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babesonly · 3 years

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fic recs 2.0!

hello kings (gn) ive got significantly more fic than last time which means this is gonna be a little more organized than the last post bc it is much longer <3 categories in order are non casefic canonverse, casefic/roadtrip fic, finale fixits, endverse, non supernatural aus, and then non destiel ones. titles will be in bold for my favs! also within each category they’re in order from shortest to longest

Canonverse

I’m a tulip in a cup by godtiering (1.2k)

I worry that I never really came back from hell. I wonder why, if I got remade by heaven, I’m still the same screwed up kid that I always was.

Sometimes I worry I’m not into women at all.

"Guess not,” he looks at his shoes.

a REALLY good fic that’s basically just a look inside dean’s head during my bloody valentine do not read this looking for a fun time but please do read it

on vessels by flightsofangels (1.9k)

“You know,” Cas mutters into Dean’s bare skin. “When I was still… an angel, I used to dream that I would take you as my vessel.”

hello consumehimnatural fans!!!!! read newt’s fic right now its incredible

dean winchester is not a nicholas sparks protagonist by microcomets (1.9k)

Dean fell in love with Cas the way you fall asleep--slowly, and then all at once. Or some other hackneyed and trite bullshit. God, this is embarrassing.

dean is in LOVE. he’s also a disaster who keeps staring at cas’ hands. sigh

Stay by aeli_kindara (2.5k)

Coda to 13.06 (Tombstone). In which Castiel reckons with the aftermath of Dean's grief.

hello fellow widow arc fans <3 click here to see cas find out abt the events of advanced thanatology !

walking on a string by swordfishtrombones (2.7k)

Between the doomed offensive at the Firmament and the impending retreat from the ravaged northeast border, Castiel left camp long enough to answer one of Dean Winchester's prayers.

S6 DEAN IS A WAR WIFE. been really into early seasons deancas lately and this one is very good. god

the flesh of the mighty by Mudprophet (2.7k)

Ezekiel 39:17 "you shall eat the flesh of the mighty and drink the blood of the princes of the earth."

MY GOD. anyone who saw the @autisticandroids purgatory cannibalism talk and was interested read this right now. also anyone who enjoyed nbc hannibal OR raw (2016). if romantic cannibalism is remotely aligned with your interests read this right now. god

Sam Winchester, Ally At Law by alittleduck (3.3k)

Sam was pretty sure he could read every single gay friendly guide to coming out or supporting queer family members ever written and literally none of them would even imply that arguing with gay people that they were actually just homophobic constituted as "ally behavior". However, Sam was equally sure that none of those book authors had found themselves accidentally watching their brother get pounded by an Angel of the Lord at 9 am on Tuesday, so Sam was pretty sure he might actually still have the higher ground. Now, if only Jack would stop trying to bond with Dean using gay slurs long enough for Sam to convince everyone of that, he might just be able to cobble together some remnant of sanity or, failing that, dignity.

Or, the one where Sam desperately wants to invent PFLAG but Dean won't stop teaching Jack gay slurs

JACK VOICE HEY COCKSUCKERS.

hummed low by microcomets (3.3k)

Dean pulls the Impala over at a cider barn about thirty miles out; doesn't really think about it, just sees the hokey orange lettering off the roadside and lets his hands guide the Impala off the interstate with gravel spitting under the wheels.

they get a nice day out together and dean has a gay crisis and it’s written beautifully mwah

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit by pyrebi (3.9k)

In which angelic marriage bonds are apparently stupidly easy to trigger, Cas wages multidimensional war in Heaven, Dean can't catch a break like ever, Sam rather enjoys being a dick, love saves the day, and nobody consummates anything.

sometimes i think about this fic and it hits that at this point dean and cas would have been married for more than a year. cas my beloved...

an exploration of gender; angelic by sometimeswelose (4k)

Castiel's true form is made of electromagnetic radiation. He has spent the majority of his life, if you really want to add it all up and average the whole thing out, as a wavelength of celestial intent.

The thing about being made of light: it's light in the physics sense of the word. Castiel's waves are gamma, x-ray, micro, and radio. He's visible light too, of course, a visible light so intense that it is blinding to most humans.

hello trans cas community <3 he’s literally trans he was assigned genderless and then went hm actually i will be a man! love of my life

Some Boys are Sleeping Alone by prosopopeya (4.2k)

This isn't something that's okay, not for him, but it chases him through the years until it turns into something he can't -- doesn't want to deny.

ohhh deans tenuous relationship with his sexuality my beloved...

love. worship. consummation. consumption. by redeyedwrath (4.3k)

ConsumehimNatural (copyright marcusantonius) the Series!

These are all snapshots centered around the idea of you know. Hunger in Supernatural. Both carnal hunger and other kinds. Fics are shown in semi-chronological order but this series is generally nebulously early seasons.

for ANYONE who is a consumehimnaturual this is required reading it is INCREDIBLE and gorgeous and very visceral and i am so very obsessed with it. thank you redeyedwrath for enabling my brainrot

the reach of human sense by perilously (4.5k)

“You know what Jimmy Novak looked like. You think he was beautiful—gorgeous, hot, all of it. It’s him. Not me. This isn’t my face.”

“But,” Dean says. He doesn’t know where he’s going with it. Just that Cas’ face is right there, brows drawn together and cheekbones gleaming in the lamplight. It’s a face that’s made his heart skip probably a couple hundred beats collectively since they met.

And it used to belong to someone else.

this one is just very nice <3 cas gets uncomfortable w dean calling him attractive since dean has never seen his trueform and they work it out

Down in the River by Ias (4.7k)

Alone in Purgatory and hunted by Leviathans, Castiel finds himself praying to the one person who can't hear him.

cas i love you <3 cas alone in purgatory praying to dean bc dean is the only thing he still worships i love you so much

Creature of Habit by trinityofone (5.1k)

The more you love someone, the more you want to kill them. Or: How Cas developed some bad habits, and Dean coped surprisingly well.

written in s5 when cas was depowered and completely nails the later seasons bitchy husbands dynamic it’s very good and fun <3

sink by crackers4jenn (5.4k)

"Where to?" A 9.06 coda.

very bittersweet very well written and also canon compliant so do not go into this one looking for a happy ending but i DO recommend it it’s very good

Sensational by castiowl (6.1k)

“When I first came to earth, it was advised that we temper the senses bound to our vessels. They were a distraction, we were told. An antiquated form of experiencing existence that would hinder our ability to complete our missions, whatever that may be. My true form can better facilitate these experiences. What you would recognize as heightened senses of sight and sound, among other things.”

Or, how Dean helps Cas experience all five human senses for the first time in one night.

early seasons deancas man. i love the sound part i love dean being so worried about doing a good job with this. god. read this please

Something to Protect by Sass_Master (6.2k)

Dean’s violent reaction to being unexpectedly woken has become something of a running joke among them, but Castiel can’t help but look past it to the underlying cause. It makes him ache to think that Dean feels so unsafe, so persecuted, before he’s even fully conscious.

Secretly, Castiel has been determined to work on that, to ease Dean into awareness in a less jarring way, smooth away one of the many stresses that follow him even in sleep. Now’s as good a time as any to try.

oh to sleep more soundly in the presence of someone you love...this fic is very nice i enjoyed it a lot

all this and heaven too by ftmsteverogers (7k)

“Hey,” Dean said. “I’m not ashamed of you, okay?”

Cas raised skeptical eyes to meet his.

“I mean it,” Dean insisted.

“I understand you mean it,” Cas said. “But I don’t think it’s any better if you’re only ashamed of yourself.”

hello trans dean community here is 7k of trans dean having to deal with his internalized homophobia now that he’s sleeping with cas <3 it is SO good

The wilderness. by orange_crushed (8k)

He takes a shower and the pressure is not especially good, but it doesn’t matter. It’s warm and he stands under the spray a long time. Human skin, he knows, constantly renews itself, shedding the dead cells of the epidermis. He wonders how long it will take until he is an entirely new person, until every cell on his surface is a new one. He looks at his hands under the water. It might take less than a month.

this might be the only post 9x03 fic on here with a happy ending actually? plenty of good melancholy leading up to it though <3 canon divergent after 9x03 though which means no 9x06 fanfiction gap but it is absolutely worth reading

till the juice runs by deathbanjo (8.4k)

Apparently whoever drew up the venn diagram of Dean’s sex life decided the circle labelled ‘good sex’ and the one labelled ‘sex with men’ should be kept far apart.

hello this one is SO funny dean finally gets comfortable enough with his bisexuality to start having sex with men and it goes so very bad every time so sorry about your shitty choices beloved </3

First Date by aeli_kindara (8.9k)

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

this one is very sweet i liked it a lot <3 good refreshing little fic where they just get to have a nice evening together

Entertaining Strangers by cadignan (9k)

Dean settles on to his side, lying in the bed facing Castiel. “So you had sex without me and you bit all my moves. I think I deserve to hear about it, at least. What was her name?”

op im in love with you. premise is established relationship deancas and cas mentions he did have sex before dean and not only that it was a threesome. good for him <3 this fic is cas describing the story of what led up to the threesome and what happened during it while dean interrupts regularly. incredible

the shape you take by noviembre (10k)

“What?” Dean says, fake-offended. “I’d be hot as a girl, you know I would.”

And this is when he really, really should have stopped talking. When he shouldn't have whipped back around and asked, “Cas, if I was a woman, you’d fuck me, right?”

Because if he hadn’t said that, then he wouldn’t have had to deal with this:

Cas, meeting his eyes, forehead wrinkles all smoothed out like there’s nothing to be confused about anymore. Cas with something at the corner of his mouth that might barely be called a smile.

Cas saying, calmly and without hesitation, “Yes, Dean.”

Dean Winchester fucks around and, with the inadvertent help of some witches, Finds Out.

dean winchester your gender is diabolical. this fic is insane and its the only thing that matters actually. dean fully convinced its normal and straight to think about being a woman so you can fuck your male friend. incredible. op im proposing to you

Sinnerman by a_good_soldier (10k)

Dean listens to Nina Simone, reads Anne Carson, and makes out with a dude (sort of).

yall want to read about dean realizing he’s in love with a man as a direct result of learning to better respect women right?

you’re fooling yourself by cowboydeanwinchester (13k)

Dean Winchester and Castiel retire from hunting to raise baby Jack. Dean struggles to allow himself the things he truly wants.

Jack is two, Castiel and Dean are idiots, and Sam's gotta solve everyone's problems.

love a married couple who doesn’t know they’re married <3 everyone say thank you sam for bullying dean

The Girlfriend Experience by rageprufrock (15k)

While it's not like Dean hasn't had a couple of truly regrettable hit-and-runs in his sexual history, this is probably the saddest fucking thing that has ever happened to him.

a classic for good fucking reason. we’ve all talked about dean thinking holding hands is too gay after having just had gay sex but my personal favorite was sam accusing dean of cheating on cas because dean bought condoms. incredible

No Kingdom To Come by domesticadventures (16k)

“We should fuck,” Dean says.

Cas looks up from where he sits on his bed, hair still damp from the shower, frowning as he places a finger on the page of his book to mark where he left off.

There are a million things Cas could say here; Dean has rehearsed them. After lunch, his restlessness had given way to a vague panic, a dread that matched his every step and crept along with him from room to room. Eventually, he had returned to his bedroom and spent the rest of the afternoon pacing back and forth, playing out all the possible scenarios. When Cas asks him Why? or Are you being serious? or when he sighs and says, in that way he has, Dean, he knows exactly what he’s going to do. He’s going to shrug casually, like he isn’t invested in the answer, like he isn’t desperate for an outlet, and say, Why not? He’s going to raise an eyebrow and say, What, are you not interested? He’s going to crowd into Cas’ personal space, he’s going to shove himself right up in there and whisper Cas against his ear.

Instead, Cas says, carefully, “Okay.”

literally the only quarantine fic i’ve ever bothered to read in any fandom and completely worth it it’s SO good. they become fwb and dean has an existential crisis and he keeps bringing up meaninglessness and death during sex

Bodies by Speary (18k)

It was a secret they never acknowledged even with each other. It would change everything, end everything if either of them ever dropped the act. So they became very good at acting, at keeping up the lie that gave them what they wanted. Even if that lie involved constantly seeking out temporary, consenting female vessels, Cas would do it. He told himself it was worth it for Dean. He just hoped that he could stop wanting more, or maybe one day Dean might stop pretending that he wasn't really sleeping with Cas every time.

i don’t even have anything to add tbh if that summary did not immediately make you click we are very different this fic is incredible. god. fellas do you ever make yourself a woman so you can fuck the man you love without him having to talk about it or confront his sexuality

it’s such a mystery (the way you know me) by fleeceframe (20k)

So the man crouching in front of Castiel is named Dean. He wonders if that’s supposed to mean something to him.

“Cas must’ve got hit with something earlier. He just dropped like a sack of fucking potatoes a minute ago. By the time I was checking on him, he had already woken up again, but now he doesn’t fucking know who we are.”

“I’m right here you know,” Castiel says testily.

Sam’s eyes are wide even as his eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks between Dean and Castiel again.

“What do you remember, Cas?”

“Firstly, that I’m not Cas. I don’t know who Cas is, but it’s not me. I don’t know who either of you are, either."

or the one where castiel is hit with a memory curse that makes him forget the winchester brothers and is stunned to find out he has a family... also why can't he stop thinking about dean?

