil here trying to make dents on it.”

“I’m serious, Stark. This right here is a fucking serious conversation going on, so if you can please shut the fuck up and let me continue?” Bucky snapped back upon hearing Tony.

Tony threw his hands defensively in the air and rolled his eyes dramatically, “whatever you say.”

Once sure that Tony’s little dramatic endeavour was over, Bucky took a deep breath, before turning back to face the doctor who’s face was almost white with his nerves.

“It’s been five years, I think I owe the truth now, of what really happened that day at the hospital. And do not for one single second, pretend to not know a thing and be ignorant because I can see it in your eyes that you know everything,” Bucky spat out words faster and louder than the engine of a train; his eyes were on fire and so were his insides.

Finally, the doctor did break. He let out a huff, his shoulders squaring once before they dropped and he started looking down at his fingers and then back up again, his eyes almost widened in fear.

“Listen man, if you just answer him, he might, you know, spare you a torture with that metal arm –“ Sam began, but his words seemed to have made the doctor almost cower back in fear, sweat now dripping off his temples as he started fervently shaking his head, “It was all her idea! She made me do it! I needed the money! For Christsakes, I have three young children and I needed the money to be able to pay the rent –“

“What did she make you do?” Bucky deadpanned, no expression on his face; his eyes hollow and cold, making the doctor visibly pale and wilt as his clipped words were uttered.

“I, well, uh.. Sergeant Barnes.. “ he rubbed the side of his scalp nervously, glancing a quick sweep over the rest of the team who was now trying to decipher what exactly the discussion was about, when his next words caused Bucky to almost be tongue tied, Sam’s eyes to widen uncontrollably and Tony to almost choke on a cough, “ .. she asked me to help her fake her death.”

“You’re telling me.. Y/N didn’t die giving birth to Sasha?” Bucky just went still, staring at the doctor, his expressions failing to hide the sudden drain in his cheeks that hearing this had caused him. His muscles clenched and his jaw tightened, everything for him started turning red; his vision, his brain, his memories; every single thing. His fingers coiled into a fist, and he held on to the table so hard, a dent formed on it.

“Sergeant Barnes, I told her, that you deserved to know.. but all she said was that she was doing this to protect her family, what could I have said? It wasn’t my place to say anything when that is what she wanted.”

“Yeah well, I lost five years of my fucking life, just because it wasn’t your place to say. Get the fuck out before I –“ He slammed his metal fist against the table, and the frightened man just fell back, taking the chair down with him. Waves of fury emancipated off him as he walked out of the meeting room, slamming the door behind him.

“Well that was .. a revelation.” Tony mumbled, glancing at Sam who just looked at him, with a look of discomfort on his face.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Sasha’s soft snores filled Bucky’s room as he was laying on his bed, his blanket adorning his lower body, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he toyed with the bedside lamp switch, switching it on and switching it off multiple times. Sasha was curled in bed next to his father, his flesh arm tucked securely with her as she clung on to it. Although he had been trying to sleep for the past three hours, sleep evaded him. Suddenly, he propped himself up in bed, more due to the discomfort at the back of his mind, that caused his daughter to stir from her sleep, and slowly, flutter her eyes open.

“Daddy?” She whispered, propping herself up in a sitting position, as she pushed her cheek to his bicep, wrapping her arms around him.

“Go back to sleep, моя любовь, I’m sorry daddy woke you up.”

“All my sleep’s gone now daddy,” she chuckled and her lips puckered into a cute little pout.

“Sue me, моя маленькая принцесса.”

The room was then engulfed into a momentary silence as Bucky began tucking her back in again, but she kept looking at him.

“Uh, Sasha? Can I ask you something?”

The little girl nodded, rubbing her palms against her swollen, sleepy eyes.

“What was she like?” His words slipped out of his mouth, just at the same time as his hand grabbed the wallet and he pulled out your photo, pointing towards you so she could see.

“She took care of me.. “ she smiled cutely, making Bucky smile too, looking down at his hands.

Yes, James Buchanan Barnes was angry at what you had done, which is why he wanted nothing more than to actually find you, if it really were you and get those answers as to why you did what you did. But then again, was it a mere coincidence that you worked for HYDRA and you were the one assigned to kidnap your own daughter? He was sure you were brainwashed; because if what the doctor said was true, that you had done this to protect your baby, there was no way on earth you would have kidnapped her, if it wasn’t for the brainwash. This also meant that James will have to wait a little longer to get the answers he wanted, as there was no chance that you would remember him, if you didn’t remember Sasha.

“Are you going to save her daddy?” Sasha’s innocent voice broke Bucky’s chain of thoughts, causing him to snap his head in her direction, as he nodded, bringing his palm to her cheek, stroking it using his thumb, “Да, дорогой. (Yes, sweetheart).”

The girl, now content with the answer she had received, rolled over in bed pulling the covers over her head. Bucky just sighed inaudibly, burying his face in his hands as he took a deep, punctured breath. Although he had said he would find you and bring you back, he had no idea where Vasili might have taken you, and where he would now find you.

That’s when an idea struck his mind; although it wasn’t the best ideas, it was the only one he had, so he stood up, quietly, to ensure he didn’t wake Sasha up again as he tiptoed out of his apartment, closing the door behind him as he walked towards Sam’s apartment, and started knocking on his door.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Your fingers fumbled against the tiny glass bottle that held numerous white coloured pills for pain relief, that one of the HYDRA guards had tossed you after having inflicted upon you this gruelling pain. Thick darkening lumps and marks tainted your skin almost everywhere now; and you had almost lost that sensation of feeling not in pain. Wiping your tear streaked face with the back of your hand, you pushed yourself up, as much as your now broken body allowed you to, using the wall for support. This was because you could hear Vasili speak to someone on phone not far away.

“Я думаю, что наш Зимний солдат желает смерти своей дочери. (I think our Winter Soldier has a death wish for his daughter.)”

You fixed your ear against the steel door, trying to listen in on what Vasili was talking about.

“Это нормально. Я думаю, что это лучший способ для моего маленького сосуда исправить то, что она сделала неправильно. (Its okay. I think this is the best way for my little vessel to make right what she did wrong.)”

You bit your lip, straining your ears as you continued to listen.

“Зимний Солдат не узнает, что его ударило. Она готова забрать его и вернуть эту красотку туда, где она принадлежит. Я ее отправляю. (Winter Soldier won’t know what hit him. She is ready to take him, and bring that little devil back to where she belongs. I’m sending her in.)

Before you could pull yourself away from the door, the door was forcefully pulled open, and you were caught eavesdropping. Immediately, you pushed yourself away from this man, bringing as much distance you could in between the two of you, your eyes glaring at him as he commanded you, nonchalantly.

“I’ve a mission for you, like you’ve almost heard.. Sarge is taking his daughter out today, I think he said circus..” he smirked, his blue orbs radiating with evil, “Anyway, your mission is to kick his ass if possible, and get that kid back.”

Meanwhile, back at the Avengers towers, Bucky looked at Sam. They had leaked the information out, as much subtly as possible, that he was taking his daughter out to the circus today. There were high chances, that HYDRA and Vasili will send their best soldier out, and although he hadn’t been ready the last time, this time, James Buchanan Barnes was ready for her.

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@really-dont-forget-it @thepeakygurl @all-art-is-quite-useless @baumarvel @janajjj @chipilerendi @nyotamalfoy @skittychat @allidoiswritewritewrite @jessyballet @x0xchristine @evansgirl7 @laisbeltrans @thegayseance @marie1115 @supraveng @booty-ass-hoe @1-800wildluna

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amerie-wadia · 4 years

Text

Painting JJ’s Nails

for the prompt “painting jj’s nails” by @maybanktho

this drabble somewhat follows canon pairings but you can read into my hints at mayward because i just can’t help myself.

The Pogues had been out on the boat all day, mostly fishing but swimming a bit before the sunset and the water was still warmed from the heat of the day. It was the first true summer day they all got to spend together since John B and Sarah...well, since John B and Sarah came home. JJ was happy to give up the driver’s seat of the Pogue, too many weeks of just himself, Pope, and Kie riding in circles around the island desperate to find some place that didn’t remind them of John B. They never quite found that place.

Even with Sarah tossed into the bunch, it was the closest to normal JJ had felt in the past two months. Grief and loneliness had sent JJ into a spiral of isolation and cheap vodka. His head hurt, missing his buzz, and he had buried all his weed in the backyard so it didn’t tempt him. It still tempted him. He promised Pope he wouldn’t do that anymore.

It had gotten to be too much. Too much vodka too early in the mornings. Too many days of ditched work. Too many unanswered text messages. Kie had been livid with him. Pope had just been worried. Both were too hard to face, so JJ hid under his duvet and hung around Barry’s house more often that he’d ever admit too. Once he worked off the money he stole, he made enough to buy better vodka that got him drunk even faster.

JJ hasn’t taken a drink in five days.

To most people, five days doesn’t seem like many. To JJ, five days is a millennia.

Sarah and John B brought beer and JJ refused to make them stop when Pope told them JJ was trying to get clean. Kie has gotten mad again, but this time it was at John B. That didn’t sit right either so JJ chugged part of a gatorade and tossed his fishing line off the side of the boat to keep his hands occupied. As long as he didn’t smell it, it wasn’t too bad. Pope sat down next to him and started talking about hammerhead sharks.

Other than one uncomfortable moment, the day had been what JJ dreamt of for weeks. The air was warm and the breeze was glistening. Soft rock spilled out of Kie’s waterproof speaker as they drifted along the marshes, laughing and reminiscing about Kie’s Kook year and the summer before freshman year when they met Pope.

The sun set before they made it back to the Chateau, so it was dark and John B stumbled as the boat slammed into the shore, flailing around to find a thick enough tree root to anchor it to. Sarah pulled out her phone’s flashlight and shined it in his direction. Pope gave Kie a hand up and out of the boat. He offered one to JJ too, but JJ just rolled his eyes and hopped out of the boat, swinging an arm around Kie’s shoulder just to have her brush him off.

“Pizza?” Kie suggested as all five of them headed in through the porch and into the house.

“I can do pizza,” Sarah agreed.

“Hell yeah, then,” Pope chimed in.

John B scrambled through the top right kitchen drawer for the menu with the right phone number on it and then held it in Sarah’s direction as she called in their order.

“Don’t forget to ask for extra pepperoni,” JJ whispered midway through the call. Sarah just waved her hand at him as if she couldn’t believe that he thought she’d forget that.

“Wonderfull. Thank you so much,” she grinned, shutting off her phone and sticking the menu back in the drawer. “They said it will be about half an hour.”

“I should probably shower first,” Kie commented, studying the patches of dried sunscreen blobs on her arm.

“No,” John B whined. Let’s do something.”

“I feel so gross right now. You guys do something and in like ten minutes I’ll join you.”

“Fine,” John B huffed, looping his arm around Sarah’s shoulders as Kie headed into the bathroom and started up the shower. The sound of the shower water was comforting and JJ crawled into the corner of John B’s sofa so he could lean against the arm rest. Pope took the opposite end of his couch and John B and Sarah curled up on the loveseat.

“Shark tank?” Pope asked as he slowly flipped through the channels.

“Eh.”

“Friends?”

“Nah.”

“John B, what do you want to watch, then? Because there’s not much on other than the news.”

“Just give me that!” John B pressed, reaching out for the remote from Pope. Sarah used the moment to unwrap his arm from around her and she stood up. He was too engrossed in finding something to watch that he didn’t pay it much attention. JJ didn’t either, until she came back with two little glass bottles of nail polish.

One was turquoise and the other looked totally clear.

For some reason, JJ couldn’t help but watch.

She rested back up against John B but leaned over and rested her hands on the coffee table. Pope and John B continued to argue about the channel as Sarah began to coat her right hand’s nails in little blue strokes. The color was light and subtle and completely popped against her tan skin. Her strokes were precise and practiced, and none of the polish spilled out onto her skin or the wooden surface below. She finished one hand and began working on the next.

“What do you think?” she asked—surprisingly, looking directly at JJ.

“Looks great, babe,” John B answered as he flipped the channel again, barely glancing down to see the marvelous job she had done.

Her eyes didn’t stray from JJ’s. In fact, they widened in a bit of an offended gesture as if she was truly interested in JJ’s opinion on her manicure.

In all fairness, JJ did have an opinion on it.

“They look really, um, nice.”

“Want me to do yours?”

JJ choked on the air in his throat and Pope glanced over his way to assess the situation. JJ felt his cheeks flushing pink so he hit down on the inside of his jaw. Him? With painted nails. Pope’s eyes were warm and Sarah wasn’t laughing. Why wasn’t she laughing? It was a joke.

“What?”

“Do you want me to paint yours too? I have enough polish.”

JJ hasn’t been worried about the amount of polish Sarah had. He wasn’t worried about anything. Well, maybe he was a little bit worried about the weird urge to say yes.

“You can say no. I just thought it would be fun.”

JJ glanced over to John B, who was still completely focused on finding something to watch. Then he looked over to Pope, who just gave him a smile and then shifted his gaze back to the tv. Sarah was waiting for a response.

“I guess?”

“You can say no,” she commented again, hesitation lacing her voice.

