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unholyhelbig · 2 months

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I just want to say I'm already hooked on the beast you made me. I can't wait for the next chapter!

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 2/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 5151

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, fatal injuries, animal bones, mentions of death, containment, and horrible grammar because I don't proofread

[a/n: Thank you all for the overwelming support on the first chapter! I truly didn't expect that much reception. I'm going to be traveling for the next week so the next chapter might be delayed a bit]

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1917, Rural Pennsylvania

A sweeping river cut through the patch of sweetgrass on the south side of the farm. It emitted a gurgling sound that often soothed your nerves. There was a rocky clearing sandwiched between the tree line and the plain of grass that had become a perfect spot for you to settle in and read the hard-covered books you’d gotten from the corner store.

Your father would bring back any book you requested from the city during his travels. You devoured them faster than he could provide them and had read ‘Eight Cousins’ ,Lousia May Alcott’s foray into the adventures thirteen-year-old Rose, enough to nearly tear the pages from the binding.

The book itself held the clean honeyed scent of the earth, of the secluded spot that you called your own. Your muscles would thrum from loading the bales of hay into your fathers ford. Your fingers were calloused, and dirt caked around your ankle in a dark ring. All of that vanished when you cracked open the book about a girl that was so much like yourself.

It was easy to lose yourself in the paragraphs, the hum of the river sometimes lulling you to sleep. Your mother would pack you a sandwich on warm, hand-kneaded bread, usually some salted meat and mayonnaise. She’d pack sweet tea and send you on your way, knowing that you wouldn’t return to the house until you saw a flicker of a firefly.

Today, you’d fallen asleep under the sun. The book was discarded, and your forearm draped across your eyes. It was easy to drift, and easier still to dream about leaving the small dairy farm for something bigger- the very city that your father would return from with new literature and arts, and spices that made your mouth buzz with flavor.

You were in a haze when the ear-piercing scream cut through the air as if it were a natural solid. Your ears pinched at the sound, heels digging into the coarse sandy shore. Maybe it was a dream. It could have been an animal that had sunk its pointed teeth into the artery of another.

So, you waited, panting with your heart in your chest and the corner of the book barely lapped by the muddied water. And there was this sound. It was no fox caught in a trap or bovine tangled up in the barbed wire fence around the property- no, this was familiar. This was your sister.

Helena was quiet, often described as demure and borderline submissive. Despite being younger than yourself she carried a certain poise about her. Mother would often boast about how she would have no trouble finding a husband, how the boys already fawned over the child of hers that was not feral and unkempt.

Her cry was the loudest you had ever heard her and it had you on your feet, scrambling up the bank. Once past your small world of wonder, you were greeted with an endless sea of sweetgrass that was waist high in some areas.

A warm breeze created waves against the landscape, the farmhouse a small speck among the expanse of land. Your head was spinning, it was hard to track exactly where it had come from. It took another cracking screech to set you North.

Your legs pumped until you were consumed in a blind speed. You’d been renowned for your quickness, for your dedication to get from point A to point B. The kids in your town often joked that you were steadier than a steed. Not only were you the fastest in the class, but the fastest in the county according to some. Still- only a child of fifteen, and no man would want to wed someone with speed. It wasn’t a practical skill.

There was a pit deep in your stomach whirled, instinct knowing precisely where Helena was yowling from.

Jorge had gotten there at the same time you did; his brow was leaking with sweat and he panted against the hot air that surrounded you both. Your older brother was tall and lanky, serpent-like with beady black eyes and pitch hair to match your father’s. His shirt hung low against his midsection, his skin pale despite his hours in the sun working the fields.

“Stay back, y/n.” He demanded sharply.

The old well was a mere foot in front of you both but neither made the effort to move forward. The aged wooden plank that covered the stone shaft had been splintered through the middle, worn from age and weather.

Helena’s soft cries echoed up. When your father had first acquired the property, the previous owners explained that it had been boarded up after of the bulls had fallen down and snapped it’s neck. It was too large to pull out and they left it to starve and then rot.

Your father never let any of his children peer down into the well. You wondered if something had pulled Helena here, or if she had simply forgotten of it’s existence. Jorge dropped down to his knees and did a cautious crawl as if his own two feet couldn’t’ hold him anymore.

You saw the exact moment his skin became waxier, almost a gray porcelain paleness that had a green tint. He was swallowing too much, his white shirt coated in the red clay dirt.

“What?” You asked, voice breaking “What is it?”

“Go get Mama.”

It would have been easy to listen to your brother. He was the man of the house when your father wasn’t there but with him pleading for your mother, for an adult, you got a rancid taste in your mouth.

Against your better judgement you edged close enough to the abandoned well. The sun was setting in a fire-filled orange haze with enough color and angle to get a good view of the bottom; a slosh of fallen grass and rainwater, and muck, and yes; the bones of a beast once left to decay and rot in its own silence.

Your sister was wedged within the ribcage of the befallen bull, almost as if she replaced the beating heart that stopped pulsing long ago. Her hands gripped at the sun-bleached bone, knuckles nearly the same color.

It took you a moment to make out the slick, and the red that stemmed from the center of her stomach. The head of the bull had shattered under her weight, all expect the stretching length of it’s curved horn. That was wedged through her abdomen, surrounded in a vibrant rose red that puddled and had already coated her hands.

Prints from her struggle were against the limestone edges of the well. Her eyes pleaded up at you; your kind and caring, and animal-loving sister was trapped inside the remains of one. You fought back the urge to vomit, the rash thought that if the bone ripping through her flesh didn’t kill her, then infection would.

“Y/n get mama!” Jorge hissed again, and this time you didn’t hesitate. You nearly tripped over your own boots with the fever it took to back away from the scene, the metallic scent of blood mixing deliciously with the turn of rotted soil.

You had never run so fast in your life.

Wanda Maximoff had never felt the cold that wormed its way to her bones before. It was the type of cold that almost wasn’t, a stinging, horrible feeling that had her startled from the folded metal chair. It collapsed within itself as the blinked the wine-dark color from her eyes.

She stumbled backward, only to be brought back to the starkness of the room by a soft grip on her elbow. Wanda allowed herself to be held, if not for stability but for comfort. Steve Rodgers had a welcoming hand on the small of her back, the other steadying her.

He was a solid force, and her reaction stirred him.

“Fuck,” the expletive fell from her lips, “Jesus Christ.”

There was quietness to the room in the aftershock of the fallen chair. It was nicer than a standard holding cell. The walls were cream colored, triple enforced to keep people like you inside. There was a bed bolted to the wall, a bunk that was almost like a summer camp endeavor.

A charged glass wall was blocking you from the rest of the world. It was seemingly unbreakable, and in this moment, so were you. Wanda didn’t want to test the glass, nor did she know how to make sense of the memories- your memories- that had flooded every inch of her body.

You were asleep, chest rising and falling at a normal pace, as if none of what Wanda had just seen was flitting around your mind. Soft snores pushed past your lips, one arm hanging over the side of the bed while the other followed the flow of your breathing as it rested on your chest.

Wanda didn’t understand the secrecy and the precaution that surrounded you. The Avengers compound was a constant ebb and flow of different heroes, Inhumans and mutants. What made you so different? What made you an 0-8-4?

It was a term that Natasha had used only once that was usually attached to objects, not a person. It was an object of unknown origin and in that case, it was a power-filled object from space. Space. She’d been through different dimensions, but that, for some reason, struck her as terrifying.

0-8-4’s were never brought here, but then again, they’d never been alive either. Steve had told her that your energy signal was off the charts, and that they wanted her to dig around your head. Something that she denied doing at first. It was an invasion of privacy.

But, there was a certain pleading within Captain America’s eyes that scared Wanda more than the personal rules she set for herself when it came to her power. What she had seen, what she had felt was barely scraping the surface of what your mind contained. She wasn’t keen on pushing past that barrier for the conclusion of that story. Was it even yours?

“What? Wanda, what is it?”

“I… I don’t” She shook her head, eyes hardening as she stared into Steve’s “Where did you find her?”

He hesitated to answer, his eyebrows furrowing before he looked away from the witches’ prying eyes. She’d been part of this team for years now and they were still reluctant with what they were willing to share. Wanda clenched her jaw, then unclenched it before her stare flashed back to your resting form.

There was a small frown that creased your features. You looked so… harmless. You had shifted, folded into yourself as if you were scratching the surface of what flashed before her. Your arm was folded under your head, knees flush to your chest. A small, beautiful whimper escaped you.

“She’s in distress, Steve.”

“Discomfort, more like. It’s better for all of us that she stays in there for right now. The last thing we want to do is harm anyone but if that requires some temporary-“

“Imprisonment?”

“Containment.” He said firmly, eyes hard. Wanda crossed her arms over her chest but stayed silent, letting him continue. She was sure she wouldn’t have been asked if not for her ability to worm her way into minds, to rearrange things. “What did you see?”

“A memory, one that can’t possibly be hers. The timeline doesn’t fit, this is a woman in her mid-twenties and who I saw was barely a teenager on a farmstead. To experience that much tragedy, that much fear and heartache.”

She started to pace, trying to not only work through her own thoughts, but yours as well. It could have been a story, and she was convinced of the fact save for the vividness. There was the feeling of grass tickling her arms and the sharp, undeniable stench of blood.

“Her younger sister died, fell through some rotted wood and fell to her death.” Wanda’s fingers pressed against the edge of her hairline. “She could have lived, but I have my doubts.”

He lifted a perfectly sculpted brow at her. His expression betrayed his compassion towards you, his stance uncomfortable with the topic. While the revelation was heartbreaking it hardly made you extraordinary. They’d all lost people, none had stirred Wanda as you did.

Wanda’s stare found his after darting to you once more, “Steve, I have the sinking feeling that what I saw was only scratching the surface. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of memories that were pressing in on all sides.”

The sensation of being observed is what pulled you from your fitful sleep. Exhaustion had washed over you like a tidal wave, all at once and leaving your mouth dry like a spoonful of salt. There was a stiffness that rivaled that of the grave you’d crawled out of, and you hoped that it was all a dream.

You were in your bed, in your apartment, after having one too many drinks. It was a horrible stretching nightmare that had plunged you into one sea of darkness from another. But even you weren’t that naïve.

Just as you felt a stranger’s eyes on you now, you had felt the dirt under your nails, the cold sodium-filled takeout as you attempted to chew it. More than anything, you remembered the burning feeling of the Black Widow pressed fully against your back, bending you over Jenn’s kitchen counter.

“I would prefer if you kept the feeling of my wife’s body against yours out of your mind.”

You shot up with a dizzying amount of quickness, heart suddenly in your chest. There was an imbalance to the bed that you were laying on. It was smaller than your own and unfamiliar. The room was stark white. It hurt your eyes and you had to blink the color away. You pressed the heels of your palms close to your eyes.

It felt as if you were locked in a glass shower with an audience and stage lights. The more you looked, the more you realized it was a room, something with no personal effects but a bed and a dimmer switch that you itched to utilize.

A pitcher of water was on an end table. It wasn’t color exactly, but it was more than the rest of your surroundings. Possibly with the worst manners you’d ever exhibited, you drank straight from the pitcher, not remembering the last time you had a drink. Suddenly, you were parched enough to soak your collar.

Despite your audience, you continued until you felt your stomach protest. You used the back of your hand to wipe away the moisture, black dirt was smeared across your skin. It was then, and only then, that you forced yourself to look past the walls of your prison, your enclosure.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” The woman said, walking close to the glass. You could see her clearly now, there was an heir of recognition about her, in the same way that there had been with the Black Widow.

“You were in my head.”

“For a while. It’s my job. But your thoughts are also deafening.”

“Sorry,”

This woman was intoxicating. Alluring and beautiful in her presence. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt hugging her form. You weren’t positive what time it was- what day it was- but it could be late into the night. She looked like she was roused from sleep, and a part of you felt guilty for the fact.

“Don’t apologize, sweetie.” Her voice was much more tender than it had been a few moments ago. “You can’t control being brought back from the dead. A lot of trauma comes with that.”

You stood shakily and walked closer to the glass. They’d taken your shoes and the tile under your feet was frigid. You crossed your arms over your chest and shivered into yourself. You didn’t want to think about the fact that they had undressed you, probably taken your clothes for testing. Instead they left you in a blue set of scrubs.

You averted your stare from your own reflection, not willing or ready to look too hard. You’d much rather look at this stranger, your heart not slowing, your head pounding. Nothing but a simple pane of glass separated you.

“And I was brought back from the dead, wasn’t I? That wasn’t a fucked-up dream where I got hit by a car and then poof God, if there is one, decided that me of all people was worth bringing back.”

She lilted her head, quirked an amusing brow at you. A chill flushed down your spine and seemed to fizzle out at your toes. This woman was gorgeous and terrifying and made you want to squirm. But if this was prison, you had to assert dominance. Right? That’s what Wentworth taught you.

This cell didn’t look or feel like Wentworth, and this Warden had an amused smile tacked to her lips like she had heard your every thought. And she had. At least you assumed that she did. She’d mentioned her wife earlier, and the woman’s body against your own was plaguing you like a runaway freight train.

When she didn’t say anything, you clawed to fill the silence “I want to talk to Bruce.”

“Bruce? Honey, he’s off world.”

“Off… world.” You laughed, softly at first but then almost manically, tears forming in your eyes that you wiped away with your cold fingers. “No, no, that’s really cool. I worked a 9-5 and now I can’t talk to Bruce because he’s in Outer Space.”

“Maybe not outer space, maybe another dimension.”

You leveled her with a humorless glare. She had both of her hands up as if she wanted to comfort you, or the caged animal you had become. You had to give her credit, she seemed just as horrified as you were. She offered up a dim, faltering smile.

There wasn’t a way for you to process this in a gentle manner, there was no one to guide you through it other than Jenn. She’d done this before, lived a whole life that was flipped upside-down and she’d come out on the other side. It was the uncertainty that scared the hell out of you.

“You were in my head earlier,” You stopped suddenly, pressing your fingers against the glass. The woman didn’t flinch. Your frantic breath fogged with each exhalation. “Do you know why I came back?”

She shook her head, “No. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

“No.” A weak chuckle, you let your hands drop. “At least we’re on the same page.”

The nurse they allowed to enter through the side of the containment unit took cautious steps towards you that made your chest ache. All your life, people had said how welcoming and kind you were; how they were never afraid to come to you with their worries. It had bothered you before the incident, before your death, but now you missed seeing the stare of those who didn’t harbor any fear.

She was small, a mouse of a thing that had pale blonde hair and startling blue eyes. Her name tag read Julia. Your mind rushed with the paths she’d taken to this place. She must be interning here, much too young to hold a classification herself.

Your finger twitched on your knee, palm sweaty. It’s heat radiated through the thin blue fabric of the pants they’d provided you with. You hated needles, always had. But, you struggled to stay still and the effect that had on poor nurse Julia was making you fidget more.

There was a scent about her. It was under the layers of hairspray, nail polish, and shea butter. It was a sweet metal that made your stomach swirl. Was it her sweat? You’d never smelt anything past walking by the bomb that was the boys locker room, and it certainly had never been this tantalizing before.

Your eyes met hers, crystal blue and uncertain. “You’ll just feel a little pinch”

This is when you pulled your gaze back and instead focused on the cream colored walls. There was no problem with needles, you’d dutifully sit for your flu shots, but something about the sharp edge pushing through a layer of skin and fat before hitting your vein made you nauseous.

“We just need enough to run a few tests.” Julia soothed.

She was a normal nurse in that one, small way. Your mind was itching, blood seeming to congeal. It refused to cooperate and her burning touch was all but dominant against your skin. You both waited for the small tube to fill with black liquid.

Finally, you felt her press the gauze against the crook of your arm and withdraw the needle. Another small pinch and then a massive relief. Her smell hung around you and filled the room. There was an undeniable urge to sink your teeth into her. To taste her.

You’d stopped the elevator just hours before to assess your penchant for brain consumption, but this wasn’t that. This was an intoxicating pull. This was animalistic, the same rush of emotion that had flooded you without prompting during your earlier conversation.

Julia squeezed your shoulder calmly, not entirely over her own reservations, but on the penance that she was a nurse and this was her job. You kept yourself rooted to the bed, fingers digging into the wood. She left the room and you could hear the compressed lock reseal you inside, breathing a sigh of relief.

That sweet odor lingered, and your reaction to it scared you more than anything. The wood beneath your fingertips splintered, and suddenly that anger, that fear, rolled away to shock. That wasn’t… normal. None of this was normal, but you weren’t exactly picked first in sports either.

You were a middle kid, a I guess I wouldn’t mind having you on my team kid. Suddenly your fingers were cutting through wood like it was butter. You let out an indignant squeak and shifted the blanket until the slashes were covered.

“Is everything alright?”

Wanda, you had learned that her name was Wanda, occupied her usual spot in front of the window. A slick sweat covered your forehead. She was holding a small tray that had a steaming bowl of soup and a delicious hunk of French bread.

“I figured you were hungry,” She lifted her chin towards the panel next to your door. “May I?”

“I’m at your mercy.”

And you were, truly. You hadn’t seen anyone but her since you’d woken up. There were shadows of others, people that made the pit in the center of your stomach grow three sizes. You knew exactly what they were doing, you watched enough true crime with Jennifer to know.

Here was this beautiful and powerful woman offering you food and words of comfort, and you allowed yourself to fall for all of it. Listlessly. Because what did you have to lose? You’d already died, and the thought of putting your family through the heartache of resurrection and then possibly enough committal to the ground was too much.

So, let her Stockholm syndrome you. The food smelled divine.

Wanda didn’t hold the same fear that Julia had. In fact, once the compression of air signified that it was okay for her to enter, she did so without hesitation. She set the food down on the equally dull side table and lowered herself onto the corner of the bed, making herself at home.

She’d changed into a pair of jeans, a simple t-shirt that had the outline of SHIELD on its sleeve. You frowned, for a company that does everything in its power to keep itself hidden, they sure loved that stupid bird so much.

“Go on, sweetie. You can eat.”

Wanda had a command about her that made you fold and listen despite any reservations. You took up a spot on the far end of the bed and shoveled the first spoonful into your mouth. An explosion of heady flavors coated your tongue, coaxing a low moan from your lips.

Blush rushed to your cheeks at the spark in the set of stormy eyes that watched you like a hawk. You rushed to break the tension. “So, what’s the plan here? Run a bunch of tests and keep me locked up?”

“Somewhat.” She paused, carefully thinking of her next words. “Y/n, I have the ability to get inside the psyche. Not only can I read every thought, every action, but I can control them too. It’s not something I like to do, nor something I want to. Not without permission.”

You frowned again. You certainly hadn’t given her permission to enter your mind before, and she tensed at the realization. But, you took another bite of soup and swallowed down the spiced broth. What’s done was done. You didn’t expect her to ask, much less admit to her wrongdoing.

“I prefer to ask. Can you tell me what you do for work?”

“Paralegal, the bar seemed like too much stress. But I’m good at my job. I was good at my job before a car turned me into sidewalk art.”

“Right, and your family, what about them?”

There was no desire to think of them and their perfect lives that you’d shattered with your death. Your mother used to sit in the tepid air on the porch swing, downing a glass of wine before she turned to you with tears in her eyes. She’d urge you to be careful working in the city. She’d plead for you to come home. More than anything, she’d utter the phrase a mother should never outlive her daughter.

“My mother is a seventh grade biology teacher and my father runs a painting business that’s been operating my whole life. They’re not very exciting people. They must be worried sick about me.”

Wanda nodded, “Any siblings?”

“Not anymore.”

She stilled at your words and didn’t pry. You were well aware of the fact that she could push through your deflections and learn the information that she wanted to know. But, you respected that she didn’t. Instead, she stared at you, and you stared right back, suddenly not hungry.