BEST amnesia fic oh my god. cas my beloved you deserve the world. everyone read this that is not a request.

More Than Ever by Sass_Master (20k)

Dean’s getting some pancakes together for breakfast when Cas saunters in after a run.

He’s trying to focus on whisking batter, unfairly distracted by Cas a few feet away, breathing heavily and shining with perspiration. Dean’s been painfully aware for a long time that Cas is pretty easy on the eyes, but he’s used to seeing Cas buttoned-up and unflappable, looking straight-laced in a stiff oxford and an unflattering trenchcoat.

Now Cas is sweating, Dean’s borrowed t-shirt clinging to his skin, flushed from exertion and Dean really can’t deal with that in his kitchen right now.

this entire series is really good i enjoyed it a lot, i’m just putting this one specifically on the list bc the rest of the series is very explicit and this is really good as a standalone for anyone who wouldn’t be into the rest of the series!!

Being Dean Winchester by Anonymous (20k)

"You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of hell. I can throw you back in."

Who the fuck was this bitchy "warrior of God" doing talking to him like that? Fuck Cas-tee-el and his dumbass trench coat and abrasive motherfucking attitude.

Dean was done with this shit.

***

Wherein a monster of the week steals the essence of Castiel's vessel, so he must use Dean, recently raised from hell, as a vessel instead.

it is at this point i realize that there are more fics than i expected there to be on this list that involves a threesome with only two people/using the presence of a female body to act like what’s happening is heterosexual. deangirlism is a disease

I Shall Not Want by domesticadventures (20k)

His grace is burning out, and the wasteland it leaves inside him becomes an echo chamber for all the memories, all the fear and doubt and self-loathing he's collected over the years. Things said and done hound him on endless repeat until he's convinced they’ll break through his skin and fill the silence of the bunker.

His head is killing him, and he sits hunched over an open book, not really reading, just digging his fingers into his skull and praying nothing slips through the cracks.

this one is GORGEOUS i love it so so much. dean and cas are both struggling so much to get by and they’re trying to support each other but fucking it up and they have to grow together and learn to cope with the fact that this is where their lives are and they fall in love i need everyone to read this

To Boldly Go by 8daysuntiltheapocalypseiguess (24k)

Title: Just One of Those Things Author: Impala67 Series: TOS Rating: M Summary: Four years into their five-year mission, and all the planets start to look the same.

In which Dean is not Gene Roddenberry, but he does write Star Trek fanfiction.

mx winchester writing star trek fanfiction to process his own trauma <3 this is a wip but it’s SO good and i also have not consumed a single piece of star trek media so it IS definitely readable to anyone who isn’t a star trek fan. please read this

where the weeds take root by deathbanjo (30k)

“Are you happy? Y’know. Just—being here,” Dean says, gesturing to the yard with his beer bottle. “Being with—I mean, you used to fight in celestial wars and—and save the world. Now you’re growing vegetables and talking about chickens.”

this is on here just for the 1.5 people who were putting off this one like i did for no reason. it’s extremely good and it is just gentle. i enjoyed it a lot

Heroes for Ghosts by pantheon_of_discord (42k)

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

yall ever wonder what it would’ve been like if the sam and dean arrest storyline in s12 was interesting? yeah <3

Teaching Poetry to Fish by aeli_kindara (52k)

In which Castiel teaches poetry to fish. Also, himself. Also, eventually, Dean.

(A series-long story, diverging slightly from canon after S14.)

cas learning about humanity through poetry before dean and thats what led to him developing enough emotion to be lobotomized....cas i love you so much

Emergence by ellispark (58k)

Something’s been missing from Dean’s life for the past three years, a void left after a hunt gone terribly wrong. He often feels a sense of longing with no discernible cause, a need to talk to someone who isn’t there.

A call from an acquaintance leads Dean to James Novak, a man who disappeared more than a decade ago, and suddenly Dean gets the feeling he’s found what he’s been missing. But James isn’t really James — he’s the angel Castiel, who’s wanted by angels, demons and hunters alike. And he may be at the center of the storm that wrecked Dean’s life all those years ago.

another cool amnesia fic!! for unknown reasons everyone forgot cas three years ago but cas didn’t forget anything. cas deserves so much love and support. god

a turn of the earth by microcomets (95k)

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run.

Frigging fantastic.

(Or, in which Castiel gets stuck in Dean’s timeline preseries and Dean kind of hates it—until he doesn’t.)

cas getting to meet and fall in love with pre hell dean just as much as he loves the dean he already knows oh my GOD. i love this fic so much. turn of the earth my beloved

Crossing Lines by sometimeswelose (122k)

Two Deans, one Cas - it's not as sexy as it sounds

An ethics lesson from Hell

The one where Dean from the past meets Dean in the present. They're not sure they like each other very much.

deans intense self hatred vs cas’ unwavering love for every version of dean oh my GOD also this is a wip fair warning but it’s so worth waiting for updates i’m having such a great time with this one i cannot wait to see how it gets ended

Plot Holes by saltyfeathers (160k)

Of course it wasn’t over after the apocalypse.

There was season six. Then there was season seven. Against all expectations, there was season eight. There were the alphas and purgatory, and then the Leviathans, and then the angels fell. Enter season nine. Loose threads Metatron, Abaddon, and Crowley have to be tied up. Sam, Dean, and Cas have to try to tie them while at the same time dealing with their evolving relationships and newfound graceless states.

Amidst all the chaos, someone has started publishing the Supernatural novels again. Convinced there’s something amiss in the pages, Charlie starts her own quest to suss out the truth behind the Winchester Gospels.

With the help of various faces, old and new, they must now not only deal with the typical runs of demons and recently fallen angels, but also reconcile the battles raging inside themselves, as the fate of the world, once again, quite literally lays in the palm of their hands.

saltyfeathers said i WILL make the plot holes in this show mean something because the showrunners are sure as shit never gonna adress them ! and i thank them for it bc this was a really cool read

Casefic/Roadtrip Fic

Deprived Of Every Planet by KelpietheThundergod (9k)

Dean's breathing is audible in the scant space between them, irregular. The motel room is dark, pale blue shadows falling in through the gaps in the blinds. Throwing a pattern of uneven white stripes over the bunched up covers. Over Dean's fingers twisted in the sheets. One half of him in shadow, softened by the dark. The heat of his skin. The tremble of him under Castiel's touch.

He caresses a hand over Dean's chest, slowly. Dean's mouth falls open, his body arching into Castiel's touch. Castiel stops over Dean's heart. Through the fever of his desire, he rejoices about the wonder of experiencing another's heartbeat through one's own senses.

Dean gasps, but then he turns his face away and towards the dark. Eyes closed tight and brows furrowed like something is hurting him.

Castiel stills.

“Dean?”

the case is background on this one but it Does take place over the course of a case so im putting it here. god touchstarved dean trying so hard to work through his shit for cas head in my hands i love this fic so much

before and after breakfast by spocklee (10k)

The monster of the week is a ghost who hates meat, alcohol, and feeling yourself. Guess who it is during the commercials.

chapter 2 of this one.....god. dean and cas you are both so unwell <3 i love everything abt this fic everyone read it now

we shovel all the ashes out by xylodemon (15k)

Dean’s always known things were headed this way. He just figured getting dragged under would be cleaner and easier than jumping in feet-first.

fics that make you go Oh they love each other...also there’s lesbians in it literally what else could you want.

thunder road by dothraki_shieldmaiden (20k)

After Chuck is defeated and the Winchesters settle into life without God, Dean Winchester is bored.

OR: Dean and Cas take a road trip and figure out some stuff along the way.

this fic is just like. it’s kind! this fic is kind it’s just a pleasant experience and i enjoyed it thoroughly. they’re in love and it’s good

Suck It, Judy Garland by GlitterDwarf, midrashic (20k)

It had to be St. Louis. Or, the one where Sam and Cas get fake married for a case, and Dean loses his mind.

actually im gonna defend dean here imagine youre dean and cas gives what definitely sounded like a deathbed love confession while making eye contact with you and then immediately afterwards fake dates your brother. who among us would not have been a bitch about this

best friends without benefits by lizbobjones (20k)

It’s nearing three a.m. and they’ve been on the road a long time. Sam’s been asleep in the back seat since eleven. Giving up and handing the wheel over to Cas and letting the guy who doesn’t sleep drive had seemed like a good idea.

the premise of this fic is so funny. cas voice dean you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid. everyone read this

the taste of gravel in the mouth by deathbanjo (22k)

This is what Cas gave up Heaven for: greasy diner food, shitty motel rooms with even shittier cable, long car rides spent in complete silence except for the same six tapes playing over and over again, and a burnt-out husk of a man who can barely hold a conversation anymore.

alt version of getting rid of the mark of cain, the darkness never happens. this one is VERY heavy but it’s so good and it has a hopeful ending. ive read this one twice and loved it both times

Someone Who’s Feeling For Me by ellispark (45k)

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

hello op please contact me. please contact me and let me see the inside of your brain. this fic was an unparalleled experience and everyone should also go through it. i love it so very much

Bumper Cars by mansikka (111k)

Two teenagers are missing from an abandoned carnival, and there’s enough to raise suspicion that their disappearance involves a ghost. Dean, Sam, and Cas arrive in town to investigate, though what they find leads them away from those teenagers, and on the trail of a ghost story that churns up things from their past.

Can newly-human Cas, and Dean, with the help of shipper!Sam, work out the mystery behind the abandoned carnival and its ghost, and along the way, figure out the riddle that is them?

one of my absolute fav case fics it forces dean to confront some aspects of johns parenting and work through some shit and also him and cas fall in love and it’s really well done. love this one a lot <3

Finale Fix-its/Finale Denial

Sorry Jimmy by K_K_TiBal (2.1k)

Based on the tumblr textpost:

jellydeans: so are cas and jimmy novak just up in heaven existing at the same time katebushstandean: #jimmy moves to heaven timbuku so that dean stops trying to make out with him every time they run into each other at the heaven grocery store

this one is just extremely funny. local midwestern heterosexual man is forced to play relationship counselor to the dumbest gay people in existence because one of them wore his face

Dean Winchester Really Needs To Make Some Gay Friends by AreYouReady (2.2k)

“Like, I’m trying to think if I’ve had, I don’t know, crushes. If I ever had a gay thing before you came along and just didn’t notice,” Dean said.

Cas suddenly looked down, and away from Dean. If Dean didn’t know better, he would swear Cas looked guilty.

“What is it, Cas?”

“You have had several… gay things before.” Cas still wouldn’t look at him.

“What? When? How come you know this better than I do?”

There was no way the answer to this question wasn’t funny as hell.

dean learning about gay ppl via the memories of dean smith...incredible.

tiny difference (between ending and starting to begin) by sunforgrace (2.4k)

Sometimes Dean catches Cas staring at the sky.

It doesn’t happen often. Not when Dean’s around to tell, anyway. But often enough that he starts to notice.

Eventually Dean starts to recognize the pattern.

Cas just doesn’t watch the sky. He watches the birds.

Chuck is gone, Cas is human, and the world is safe. In the quiet aftermath Dean and Castiel find each other again.

i really don’t have much to say abt this one it is just very good and they love each other so much

Bring Home by cenotaphy (3.8k)

Dean's phone doesn't ring on the drive back to the Bunker, but that's okay. Because—well, maybe Cas lost his cell, what with getting shuffled back and forth between a cosmic void dimension and all. And anyway, Dean doesn't want this conversation to happen over the phone, he wants to—he wants to talk to Cas face-to-face. They should talk face-to-face.

Dean will tell him—

Dean doesn't know what he'll tell Cas. Dean is, in fact, terrified by how utterly and completely he does not know what he'll say to Cas.

cas being forced to face the consequences of sending the risky text that was despair <3

dean’s coworkers vs the heteronormative agenda by cowboydeanwinchester (4.1k)

Dean started working at a local auto repair shop in Lebanon, Kansas about a year ago. His coworkers don't know much about him. Except that he has a wife. Or maybe he doesn't. But he has a kid. Who is either a toddler or a high schooler. Who is either named Jack or Sammy. He also might have a best friend named Cas, but that also might be his wife.

Truth is nobody knows what to make of Dean.

obsessed w people not knowing a single fucking thing about dean because he talks so much and never explains anything. this fic is SO funny

Enhanced Extraction Techniques by goldenraeofsun (5.8k)

The Empty takes Meg’s shape, Samandriel’s, Duma’s, every one of the thousands of angels Cas killed up in heaven. But in the middle of lecturing Cas in the form of Balthazar, it explodes in a burst of light and sound.

Dean Winchester stands in the aftermath.

the empty playing mind games on an awake cas bc it can’t put him to sleep is a thing i like a lot and this is very very good

Speak Silence No More by rea_sunshine (8.1k)

When Dean imagined this moment, it went like this:

Dean bursts into the Empty—guns blazing, chin high, righteous anger coursing through him. No matter what form his plans and fantasies and whiskey-drunk-whispered-promises took, he is always, always successful. When he imagined it, he was finally the hero Cas deserved.

The reality of the moment is this:

It’s fucking cold.

dean and cas STILL managing to not communicate with each other properly after the confession is so funny to me and this fic does it really well. also i like that a human being in the empty, where humans do NOT belong, had some like. consequences

my heart is a compass by lagaudiere (10k)

“There you are,” the Empty says, in Dean’s voice. It’s cold, like Dean’s eyes are cold, his expression set in contempt. It’s the expression Cas feared, he realizes, all the times he thought about saying it. Revulsion. It makes him feel sick in the way that goes beyond physical, here where there is nothing physical left.