“No, I mean yes. You can paint them.”

“Great! Do you like blue? I have other colors!” Her eyes were shimmering and JJ could tell why John B had fallen so hard for her. She bounced on the edge of her seat.

“Other colors?” he croaked, not understanding why his voice betrayed him.

“I only have a few here though. I think I have like a light pink and then a red. It’s dark though, like a wine red.”

That was too much description and JJ didn’t want to actually think about what he was doing.

“This one is fine,” he answered, pointing to the polish that she had already used.

“Easy enough,” she smiled, twisting the cap back off and slapping the coffee table lightly for JJ to put his hands down. He spread his fingers apart like he had seen her do. He looked to see if Pope orJohn B were watching but neither were, arguing yet again over which movie they were going to watch.

Sarah lifted up his right hand and her fingers were cold against his skin.

“Relax your hand,” Sarah instructed, holding up his thumb so the nail was pointed toward her. JJ tried to relax his hand but it only felt stiffer. After a few moments he found a sweet spot and Sarah grinned.

Once she began painting his nail it was too late to turn around.

He had expected to feel more of a weight or a tickle when the little brush floated across his nail but there was nothing other than the little stripe of blue polish. It was runny and it dropped to the creases of JJ’s nail beds and Sarah dug the corner of her own nail against it to prevent the color from seeping onto his skin. It chipped her own paint a bit but she was too preoccupied with moving along JJ’s hand.

It didn’t look as soft as it did on Sarah’s hands. His hands were too rough, too hairy—though it was bleach blond and JJ was the only person who actually ever noticed it—and there was bruising around his knuckles from when he’d gotten angry with Luke and punched a hole through his closet door.

It had only been a few days ago. The fight had been enormous and he’d gotten so drunk he genuinely thought he was going to die of alcohol poisoning. He was so drunk he couldn’t figure out how to answer his phone and let him know that John B and Sarah we’re home. He woke up the next morning to bloody knuckles, two broken ribs, and about thirty text messages from Kie and Pope. He’d promised to stop drinking that day, after he hacked up the entity of his stomach and dry heaved for about an hour. His head ached when John B pulled him into a hug.

“Don’t touch anything. Here, give me your other hand.”

JJ listened, setting his painted hand gently over his knee so his nails were out of harms way. Sarah picked up his other hand and began to paint.

“What the hell are you watching?” Kie’s voice asked suddenly. JJ flinched and Sarah gripped his hand hard to steady it after a brush of polish went across his index finger. Water droplets sprinkled lightly from her hair onto the couch beside JJ.

“Sorry.”

“Keep still.”

“What are you two doing?”

Her eyes felt hot on his own so he kept his gaze on his nails and shrugged. It was a rhetorical question—or at least Sarah and JJ took it that way.

“I can do yours too?” Sarah offered as she wiped off the excess polish from his finger and continued onto the next nail.

“Mine are already done. Maybe I’ll do my toes tonight.”

Girls painted their toes too?

“Ooh, good idea. I’ll do mine when I finish JJ’s.”

She had said it out loud. Obviously, JJ knew Kie could see it happening—knew everybody could see it happening—but it was still a bit uncomfortable to hear her say it out loud. And he couldn’t figure out why.

Because it looked really nice.

Sarah’s coat was smooth and even, no polish on his skin and it wasn’t too see through either. Her hand was steady and she carefully set JJ’s left hand down in the coffee table when she was finished.

“All done! You just need to let these dry for like twenty minutes,” she explained, twisting the cap back into place on the bottle.

Kie took a seat beside Pope and reached out for JJ’s hand.

“I wanna see!”

At first, JJ didn’t let his hands move—Sarah had said to keep still—but Kie was being gentle so he let his left hand fall before her and a big grin grew from the crown of her lips to her ears.

“They look amazing, Sarah.”

“Why thank you.”

Kie let his hand go and then Pope looked over to see the final result. JJ wiggles his fingers in Pope’s direction.

“Looks good.”

JJ refused to acknowledge the pink on his cheeks as the he continued to receive attention and praise for his turquoise nails. Sarah was talking to Kie about nail polish colors when John B finally settled on friends and finally looked over to see what all the fuss was about.

JJ was a bit more hesitant to show John B his nails—unsure as to why (probably because he idolized John B and if his friend said it looked stupid he would rip all his fingernails out).

“Cool.”

JJ’s shoulders dropped, tension easing from his spine.

“Sarah, remember that time you did those little flowers on your toes?”

“Yep.”

“That was sick.”

With his new found ease, JJ let himself admire the polish. It was beginning to dry but was still glistening and smooth. They looked absolutely perfect. And JJ kind of loved them.

He knew he would have to take it off before he went home that night. Luke would absolutely kill JJ if he saw the nail polish. But at least for a few hours JJ could enjoy the feeling of having his nails painted.

Maybe someday—if he could muster up the courage—he would ask Sarah to do it again.

#obx #outer banks #jj maybank #my writing #thanks so much for the prompts #i didn't even read through all your ideas because once i saw this one i was like omg i need to write #most of this is just the pogues chilling on their boat but i'm so bad at not including a shit ton of backstory #i really hope you like this !!#i wrote it in about an hour and i haven't read through it yet or grammar checked it #oof i really should edit my writing before i post but i just cannot be bothered #my verb tenses are absolutely atrocious plz ignore that if you can

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 4 years

Text

Illicio 10/?

Part 9

Bit of a content warning for the first section because Martin's Lonely thoughts are starting to feel a little like suicidal ideation, just in case.

"What part of 'don't antagonize Martin' translated into 'go and lie to his landlady to break into his house' to you?" Jon asks that evening. The bus is nearly empty, and Gerry's arm is a comforting weight across his shoulders, a nice contrast against the hard plastic seat.

"I knew he'd tattle," Gerry rolls his eyes. "Go figure, pull a guy out of the Lonely with a nice cup of tea and some good conversation, and the first thing he does is go tell on you with his crush.

Martin bundles himself a little tighter in his coat, as he waits for the kettle to boil. The worst thing about the Lonely is definitely the bone-deep chill that follows wherever you go, no matter how many layers you wear, or how high you crank up the heater. The cold is inside you, and Martin is starting to run out of ways to chase it out.

The kitchenette attached to Peter's office is smaller than the one at the Archives' break room, but also much better equipped; it has a high end coffeemaker and all sorts of coffee and tea sorted in delicately crafted tins. Martin has the thought that he would've been excited to try them all before, but now he just cracks the tin open and pulls out a bag at random. This is just... something else he's supposed to do, like eating, like breathing. It doesn't matter that they don't bring any satisfaction, because nothing really does anymore, when he's like this.

He goes to pour the hot water into a single mug, and drops the bag inside, watching it sink and bob with a curious sense of detachment. It smells like nothing, and it tastes like nothing when he takes a sip. His hands barely even register the warmth of the cup, and Martin places it back at the countertop. He'd expected it would make him feel something, but there goes that hope.

The only spark of emotion comes when he finally listens to the prickle of unease in his chest, and goes to close the small room's exit where it connects with Peter's office. Standing alone behind two locked doors, he almost feels at ease. Nobody can find him here- or they wouldn't, if anyone was looking for him of course. Jon hasn't come to him since the last time they met before the coffin, and Gerard seems to have a supernatural sense to know when Martin just finished an Extinction statement to come pester it out of him.

It's a bit pathetic, that Jon's- that Gerard is the only one who seeks him out, and even then it's only out of necessity. The Lonely likes it, and it likes even more that Martin doesn't feel any special way about it.

Outside, someone walks past the door to Peter's office, and Martin's stomach clenches. The room around him loses a little more color. Maybe… maybe he'll go home early today. Peter won't care; he would probably encourage it, now that Martin thinks about it. Just... it'll be easier there. More quiet. Calmer.

Martin leans his head back, and the room around him begins to dissolve.

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

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Gerry asks with a smile, and Melanie nods, entranced.

"We should find another," she declares. The Flesh book -aptly titled just 'Guts'- burns nicely in a metallic garbage bin between the two of them.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you." Gerry snorts. "I've been hearing some rumours about the Desolation. Some weird fires around the city; might be worth taking a look at."

Melanie squirts some more lighter fluid onto the book, delighting when the fire roars and flares up.

"How is it different?" she asks, the question popping suddenly into her mind.

"Sorry?" Gerry arches an eyebrow.

"I know the Desolation is destruction, and Slaughter is violence." It's odd, to talk so freely about the entity that would've claimed her soul; like mentioning someone you knew in passing, one of those who were impossibly important once, but now are just a memory you're not sure how you feel about. "But I wanted to destroy too, when I was- you know."

"I know." Gerry lets out a careful huff, running a hand through his hair. "They tend to bleed into each other, some more than others. Some care about the end result only, like the Desolation, some care about the process, like the Slaughter or the Hunt. Smirke had a good idea with the list, but sometimes I think he oversimplified."

"So what's your take on it?"

"Colors," Gerry shrugs, then adds with a small smile, "if colors hated you."

Melanie has no idea what that's supposed to mean, but his tone makes it fairly clear that it's got something to do with Jon, and she rolls her eyes. Ridiculous, but apparently something she'll have to get used to, considering the sneak peeks she's gotten through the Institute's windows in the past week.

"How's Georgie?" Gerry asks after a moment, once the flames have started dying down. "You've been going out more lately, right?"

"Yes. I'm-" Melanie feels her body tense, and takes a deep breath, until it relaxes again. This- she can tell Gerry this. It's not a big deal. They're- they might be friends, now. "She takes me to therapy. I've been feeling- I added an extra day. I feel like it's working."

Gerry gives her a quick look and a quicker smile, before focusing on the remnants of the burning book again. "That's good. I tried therapy once, but it turns out there is just no way to work 'my mother accidentally framed me for her gruesome murder and then came back to life and continued to stalk me until I handed her over to an old woman to be destroyed' into a credible lie. Not that you would know the difference, of course," he adds with a wink over his shoulder.

"I'll have you know my therapist doesn't suspect a thing, so I'm clearly not as bad of a liar as you think." Melanie rolls her eyes, smiling. There's a certain giddiness to her chest, a kind of light-heartedness she'd almost forgotten.

"Mmmm nah, you're very bad." Gerry reaches a hand towards her, and she passes him the bottle of lighter fluid. He squirts the rest of it in the trash can, unflinching when the flames roar up again, before he turns back to look at Melanie. "But I'm glad it's helping. I'm guessing the after-session dates with your girlfriend are nothing to scoff at either, are they?"

"They help," Melanie's smile turns a little smug. It may be sappy, but she's allowed a bit of happiness, thank you very much.

"I can imagine," Gerry rests his closed fist against her shoulder and gives her a little shove. Melanie kicks at his boot, rolling her eyes.

This is... comfortable. Life is far from perfect, and the number of things that make Melanie happy are still in the single digits but this- this might be one of them.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you something..." Melanie starts after the fire has died down again and the relaxed silence has stretched for a few minutes, making her voice as casual as possible. "Remember when you told us that you fed on Jon's voice? Recharging a battery, kind of?"

"I... do?" Gerry looks down at her with an arched eyebrow.

"Okay. And remember that other time you told me there was nothing going on with Jon, but you let me believe that so I didn't find out you were leeching on him to survive?"

"Ah." Gerry averts his eyes, and the line of his shoulders stiffens. Melanie frowns, puzzled; it's been a while since she's had any friends to joke with, but this is most definitely not the mood she was trying to set up. "I didn't want any trouble, Melanie. You and Basira were very on board with killing me that first day because you thought I wasn't human, and I was just- well, I knew if you got actual confirmation of that, then-"

"Oh- oh no, that's not what I'm talking about," Melanie shakes her head, rolling her eyes. "I get why you did that. You were right, too, I would've killed you," she shrugs.

Gerry turns to look at her again, amused and confused in equal measure. "Okay? So what's this about then?"

"I just wanted to ask," Melanie struggles a little to keep her face blank now that she's put them back on track. "Do you also feed on holding hands with Jon, or is that just so he doesn't get lost into another entity when you're on your way from the bus stop?"

Gerry freezes when her words register in his mind, his face a carefully blank mask whose only emotion lies in the slight panic brewing behind his eyes.

"I-"

"Yes?" Melanie lifts her eyebrows, nodding along with pursed lips. The flush starting to darken his cheekbones is fascinating to watch, a much deeper hue than would correspond to his skin tone, probably on account of the ink that runs through his veins.

"Have you been- listen, we have- the fires." Gerry turns abruptly to start walking away from the smoldering can, and Melanie smirks. "We should look into it, could be a new avatar."

"Mhm. Alright. Just a little question I had, don't let it keep you up at night." Melanie follows, not even angry that she has to trot to keep up with him.

"I won't."

"Good, good."

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

"You're far too early. Nothing to find today?" Jon looks up when the door to his office is pushed open, a smile already on his lips. Gerry shrugs, taking his jacket off. Jon's gaze trails over the burn-smooth skin of Gerry's arms, the tattooed eyes at his elbows seeming to almost look at him when Gerry's muscles contract and stretch as he moves to hang the jacket by Jon's coat.