Wanda was someone that you felt the need to open-up to. Unlike the brief encounter you had had with her wife. Not that you let that word stick with you, not in the same way that her touch did. Again, you had to push the thoughts to the back of your mind, even if Wanda wasn’t prying.

Instead, she placed a warm hand on your thigh, sending a wave of shivers through your body. You suppressed a whimper at the sudden contact.

“I had a brother named Pietro. He was fast, unnaturally so. Neither of us ever wanted to be heroes, we didn’t think about the future like that. So, when the Avengers, these so-called saviors of the world, recruited us, we knew about the dangers. But it still shocked me when he died. He was my brother. He wasn’t supposed to be fragile like that.”

You stared at her with an amount of tenderness in your eyes that she wasn’t used to from the others. They cared, sure, but in the way that a co-worker would care enough to purchase cut flowers and a ‘sorry for your loss’ card. You were different.

“They’re our protectors.” You swallowed hard, mouth dry “when something drastic happens, it doesn’t seem real.”

“It still doesn’t.”

There was a lapse of silence that pushed memories in your direction. The burning cold weather on the day your own brother had died. You remember the scream that died in your throat and the way you’d knelt in the cracked snow until you couldn’t’ feel your legs or your fingers. It took an EMT with a heated blanket and a horror story about hypothermia to pull you to your feet.

“Jonathan.” You whispered.

She let out a questioning hum, pulling her feet from the floor and making herself more comfortable on the less-than-comfortable bed. “Your brother?”

“My older brother. I followed him around like a lost puppy, but he never complained. He was a hockey player and a damn good one too. He’d use the lake behind our house in Jersey to practice and one winter the ice broke underneath him. He drowned, and I was too weak to save him.”

Wanda let out a shuddered breath. You couldn’t read her facial expression. It was a mix of confusion, or sadness, but not pity and that was something you appreciated. You’d had enough pity, just as your family had enough grief without you adding to it.

She opened her mouth to reply, but both of you were startled when three quick knocks shattered the silence. The Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, stood on the other side. She showed no interest in breeching the containment unit. Instead, she leveled her wife with a dark stare and held up a folded piece of paper.

“Excuse me,” Wanda whispered, giving your leg a settling squeeze.

She left the plate and exited the holding cell. Her words were muffled, but those unripe green eyes that Natasha possessed kept flicking to you nervously. She too, didn’t’ show pity. It was interest and if you were being honest, you thought you saw the smallest spark of fear.

Wanda took the paper from her wife, squinted at something you couldn’t’ see. You felt like you were at a parent teacher conference, just out of bounds of hearing but you could see their body language; the way that Natasha itched to move closer to Wanda, the fingers that the taller woman pressed to her lips, thumb creasing the paper.

Finally, Wanda turned back towards the glass. Natasha met your stare without issue, hitting the intercom on the other side of the cell. It was her who spoke, her raspy voice falling from the speaker.

“In the spirit of transparency, we want to be honest with you about your blood results.”

You stood from the bed, moving to one side of the barrier. They were intimidating like that, standing shoulder to shoulder with a natural beauty. It made you want to shrink. If not for the paper in their hands you would have curled into yourself at the sight.

“Don’t tell me I’m dying.”

“No, honey.” Wanda shook her head, “Quite the opposite, you’re getting stronger.”

“I don’t understand.”

Natasha lifted an eyebrow and pressed the paper against the glass so you could read it. None of it made sense, it was lines of DNA that looked like musical notes. You shook your head, giving her a confused look.

Natasha scoffed, peeling the paper from the surface of glass. Wanda bit her thumbnail nervously. “According to these…You’re Asgardian, Kitten.”

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intomusings · 6 months

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ೀ ﹒﹒ favorite names compilation !

ur fav musings girly again here with the first of my christmas goodies . my favorite thing to do is these name compilations so i decided to create another masterlist of my absolute favorite ones ( some old , mostly new ) anyways all i ask is that if u found this useful , u like or reblog to show ur support . i hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season ♡

- a : abella, ardella, ares, aire, arden, ayla, arie, alder, august, aymes, atlas, alina, alora, aryn.

- b : beau, babette, belle, blake, briar, bronte, banks, boston, bishop.

- c : cassiel, clara, celeste, camden, chandler, collins, clay, cartier, chanel, cosima.

- d : dove, dream, danica, delaney, drue, denver, dacey, delcy, darcy, dahlia.

- e : elodie, emory, emrys, elio, elowynne, emerson, evie, edie, estoria, esme, effy, evans.

- f : flora, faye, fallon, ford, forbes, finnick.

- g : gaia, geles, greer, gensen.

- h : hera, hudson, hampton, heath, harlowe.

- i : isla, inara, ilia.

- j : juniper, josefine, jane, jovie, joey.

- k : kiersten, kairo, kaia, kian, kouvr, keanu.

- l : lysander, lanie, lorena, lawson, lux, ludo, lourdes.

- m : marla, marigold, maren, maeve, marlowe, miller, monet.

- n : neah, north, nola, nell, noel, nariah, niamh, nami.

- o : ozzy, orion.

- p : presley, posy, pearl, porter, pacey, paxon.

- r : reed, ruelle, raya, romey, ryker, rhode, reign, rafe, rohan, raiden, remi, rion, rhiannon, reece, river, raine, rumer, reem, rhys.

- s : selah, soraya, sarifya, savion, sloane, sol, soren, scout, saint, striker, serafina, sabina, sutter.

- t : teal, twila, tristan, tobie, tripp, teague, tate.

- v : vienna, vega, vera, vincenzo.

- w : wren, winter, winona, winnie, wilder, weston.

- x : xaverie, xylah, xiomara, xander.

- y : yves, yara.

- z : zephyr.

#resources #rph #rpt #m:masterlist #name masterlist #name help #rpc

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heliads · 1 year

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whilst requests are open I have an idea to put forth after years of us discussing this man. Harry Hook x reader based on 'the way I loved you' by taylor swift. Childhood friends to lovers, to strangers to lovers again mayhaps? idk babes. Love you though, I hope your requests don't get out of hand again so you can stay stress-free!

eva i love you for sending this in, please let me talk about harry hook. he's insane and i cannot get enough of him

masterlist

You are lying on your bed in a dorm room in Auradon Prep, and if you close your eyes, you can almost convince yourself that you’re somewhere else entirely. Your roommate hung a lantern in the window, and with the glass pane cracked halfway, the light sways back and forth on the ceiling, painting shifting golden silhouettes on the perfectly painted ceiling. If you let the present world fade into the corners of your consciousness, you can pretend there are flaws in the endless pristine magnificence. You could even pretend that you aren’t on the continent at all.

No daughter of a princess should ever be anywhere but in Auradon. That’s the way it should have been, but you ran the second you got the chance and ended up amongst criminals and sons of thieves instead of with other prettily polished girls. Is it a terrible thing to admit that you miss it more than anything?

You shouldn’t, that’s the worst part. You left them willingly. As time passes, though, you’re starting to think that what you thought was one great fight with the so-called lowlifes of this world might have been the greatest time of your life. It’s like fording a raging river; while you’re in the thick of the waves, you think you might drown, but when you’re safe on the dry shore again, all you can think of is the coolness of the water, how the flood had sparkled like a thousand sapphires.

You shut your eyes and then you’re back again, just a kid, happier than you’ve ever been and twice as free. It had been easy to leave, actually, easier than it should have been. In your family, there were enough siblings and cousins and relatives that just one girl could go unnoticed. It’s not that Ariel intentionally tried to blur all of her daughters together in her memory, but it couldn’t be helped. She was one of seven daughters, and you were one of many as well. It wasn’t her fault, no, but it was your excuse anyway.

It turns out that nobody bats their eyes at a mermaid’s daughter when she’s running headlong towards the surf. You dove into the waves and came up to shore miles away. Your mother was terrified of losing any one of her children to the endless sea just as her father lost her to land, so none of you were allowed to stray that close to the beach. Of course you would see how far you could go the second you were unsupervised. Of course you would push the limits just to learn where you would break.

You ended up scaring the daylights out of a boy in a small sailing craft not far from the limits of the Isle of the Lost. You hadn’t meant to go that far, but you were giddy with the feeling of doing something wrong and he was trying to escape as well. He’d offered for you to hitch a ride with him so long as the wind was good. You thought that suited you well enough, so you took the hand he gave you and listened when he introduced himself as Harry Hook.

He said his name the same way you did, emphasis on the first name and not the last. It’s the exact opposite way any child of a prince or princess does, and you think that might have been why you liked him from the start. The sun shone overhead, and you talked to him about running away and taking to the sea and all the things you wanted to do if you just had time.

Neither of you wanted to leave, not really, but of course all good things have to come to an end at some point. You watched the sun sink lower and lower in the sky with all the dread of a doomed man going to the gallows. You must have looked seriously unhappy, because you remember Harry laughing and saying that you could meet him tomorrow, if you wanted. You wanted that more than anything, as it turned out, so you eagerly agreed.

Harry took you as far as he could towards Auradon again, and watched as you dove into the water. You can still remember how he’d watched you go, the way his eyes had tracked the water as if he could look at you forever, even after you disappeared from view. He stayed there for a long time before finally forcing his ship to turn around again. You’d know; you stayed there on the ocean floor watching him back until he was gone.

The next day, you slipped away to meet him again, and the next day, and the next. When you were caught trying to go out to the sea sometime in the second month, you fought until you could find a suitable excuse. Your mother was perfectly fine to let you go to some private school by the coast, it would mean one less child to keep track of. The papers were signed and agreements made before you could so much as blink.

You, of course, never went to that school. Instead, you showed up on Harry’s ship just like usual and told him that you wouldn’t be going back. Harry had been talking about a friend of his, Uma, and how she was forming a crew of her own larger pirate ship. You wanted in, and he couldn’t be more delighted to take you home.

You think you replayed the memory of him introducing you to Uma about a thousand times over in your head, and you’ll do it again tonight. The slats of the dock had been slippery under your feet, but you knew that so long as he was by your side, you would never once fall. Uma had looked at you questioningly, blue-green hair cascading down her shoulders, but Harry had hardly been able to tear his eyes away from you.

“This is Y/N,” he’d said, “she’s my friend.” He’d imbued the word with all the hope and grief and joy you could ever possibly attach to such an idea. Harry smiled as he said it, took your hand, let his eyes open comically wide so you’d know he was just joking when he mentioned that he’d jump overboard if Uma didn’t take you on.

Luckily for him, Uma had no problems with you. She saw something in you, the same sort of restless troublemaking spirit the rest of them had in spades. Before you knew it, you were quite literally learning the ropes of how to help out on Uma’s ship.

From there on out, everything was perfect. You watched the sun rise and set from the deck of a ship you could call home. When the weather was good, you spent all night and day out in the grasp of the world, and when the storms raged on, you hid belowdecks with the best friends you’d ever had. They wanted you, not your mother in a younger form, but you. Just you. It was wonderful.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that you would end up falling in love with Harry. You were hurtling towards that fate as fast as you could, running and sprinting towards the inevitability of it all. No one compared. No one had half as much influence over you as him. And, when he finally managed to tell you how he felt, you thought you might be able to take over the entire world with the sheer force thrumming through your veins.

Perhaps you should have taken that as a warning. The universe doesn’t care much for happy endings, you’ve learned, even for its fairytale heroes. Princesses grow old and fade into obscurity. Princes forget how to save the day. Villains live out their days with fantastic dreams that will never be achieved. You learn how to deal with adequacy, and pretend that it is enough for you.

You loved Harry because he was wild, your untamed, brilliant boy, but then you hated him for it, too. Just once, you wanted to walk into a room and know what he was going to say before he said it. Every word from his mouth was a dagger in your chest. Some days, he was a hopeless romantic, others, he was mad and uncontrollable. He never hurt you, but at least the pain of a blow would be something you could depend on and understand.

Your mother tried to find you about a year or two after you took to the sea, and you used that as your excuse to break up with him. Harry found out you would be returning to Auradon at the exact same time as the rest of the crew. You think he might hate you for it still. You think he would have reason to hate you for a lot, actually, most importantly that you were never quite enough to match him.

So you slipped away from the ship with the worst kind of goodbye, one that you did not mean, and you never looked back. You greeted your mother and agreed when she said that it was time you took up your studies at Auradon Prep. You joined the endless number of would-be princesses and princes and pretended that it was all you had ever needed in life. If you woke up sometimes with the sound of waves crashing in your ears, or felt the steady rock of a ship beneath your feet as you dreamt, you ignored it. Such illusions only belong to the past, and they will never be yours again.

You still have a jacket of his in the corner of your room; you brought it all the way over here, anywhere you go. You never had the heart to give it back. You don’t know that you could if you tried. It still smells like saltwater and laughter and sun-bleached him, and you have absolutely no idea what you will do when that familiar scent fades.

Still, you weren’t able to completely erase his influence on you. Children of villains arrived at Auradon Prep, and instead of running away from them, you befriended them as quickly as you could. Mal thinks like you do, her and the rest. You laugh like them– not quite as polite as you should be, but loud and beautiful and real. You hang out with them all the time and, when they talk about how much they wish they were back on the Isle of the Lost, you lie to yourself that you do not agree.

You never told them the full scope of your exploits, but they know part of it, enough that one day Mal knocks at your door and tells you that she needs your help on a pirate ship. She needs to get something from the Isle of the Lost, a mysterious ingredient for a spell, but they have to keep it a secret so they can’t use the bridge. The next best option, then, is to sail. It’s not a far destination, so it would work.

A thousand memories of sun and surf flash through your head, and you find yourself agreeing before Mal can so much as finish trying to convince you to go along with her plan.

Mal blinks in surprise. “Really? You’re sure? I thought you would have mixed feelings about that time in your life.”

You breathe out slowly, trying to calm yourself. “Certain things scare me more than others.” Certain people, that is.

Mal winces as she leads you out of your dorm and back into the hallway. “Actually, we might have a problem with that.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Mal casts you a nervous glance. “Before I continue, remember that you already agreed. I’m not letting you leave now.”

You laugh. “I’m starting to get worried. No, Mal, I’m not backing out. Just tell me already.”

Mal holds up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Never doubted you for a second. It’s just, well, we don’t have a ship at our disposal, obviously, so we’re borrowing one from Uma.”

You shrug. “I have no problem with that. Uma’s great.”

“Yeah,” Mal says, drawing out her syllables in an attempt to buy herself time, “but she insisted on having a skeleton crew present. You know, to make sure we wouldn’t run aground or something like that. That includes her first mate.”

Your head snaps up. “Harry’s going to be there?”

You can feel Mal’s gaze on you, but you refuse to look at her. Instead, you’re scanning the hallway, every door you pass, sure that he’s going to be waiting for you, leaning casually against a wall or peering out of a window or somewhere you could find if you just looked hard enough.

“He is,” Mal confirms, “is that going to be an issue?”

Yes. “No, I’ll be fine.”

You can’t really tell if Mal believes you or not, but then you’re rounding the corner and the rest of the VKs are in front of you, and the conversation must be dropped as Mal explains her plan. You’re going to join the four of them and Uma’s guys in piloting the ship over to the Isle of the Lost, where you’ll search for a talisman hidden somewhere on the island. Once the talisman is secured, you’ll head back. Easy as that.

Mal leads your group to a boathouse on the southern part of the shore. You take up a position in a corner of the room, hidden by the shadows. You suppose that’s why the pirates don’t see you immediately when they come in a matter of minutes later. You suppose you chose that place on purpose so you could get a good look at Harry without him seeing you.

He looks just the same. You don’t know why you thought he would change, that he would have to look different to explain how different you feel, but he’s the same. It makes a soft smile rise to your lips at the same time as the weight of all your memories pierces you through the heart.

Uma’s talking to Mal, doubt lacing her every word. “I hope you have a good idea of how to run a ship, because I don’t think any of your friends have the slightest clue what to do on the sea. That’s my territory, in case you forgot.”

“I know,” Mal says, temper just as strong as always, “that’s why I brought a friend.”

Harry arches a brow. “What friend?”

“That would be me,” you say, and step out of the shadows to face him.

For a moment, you swear that time stands still. Harry’s breath catches in his chest as he looks at you for the first time in months. He has never been one to show off weakness, always laughing off injury or claiming not to feel pain, but in this instant, you can see the shock lancing through his eyes, wracking his frame until he has no choice but to stand there and stare.

Uma breaks the silence, wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a grin. “Y/N, good to see you! I take it back, Mal. Y/N could captain a fleet of ships with her eyes closed.”

It’s easy, after that, to pull yourself together. Uma’s friendship is something familiar, a rock you can stand on. “I appreciate your confidence,” you reply, “good to see you too, by the way.”

“Of course,” Uma says dismissively, then adds somewhat unnecessarily, “Hey, Harry, look who it is!”

Harry swallows hard when Uma addresses him, tries to pretend he’s just like normal. “Yeah, I saw. Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey yourself,” you say quietly.

Evie looks at you nervously, then quickly speaks up. “So, should we get to the ship? We only have so much time before people start looking for us.”

Uma rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you guys are too popular, I get it. Ship’s docked outside.”

Harry takes this as his excuse to bolt out, and you watch him go with wide eyes. Evie heads over to you as soon as everyone’s attention is off you again. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” you whisper back through gritted teeth. Of course it is a lie. You couldn’t be more affected by this.

You avoid Harry the entire duration of the trip over to the Isle of the Lost. It’s difficult, especially when you push off from the shore and the wind is on your face again and everything is just like you remember. You tug a few lines into place, tie them down with the knots he taught you, and race to the bow as soon as you’re free.

You forgot just how wonderful it is to sail. You laugh delightedly as the ship picks up speed, skipping over the waves as the wind snaps the sails almost to bursting. This close to the surface of the water, you can’t hear anything, but you sense something anyway, and that’s how you know to lean back up and look to your side to see Harry standing there, smiling as he takes in the sight of you.

Your laugh dries up in a moment and you feel frozen there, trapped in this moment with him. Someone calls your name a second later and you’re able to spirit away to safety, but you can still feel his gaze burning like a brand into your back every moment until the ship docks at the Isle.

Mal announces that you’ll be splitting up in pairs so you can properly canvas the island for the talisman. Before you can look at her or Evie, Uma suggests that you and Harry work together, and the rest are already partitioned into pairs before you can fight it.

Fine, then. You’re certain he’s put her up to this, but you won’t give him a scene if he wants it. Instead, you march resolutely towards your assigned location, and pretend that you’re just really invested in finding the talisman so you can’t hear him when he tries to talk to you.

Eventually, Harry has enough and puts his hand on your arm, trying to get your attention. You spin back around by reflex, dagger in hand and held to his throat before Harry can get so much of a word out. The Isle has always brought out a different part of you, more of a villain than any princess’ daughter.

Instead of looking afraid, Harry just laughs. Usually, this is the time at which you’d join in, but you narrow your eyes and hold strong.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he says when he’s finally able to get his laughter under control, “I don’t think your friends would like it very much if you killed someone on your little vacation to the island.”

You glare at him. “We’re not friends anymore, sweetheart, or have you forgotten that already?”

“When your knife is to my throat? Couldn’t forget that if I tried. Out of curiosity, why are we enemies again? I seem to remember you liking me very well just a couple of months ago.” Harry says, reaching up to tap your forearm where you still hold your blade.

You pull your dagger away but stand there still, thrumming with the urge to run. “We’re too different. You’re a villain, and I’m a perfect angel, obviously.”

Harry grins. “What, just because you’re the daughter of a princess? You’ve never let that come in between us before. You’re not Ariel, you’re Y/N, and I have always loved that about you.” Something like doubt flickers across his face. “Is that why you left? You thought you had to become more like her?”

You glance away from him, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “I left because I had to. We weren’t working out.”

“Why not?” Harry asks, and suddenly he’s the one in control now, he’s the one stepping forward until your back hits the wall and you have nowhere to run, “What was so wrong with us, Y/N?”