The moment before it happened had been so sweet it covered up all the hurt. For years, Cas had been holding back those words, biting down on his tongue to keep from saying them. And now he had said it, and he knew that it was good, knew that it was worth it. But on the other side there is only this.

In the Empty, Cas dreams of his regrets, until someone comes looking for him.

one of thee best dean rescues cas from the empty fics out there i love the way his memories are written i love how many of them were ones that this fic came up with to give me new things to have brainworms over instead of just making me more fixated on He Watched Him Rake Leaves than i already am

killing time by orestespdf (11k)

It's been four years since Dean saved Cas from the Empty and confessed his feelings in return, and in their Vermont lakehouse, the retired couple is now learning how to heal. One morning, Dean gives Cas a haircut.

(A character study of Castiel.)

perfect fic perfect fic no notes no complaints they love each other so much and now dean is giving cas a haircut and they’re spending the day together. god.

and every time we kiss, i swear i can fly by knameless (14k)

Every time, Dean tells himself it’s the last.

aka, twelve times dean and cas kiss.

a just boy best friends kiss for every season <3 mwah

for which no words exist by MediaWhore (14k)

'a prayer for which no words exist' // richard siken

"Dear Cas who art in my bathtub, give me the strength to be honest about how I feel. For your sake and for mine. Forgive me all the times I wasn’t in the past, all the words I should have said but didn’t. And please stay. Please stay with me when all is said and done. Amen. "

Dean rescues a newly human Cas from the Empty. That's the easy step.

mediawhore i am in LOVE with you oh my god this fic. this fic. dean taking care of cas after rescuing him dean wrapping cas in a blanket oh my GOD

swimming with the fish pond fish by februyuri (17k)

Some time between Dean bleeding out on a makeshift hook in a barn in Ohio and Sam making marshmallows on his funeral pyre, Dean was brought back to life. By Castiel. Again. Dean agreed to it if only to give Jack time to work out the glitches up top. So, now Dean’s back in the land of the living and things are ... actually good, for once.

Or, as good as they can be when demons are attacking Earth, Dean’s failing to get over why he died in the first place, and Cas is suddenly, inexplicably taking every opportunity to casually tell Dean that he loves him.

this is a wip! but it is so good and so worth the read i love it a lot and am very excited for the last chapter. it IS pretty heavy though dean has a LOT to work through

looking like a true survivor (feeling like a little kid) by courfeyrac (20k)

"Jack’s a clever kid—has been ever since he was born, maybe even before that—but Dean’s pretty sure he hasn’t figured out where they’re going yet. And Dean’s… Dean’s excited about it. He remembers planning surprises for Sammy when they were little—saving up quarters and sneaking off to the arcade the year he turned seven, or slipping a book Dean had seen Sammy admiring into his jacket before sprinting out of the store the year he turned twelve. There was only so much Dean could give him back then, hindered by lack of finances and transportation and a father who paid attention. Now, though, Dean’s got a wallet full of cash, a tank full of gas, and the freedom to give his kid the kind of birthday he deserves."

Or, it's Jack's fourth birthday, and the kid wants to go to Build-A-Bear.

EVERYONE READ THIS RIGHT NOW. that is not a request this fic undid me. oh my god. oh my god. they’re a family and they’re going to build a bear and they love each other. oh my god. also no it isn’t a baby jack fic he is 4 and he is also alcal

what’s missing is found (our souls can exhale now) by sobsicles (27k)

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

~~~

"But have you ever just met someone and maybe it wasn't from the first moment, maybe it was after all these other moments that meant more than you ever expected them to, and it seems like your soul just—just—" Kaia makes a helpless gesture with her hands, pushing out, and she breathes out loudly. "Like it can finally exhale. And that person isn't guaranteed to make you happy, but they're—they're important. You just know it, you can't even escape it, you can't let them go. Ever met someone like that, Dean?"

"I—" Dean halts, his mouth hanging open. He's looking at Kaia, who's looking at him, and his heart is fluttering in his throat like a caged bird aching to soar again. His mind threatens to spiral out of control, but he focuses, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Um. I—yeah, I have."

deancas AND dreamhunter we love to see it also dean DOES smoke weed with kaia and apologizes for pulling a gun on her what more could you want in a fic

Command Me To Be Well by prospopeya (28k)

Dean did a lot of thinking about when and how he would get Cas back. Months of it, actually, stretching into a year, because while Sam and Eileen were settling into their new lives, Dean was stuck. He was stuck in a faraway corner of the bunker, dark and empty and hollow, ringing with the sound of a vibrating phone.

So when he falls to his knees in that same room, exhausted, hurting, breathless, and he feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Cas, he realizes that he doesn't have a single clue about what to do now. Getting Cas out had been easy--actually, it'd been the opposite of that--but the planning of it, the methodical desperation of one attempt after the other had been a familiar rhythm. It'd been soothing almost, solid, something to focus on that wasn't Cas's eyes, watery and jubilant in a way Dean hadn't ever seen that up close on anyone, let alone Cas.

And now Cas is pulling him to his feet, and Dean's stumbling, and he instinctually grabs Cas's arm, and his hand lights up with a fire that he isn't prepared for.

"Hello, Dean."

oh post despair lack of communication....oh dean refusing to work through his feelings...this fic is incredible i love it everyone who enjoys dean doing everything in his power to avoid talking about feelings up to and including having sex with the guy who’s in love with him multiple times should read this

break the skin (to break the barriers) by sobsicles (29k)

The first time she meets him, he's nothing more than an almost-missed appointment.

SOBSICLES TATTOO FIC MY BELOVED. dean grieving and getting tattoos and it turns into tattoo therapy. im SO in love with mitzi it’s insane. requires some suspension of disbelief for how long a tattoo takes but it’s an incredible fic and an unparalleled experience. sobsicles does not miss

ascend by quiettewandering (53k)

Something in the world is wrong.

Demon activity is rising where mysterious black substance oozes and unusual ecological events are shaking the world. Dean, grief hanging on his shoulders, restlessly searches for answers that might lead him to the Empty… and to Cas.

But what Chuck wrote can’t be undone. The narrative thread pulls Dean along, forcing him to comply. Because once a story already has an ending, it can’t be rewritten.

Or can it?

SUPER cool concept i liked this a lot i’m pretty sure everyone’s read it already but just in case someone hasn’t you absolutely should

oh sooner or later it all comes down to faith by sobsicles (62k)

Getting used to Heaven is something of a marvel. It ain't perfect, and Dean thinks he'd hate it if it was, which is probably why it isn't.

~~~

"You don't understand," Dean whispers, exhaling shakily. "I know you don't, because even I don't. The instant you were gone, I wanted you back. Cas, I wanted you back. I wanted—I wanted—"

Cas stares at him, searching his face. After a moment, his own face falls slack, eyes widening just so. "Oh," he breathes out.

Dean wants to be furious that Cas has figured it out before he has—whatever it is—but he's not even that surprised. Cas knows him too well, always has, even more than Dean knows himself. He's been kicking Dean in the goddamn teeth with how deeply he understands him, even about the things Dean doesn't, ever since they first met. You don't think you deserve to be saved, that's what Cas had said. All bundled up in impossibilities and power, this being that looked at Dean Winchester and knew every single inch of him, as if he had a right to each part.

"What?" Dean grits out.

"I love you, too."

the ONLY heaven fic. i do not read heaven fics bc i refuse to budge in my finale denialism i refuse to read fic where it is accepted that dean dies. i was hesitant to read this but god im glad i did it was so good. literally the best possible outcome of dean dying

Endverse

final fantasy. by orange_crushed (1.9k)

“If I’d actually been born human, would I have gotten sick like everyone else? Would I be running around gnawing on the neighbors?” Castiel tilts his head up and even from here Dean can see the black ring of his pupils, wide and dark as dead stars. He’s high as fuck and he’s been loading the guns for forty-five minutes. He stares into the space where Dean is. He smiles and shows his teeth. “Maybe you’d have already put a bullet in my head.”

"This is why you don’t lead storytime anymore," Dean says. "This kind of shit."

endverse last night on earth fics are something that can be so personal actually. god

The Last Song by Moorishflower (3.5k)

The very last song is the Song of Solomon, and Castiel sings it only for Dean. Set in "The End."

this is like. pre endverse and the tone is so like. wistful? is the best word ive got? it’s gorgeous i love it but fair warning there is graphic description of like. viscera and infected wounds

to think that we could stay the same by cipherwriter (6.5k)

cas has all he needs; himself, his creation, and enough power to continue this cycle for a long time. he's fine. dean wants to take care of him anyway.

oh my GOD this one is good it’s based off the thing of how originally endverse cas was supposed to be just sitting in a room killing and resurrecting the same cockroach over and over. very bittersweet at some points i love it a lot, do not read it if youre looking for something happy though lmao

the first church at the end of the world by withbloodstainedclothingon (11k)

The angels don’t eat the brain. Only Croats do that.

this one is fucked but it’s incredible it contains very heavy and violent subject matter and cas is an Actual cult leader he doesn’t just have orgies it is SO well done and i had a great time reading it i recommend it very highly if the warnings sound like something you can stomach

Down to Agincourt by seperis (1.1 million. i know. yes it’s a wip)

There is no such thing as a guarantee when it comes to war.

The outcome's known. Why try? Return your rusty sword to battered sheath, bow your head and bend your stubborn knee. Why take the field when you cannot win the war? But Harry -- he went down to Agincourt.

PLEASE. i know the length is intimidating i KNOW it’s a very long fic but please. please read down to agincourt i am begging you. head in my HANDS this series is incredible.

Non Supernatural AUS

Long-Term Relationship by bendingsignpost (2.7k)

Castiel says, budging over to make room for Dean on the couch, “I thought we should have a serious talk about our relationship.”

Reflexively, Dean laughs.

Castiel does not.

“Uh, Cas... you know we’re not dating, right?”

look man it’s bendingsignpost okay. it’s bendingsignpost it’s good and it’s sweet and you should read it

One White Lie by komodobits (11k)

Castiel takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. He doesn’t need to run through what he’s going to say – he’s already planned and edited and rehearsed it a thousand times. He is going to ask Dean Winchester out to dinner. If it’s not too forward, he’ll say, perfectly charming. You see, I’ve seen you around the neighbourhood and you always seem so earnest and I’d really like to get to know you bette— The door swings open, and Castiel panics.

He intends to excuse himself. He means to apologise and come back some other time. However, in a moment of blind fear, what comes out of his mouth instead are the words, “Could you spare a moment for Jesus Christ?”

do you ever pretend to be a jehovahs witness for months to hang out with the guy you like because you fucked up asking him out? yeah.

separate ways and sleeping dogs by sobsicles (53k)