"Hello there?" Gerry asks, and Jon's eyes snap up his face. He's got an amused smile and a raised eyebrow, and Jon whips his burning face back down to his statement. "Melanie's busy today, so I did some recon by myself, but there's nothing tangible asides from Rayner's freaks."

"This is- yes, alright." He's not terribly worried about the Church of the Divine Host, he thinks, his fist clenching tightly around the pen he's using to make annotations on the statement; they cannot come into his Archives, because they won't risk being Seen. It still irks him that they dare come this close to the Institute, like a taunt to-

"What are you working on?" Gerry's long, black hair curtains down by the side of Jon's face, and all thoughts of Seeing the Darkness into oblivion evaporate from his mind.

"I just- I'm going over old statements," Jon clears his throat. "I'm trying to find anything that feels like the Extinction."

"I see... Found anything yet?" Gerry leans closer to look at the paper on the desk, and Jon freezes at the warmth at his back.

"I don't-" this is where Jon admits he hasn't been able to focus for the past three hours, isn't it? "Martin left early yesterday. And he didn't come to work today."

"Ah," Gerry sighs, before retreating to go sit across the desk. His eyes are soft and sympathetic, because it's just Jon's luck to be surrounded by good, caring people that he doesn't deserve. "How did you-"

"I just Knew it. I think- I think it was too much today." Jon averts his gaze again; Gerry's gentle concern is too much to deal with, what with everything that's been tumbling around in his head. "Which is why I'm looking into this, but the Watcher doesn't seem to be too interested in the new competitor." Jon scowls down at his desk. No helpful tidbits from the Eye either when picking out statements to revisit, or when going over things he already knew.

"Hey." Gerry slides a warm, heavy hand on top of Jon's, and Jon, because he's a selfish coward, doesn't move away. "You're doing what you can. We all are, Martin too."

Jon nods slowly, after a moment. Martin is- Martin knows what he's doing. He's far from stupid or weak, Jon knows that now. Even though he's still human, Martin moves through this world of fears with a sense of cunning and determination that Jon couldn't even begin to emulate, despite being a key player himself.

"I must admit, I... it's nice that you have changed your mind about him." Gerry hasn't told him what brought on the change, but Jon finds that he doesn't care. It's just one less thing to be worried about.

Gerry shrugs, giving his hand a squeeze. "Turns out we have a few things in common."

"You do." Jon nods; that much has been clear to him for a while. A fatal flaw that bears his name and his face.

Gerry's gaze is heavy on him, far from the usual playfulness in their interactions, and Jon feels his heartbeat start racing.

"Jon, we-"

"Jon?" the door opens again, and Daisy pokes her head through. "Oh. Sorry."

"No, it's- do you need anything, Daisy?" Jon asks, extricating his hand from Gerry's in the softest movement he can manage.

"I can come back later," Daisy shrugs.

"Actually, let's trade." Gerry pushes off his chair, and onto his feet. "You stay here. I'll see you when it's time to go home." He doesn't seek Jon's eyes when he says this, moving instead to grab his jacket and shove his arms through the sleeves.

"Careful," Jon mutters quietly.

Gerry stops at the door, his shoulders dropping in what might be a sigh, and he turns to look at him over his shoulder, his eyes softening just the slightest amount. "...Yeah. Yeah, you too."

And he's gone.

Daisy comes in once the sound of Gerry's boots stomping against the Institute's polished floors fades from earshot. "That was very dramatic."

Jon crosses his arms over his chest. "No, it wasn't."

Daisy rolls her eyes. "You're making this too big of a deal, just like the monster thing."

"I- excuse me?" Jon's face goes slack in disbelief, but Daisy merely leans a hip against his desk, looking down at him with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Poor, poor Jon, with these two men who lo-"

"Daisy! We don't- there's no-" Jon sputters, as it becomes increasingly clear he doesn't have anything to say, and just wanted to stop her from finishing the thought. "What did you need?"

Daisy shrugs. "Basira went to see Elias, and Melanie's out too."

"I see..." Jon sighs; the only reasons he's able to brave being alone are both the fact that recording statements keeps the walls from closing in, and the terrifying knowledge that Gerry would stay in the office just to keep him company if he asked. "Well I- it's good that you came. I need your opinion on something."

As soon as it becomes clear that she's wanted here, Daisy's entire body relaxes; Jon smiles to himself as she goes to take the seat Gerry left. Daisy deserves some kindness, she's just... another victim. He's the only one who chose this.

"Sure, what is it?"

"Did yo- have you seen Martin lately?" Jon reaches into a desk drawer for a tape recorder that wasn't there a minute ago. This one, he Knows, will contain Martin's recording on the Extinction.

"Not really. Where is he?" Daisy frowns.

Jon's eyes fall to the recorder in his hand. He doesn't know if he feels guiltier for Knowing about Martin, or for not going to him after what he found out.

"Taking a break from all of this, hopefully."

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

"-tin Blackwood? Yes, he lives here. We haven't seen him in a few weeks, though." The woman's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Did he die?"

Gerry snorts. God forbid landlords have any tact. He thinks back at one of the many things he learned about Martin while trying to Know the address to his flat.

"No, he's fine. But he had to go out of town for a while, because his mother passed away." He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to look solemn. "I'm going to go stay with him for a few days, but he wanted me to pick up his phone and some other things for him."

"I see... and who are you again?" The woman asks; the mistrust is a fair response, honestly, considering what Gerry's here to do.

"Well, you know..." he gives her a little smile and a non-committal gesture, pointing at himself and an imaginary Martin by his side. Whatever, it worked with Melanie and Basira, it'll fool a random landlady.

"Ah. Huh." The woman runs her eyes over him, evaluating him under the light of the new revelation; Gerry probably -hopefully- doesn't look anything like a self deprecating mop that specializes in giving off mixed signals and avoiding necessary conversations, but this woman clearly doesn't know Martin enough to know his tastes, because she just shrugs. "Then don't you have a key already?"

"Oh yes, I have one,' Gerry hurries to say. "He just wanted me to tell you that he's, you know, coming back and-" and here he crosses a leg over the other, bringing a knee up against the desk with enough force that the landlady's mug topples over the edge and spills its contents on her lap. "Oh shit, I'm sorry! Did you-"

"I'm alright," the woman says through gritted teeth, her skirt dripping lukewarm coffee on the carpeted floor when she climbs to her feet.

"I'm really sorry," Gerry apologizes again, but the woman is already heading towards the door without sparing him a glance. Good.

He Knows she keeps the spare keys in the bottom left drawer of the desk, and it only takes him a couple seconds lto find the one labeled with the number to Martin's flat, before unhooking it from the ring and pushing the drawer closed again.

By the time the woman comes back, patting at her damp lap with a towel, Gerry's already sitting back on his chair, sporting his best apprehensive look. "Did you need anything else?" she snaps.

"No, I'm just-"

"Sorry, yes. Thank you, could you leave?" the landlady's lips are pursed into a tense line. "I need to change."

"Yes! Sorry, I'll just-" he hops to his feet, crossing the office hurriedly. "Sorry!" Gerry apologises again before she closes the office door in his face, and he smiles. That's one less thing to worry about.

Martin's door opens easily enough with the key, and fog spills out like some sort of cheap haunted house trick. Not great, Gerry decides. The interior is freezing cold, and he bundles a bit tighter in his jacket, before closing the door behind him. There's a picture of a woman on a small table by the door, right behind the key bowl, and Gerry remembers the tape he listened to, with Elias' cruel, mocking voice and Martin's pained, choked back sobs.

It's a little selfish, but it's nice to know that Gerry's not the only one who can't bring himself to get rid of the memory of a mother who never loved him.

"Martin?" he calls out, bundling himself tighter in his clothes. "Are you-"

"What are you doing in my flat?!" Martin says by his side, where Gerry's pretty sure he wasn't a second ago. "How did you get in here?"

"It was open," Gerry shrugs. Martin looks... gray. His eyes, his hair, even his skin seems desaturated, blending in against the muted hues of his lightless flat.

"No it wasn't." Martin says firmly, and a bit of green starts seeping back into his eyes. Gerry lets out a relieved exhale. He's not too far gone, yet. "In fact, I made sure it was locked, because I've been being stalked lately."

"That sounds terrible," Gerry says, and because it seems like Martin is gaining more and more color the more exasperated he grows, he walks past him into what turns out to be the kitchen. "Want me to beat them up for you? I'll do it, just point me at 'em. Do you have coffee here? I'm not much for tea."

"I don't- why are you here?!" Martin sputters angrily, closing the cupboard doors Gerry purposefully leaves open as he moves down the room. "I'm not exactly going to record Extinction statements at home!"

"Well, I'm not here for that." Gerry gives him another look. He looks mostly solid now, enough that it might be a good time to let him know. "Jon was worried about you, so I came to check how you were."

"...Oh." Martin's flustered face goes slack at the news, and Gerry snorts. These two are the freaking same. "I- does he know?"

"That you're trying to save the world?" Gerry arches an eyebrow. "Or that you're doing it for him?" that has Martin's face regaining the color it was lacking.

"Both, I guess," Martin mutters, bringing a hand to rub at his arm nervously. "...I think I do have coffee, but it's- I don't drink it, I just had it for when Sasha- for when friends came over. I don't know if it's any good."

"I've probably had worse." Gerry knows what it's like to be alone. He's been that way for most of his life, but it's... he chose to live like that, it was never a burden for him. Here, as Martin talks of friends ripped from him by a world that feeds on despair, he feels a pang of sadness for this man who clearly didn't. "I have an hour before I have to go get Jon."

"Alright," Martin lets out a noise between a sigh and a groa, before he finally moves towards the cupboards again, and starts pulling out mugs and tins and spoons. "But you have to tell me how you got in."

"I'll let you guess," Gerry smirks as he sits at the breakfast table.

"How is he?" comes Martin's voice amidst the clinking of metal and porcelain. There's a careful quality to it, like he thinks he's not allowed to ask, and Gerry sighs.

"He's alright. Very defensive when we talk about his rib-related choices."

The sound of a mug dropped on the countertop, and Martin spins around. "Excuse me, his what?"

Gerry arches an eyebrow. "I hadn't told you? Could've sworn I mentioned it when we spoke about the marks." He wipes a hand under his nose, but it comes away ink-free. Edging around the topic is okay then, good to know.

"I don't- you didn't mention any ribs," Martin's voice is this close to a groan, Gerry notes with a smile. "What did he do now?"

"You better finish making that tea, you're going to need it."

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

The door to the cell slams shut, and Elias rolls his eyes. Frankly... he'd known Peter wasn't in the best of moods, but this is childish.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to either calm down or leave."

"How are you doing it?" Peter lands heavily on the chair across the table, blue eyes stormy with badly concealed rage and a muscle twitching on his jaw. Elias tries, he really does, but he can't hold back a snort. "Elias!"

"I'm sorry, sorry," Elias chuckles. "It's just amusing, really, that you seem to think I have the power to stop your puppeteering from in here. You mistake me for the Web's own, Peter."

He gives him the smile he knows Peter despises, just the slightest curve to his lips, and a single arched eyebrow.

"Don't play coy with me, Elias. Martin was progressing incredibly well, and all of a sudden he's stuck? Don't pretend you had nothing to do with it."

"Oh, but I didn't!" Elias reaches over to pull out the scotch bottle and the two tumblers, and Peter's hand closes around his wrist with bruising strength. "I'm afraid I did warn you the Watcher wouldn't let its own go so easily."

"How?" Peter's eyes narrow as his grip tightens even more. "I will not ask again, Elias."

Elias laughs, amused. Peter is awfully easy to rile up- if you know how to play him, and Elias has had decades to learn.

"Tell me something Peter... what do you know of Gertrude's last ill-fated assistant?"

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

There's a person standing across the street from the Institute. They're wearing dark clothes, and over their chest rests a pendant fashioned to look like a closed eye. It's a ridiculous notion, to come to the tower of the Ceaseless Watcher, and believe their god will protect them here.

Jon comes to a stop before the Institute's doors, the taste of Markus Burnett's encounter with the End still fresh in his mind, and considers crossing the street towards them. It would certainly send a message to the rest of-

"Jon?" the voice is puzzled and soft, and it feels like a curtain is lifted from Jon's mind, as he sees the person scurry away; he turns to find Martin looking down at him in concern. "Are you alright? Oh- your... your eyes."

"Ah- yes I just- it's-" Jon gestures vaguely towards the spot where his would-be victim was just standing.

"Oh. That's- that's not good, is it?" Martin frowns. "It's probably good you didn't-"

"I wasn't going to. Or- I hope I wasn't," Jon scowls as well. He definitely wanted to. He can still feel Martin's eyes on him, but for all that he's fantasized about this encounter, he can't think of anything to say. "You look better."

"I guess." Martin's frown melts into a mask of dry resignation. "Gerard broke into my flat two days ago. He won't tell me how he did it."

Of course, the Eye chooses that moment to let him Know exactly how Gerry got a key to Martin's flat, and Jon feels his face grow warm. It's a bit of a whiplash mood, to go from preparing to Behold a person to thinking about- yes, okay.

"I- yes. He does that," Jon clears his throat, "keep him away from your sofa."

"I'll keep that in mind. Just-" Martin gives a nervous look around, and Jon frowns.