Your hands are shaking. Harry takes the knife from you, carefully sliding it back in the holster on your side. His hands linger there a second longer, and when he finally takes them away, you can’t tell if you’re glad of it or deeply unhappy that you can no longer feel him.

“We could never work,” you insist.

“Why not?” He replies, “Show me we could never work. Prove me wrong.”

Harry Hook has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, just as unpredictable as the sea that both of you love, but somehow you know it’s coming when Harry leans forward and kisses you. For a moment, you consider pushing him away, and then you realize that you do not hate this, not him, not in the slightest, not at all.

Surrender is not the worst thing in the world. Sometimes it’s like the release of a sail to the wind, the acceptance that even though you let a person go, they will always come back to you. You surrender the last of your inhibitions and you kiss him back. It is everything you missed, the fighting and the laughing, the good times and the bad all in one. It is all that you love about him and more, what you didn’t realize you held most dear until you were gone.

Harry breathes quietly against your lips and you breathe back, one small circle of in and out and together. He grins, says, was that really so bad? And you laugh and tell him to shut up, so he does, but only by kissing you again. The island can wait, the talisman and the life waiting back for you at school. You have your boy back, and you could not care about anything else.

requested by @thatfangirl42, i hope you enjoy!

disney tag list: @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @/thatfangirl42, @amortensie

#harry hook #harry hook imagines #harry hook x reader #harry hook oneshot #descendants #descendants imagines #descendants x reader #descendants oneshot #disney #disney imagines #disney x reader #disney oneshot #descendants harry #descendants harry imagines #descendants harry x reader #descendants harry oneshot

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 7 months

Text

Hello, Mr. Monster (Seven. Sacred)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter warnings: emotional distress, anxiety, recall of threat of assault/brainwashing, explicit smut A/N: My treat! Happy Halloween! Only about half this beast is edited, but I gave myself permission to break the no-fic-til-first-draft-is-finished rule if I could complete it by Halloween, soooo... ENJOY! Happy to talk inspo music/plot/scream in harmony in comments and asks.

Chapter 6: Sacred

She wasn’t wearing shoes.

She didn’t entirely realize until she left the palace. The grand castle released her easily, giving her a side door to slip through as she tried escaping herself, and she hesitated when soft dirt replaced smooth stone. The fae’s work stripped a lifetime of callouses. A week ago, she could walk across gravel barefoot. Now… She could go back, admit defeat and finish dressing properly. But she couldn’t deal with any more of Gwen’s concern, and the urge to run boiled from her stomach up the back of her throat. Maybe it would burst out as a scream. Maybe she’d just vomit on her own toes.

No going back.

Something would catch her if she turned around, and she wouldn’t stop until the sensation drained away in sweat, blood, and tears.

Maybe she’d trip and earn herself some new scars.

She didn’t actually run, but she walked quickly, like she had any idea where she was going and had a schedule to keep.

The sunshine welcomed her, wrapping warm as her shawl around her shoulders, but she kept her eyes on the path, looking for loose stones to dodge or signs of other travelers. But she found no footprints. Heard no breaking twigs ahead or behind. No voices carried on the faint breeze. The world felt a little too perfect, as if it froze when she left her room, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass by. Too still. Like it might startle her if the clouds skidded along like normal clouds usually did. The blue overhead felt careful. Intentional.

The path led her to the edge of a river – or a lake – maybe a vast moat around the palace. She couldn’t see a way across, and she hesitated on the bank, toes curling into the grass as fingernails folded into palms. She wasn’t ready to stop. She needed to keep going. This wasn’t where she sat and cried. She had to burn out the panic, and she desperately needed a way across the water so she could escape into the green hills beyond.

Chewing on her lip, tasting blood, she squinted at the flecks of sunlight glinting on the water’s surface and tried to guess how deep it was. Impossible to guess. But it looked placid enough. Her was still wet, after all. A little more water wouldn’t hurt her.

She stepped from the bank, expecting a cold plunge, but she found sand barely an inch below the surface. Looking again, she could just make out a submerged path ready to help her ford the river, and she tried very hard not to question if it was there before she stepped on it. More than a little afraid it would disappear halfway through, she sprinted across the open water, splashing her clean clothes and making a terrible racket in the pristine stillness. Although the water wasn’t perfectly still, her steps left great ripples that carried the secret of her flight to both shores and beyond. Round whispers revealing her route, rolling off like a bell’s peel to tell the invisible something where she’d fled.

Her beautiful skin crawled, and she didn’t stop until she’d hidden herself in the green shadows beyond the far bank. Pine needles cushioned her steps, and she slowed to catch her breath, still moving forward, but only barely as the wood’s sap and moss filled her senses.

Her heart beat so fast it hummed, and the old ache stirred sharp and deep behind her ribs.

She was missing something. She needed something. She’d been hurt in ways her simple human magic couldn’t mend, but if she pulled the shawl even tighter, everything would be fine. The soft knit would hold her together like a bandage. Or a net. That shouldn’t comfort her, but it did, and she had too many battles to choose this one.

Being caught was alright so long as she was the one to trap herself.

She kept going, and her heart stewed in memories she’d hoped to leave on the floor of the bath. Things grew out of her helpless fears. Weedy jolts of terror that came back no matter how much she reasoned them away. Doubt spread like mold over every good thing. Confusion soared tall as a tree, and even the Dreaming’s determined sunlight couldn’t pierce its canopy.

She didn’t understand why Morpheus lied. And because she didn’t know that, the question her safety and future hinged on, she couldn’t banish every creeping dread that fed on its shadow. Everything she thought she knew felt fragile, and she wasn’t willing to test her assumptions’ strength. She’d thought he respected her. She’d thought her dreams could be a haven with him. She’d thought her life had changed for the better. For once.

But the fae took her for him.

Whatever she thought she knew, they clearly knew something else.

She walked on. Searching her thoughts. Wandering a strange land. Not at all ready to ask for answers.

The woods thinned into scrubby trees and thickets, fading from emerald to a yellowed olive green. Low stone walls rose and fell along the sides of the path she chose at random, bordering little fields full of pumpkins and graveyards bristling with angled headstones. Signs of structure beyond wilderness, a long-inhabited corner of a rural land, far removed from the gleaming palace with its lavender bath and magical bed.

But it was still so quiet.

Where were all the people? Dreams, nightmares, stories. The Dreaming may be vast, but it had nearly countless residents. Fin and Gwen spoke of whole villages, towns, homes full of strange, beautiful, and awful creatures crafted or invited into the Dreaming by its king. The silence rang false, and her heart snagged on a terrible idea.

The air in her lungs hardened.

She’d never left the unseelies’ court. She only walked through a vision boiled from poppy juice and desperate hopes. Maybe she still wore her wedding dress. Or maybe this was the truth of Love in Idleness. She could love her monster because she imagined he was better than he was. Her mind had broken and she found herself roving freely, left to convalesce on her own terms while in reality…

She’d come to a stone bridge fording a creek, and she practically fell back against the wall, sliding down, dropping her head to her knees.

Fucking fuck.

She’d walked so far, but the fear still had a literal chokehold.

Breathing. That mattered most. Whatever else was wrong couldn’t be fixed until she could breathe. She couldn’t even keep walking without air. Old lessons battled with her diaphragm as she tried to scold herself calm. Her old breathing exercises helped take the edge off the crushing sense of suffocation, but her nervous system hummed with tension, and she sat locked in place.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the dress, feeling phantom spider silk clinging to her skin, watching the threads stretch and tear with so little effort. Of all the things to focus on, maybe it was easiest. The only change she could easily escape. But also a reminder of the monster the fae believed her soulmate to be. Someone who would callously, willingly…

Her stomach rolled, and she lurched onto her knees. A little stomach bile came on the second, wrenching heave, but nothing followed. Not even water.

Fuck.

How long had it been since she ate? Time was so slippery in the fae realms, and gods knew how long she slept in the Dreaming. Her head pulsed as her stomach finally agreed it was overreacting, and she fell back to sit against the wall of the bridge, panting with her eyes closed against every little pain and discomfort knocking on her thoughts. They each wanted to let her know her body had been abused, and all their good intentions just made the message play on repeat, forcing her to not only face but feel everything that happened.

Sorely used.

An archaic turn of phrase, for sure, but fuck if it didn’t fit.

Her ears rang. A sure sign there was just too much happening inside. Even if she didn’t die at the hands of the fae, a rogue nightmare, or some demon Constantine hooked her into finding, her blood pressure would send her to an early grave. For sure.

Her head hurt. Her belly hurt. Her heart hurt. Now that she wasn’t walking, her feet ached, too.

It seemed like a good time to cry, but she hurt too much to do that, either.

So she sat with the pain instead.

Crossing her arms over her knees, she buried her face and tried to block out this world, her monster’s world, and create her own. Simple and dark and safe. The borders only extended to her fingers and toes. It ended where the air touched her skin. Her goal was to drown out the ringing in her ears with the cycle of her breath, and if she forgot anything else existed, maybe that would be possible.

She buried herself so well in her arms and the chorus of her panic that she didn’t notice the little creature approach until it touched her. Tiny claws pricked her ankle. It felt like a cat, a determined kitten scaling her leg to perch on her knee, and she opened her eyes sluggishly, pulling out of the sticky morass of her own head to find a ruby-eyed gargoyle peering into her face. It chirred, potato-shaped head tilting in wordless question.

Golden with little wings that looked entirely insufficient to keep its pudgy baby body airborne, it lurked happily in the grey area where things so ugly they could only be cute flourished.

“I should probably warn you,” she murmured, “that I’m really shit company right now.”

The little creature warbled, like it understood and disagreed. Its claws pinched the fabric over her knee as its wings pumped, lifting him an inch into the air.

Well.

That would show her for making snap judgements.

The little darling really could fly.

It tugged, trilling louder, and she got the idea it wanted her to come along.

“I don’t have wings.” She felt like she ought to apologize, explain her shortcomings the way she’d reason with a small child. “And I don’t feel so good right now. I’ll stay here. You don’t have to.”

Dissatisfied with her decision, her little companion dropped back to her knee, croaking a long, demanding wail.

“Goldie!”

The voice carried through the fog, rattling over the stones, and her little friend perked and turned to call back. Following the direction of his attention, she realized two whole Tudor mansions stood on the opposite side of the bridge. If she’d stumbled any further, she would’ve run into someone’s front door.

She desperately needed to get out of her own head before she walked face-first into an immoveable object and broke her nose.

“Goldie?”

The creature flexed its claws, essentially making biscuits on her knee.

“I think someone’s calling you,” she suggested. The name and color couldn’t be a coincidence. Not in the Dreaming. Everything made a slanted kind of sense here, if it made any sense at all.

The tiny monster, Goldie apparently, settled belly-down, folding its wings and all in a show of blatant refusal. It wouldn’t give up the new friend. Toy. Guest. Whatever the hell she was to it.

“Goldie.” The voice was nearer. Footsteps crunched on loose stones, and a pleasantly round man, with a pleasantly full beard and a pleasantly wide-eyed face, came along from the direction of the two houses, looking the wrong way. “You’re still awfully small to be wandering off, even if you can fly so well. Now, where did you – ” He turned, saw Goldie sitting on Aisling’s knee, and blinked his wide eyes even wider. She stared back.

He remembered his manners first, rushing to welcome her. “Oh! Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”

He approached with a smile, but he hesitated when he realized her position. She must look at least half as horrible as she felt, after all, and she hadn’t moved from her folded spot against the wall.

“Are you alright?” He grasped for solutions, for answers. “Did Goldie scare you?”

Exhausted as she was by her own terrors, she couldn’t help snorting.

“No.” Hell. Her voice practically creaked. She swallowed, trying to get her dry, aching throat in working order, but she only made the ache worse. Coughing, she spluttered, “He didn’t scare me.”

“But you’re not alright.” Those big eyes flooded with growing concern, and she wondered if it was because he genuinely gave a damn or because of some nebulous rule about guests and hospitality and all that shit.

“I’m not,” she confessed. “But I will be. Eventually. I always am.”

“Well, how about some tea while you wait?” He extended a hand, and Goldie fluttered up to his shoulder, clearing the way for her to rise. Now that the cretin had backup, it seemed confident she’d follow.

And since she had no other plan, she did.

“I’m Abel.” His warm, worker’s callouses rasped along her palm and around her fingers as he helped her to her feet. “It’s been a while since we had a proper dreamer here, I’m afraid. Are you lost?”

Very.

“I don’t know. And I’m a dreamer, but I’m not dreaming.”

He didn’t keep hold of her hand as he led her towards one of the two houses – presumably his – but he hovered. He had a good face for that, and he kept near, like he thought she might fall, which was fair considering how he found her.

“Then how are you here?”

A mirror. Knives, and spiders, and that damned dress.

“It’s a long story.”

“Maybe over tea, then.”

“Maybe.” Probably not, though. She couldn’t stomach that tale in her head yet. She couldn’t hold it in her mouth long enough to taste.

The courtyard between the two houses boasted a half-forgotten kind of charm. It grew in moss over crumbling busts and fogged over the windows with just a little too much dust. Cozy neglect. Cottagecore with fewer fairylights and more fog.

Abel held the door for her, and she found a sitting room as wonderfully cluttered as the landscape outside. Books stacked in towers supported forgotten cups, and old table cloths, rugs, and scarves littered every surface. She sat at the little table where her host gestured and admired the collection of his personal history as he busied himself with the stove.

“I should really tell my brother we have a guest,” he fussed. “He’ll be terribly angry if doesn’t have a chance to meet you, I’m sure, Miss…” His hand flew to his mouth, and he murmured his apology through the gaps between his fingers. “’M so sorry. I never asked your name.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m – ”

“Let me get Cain. One introduction! Much easier. I’ll be right back.” He rushed out again, and Goldie fluttered to sit on the table, resting between her limp hands and blinking up like he wasn’t responsible for anything ever, at all, in the very least.

She ran a finger over his bumpy little head and sighed. “Aren’t you just proud of yourself?”

Goldie crooned confirmation, and she rubbed her nail along the loose threads in the tablecloth. A hundred tea stains bloomed over and across each other, but she didn’t see any crumbs from dinners past. The candle in the brass stick at the center of the table had dripped down to anchor the whole contraption in place, and she could only just see a faded red paisley pattern beneath it all.

If she were to read Abel’s cards, this would be the place. It had his rhythm: habit and footsteps and care. A place to plan the morning and end an evening.

The door’s ominously friendly groan announced the brothers’ return, and she looked over her shoulder to meet much less open eyes in a much less open face, shielded by spectacles and a mouth prepared to sneer.

But he blinked like his brother as Abel rushed to attend the kettle again, and he marched in with open curiosity.

“Well, you are a puzzle.” He made a little bow. “I’m Cain. You’ve met the dunderhead and Goldie.”

Abel set a steaming pot and three cups around the table, practically shaking with excitement. They really must not get company often. “And now she’s going to introduce herself, and we’ll all have tea while she waits to feel alright.”

Cain’s eye’s narrowed, and Aisling jolted to defuse the poisonous tension.

“I’m Aisling Hunt.”

Abel clapped, and the tension fizzled away as she tried to catch up with whatever connection he’d made. “Fine Gent’s Aisling? The witch from the Waking?”

“You know Fin?” She accepted her cup of tea, hoping for more about her friend. How did they know each other? Did they know where her friend was lurking? Were they at all like him?

Cain nodded, ignoring the cup and saucer his brother set at his elbow. “Better sort of nightmare. Reliable. Sharp. And if you’re really that Aisling, then I suppose we know why you’re in the Dreaming.”

She shuddered, an involuntary reaction she only just saved her tea from disaster by plonking it back on the table. Gossip traveled quickly in all realms, apparently, and while Fin was a considerate asshole most days, the fae hadn’t been subtle in their… gifting. She could ask how much her hosts knew, but then she’d have to listen to it. And she didn’t want to. Cain’s eye pierced her with a knowing glance, but Abel stood there in wide-eyed befuddlement, so she left them to their own assumptions and tried again with her drink.

Under any other situation, the tea would be very nice. Well-steeped, but not bitter, with a nutty note that made her think of toasted barely milk tea. In the moment, it was better than anything she’d ever tasted. Her senses sprang back from the fog of despair and remembered how nice it was to quench her thirst, how the steam opened up her sinuses, and she could smell the dried rosemary over Abel’s kitchen window. One sip was not enough. Tipping her head back, she drained it in one go and immediately decided manners were for losers, desperately holding out her cup for a refill.

Holy hell was she thirsty.

Abel quickly poured more, and Cain’s side-eye grew razor sharp.

Aisling drank another cup. And then a third. But when she lifted a fourth to her lips, a familiar hand settled on her wrist.

“That’s a great way to make yourself sick again.”

Fin.

He hovered at her shoulder, calm and constant as anything, charming as ever. Just looking up at his smirk – always welcoming her into a joke whether she understood it or not – felt like setting foot on solid land after a long boat ride. It surprised her by how steady it was, and she remembered what confidence had always felt like when they went on their adventures, dragged along by his leads and her intuition.

She hadn’t even heard him come in.

Under his guidance, she settled the cup in its saucer, and she winced an apologetic smile for her hosts.

“Sorry.”

Cain scoffed. “For what? Drinking tea? Pah.” He eyed Fin with a considerably less charitable look, hoisting the teapot in a clear invitation for yet another refill when required. “You’re a guest, and a thirsty one.”

“I’m not surprised.” Fin pulled out a chair for himself, settling a wicker hamper on the table. “You sprinted from the castle like a bat out of hell, and you slept for ages before that.”

Abel gawked like her wandering was some great accomplishment. “You’ve wandered a long way from the Heart of the Dreaming. This is the border of Nightmare.”

Although she determinedly didn’t sip the tea, she kept her heads around the cup, letting the fading heat sink into her palms and remind her she was alive. And awake.

Nightmare. That made sense. She’d never entirely trusted dreams. They felt so sweet in her sleep, but they always stung when she woke up. She found nightmares more reliable. But distance was nothing in the Dreaming. Even she knew that. If the realm’s lord and master hadn’t chosen to let her have her head and run, she wouldn’t have reached the river.

Busying himself with the basket, Fin muttered, “This one never did like to keep to one place. Here.”

He pulled out a lump of cheese and a crusty roll, setting them on a plate he magically fished from the delicate chaos of Abel’s living space.

She looked at the food distrustfully, not sure if her belly rumbled in welcome or rebellion yet. But Fin was on a mission, and he fished out a dish of strawberries next, bright as gems and so ripe she could smell them. Plucking one from the top of the pile, he sliced it into three neat pieces, offering her one on the flat of his blade with an expectant expression. He’d done the work. She shouldn’t waste it.

“The tea will settle better with a bit of food,” he advised.

Cain and Abel kept their own counsel, either riddling out what they were seeing or collecting fresh fuel for the gossip engine, she couldn’t say.

She accepted the strawberry.

It tasted like summer. Ice cream in the shade, and the riot of growing things in their prime. Sunshine and sticky hands with her bare feet in a creek.

Food really wasn’t supposed to taste like that. It took her breath away, and she hesitated, balanced on the edge of Fin’s knife between enjoying the little gift and careening back into her overwhelmed panic. Everything was a step further than she expected, or a little too perfect, or grand in ways that made her feel so, so small…

Goldie, sitting by her elbow, trilled. She looked into his ruddy eyes and held out her hand in a silent demand for another bit of strawberry, even though she hadn’t finished chewing.

Fin tipped the next slice into her waiting palm, and she offered it to the baby… whatever. Goldie seized it with a delighted gurgle and crammed it in its mouth. The sliver of berry filled much more of his mouth than Aisling’s, and his cheeks ballooned with the treat.

“What do you say, Goldie?” Abel asked.

His – pet? Child? – offered a gulp, a belch, and a croak, which was enough to satisfy Abel.

Fin shoved the third slice of berry directly in her face.