Dean is three years sober when Cas comes back into town.

~~~

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Dean, once again, has to swallow the urge to offer to swallow something else. It's very hard to resist the gut-wrenching pull of want that hooks in his chest whenever he looks at Cas. And to think, he used to have him, used to be able to act on that want.

God, he's so fucking stupid.

Well, there's no point in kicking himself three years later for shit he can't change. He'll just sit right here and pretend that his fingers aren't twitching with the urge to reach out and touch. He can't do that anymore, and it's his own damn fault.

"Three years ago," Cas prompts.

Dean huffs a weak laugh. "Yeah. Eventful."

this fic hit me SO hard emotionally oh my god. don’t have much to say bc most of my thoughts on this fic are very personal but my god read this please

Everyone’s a Critic by Englandwouldfall (109k)

The one where uninspired chef Dean Winchester has a one night stand with the male (!) food critic who described the flavour of his garlic bread as 'closeted' and accidentally ends up dating him to try and prove that he's a kick ass chef, thank you very much.

(He may have a point about the 'closeted' thing).

this one is SO fun. dating the food critic who called your garlic bread closeted and lying about your career because you’re embarrassed and you want to redeem your food in his eyes but then you fall in love with him

Non Destiel Centric

gender? you mean that thing i have that pisses people off? by bigender dean winchester (homosexualitie) (946 words)

sam and dean paint each other's nails and dean abuses the technicalities of her gender. what more could you want?

HELLO HE/SHE DEAN COMMUNITY oh my god the pure rush of euphoria reading this. oh my god. oh my god.

the quiet road to a distant city by rottingbrains (1.2k)

Sam stares out the windshield again. They’re approaching a city, and she can see the lights in the distance. She’s past the danger zone, and she feels like the world around her reflects that in some way she can’t put into words- as if God is telling her that it’s okay. She did the right thing, and soon she will be past the lonely unknown and into the warm, forgiving light of acceptance. Or something. Come to think of it, the lights only look warm from far away, and she knows that the actual city will seem far less welcoming. Still. Best not to imagine the worst when it’s already going well.

required reading for transfem lesbian sam fans. fics that live in your ribcage to make your heart feel good

Four People Ruby Seduced & One She Actually Fell For (Or: Ruby's Epic Love Affair with Humanity in General and Sam in Specific) by tuesday (3.7k)

In which Ruby has a lot of sex, is not any kind of therapist that would be legal, and helps a few people out for her own reasons. (S4/S5 AU)

for everyone out there who enjoys ruby being a girlboss <3

Fractured Link by Trell (orphan_account) (5.5k)

Meg goes on, resolute despite the way Dean flinches, "He likes me. He likes me a lot, and I like him back, and that's probably good enough for both of us. But fuck me for saying so, Dean-o, he loves you, probably more than anything else on his daddy's green Earth, and you need to man up and give back what Clarence over there has been devoting to you for years."

this is meg/dean/cas which is not smth i really seek out but this was extremely good. set in s7 so it’s meg and dean and honey cas and it’s a lot of dean figuring his shit out and trying to forgive cas and i love meg a lot in this

#spn #supernatural #destiel #deancas #mine

472 notes · View notes

sukifans · 3 years

Note

aahhh I’m so excited I love your writing!!! your sokka “help me” fic is one of my favs ever I seriously think about it at least twice a week. in a similar vein, would you be able to combine prompts 10 & 12 for sokka x fem!reader? thank you!!! :)

SOKKA + “can i try that new chapstick? i wanna have a taste” + “i hadn’t noticed but my sweet, funny, goofy best friend is kind of hot, especially since they’ve been on this fitness kick”

⇦ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

“nastiest skank bitches” Group Message

loml: ladies, i need a girls night

loml: desperately

babygorl: god i’m down, this semester blows

fugly slut <3: i’m in!! always here for a girls night 🥰

loml: y/n??

you: gals. pals. as much as i would love to...

fugly slut <3: ughhhhhhhhh

babygorl: you better not be blowing us off for sokka again istg

you: 😅

loml: TRAITOR BITCH

fugly slut <3: HOES BEFORE BROS

babygorl: WHORE

you: bruh.mp3

you: he’s coming by after the gym to help me with my physics homework!!! I NEED THE HELP PLS I PROMISE ILL BE THERE NEXT TIME

babygorl: lying is a sin y/n

babygorl: sinner

loml: if sokka’s gonna b there maybe she’ll be sinning in........ other ways...... ahaha

loml: fuckboy_emoji.jpg

fugly slut <3: when you gonna tap that fr

you: NEVER LITERALLY NO EW

you: HE’S MY BEST FRIEND

you: UNLIKE YOU RATS

fugly slut <3: he do b kinda yummy tho liiiike 👀

you: STOP

loml: yeah he’s hot sorry queen

you: HE’S NOT HOT

babygorl: i almost hate to admit it but...

babygorl: his biceps 🥴

fugly slut <3 emphasized “his biceps 🥴”

loml loved “his biceps 🥴”

you: hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!

fugly slut <3 disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

babygorl disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

loml disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

babygorl: uh huh yeah sure

loml: yall hear sumn?

NEW MESSAGE from sokka :^)

“hey i’m omw up!”

you: whatever you guys suck

you: i gtg

fugly slut <3: AND YOU SWALLOW

babygorl: bye girly!! get that bestie dick!!

loml: save a car, ride an engineering major >:)

you: desgostang.jpg

You dropped your phone onto the bed next to you with a groan. Your friends really and truly could be such freaks about your relationship with Sokka—or lack thereof. They’d been especially adament ever since he started some stupid bet with Zuko about who could get the most “gains” by graduation, incited by Aang making the mistake of commenting on Zuko’s more pronounced muscle mass.

Idiots.

That’s what Sokka was. Your idiotic best friend, who was funny, and sweet, and intelligent. You loved him, of course, but not like that. And he was not hot.

Definitely not.

The pounding on your dorm door interrupted your musings before Sokka let himself in, dropping his gym bag on the floor and kicking off his slides. His hair was loose and still damp from his post-workout shower and he wore slim joggers with a loose muscle tee.

“Hey!” He smiled brightly when he spotted you sitting in your bed. “What’s up?”

“The usual.” You moved your legs out of the way so he could flop down onto your mattress. “How was the gym?”

Sokka groaned. “Cardio. I’m already sore.” He stretched his arms up to fold behind his head, pulling his muscles taut.

Hm. He does kind of have nice biceps...

You shook yourself internally. Thoughts like these had been creeping out of your subconscious for weeks now, no thanks to your rabid friends.

“My leg’s been killing me, though,” he continued, rubbing his opposite foot across the skin that covered that metal pins and plates holding his bones together after a nasty break in high school. The leg often still gave him problems, ranging from the dull ache he could ignore on the day-to-day, to throbbing pain that left him limping.

You frowned, looking away from his arms to meet his eyes. “You should probably rest up before you hurt yourself,” you said.

“I’ll be fine.” He shrugged and propped himself up on his elbows. “Gotta catch up to Zuko, y’know.”

“Why? You’re already taller than him.”

“So? I wanna be more yolked, too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Buncha dumbasses.”

Sokka quirked an eyebrow. “You want this dumbass to help with your physics homework or not?”

“Haha,” you chuckled nervously, “just kidding, buddy! I meant Zuko and Aang. You—definitely not a dumbass. Nope.”

“That’s what I thought.” He shot you a smug look as he pushed up to sit cross-legged across from you on the bed. He held his hand out with a dramatic, world-weary sigh. “Alright, give it here.”

You opened your laptop to pull up the website that hosted your homework practice problems. “You know I love you, right?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, grabbing a notebook and pen from your desk to work out the math as you handed over the computer. He paused before standing to retrieve his bag, plopping it on your desk chair so he could root through it and pull out his glasses case. You felt your cheeks warm a little when he set the frames on the bridge of his nose.

Fine—he was kinda cute. You could concede that without having to dig too deep into your somewhat jumbled feelings for your best friend.

But you would certainly not “tap that.”

Well...

No. You would not.

You watched his eyes flick over the screen as he tapped the pen against his chin, catching the cap between his teeth while he thought about the formulas he’d learned in a past semester. He nodded to himself and started scribbling out a diagram and the math to go with it. You found yourself a little mesmerized by the way he simply just knew what to do, confidently scratching away at the paper as easily as one might write the alphabet. Your eyes trailed from his long fingers and calloused hand sweeping over the page, up his toned arm (lingering on his bicep a little longer), and to his face. He chewed at the inside of his cheek in concentration, sometimes parting his lips to murmur the logic to himself.

For someone who often said a lot of stupid shit, he sure had a pretty mouth.

You considered what he might do if you snatched a fistful of his shirt and yanked him into a kiss. Would he shove you away and leave? Awkwardly but kindly reject you? Or, would he kiss you back—throw the work out of the way and grab your face to coax you in deeper? Maybe push you back onto the bed and—

“Okay, so basically—”

Jesus Christ, get a fucking grip.

“—from the problem and draw it out like this to apply the formula, yeah?”

Sokka looked to you expectantly and you blinked at him as your face burned. “Sorry, I zoned out. What did you say?”

“C’mon, I know you hate physics but you gotta at least pay attention to me if you wanna pass,” he teased, shifting close enough that the sides of your bodies pressed together. Was it getting warmer in your room, or was it just your best friend?

He launched into the explanation again and you nodded along while internally willing the blood to leave your cheeks. Even as your thoughts ricocheted around inside your skull he managed to break it down in a way that somewhat made sense. He sat back and watched as you slowly worked through the next problem. You glanced up when you heard a soft pop to see him applying chapstick.

“Is that a new flavor?” you asked.

“Yeah, chocolate orange or something.” He held the tube out to you. “Wanna try?”

Fuck it.

Before your rationality could catch up you pressed a hand to his cheek to turn his head and pulled him in for a kiss. Your lips only slotted together for a brief moment before you pulled back to stare wide-eyed at each other. You could feel the fire creeping from your cheeks down your neck, mirrored in the reddening of his tanned skin.

He blinked. You blinked.

The chapstick slipped from between his fingers. Rationality arrived late.

You bolted.

“Uh, see ya later!” you shouted as you threw the door open and rushed out of the room.

“Wait, (Y/N)—“

You didn’t stick around to hear the end of his desperate call. Even thought it was your dorm and you were barefoot you still raced down the hall, wincing at the sound of a door slamming behind you.

“(Y/N)!”

Damn that lanky bastard. You were booking it and he was already hot on your heels. You barreled into the door leading to the stairwell and almost made it down the first step when he grabbed you around the waist and yanked you back. Despite your struggles, the arm hooked across your middle was unyielding until he pushed you into the corner and crowded you against the wall, hands caging you in from either side. Your heart was racing and you weren’t sure if it was because of your escape attempt or that he was close enough you could smell his body wash and deodorant. It was almost enough to make your head spin.

“Sokka, I-I don’t know why—I’m sorry, please, I shouldn’t’ve—“

“(Y/N),” he said firmly and your mouth snapped shut. “Why did you run away?”

“Uh, I—well, um...” You shrunk down against the wall and swallowed hard. “I-I don’t know.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to respond.”

“Look—“ You paused and stared at him once you processed what he said. “What?”

He laughed, dropping one of his hands to brush against your cheek before threading into your hair to cup the base of your skull. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

With that he surged forwards and kissed you enthusiastically, making you gasp into his mouth. You balled your hands into the front of his shirt to keep yourself steady as you melted into him. His free hand pressed into your lower back to bring you in closer. His tongue slipped out to tease at your bottom lip and he chuckled when you had to quickly grab his shoulders as your knees almost buckled.

“Get that,” he murmured against your lips, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you gasped for air.

“Oh,” you breathed, “that.” You hummed happily when he kissed you again, his stubble scratching against your chin and under your palms when you cupped his face.

You both looked up when a stairwell door somewhere above you slammed open, followed by a group of jostling male voices. Sokka grinned when you glanced at him with wide eyes and shiny, swollen lips. You tried to hide behind him as the clamor bounded closer and closer. The group of guys rounded the next flight and gave shouts of recognition upon seeing you two standing against the wall.

“Sokka!”

“Hey, man!”

“Hey, guys,” Sokka said, holding his hand up in greeting.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, is that (Y/N)?”

“Nice, dude!”

“Ah, yeah...” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and you raised an eyebrow at his turned head. They all cheered and congratulated him, slapping his back as they passed and disappeared down the next set of stairs. When Sokka met your eyes again you cocked your head.

“Who were they?” you asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“Sokka.”

“My reputation precedes me, what can I say?”

“Mine doesn’t.”

“Well—“ he suddenly became very interested in the underside of the stairs above you “—my reputation may or may not involve talking about you. A lot, apparently.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t do it on purpose!” he interjected quickly, taking your hands in his. “It’s just—I dunno, I guess I think about you a lot, so...”

“Oh.”

“Fuck, okay, that sounded weird.” You laughed a little at his embarrassed floundering. “I just mean, like, things that remind me of you or, y’know, stories that involve you...” he trailed off, flushing at your amused smile. “Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Making fun of me!”

“I didn’t say anything,” you giggled, hooking your arms around his neck.

“You’re still laughing at me,” he whined, lips turning into a frown. His hands slipped back down to your waist.

“You’re cute.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Without preamble, he ducked down and hoisted you over his shoulder as you shrieked in protest. “Sokka! Put me down!”

“No can do, baby; we have unfinished business to attend to.” He said as he marched you back in the direction of your room.

“You’re gonna finish my physics homework?”

“Nope.”

Oh.

A/N: 2k words bc, again, i have no self control. thank you for the request!

ATLA TAGS: @hotgirlazula @octophopi @blazedbakugou @protect-remus @akiris @sunflowerazula @wooscottoncandyhair @chewymoustachio @ohno-caroline @sunflowerr-mami @1vitamin @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @u-4iia @nymeria-targaryen @tommy-braccoli @dizzy-miss-lizzieeeeee @a-sloppy-bitch @nomin-rights @siriuslyslyslytherin @starryncn

SOKKA TAGS: @fiantomartell @avatarayeaye @zvkta @sher-lockedmarvel @grandmascottlang @captainshazamerica @yuesallura

#sokka x reader #sokka x you #sokka x y/n #x sokka #sokka fluff #sokka imagine #sokka fic #atla sokka #atla x reader #sokka #mine #requests #atla fic #avatar the last airbender

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years

Text

GOOD STUFF || ANDY BARBER

pairing: Andy Barber x black!reader || word count: 3,798 || warnings: smut, sex, slight degradation, cum play, public sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying kink, praise kink || request: #39 - “they have good stuff down at the farmers market” w/ lawyer daddy Andy

authors note: back on my bullshit with this man. this is the first 4k celebration fic! i actually got this request some time last week when I first reblogged one of the prompt lists. inspiration for the sexy time came from @honeychicanawrites headcanon (🥴🤤 so fucking good), line divider by @firefly-graphics!

You tap your fingernails against the open refrigerator door as you bite the inside of your cheek, your eyes bouncing around. You push a few items around, open the drawers, then move more items around, failing to find anything particularly appetizing. You could order a pizza; or chinese - Andy loves Chinese… but you know he’s been in court all week, his long days turning even longer; he can’t even relax when he’s home. The jury has been out for two days, and he’s worried. A home cooked meal is exactly what he needs.

You close the refrigerator and spin on your heel, grabbing your keys from the table and sling your purse over your shoulder and chest. You smile gently to yourself as you move out into the garage, hearing Andy’s voice in your head. Again? What is it with you and that farmers market?

It’s a short drive to your favorite little market, and within twenty minutes your nose is full of the fresh smell of fruits and vegetables, your fingers wrapped around a small basket. The air is crisp as autumn starts to blow through, the leaves on the trees all burnt oranges and browns, but the breeze is unseasonably warm. You browse slowly, stopping more frequently than not to pick up a ripe tomato, or an ear of corn just to smell them.

You scan through recipes mentally as you move through the large, crowded market picking up a little of everything on your way. Your phone buzzes in your hand, Andy’s name flashing across the front as you turn it over.