"He's not around." Jon says, the static rising in his ears as he Sees both what Martin wants, and the answer to it. It still feels odd to use his powers willingly, but he'll do it for Martin anytime. "He's on his way back from meeting Elias."

"Oh- okay?" Martin blinks. "Thanks. I- he can't do that, Jon."

"Peter-?"

"Gerard." Martin's face grows pained, serious. "Peter is- he's happy I'm going along with his plan. If Gerard keeps trying to meddle in... I made a deal, and I have to keep it. Please tell him to leave me alone."

"Martin, you don't have to-"

"But I am," Martin sighs. "You said you'd respect that."

And he does, he really does respect the sacrifice Martin is making, but- but watching him hurt himself is just too much. This is the first time Martin has looked like himself in months, and Jon is suddenly confronted with just how much he's missed him.

"I'll talk to him." Jon says, before anything else can get out. "I'm- I'm sorry, Martin."

Martin nods wordlessly, before turning back to walk into the Institute. Jon watches him go, a million things he should've said running across his mind now that they're utterly, completely useless.

I dreamt of you in the Buried. Thank you for the tapes. You don't have to be strong all the time, please let me help you. I miss you so much it scares me, but it's a kind of fear I want to feel, the kind of fear I'd dedicate my life to.

None of it matters, because by the time Jon walks in after him, all that's left of Martin are a couple wisps of fog.

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

"I knew he'd tattle," Gerry rolls his eyes. "Go figure, pull a guy out of the Lonely with a nice cup of tea and some good conversation, and the first thing he does is go tell on you with his crush. You didn't tell him I had the key, did you? I don't want him to change the locks."

"I did not." Jon rolls his eyes. "But you can't- Gerry, I promised I'd leave him alone."

"And you did. Very respectful of his boundaries."

"And you should do so too. We're- we agreed we'd investigate about the Extinction so he didn't have to do everything on his own, not that we'd intrude on his plan."

"It's not a great plan, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask." Jon slaps lightly at Gerry's thigh with the back of his hand. "Listen, I trust Martin-"

"And I trust him too, sure. But I'm not going to- I can't just leave it alone, Jon." Gerry turns to look at him, and Jon -as he often does- finds himself distracted by the lights of the street outside gleaming off the metallic rings and beads on his face. "I'm not going to let them win. Not if I can help it, especially with someone they seem as hell-bent on getting as Martin."

Jon sighs. Of course he won't; Gerry's far too stubborn, far too-

"Just- Martin knows what he's doing."

"And I know what I'm doing too." Gerry shrugs, his shoulders set and his brow furrowed. "I'm not- I can't exactly stop him from aligning with the Lonely if that's what he wants. I'm just slowing it down. Getting us more time."

"And what happens when Peter Lukas finds out you're breaking into his flat to sit him down for tea?"

"Well, he doesn't have to find out," Gerry says, smirking. The gesture leaves the ring on his lower lip just the slightest bit off-center, Jon realizes. He runs his tongue over his own bottom lip, that feels too dry all of a sudde. "As far as anyone knows, it was just a very considerate man looking out for his partner."

"You can't possibly believe that was anywhere close to a good lie," Jon hisses, trying his best to ignore the fact that he doesn't know if he's annoyed or just embarrassed by the ruse.

"It's not unbelievable. Anyone could be my boyfriend," Gerry shrugs. "Martin could have good taste."

"I very much think he doesn't." Jon grumbles.

"I think he does, actually," Gerry's arm gives his shoulders a squeeze that has Jon's face burning, "besides, the position is open."

Jon coughs. "This is our stop," he says, ignoring the way Gerry rolls his eyes before climbing to his feet.

The conversation is pretty much over after that, but Jon finds -as he usually does, lately- that he has to let go of Gerry's hand to pull the keys out of his pocket.

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

"Did you do your exercises today?"

Daisy exhales slowly, her hands on her stomach and her gaze nailed to the ceiling. The cot she shares with Basira feels small at the best of times, but now under her too-heavy stare, it's like laying on a coffin, waiting for the lid to be slammed down again.

"They won't work."

"What?" Basira doesn't come closer, doesn't sit by the edge of the cot, and Daisy feels more and more like a disgusting, wasted carcass of her old self.

"The exercises. I- it's not going to work." The truth of her words weighs on her, the call of her blood begging her to follow, to lose herself again. "The only way I'm going to get better is if I hunt again, and I don't- I'm not doing that."

In the long silence that follows, Daisy darts a quick look at Basira. She's standing by the door, her white-knuckled hand shaking around the crumpled edge of a bag of Daisy's favorite takeout.

"There has to be another way," she says in the end. "What are we supposed to do, just wait for you to die?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask Elias?" Daisy shrugs. There's a dark pang of delight in her stomach when Basira stiffens, and she sighs. Not exactly a chase, but the Hunt will feed wherever it can. "I'm sorry."

"Do you think I haven't?" Basira's voice is tense and hurt. "Do you think I haven't spent every waking moment since you came out trying to find a way to make you-"

"Back to how I was?" Daisy says quietly, and the way it's enough to stop Basira's rising tirade really says a lot.

"That is not what I want," Basira forces through gritted teeth.

"But it's what you need, isn't it?" After a moment's hesitation, Daisy pushes up into a sitting position, and turns to face Basira. "You were there when I needed you, and now I can't do that for you."

"This is not- I don't keep a tally, Daisy." Basira finally takes a firm step forward and then another and another, until she's standing so close Daisy could reach her if she stretched her arm. She doesn't. "I don't have- I'm just trying to keep everyone from dying, or-"

Basira's voice breaks, and Daisy flinches, eyes wide. In their years working together, she can count on one hand the times she's seen her lose control.

"You were gone," she snaps, "you were dead, I mourned you. I had to- there was no one else. Everyone was dead, Melanie was more and more unstable, and Martin was doing his secretive bullshit. What was I supposed to do? I was the only one. If I gave up, then it was like letting Elias win, and I was not going to let that happen."

"Basira-"

"Of course I wanted you back. As soon as that lying worm told me there might be a way to pull you out, I-"

"I heard your voice in the Buried."

Basira freezes. She looks- Daisy has been her partner for years, and the thing with her is, Basira always knows what to do. Even when she doesn't, she knows what should be done next. Never a second guess or a moment of doubt, or anything less than cold, hard certainty. Now Basira looks lost, and Daisy can only wonder what that means for her, who's always depended on Basira's solidity to ground herself.

"I'm- I want to be here for you. I want to help, Basira, but I can't- I don't want to go back to the Hunt. Or rather, I want it too much, and I know I won't-" Daisy groans. She's never been good with words, one would think spending an eternity with the Archivist would've helped, but apparently it's too much to wish for. "I just want to be myself, for however long I can. I'm- sorry it's not what you-"

Basira crashes against her, and Daisy feels her breath leave her all at once, as they topple over onto the cot, the crumpled falafel bag landing on the floor to be forgotten.

"I'll figure something out," Basira's breath is hot against her shoulder. Daisy can smell her coconut shampoo through her headscarf, and it's all she can do to hold her tighter, because they live in a world in which these moments are fleeting and fragile, and all the more precious for it. "For this. For you."

Daisy nods furiously, her eyes shut tight and her blood singing an entirely different song.

"Basira," she says, the only word she knows, the only word that matters.

Basira nods like she understands, and Daisy can't bring herself to care about anything else.

#jongerrymartin #vit writes #illicio

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endexe · 3 years

Text

“Thank you, but nah. They gotta have someone to blame, I guess."

The line will always wander across Zero’s mind the moment they first step into Quinn’s town. Calm words given after a laughter was made, sharper than snapping bones, louder than phantoms’ wails. He then offered Zero a small smile, yet full of assurance it was, when they asked him if they could kill harm those who had labelled him as a serial killer, though his eyes said otherwise. [ QUINN DAVIES, THE SOLE KILLER SURVIVOR ( ? ) OF THE SIX. ] Though Zero didn’t say any more on the matter and pulled Quinn through the distraction, the disappointment was clear through their grim expression, their mismatched eyes full of raging, dying stars.

Zero stops by a candy store to admire the treats displayed behind the front windows. They plan to purchase them for themself and Quinn, though pause when they hear several cackles nearby. Out of curiosity, they follow after the sounds to see what was entertaining and found themself walking through the alley. They make a turn and gasp at the large, bolded texts on a brick wall before them.

QUINN DAVIES IS A KILLER WHO NEEDS TO BE KILLED

The words were printed in dark red, done without any care to them, and noticing the small splatters around them, Zero wonders if it was blood that was used instead of paint... Blood. They glance over to find a few teenagers laughing at the corner, their limbs covered with the red, red, red. One of four, supposedly the leader with black hair and brown eyes, him being the most insensitive to the others ( Four is his name now ), mentions about how he plans to commit a crime, that he will make sure Quinn will be the main suspect of it.

Zero’s eyes glow as they realize something.

“...You,” they snarl, approaching closer to the group, their glitches hissing and snapping at the reality.

“YO- YOU - YOU BLOODY. FUCKED UP. P̵I̵G̴S̴.”

Zero remembers. Quinn’s day of graduation. Once he took the diploma while everyone was out with their own already, and a small celebration was done with icecreams and milkshakes, Zero was with Quinn and his father as they returned home. He opened the front door and Zero saw red. Saw Quinn covered in blood—pig’s blood. His father rushed over and tried comfort him as he remained still, his eyes widen and diploma dropped to the blood stained floor. Zero didn’t know what happened from there when they exited their home to find out who was responsible for it. Their powers couldn’t work so they spent the rest of the evening alone with just their human abilities searching for answers.

In the end, Zero only learnt that the incident was recorded and already uploaded across the social medias.

“And who the Hell are YOU?!”

Zero’s attention snaps back to the present to find the blonde haired kid ( Three ) taking a threatening step forward.

“I recognize him,” comments the other ( Two ) with the brown hair. “He’s with Quinn and his pussy of a dad. He was in the video as well.”

“Shit, I didn’t even notice him!” says the last kid ( One ). “Wait, Quinn has another dad?! Didn’t he have a mom?”

“He did until she abandoned him because she couldn’t bear the fact her own child is a mass murderer,” sneers Two. “Anyways, I’m not surprised his dad would fuck with guys too. Quinn gives me that f—” Zero T E A R S his jaw off from him, watches with a blank stare as blood explodes and coats on them and their surrounding. Two gags and gurgles as he collapses to the surface and tries to breathe for life, his hands trying to cover their jawless face, though can only bear so much of his blood before his body stills.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT, SHAWN! WHAT THE - WHAT THE FUCK!?” screams Three, taking his gun out to shoot at Zero. The bullets enter through their stomach and as the aches tear across them, they fall to their knees. In the corner of their eyes, they watch One and Four leave the area before they realize Three have the gun against their forehead.

Zero takes his hand and bites his wrist hard enough to take a chunk of raw meat from him. Three screams as he pulls the trigger, another bullet hitting to the sky. Violent rings echo at the back of their mind and they freeze for a brief moment before they shove more of his hand into his mouth, constantly chewing through the flesh. Three tries to take the gun with his free hand, though Zero grabs his other wrist and SNAPS it.

“FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!” He drops his gun and finally steps away from them, wailing from the agony. Before he can look up from his damaged hands, he falls to the ground with a bullet through the eyeball before the gun is shoved through the other socket.

“DO YOU THINK MARK GOT HIM!?” shouts One as he and Four finds the exit entrance of the alley.

“I DON’T FUCKING KNOW, JUST RUN!” responds Four, pushing him on the back.

One trips his feet over and falls, crying out from their knees and arms got scrapped against the concrete surface. He watches One’s form disappearing as he takes a turn. “FUCK, LUKE!” he loudly hisses, trying to pull himself up. “LU-” Two knifes pierce his mouth and his eyes roll back, dead.

Four reaches to the exit, he tries to call out for help from the people passing by. Hearing no one, his blood runs cold realizing they are frozen, stuck in time. He tries to make a run, though only to find Zero standing before him, giggling madly with two knifes held out, his right weapon holding the head of One. There is nothing human about them while they are coated in red, red, red, though the worst thing about them? They’re wearing a human face.

Four’s face.

Luke gags and covers his mouth. He runs to the opposite direction, though nearly bumps into Zero. He trips and falls on his back, whimpering and wheezing. “WHA - WHAT - WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?” he yells, his hands shoved into the pockets before he throws whatever he have at Zero. Wallet, drugs, everything. Yet nothing seems to attract Zero as they stomp on his crotch and rest their entire weight there. Luke wails and tries to push them off of him, though Zero stops him by throwing One’s head on him. Luke screams, pushing it away and violently shakes his head before he constantly begs to Zero to let him be alive.

Zero’s head perks up at the pleas. “You - you want to - YOU want to be ALIVE?” they innocently ask, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Well, I - i - IIIIII want you and your boys to leave - to leave Quinn Davies, my best fucking friend, al- alo- ALONE.”