And she nearly choked. Nearly laughed. It startled her, but she put her hand to her mouth and kept everything in – chewing and swallowing emotion and food. They saying went that laughter was the best medicine, and while she was a firm proponent of the wonders of antibiotics, her inner sky cleared just the tiniest bit. The cracks were still there. Her world was still more than a little broken. But the fog of war began to lift, and she could see some of what was left. What was alright. What might be alright with a little more time.

Moss would grow on the ruins, and rain would fill the holes into ponds for frogs and water lilies.

What couldn’t be repaired could be made new.

And if she ever cleared all the clouds from that inner sky, maybe she’d find another watercolor sunset waiting for her.

Fin, watching her very carefully, cut another strawberry, and she ate it all with more confidence than the first two mouthfuls. He sliced open a roll and spread soft cheese on the two halves, giving them to her one at a time. When she reached for her tea to wash the bread down, he didn’t protest.

His posture softened until he slouched in his seat, shoulders back against the wood and one ankle propped across his knee. The little wrinkles that forecast a frown smoothed back to the edge of a smirk. All his anxiety appeared in the hollow shapes left behind as it melted.

She was sorry to have worried him, but watching him relaxed helped her more than all the tea and food in the Dreaming could. He’d decided she was safe, and in this wonky wonderland, she trusted his judgement. Fin may not betray his maker for her, but he would never be ease if he wasn’t sure all was – or would be – well.

Rapid tapping interrupted the scene a few minutes after she refused more food from Fin. Sated, pleasantly full, and breathing easily, she didn’t jump at the sound, but her heart jumped when she saw the raven on the other side of Abel’s window. She’d bet anything it was…

“Matthew.” Fin nodded to the bird but didn’t move to let him in. Instead, he turned to Aisling and asked, “Feel up for a walk?”

“Back? That’s…” The best idea. The worst idea. She thought of the castle and the entity who ruled it. He needed to be stitched back into her story. She had too many frayed ends left in the wake of the latest tear, and she couldn’t begin any real work until she saw the pattern. All her questions and accusations coiled into a lump in her throat. “A long way.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Since his question hadn’t really been one at all, he stood up, put the basket on his arm, and pulled out her chair.

It was time to go.

Cain and Abel stood, too, and Goldie bobbed up to Abel’s shoulder, sighing like a tired toddler.

“Thank you.” She hesitated in the doorway and wondered what the rules were in the Dreaming. Did she owe them something? Did they expect a token, or a boon, or some specific words? Should she start planning a thank you card? Was there a ritual, or – no. She was overthinking it. “It was… You helped. A lot. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Abel beamed. Goldie warbled in agreement.

“Of course, she’s welcome,” Cain snapped, finding some unknowable annoyance in his brother’s manners. He looked back to his departing guests and nodded, slowly, almost like he was bowing. “Fine Gent. Lady.”

“Oh, I’m not-”

Fin looped his free arm through hers and tugged her off balance, moving through the door. Her confusion of thought was lost in the chaos of stumbling sideways to keep up.

“Thank you, Cain,” Fin said.

The door closed. The sounds, smells, and sensations of the outdoors crashed over her fragile senses like a wave, and she was very glad for Fin’s arm. She was… better. But still not well. The ground stayed firm under her feet, but the back of her mind whispered it would melt into quicksand at any second.

Fluttering wings and a familiar croak warned her just before Matthew came flapping in her face. “You’re awake! You’re alive! Thought you were gone forever when you didn’t come back to your van, and the boss-”

“Will explain his thoughts himself,” Fin interjected. He gave the bird a look, a suggestion or a reminder. Once upon a time he threw those her way in the Waking. When she was young and overeager to test her limits. When she ought to know better.

Matthew landed in a chaos of black feathers and clattering talons, hopping alongside as Fin led the way across the bridge. Back to forests, fields, and strange moats. Back to the Heart of the Dreaming. Whatever that meant for her. There was no rush, but Fin clearly had a direction in mind, and while he was willing to go slow, ambling rather than marching, he was on a mission.

She didn’t like the heavy feeling that realization left in her gut, full of the food he’d so carefully and considerately brought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but there was a new authority overshadowing their old dynamic, and she just didn’t like it.

Chastised, Matthew actually held his tongue for a few minutes. But every few steps, she caught him peeping up with sharp swings of the beak to glance at her, like he was waiting for a signal to talk again. He looked so awkward, fumbling along at their pace. And earnest.

And none of this was his fault. It wasn’t Fin’s. It wasn’t the raven’s. It… probably wasn’t their master’s, either.

She offered a wan, tired kind of smile that she hoped would ease the tension. He snapped it up.

The raven cleared his throat. “You look nice?”

And she always would. No matter how sick, or exhausted, or miserable, or – The phantom tingle of the fae’s thick salve gleaming with unicorn horn rolled down her arms, and she shuddered.

“Don’t.”

Matthew immediately dropped his head. “Sorry.”

Well shit.

“It’s fine. Just – yeah.”

And with that eloquent excuse of a non-apology, the three fell into a deeper silence.

The trees swallowed the two houses and the bridge that led to them. The path unspooled ahead, under darker boughs, and after a corner or two, the edge of the forest thinned. Too quickly. A slowly as she’d run. Impossible and sensical, because what else could it have ever been.

As the castle came into view, she fought against the dream-fall sensation demanding she wake up. She knew she couldn’t, because she was already, but that didn’t stop of her mind from spinning with the alien logic of this world. She was still looking for an escape, even if she didn’t feel the need to run for one.

A bridge – which she knew for sure wasn’t there before – connected the edge of the forest to the castle’s island. A low, discreet construction entirely unlike the arching causeway she could spy towards the front gates. The Dreaming hadn’t made it a challenge to leave, but it made returning even easier.

It invited her to come home.

Fin huffed, and she caught a smirk twisting his lips before he schooled it into a more dignified expression.

“You’re expected, it seems.”

Her hand spasmed on his arm, and he patted it almost condescendingly.

“Of course,” she murmured, demanding her stomach settle and her feet move.

Fin stayed with her across the bridge, through the garden, to the door that let her out. She felt like a stray dog being returned by a neighbor after a jaunt around the neighborhood, and it took conscious effort not to let her hackles rise. Inside, the castle was as quiet as it had been before, and she wondered again if people were being kept away from her on purpose, and if so, for whose benefit.

They stopped in the first crossroads between hallways. “This is where we leave you.”

“What?” Panic fluttered like butterflies through her gut. Fin settled (most of) them with another one of his looks – teasing, mocking her just enough to assure her this wasn’t anything like she feared. It made her feel stupid. It gave her courage. “I mean – fine. Okay. Why?”

“Why do you think?” Fin pointed to the left. “If you head that way, you’ll find yourself back in the room you woke in. Gwen and Jeff will take care of you.” He pointed to the right. “If you go that way, you’ll find him. If you’re ready to talk.”

He delicately peeled her fingers off his arm, stepped back, and performed a tidy bow. Duty performed, he left her with a wink and walked back the way they’d come in, a way that now offered many more doors and turns than she remembered.

“Good seeing you, Aisling. I’ll see you around?” Matthew didn’t wait for an answer. He launched into the air and flapped after Fin. A last caw caught and echoed through the branching halls, fading until she stood alone with her decision.

The still air pulsed with her thoughts, and her bare soles stuck to the polished floor, rooting her in a whirlpool of feelings she couldn’t face long enough to name. A crossroads. Her crossroads. Another gift from the entity she’d always feared would take away her choice. Was it respect or apology?

He’d lied to her, and even if he wasn’t responsible for… everything else, how could she trust he’d finished with masks? Kindness made for a clever veil, and he’d already surprised her with the face behind one helm.

But he hadn’t destroyed her. Hadn’t let others strip her will when it could’ve suited his purposes.

Romances between gods and mortals rarely ended well, and he was beyond a god. How could she ever hope to understand that? There was no world in which she could be his equal, where he could stoop low enough to grasp her human fears. Holding hands across a chasm like that always ended in a fall. Hadn’t she been enough of a fool already?

She remembered her first dream with him. He was more honest with her then than he’d been since, and the first thing he wanted to show her was the place where he held her the way she’d always held him. For that night at least, everything made sense. Maybe not the pain, but the agonies she’d suffered almost seemed worth it.

She didn’t know what to think. If she never faced their tangled wyrd, the potential bond she’d tasted so briefly, she’d never know how to feel, either. Maybe all this would kill her, but she couldn’t live without knowing.

So, she turned right.

Maybe it was her imagination, but the coolly lit hall seemed a little brighter as she made her way from the crossroads, looking for Morpheus.

She didn’t have to go far. The hall stretched straight ahead. No side passages to distract her. No doors to tempt her curiosity. Dream of the Endless wasn’t hiding, and as he reached out to guide her steps, he shaped the world to his intent.

The hall ended, rounding a little bend and opening into a high-ceilinged room that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A gallery. A meeting place. Something old and new and hollow. One wall bristled with shapes emerging from grey-veined marble. Windows stretched from floor to roof, bathing the sculptures of vines, trees, rolling waves, and writhing figures with soft light at odds with the relief’s high drama. There was no furniture. Only space waiting to be filled. And a lone figure. Waiting for her.

No obstacles. No games or tests.

It could all be so, so simple.

Morpheus wore his regal grace with the same ease as his long black coat. But it failed to shroud his melancholy, and his longing wafted through the room in perfumed spirals of burning incense. She breathed it in; it stung her eyes and plucked on the frayed tatters in her chest. Sympathetic pain bloomed, and she rubbed along her sternum automatically, blinking back tears so she could trade them for words.

He broke the silence first. “I welcome you to the Dreaming, Aisling Hunt.”

Without his helm, his voice sounded so different. Incredibly. Even more beautiful, like looking up into a night sky with stars that looked back, but less like a force of the cosmos, more a man who traded in the dust that made worlds. He regarded her, and her intuition thrummed, trying to answer in ways her human body physically couldn’t.

He paused, lips parted on a thought, and the formal weight evaporated, replaced with aching strain that curled his shoulders towards her, even across the room, like a plant bending towards the sun. Strange. Unsettling. She didn’t feel like something bright in his world, but at least he wasn’t hiding behind his grotesque helm again.

“I am, despite everything, glad to have you here.”

Oh.

It shocked her back into her body. Into feet just a little cold and still bare on the floor. Into flesh she was afraid to look at in case she started crying again. The hope and horror bridged, and the most urgent question grew like a weed up her throat.

Well. If he was going to bring it up, then…

“I need to know something.” She rubbed her chest, hoping to pry loose a scrap of courage. None lingered in her heart, but a few tatters could’ve gotten caught in her ribs, and even a slip would do her. “Before this – I need to ask you something. I think I already know, but I need –” She knew how quickly words and oaths could twist under desire’s pressure, and even if she’d committed to playing the fool, even clowns had their limits, and she wouldn’t dance into another lying mirror. “You said you wouldn’t steal me away to hide in shadows, but you could send others to take me, and this place is very bright.”

His shoulders drew back, and his chin lifted. He’d offered her formal welcome and she asked for formal confirmation that he hadn’t betrayed her. She wasn’t ready to burn for him as his sun. She had to know he wouldn’t snuff her out first.

“I did not ask for you to be taken. I did not ask for you to be changed against your will. I did not ask other hands to commit such sins in my name, nor will I in future.” Angling his face down again, he offered her a glimpse at the wrath hidden there. He had not forgotten her suffering. It would not go unpunished. And just as quickly as he revealed his rage, he buried it again, stowing the knives and earthquakes for the villains who’d driven her to ask for proof in the first place. He watched her absorb what he’d said, and his voice turned feather soft. “You are my most cherished guest, and though I ask that you stay until word has spread and it is safe for you to walk the Waking world, you are no prisoner.”

Blinking, she took a deep breath. It rattled all the way down to her fingers, and she shook out her hands to banish the trembling.

“Thank you.” He gave, and he gave, and he gave. Time, space, reassurance. Her gaze roved the complicated mass of imagery covering the wall, looking for a theme. A hint. Frozen sailors reached for the land, tying sails against a wind determined to keep them at sea. Trees bloomed. Flowers fell. Fruit swelled, and snakes crept through their own shed skins as seeds burst from fallen, rotting apples. Time, loss, and rebirth without aim.

“What do you want, Morpheus?”

Had she ever actually asked him? She desperately wanted the truth. The whole thing.

“You were right.” Her own truth. An olive branch. An invitation and a plea. “Others shaped my view of you. So, now’s your chance. Tell me, so I can it from your own mouth. What do you want?”

In this moment, she was judge, jury, and executioner. No one would decide who or what she loved, and she would know the entity whose name she carried before she gave him anything else.

The air turned sharp. It cut the light like a prism, glittering in her monster’s eyes, a focus so sharp it broke sunbeams into their constituent parts. For all the black he wore, he practically glowed, a king in all ways, an open heart in more. Only here. In private. For her.

His eyebrows lifted, pinched. “I want you.” His voice was a song, weaving everything that could be beautiful between them into the simplest terms. “I want to be near you. I want to comfort you.” He approached, drawing his words out with cautious steps, hands hanging stiff at his sides. He halted, just far enough for her to feel safe, even when he spoke again, letting his lust drip into his tone, scenting his song with night-blooming jasmine. “I want to love you and make love to you.”

That was… honest. Heat rushed over her face, and she dropped eye contact like it was the source of the fire.

Fuck.

It was, actually.

When she first saw him, locked away in the cage beneath Fawney Rig, she thought his beauty was a warning, a good reason to look away and avoid him. Beautiful things were almost always cruel, but now… Well, things were different, weren’t they?

“I want you to know me.” He glanced out the window, and she instinctively did the same, looking over distant mountains and glittering bridges. World beyond worlds. “The Dreaming is a part of me. Simply by walking it, I feel you’re exploring me.”

They looked at each other again, just a little closer than before, and the hope in her monster’s eyes made him almost boyish. He was older than her planet, probably. But even an Endless must be reborn sometimes, in some ways, like the snake winding through the rotting fruit.

So, she’d met him when the water splashed over her toes. She let him comfort her when she drank the tea and ate the food of the Dreaming. Even if she hadn’t held his hand or looked in his eyes, and he was reaching for her in all but body now.

Fine.

Alright then.

She wouldn’t be anxious over a project she’d already begun.

“May I touch you?”

His smile bloomed soft and sweet. “Yes.”

Having the permission she needed from his strange eyes, his lips, the face she still didn’t know, she looked at his hands. She drew the tips of her fingers along his knuckles, a whispered touch asking for an answer, and he lifted the hand for her inspection, turning it over so she could see the creases of his palms. Invitation and vulnerability. Her touch wandered the lines, trying to read the silky flesh like a book. Palmistry had never been her forte, though, and she only found her own memories in his life and love lines.

“I know these better than your face,” she admitted. They felt safer, something secure to hold when his galaxy eyes threatened to sweep her away.

She found her courage in inches, lifting her eyes to his shoulders. His neck, his skin pale and untouchable as a reflection of the moon. Would she find the same strength in the rest of him as she did in his hands? The same possessive tenderness? The same call that felt like a puzzle coming together when she stroked his fingers, demanding and comforting as a deep breath after a dive?

Gingerly, like one or both of them was made of glass, she pressed an index finger to either side of his jaw. The barest caress drew along the edge of his face, not just feeling him, but listening to the hushed drag of skin on skin, until her two hands met, fingertip to fingertip, over the point of his chin. A sigh gusted down her wrists, along her elbows, and a rebel army of goosebumps sprang to life at his summons.

Without entirely meaning to, she looked up and met his eyes, and once she found them, they snared her.

It was entirely unfair for anyone to have actual stars in their eyes, and she read her doom in them as easily as she read her cards.

“I’d like to kiss you.”

His eyes flicked to her lips, and he shifted closer, keeping his hands to his side despite the way his want curled out to close the distance like a physical force. Well. It was his world. Perhaps it was. It found her heart and tugged.

Her own gaze dropped to his mouth, waiting to read his answer. “May I?”

“Yes.” His voice rumbled so low and strong she felt it like thunder. No hesitation.

She wondered if she’d have to rise onto her toes to reach him, but he swept down to meet her, giving rather than waiting for her to cautiously claim what she’d asked for. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first caress. A soft touch expressing and savoring everything she’d allow. There was no demand, but as she pressed into the kiss, chasing the delicate friction, he answered in kind.

Little sparks carried through her blood. Through her mind. Urging something to life. Drops of sunshine calling up flowers in springtime. He tasted like traces of smoke from a campfire on a cold night. Vellum and lignin. The last breath before a jump.

When she broke away to breathe, she peered into his face, and she felt the trembling rush of standing in a high place. In the Dreaming, were the butterflies in her stomach real, too?

His hands hovered, framing her face with restrained yearning.

“May I touch you?” Gravel thickened his voice until it nearly broke, and he searched her expression with bared desperation. “May I hold you so I may feel you are well? May I love you, my little hero?”

She settled her hands over his, kissed his palm, and guided his fingers to her cheek, closing the gap he’d left for her to decide in. “You may touch me.”

He accepted her permission with open wonder, taking a full moment to rest where she’d led him, moving just enough to stroke the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. When he freed himself of the spell she’d so innocently cast, he let his touch wander – sweeping over her brow, tracing her nose, cradling her jaw. But when he came to her mouth, he lost his focus. He replaced hand with lips, jolting back after the briefest, most chaste contact when he realized he hadn’t asked permission.

She grabbed the lapels of his long coat, shaking the fear from his expression. “You can kiss me. Please. You don’t need to ask. Not tonight.”

The worried frown he’d grown melted. A smirk washed up his face, dark with promise. But he didn’t tease her. He claimed another, proper kiss instead. Free to touch her, he angled her face with careful pressure, showing her how best to deepen the pleasure of lips, and teeth, and tongues, until she was equally breathless and reluctant to breathe.

Resting forehead-to-forehead as she recovered – as she gathered air to take the plunge again – he asked, “May I hold you?”

“Yes.” Her turn to answer quickly, for an ache to strain her voice.

Long limbs twined around her, drawing her close with a hand on her back and another on his him as her monster once again set to work trying to consume her. She did finally rise onto her toes, begging for more with eager hands slipping up his shoulders to comb into his hair. He gave her too much to feel, and she couldn’t give each piece its due. His lips gliding over hers. The secure warmth of his arms. Smooth skin and soft hair. The pressure of his chest against hers.

She knew pains like this. Sensations too overwhelming and complicated to make sense of. But she’d never felt pleasure the same way, and it swept her away faster than a riptide. She’d given the sea permission to drown her, though, so it was alright. More than alright. Wonderful.

He wasn’t as cool as he’d been when she first touched him. The rosy heat didn’t blush over his skin, but it pressed out to meet her, as if he was taking inspiration from the pulse and flush of mortality. Her blood warmed her because it must. He only warmed from a desire to be near.

“And may I love you?” A kiss to her cheek. “May I?” Another just below her ear. Withdrawing to lift her gathered hands to his lips, holding her gaze, he brushed a third kiss over her knuckles. “May I?”

Almost too disoriented to answer, she nodded, running her palms over his clothed chest. “Yes. Please, Morpheus – ”

His name on her lips tore through the last of his self-control. Finally. Finally given permission. Finally near enough to touch, and taste, and take. He crushed her closer with tender, rabid affection, kisses wandering to her cheek, down her neck, and back to her lips to share her sighs.

Maybe she wasn’t the sun, but how she burned for him.

Lovely as it was, she wanted his coat off. With their lips tangled together, she struggled to ask, but she pushed at it, and he wordlessly agreed, helping her peel it away from his shoulders to drop, abandoned, somewhere behind him. Her monster’s greatest frustration with the act was the time he spent with his hands otherwise occupied, and he grabbed her back to him like they’d been separated for years, not seconds.

His hand slipped beneath the soft shirt he so thoughtfully provided when she woke, and she whimpered into his mouth, caught off guard by how good this new wave of sensation felt. Fragments of control washed away with each graze of a knuckle or press of his palm along her back, pulled away as sand in the surf.