“Babe?” You say gently as you lift the sleek phone to your ear. Your stomach drops a little - it’s hours before he’s supposed to be home. The decision is in.

“We won.” Is all he says and you can hear the relief in his voice.

You close your eyes and tilt your head upwards, a smile on your face, “I knew you would baby. I’m so happy for you.”

“Well, you were the only one that knew,” his low chuckle rumbles in your ear, “I need to get the fuck out of here before I pull my hair out.”

“I’m at the store, so I’ll meet you at the house.”

He pauses, “Again?”

“What do you mean again?” you laugh, “I haven’t been to the store this week.”

“I know you better than that, you’re at the damn market again.”

You laugh, “They have good stuff down at the farmers market.”

You can practically hear his eyes roll, “I’ll meet you there in twenty.”

“No, babe, just go home and take a nice long shower.” You start, smiling as you pass a twenty to the young girl at the stand, “Get in your sweats - just relax. You can turn on some stupid Eddie Murphy movie and fall asleep with your hand down your pants and I won’t even complain.” His laugh travels through your ears and you can’t help but smile, “You deserve it.”

You can hear the soft click of his briefcase in the background, his steps against the marble floors of the courthouse, “I’ll meet you in twenty. Love you.”

The phone clicks before you can get out another word. You shake your head but smile as you slide the phone into your purse and start to move towards the front, to wait for him.

Andy Barber is nothing but punctual. Twenty minutes on the dot you spot his black Audi pulling into the parking lot and another smile spreads on your face. You continue to watch as he emerges from the front seat, pulling off his suit jacket and throwing it in the back seat before he slides his sunglasses over his eyes. He moves around the back of the car, undoing his cufflinks and rolling his sleeves up his forearms as he walks.

Your core tightens as you look him up and down, having to take a deep breath and expel it out of your nostrils to combat the sudden heat that flushes through your body. Your smile widens when he lifts his head and smirks at you, wiggling his eyebrows as he approaches.

He reaches for you, holding out his large hand and without thinking, you slide your smaller palm into his, letting him pull you into his hard body, “Hey baby.” His voice is deep, slow - tired.

You squeeze him, letting out another deep breath, “Hey, you.” You lean back after a few seconds, cupping his face in your palm as your eyes move around his face, “You look tired.”

He nods slowly, running his hand through his hair before he smiles softly at you again, “Nothing I can’t handle. Come on.”

“Lynn is going to give you a break, right? Is she gonna give some stuff to Neal for a change?”

He cuts his eyes at you at the sound of his name, “Not if anything big comes along, but yeah, she will.”

He links his fingers with yours, holding your hand tight as the two of you start to move down the aisle of the market. The breeze whips around you as the two of you make small talk, you careful not to bring up the case unless he does. You know it’s the last thing he wants to talk about. Taking your cues from him, you watch him out of the corner of your eye as he pokes and prods at random pieces of fruit. You run your hand up and down his long arm, up over his shoulder and massage the back of his neck as he pays for some blueberries, popping a few into his mouth as you laugh.

“I told you not to do that,” you giggle, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his back, “You need to wash them first.”

He shrugs and thanks the older woman before he pulls you around his body, tucking you into his side as he throws his arm over your shoulder. He kisses your forehead, “You look cute today.”

You laugh again, “Don’t ignore me, you can get sick from doing that, Andy!” He tickles the back of your exposed thigh, making you jump and squeal, giggles falling from your lips, “Andrew Barber!”

“That’s my name, you can totally wear it out.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh again, rolling your eyes, “What a fuckin’ nerd.”

“I’m a nerd because I like hearing you scream my name?” He asks seriously, stopping in front of you.

Your mouth drops open as your eyes widen, “Shhh!” you hiss, looking around, “Keep your voice down!”

He wraps you back up in his arms, pushing his chest and crotch into you, “Okay,” he whispers, “I’m gonna fuck you into the mattress when we get home.”

His words suck the air right out of your lungs. Your lips part as you blink back at him, your face hot, your legs turning to jelly at just the thought. You inhale sharply, a dumbstruck look on your face as your mind goes blank. He laughs at you, “Cat got your tongue, baby?”

“Andy,” Is all you can mutter.

He sucks his teeth, glancing over the top of your head as he sneaks his hand up into your skirt, palming your ass, making you gasp, “I haven’t fucked you all week. I’m horny, my cock misses you.” He purrs into your ear, gently swaying the two of you back and forth.

You exhale hard. Your eyes skirt around the market as your heart starts to beat faster, the blood rushing in your ears. He pinches your ass, then slides his hand slowly around your hip before he cups your sex, his fingers rubbing your slit through your panties.

The air chokes in your throat. You hear him grunt softly as your panties start to stick to your skin. He chuckles before he leans down to kiss your lips, “Such a responsive girl. Come, let’s get you home, hm?”

He grabs your hand, linking your fingers with his as he takes a few steps, “Better yet,” he says, bopping your nose with his index finger before he grabs your wrist and starts to pull you through the aisles in the opposite direction.

You follow behind him, almost having to jog to keep up with his long gait. He pulls you out of the small market and crosses the street, looking both ways as you run behind a few moving cars. He pulls you between two office buildings, stopping and turning suddenly to grab your face and crash his lips to yours. You drop the bags carrying your food around your feet, moaning into his mouth as you squeeze his sides.

He backs you into the brick building behind you, lifting your leg by your thigh and throwing it over his hip. You can’t object - you can’t find the words. You just wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing him to you as he nips at your neck, right underneath your jaw - just how you like it. You tilt your head towards the sky, grunting softly as you arch your back from the wall, pushing your hips into his.

He grips your thigh tight, his wedding ring pressing into your skin - searing your flesh. He bites down into the crook of your neck and you jump from the sudden pain, your mouth falling open, a sharp moan slipping from your lips. He chuckles, deeply, slowly, into your ear as he runs his fingers over your pussy, palming your hot sex through your underwear, “You like that, baby?”

He leans back, his blue eyes bouncing back and forth between your dark eyes as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. He circles your clit, pressing the pads of his fingers against your heat. You roll your hips into his hand as you pant heavily, trying to keep your eyes linked with his. You have to sink your teeth into your own lip to stop yourself from getting loud - and he loves it. He loves doing this to you in the worst places.

He grabs your lips with his again, kissing you hard - his velvet tongue sweeping over your lip and the roof of your mouth as he finally pushes your panties to the side, “Andy-” you hiss, sucking in air as he pushes his fingers through your sticky folds, “Fuck, Andy.”

“Can you be a quiet girl? Hmm?” He asks softly, turning his head slightly to glance towards the sidewalk, “Can you be good for me?”

You nod quickly, completely out of breath and nearly vibrating from the lust pooling in your stomach, “Yes.” You whisper hard.

You drop your eyes to his crotch, watching as his hands start to undo his belt and pop the button of his expensive slacks. You whine audibly - digging your fingers into his shoulders in anticipation of that pretty cock. He pulls himself free and you could melt into a puddle. He’s hard, and long - thick - his tip shiny and wet from the droplets of precum that have dribbled out. He wraps his hand around his girth, stroking himself slowly - from his base to the tip, sweeping his fingers over his slit.

“Andy,” you beg, pushing your hips into him, wanting to feel him spread you open, “Please, baby.”

He smiles.

He slips his cock through your folds, rubbing your clit with his tip before he pushes at your opening. He flicks his eyes up to you and rests his forehead against yours - his lips brushing over your swollen lips, “You gonna be a quiet girl?”

“Yes!”

He licks your lips with his hot tongue, “Good girl.”

He pushes slowly and you help - sinking down onto his thick cock - letting him spread your tight, wet muscles. Your eyes flutter - your mouth drops open as he occupies your depth, filling you right up. You wrap your arms around his neck again as he nuzzles into the side of your face, his soft beard rubbing against your cheek, adding to your desire. You dig your fingers into his hair, grabbing a handful to gip as he starts to move, pulling completely out of your cunt before he delves back in.

You can’t help the moans that fall from your lips and fill the air as his hips push you slightly up the wall. You keep your leg thrown over his hip as he fucks into you, one of his hands around your throat, the other flattened on the bricks to hold his weight. He pushes the tip of his thumb into your mouth, and you bite down before you push your tongue along it, inviting him to shove the rest of it in so you can suck on it.

“You are such a good girl,” he grunts into your ear, nibbling and pulling on your earlobe.

Your heart jumps into your throat at the praise, your chest swelling with pride. You are such a good girl. He continues to pound his hips into yours, bouncing you up and down on his dick as he lifts your hand, his fingers playing with the big, shiny rock on your finger. He kisses it before shoving your fingers into his mouth, a thick, heavy moan scratching at the back of his throat.

A shiver runs the length of your spine as his tongue swirls around your thin digits, his hips still digging into yours. Your slick muscles start to squeak from the wetness; from his warmth pushing and pulling from you, filling every inch of space your sweet pussy has to offer. You can feel your arousal slipping down the inside of your thigh, thick and warm, a mixture of your slick and his seed.

Andy pushes deep inside of you, halting his hard rhythm to wiggle his hips slowly, wanting to go deeper - to feel every part of you. He leans back again, his eyelids low as he watches you squirm. A slow smirk covers his mouth as he pumps his hips just once, pushing deep again, “Do I feel good?”

His voice is husky - full and silky as he teases you. You nod as your head swims, your stomach and chest tight, your clit swollen and achy, begging to be touched. You writhe, pushing your tits and hard nipples into his chest and roll your hips, catching the faintest touch of his pants against your bundle of nerves, making you shiver again. He slams into you unexpectedly and you squeal, digging your nails into his bare forearm.

“I asked you a question,” he murmurs, his words slightly slurred as his own arousal gets the best of him, “Do I feel good to you, baby?”

“You know you do, Andy, baby,” you groan, rolling your hips again, “S’good.”

He slips his hand down your body and between your legs, pushing his fingers against your clit and begins to rub you slowly, his eyes staying on yours, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “You like being my little whore, don’t you baby girl? Hmm?”

You grunt at the words. Your body tenses as your lust and need of him unfurls in your stomach. This man - this reticent, straight-laced, uptight man turns into the absolute devil at the sight of you - and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Gone are the eloquent speeches he laces together on almost a whim to charm and convince his jury. All that’s left are the dirty, lush, hot words that strike you to your core. It must be the Gemini in him.

You pull your hips back, his cock sliding out of you before you roll back onto him, pushing that fat cock back in, “I love being your whore.” You whisper, biting your lip just as the last word slips between your teeth.

He shutters. You feel it roll through him and you can’t help but smile. You love this little game.

Andy hisses as he pulls out of you slowly and jams himself back in, nipping at your mouth with his as he starts his pace again. His fingers continue to push against your clit, rough and quick as your octave starts to rise. He stops suddenly, shaking his head as he places his index finger to his lips, “Be a quiet girl.” He reminds you, his voice hushed, “Or you won’t get anymore.”

You sink your teeth into your lip again and nod frantically, urging him to move. You wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders, pulling his chest into yours and slam your eyes closed as he sends you on a journey. He fucks into you hard and fast, grunting and growling in your ear as your cunt tightens around him.

“Fuckin’ hell, girl,” he mutters, his chest tight, his large palm gripping and pinching your thigh.

You slam your hand over your mouth to muffle your cries as shockwaves start to roll through you. Each pulse of your orgasm gets harder and more intense, your legs shaking, your hips jerking into his as it washes over you. Your choked mewls fill the small area between the two buildings that shield you from view as you arch your back away from the wall, pushing your thick nipples into his hard chest.

“You want my cum, baby? Hmm?” He asks, his voice strained, “You crave my cum, don’t you girl? That’s right,” he breathes, “You love my cum.”

It isn’t long after that - the convulsions of your heat, the slick of your femininity - coax his untethering. His strokes punctuate each spit of his cock, his thick, silky cum filling you up to the very brim. He grunts, low and deep - scratchy - as his dick jumps inside of you, giving you every ounce of him. He slips out of you seconds later and falls to his knees, pulling your short, flowy skirt up to your waist.

He pulls your panties down, leaving them in the middle of your thighs before he pushes your legs open as wide as they can go. He grabs your arms and wraps them over your stomach, holding your wrists in one of his hands, pushing them into you to keep you still as the other hand slips through your folds. You squeeze your muscles tight, wanting to keep every drip of him inside but it trickles out, running down your thigh.

“Aww baby,” he coos, flicking his eyes up to yours, “That pretty little pussy is so full! You need me to help you keep it all in, don’t you? You always need daddy’s help.”

You whimper, pushing your hips into his face as he drags his fingers up your thigh, collecting his cum, pushing it back up to your messy pussy. He shoves his thick fingers into you, groaning loudly as you tense and jump - still sensitive, still reeling from your shattering orgasm. He pumps his fingers inside of you, staring at your wet, sticky, puffy cunt, sucking his teeth and moaning all the while.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” he praises, still holding your arms tight so you can’t move, “You are such a good girl, taking my cum like that. I love how well you take my cum.”

You pant hard, your face breaking as emotion starts to roll down your cheeks. You cry softly as he fingers your delicate, sore cunt, pushing his cum back inside of you. You start to shiver, whimpering and crying as you rest your head against the wall, tilting your head towards the sky. It feels so good to be so full of him - his fingers, his cum - it just feels so damn good.

His tongue skirts across your clit and you sob, your body jerking at the sudden spark of electricity that flashes through you, “Oh my god,” you cry, “Andy.”

He sucks your clit into his mouth, sucking hard before he pulls away with a loud smack - moaning as he watches his fingers plunge in and out of you, “You’ve earned this baby girl,” he says softly, “For being such a good girl while I was working. I hate neglecting you.” He moans again as he pushes his face into your sex, sucking your flesh back into his mouth before he pulls away again, “You are my favorite girl in the whole world.”

You cum again within minutes, all over his fingers and face, his soft hums vibrating through you as he laps it up. Your legs are jelly as he kisses the insides of your thighs and down to your knee as he continues pushing his fingers in and out of you, curling them gently, massaging your taut muscles.

He thumbs your clit as he peppers kisses up and down your leg. Your clit stings from the stimulation, your heart pounds in your chest - the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears. When he knows you’ve had enough, when you can barely stand any longer, he pulls his fingers from you. He kisses your swollen cunt sweetly before he stands and pulls you into his chest, wrapping his arms around your body.

He hugs you tightly, his large hands sweeping up and down your back, “I love you so much,” he whispers softly, dropping kisses along your forehead and cheeks, over your nose, in the corners of your mouth, “I love you so, so much. You know that, right? I can’t ever get enough of you, baby.”

You ball his shirt in your hand as he lifts you from your feet, wrapping your legs around his waist. You’re a crying mess - unable to verbalize your love for him, but you know that he just knows. He holds you tight, rubbing your back slowly as you nuzzle into his neck. He only sits you back on your feet once you’ve calmed down, hovering over you, his thumbs wiping at your cheeks to remove the wetness of your tears. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you gently, purring as a smile tugs at his lips.

“Your lips are always so soft after you cry.”

You smile soft, your eyes still closed as you run your hands up and down his veiny, hairy forearms - still grounding yourself, “Yours are always soft.”

He smiles, warm and gentle, making you swoon like you were back in college, laying eyes on him for the very first time. He pushes his hands along the sides of your face again, both of his thumbs brushing over your plump lips, “Let me drive you home.”