“Thank you, but nah. They gotta have someone to blame, I guess," said Quinn to Zero a while after one of the teenagers— Luke pushed him down and insulted him right before Zero’s eyes. It was the first time they witnessed something like this to Quinn and before they could do anything, Quinn stormed off, leaving them behind and Luke walking away, laughing, laughing, laugh—

Zero grabs Luke’s neck, keeps him there as he squirms, his nails digging through their bleeding arms, before his body begins to twi- twi- twitch. “Here’s the deal: I’ll keep - I’ll keep you alive. I’ll resurrect your friends too. ONLY as long as - as looongggg as you all can do T-H-A-T for me, okay?” He clenches his skin tighter and watches the purple forming beneath their fingertips. Luke tries to nod, though seeing the desperation in his eyes, Zero laughs and lets go of him with enough force for his head to hit the ground, knocking him out. “Okay,” says Zero, falling to the surface on their back, their blood still gushing from their stomach wounds.”Okay,” they whisper and weakly snap their fingers.

Darkness falls.

"Four teenagers are taken to the hospital with severe injuries. One of them have a dislocated jaw, another have missing eyes, and the third have a missing tongue with a deep cut around the neck. The fourth, while only having bruises on the neck, keeps rambling on about this entity who had a face like his and lashes out at anyone who tries to come close to him. No one seems to know what happened to them or even who they are. Police had tried contacting their families and close associates with their given phone numbers, though none of them recalls being associated with them. The police are still investigating the case. If you know who any of these teenagers are, please contact at—”

"Zero?”

Zero’s gaze slowly rises, though doesn’t meet the other’s, their attention everywhere and nowhere at once. “Yes?”

“Do you know who they are?”

They glance over to the television, staring at the pixelated images of the four teenagers on the screen. “I - I do not”, they blankly respond, staring down at their alphabet cereals and starts playing with them again. They can sense the suspicion, though they don’t know why. Can’t remember if there’s any reason for there to be suspicion.

“Do you?” Zero asks quietly after a heavy period of silence, almost if they’re afraid of the answer.

“No, I can’t remember them,” replies Quinn.

#f slur cw #* not fully written but implied #homophobia cw #violence cw #injury cw #murder cw #gore cw #death cw #panic attack cw #ask to tag cw #( I. okay. )#( I just wanted to write drabble of Zero defending Axl's final boy OC Quinn )#( but Zero really took it to the next level than I thought Jesus )#( umm... to Axl... enjoy? )#* ❪⠀ 📺⠀❫ : drabble.𝚝𝚊𝚐 //

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #466

“she is the butcher, she wants the air / she hides the scars under her hair”

Who do you think cares the most about you? My mom. What do you do when you’re pissed off? Isolate and cry. Have you ever had unprotected sex? Good luck catchin' me do that. What did your mother study at university? Social work. What was the last thing you took a video of? I have zero idea. What is your least favorite kind of weather? Hot and humid weather can actually fuck off. What was the last housework you did? Does changing my cat's litter count? Have you ever had famous neighbors? Not to my knowledge. Have you ever lived in a small community where everyone knew each other? Nope. Have you ever actually drank warm milk? NO EW EW EW EW EW Do you talk to your pets? If you don't, are you REALLY a pet parent??????? Who is a famous person you could see yourself reading a biography about? He's always said he doesn't want to but I really hope Mark writes an autobiography one day alskdjklafjw;ejr Are there any numbers you dislike for any reason? No. What skill that you have do you make most use of? idk man Have you ever done something sexual that you regret? Nah. Have you ever said anything to the last person you kissed that you regret? No. Have you ever ate so much you puked? No. Do you care about what others think of your physical appearance? Sometimes/some places yes, other times/places, no. Would you rather eat cookies or brownies? It would probably change with what I'm feeling, but I lean towards a nice center piece brownie. :^) If you’re out late, where are you likely to be? This literally never happens. Do you ever visit your mall’s arcade (if it has one)? Our mall is lame as fuck. It definitely doesn't have one. What’s your absolute favorite topic to discuss? Mark, lmao. What is your least favorite topic to discuss? Politics. Have you ever been confined to a wheelchair? "Confined" seems like a strong word, but a nurse did give me one at the doctor's office when I massively tore a ligament in my foot and could barely walk at all. If you have a job, who’s your closest friend at work? Don't remind me that I don't have a job. Have you told anyone you love them today? Not yet, but I'm sure I will later. Have you ever worked in an office? No, but I guess that's what I'm going to wind up going for once I'm ready to job-hunt again... It feels sad that I'm actually aiming for the cubicle life now just because my interaction with people would be much more limited than with most other jobs. Who does the grocery shopping in your house? My mom. Do you prefer margarine or butter, and why? I don't even know if I'd recognize the taste difference. Have you ever been in serious trouble at work or school? No. Do you have any strange fears or phobias that you’re embarrassed of? That I'm embarrassed of, no. Can you smell anything right now? No. Have you ever tried coconut water? No. Which Asian country would you like to visit the most? Idk. Maybe Japan? How old were your parents when they got engaged? I have no idea. Have you ever done a first aid course? No. If so, would you be prepared to perform CPR if necessary? No. Have you ever ‘done it’ in a hotel room? No. Just the idea grosses me out. Where is your next vacation? Couldn't tell ya, buddy. Which are better black or green olives? I'm not a fan of black olives, and I won't even TRY green ones. They just look so fucking disgusting to me. Does your car have a backup camera? Mom's doesn't. Have either of your parents ever been in trouble with the law? No. Do you have a preferred brand of bottled water? Essentia. Is your skin more oily, dry, or combination? It's a combination depending on the location. Where did you meet your current significant other? High school band. What kind of house do you wish you lived in? One that's in the woods. What was the last compliment you received from an old lady? I don't have a clue. Do you know how to cut hair? Properly, no. Have you ever had a classmate die? I believe maybe once? If you have a song stuck in your head, what is it? I recently discovered "Foxy, Foxy" by Rob Zombie and it's Good Stuff. Do you tend to space out a lot? Very much so. What people have changed your life for the better? My parents, my psychiatrist, a PHP therapist, Sara, debatably Jason... Have you ever had any kind of dangerous addiction? What’s this addiction? Caffeine, I guess. Are your parents still married, divorced, or split up? Like this decision? They're divorced, and while it sucks for your parents to split up, it's a decision that I definitely approve of given all they ever did was fight when I was growing up. Them staying together would've been very destructive. Have you ever heard of Hollywood Undead? Do you like them? Well yeah, and I like a large number of songs to where I'd consider myself a fan. I actually had a shirt in high school. Has anyone ever called you a coward before? Who called you that? I don't believe so. Are you a Jeffree Star fan? Or no? Do you think he’s awesome/dumb? Honestly, yes. Like he's done dumb shit, but has more than sufficiently apologized for it in my opinion and changed his behavior for the better. I also - astonishingly - like his music quite a bit. As well, his work ethic is fucking INCREDIBLE, like extremely admirable. Has your grandmother ever made you anything? Not including cookies. I don't think so. I don't even think she ever liked me. Do you disgust anyone? Did they tell you that? Why is this, anyways? Not that I know of. When was the last time you cried, and why (if you want to share)? I don't remember, actually. Probably just about life. Who was the last person who was rude to you? *shrug* Do you have a relationship with God? lol no, and even if I believed in him, I wouldn't have a remotely decent opinion of that entity. Is weed legal in your state? No. Have you ever thrown up in class? In kindergarten, yes. What is something that you used to be ashamed of, but now you’re not? As a kid, being a girl, I was so embarrassed by liking Pokemon. Now, I am literally wearing an Eeveelutions shirt and went out in public lmao. I couldn't care less about loving them cuties. Have you ever walked outside in below zero weather? No; I've never experienced those temperatures. Have you ever held a newborn baby? Yes, but I was sitting down. I would be WAY too scared of dropping a baby otherwise. Are a ton of your Facebook friends getting married and having kids now? I legitimately think most of my friends on there already have kids and/or are married/engaged. It's triggering sometimes and was a massive motivator for me taking a break from there. What’s something you believe in that most people don’t? So uh, I hope this doesn't sound insensitive given how it just passed, but I 100% believe the U.S. government was to some extent involved in 9/11. There is an incredible amount of evidence when you do the research. Is there anyone who’s dear in your heart who’s going down the wrong path? I worry about one of my good friends quite a bit. She is horribly addicted to pot (like, she admits it) in a state where it's not legal, and I'm concerned she'll face legal repercussions eventually. She also dates an absolute lowlife asshole, but they've been together for a very long time, and I just worry about how that might damage her later down the road. Do you get enough sleep? God, it never feels like it. What’s something you wish you would have known sooner? That college wouldn't work for me. Like, I dropped out of three. I do NOT want to know the debt I'm in. What’s the next big project you plan to start? Idk. Possibly something for Girt's birthday because Mom really pissed me off and doesn't want to spend *any*thing to help me get something for him. Is that bad on my end? Like she pointed out he knows I don't work, but like... come on. He's my bf, one of my greatest friends ever, and you can't spare anything? I really don't know if that's selfish or not; it's just that if I get him nothing, I will feel like ACTUAL garbage. So making something may just be my only option. I just dunno what... Do you think you were cute in your baby pictures? omg yes, idk what happened Do you remember pre-school? A lot of it, yes. My long-term memory is pretty damn amazing. Would you allow your children to date prior to 16? Yes. Does your town have a farmer’s market? I think so? Which app on your phone do you tend to get the most notifications from? Pokemon GO, lol. How old were you when you met your current best friend? Around 11. What is something you gave up on after many failed attempts? Photography is coming real fuckin close. I've been trying to go somewhere with that for YEARS. Would you rather read a book, or listen to the audiobook? Physically read. I think my attention would stray listening to an audiobook. Do you think tomorrow will be a better day than today? It's possible, idk. I had a doctor's appointment today that absolutely slaughtered my mood, so I feel fucking horrific, but Girt is also coming over today, and I'm sure he'll cheer me up. I won't see him tomorrow, so that's a bummer. With which friend are you most likely to share a secret? Sara. What is the last thing you complained about? It's hot as shit outside. Is there a show you swear that you will never watch? 13 Reasons Why. What was the last topic that you ranted about? Anti-vax bullshit. Who is the most sensitive person that you know? Bitch, me. Have you ever had a tooth (or teeth) pulled? No. What did you do last Halloween? Literally nothing on the actual holiday. :/ Fire drills: Did you ever wish they were real… just once? ... To get out of school, yes. :x What was the last thing that you felt strongly about? I am still positively livid about Texas' "heartbeat bill." Fuck that place and fuck that law. What is one insecurity you have about your body? Um, everything???? What is one part of your body that you are proud of? Nothing????

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''foxy foxy'' by rob zombie

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dweetwise · 4 years

Note

Steve realizes he’s falling in love with Dwight, asks some other survivors for advice cause he’s super confused about falling for a guy.

i’m sorry this took ages, i loved this prompt and wanted to do it justice!

disclaimer: even though this is meant to be fluff&humor, there are mentions of internalized homophobia. i’ve also never written any coming out themes before but i tried my best!

How Steve Harrington realized he’s a disaster bi

It’s just another neverending-dawn-day in the fog. Steve is minding his own business, working on generators, teabagging the killer, clicking his flashlight in Yui’s face until she slaps him—you know, the usual stuff.

And then he and Dwight escape the trial and Dwight’s smile is so wide and happy even while his teeth are covered in blood and he’s running with an obvious limp. But he’s smiling at Steve and praising him, and something finally clicks in Steve’s empty no-good jock brain and there’s only two things he knows for certain;

One, Dwight is a guy. Two, he’s most definitely falling for Dwight.

Back at camp, he has a small mental breakdown. Does this mean he’s gay? Who does he even talk to about this stuff? His thoughts immediately drift to Robin, but she’s not here. Nancy is out of the question. Sure, they’ve grown closer after being stuck in the Entity’s playground together, but he’s not about to ask his ex-girlfriend-now-friend about dating a guy. What if she’d be offended?

Quentin is probably his closest friend in the realm, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to weird him out. Is it weird to tell your bro you might be into dudes? Steve isn’t sure, but he doesn’t want to take the risk.

Kate is a sweetheart and Steve knows for sure she wouldn’t judge. But she’s also a huge gossip, and Steve would rather not half the camp know before he’s even sure himself.

Eventually, Steve makes up his mind and goes to Jane. She’s always taking on a motherly role, surely she’s up for giving him some advice?

“Jane, can I ask you something?” Steve starts, sitting down next to the woman when the camp is mostly empty, only Ash loudly telling another incredulous story to an unimpressed Feng Min and raptly listening Adam. “Only if it’s not about another flashlight,” Jane says with fond exasperation, a smile on her lips. “Nah, not this time,” Steve says, shooting her an apologetic grin for all the items he’s ‘borrowed’ from her and never managed to return. The grin fades when he tries to think of how to bring up the subject. “I think I like someone and I'm pretty sure they don't like me back,” he finally settles on, quiet enough for the trio on the other side of camp not to hear. "You ‘think’?” Jane repeats, eyebrows scrunching together. “I’m not… entirely sure,” Steve tries to explain. “We're just, like, friends.” “But you want something more?” Jane tries to prod for more information. “Yeah. Maybe. Probably,” Steve tries to decide. Damn, his thoughts are a mess. “It’s… um. A guy,” he confesses, staring at the ground so Jane doesn’t see the flush creeping up on his cheeks. He just prays that Jane won’t be disgusted or laugh or— “Oh,” Jane says, and there’s definitely surprise in her voice, but she doesn’t sound judgmental. “Is this the first time you’ve had feelings for another man?” “Yeah,” Steve says, relieved at her reaction. “How do I know if I’m gay?” Instead of blessing him with some great wisdom, Jane mulls over the question, before sighing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can help you,” she says apologetically. “That’s okay,” Steve says, trying not to deflate at her reply. “But… God, I hate to say this,” she sighs, making Steve perk back up. “This might be the one time you’d probably benefit from asking Ace. He’s very… open about this stuff.” Steve hums in thought. He’s not particularly close to Ace, but there’s no denying the gambler is quite… flamboyant. Jane might be right, surely Ace will help him sort this whole gay thing out? “I’ll give it a shot! Thanks Jane!” Steve chirps, getting up with a new plan of action. “And don’t tell him I sent you!” Jane warns, and Steve rolls his eyes and grins at the duo’s fake animosity towards each other.