When she released her hold on his shoulders, he left her break the kiss, his eyes somehow even darker as he watched her reach for the hem of the garment. He helped her – carefully, reverently – guiding her arms and head out of the fabric. His lips parted as he looked her over, and he reached for the bottom of his own shirt. She mirrored his performance, helping him with the simplest chore of escaping his clothes, and when he emerged from the black shirt’s depths, he reappeared with a smile. A little amused. Deeply fond.

More kisses. Cautious hands mapping new spaces. Enjoying each other slowly so the heat could grow. Shared breaths, every shudder and shift pressed into the other’s flesh. Wrapped up in each other entirely. There wasn’t room for fear or doubt; they stood much too close.

Even when Dream pulled back again, something as fiendish as it was loving in his expression, she couldn’t remember there was a room or a world beyond him.

He spread his palm wide over the center of her chest, covering the flesh between him and his mark, and he pressed down. Gravity bent to his will, an intractable urge. She fell to his desire and found herself sprawled flat on something comfortable that wasn’t a bed. But he left her no time to wonder, following her with a rain of kisses that left her dizzy. As his hands crept down, he hovered, watching for her to revoke her permission, or even the slightest hint of discomfort. But by the time he’d reached the rest of her clothes, her hands fluttered around his, trying to slip multiple layers off in one go. She wanted her pants gone as much as she’d wanted rid of his coat, and he chuckled as she kicked them off the last inch.

Once she’d escaped the last fabric keeping her from his touch, she drew him back for a kiss, this one so soft it spoke his thanks. His care.

Although he rested between her legs, he didn’t rush. He attended her breasts, plucking yelps and giggles from hidden ticklish spots, rising back to her lips again and again as she grew hotter and more desperate under his hands. They might’ve spent a hundred years hovering on the threshold, finding each other in grazes and kneading grips.

At last, he roved lower, and even as he brushed his lips over hers, his thumb rolled over her bud. Slowly, tortuously almost, he fluttered over the nub, refusing to explore further until she whimpered and writhed. He traced down her folds and groaned. She could feel how wet he’d made her, and the mortification would’ve swamped her if she couldn’t feel how excited it left him. The bulge pressing against her hip left no doubt.

His fingers sank inside, curling to pull something out of her. She gave him a moan, a fluttering thing, unsure on new wings, and he hovered with his mouth hanging open in awe, like he could catch it. Keep it. Cage it in his ribs to keep. Before, when he’d pleasured her in the dream, he had plenty to say, even when his mouth was on her. That was worship. This was communion. A true meeting, a joining without words.

He worked her open diligently. And all the while, he held her gaze, feasting on it.

Every nerve sang for him, and he coaxed her to the very edge before she grabbed his wrist. He froze, looking for pain in her expression, and she kissed the worried line between his eyebrows.

“I want you.”

She didn’t need to explain. With a look so vulnerable he almost looked hurt, he said, “You have me.”

When he pulled back this time, he took her with him, and she sat astride his lap as he worked a mark into her neck, giving her time to change her mind. His pants had magically disappeared. She wasn’t at all surprised, though she’d wanted to help take them off herself. Next time, maybe.

Next time? There would be a next time. And another next time. And all the next times she wanted.

Elated by her revelation, she all but yanked his face from her neck so she could kiss him properly. He laughed, and it tasted like elderflower cordial, rich and sweet enough to make her drunk with one sip. She ground down on his length, and his hands spasmed on her waist.

“I’m ready,” she assured him with an eager peck. “I want this.”

He shifted, arranging himself to brush her entrance, but he didn’t press. Even here, he waited for her. She sank to meet him, her grip on his shoulders seizing as she stretched. His hold moved to her back, her neck, cradling her near instead of exerting any kind of control. And she was glad. She needed it as her eyes all but rolled back into her skull.

As light kisses rained over her face, she fought to relax, to take him entirely. She only opened her eyes once she had him. Once he had her. And once she saw him, she wondered how she could ever turn away again.

It was the way he looked at her. Fathomless patience meeting desperation. All of it honed by time. He’d craved her company before she was born, and he’d wrestled back his yearning until it cut into his soul to keep from scaring her away.

He wanted to be seen, and held, and cared for, too.

A thousand adoring words bubbled up her throat, but it wasn’t the right time, so she peppered them soundlessly down his neck and along his collarbones instead.

And she moved.

The drag was almost too much. The pressure brought stars to her own eyes, and although she refused to close them, sometimes she thought they’d fluttered shut, because the push and pull of their lovemaking really was blinding. He stroked up to meet each roll of her hips, crooning as she kissed and petted and squeezed him.

They were the turn of stars, the draw of ancient voids too vast for names, and all the voiceless songs strung between worlds.

She forgot the pain in her chest. She forgot she’d ever done anything but burn for her monster. Her Morpheus.

If she wasn’t the sun, she must’ve swallowed one.

The inferno melted her from the inside out, and she all but fell apart, wrapped around him, and cheek-to-cheek, he groaned in her ear. She panted, open-mouthed, fighting for air and sense as he kept his slow, deliberate pace. He hadn’t even begun to have his fill yet, and he held her all the tighter as her quaking limbs refused to play.

When feeling eventually returned to her legs, she pulled them around his waist, anchoring herself and refusing to release him as adamantly as he clung to her. The otherworldly sensations lingered, but she remembered herself a little more, found the cognizance to appreciate who held her, who she’d accepted. Who stoked the flame, sheathed inside.

Even as he worked her up to another orgasm, a painfully soft part of her heart burst open, and affection flooded her system. It bled open and free, forcing tears to her eyes.

She was safe, and he was hers, and she –

She really had to tell him somehow. She couldn’t bear to say it, though.

She’d be worthy of his face. She’d break him out of a thousand cages. If only he’d keep her so close and secure and warm.

This time when she trembled to pieces, there was no putting her back together, and her monster graciously followed her release. He kissed her as he came, holding her still so they could feel every shudder of the end. And when he’d finished, as their breathing steadied, he tumbled with her back into something soft, never once letting her slip from his arms.

#fic: hello mr. monster #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x reader

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raatart · 2 months

Text

a complete boycott list in alphabetical order

a complete list of companies / brands / franchises to boycott in support of palestine that i have been working on putting together for a while now.

remember to support your local businesses

stand with palestine against genocide

(Food & Beverages)

Activia

Acqua Panna

Akmina

Absolute Vodka

Algida

A&W

Aquafina

Alpro

Actimel

Burger King

Baskin Robbins

Ben & Jerry's

Bugles

Betty Crocker

Badoit

Becel

Coca Cola

Costa Coffee

Cadbury

Cheerios

Cheetos

Campbells

Calve

Cappy

Chiquita

Dominos

Dasani

Dunkin' Donuts

Doritos

Dr Pepper

Danone

Dolcela

Damla

Dogadan

Evian

Eden

Fanta

Frito-lay

Fruit by the Foot Roll Ups

Falim

Fresca

Gatorade

Greggs

Hardees

Haagen Dazs

Heinz Ketchup

Hershey's

Hard Rock Cafe

Heinz

Innocent

Israeli Fruits & Vegetables

Jacob's

Jaffa

KitKat

KFC

Kbueno

Kraft Mac & Cheese

Kellogg's

Kraft

Lipton

Lays

McDonald's

Mars

Marks & Spencers

Maggi

Marila

Monster

Mountain Dew

Mehadrin

Minute Maid

Milk Bar

M&M's

Magnum Ice Cream

Milka Chocolates

Nestle

Nestle Cereals

Nescafe

Nesquik

Nespresso

Nido

Nutella

Nature Valley

Nestle Milo

Nestle Carnation

Nestle Coffee Mate

Nestle Nestum

Nimbooz

Nestea

Orea

Original Shredded Wheat

Papa John's

Pepsi

Pringles

Pizza Hut

Perrier

Pillsbury

Popeyes

Pretty a Manager

Pure Life

Powerade

Popup Bagels

Quality Street

Quaker

Redbull

Ruffles

Starbucks

Subway

Smartwater

Sweetgreen

Snickers

Sprite

Sabra

Sunkist

Strauss

Smarties

S.pellegrino

Schweppes

Sana

Sirma

Sara Lee

Toblerone

Tang

Twix

Tesco

Tropicana

Vittle

Volvic

Wall's

Walmart

Walkers

Wrigley's

7Up

(Clothing)

America Eagle

Adidas

Alo

Adina Eden Jewelry

Converse

Calvin Klein

Cat

Castro

Drew

Diesel

Good American

GAP

H&M

Kamili

Levi's

Lumberjack

Mango

Nike

Oasis

Puma

River Island

Skims

Skinny Dip

St. Mark

Style Nadia

Timberland

Victoria's Secret

Vakko

We Wore That

Wyeth

Zara

(Beauty)

Aveda

Amika

Avon

Aussie

Aveeno

Always

Aesop

Ahava

Bobbi Brown

Blistex

Bath & Body Works

Britney Spears Fragrance

Becca

Biotherm

Beauty Blender

Clinique

Covergirl

Colgate

Calgon

Camay

CeraVe

Christina Aguilera Perfumes

Clean & Clear

Crest

CND

Cacharel

Dr. Jart+

Dove

Dettol

Darphin Paris

Dark & Lovely

Essie

Elidor

Fenty Beauty

Fair & Lovely

Garnier

Gillette

Glam Glow

Honest Beauty

Haci Sakir

Herbal Essences

Head & Shoulders

Hugo Boss

Jo Malone

Johnson & Johnsom

Kerastase

Kiehl's

Kylie Cosmetics

Kylie Skin

Kotex

L'Oreal

Lacome

La Roche-Posey

Lifebuoy

Lux

Lubiderm

Maybelline

MAC

Moroccan Oil

Maui

Matrix

Max Factor

Nyx

Neutrogena

Nivea

Nature's Beauty

Niely

Olay

Origins

Orkid

Oral-B

Oax

Pepsodent

Pantene

Revlon

Rimmel

Rexona

Rhode

Summer Fridays

Schick

Smashbox

Sephora

Sensodyne

Skinceuticals

Skin Better Science

The Body Shop

Too Faced Cosmetics

The Ordinary

Tom Ford Beauty

Tampax

Takami

Urban Decay

Ulta Beauty

Vichy

Vaseline

Veet

Yes to

Yuesai

(Luxury)

Chanel

Estee Lauder

Georgio Armani

LVMH

Louis Vuitton

La Mer

Lavs

Le Labo

Mugler

Maison Margiela

Prada

Raplh Lauren

Tiffany & Co.

Tom Ford

Tommy Hilfiger

Valentino

Yves Saint Laurent

(Tech & Entertainment)

Aol

Amazon

AirBnB

Apple

BBC

Buxton

Barbie

Booking.com

CNN

Disney+

Dell

Energizer

Ford

Fiverr

Galaxy

Hyundai

Hulu

IBM

Intel

Lego

Motorola

Movenpick

Mattel

Microsoft

National Geographic

Nokia

Netflix

Oracle

Oxi

Philips

Rolls Royce

Siemens

Sodastream

Toys R Us

Volvo

Valvoline

Wix

(Other)

Axa

Ariel

Aero

Ambi Pur

Airwick

Aroma

AVC

Amway

Ace Hardware

Andrex

American Express

Bounty

Black & Decker

Bonux

Bref

Braun

Benadryl

Band-aid

Barclays

Blue Cross Blue Shield

Better Help

Caltex

Chevron

Culligan

Citi Bank

Chicco

Cravola

Clearblue

Capital One

Dash

Drynites

Dosmestos

Doona

Expedia

Finish

Febreeze

Fixodent

Fairy

Goop

Gerber

Gys

HSBC

Huggies

Hayat

Imodium

JCB

Kimberly-Clark

Kleenex

Lion

Little Swimmers

Lenor

Mr Muscle

Minidou

Monsanto

Nicorette

Omo

Pampers

Purina Felix

Payoneer

Palmolive

Protex

Pull-ups

P&G

Prima

Pril

Paramount Pictures

Rejoice

Rinso

Rogaine

Signal

Sensus

Sudafed

Tide

Unilever

Us Cellular

Vim

Vanish

Vicks

Yumus

(Places)

Disney

(People)

Ashley Tisdale

Amy Schumer

Andy Beshear

Bono

Ben Savage

Bella Thorne

Beyonce

Chris Evans

Claire Holt

Ciara

Chris Rock

Chris Pine

Demi Lovato

Dwayne Johnson

DJ Khaled

Eva Longoria

Gal Gadot

Ian Somerhalder

Jamie Lee Curtis

James Maslow

Justin Bieber

Jennifer Aniston

Jaclyn Hill

Jack Harlow

Jordan Peele

Joseph Quinn

Jack Black

Kylie Jenner

Kim Kardashian

Kris Jenner

Kerry Washington

Katie Perry

Karlie Kloss

Khloe Kardashian

Kat Graham

Kendall Jenner

Kourtney Kardashian

Lebron James

Lana Condor

Lana Del Rey

Millie Bobby Brown

Malala

Mindy Kaling

Mark Hamill

Madonna

NFL

Nina Dobrev

Natalie Portman

Nabela

Nicole Richie

Noah Schnapp

Octovia Spencer

Perez Hilton

Paul Wesley

Phoebe Tonkin

Pia Mia

P!nk

Ronaldinho

Rihanna

Sofia Richie

Shaquir O'neal

Selena Gomez

Tara Strong

Taika Waititi

Taylor Swift

Tyler Perry

Usher

Vanessa Hudgens

Viola Davis

#boycott #boycott israel #boycott mcdonalds #boycott starbucks #boycott disney #boycotting #pro palestine #fuck israel #support palestine

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femmehysteria · 7 months

Text

Best Character Named X Poll

FOLLOW @best-character-named-x-poll

I'm doing a series of "Best Character Named X" polls where all the characters have the same first name but are from completely different media, feel free to send in name/charcacter suggestions, I'm posting one poll a day. New polls scheduled for 1:30PM GMT everyday.

ask box closed for now

WILL BE POSTING POLLS ON @best-character-named-x-poll FROM FEB 1ST

If your favourite character is not included in the poll very sorry i have either never heard of them or actively chose not to include them as theres only 6 characters per poll. Characters will only count of that is their first name, surnames do not count.

Round 85: David

Round 86: Tiffany

Round 87: Charlie

Round 88: Sandy

Round 89: Cody

Round 90: Amanda

Round 91: Jeremy

Past Polls and Poll Ideas under the cut

Names that I have a complete list for*

Caroline, Tyler, Louis, Leonard, Rebecca, Steve, Nicole, Isabelle, Victoria, Katherine, Jade, Alex, Sophie, Greg, Jake, Ellie, Isaac, Robin, Tony, Annie, Lisa, Margaret, Oliver, Clark, Kara, Phoebe, Emma, Ruby, Bart, Alfie, Beth, Julian, Nancy, Penny, Margaret, Tessa, Erica, Theresa, George, Kevin, Sebastian, Felix, Martin, Michael, Erin, Caleb, Helen, Charlotte, Kyle, Martha, Diana, Elsa, Gary, Zoe, Connor, Colin, Daisy, Eric, Maya, Adam, Andy, Magnus, Alma, Nora, Alice, Spike, Leon, Marcel, Kim, Juno, Sue, Chris, Otto, Donald, Daphne, Kate, Todd, Ned, Ken, Angel, Judy, Jo, Hazel, Naomi, Diego, Miranda, Joel, Lila, Duncan, Dexter, Meredith, Pearl, Lily, Malcolm, Napolean, Joan, Nico, Jamie, Nadia, Velma, Jill, Kiera, Rory, Evan, Tam, Klaus, Neil, Derek, Michelle, Luna, Laila, Cordelia, Zack, Imogen, Felicity, Cindy, Alicia, Kelly, Alan, April, Astrid, Delilah, Jodie, Claudia, Juliet, Karen, Jonas, Milo, Celia, Hannah, Joy, Ethan, Katya, Aria, Atticus, Ian, Cynthia, Faye, Frank, Boo, River, Corey, Gabrielle, Minerva, Ebony, Zia, Beverly, Rudy, Georgina

Names I have an incomplete list for (welcome to send character suggestions)

Richter, Sean, Troy, Cain, Agatha, Warren, Percy, Reggie, Mina, Ryan, Felicia, Dylan, Josh, Shirley, Debbie, Jared, June, Mabel, Ray, Chad, Moe, Hugh, Fearne, Christine, Joe, August, May, Scarlet, Alana, Leela, Manny, Dean, Francis, Mason, Oscar, Quinn, Guy, Ulrich, Wally, Yasmin, Tobias, Woody, Sabrina, Quentin, Margot, Alina, Matilda, Freya, Kendra, Angus, Ophelia, Leisel, Zelda, Adora, Piper, Scarlet, Sheila, Valentine, Laurie, Laurel, Fitz, Violet, Gabriel, Ford, Artemis, Owen, Bianca, Newton, Summer, Darcy, Noah, Taylor, Miriam, Hugh, Aurora, Hank, Henry, Dawn, Delia, Cosmo, Wanda, Zeke, Cecil, Aiden, Calvin, Ayesha, Beatrice, Parker, Chase, Hunter, Tina, Misty, Amaya, Amara, Harvey, Talia, Tatiana, Tanya, Orion, Eugene, Kit, Bo, Duke, Blue, Cameron, Rudolf, Mara, Marianne, Carl

Feel free to send more suggestions

*subject to change, you can still submit a character if there is no strikethrough if you think theres a character that its an absolute crime i dont add. Please don't suggest anything for the names with a strikethrough as they are polls that are already in my queue waiting to be published.

Past Polls

Round 1: Peter : WINNER: Peter Parker (Spider-Man)

Round 2: Elizabeth : WINNER: Elizabeth Swann (Pirates of the Caribbean)

Round 3: Jason : WINNER: Jason Mendoza (The Good Place)

Round 4: Eve : WINNER: EVE (WALL-E)

Round 5: Fred : WINNER: Fred Jones (Scooby-Doo)

Round 6: Rachel : WINNER: Rachel (Animorphs)

Round 7: Arthur : WINNER: Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)

Round 8: Amy : WINNER: Amy Pond (Doctor Who)

Round 9: Tom : WINNER: Tom (Tom and Jerry)

Round 10: Claire : WINNER: Clare Devlin (Derry Girls)

Round 11: James : WINNER: James (Pokemon)

Round 12: Max : WINNER: Max (Black Sails)

Round 13: Simon : WINNER: Simon Belmont (Castlevania)

Round 14: Jane : WINNER: Jane Crocker (Homestuck)

Round 15: Victor : WINNER: Victor Nikiforov (Yuri On Ice)

Round 16: Mary : WINNER: Mary Poppins (Mary Poppins)

Round 17: Will : WINNER: Will Graham (Hannibal)

Round 18: Laura : WINNER: Laura Palmer (Twin Peaks)

Round 19: Ben : WINNER: Ben "Obi-Wan" Kenobi (Star Wars)

Round 20: Chloe : WINNER: Chloe Price (Life Is Strange)

Round 21: John : WINNER: Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives)

Round 22: Lydia : WINNER: Lydia Deetz (Beetlejuice)

Round 23: Mark : WINNER: Marc Spector (Moon Knight)

Round 24: Jess : WINNER: Jesse Pinkman (Breaking Bad)

Round 25: Theo : WINNER: Theobald Gumbar (Dimension 20: A Crown Of Candy)

Round 26: Sarah: WINNER: Sarah Jane Smith (Doctor Who)

Round 27: Richard : WINNER: Richard Gansey III (The Raven Cycle)

Round 28: Cass : WINNER: Cassandra Cain (Batman)

Round 29: Edward : WINNER: Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Round 30: Carm : WINNER: Carmen Sandiego (Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?)