“I’m fine,” you giggle, “Just grab the bags for me, please.”

“I don’t want you driving.” He brings your hand to his lips, kissing the backs of your fingers, “I’ll come get your car later. Come.”

His tone is stern. You know better than to argue with the best district attorney in all of Massachusetts.

#andy barber #andy barber smut #andy barber x black!reader #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #you x andy barber #defending jacob #defending jacob fanfiction #defending jacob smut #brittanys4k

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okay-j-hannah · 3 years

Text

Tactless

Harry Potter : Prompt

Fred x Reader

Word Count: 3082

Warnings: heckidy heck heck it’s just so tender 😭

Request: “Omg your Fred Weasley x reader fics are SO GOOD. Could you please write a Fred x Reader with prompts 18 and 38? Set when they’re still at Hogwarts if that’s okay. Thank you xx” @bnha-sero-hanta

Prompts:

18. “Yes, it’s a questionable line of work, but I’m good at it.”

38. “I guess I was wrong about you. You’re not so bad after all.”

A/N: Freddie has not been himself lately, and every time you meet something horribly embarrassing happens; what could possibly be making him so shy?

“Isn’t there a way for them to be more discrete about all that inventing nonsense?” (Y/N) questioned, trying to keep her attention on the essay in front of her.

Ginny looked over her shoulder to see her twin brothers broadcasting to a hoard of first years. It made her grimace and return to her quill and ink, “They’re just excited about the joke shop. I don’t blame them – we all want to make a little extra money.”

(Y/N) peered over to see them passing out toffees and sickles to the children, “Experimenting on innocents.”

“Why are you so against them building their career?” Ginny asked her, pushing her parchment aside, “They’re not hurting anyone.”

“Until they do.”

The first years stood around the stocky brothers, watching them explain how their candy worked. (Y/N) slumped in her seat, observing, and biting the inside of her cheek. She may be Ginny’s friend, but that doesn’t mean she has to agree with everything her siblings did.

“Hey, Weasley!” she yelled over, snorting when Fred popped a toffee into his mouth for demonstration.

The twins looked up and it was plain to see the slight fear that entered Fred’s face, his eyes widening. George was holding a bin to his side as he called back, “Yeah?”

“Do you always get children to do your bidding?” She crossed her arms and Fred’s face became pale at her staring at him, before he clutched at George’s bin and raised it to his face. He immediately started to vomit violently.

The first years all reacted audibly, taking several steps back; (Y/N) made a disgusted face, forcing out a scoff.

George thrusted a purple candy into his brother’s hand, evidently frantic to get him out of this awkward situation. And after Fred finished retching in the bin, he returned a strained look towards (Y/N), wiping his lip.

Ginny shook her head, “Tactless,” rolling her eyes.

“Puking Pastilles,” Fred mumbled towards her, swallowing hard, “A – A way to get out of class.”

“Oh, good,” (Y/N) replied, “And subjecting kiddies to this… vomiting exercise, will prove what? That they work?”

It appeared that Fred was lost for words; he may have been cured of the pastille, but he still looked pale and on the verge of being sick again.

“That they work for everyone,” George stated for him, “We’ve… we’ve only tested them on ourselves.”

“Well, I think exhibit A is enough,” she gestured towards Fred as the surrounding first years began returning the candies and sickles. “Joke’s on you, I guess.”

Ginny opened her mouth and smiled at her friend, “Ouch.”

The twins appeared defeated as their testing crowd dispersed. (Y/N) simply returned to her essay and laughed, “No witty comebacks this time.” She raised her eyebrows and felt Ginny’s gaze on her, “What?”

“Nothing,” she muttered, somewhat smiling, “You like to pick on my brothers a lot. I’ve never seen anyone shut them up quite like you do.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

Ginny nodded slowly and then whispered, “One might think you have an effect on them.”

“What?” (Y/N) set down her quill, splotching her last sentence, “You better be about to say that the only effect I have is in jostling their brains into a little common sense.”

A shrug was what she got in return, “I don’t know… you’re doing something though.” She nudged her head to what was behind her shoulder.

When (Y/N) looked, she noticed that Fred was still staring at her, ashen faced, but he promptly turned his head as George cleared the vomit from the bin with his wand.

“That’s not weird at all.”

It was Ginny’s turn to raise her eyebrows and laugh.

They continued with their homework until lunch where they walked to the Great Hall together, Ginny still acting peculiar about the events that occurred in the common room. It was like she couldn’t start any new topic that didn’t involve Fred’s name in the mix.

By the time they sat at the Gryffindor table, she was starting to get fed up, “Why does it matter so much that I support this joke shop? It’s a reckless line of work that doesn’t guarantee a steady income or good reputation.”

Ginny still avoided answering the complete question, “I can’t have you arguing with my family every time we’re hanging out.” She forked some potatoes as (Y/N) turned full body to her, squinting her eyes.

“You’re not telling me something.”

“What makes you say that?”

(Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek, “You’ve been bringing up your family all day, specifically the twins. Have I offended them in some way? Is your mum disowning me from Christmas dinner?”

“No, no,” she replied, trying to put less suspicion in her tone of voice, “I just… I can’t outright tell you. It’s kind of a special request.”

(Y/N) pushed her plate away, “You’re doing one hell of a job; no one suspects you at all.”

“I never claimed to be a good liar,” she snickered, urging her friend to eat something before quidditch practice. “Just that I have someone’s back in putting a good word in for them.”

“As in… there’s someone that wants to get on my good side?” She observed a platter of gingerbread cakes, selecting a particularly golden brown one.

Ginny took a sip of her pumpkin juice to give herself some time, “Maybe a little further than your good side.”

Taking a bite of the cake, (Y/N) licked her lips of the orange marmalade, “You’ve basically told me already, just give me a name.”

“You’re not gonna like it,” she smiled, giving her friend the eye, until her brows contorted. “(Y/N) – you’re bleeding.”

“Hm?” she swallowed another bite of cake and then felt a dribble run down, over her lips, “What the…”

A voice came running towards them, “No! Don’t eat the gingerbread – oh…” Fred appeared on their side of the bench, his eyes widening at the sight before him, “(Y/N) …”

She clamped a hand over her nose as a continuous stream of blood came flooding through her fingers. Ginny gasped at the realization of what was happening, standing, and pushing her brother.

“Give her the antidote!”

Fred fumbled with his pockets, stuttering, as George ran up behind him, “I’m… oh God – (Y/N) … I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t reply as she tried to stunt the bleeding with nearby napkins. Ginny pulled her hair back as George folded his arms and bit one of his nails.

“The marmalade,” Fred tried to continue, “It… it was another test.”

(Y/N) gave him a narrowed look, “You couldn’t get volunteers, so you decided to plant traps for unsuspecting students?” She sounded clogged up and numb.

Fred tried to unwrap a purple end of a sweet, accidentally dropping it in the process. (Y/N) slapped a hand on her knee in impatience as the blood began dripping off her chin and onto her shirt. Her insides boiled at the complete disregard of consideration.

But she couldn’t help but see the blush threading itself up his neck and to the tips of his ears. It was making his freckles stand out and the terrified look in his gaze. Fred Weasley never looked terrified. He always had a smirk on his face, his eyes were always smiling, and his hands never shook like that.

“Here, take this,” he mumbled, dusting off the purple candy from being on the floor, “It’ll make the bleeding stop.”

She gave him a skeptical look, “Forgive me for seeing that as questionable.”

He swallowed hard, holding the candy out further, “Yes, it’s a questionable line of work, but I’m good at it.”

(Y/N) resigned and stuffed the purple end in her mouth, feeling sudden clarity in her nose. The stream of blood now came in a slow trickle.

“Better?” Fred asked – and his face looked exceptionally genuine. The slant of his brow made her hesitate.

“Yes.” It came out more like a question than a statement, “Thank you.”

He nodded and tried at a painful smile, “I’m sorry about that.”

Ginny punched him in the shoulder, “You should be! My God, what was that?”

“Nosebleed Nougat,” George answered, clearly peering at his brother with the same concern and confusion that (Y/N) was. “Another joke sweet to…”

“Get students out of class,” (Y/N) finished, continuing to wipe her nose. “I still don’t agree with it, you know. And this…” she pointed at the gingerbread cakes, “Is not helping your case.”

Fred looked down at his shoes, “I’m sorry.”

“(Y/N),” Ginny smacked her friend’s shoulder, “Oliver’s calling the team over.”

Oliver Wood, the quidditch captain, was talking to Angelina, Katie, and Harry by the entrance hall. George pulled on his brothers arm, snapping him out of whatever trance distracted him. It looked like he wanted to say something else, maybe apologize further, but George yanked him away, talking to him in hushed tones.

“What is it with your brothers today?” She looked in the back of her water goblet to make sure all the blood was off her nose, “I feel like we’re just meeting under the worst circumstances today.”

“Tell me about it,” Ginny sighed, running a hand through her hair, “I can only do so much.”

(Y/N) stood to meet the team, but paused, “So one of your brothers wants to be on my good side.”

She sucked in her lips and gave her friend a sympathetic gaze, “I did my best, but they’re not exactly pulling their weight.”

“Okay, okay…” (Y/N) muttered, hands on her hips, “So one of the twins wants to… get closer to me – is that how you put it? Which one is it then?”

“Nope, I’m done meddling with other peoples relationships.” Ginny put up her hands, “You need to get to quidditch practice, and I need to finish Flitwick’s essay.”

“I can’t believe that one of your brothers likes me,” (Y/N) suddenly said, awe in her tone. “I’m completely horrible to them.” Ginny shrugged, forcing (Y/N) to continue on with her side of things, “There’s no way… is that why they’re always acting different around me?”

“(Y/N)!” came Oliver’s voice, “If we lose the game with Ravenclaw I’m going to blame your lack of participation in practice.”

She whined under her breath, “We are talking when I get back tonight.”

Ginny put a treacle tart in her mouth before waving and leaving the Great Hall. (Y/N) proceeded to follow the rest of the team down to the quidditch pitch, all along the way noticing how Fred and George appeared to be fighting with each other as they walked.

The pitch was cloudy with a slight breeze and there was still some tension between the twins. Oliver quickly noticed and tried to intimidate the distraction out of them. (Y/N) stayed quiet, observing from a distance, still questioning which one of the brothers supposedly liked her. It still baffled her how it could be possible with how much they argued, especially over something big like their career choice.

“Pull your act together, guys,” Oliver retorted, “We have to beat Ravenclaw with a fifty point lead if we want a shot at the cup.”

Fred shoved George away and laughed, tripping over something. (Y/N) came slowly behind them, finding that something had fallen out of George’s pocket while being pushed. It was a cracked vial of a greenish substance.

“Hey, you dropped something!” she called out, bending over to reach the bottle.

She saw out of the corner of her eye that the twins stopped at the sound of her voice. When they noticed what she was picking up there was panic immediate in their voices.

“(Y/N), don’t touch that!”

But she’d already gotten some of the liquid seeping from the cracked glass onto her fingers. They immediately started burning and bubbling.

“Ah! What is this?” She dropped the vial and tried to rub her fingertips clean, only to spread it onto the rest of her hands. Large angry boils were sprouting from her skin, red and painful.

“It’s undiluted bubotuber pus,” George yelled as they reached her frantic figure. “We were gonna use it for…”

“Nevermind that,” (Y/N) cried, now rubbing her sizzling hands onto her quidditch robes, “How do I make it stop?” She was starting to feel her eyes water with the rising pain.

Fred began his stuttering again, his hands shaking worse than they had at lunch, “You… we have to see Madam Pomfrey.”

Oliver came running over, clear frustration in his gaze, “And why, may I ask, are you three huddled over here ignoring practice?”

“(Y/N) got bubotuber pus on her hands,” Fred stated, helping the girl to her feet, “We need to take her to the hospital wing.”

“No, we can manage practice with only one beater, not zero. You take her; George can stay with the rest of the team. Get that sorted out, (Y/N), preferably before our match this weekend.”

Fred tried to steady his hands as he led the way back to the castle, “(Y/N) … I don’t know what to say.”

She attempted to hide the whimper that wanted to escape, cradling her boil covered hands. It was her turn to remain quiet.

“Everything keeps going wrong today,” he continued, watching her closely from his stance beside her. “I’m so sorry. I want to make it – it right, but…”

“Why won’t they stop burning?” she mumbled, clearly not listening as well as she could be.

Fred frowned, sympathy heavy in his face as he hesitantly, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Madam Pomfrey can fix it – George and I have been through the same thing.”

She now couldn’t help the tears that were starting to pool in her eyes, her hands were absolutely killing her.

“You’re going to be alright,” he said quietly, keeping his hand on her back, “You know I really am sorry. You were never supposed to get in the mix of all the experiments.”

They made a steady pace down the corridor and into the hospital wing, getting Madam Pomfrey’s attention quickly. She grabbed a number of potion as Fred led (Y/N) to a bed.

“They’ll feel a lot better after this,” Fred stated, taking a seat beside her, but sitting stick straight and staring at her injured hands.

A tear or two finally leaked onto her cheeks and Fred was itching to comfort her in some way, “Oh, (Y/N) don’t cry! I – this is all my fault.”

She sniffed and tried not to move her hands as she shifted to address Fred.

“You know, I thought you were a complete ass just this morning. But I’ve never seen this side of you.”

He timidly shrugged his shoulders and finally met her eyes, “It seems to only happen when I’m around you.”

(Y/N) started to nod her head, feeling the tears leave uncomfortable tracks down her face. She gave a watery smile and tried to wipe her cheeks on her shoulder.

“Here,” he muttered as he grabbed a handkerchief off the nightstand and held it to her face, “I’ve got it, if that’s okay.”

She gave him a look and contemplated. She noticed that familiar blush creeping up his neck, complimenting his freckles. His eyes became downcast again as he caught her looking at him.

“Sure, thank you.”

It seemed he wasn’t expecting that, but he reached over and wiped away the tear tracks as she peered at him doing so. She could visibly see him swallow hard, that slight fear inching its way onto his features.

“Are you alright?” she asked. “You look a little pink.” She couldn’t help but smirk a little.

Fred licked his lips, “Y-Yeah, you’re just… nevermind.”

“No, you have to tell me!” she smiled despite the pain. “I’ve been trying to figure you out all day and I’m not gonna believe Ginny until you outright say it.”

He flashed his eyes to her, “Ginny told you?”

“I don’t know… what was she supposed to not tell me?”

He turned his gaze to her pulsating hands and shook his head slightly, “You… you have a beautiful smile.” He didn’t wait for a response before he put his face in his hands, “I’m sorry, I know you hate me and what I do. I just… I shouldn’t have said anything.”

There was a major silence between them for a while. Fred subtly scooted away from her bed, intertwining his fingers on his lap. (Y/N) waited as Madam Pomfrey came hurriedly over to apply medicine and bandages to her hands. She felt immensely better afterwards but wished that Fred did too.

He looked like he was really beating himself up over it. It was like his cheeks were permanently stained pink.

“You know what, Fred,” she finally said after the long awkward silence, “I guess I was wrong about you. You’re not so bad after all.”

He could’ve snapped his neck with how fast he turned to look at her, “What?”

“How about this… if you stop experimenting your joke products on first years, then you can take me out in Hogsmeade.”

“But… but I vomited in front of you.”

She nodded her head and admired her bandages.

“And I gave you a nosebleed.”

“Yes, you did.”

“And I got undiluted bubotuber pus on your hands – I put you through pain!”

She raised her eyebrows at him, “Your point being?”

He finally cracked the first smile of the day, “You have every right to hate me. I messed everything up! I should have no chance with you.”

“Just because a few pranks go awry doesn’t mean it’s impossible for us to get along. Be something.”

“Why… why this sudden change of heart?” he was wringing his hands in anticipation, obviously never dreaming this moment would ever happen.

She bit her lip, “I think, for the first time, I’m actually seeing you. The one behind the Weasley twin persona.” That made him smile wider as she added, “I think I like him a lot more than the trivial prankster.”

“You like him?” he practically whispered.

“Now that I think about it,” she hummed, “I may have been a tiny bit in denial.”

The look on his face was almost comical – he appeared to be straining to not smile so broadly, “If you didn’t have mitts for hands, I would very much like to hold one right now.”

She laughed, something that pulled that grin out of him, “Keep it up, Weasley. We’re getting on the right track.”