A couple trials later, Steve and Ace are mori’d nearly simultaneously and have to trek back to camp together through the fog. Ace is whistling a carefree tune like he didn’t just get impaled by a chainsaw, and Steve figures this opportunity is as good as any.

“Ace, you're like… gay, right?” ‘Wow; smooth, Harrington,’ Steve mentally berates himself as Ace’s whistling abruptly cuts off and he turns to face him. “That's got to be the worst pick-up-line I've heard in my life,” Ace says, quirking an amused eyebrow. “No, shit, I wasn't—” Steve starts panicking. "Relax, I'm just messing with you,” Ace grins. “What's up?” Steve pauses, calming his heart rate and trying to figure out how he should approach the subject. “How did you know?” Steve manages to ask. When Ace only cocks his head in confusion, Steve pushes through the embarrassment to continue. “That you're… into guys.” “Oh!” Ace exclaims, face lighting up in realization. “I—well. I saw hot guys and wanted to sleep with them? It was pretty easy to tell, in my case.” “So it was just, like… sexual?” Steve asks, frowning. That's definitely not what he feels for Dwight, at least not the biggest part of it. “I’ve never really been the romantic type,” Ace explains, shrugging. “If you need relationship advice, I'm probably the last guy to ask.” Oh. That’s a little disappointing. Ace starts telling a story about some wild adventure with a rich mafia leader’s son and Steve kind of tunes out and tries to figure out who he could ask for help next.

He eventually settles on Nea when the opportunity presents itself and he arrives into camp after a trial to find her sitting by herself.

“I think I like a guy and I'm freaking out." Well. That was unnecessary blunt. Instead of laughing in his face, Nea just pinches her eyebrows together. “Are you having an unrequited love crisis or a sexuality crisis?” Nea asks him to clarify. “Uh. Both.” “Well, shit.” “Yeah.” “Let me know if you figure something out.” “Wait, you don't have any advice?” “Dude, I'm the biggest lesbian disaster you'll ever meet,” she snorts, before sobering up and looking almost regretful. “It's been years and I still haven't told her I like her.” “Oh. Rip,” Steve says, cringing in sympathy. He never realized Nea was into girls, but they’re apparently in almost the exact same situation. Hopefully Steve won’t end up pining for years, though. Suddenly, he has an idea. “If I end up confessing, you have to too,” Steve decides, nudging her with his elbow. “Deal,” Nea says, face twisting into a grin.

With no help from Nea, Steve ends up in a bit of a slump for a couple of days. He doesn’t know who else to approach for advice, because everyone he asks is another risk that Dwight will find out. Maybe he should just confess to Dwight? But who the hell wants to hear ‘I think I like you but I’m not sure’? Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Wha's wrong, mate?” David’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he looks over to the man. Shit, Steve had been so deep in thought he hadn’t even noticed another batch of their friends getting called into a trial. It’s just him and David, along with Jake who is softly snoring on the other side of camp. Steve would have never expected David to pick up on his mood, but the brawler keeps surprising him with just how tuned into everyone’s emotions he is. Even now, David isn't looking at him mockingly, he seems genuinely curious at his obvious shift in attitude. “Just falling for someone who doesn't feel the same. You know, typical bullshit,” Steve tries to joke. He expects David to laugh, but instead the other's face morphs into a sympathetic smile. “Same,” David says, faraway gaze staring into the campfire. David being soft? In love? Steve has no idea who the other is into and that he’d even want a committed relationship. And who wouldn’t want David? He’s seen all of the girls ogling his toned chest at least once. Although Steve does feel a little better knowing he's not the only one suffering from heartbreak. He just sits quietly with David and stares at the fire until the others get back and the companionable silence is broken.

Steve doesn’t know how many more days pass, but he realizes he’s getting nowhere. To make matters worse, Dwight keeps being annoyingly handsome and adorable and Steve’s poor heart doesn’t know what to do with itself. Maybe that’s why he decides to be so blunt.

“Do you think Dwight likes me?” Steve asks Claudette when she’s patching him up after a rough trial. “Of course!” she smiles warmly, clearly not getting his point. “No, I mean…” Steve chews on his lip nervously. “Do you think he likes me?” Claudette’s hands pause on his leg, and she only has time to look up at him in clear surprise, when Meg appears out of nowhere. “What exactly are your intentions with him?” Meg demands, glaring at Steve and making it obvious she’s been eavesdropping. Steve is kind of surprised; out of everyone, Meg bullies and teases Dwight the most, which has made him dislike her a little. But apparently, she's also fiercely protective of him. “I, uh,” Steve starts, a little taken aback by Meg’s threatening energy. “I want to date him,” he finally manages to put the feelings from the last couple of weeks into words. Meg hesitates a little, gauging him warily before speaking again. “I didn’t know you were bi,” Meg finally says and Steve has a small epiphany. Bi. So he’s not necessarily gay after all! Well. He’s a little gay, fantasizing about holding Dwight in his arms and kissing him silly. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t also like girls; it just means his current crush is a guy. But if Dwight rejects him, he could easily fall for a girl in the future. Or another guy. The thought doesn’t bother him nearly as much as he anticipated. It’s just the way things are. “Helloooo? Anyone home?” Meg is getting impatient, waving a hand in front of his face while Claudette tries to defuse, feebly pulling on Meg’s arm. “I didn’t, either,” Steve confesses. “I just… recently figured it out.” He tactfully leaves out the fact that ‘recently’ means ‘literally five seconds ago’. “Are you sure?” Meg pushes. “Are you sure you’re gonna treat him right? Are you gonna like him even if he grows a beard? Are you gonna be able to suck a dick, or any you gonna freak out and dump him?” “Meg!” Claudette exclaims, mortified and a deep flush on her cheeks. Steve shares her sentiment, resisting the urge to jump into the burning campfire to escape the embarrassment of Meg’s crude words. Sure, he’s thought about doing… stuff, with Dwight, but he’s only been with one person before and even talking about sex just makes him blush and cringe. “Well?” Meg demands. “If you’re not sure, don’t bother. Dwight deserves better than being your shitty experiment.” Steve hesitates. What if she’s right? What if he ends up panicking and hurting Dwight? “Meg, he just came out!” Claudette jumps in to defend him, surprising both Steve and Meg by her assertiveness. “Let him figure it out on his own, or with Dwight. It’s not fair to push your own insecurities on him!” Huh? Claudette’s words confuse Steve even further; Meg is insecure? He sees the sprinter’s demeanor change instantly, going from confrontational to withdrawn as the words sink in. “I… shit,” Meg sighs, running a hand over her face. “You’re right. I’m sorry, dude.” “It’s cool,” Steve says, still more confused than anything. The subject is abruptly dropped, and Claudette finishes patching his wound up before going to braid Meg’s hair and muttering an apology to the mopey redhead.

Steve later realizes neither or the girls ended up answering his question about Dwight. Out of options, Steve decides it’s finally time to ask Quentin.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Quentin greets with a friendly half-smile before going back to stocking a med-kit, not seeming at all bothered that Steve has been avoiding him for the better part of a week. And, well, since he asked… “I've just realized I'm bi,” Steve says. To his credit, Quentin just looks up, a completely neutral expression on his face. “Congrats. Welcome to the club,” Quentin says with a small grin. “Uh… You could at least pretend to be surprised?” Steve jokes but his eyebrows have shot up into his hairline in disbelief. Quentin is also bi? Why the fuck didn't he go to Quentin first? “Had my suspicions,” the other grins. “What made you realize?” “I've uh… I started crushing on a dude and it took me ages to realize that it wasn't really normal to wanna do couple-y stuff with your bro,” Steve explains. Shit, does Quentin think he's talking about him? Luckily, the other just hums in acknowledgement. “Gonna tell me who it is?” Quentin asks. Steve hesitates, but since he's already come this far… “It's Dwight,” Steve sighs. “I just don't know if I even have a shot.” “Dude, Dwight is so gay, and he adores you,” Quentin says with a bright smile, and Steve blushes and scratches at his neck in embarrassment. “You have a ginormous shot.” Steve can’t help the hopeful grin on his face. This is what he wanted to hear, all this time! He feels much better now, he’s going to tell Dwight and— “Unlike me,” Quentin adds quietly, smile fading and kicking at the dirt with his sneaker. Steve takes a few seconds to get his brain out of mushy la-la-land, and then he realizes Quentin is talking about a crush of his own. “Excuse you, what the fuck? You're awesome, who wouldn't like you?” so Steve is a little passionate about defending his best friend, sue him. “Eh, I guess he likes me well enough, but he's straight,” Quentin shrugs. “Like, painfully so.” “How do you know that?” Steve asks. Okay, so he correctly analyzed Steve was bi—it could have been a lucky guess! “I keep flirting and he keeps ignoring it. Pretty obvious,” Quentin mutters, still pouting. Steve racks his brain for if he’s ever seen Quentin flirt with any of the guys, but he draws up a blank. Usually Quentin just snarks and sounds like he’s trying to pick a fight. “Maybe you just suck at flirting,” Steve suggests. “Fuck you!” Quentin scoffs in mock offense, elbowing him in the ribs. “Gonna tell me who it is?” Steve asks, nudging Quentin back and parroting his earlier question. Quentin looks at him, grins, and says: “Nope!” “What the fuck!?” Steve says, shoving Quentin playfully while the other just laughs. “I told you mine! You suck!”

After his next trial, Steve comes into camp to find Quentin arguing with David, which is nothing out of the ordinary—Quentin’s snarks really do come across as confrontational, and David is always easily provoked. Before Steve can even figure out what the argument is about, Quentin throws his hands up in exasperation and stomps off into the woods.

Instead of seething with anger and clenching his fists like he usually does after an interrupted fight, David just stares at his retreating form with a sad expression on his face. It’s the exact same look that Steve saw when he talked about the person he could never have.

Combined with the fact that Quentin likes someone ‘painfully straight’ who doesn’t realize that Quentin’s flirting sounds like he’s picking a fight?

And again, something in Steve's head just clicks.

“You should go after him,” Steve says, causing several heads to turn in his direction, David's among them. “It’s probably best to let him cool off,” Jane protests, giving Steve a pointed look. “I think it's a good idea,” Dwight, his adorable cheerleader, pipes up nervously. “Maybe the privacy would benefit you.” David pauses for a second, then nods. “Son, if you end up throwing fists—” Bill starts, annoyed. “I won't,” David assures and disappears into the tree line after Quentin. “That was a good call. I hope they make up,” Dwight says, scooting closer to Steve on the log and giving him a small smile. Steve stares into Dwight's kind eyes. He's so amazing, always having his back, caring so much about the others being happy and getting along. God, he’s such a good person and Steve— “I love you,” Steve hears himself saying, and it's like time itself comes to a halt.

He sees Bill’s cigarette fall out of the veteran’s mouth and a deck of cards scatter along he ground as Ace drops them in surprise. He hears Nea choke on nothing and hears Jane gasp as her eyes widen in disbelief.

Steve is about to stutter out an apology, to explain or joke it off, but Dwight is suddenly pulling him to his feet.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Dwight squeaks, cheeks red and glancing anxiously at the others, who are still gawking.

Dwight leads him a little way into the woods, and Steve nervously waits for him to say something, biting his tongue as to not blurt out something more he’s going to regret. But then Dwight is turning to him and looking up at him with his big, brown eyes and Steve couldn’t speak even if he wanted to.

“Do you mean it?” Dwight asks, a lot of his anxiousness replaced by a hopeful energy. God, those eyes, he’s so cute— “Yeah,” Steve says, swallowing nervously. “Really?” Dwight asks, somehow still unsure, bottom lip trembling like he’s about to cry— “Yeah,” Steve repeats, this time with much more confidence, placing a hand on Dwight’s waist. Dwight smiles brightly and in a bold move that Steve doesn’t expect but wholeheartedly welcomes, Dwight leans up just the tiniest amount to make their lips meet.

It’s a lot different than kissing Nancy. For one, Dwight is much taller than a girl. His glasses also bump into Steve’s nose and Steve tilts his head to avoid them, which inadvertently causes the kiss to deepen. Dwight’s hair is unfamiliarly short when Steve’s hand cups the back of his head, but it feels nice; almost as soft as his own.