Round 31: Hal : WINNER: HAL9000 (2001: A Space Odyssey)

Round 32: Sid : WINNER: Sydney Adamu (The Bear)

Round 33: Jack : WINNER: Captain Jack Harkness (Doctor Who)

Round 34: Stephanie : WINNER: Stephanie Brown (Batman)

Round 35: Ash : WINNER: Ash Ketchum (Pokemon)

Round 36: Veronica : WINNER: Veronica Sawyer (Heathers)

Round 37: Kurt : WINNER: Kurt Wagner aka Nightcrawler (X-Men)

Round 38: Eleanor : WINNER: Eleanor Shellstrop (The Good Place)

Round 39: Nathan : WINNER: Nathan Young (Misfits)

Round 40: Fiona : WINNER: Princess Fiona (Shrek)

Round 41: Gale : WINNER: Gayle Waters-Waters (Chris Fleming)

Round 42: Barbara : WINNER: Barbara Millicent Roberts aka Barbie (Barbie)

Round 43: Sam : WINNER: Samwise Gamgee (Lord of the Rings)

Round 44: Grace : WINNER: Grace Chastity (Nerdy Prudes Must Die)

Round 45: Barry : WINNER: Barry Bluejeans (The Adventure Zone)

Round 46: Raven : WINNER: Raven (Teen Titans)

Round 47: Dan : WINNER: Danny Fenton (Danny Phantom)

Round 48: Mia : WINNER: Mia Fey (Ace Attorney)

Round 49: Matt : WINNER: Matt Murdock (Daredevil)

Round 50: Rose : WINNER: Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

Round 51: Robert : WINNER: Robbie Rotten (LazyTown)

Round 52: Lola : WINNER: Lola Bunny (Space Jam)

Round 53: Scott : WINNER: Scott Summers aka Cyclops (X-Men)

Round 54: Olivia : WINNER: Olivia Octavious (Spiderverse)

Round 55: Finn : WINNER: Finn the Human (Adventure Time)

Round 56: Emily : WINNER: Emily Charlton (The Devil Wears Prada)

Round 57: Elliot : WINNER: Eliot Spencer (Leverage)

Round 58: Sonia : WINNER: Sonia (Pokemon)

Round 59: Gideon : WINNER: Gideon Nav (The Locked Tomb)

Round 60: Jen : WINNER: Jennifer Check (Jennifer's Body)

Round 61: Miles : WINNER: Miles Morales (Spider-Man)

Round 62: Lana : WINNER: Lana Skye (Ace Attorney)

Round 63: Spencer : WINNER: Spencer Shay (iCarly)

Round 64: Tracy : WINNER: Tracy Turnbald (Hairspray!)

Round 65: Luke : WINNER: Luke Skywalker (Star Wars)

Round 66: Natalie : WINNER: Natalie Scatorccio (Yellowjackets)

Round 67: Harry : WINNER: Harry Du Bois (Disco Elysium)

Round 68: Lucy : WINNER: Lucy van Pelt (Peanuts)

Round 69: Damian : WINNER: Damian Wayne (Batman)

Round 70: Tabitha : WINNER: Tabitha Casper (Dan and Phil Games: Sims 4)

Round 71: Nick : WINNER: Nicholas D. Wolfwood (Trigun)

Round 72: Gwen : WINNER: Guinevere (Merlin)

Round 73: Paul : WINNER: Paulette Bonafonte (Legally Blonde)

Round 74: Abigail : WINNER: Abigail Hobbs (Hannibal)

Round 75: Jordan : WINNER: Jordan Baker (The Great Gatsby)

Round 76: Donna : WINNER: Donna Noble (Doctor Who)

Round 77: Morgan : WINNER: Morgana (Merlin)

Round 78: Allison : WINNER: Alison Cooper (BBC Ghosts)

Round 79: Patrick : WINNER: Patrick Star (Spongebob Squarepants)

Round 80: Linda : WINNER: Linda Belcher (Bob's Burgers)

Round 81: Philip : WINNER: Philip J. Fry (Futurama)

Round 82: Clarisse : WINNER: Clarisse La Rue (Percy Jackson)

Round 83: Jeff

Round 84: Maria

#best character named x #poll #poll game #my post

80 notes · View notes

mvrtaiswriting · 2 years

Note

Hello, I really like your work and this event seems promising so can i request the prompt 11 with Ace please?

Ace x prompt 11: their entire body freezing for a second when their love kisses them.

hi, I'm so glad you enjoy my work and I hope you'll like this piece too! <3 i love my firey boy, he deserves all the love, all the happiness, ALL THE BEST *sobs*.

gender neutral! spoiler free although marine ford is mentioned. ace is loved and a clumsy mess.

feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee.- from this event.

After confessing your love for each other during the Marineford battle, things between you and Ace changed. He knew he loved you the very first time the two of you met - and seeing you join Pop's crew felt like a dream come true. He watched you grow into the furious, brave pirate you were now, ready to die for him. But everything that happened after that did not leave enough room for you to talk it out.

Although he hoped his crew would come to the rescue, a part of Ace wished you'd just let him go, accept his destiny and move on with your life. He spent all his imprisonment days relieving the best memories he had with the crew, with Pops - and with you; he missed your laugh, he even missed the way you would annoy him all the time. You managed to surprise him every day; you were his little miracle, the best thing that ever happened to him. The thought of not being able to stay by your side anymore was what scared him the most - not death, not the long agony he was experiencing. No pain could have compared to losing you.

So when he saw you there, in the middle of the battlefield right next to his brother, drenched in sweat and blood, his heart was about to betray him - skipping a beat just right were he needed it the most. Your vision was just angelic, despite all the injuries and dirt your body was covered with.

"Please don't die." you screamed, rivers of tears streaming down your face; you were ready to flip the world upside down for him, nothing would have stopped you.

Running towards him, you threw your body against his, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him tight, hiding your head in his chest. One of your hands wondered towards his hair as you burst into tears, feeling his skin on yours once again. "Damn it, I love you." you sobbed, holding him closer. He kissed your head in response, holding you tight in his embrace before jumping and avoiding the enemy's attack, moving both of you to a safest place.

"Let's get out of here." he winked at you, before joining the rest of his friends in the battle, finally able to fight.

When the two of you returned to your ship, everything was different. What happened has shaken everyone's soul more than anything else - you caused an historical event just to save Ace, becoming one of the most wanted pirates. The ship had to be updated, the crews needed to be rearranged, and most importantly all of you needed to rest, to recover. And this took a while, months - for some, even years. The battle revealed traitors and showed who the weakest ring of the chain were; both of these things needed to be addressed. Some chose to stay, others chose to go train on a certain island, others more just left. There was no time to discuss feelings. You were just grateful Ace made it out alive.

Until one night, months after the Marineford battle, Ace joined you on the crow's nest. Knowing it was your favourite spot, he silently sat next to you.

"Mh?" you asked, welcoming him with a timid smile. He shrugged in response, resting his head on your shoulder. Lightly stretching your arm, you gently placed your hand on his cheek, your thumb delicately caressing his warm skin.

"Thank you for saving me." he mumbled, leaving a kiss on the palm of your hand. "And.." he tried to continue, taking a deep breath as it could help him find the right words.

"I love you too." he finally admitted, almost whispering. "I kn- I know I should have said it before - actually months ago, but -" he said anxiously, speaking faster than usual.

Hearing this words paralysed you. You were starting to accept that he just didn't reciprocate, and although it hurt there was too much going on around you to grieve a love that never existed in the first place. You could still hear Ace mumbling some excuses, but you weren't listening - you were stil overwhelmed by his confession, his voice felt so distant, almost muffled.

When you finally snapped to your senses again, you simply changed position so that you could now face him. Taking a minute to appreciate just how beautiful - and logorrheic - he looked under the moonlight, you leaned towards him to press a soft kiss on his lips, finally shushing him and his no-sense.

For a brief moment, Ace did not reciprocate. He swore he could feel his brain completely melting causing his body to freeze and not respond to any command. It wasn't until a little flame escaped his fingertips that he realised what was happening. A little, guilty laugh escaped his lips before he pulled you closer to him, his hands drifting to your hips as he helped you sitting on his lap. His lips met yours again in an hungry, hasty kiss.

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canonicallysoulmates · 6 months

Text

J2 Jaxcon Main Panel 2023

Usually, before they go on stage the boys do a fist bump but they didn't get to do it this time because they were running behind so they weren't walking in together so they do their fist bump on stage instead. I love that Jared was all before we do anything else we have to do this about it, it's their little tradition 💕

Jensen asks if Jared has a joke, he kind of does: what do rednecks do on Halloween? He doesn't say the punchline because it is an inappropriate joke, but he does blame Jensen for telling it to him years ago 😂

Jensen does end up saying the punchline later on, and for anyone curious the full joke is: what do rednecks do on Halloween? Pump kin.

Jensen also tells a joke: what tree's favorite holiday is Halloween? Bamboo. Jared told another dad joke: what did the arithmetic seed say when it grew up? Gee, I'm a tree.

And then Jensen confessed that he actually got this joke from a whiteboard that's backstage in the hallway and it's so cute cause when he admitted this, Jared said he had seen it but he wasn't going to sell out his boy. And this is actually why Jensen had asked Jared if he had any jokes because he thought Jared had seen it and was going to say it but Jared says it was stupid 😂

Getting into the questions:

What is their favorite childhood memory?

Jared says it’s difficult to pick a specific one but he had a great time playing outside. When he grew up it was before iPhones, iPads, and all that stuff- he quips that when Jensen grew up it was before cars 😂

He thinks he was trying to figure out all that was going on in his head because they didn’t have the welcomed distractions of social media. He will say this because his sons were in a similar situation around 2 weeks prior, there were about 5 or 6 school friends he had in his neighborhood and they were allowed to TP each other’s houses. Their parents knew and they’d have to clean it the next day but the excitement of it- so, he jokes, his fav childhood memory was a life of crime. But seriously getting outside.

Jensen has many but he’ll choose one; there was a rollercoaster in Six Flags Texas that was called The Shockwave it had two loops and he was too short for the ride, and his brother who was older and had been able to get on it for a couple years was always making fun of him for being too short to get on it but when he was six, he was finally able to get on, and he remembers being so excited that he walked up, got there and when he realized he was tall enough to ride he was like 'oh no' cause he could hear the screams. So he’ll never forget that first ride, and he can almost still taste the adrenaline of when he was a kid. x

What is their favorite, or go to, fake curse word?

Jensen's is shiitake mushrooms.

Jared’s a fudge guy. The one that starts with an F is the one he probably says most often, and G doesn’t love it when he says it in front of the kids. x

Besides the ‘67 Impala what is their dream car?

Jared says the first car that he bought was a '69 Camaro, and that Jensen teases him because he has been saying for as long as they've known each other that the car is getting restored. But Jensen says he has never seen proof of life so he doesn't believe him.

Jared’s favorite vehicle on the planet is a C2 Corvette Convertible so '63 to '67 probably '67 and probably with a 327. The 427 dips the front a little bit because it was heavy.

Jensen says many, many years ago, probably early 2000’s, he had a 1973 Ford Bronco. He says it was so fun, that he took it places he probably shouldn't have- he used to drive it through the LA River. He ended up selling it after a few years because he was always working so he barely got to use it and he loved that car so much that it actually made him feel bad that it wasn't getting used. He ended up selling it to a sound guy who lived in Venice Beach, and he's always regretted it. So he’s now building one! He found a 1969 body so he's currently restoring it and should have it soon. x

How do they not get caught up in the fame?

They joke they have wives who remind them hourly.

Jared would honestly say, that for him and Jensen it never occurred to them. It was kind of a blessing and a curse that the show was in Van cause it's not like they were going to a red carpet every night or a hot new club you’re invited to cause you’re on tv, you go to work and then go home and then go to work the next day so he feels whatever degree of fame he has was on accident. The first show he did back in 2003-2005 there was no tivo or Netflix, nobody knew who the hell he was for like 3 or 4 years so for him he just kept working and had a 24 year overnight success.

Jensen says it’s not what he thinks most people view it to be with him and Jared. They don’t rely on what fame they have got over the past 25yrs they just live normal lives and occasionally someone will come up and recognize them or it might be easier to get a dinner reservation, so there are a few things that they do notice. He adds that he and D rarely make reservations, they just kinda drop in cause they don’t know what the plan is but D’s favorite line is to tell him to go out and use his face.

Jared jokes he’ll call and make reservations under Jensen’s name.

Jensen shares a story about how his face or whatever little fame he had didn’t work so much so that he found it to be a bit of a conspiracy. There's this restaurant in Van called Blue Water and they wouldn't let him in. He'd walk in, the place would be empty, and when he'd ask if there was room for two he'd be told no. So he'd tell Jared, and Jared would walk in, be in there for half a second, and then turn around and tell Jensen they had room that they were gonna sit them. And this happened like 4 times.

So, he says they don’t live a life that he thinks most people think famous people live.

Jared says he thinks their fame happened as a byproduct of their love for stories, and over the years there were offers to go do movies but they loved their character so he thinks their degree of fame happened as a byproduct; it wasn't something to get famous there were things they could have done to get more famous but it’s more important for him to be attending cons than 20 Oscars. x

Which is their favorite part of the Impala renovations?

Jensen answers air conditioning. Nothing worked in that car, it was a picture car it was just for show. It took like 8 seasons of them begging for the car to sound like it should for them to do something about it but they did nothing else, he thinks it was held together with duct tape and hope. Now they have been lovingly put together and made road worthy but he said not to change anything aesthetically he wanted it to look and feel the same but it’s much more reliable now.

Jared mentions the time Jensen did donuts on set, and everyone was ducking because it was a gravel road so it was sending peebles everywhere. x

What have they been doing during the strike to keep themselves busy and happy?

Jensen replies he's been burying himself in, or really embraced, getting to be a dad every because there were several years where he only got to do that on weekends or here and there so coming up with things to do with the kids and embracing that but knowing that it’s temporary, it's an intense pause and absorb that, and he’s built himself a little music corner in his office. But not much, he’s not building a house or anything like that he’s just having fun and embracing the time he has right now.

Jared says it's much the same for him. It is difficult. It does get stressful especially because for 15yrs he and Jensen would accomplish something every day but the last time he filmed was March 10th so it’s been almost 7 months; it’s been weird for sure but like Jensen he's been hanging with the family and seeing what it’s like to be a parent, and a husband, and a brother, and a friend. x

If they could go back to when they read the very first script for SPN what would they say to their past selves?

Jared jokes that he'd say don’t do it.

Jensen answers that he'd say to his past self 'don't worry, you're gonna play Dean' because originally they were only auditioning for Sam so somewhere out there is his audition tape for Sam. He never read for Dean they just brought him in for the final test audition which is when he met Jared, and that was his first time reading for Dean.

Jared says that’s not uncommon for movies or shows to do, sometimes they’ll audition for just one character and then decide which character each person fits best. They wanna see the same thing they want to see the way you react so it wasn’t like Jensen lost the role of Sam that's just what they do.

Jensen says there are a lot of roles he’s gotten as a product of reading for something else like his role in Smallville. It came down to him and Tom Welling for the role of Clark Kent and Tom ended up getting it then a few years later they called Jensen because they wanted to incorporate him into the show. So they wrote a role for him and gave it to him, so a lot of that happens where you go read for something and end up getting another role. So that's what he would say to his younger self who was reading the script for the first time thinking it would be Sam that he would be fighting for he'd just be like 'hey, don't worry it's gonna be Dean'. And when he read for Sam he did ask when they’d be reading for Dean cause he wanted a shot at it, and he says Kripke and Nutter looked at each other like 'we got you'.

Jared says that more than about the show specifically he doesn’t think there’s such a thing as starting your life or doing something so one day you can have the life you want, life is happening now and that’s something he’s learned through friendships and through relationships. If you sit down and beat yourself up thinking once you get something you’ll have a life and get to do whatever you want to do but life is happening now, you're living life now so he wishes he could tell his past self that because a lot of 20-year-old Jared was upset.

Jensen adds that Jared had just come off Gilmore Girls, he was in his early 20’s and he had a really good set up going in LA, he had a solid girlfriend, really good friends, his dogs, a good house, he was really kind of set up then when the show started they moved to Van. At this point, Jared asks if they’ve told the story about how they found out they would be filming the show in Van. Because they filmed the pilot LA thinking that's where they were going to stay, and then the show was picked up so they go to New York for the upfronts, and then they got flown out to dinner with the bosses at the time and that's when they find out the show would be filmed in Vancouver. So that was a big pulling the rug out kind of thing, it ended up being amazing, Van was a phenomenal place and the show worked out but it caught him off guard but he got by with a little help from his friend. x

They've done anime before, do they like it?

Jared hated doing the VO work for the SPN anime.

Jensen says the thing is with the VO work they did for the anime, which Jared ended up doing a bit more than what Jensen had agreed to, is that they were coming in to effectively dub in English so the animation was already done and they were trying to adjust the dialogue to try and fit what the animation was doing which is backward from how it's usually done. Because normally the dialogue comes first and the animation is done second to match the dialogue and that process of VO work he enjoys but the anime that they did was really awkward and just not that enjoyable. x

When they eat a taco do they tilt their head to the left or to the right?

They both go left. Jared says he holds it with his right same with a pizza because he’s the type to bend the pizza in half and as he's saying this Jensen decides to say it's the same with a kiss and Jared says prove it….and then...they lean towards each other...and act like they're about to kiss….I s2g one of these days...mark my words! One. Of. These. Days. x

If they could live in another country where would it be and why?

Jared answers Italy cause he loves Italy. He also says G is in the process of getting her Italian passport so he gets grandfathered in.

Jensen replies he doesn’t know, he’s pretty happy in America. There are a few places out there he thinks would be really fun to live in, Italy is certainly one. He’s a big fan of Scotland, D’s parents have had a place on the west coast of Scotland for 17 years he could see himself being there, he hears Portugal is lovely, also Switzerland he loves Switzerland. x

What was one of the most difficult obstacles they have had to face or overcome either growing up or in their adult life?

Jared says he doesn’t know where to start but he’ll give it a shot and it's going to sound absurd but uncertainty in general. As a kid he didn’t know much, didn't know what he was gonna do, and he and Jensen had a very similar journey into what they do for a living now, they were both 17yr old Texans moving to the West coast where everyone wants to be in the industry. Even to this day, it feels uncertain cause they’ve both worked for 27yrs then their union went on strike so how does he work and provide for his family and provide an example for his kids- so just trying to accept that nothing is certain. Uncertainty is a part of life and you have to deal with it.

Jensen says life is full of challenges otherwise it'd be very boring so he thinks you embrace those challenges and each one makes you better. When you're challenged you're learning things, that's teaching you things. They both left and moved out to the West Coast when they were teens which thinking about that now knowing what he knows now he can’t believe their parents allowed them to do that but you ask his dad and he’ll say one of the hardest things he’s had to do in his life is get on the plane after driving Jensen to LA and leave his 18yr old son in one of the biggest cities in the world alone. He got to a point that was probably when he booked Days of Our Lives that he had to come to terms with the fact that he was probably never going to move back home and that he was destined to be gone, that was tough to get over. He had a very great childhood with both his parents and both sets of grandparents, he was raised in a very loving home so leaving that and realizing that he probably wasn’t coming back to that was a big leap of faith but again he’s happy he did it because it has given him quite the journey. He says if we cling to what’s safe then we miss out on a journey that’s more rewarding than we could possibly imagine.

Jared adds home is where family is and family doesn't mean blood so you find found family and that's home.

There was a little fangirl!Jared moment when Jensen brought up Days of Our Lives, and when he notices Jensen quips that Jared has also been one of the biggest challenges he’s to deal with in his adult life x

What personality trait from themselves did they bring to Sam and Dean and what personality trait from the brothers did they take to themselves?

Jared will say he is very analytical. Jensen will tease him often because he still reads instruction manuals, he still finds himself more at home plugged into a book than out and about. Sam gave him some pretty awesome hair. And he will say he’s grateful because he got to explore what sacrifice meant without actually having to get possessed by Lucifer, or die several times, or watch his brother die several times so he learned a lot about how to persevere or choosing to persevere. So he guesses he's learned perseverance ultimately is a choice.