~~~

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hold-me-sickfics · 3 years

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14 Days: J-Hope (Part 1)

Aaaaaand we’re at J-Hope! I had to split this fic into two parts because I wanted to do an injury/hospital and then a “back at home recovering.” Huge thank you to @thatoneemokpop-02 for the help on ideas and proofreading and all the support! (BTW: thanks to them, there will be a few major fluffy and sweet moments in part two!)

TW: Emeto, injury (broken bones), fainting, hospital, anxiety/panic attack, food (if there are any I missed, please let me know!)

Prompt: Dance practice has been grueling. Every day, Hoseok has been in the studio practicing from 6:30 a.m. till around 8:00 p.m. at night. The others tell him it’s too much, but he insists that he’s just going over the routines on video for part of it, and that he’s taking breaks regularly. The members all know that Hoseok is overworking himself, but they can’t keep him from it. But what happens when Hoseok finally pushes himself over the edge, and makes a mistake? The kind that might keep him off his feet for a couple weeks…

“Is he home yet?” Namjoon came into the apartment and closed the door. The air outside was frigid, so he was glad he’d worn a thick coat.

“Nope. Won’t even answer his phone.” Jin tapped away at the keypad, dialing Hoseok’s number again.

A couple seconds later, Jin turned the phone to face Namjoon and put it on speaker.

“We’re sorry. Your call could not be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try again.” The dial tone started up once again. Jin hit the end call button and placed the phone on the counter.

“I can’t believe this. He swore he’d be home by 8:00.” Namjoon sat down and placed his face in his hands. “He’s gonna hurt himself Jin. He’s putting too much stress on his body and I don’t know if he even cares. He’s so consumed with perfecting those routines that he’s pushing himself too hard.”

Jin brought over a mug of coffee.

“I know. I wish he’d take a break, but the best thing is just to wait until he perfects it and calms down on his own.”

Before Namjoon finished his coffee, Hoseok half-stumbled through the door.

“I thought you were gonna be home by 8.” Namjoon took another sip.

“Sorry. Just wanted to do one more run through.”

“It’s 11:30 at night Hoseok. You’ve gotta stop.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m alright. See?” Hoseok straightened up and showed the others that he was alright.

“I’m not gonna let you run yourself into the ground like this! What if you get hurt?” Namjoon didn’t mean to raise his voice, he just felt so worried that he couldn’t help himself.

“Easy Joon. I think he gets it.” Jin looked the dancer over.

“Hobi, are you alright? You look really pale.” Jin touched his palm to Hoseok’s face.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Hobi looked at Namjoon weakly.

“Hobi, I’m sorry. I’m sorry okay? I just… I worry. Jungkook just got stitches put in a couple months ago, and he’s just now back. I don’t want anything to happen to you or any of us for that matter.”

“It’s alright Joon.” Hoseok half-smiled to show him that it was okay. “I’m just gonna go to sleep. I think I need rest more than anything. Goodnight guys.” Hoseok got up slowly and went to his room.

“I’m really worried Jin.” Namjoon took the last sip of coffee, and then placed the mug in the sink.

“I am too. But, there isn’t anything we can do right now. Honestly, Joon you need to rest yourself. You’ve got that Zoom meeting with BigHit in the morning and you look like you’ve been up for days.” Jin rubbed his back.

“Maybe you’re right.”

Jin and Namjoon prepared for bed, but little did they know, Hoseok was in a lot more pain than he let on.

Hoseok could feel each muscle in his body just aching- aching like they had been put through a ringer and then put back in him. He refused to take any pain meds, and just hoped that a hot shower and a good night’s rest would help.

Well, 5:00 a.m. came, and Hoseok couldn’t believe it, but he felt even worse. He decided to leave the house and head to the studio before the others were up so they wouldn’t ask questions. He did stop and grab breakfast at a local McDonald’s before he started up, but he would soon realize that the buttery biscuit and crisp bacon with a coffee and an orange juice would come back to bite him.

He reached the studio, and proceeded to start the music and jump right into the routine he’d been practicing the night before. He really, really should have stretched.

“Light! It! Up! Like! Dynamite!”

Hoseok kept getting stuck at the part where he had to move his feet quickly and get back in formation. He decided to run it again, and try to get it right this time.

“Light! It! Up! Like-“

And everything went black…

“Hoseok! Hoseok? Hey can you hear us?”

Hoseok awoke to staff members standing all around him. Two of them were on the phone, three were from the med staff, there were six standing around talking to office staff, and there were two… oh no.

“He’s not responding to it. Hoseok, can you move your toes?”

“No no no…” Hoseok started crying. He knew what he’d done, and he was about to be paying for it.

“Okay its alright, we’re calling the paramedics.”

“I’m gonna puke-“ Hoseok turned to the side, and threw up everything he’d had for breakfast. He didn’t realize how much he’d eaten until it was all splattered out in front of him.

Then, he heard one of the staff speaking.

“Yeah, he’s awake. We’ll send a car over to pick you guys up. I don’t know how bad the break is. He can’t move his toes. It doesn’t look good.”

He must be talking to the other members. Hoseok knew he was about to be in huge trouble, but at least he’d have the others to comfort him. Now that the initial shock was over, the pain was setting in… and it hurt… bad.

“Ah aghhhh,” Hoseok turned his head to the side hoping that not seeing his leg would ease the pain. It did a little, but not enough.

“Hoseok, the paramedics are here. Just breathe, we’re gonna take you to the hospital.” Hoseok nodded in response to the staff member’s words.

It didn’t take long for Hoseok to get admitted into the ER triage room. His blood pressure was skyrocketed, he was physically exhausted, his body was extremely lacking in vitamins and he was dehydrated, and oh yeah, his right leg was broken in two places. The first place was a hairline fracture in his femur, and the second was a full break in his right ankle.

Hoseok had gotten lucky. The hairline fracture would take 4 months to heal, but it would be able to recover completely. The ankle breakage would require Hoseok to be in a wheelchair for at least six weeks, then, they’d consider switching him to crutches. Hoseok was heartbroken, and due to traffic, he had to hear the news alone…

The medical staff had to put Hoseok on some pretty high anxiety medications to help him calm down. His blood pressure was nearly back to normal, but he was also relatively knocked out. As expected, when the boys showed up, Yoongi was the first to bust through the door.

“Hobi!” He rushed to the boy’s side.

“Dang it Jung Hoseok…” Yoongi’s eyes flooded with tears. Yoongi kissed his hand, and held it close to his chest.

The doctor filled Namjoon in on the condition of their injured bandmate. Namjoon just nodded and joined the others in the recovery room.

A nurse came in and turned down the dial on Hoseok’s IV.

“Hi guys, I’m gonna go ahead and wake him up. If he’s still too panicky, we’ll have to try something different. I think the whole incident traumatized him a bit. Try to help him stay calm. No raising voices or talking about difficult topics if you can.”

Hoseok woke up slowly, and his heart began racing again.

“Hey, hey easy baby, it’s alright. Easy Hobi…” Yoongi held Hoseok’s hand with one of his own, and used the other to sweep Hoseok’s sweaty locks back off of his forehead.

“Hmmmm, hmmm…” Hoseok uttered shaky whimpers. “Yoon-Yoongi? I- I-“ Hoseok’s breathing sped up, and then he gagged. Hoseok was known for his tendency to throw up under scary situations.

The nurse held a small plastic bag under Hoseok’s chin.

“Here, may I?” Yoongi asked, standing up.

“Sure,” the nurse handed the bag over, and moved over to Hoseok’s other side.

“It’s okay, hey remember what we practiced? Hm? Look at me baby. Count to five for me. One, two..”

“T-th-three..” Yoongi relaxed as Hoseok started to count with him.

“Good job bud, okay now tell me what is something you can see right now?”

“Y-you.”

“Right. What’s something you smell?”

“Your c-cologne.”

“Which one?” Yoongi thumbed Hoseok’s hand.

“T-the one I bought you.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s good babe. That’s good. What’s something you can feel?”

“You.”

“Good. What do I feel like?”

“Cold. It feels good.”

“There you go baby. You’ve got it.”

Hoseok started breathing normally and Yoongi gave the unused bag back to the nurse. She left once she realized that Hoseok was in good hands. She did tell them that if he needed anything, to call her.

“I’m scared Yoongi…”

“I know you’re afraid. Just focus on me right now. We’re not here, we’re at home. We’re watching that stupid soap opera you like.” Yoongi chuckled through tears. Hoseok let out a small chuckle himself.

“Hoseok?” Namjoon spoke up. They all watched as Hoseok’s heart rate jumped slightly.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay. You don’t have to be scared. I just wanted to tell you I’m glad you’re alright. You’ll be alright and we’re all here for you. Even JK brought you a sprite that he’s too shy to tell you about himself.”