Kissing Dwight should feel weird, but it doesn’t. The motions are the same, and the warm fluttering in his chest is the same. It’s different than what he’s used to, but not in a bad way.

They finally pull away and end up just smiling dopily at each other.

“Um…” Dwight starts, clearing his throat. “At this point it’s probably obvious, but I really like you too,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners because of how wide his smile is. Steve doesn’t care that he didn’t say ‘love’, and he’s a little embarrassed that he just blurted it out like a shitty romance novel damsel, but he doesn’t really regret it if this is the outcome. Now, he just really has to know— “Do you wanna be my boyfriend?” Steve asks, not caring if it’s too soon. He’s already fucked up the rules of dating; he’s pretty sure love confessions are supposed to come after getting together. So what’s one milestone more? “I’d love to,” Dwight says, and he’s so happy and it makes Steve grin like the idiot he is. But now he’s Dwight’s idiot.

They make their way back to camp holding hands and exchanging soft glances. Steve looks at the others; everyone has mostly collected themselves, Ace picking up his cards and Jane clearing her throat and Nea sneaking glances, but nobody comments. Well, except one. “It was about goddamn time,” Bill mutters, smirking knowingly against his cigarette. Holy shit, apparently the old coot is much more perceptive than Steve thought, as Ace and Nea both attack him with questions of “How the fuck could you have known!?”.

Steve is on cloud nine for the rest of the day, sitting with his Dwight and holding his hand and exchanging smiles and it all feels so right.

Bonus: Steve’s grin grows impossibly wider when he later spots Quentin walking out of the trees, dragging a dopey David after him by his arm. Quentin is blushing a little and glares at Ace who wolf-whistles at their arrival. And then Steve spots numerous hickies on David’s throat and blushes furiously, burying his face against Dwight’s shoulder. He feels Dwight tilt his head in confusion. “I can’t believe I made them fuck,” Steve mumbles against his boyfriend’s shirt, and Dwight chuckles softly. “You didn’t see it coming?” Dwight teases. “I thought it was obvious. The tension between those two has always been insane.” Steve lifts up his head, realizing something. “Wait, so did you also know I was into you?” Steve asks. Dwight blushes and averts his eyes. “No, not really—I mean I was hopeful, but I didn’t think anything would actually come of it,” he explains, glancing over with a shy smile. “Glad to have proven you wrong,” Steve grins, flopping his head back against Dwight’s shoulder and squeezing his hand. “Me too,” Dwight murmurs against his hair. “Aw, fuck,” Nea suddenly exclaims on the other side of the campfire, letting her head fall back against a tree with a ‘thunk’. Steve and Dwight both look over, Dwight clearly concerned and Steve with a shit-eating grin. He didn’t forget their little promise, and apparently, neither did Nea.

#harrifield #harringfield #steve harrington #dwight fairfield #dbd #dead by daylight #dbd fanfic #request #dweetwrites

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

Dragon Against Dragon

“Come on! Just a few more laps! You can do it!”

Lu Mingfei turned and started jogging backwards in front of a red-faced and panting Tom. His hands were still in their bandages but he could run.

Late in the afternoon, he had burst into his room. While he was still wondering what was going on, he picked him up out of bed and handed him some clothes, insisting that he’d rested enough and it was time to get his body moving. The routine was simple, jog the entire circumference of this artificial island before the sun went down. After that, he could rest again, but they were going to do this everyday.

He stuck a red flag into the sand at the start. At first, it seemed easy despite the other man’s blistering pace. Eventually, Mingfei had shed his shirt and revealed that he was physically built with powerful shoulders, arms and legs. He had to have this work out every day.

“What exactly do you do here?” He had asked. “Are you security?”

“Me? Security?” He had laughed. “There’s security, but you won’t see them. Like I said, I help Meixiu... that is, Mrs. Chu, with her research.”

“Do you have to work out like you do?”

“Huh? Oh you mean run like this? Nah. This is just for show. For when I visit Cassell. As the Chancellor, I have to at least give the appearance that I’m strong enough to run that place.”

“You’re the Chancellor? Why are you on this island if you run the school?”

“I don’t ‘run the school’. I just represent it. That’s why I have to keep up appearances like this. I can’t look like I just hang out on an island all day. Hey! Pick up the pace! You’re slowing down.”

“Sorry. I’m just really surprised. Cassell doesn’t let people like me in, but you’re here researching us?”

“Hey how about this. I’ll answer a question every time we ring the island. How about that?”

“Sure.”

The desire to know had kept him going. Now, the sand had rubbed against his legs and feet for so long, they’d grown numb. But he had to know the answer. Mingei was clapping. “Just a little more! A little more!”

How could he have so much energy? Tom may be an overthreshold hybrid but he had the feeling that this guy could run the ring of the island nonstop and never grow tired at all. The question of how this happy-go-lucky island dweller could represent the college was well answered.

Just a little longer to the flag. He redoubled his efforts while trying to decide what he would ask next. When he finally reached the flag, he sank down into the sand, gasping.

“Congratulations!” Mingfei plopped down next to him.

The sun was setting over the horizon behind the island. Despite the negligible rise above sea level, the shadows stretched long enough to give him some respite from the heat that was radiating from his body. He held up his hands. His normal human skin still gleamed with sweat from his elbows up, but the scaled sections fluttered like the caps on a steam pipe. The rigid scales had a mind of their own, attached to what he had learned was the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system. Waving like this, they were porous to let off heat, but in cold or in danger, they flattened stiff to become an impenetrable armor.

“Thirsty?”

“A little...”

“I’ll get you some water back at the house. So... questions. No matter what you ask, so long as I know the answer, I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Cassell doesn’t allow people like me in, but I was allowed in and now... you, the Chancellor... are helping me. Can you explain why?” He panted.

“Oh that’s an easy one. The official policy is not to permit students of overthreshold blood to attend because they become servants of dragons and turn into monsters. But it was never really followed.” Mingfei sat back on his hands.

“As far back as I can remember, I’ve found records of students and faculty that could turn Servitor at any minute. But they were respected members of the college.”

Mingfei shrugged. “Stunned, right? But... when you think about the aim of Cassell, to kill all dragons, even the most powerful ones, you can understand why they would need the strongest people. So long as they were willing to fight against dragons, it didn’t really matter what happened to them in the end.”

The sun dipped below the horizon and, in the shadow of dusk, Tom felt his hairs rise and his scales clamp shut.

Lu gave a soft chuckle. “You’re a smart guy.” He paused and then added. “...way smarter than I was back then.”

“Are you over threshold?” Tom whispered.

“That will be one more lap!” He said brightly.

“Oh... right. I don’t think I have it in me.”

Mingfei tossed a look over his shoulder. “Oh...”

Tom followed his gaze. At first, he didn’t see anything, but then he spotted what he thought was the shadow of a crocodile in the curling waves coming onto shore. It swam in a slow serpent-like way towards them.

“Looks like we have company...” Mingfei leapt to his feet and took off running down the beach.

The dark shadow turned towards him and took off like a torpedo. Its wake spiked above the shallowing water as it moved, headed straight for him. As fast as Mingfei could run, he couldn’t outrun this. “Look out!”

Mingfei looked over his shoulder to see a man leap from the water like a dolphin, bringing the water with him in a graceful arc. That water tossed him the rest of the distance. Mingfei brought up his arms, but the blow landed, and sent him rolling into the sand.

The man wore a black wetsuit, but otherwise had no scuba gear on. In the low light, Tom saw the glint of a sharp knife. Mingfei lay on the ground, not moving at all.

“No!” Tom ran to catch up but the surf rushed in and knocked him off his feet, pushing him farther up the beach.

The man lifted his mask to reveal a handsome craggy face with high cheek bones. His copper eyes faded to a dark brown. He gazed at Tom as though he were as worthless as the sand he stood on before turning back to Mingfei. He took a fistful of his hair and pulled his head up to expose his throat.

Tom gathered himself to his feet, a growl rattling out. The sea came again, this time the wave crested and swept over him. It kept coming, rolling him out towards the water. Caught in the maelstrom, Tom could only imagine what would happen next.

He felt his eyes burn and called his Soul Skill, Brother.

That smoke like entity separated from himself like a shadow copy and lifted from the water. Through its eyes, he could see that Mingfei had come to and caught the knife. The assailant looked up at what was coming towards him but his doppleganger was like a mist and inserted itself into his mouth and nose.

The man reeled back, choking. The water released him and Tom was finally able to break out of the surf and hurry back to shore. His bandages were soaking wet and suddenly heavy. Much to his shock, Mingfei didn’t think twice but ran away again! What was with all the physical training if he was just going to run away instead of fight?

The man in the wet suit called the sea to himself and it wrapped around him in a thick bubble of water that caught Tom’s Soul Skill twin and swept it in to a fierce current. The ruse worked, and the Brother was being swirled around and around in the water. The effect was dizzying and Tom gasped. Unable to maintain the connection, he halted the Soul Skill. The man then gazed at Tom with a renewed interest.

“You’re not supposed to be here. Who are you?” Tom asked.

But the man didn’t respond. Instead. he pulled out a pistol and leveled it at him.

Terrified, Tom raised his arms out of instinct. The bullets collided hard enough to push his hands against his face. Tom could hear a subtle crackle as the bullets shattered into shrapnel. Bits of bandages flew away into the wind.

The gun clicked empty.

Smoking scales and curled claws had revealed themselves to the assassin.

“Are you from Cassell?” Tom whimpered. The sight of the gun was like an open parachute, yanking his memory back to the moment in Norton Hall.

But this assailant expressed no regret or concern like Brian had. Instead, he reached for another weapon. A metal ball on his belt.

Tom’s adrenaline was already high, but now it skyrocketed beyond reason. He was running towards the man, claws forward. But the man stayed calm and seemed to move in slow motion, tossing the projectile like a softball. Tom swatted it back into his face.

It detonated between them in a blinding flash. Tom howled, rubbing at his eyes. On any other person, this tactic would have worked, especially in the growing dark, but blindness was no stranger to Tom. He sensed the sound-shadow, the dampening of the sound of the surf to his left, and pounced. The feel of his claws piercing flesh and hooking into bone took him to euphoria. For the first time, he could hear the man’s voice as he screamed. He could smell the blood running from the jerking muscles between his fingers.

The man’s fist pounded his back, once and twice, but Tom reacted by crouching over and biting down. He tasted hair. His teeth scraped against scalp.

He was too far gone to hear the waves coming and they crashed against him. Snarling like a big cat jealous of his prize, he clamped down harder as he was dragged into the surf. The water continued to pound him against the rocky reefs. It hurt. Blood surrounded them like a dark fog, concealing the world from view.

At this point, a certain consciousness awakened in him. His brain politely knocked against his bloodlust and requested air please.

Faced with a choice, his frenzy collided with his rational brain. If he didn’t let go, he couldn’t swim and if he couldn’t swim, he couldn’t breathe and would die. He would have to let go or he would die.

That wasn’t all.

The cloud of blood had attracted other predators. Dusk-hunting sharks bumped hard against him, bit down and then jerked, trying to find the gap in his armor. The sudden attack made him retaliate, lashing out with one claw and ripping open its belly. Immediately, the other sharks targeted the wounded one and ripped it to shreds.

His quarry wouldn’t survive either way. His mad cruelty made him chuckle inside. There was no going back to his frenzy. One reasoning thought only led to another.

A single claw served as a meat hook while the sharks circled. The man dangled from it like bait. Was he fishing now?

This wasn’t fun any more. He released the man to the sharks and swam to the surface.

#Class of 2032 #Dragon Raja #Fanfiction

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redmoonrises · 3 years

Text

red king parzival is now officially known as rupee because i said so

i intended for the little drabble to be much shorter than it ended up XD it’s just iden and rupee chatting in a mental voidspace

Iden sighed. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet, but the familiar chill washing over him was indicative enough of where he was. He pushed himself into a seated position, wings drawing in around him ineffectively as he took in the dull grey void that surrounded him.

There was someone standing behind him. He didn’t bother turning to face faer.

“Hello again. What do you want this time?”

Feathers rustled, but Iden still didn’t move. After a moment of contemplative silence, fae spoke, faer voice a... corrupted version of Iden’s. “Who says I want anything?”

“Don’t play around with me. You always want something, Rupee.”

Whatever fae had been about to say was forgotten. “...What did you just call me?”

“It’s easier than saying ‘RKP’ every time I address you. Plus, it’s cute.” Iden grinned at the noise of protest.

“I am not cute,” fae growled. He imagined faer wings puffing up around faer. “And why Rupee of all things??”

Iden shifted, tail flicking back and forth. “Well, I was gonna start calling you Rapunzel, cause the hair, but Rupee fits with RKP just enough, and I figured a currency would be slightly less offensive than actual lettuce.”

Silence.

Then, laughter. Glitching at the edges, but actual laughter, not the sinister chuckle fae were fond of using. “Well, you’re right there. Though I doubt I would’ve been opposed to either- Rapunzel was royalty, was she not?”

“Mm. A princess- and later a queen. Well, depends on which version I guess.” Every fairytale had a million endings these days. “So you’re fine with it?”

“Yes, it’ll do. Better than using one of your leftover names.”

“Hey now, Parzival is a perfectly fine name!”