Jensen would say something he brought to Dean from his personality is a fierce protection for the ones that he loves. Not necessarily physically like sure if he and Jared are walking down the street and somebody pushes Jared and starts barking at him Jensen is probably gonna come right over his shoulder with a fist which Jared says it’s happened before and Jensen admits it has happened! 👀👀👀👀👀👀

But he doesn’t always mean it physically if somebody is badmouthing somebody that he loves he will wear them down mentally very quickly and it is something he will do unwaveringly. He feels Dean was very much like that as well; something he learned from Dean, he thinks after playing that character for 15yrs his temper has shortened which doesn’t play well into the fiercely protective thing very well so he's still trying to balance those things out.

He thinks Jared would agree those two characters are still very much alive and living inside of them and will forever. x

What was Jensen's inspiration for pursuing music?

He answers just having friends who are true musicians in his life that he gets inspired by musically quite often and it was finally some of those friends encouraging him to listen to that inspiration and do something with it and that was the result of a long time coming. And it's given him not just a voice but also the confidence to do it and enjoy it and music is a powerful thing. x

I found this so adorable I have to include a timestamp to it but just Jensen holding his mic for Jared to say his goodbye to the crowd at the very end- i don't know how to explain but there's something so sweet about it go watch it 🥰

J2 Main Panel Jaxcon '23

#j2 tinhat #non iwtv #mine

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maddithefangirl · 1 year

Text

In the Cove - Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Mermaid!Reader

Warnings: None

a/n: hiya! finally here is part two for you all!

Part 1

He gazed into your eyes as he began to move closer. His lips brushed yours and a spark seemed to move through him. It was magical.

“Meet me here every week at 3 pm, I have to see you again, please.”

You smiled in response and swam away.

…

He flew as fast as he could back to the River House. He needed to talk to Rhys. He had to know something that would be able to help him. He slams open the door to his office and screamed out, “Rhys, I found her, my mate.”

“Holy fucking shit, no way! Who is it? When can I meet her?”

“Well, there’s the problem. She’s… a mermaid.”

“... What? How?”

“I don’t know, it just happened I was with her, and she ignited something in me that I had never felt before, and… we got the golden string between our souls, I saw it.”

“Well, brother, what are you going to do?”

“That’s why I came here, I need a way that I can be with her, do you know any spells or anything that would be able to help me?”

“I’ll do some research and get back to you.”

…

It took two weeks for Rhys to get back to him. And he wasn’t going to like the answer.

Rhys had found a witch that lives in the middle that he can get to transform him into a mermaid to be with her… but he would have to give up his wings.

When Azriel heard that, he was in utter disbelief.

“What do you mean give up my wings… there’s no way that I’d be able to see you guys ever again.”

“I know. Brother, the choice is completely up to you.”

That sent Azriel into a tailspin. This was something that he had been searching for since he was young, and now that he has access to this, does shit have to hit the fan. Could he really give up his family for true love? Rhys spent at least thirty minutes trying to lecture him on all the cons that this plan would have if he went through with it, and he pondered whether love was enough.

…

That night was the monthly meeting with the Inner Circle.

It was going swimmingly as usual before Azriel stood up amongst his family and said, “Guys, I have an announcement.”

He looked over to Rhys and said, “I’ve got a mate, and the only way I can be with her is if I say goodbye to this world and move to hers. She’s the last remaining mermaid, and I have to be with her… This will be my last dinner with you all.”

Silence filled the room as Azriel sat back down.

Elain left the room in tears, and everyone chose not to stare at her.

Mor erupted, “You can’t do this Az, we’re your family!”

Azriel looked at his wine as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Feyre chimed in, “I’d do anything to be with my mate, I understand you, Azriel.”

He smiled. Finally, someone was on his side.

Cassian was the last to say anything. “Then, if this is the last night we have, let’s let it be the best one ever.”

Wine and games and food abounded the room as the entire Inner Circle partied like it was their last night together.

…

The day after that was your weekly meeting. The last couple of meetings have been hours trying to get to know each other, but today he never showed up.

…

Azriel had missed your assigned meeting day to prepare for his new life that he was going to have. It had completely left his mind as he began packing ford the travel to the middle. Rhys knew about where the witch was, but knew it was also going to be a search as well.

By the time they made it to the witch’s hut, they were exhausted. It was just Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel that went.

The hut was covered in dust, as if nobody lived there anymore, but there was a glow from within. When they entered, they were met with an old hag that must’ve been thousands of years old. She whistled as they piled in the just large enough room.

“Hello, High Lord and his cronies,” she said with her back to them still.

“We’re here for-”

“I know what you are here for. I have been waiting many moons for you.”

She pulled out a cauldron and many different ingredients and started cooking. They waited patiently as she did her work. At the end, she weaved a band long enough to fit Azriel’s wrist and dunked his hand with the band in the cauldron. Rhys and Cassian jumped from their positions as his hand was being dunked and went into a warrior’s stance. The witch laughed a maniacal cackle.

“What have you done?” Rhys yelled.

The witch just smiled in response and said, “Once you touch the water with your mate in hand, you will transform into a merman. Break the cord around your wrist, and you will transform back, but your wings will not come back.”

Azriel was silent.

This was it.

He could be with the love of his life.

…

The day had come. It was the day that he would turn for you. He took a joy ride fly for the last time in his life. Goodbyes and ‘See you soons’ were exchanged, and he was off.

The cave was cool as you once again sat and waited for your mate to walk in. The water was clear as it always has been. There were sea creatures about the cove and that kept your attention as you grew bored.

When he arrived, he looked as beautiful as ever. The afternoon sun illuminated him from behind, so he looked like an angel. He looked nervous as he walked in, which you had never seen before. It was the weirdest thing because he always had this confident aura around him.

He made his way over to you and grabbed your hands. They were calloused and rough from an apparent injury, but you didn’t mind. He had a bracelet on that you had never seen before.

“I have something to show you, something that will let us be together forever,” he said to you softly. As soon as he said it he entered the pool. Then all of the sudden, he was being lifted up and was covered in light and sparkles. It was the most interesting thing you had ever seen. You had no idea was was happening until he was being lowered down in the pool and he was… a merman.

“How- how did you-?” you muttered.

He came back into your hands and said. “I did this for you, I want to be with you forever. My mate.”

“But what about your family? And your wings… you’ll never be able to fly again. How could you give that all up for me?”

“Because I love you. Family will always be there, but love is a fleeting thing. I want to be with you always and be able to live life with you. I couldn’t do that from the shore. Are you not happy?”

“I mean of course I’m happy, but what if love isn’t enough for you?”

“It has to be, my mate.”

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fluff #acotar #maddithefangirl

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fablesrose · 7 months

Text

Ch 7 - The Fairy Godparents Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: Another crooked financial guy, but this time under house arrest. Helping his son into the spotlight must be the play here.

Words: 4768

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nate texted the group chat letting us know that he was meeting with a client and to meet for briefing. I stepped into his apartment to see that Eliot was already in the living room reading a magazine. I greeted him and sat on the far side of the couch, tucking my legs underneath me.

He greeted me with a nod, but nothing more.

Hardison walked in and started showing Eliot a phone sized device that he said was actually a metal detector. He started explaining how it worked, but I didn’t understand much. It was clear that Eliot wasn’t listening.

“Are you even listening?” Hardison asked after stopping mid-spiel.

Eliot looked up from his magazine, “yeah.”

“Well, what did I say?”

“You’re explaining how you’re still a virgin?”

I couldn’t stop the short laugh that escaped me. I noticed it cracked a smile out of Eliot before he turned back to his magazine. Hardison looked at me with betrayal.

“I’m sorry, Hardison, that’s super cool, but I don’t understand what you’re saying… and it was a little funny…”

“Woman-”

Nate walked in with Parker cutting off whatever he was going to rebuff with.

“Talking to clients, you’re supposed to sympathize,” Nate seemed to be explaining to her.

“I told you not to take her,” Eliot said.

“Well, you were right. Where’s Sophie?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, we’re not waiting,” Nate said as he sat down, “let's go, let’s start.”

Hardison took over researching this mark as I was busy with a project. He told us all about Daniel Fowler, our mark. He posed as a private investor, but just stole people’s money, including our client, a small clinic set to shut down because of him. The whole firm was busted as a Ponzi scheme and the FBI froze all of his assets and put him on house arrest.

“I’m talking corporate accounts, personal accounts, real estate holdings… anything on planet Earth with this dude’s name on it is on ice,” Hardison explained.

“FBI’s very thorough, huh?” Eliot asked.

“Isn’t this going to be a problem for us though?” I asked, “I mean, what are we gonna do if he’s this locked up?”

Hardison had a slight smirk on his face, “Wait for it…” he pointed at Parker.

“What’d they miss?” she asked, humoring him.

“Oh…” a couple of screens came up with a press of a button, “Twenty million dollars. Moved it off the books right before the warrants came down.”

“He knew the end was near and he was getting ready to bolt,” Nate said. “Tell me something, where was Fowler arrested?”

“Oh, in his apartment,” Hardison answered, “packing for his “business trip” to the Maldives.”

Sophie walked in then, but she didn’t look as chipper as she usually did. She didn’t say anything as she walked to the kitchen.

“You see, he’d need it light, portable, close at hand,” Nate thought out loud, “that twenty million is in his apartment.”

“Yeah, but y/n brought up a good point,” Eliot added, “This guy’s on house arrest, man. I mean, he’s practically living with the FBI.”

“The problem is not getting into the apartment,” Sophie interjected, “but getting them out.”

There was a moment of awkwards silence before Nate asked, “where were ya?”

“Oh. I was running an errand,” Sophie stuttered noncommittally.

“Weren’t you with the boyfriend?” Parker asked innocently.

“Parker” I whispered with a pointed look.

She had the grace to look a little guilty.

“So what are the terms of his house arrest?” Sophie changed the subject.

Hardison answered, “Fowler’s confined to his six million dollar penthouse overlooking the Charles River.”

“That’s a rough punishment, huh?” Eliot asked sarcastically.

“The whole place is outfitted with 24/7 surveillance so the Feds can keep an eye on him.” Hardison pointed his remote at the screen, “now… we can too.”

The screen showed a feed of Fowler’s apartment with him lying on the couch. We all smiled at him when he continued.

“I piggybacked the wireless feed.”

“Still,” Sophie sat on the back of the couch behind me, “for us to get in and search the place, we got to get rid of Fowler.”

“Now there are three general exceptions for house arrest,” Nate starts. “There’s personal safety, death of a relative, and family events.”

“Personal safety? We could burn the apartment down,” Eliot suggests.

Parker cheered and volunteered.

“Or death of a relative…” He continued.

Nate disregarded them, “Who is that?”

A kid and a woman crossed the screen.

“Oh, the kid. The kid is from her first marriage, Widmark.”

“I’m sorry what?” I asked him.

“Widmark?” Eliot emphasized.

“Rich people, man,” Hardison replied.

“Can you punch in on that, please?” Nate asked.

Hardison turned up the volume of the screen so we could hear what was being said. We watched as the kid was yelled at for apparently losing a cell phone. The adults stormed off, leaving him alone in the living room.

“Wow, okay. What do we have on the kid?” Nate asked.

Hardison described Widmark. There was nothing particularly exceptional about him, 10 years old, in the fifth grade, no extracurricular activities. The only thing interesting about him on record is that he was allergic to strawberries.

“Judges give out day passes for family events,” Nate reiterated, “it’s one of the three things right? So, Fowler is going to ask for one, so he doesn’t miss out on his kid’s big debut.”

“Wait,” I said, “What is he debuting as?”

Nate thought for a moment, “yeah, I don’t know. But we’re gonna steal his school and find out.”

Hardison was in charge of getting rid of the current principal, which he did quite easily with a couple of plane tickets. Nate was to pose as the new headmaster, with Sophie and Eliot his head teachers of “mind und body.” The parents weren’t too happy at first when they found out, but they were soon pacified enough for them to get to work. Meanwhile, Parker and Hardison were securing an apartment in the same building as the Fowlers so they had easier access to the penthouse.

I hung out in the headmaster’s office while Nate, Sophie, and Eliot spoke to the parents.

“Hardison and Parker are all set, now all we gotta do is give Widmark a triumph worth a day pass,” Nate said, strolling in.

“A triumph? In what?” Sophie asked, looking at his file, “I mean, in five years this kid hasn’t joined a club, he hasn’t played a sport…”

“I gotta be honest with ya, I don’t know how I feel about using the kid to get a mark,” Eliot commented.

“We’re not using him. I mean, every kid is good at something,” Nate insisted. “We just gotta draw Widmark out, give him his moment to shine.”

“Oh, so, we’ll be like his fairy godparents,” Sophie concluded.

“Exactly,” Nate said, “I mean, come one, look at this: cushy private school, no gunrunners, mob bosses, Interpol. This is a breeze!”

“Wait, you guys have dealt with all that before?” I asked, finally speaking up.

Nate nodded at me, “We got one week before the clinic closes for good… Athletics, academics…” he pointed at me, “this should be a good job for you to learn with. I want you to shadow Eliot and Sophie, work on staying in character. Whatever character you choose.” He turned back to address us as a group, “let's go get Widmark the win, alright?”

I followed Eliot first as he had Widmark in his class. He introduced himself to the class before gesturing to me to do the same.

“Hello everyone, you can call me Ms. Jenny. I’m going to be accompanying your class here and there for this upcoming week, let me know if you need anything.” I smiled at all of them, making a particular effort to make eye contact with Widmark.

Eliot directed the class to grab fencing equipment and to put it on before turning to me with a bit of humor, “Ms. Jenny? A little simple… are you even playing a character?”

I stuck my tongue out at him, “I’m working on it. It’s easier to remember than your name Mr… blah blah blah.”

“It’s Mr. Brewer, it’s not that hard.” He smirked at me, “I thought you said you saw the fun of this in Nebraska?”

“I do! It's just…” I bit my lip, “It makes me nervous, too, okay? This is so new and… I’m not sure I know how to do all of this.”

His smirk softened to a smile, “That’s okay, this’ll be a good run for ya. You’ll get the hang of it, but first,” he handed me a fencing sword, “help me teach these guys how to fence.”

He walked away towards the kids, and I followed quickly after, “I don’t know how to do that either.”

Eliot gave a brief demonstration, with me being mostly a prop. It was then time for the kids to try.

“Alright Widmark, get on the line, you’re up.”

Widmark looked around as if Eliot had not just asked him.

“Widmark, come on,” I urged him.

“Get on the line,” Eliot repeated, “Show ‘em what you got, man.”

Widmark went to stand on the line, but a taller boy tripped him. I went to help Widmark up from the floor.

Eliot immediately jumped in, “Hey! Take your helmet off. What’s your name?”

The boy complied, “Skylar Sanford.”

I immediately rolled my eyes at his tone.

“Skylar?” Eliot asked. After the boy affirmed he said, “Is that a boy’s name? Don’t do that again.”

He took Skylar and put him against Widmark on the mat. Widmark had to be directed to put his helmet on, but struggled and put it on backwards.

“Oh, Widmark-” I tried to correct him as the kids started to laugh, but Eliot beat me to it.

“What are you doing?” Eliot asked him after telling the class not to laugh. “There’s girls here. You’re better than that. Turn your hat around.”

Once Widmark did as he was told, Eliot started the match. It did not last long. Skylar quickly overpowered him, the buzzer indicating a hit and point ringing in my ears.

Strike one on helping Widmark.

Next up was Sophie with a spelling bee to prep for the state spelling bee next week. She held a tryout for a competition on Friday for the schools best spellers, plus Widmark. It all seemed to be going well with the words clearly marked in Widmark’s favor. Unfortunately there was one girl that rose to the challenge. Sophie was determined to get her to break, but I could see that it was not happening easily, if at all. I finally had to take a break and stepped out, running into Eliot again.

“What are you doing out here? Thought you were shadowing Sophie?” He asked me.

I leaned against the hallway wall, “I was, but she’s doing a spelling bee and there’s a girl in there spelling words I didn’t even know existed. It’s giving me a headache.”

Eliot sighed, “Another strike?”

I nodded, “Another strike.”

We just looked at each other for a minute causing me to remember something that I had been meaning to talk to him about, but we hadn’t been alone since after the previous job.

“Hey, uh,” I spoke up before he walked away, “I’ve been meaning to… I don’t know. It’s just, after the last job, I mentioned what you did for that kid, it seemed to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to apologize, I guess.”

He tilted his head at me before he responded, “Oh, uh, no you didn’t do anything wrong. I just wasn’t prepared. I didn’t think anyone heard about that…”

“I don’t think anyone else did, to be honest. I won’t bring stuff up like that again though if you don’t want me to.”

“No, not at all. I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t…” He trailed off, but smiled. “We’re good, sweetheart, don’t worry about it.”

The bell rang and kids started to flow out into the hallway. He nodded his head down the hallway signaling that he had to go and I waved him off. I went to join Sophie in the auditorium when I heard her talking with Widmark.

“I try hard, all the time,” Widmark said, “but, no matter how much I want something, it never happens.”

“Oh sweetie,” Sophie replied, “What do you want?”

“I don’t know… I just,” Widmark frowned, “I want someone to like me. Does that get easier when you’re a grownup?”

I shook my head no, just to myself when Sophie answered him.

“Um, no. I don’t think it does.”

“You’re nice,” Widmark said, “but weird.”

Sophie shewed him off to class and he walked by me, “bye Ms. Jenny.”

“Bye Widmark,” I smiled at him as he walked off. I looked at Sophie once he left, and sighed.

This may be harder than we thought.

We met back up at Nate’s apartment this time, but I had snacks from mine, which I thought was needed in this situation. Hardison and Parker recounted their experience setting up equipment at the Fowler’s place.

“Let me just, can I get this straight?” Nate started, pacing around my kitchen, “Ok, alright, you two, you couldn’t rig a gym class and a spelling bee.” He turned towards Hardison and Parker, “and you two, you ran into the only FBI agents on the planet that recognize you?” He turned towards me, “what did you do?”

I raised my hands, full of chips, “I’m just shadowing.”

“I gotta be honest with you,” Eliot said, “I think we broke the kid even more.”

“We are the worst fairy godparents in the world!” Sophie exclaimed, dropping her spoon in her cup.

“Listen, we’ve still got to get Fowler out of the apartment so we can get in.”

“Yeah, except now, when he leaves there’ll be somebody waiting to kill him.”

“Can’t we use that? Isn’t that personal safety or whatever?” I asked, my mouth full.

“No,” Nate replied.

“Man, one of his victims wants payback more than he wants to be paid back,” Hardison said.

“Well, one of you two can identify the gunman, right?” Eliot asked.

“Yeah, sure. He stopped and let me take a picture of him as I was chasing him.”

“You know what? I’ve been around little kids all day, I don’t need to come home and do all this crap.”

“I’ve been in this pink shirt and these tight plaid pants, these old Webster loafers, this girl walking on my back…” Hardison went on as Parker handed Eliot her sketch pad.

“Is this the guy?” he asked, and I walked over to look at the drawing.

She hummed an affirmative.

The drawing was very detailed showing the face of a man, dark hair, slightly sunken eyes, drawn with a pen.

“See?” Eliot tossed the pad at Hardison.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Hardison remarked.

“I thought everyone could do that,” Parker replied.

I shook my head, “No Parker, not everyone can do that, that’s some talent you have there.”

She smiled at me proudly before Nate continued.

“Okay, alright, keep an eye on him. In the meantime, if they think you’re real FBI, be real FBI. I mean, use it to case the apartment.”

“So, I’m out of this and I’m on FBI detail with Parker and Hardison then,” Eliot concluded.

“Actually, no. I need you to be Coach Brewer.”