“Mm, yes, but a knight will always be inferior to a king.” Rupee’s tone made it clear fae was teasing.

Iden finally turned to face faer, smiling. Rupee stood tall- always taller than Iden, even when fae wasn’t wearing heels. Other than that, they looked remarkably similar. Well, not quite. Rupee more resembled Iden’s appearance back when Parzival had been the name he went by- the king of Creaturae, with an outfit reminiscent of a pirate king and massive red wings. Fae wore a crown as well, a bit fancier than Iden’s- Parzival’s- had been, and constantly dripping blood. Faer hair was longer than his as well, but the gray streak they shared extended through it. They shared scars too. For all that Rupee claimed to be faer own entity, fae drew much of faer appearance from faer host.

Maybe ‘host’ wasn’t the right word. But wasn’t that what you called the body something was possessing too? Could be a little controversial. He’d have to think of something else.

“Creaturae to Iden, Creaturae to Iden. You in there, little bird?”

He blinked. Rupee was leaning over him, concern visible on faer face. “Yeah, hi. Sorry.”

Fae smiled. “Don’t get lost in there, pet. Just because I can puppet your body around doesn’t mean either of us want me to.”

Iden laughed. “Sorry, heh. Just poking at the fourth wall a bit. Anyway, you never told me why I’m here.”

Rupee shrugged. “...I was bored. And there’s not much to do when you’re sleeping. Your mind and body can still rest while you’re here, so there’s no danger in it.”

“Mm.”

“I can release you back into whatever dream you were having, if you’d like.” Fae sounded almost disappointed by the prospect.

“Nah, it’s fine. We haven’t talked much lately anyway, have we? Once I got out of the prison I kinda just... did my own thing.”

“You forgot about me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible. I just... didn’t acknowledge you. Still not cool,” he muttered, looking away. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry, you are forgiven. I just got a little bored is all.”

“Mm.”

The conversation faded, and after a bit Rupee sat down next to Iden, casually wrapping a wing around him. He leaned into the touch, purring softly. Fae smirked. “Aw, little kitten. Has Dorian been neglecting you?”

“Mm, no. Dorian’s feathers aren’t as soft as yours.” He returned faer smirk. “Though his nickname-giving skills must be better, since you keep copying all the ones they use.”

“Maybe I just like them.”

“I’m starting to think you’re pulling more from me than just appearance.”

“Mm, perhaps.”

The conversation petered off again, and Iden leaned against Rupee, who in turn pulled him into a loose hug, wings wrapped around them both. They sat like that, together in the swirl of endless void, until Iden woke up.

#gen writes #creaturae #post-plot creaturae #sona #oc #datd inspiration strikes again #i have decided that rupee and iden are friends #fourth wall break #dissociation #<briefly #like one sentence #possession #kinda?#it's mentioned #these are written like ao3 tags i've been reading too many fics

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ashes-and-ashes · 4 years

Text

Challenge

Featuring Draco, Harry and a One on One Quidditch match that both are too stubborn to turn down.

Harry is seriously considering drowning himself in his soup.

He sips it wearily - it’s salty and warm and probably would taste better if his nose wasn’t completely plugged up. He scowls, wiping his face miserably with the back of his hand.

He feels like hell. His throat burns and his legs ache and he can’t go one bloody minute without coughing so hard he feels his lungs tearing. His arms are still bruised from the match against Hufflepuff yesterday, his back aching from the one against Ravenclaw 2 days before and his ribs are killing him from where Draco had knocked him off his broom on Saturday.

Harry stares moodily into his soup and wonders how much it would hurt if he face planted right into it.

“Okay,” Ron says, finally looking up from his plate; it still amazed Harry sometimes how fast his friend could eat. “Jesus Christ let it go! Just take this match off alright?”

Harry tunes him out. The entire Gryffindor team had tried some variation of this argument in the last week or so; he had eventually gotten them to stop by flat out ignoring them.

“ - And it’s not like we don’t have a replacement - Ginny can easily sub in for Seeker and we have Dean as a Chaser if we need to - “

Harry idly pokes at a piece of noodle floating in his soup. He takes another sip, wincing as the liquid burnt his already tender throat.

“ - You’re just going to end up hurting yourself and if you do we’re screwed because we can’t make it to finals...Harry?” Ron throws his hands up in exasperation. “Fuck - you’re not even listening to me are you?”

“Nope,” Harry says cheerfully, or as cheerful as he could get with an achy throat and a plugged nose. “I stopped listening right after ‘Take this match off,’ because we’ve had this conversation before and you know that I’m not doing it.”

Ron swears, low and creatively. He turns to Katie, who immediately flips him off. “Uh uh,” she grumbles. “I already tried.”

“Fuck you,” Ron says. “Harry, please, you can’t even fly right now. How the hell do you expect us to do well?”

“I can fly,” Harry says but even that sounds far fetched to him. He immediately breaks into a coughing fit, making Ron raise his eyebrows and Katie roll her eyes. “Jesus Christ I’m fine - “

Ron throws his hands up and storms off from his seat. Harry eyes his half-empty bowl and once again considers drowning himself.

“You know - “ Katie begins, but Harry cuts her off with a vicious glare. Katie rolls her eyes. “If it was any one of us you’d threaten to chain us to our beds.”

“Good thing I’m not one of you then.”

“Fucking hypocrite.”

“Bite me.”

Katie gives up with an audible sigh. Harry stares back down at his soup, presses his fingers into his ankle and tries to hold back a groan. He’s exhausted and running on empty but he can’t give up the match tomorrow. It was Semis, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw and if they didn’t win Harry would lose his last chance to win the Quidditch Cup again.

He rubs his ankle harder, trying to will the tension out of his leg.

Ron finally storms back into his seat, a smug look on his face. Harry nearly chokes on his soup. “What the fuck did you do - “

Ron grins. “Found the one person who will talk sense into you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Oh no.”

He can practically feel Draco behind him, a solid entity of sarcasm and exasperation. He knows that if he turns around Draco would be staring at him, that infuriating smirk on his face and Harry’s not going to do it, he’s not going to look at that bastard -

“Ron says you’re being a bullheaded dumbass.”

Harry refuses to turn around. “I say you’re being a thick-headed prick.”

He can practically see the smirk across Draco’s face and has to grip the bench in order to stop himself from slapping it off. “You’re too sick to play, Harry. Give it a break.”

Harry finally loses it, whirling around to glare at Draco, with his tousled blond hair and silver eyes and green robes that looked so good on him -

“Drop it for fuck’s sakes. I’m playing. You’re not going to change my mind.”

Draco’s eyes flash.

“Fine,” he says. “Let’s go. One on one match. If you beat me, you can play. If not, you take tomorrow off.”

“No.”

Draco shurgs, the corner of his mouth curving up. “Why not? You claim you’re well enough to play.“

“All you’ll do is lose,�� Harry coos back sweetly. Behind him, Ron makes a bunch of retching noises but he ignores him.

Draco’s grin grows wider. “Shouldn’t be a problem then.”

“I already said no.”

Draco winks. “Scared, Potter?”

And Harry is done.

“You know what? You’re going to be regretting your words later.” Harry gets to his feet, pausing only to yank his cloak from where it was flung over the back of his chair. Behind him, Ron lets out an indignant splutter.

“What the fuck?” he yells. “How is making Harry play in the rain supposed to help Malfoy?”

“You’ll see!”

Harry leaves Ron to his spluttering and Katie to her sniggering and follows Draco out to the field. It’s raining, though not enough to be dangerous, and Harry grits his teeth at the sight.

He grunts as he manages to drag his broom out from the shed, swearing under his breath at the chills running over his body and the pain in his side and his arms. With a scowl he bends over to knot the laces of his boots together, shivering against the cold.

“Oh,” Draco says, his voice sickly sweet. “You don’t look good Harry. Maybe you should go back inside. Take a break.”

Harry grinds his teeth together, so hard it hurts.“Fuck you.”

Draco shrugs elegantly. “Sure. Maybe tomorrow, when you’re taking the day off. A fix-it fuck.”

Harry flips him off even as his chest tightens at the words. God, Draco has no right to look as beautiful as he did now, leaning casually against his broom as the sky split around him.

He probably looked like a mess, with his aching throat and bruised legs. Harry glares at the rain and drags himself out, shivering as the water saturated his clothes.

“So,” he says. “What is this? Who can catch the Snitch the fastest? Because in that case, you might as well save both of us the trouble and go back inside.”

Draco grins. He’s sitting on the ball crate, one leg propped up by his chest, his broom against his lap and Harry has to take a deep breath to stop the roaring in his head.

“I was thinking, I’m rather tired tonight. You’re the one who’s always bragging about your skills. Why don’t you chase the Snitch around?”

Harry blinks. “So what? I catch the Snitch while you jack off down here?”

“Nah,” Draco says. “I’m gonna hit balls at you.”

Harry stares at him. “The fuck?”

Draco shrugs. “It’ll be fun. Unless you’d rather admit defeat and go inside?”

“Fine,” Harry spits. “You can’t be that good anyways. You’re a Seeker, not a Beater.”

He doesn’t like the grin that splits over Draco’s face.

“Why don’t you start?” Draco says. “I’ll grab the bats.”

Harry flips him off and kicks off from the ground.

Instantly he regrets it. He’s still sore from the matches, his legs tired and aching, his panting breaths rattling in his chest. Each drop of rain is ice cold against his skin - he wonders dimly if he has a fever, his fingers going numb against the handle.

Fuck you Malfoy, he thinks as he starts a set of blistering circles around the pitch, each turn of the broom sending needles stabbing into his skull. Fuck you and your ego and your beautful, perfect ass -

“Harry!” Harry stops his circling and looks down, trying hard to control his rapid breaths. Draco’s got the Bludger underneath his arm; Harry wrenches his eyes away from the muscles showing through Draco’s robes as he held the straining ball down. “I’m letting the Snitch out!”

“Whatever,” Harry tosses back, letting himself slowly drift higher up into the rain clouds. “I’ll catch it anyways.”

Draco lets out a long chuckle and then something bright and golden’s zipping through the air.

Harry immediately chases after it, his fingers numb on the handle of the broom. He grits his teeth against he pounding in his head, the chills wracking his body, focuses on just catching that damn Snitch so he can get inside -

He knows he’s screwed up when he sees Draco.

Even in the heavy gear of a Beater Draco looks dangerous, lean and powerful, all long limbs and calculating looks. Harry sees the bar he carries and swallows hard. He’s only ever seen Zabini handle that bat, polished metal with a leather grip, and Blaise was a giant. Draco was probably only half his weight and yet he still carried the bag with ease, dangling loose in his hand, the Bludger underneath the other arm.

“What the fuck?” Harry yells, hoping his voice would carry across the rain. “When did you become a beater?”

“Jack of all trades,” Draco yells back, the smirk in his face audible even from so far away. “You still want to do this? You’re going to get your ass kicked. You can barely even fly.”

Harry wants to yell back but his throat is too painful. He settles for flipping Draco off. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the Snitch, golden against the greyness of the clouds.

“Draco,” he calls out; Draco lifts his head, twirling the bat around in his hand.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you,” Harry says, and then he’s diving, arm stretched out, the Snitch so close -

He yells, yanking his hand back and rolling; he actually feels the wind whistling against his ear as he Bludger passes mere inches away from his head. Harry grits his teeth, jerking his broom up; Draco meets his glare with a shit-eating grin. “Are you trying to fucking kill me?”

“Oh no,” Draco pouts. “Getting slow Potter? Maybe you’re too sick to play after all.”

Harry grits his teeth. He sees the Snitch fluttering around the goalposts; with a jerk of his broom he’s accelerating, presses close to the wood to be a smaller target. The Bludger comes close again - Harry curses as he’s forced to roll, those precious seconds losing him the Snitch once again.

He steals a look at Draco; the usual grin is gone, replaced by a bone-deep intensity. It sends chills down Harry’s spine - he tightens his grip on the broom and sprints after the Snitch once again.

This time the Bludger actually hits him, jarring his shoulder and making him hiss through his teeth. Harry flexes his fingers tentatively; it’s bruised but not broken and he bares his teeth at Draco, who gives him a wild grin back. Draco thought like he did, like a Seeker, tracking the Snitch through the rain, plotting out Harry’s movements and sending the Bludger to intercept him. It was the sort of skill that could only come from knowing someone so well, from being able to read them with just a glance.

It’s the most fun Harry’s had in ages.

He spins the broom around, looking Draco straight in the eyes. “Try harder, will you?”

Draco sends the Bludger straight at him; Harry laughs through the burning in his arms, rolling around to the side.

“You haven’t caught anything yet!” Draco yells back, eyes shining even in the darkness. “Looks like I’m winning!”

“Not for long,” Harry replies. “You’re about to get your ass kicked.”

“I’d rather get my ass eaten.”

Harry laughs, then drops down as the Bludger whistles over his head. “You’re so fucked.”

“Bold words from the loser.”

Harry grits his teeth, focuses on the Snitch and chases after it.

#drarry #drarry fluff #drarry fanfic #harry potter #draco malfoy #harry potter fluff #draco malfoy fluff #harry potter fanfic #draco malfoy fanfic #harry x draco #draco x harry

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