“There’s an armed gunman out there,” Eliot insisted, “you want me in the gym with kids named Skylar and Indigo?”

“Where did Coach Brewer go?” Nate raised the question.

“Shut up,” Sophie said, urging us to listen to the surveillance feed on the TVs.

Widmark was singing to himself, and was doing a pretty good job.

“The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of a king,” Sophie said, excitedly. I assumed she was quoting something, but I didn’t ask.

We all looked at each other for a moment before Nate smiled, “Sophie, how long would it take you to stage a musical?”

“Six weeks,” she answered.

“You have two days.”

I watched as the next day, Sophie lined up the kids, and instructed them to sing their science fair projects. When Widmark went, he wasn’t too bad, but his project was about mold, so kind of gross. Sophie encouraged him, and insisted he sing in the finale.

I smiled at him from the auditorium seats, and he had a slight smile himself.

The parents were outraged that this kid, this child, was to be in the starring role when his father had done so much to all of the parents, ripping them off. Nate explained them away, saying it was based on merit, and that his father should have nothing to do with it. He was right of course, it angered me that he had to explain that at all. This poor kid.

“Could you just please try to maybe not make this so difficult?” Nate asked Sophie.

“I can’t take you seriously with that dead cat on your head” Sophie replied.

Nate looked at me before he sat down next to her, but I only shrugged in agreement, his hair was atrocious.

“Eliot had trouble adjusting, alright, but he found a way to make his style work in this setting.”

I recalled the last class I watched him in, he had changed from private school style athletics to combat. He was enjoying it more than he let on.

“Look,” Sophie replied, “it’s the best I could manage under such short notice. The props are made, the kids have memorized their presentations, I’m just setting it to a bit of music.”

“Listen, I mean, let’s not forget why we’re here. Let’s not lose focus. The object is to get Fowler out of his apartment, not…”

“What, not Widmark, right? He’s just the bait.”

“Well that’s not fair.”

“You’re right Nate,” I cut in, “it’s not fair. It’s not fair to Widmark, this whole situation isn’t fair to him. The way people see him? His dad thinks he’s a loser, his mom sees him like a little baby, his classmates see him as the kid whose dad is the Grinch, who took everything. He…”

Sophie finished for me, “we just want people to see him as he really is.”

“He deserves that,” I added, “Everyone deserves that.”

The night of the musical was not going as smoothly as we had hoped. Hardison was going to be the one breaking into the apartment instead of Parker because of an FBI agent with a crush, and Widmark wasn’t on his musical game. I was helping direct kids to setting up, but I was getting nervous. It all came to a head when Sophie said she couldn’t find Widmark at all. I abandoned my post to help her look.

We finally found him in the bathroom, crying to himself.

“Widmark, you can’t let them win,” Sophie told him, “you can’t show them they’re getting to you.”

Nate spoke through the comms, “Sophie, no. Just talk to him, don’t tell him what to do or who to be. Just talk.”

Sophie lost her American accent, “I’m sorry Widmark.”

“For what?” He asked.

“For trying to con you into being brave. That’s what I do, I’m a bloody con artist. Look, I’m not very good at being honest, not even with my friends.”

Widmark finally came out of the stall and looked between us, “Do you have a lot of friends?”

“No,” we both responded.

I leaned against the sink and looked at him, “Can I tell you a secret Widmark?”

He nodded.

“When I was around your age, I was kind of like you, nobody really liked me, didn’t have any friends. You know who I was in school?”

He shook his head.

I looked at my feet before looking back at him, “I was the kid whose parents died, and that made me the weird one. Luckily that doesn’t mean anything anymore, and we have a few friends now.”

“I used to have friends,” Widmark said, “They don’t talk to me anymore, because of what my stepdad did.”

“That’s got nothing to do with you, you know that, don’t you?” Sophie asked him.

“Then why do they make fun of me?”

“Cause when they look at you, they see him. Just like they only saw my dead parents,” I responded.

“They’re not seeing you for who you really are,” Sophie responded.

Hardison and Parker were talking on comms, trying to get Hardison broken in and past the security, but I quickly tuned them out.

“Did you know I was an actress?” Sophie asked Widmark.

“No, are you good?” he asked.

She hummed, “Well, others don’t seem to think so.”

“Maybe they just can’t see you for who you are,” he concluded.

I kept quiet, thinking that I had my moment, she could have hers.

“You know what they say about acting? They say it’s about telling the truth, about sharing a little part of yourself that people don’t normally see. But, if you don’t- if you don’t really know yourself, then they think you’re lying… I think that’s my problem.”

I reached out and took her hand, comforting her for being vulnerable.

“I’ve been lying for so long that… I don’t even know what the truth is anymore.”

“I don’t want to lie to anybody,” Widmark said.

I laughed a little bit, “No, you don’t Widmark.”

Sophie stood and approached him, “You don’t have to Widmark. What you need to do is you just have to go out there, and be Widmark. Just tell the truth, be who you really are. If you can do that, then I promise you, people will believe in you.”

“Just like we believe in you.” I smiled at him as Sophie and I both exited the bathroom.

We rendezvoused with Eliot backstage.

“Widmark okay?”

“Guess we’re about to find out,” Sophie answered.

The lights dimmed in the auditorium, signaling the show was about to start. Hardison told us on comms that the safe he cracked was empty, cleaned out, giving us a problem, where was the money?

“Hate to tell you this, but that ain’t our biggest problem right now,” Eliot replied.

I turned to him, “What do you mean?”

He pulled me closer to where he was standing and subtly pointed to where he was looking. Above the auditorium stood a man who looked awfully like the drawing Parker made.

“We got company,” Eliot said. “How’d he know Fowler was gonna be here? Only ones who knew were us and the FBI.”

“Yeah, and Fowler himself,” Nate said. “Maybe we were wrong, maybe Fowler isn’t the target.”

“Then who?” Parker asked, then had to recover as she was still technically talking to the FBI agent.

“His FBI handlers. Fowler arranged to have them killed. He’s about to run,” Nate concluded.

“No man,” Hardison rebuffed, “there’s no way he could arrange that. He’s under house arrest. No phone calls, no internet, they’re even reading his mail. How could he arrange a hitman?”

“Let’s ask him,” Eliot answered. He was tracking his movements in the rafters, and pointed me over to Sophie to be a bit out of the way which I obliged.

“Feds confiscated his cell phone,” Hardison said, “They didn’t take Widmarks.”

“Really?” I asked, “What a jerk, he yelled at Widmark for losing that… Can Eliot punch Fowler when this is over? Can I?”

“No,” Nate replied.

“Maybe,” Eliot responded.

“Fowler’s getaway explains the empty safe,” Nate continued, ignoring us, “whatever cash he had on him, he took with him. And… I think I know where to look.”

“Wait,” Parker interjected, “Didn’t you search Fowler before he left?” She asked the agent.

“Of course, nothing on him except for that camera and some tapes.”

“Yeah, well there’s something in that bag, or on those tapes,” Nate insisted. “Sophie, y/n, can you swipe it?”

Sophie was on stage, “yes, I’m a little bit busy here.”

“You want me to do what?” I asked, I was still backstage where it was loud and I couldn’t believe what he was asking me, “I’m making my way to you.”

“Has anybody seen Widmark?” Sophie asked.

“Sophie, the job’s over,” Nate said. “What happens from here on is not our concern. We have other priorities”

“No way, no, no. The clinic isn’t the only victim here, I didn’t prop up this boy, just to see him fail. No way. I’m not letting that happen.”

Eliot engaged with the hitman and I tried to ignore the commotion in my ear.

“Uh, Nate?” Hardison said, “This phone has sent a bunch of text messages in the last forty-eight hours to some guy named Skylar.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Skylar’s a kid at this school.”

“Why would Fowler be texting a middle schooler?”

I made my way around the auditorium and stood beside Nate, “what do you want me to do?”

He held his hand up, “Nothing now.” He was looking in the audience, specifically at Skylar’s dad, “he wasn’t texting Skylar, he was texting Skylar’s dad.”

I watched as the man in question walked up towards the stage with a camera. He stumbled and picked up the camera bag next to Fowler, dropping his own.

“Mark Sanford’s an accomplice,” Nate said, “He set up the gunman. He just traded bags with Fowler.”

Hardison wasn’t having it, “No, man. Why would Sanford help Fowler? Isn’t he one of the guys who invested with him?”

I heard Widmark over the comms, “sorry I’m late.”

Sophie responded before putting him on stage, “no, no, you’re right on time.”

Eliot was still fighting the gunman backstage of which Sophie wasn’t happy about.

“Keep it off the stage, you’re gonna ruin his big finale!”

I laughed to myself as I could almost hear Eliot’s eyeroll.

Nate turned to me after Widmark finished his song, of which he did quite well in, and everyone was distracted by the standing ovation, “Wait here.” He walked down the aisle and grabbed the bag by Fowler with the hook of his cane before returning to me.

We turned the corner before opening the bag.

“Ah,” Nate said, looking inside, “Hardison, are you near your computer? I need you to check a name for me.”

“Go ahead.”

“Doug Fineman” Nate said as he opened up a passport from the bag, it had Fowler’s face, but clearly not his name. “Sanford is providing Fowler with a new identity, and a new life waiting for him in…”

I looked over his shoulder, “Bogota?”

Eliot and Sophie grabbed Sanford and took the bag that was previously Fowler’s. Sophie seemed to find something she liked in it and placed it in a tape player, playing it through the entire auditorium.

Out came Sanford’s voice, “I’m just saying you can’t make the returns too consistent. Ten percent growth every year, no matter what the market does? The SEC is going to ask questions.”

Then Fowler replied on tape, “Let me worry about the SEC work.”

“But we have to be careful.”

“My job is to buy off the regulators, your job is to bring in new money. Now this whole thing goes off the rails when you stop doing your job!”

By now Fowler was trying to run through the crowd away from the FBI handlers in the audience. I took the opportunity to step in front of him with my foot outstretched a bit further than necessary, effectively tripping him.

“Oh, Mr. Fowler I’m so sorry,” I apologized with an overt sweetness as the agent handcuffed him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the agent asked him.

Nate approached from behind me with the bag, offering it to the agent, “ja, ja… He dropped this. All of this. I thought his name was Fowler. I don’t know.”

Once the agent took it Nate shrugged and took my arm guiding me away with the illusion of me helping him walk along with his cane.

It sounded like backstage was taken care of with Sandford as the other agent arrested him. The agent made an attempt at flirting with Parker again while doing so, which made me smile. He was cute, I’d give him that, but the things he doesn’t know, especially about Parker, and a certain hacker…

The clinic stayed open, to everyone’s pleasure. I heard that Fowler’s wife and Widmark even worked there. Hopefully he had a better life ahead of him.

Tags: @isoldeahlstrom @kniselle

#eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer #leverage #rewrite #slow burn #multichapter #nate ford #sophie devereaux #alec hardison #parker #ford!reader

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sl-newsie · 3 months

Text

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 9: Family

Rolling hills, misty meadows, whispering streams. I’m beginning to like England. Granted the sun doesn’t come out much but nothing’s perfect. Right now we’re driving through the countryside in a dark green motorcar and I can’t stop sticking my head out the window.

“You’re going to get decapitated by a tree,” John states plainly.

“I’ll walk it off. This is amazing!” I laugh. “We don’t have sights like this in Brooklyn.”

I’m sitting in the back next to John, while Arthur sits up front and Thomas drives.

“Where are we going?” I ask as we head further into the wilderness. “You’re all not driving to the middle of nowhere just to bump me off, right?”

“No way,” John scoffs. “Finn would have our heads for killing his favorite teacher.”

“Well thank you! Also I must say this is a nice car. 1919 English Ford Model T designed by Ford, who is American by the way.”

I see Thomas roll his eyes. “Yes, yes. It’s charming how proud you are of your country’s inventions.”

“I thought you said we were going to the fair,” Arthur says to Thomas as he pulls up next to a river.

“We have business first,” Thomas answers as he exits the car. “Come on, bring your wits.”

“What about the dame?” Arthur asks.

Thomas nods towards me. “She can come too.”

“Why did she even have to come at all?”

“She could use some fresh air, same as all of us,” Thomas shrugs. He points to a few men standing next to a white horse. “Verena, that’s the Lee family.”

“Are they nice?” I ask John as Thomas walks ahead.

“Couldn’t tell you. We don’t do business with them.”

“Tommy!” One man shouts in greeting.

“Johnny Dogs.”

They each approach and begin to chat while the rest of us just wander in silence. I take the chance to get a better look at a gleaming white horse tied to a wagon. It’s a powerful beast, almost just as good as Monaghan Boy.

“So that’s the horse,” Thomas comments as he walks up behind me.

“And that’s the car,” the new man says as he looks at the vehicle we arrived in.

Both men go towards their desired things, with Thomas inspecting the horse’s hooves and the other man checking out the car.

“Wait a minute. You’re not swapping the car for a bloody horse,” Arthur warns.

I continue to stroke the horse while the men go on flipping some coins, resulting in Thomas winning and letting the man take the car for a spin. However Thomas seems to notice some laughter coming from the Lee family and he walks closer to get up in their faces.

“Are you Lee boys laughing at my brother? Are you, eh? I asked you a question!”

My instincts kick in and alert me to a possible fight. Not wanting things to get ugly, I quickly stride forward to get closer to Thomas.

“Mr. Shelby, this doesn’t have to get ugly. I know it’s not my place-”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Thomas states harshly without looking away from the Lee men. I have to admit that kind of hurt.

“Tommy come on, it's just a craic!” The man called Johnny tries to talk him down, then speaks in an unfamiliar language to the Lee men.

“Yeah but his mom was a Diddicoy whore,” one Lee jabs at Thomas.

That does it. Something in Thomas’ eyes flashes, as if all his humanity has just clocked out. Before I know what’s happening he grips his flat cap and I see the gleam of metal in the pale sunlight. Oh my God. The instant Thomas draws blood John shoves me to the ground out of the way as more attacks roll out. The Shelbys whip their caps across the Lee boys, sending spurts of blood everywhere. In this violent mix all I can do is crawl away to stand next to the horse. Fists are thrown and pretty soon all Shelby brothers are kicking at the defeated Lee men lying in the mud.

John and Arthur sulk back to the car and Thomas comes over to obtain the horse. There’s still a storm of emotions behind his eyes but when he sees me hiding behind the panting animal his gaze softens by a fraction.

“You don’t seem too upset. Not that your reaction matters.”

“I don’t blame you.” This surprises Thomas and I continue. “I myself am a tolerant woman. You could slander and shame me until my name is worth dirt. But there are some things I will not stand for.” I begin to hold up three fingers. “One, do not shame my country. Two, do not shame my religion. And three, do not shame my family. Family is everything to me, and I can see it means just as much to you. I don’t know your history but that doesn’t matter. Those bastards had no right to say something like that.”

We walk back to the car and Thomas realizes something. “You know I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you swear.”

I snicker. “Don’t get used to it, Thomas. I tend to keep a very clean vocabulary.”

The ride back is an awkwardly silent one. All Shelby brothers share the same sour expression with grim eyes. As an outcast I feel it’s not for me to have an input; yet my heart aches for their wounded spirits. I can only hope things are better back in town-

“Now what the bloody Hell’s been going on here?”

Arthur’s voice stirs me from my thoughts and I look out the window to see- Dear Lord. Groups of coppers swarm through the streets, rounding up cityfolk into groups as they tear through their homes. Some people aren’t even fully clothed.

“Oh my God- What happened?”

“Looks like the work of them new coppers,” Thomas mutters darkly. “There you are, Steenstra. Here’s the justice you asked for.”

I shake my head in dismay as we pass the humiliated masses. “This… This isn’t justice. It's an abuse of power. I mean, look at these poor people! They’re embarrassed, scared… This is why in America we have constitutional rights!”

“But we ain’t in the States, are we love?” Thomas rebuts.

It seems like an eternity before we get back to the Shelby household. Arthur goes off alone and I follow John to the common area, where I find Finn indulged in a book.

“Anything good?”

His eyes don’t stray from the page. “Umhm.”

“Glad you lot are finally back,” Polly says in an unamused tone as she enters from the kitchen. When she sees Thomas her eyes narrow as that of a hawk circling its prey. “That new inspector wants to talk to you. Lickey Tea Rooms, ten o’clock on Friday. He came into the church with his feathers in a bunch, claiming to be looking for something.”

Her eyes continue to linger on Thomas and we both know what she’s talking about. I can tell there’s more to be discussed that’s none of my business so I decide to head back to Finn. But their meeting must have been short because Thomas is following close behind.

“Where are you off to?” I ask softly.

“I’m off to go stable the new horse, get him settled in.”

I nod. “Do you have a name for him yet?”

Thomas’ eyes spark with wonder. “Not yet. Something will pop into me head.”

Now we’re at the back door and for some unknown reason I want to follow him even though there’s no reason to. Deep down I feel bad that Thomas has to shield so much. He’s far from a righteous man but that does not mean he does not deserve compassion.

“What about the cop?”

He must see through to my concern because Thomas leans in to give me a playful wink. “I’ve got ideas.”

I tilt my head in curiosity. “Mind spilling?”

“We have a fire. One that burns all pictures of the king.”

“I’m assuming that’s a big deal to you Brits?”

Thomas laughs at my naive mindset. “Very big deal. It’ll send a message to those coppers and anyone else who’ll listen. I even called in for a reporter.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, yes. Breaking news: Thomas Shelby led away in handcuffs on an arson charge.”

“Not to worry, love,” Thomas says before tipping his hat in parting. “It takes a lot to beat the Peaky Blinders.”

Now we see John and Arthur approach, both with divided looks.

“I hope to God you know what you’re doing,” Arthur comments before they all walk out the door.

“So do I,” I mutter once they’re out of earshot.

Lord only knows how to tame those Shelbys. Maybe I’ll have better luck with Finn. Upon returning to the living room I see he’s still reading and has been joined by Ada, who’s gulping down water as if there’s no tomorrow.

“Goodness, Ada. Trying to drown yourself with that much water?”

The Shelby sister grunts. “I’m so overheated, you have no idea. I just can’t seem to cool down- Also do you smell ham?”

This puzzles me. When I first met Ada she was calm and collected. Now her mind is unsettled and confused. Yet this is skimmed over by Finn because he looks up from his page with a curious expression.

“Verena, what’s it like in America? Tommy says Americans are-”

“Finn!” Ada scolds. “We all know very well what Tommy thinks of Americans. There’s no need to repeat his outlandish beliefs.”

“No no, that’s alright,” I hold up my hand. “If there’s one thing I’m used to it’s discussing my culture. When you’re from a cramped city like Brooklyn there’s no way around bumping into multiple lineages. If you want to know about America the first thing you must learn is that not all Americans fall under the same heritage. We take pride in our mixed cultures but still remember the traditions of those who came before us. For example, since part of my family is Dutch we believe in keeping our ground floor curtains open pretty much all the time, because it shows we have nothing to hide.” I get a sheepish grin. “Although… Since my family lives in an apartment we don’t have ground floor windows, so we just keep a few open. Another tradition we follow is joining the Irish celebration of Samhain, which takes place on October 31st. It’s an ancient Celtic festival that marks the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter.”

Suddenly Ada sprints over to the kitchen sink and throws up all the water she just consumed. I quickly follow over and try to help by rubbing her back and holding her hair out of the way.

“Jesus, Ada! You must have a stomach bug. Finn, go find Polly-”

“No, I’m fine,” Ada quickly declines. “J-Just a little dizzy, just need some rest. I’m going to bed.”

She wanders down the hall to her room despite my attempt of coaxing her to lie on the couch. Once she shuts the door Finn and I exchange confused looks.

“I’ll never understand women,” Finn shakes his head.

“I am one and I don’t fully understand them,” I give a stiff laugh. “I’ll let Polly know when she gets back. For now how about a lecture on American geography?”

Finn bookmarks his page and claps his hands. “I’m all in!”

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