Hoseok’s heart rate went back down and he smiled as the other members split and let Jungkook come through.

“Here you go hyung… I thought… you might be thirsty…” Jungkook’s lip quivered, and Hoseok went into hyung mode.

“It’s alright Kookie, come here.” Hoseok still felt weak, but he lifted himself up to give the youngest a hug.

“We’re all glad you’re okay Hoseok, and we’re here for anything you need.” Jin lightly squeezed Hoseok’s arm.

Hoseok heard a couple sniffles from the back of the group.

“Jimin-ah, Taehyungie, I can hug you both too.” Hoseok held his arms out to them, and they of course came to hug him.

“Joon, why don’t we take the boys home? Yoongi, you just stay here with him. I’ll send a bag back with yours and Hoseok’s things for the night.”

“Thanks Jin.” Yoongi and Hoseok watched as the others left.

“How are you feeling babe? Any pain?”

“Yeah… it’s kinda intense. It wasn’t as bad when it first happened, but I guess I was half out of it. They were gonna give me meds but I told them I’d probably just puke them all back up.”

Yoongi stroked Hoseok’s cheek.

“Yoongi…?”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t dance… for months… what if… what if they forget… what if they forget about me?”

“Okay first, that’s not gonna happen. Second, I know that because when I had my shoulder surgery, all ARMY did was send me mail, gifts, watch my livestreams, and post videos of them crying when I wasn’t at shows. But Hoseok, you’re gonna be there. And even if you weren’t, they wouldn’t forget you. You’re their hope remember? You’re my hope too…”

Yoongi squeezed Hoseok’s hand to reassure him.

“I love you.” Hoseok’s eyes were misty.

“I love you too Hoseok,” Yoongi kissed his cheek. “Now, you just rest and let that leg of yours get healed up. I’m gonna sleep in this chair right here, and if you need anything you tell me okay? And I mean anything.”

“I promise, I will.”

Hoseok went to sleep hand-in-hand with Yoongi.

The next day would be the start of a big hurdle for Hoseok, but luckily, he had the other members by his side to help him the whole way through.

Part 2 coming soon!

#emeto #rpf #btssickfics #hurt/comfort #Sope #Hurt!Hoseok #JK makes me cry a little in this one #Caring Yoongi #Worried Hoseok #Part 2 coming soon!#Food TW #Anxiety attack tw #panic attack tw

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sleepdeprivedheretic · 4 years

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Kill Me Hardly (Ch. 1)

Summary: You weren’t dead, but you weren’t fully alive. After a whole year of solitude, seeing your family mourn for your comatose state, and seeing the disembodied figures of other but silent spirits, you were hoping that your suffering would end. What’s this? Somebody could finally see you? Oh, he’s looming over a battered officer, bloodied wallet held tightly within his hand, staring straight at you with malice.

Thank You, once again, @youtubequeens, or Rita, for brainstorming the plot with me on this fic~! She helped me with the plot, ideas, and thirst for angst and fluff, yet the written gore and grim stuff is on me, folks, my friend is innocent, and her blog doesn’t have any violent nor terrible things like the stuff that’s in the fic.

This fic has a lot of angst and it just fills our need for suffering. Heed the warnings, please. Reader’s a lil’ shit to the only one who can see her, and Tai’s a tsundere villain who kinda (a lot) wants to kill her, but doesn’t know where she is. Mainly angst and horror.

Warnings not in order and can be triggering: Angst! Villain! Fatgum (he does not so nice things in this one, sorry folks), too much cussing, mentions of murder, attempted murder, murder, seeing dead people, descriptions of gore, dark thoughts, loneliness, accepting the thoughts of death (reader’s a ghost), hopelessness, and a lot of things that is possibly triggering to some audiences. If you want straight up fluff, I have other fics, Thank You.

………..

It’s always been the same since last year. You would float near your body, waving your hand in front of the thin, grisly, sad excuse of a human being that your soul had once fully inhabited. Now you were literally a ghost of your old self, your heart tearing into pieces at the sight of stricken faces of grief from those who had visited you. You could speak to them, but they could never hear, nor see you.

At first, crying would be an understatement. You clutched your chest, sobbing with heart that felt shattered as your form wracked with grief. You repeated the same words in a mantra as your mother looked upon your body with her own expression of pain and loss, clutching your father’s hands as he mimicked the atmosphere. Your brother was nowhere to be found, you clenched your teeth, feeling very angry as the heartbeat on the monitor remained the same, slow beat.

In limbo. Not fully dead, but not fully alive, either, it was your state of existing. At first, you were terrified of the others, seeing broken, bloody bones peek from underneath torn skin, white, ashen eyes stared into nothing as they drolled along the hallways of the hospital, forever in a time that they only knew existed as they paid nobody nor anything else any mind as the ones who couldn’t see them, walked through them. Every time one would loll past you, you hid, not daring to let one of those things touch your own ghostly appearance.

Your body was slowly but surely healing, the wound that had been violently afflicted from your neck to your clavicle, was bandaged up neatly, healing at it’s own pace, while you had to endure the nasty, raw and bloodied version on your ghostly appearance. It didn’t hurt physically like you thought it would, but it was a constant reminder of betrayal, mixed with shock and disbelief.

Day by day, you’ve gotten more acquainted with the raw, hurtful loneliness. Nobody could see you, other ghosts couldn’t talk to you, and you had to bear witness to not only the grief of your family slowly losing hope, but as well other families watching their loved ones on death beds. It was sickening, sad, and you wished that you were finally dead. It didn’t matter, whether it be heaven or hell, you wanted everything to stop.

You could travel outside, you discovered. There was no limit from how much your soul could travel without your body, you tried. Although you didn’t mind the distance, you didn’t want to be too far gone from your main hot spot. Of course, nobody else from the outside could see you, either. Animals could sense you, you thought with a final thought of relief as you decided to make your way to the zoo. They could not see you, but they knew that you were there, and unfortunately, it caused them to be in a state of unrest at the supernatural entity that in which was you, lingered.

……..

A year has passed. Your parent’s and other family member’s visits had dwindled down to a dead stop, as the police kept looking for your ever elusive traitor of a brother. It took a while for you to get use to the nightmares. Even as a spirit, you could still sleep, apparently. You didn’t like to, though.

Images kept flashing through your head of the knife glinting in the moonlight, the cold, passive stare of your blood-relative as he raised the weapon of choice down onto your throat. You let out a scream, jolting awake, shaking with tears dripping down, you hiccuped, wanting to vomit as you felt cold and empty, frantically gripping your throat as you laid next to your body. You wanted to grasp it’s throat, and squeeze, you couldn’t help but think as your hand faded through the pulse point of it’s neck.

It never gotten better. There was no hero for you to call, and you were seemingly forever at a stalemate in between the fate of life and death. It wasn’t fair, you thought bitterly as you could almost feel the insanity crawling inside your thoughts like crickets.

It was a beautiful October night, with the full moon looming overhead, illuminating the darkened alley ways of the concrete jungle. You usually stayed by your body, at night, not really interested in the nightly crimes that you just so happened across, regularly. You always felt exhausted and terrified because you couldn’t do anything. The violent actions and behaviors triggered your own memories, you shivered in disgust.

Tonight, it was different. You had an odd feeling. A gurgled groan echoed from one of the alleys, snapping your attention to the sound. It never helped when you investigated, not being able to alert the police, who also couldn’t notice you, and you would usually stare with helplessness as the scenes unfurled.

“I’ll teach ya, ya greedy fuckin’ bastard!” An angry huff followed suit minutes after, and you felt your curiosity peak as you floated on towards the darkened area. Was it a gangster this time? The gruff voice had an unusual American twang to the normal Japanese accent, and despite your better judgment, you felt oddly comforted by it. Maybe you were losing your sanity, after all, you thought with mirth.

Your eyes widened with surprise as you finally neared the situation. It wasn’t surprising that the man was holding a bloody wallet to his hand, sneering down at the unconscious police officer, no. It was the man himself who surprised you. Dark orange hoodie, black mask, darkened jeans, and black leather gloves covered the giant of the bara-like villain of the man. Fatgum, the large, yet elusively most-wanted villain in Osaka.

Although the murderous gang he was acquainted with had disappeared, he was more of a notorious violent thief who preyed upon well-known targets, now. He couldn’t see you, you thought, but it still sent chills down your spine at the thought that he was a ruthless, violent murderer.

Yet, you were a ghost. Time seemed to stop as his attention in what seemed to be a millisecond, snapped towards you, and the two of your eyes widened with surprise. It couldn’t be, could it? After a whole year of nothing glancing your way, finally, you felt the intense stare of a person noticing you. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because yes, somebody finally noticed you and could see you, but it was a notorious villain with a violent streak.

If there was a god or spiritual deity who ruled over humans, they appeared to feed on your suffering.

“What’s this? The fuck ya doin’ outta the hospital, lil’ woman? The fuck’s up with yer wound, eh? And why the fuck are ya out in dark alleys, creepin’ up on criminals?” His eyes glinted within the moonlight, bright orange staring you down with a look mixed with disbelief, amazement, and pure confusion as he took in your gown clad form and bloody scar.

“You can see me?” Blurted out of your mouth, and his expression stilled, before letting out a sleazy grin followed by a bellow of laughter.

“A lil’ too early to dress up for Halloween, ain’t it, Sugar? Heh, fuck. I really didn’t want any witnesses.”

He stepped towards you, and you instinctively stepped back as he closed the distance between the two of you. He couldn’t hurt you, you knew better, but it was the way how he was doing it. Images of your brother flashed through your mind, the cold, slinking feel of the knife jutting into your skin had made your eyes squeeze shut.

“Now, now, Princess,” He cooed mockingly as he stood directly in front of you, letting you take your time to really look at him. He was a few inches away from your face, leaning down to make sure that he was eye-level with you as he offered a false smile.

“How ‘bout you go back to whatever party that yer from, an’ pretend that this is all a lil’ nightmare in the mornin’, hm? Don’t wanna live a real one, don’tcha?” He grinned.

A nightmare? This was a nightmare! Yet, however, a thought clicked in your mind. It was a quick, fleeting thought, but it struck a cord within you.

“It’s a shame that the only one who can see me, is a villain.” You huffed, and his eye twitched.

“Pardon? I’m basically givin’ you an out, an’ yer gonna continue with yer dumb costume charade? Ya ingrate!” He growled out, slamming one of his hands against the brick wall next to your head. You couldn’t help but flinch, but you felt momentarily reckless and stupid, and really wanted to finally talk to somebody.

“I’ve been living my own nightmare for a year, Fat-chan. If you could find a way to send me away, please do. Until then,” You felt an uncharacteristic grin take over your features as you boldly reached up, letting your hand fade through his face. His eyes widened comically in sheer disbelief, a look that trumped his earlier look of shock, and you felt triumphant. “I’m going to haunt you.”

“The fuck you are! Who are ya! How!? I am gonna kill ya, again, ya demonic gremlin!” He growled out, punching the wall that was behind you, and you looked at his arm fazing through your abdomen. Good choices weren’t really in your state category of mind, right now, but you honestly couldn’t care, less.

“I’m a ghost, not a gremlin. I need to find my brother, and I think you know who and where.”

“I’m not helpin’ the ghost of Christmas Ass, less an actual fuckin’ ghost! What the fuck?” He was panicking, staring straight down at you with a disbelieving frown marring his features, chest rising and falling quickly as he further took your form in. You frowned, before thinking.

Sure you’d thought he’d panic, but not like this.

“Calm down. I was panicking at first when I found out that my own body was lying beside me. If I can handle it, surely you can, Mr. Villain Murderer.” You shrugged as you gave him that name. He stared at you and your wound, letting your words sink in as he didn’t budge.

“I’m talkin’ to a fuckin’ ghost.”

“Rather loudly, too. Hope your friend doesn’t wake up.” You admitted, pointing to the stirring cop.

“Shit!” He let out, and bolted. You followed him effortlessly, cutting through walls as you floated behind his racing form.

“Stop fuckin’ following me!” He hissed, panting as he leered at you from the side of a dumpster.

“I told you, I’m going to haunt you.” You pointed out.

“Annoyin’ as shit. The fuck’s up with ya? Follow somebody else!” He whispered.

“You’re the only one who can see me, though. So, no. I’m going to do whatever I want to do, anyway, so all you’re doing right now, is wasting time beside smelly garbage.” You quipped, earning you an ugly, seething scowl.

“This isn’t happening.” He muttered underneath his breath, staring at you with the same wide-eyed shock mixed in with a common annoyance.

“You’ll get use to it. Think of it as penance for your crimes, or something. I’m feeling elated that I finally get to talk to somebody.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He threw up his hands, trying to ignore you as you basically followed his grumbling, muttering form. You didn’t need to say anything, feeling your own shock and surprise that you did that. To a known villain, who couldn’t lay a finger on you.

Your thoughts lingered on the possibility of him killing you. Nobody truly wanted to die, but you felt that he’d be doing you a service. It was a gruesome thought, but you were already sort of dead, anyway.

“Twenty percent chance of waking up.” The doctor’s words echoed within your head as you looked back on the memory. The grief inflicted on their faces, haunted you more than any efforts that you could make. You had plenty of time to think, after all. A year in thoughts, nightmares, and ideas filtered through you as you realized things that you’ve once missed.

Your brother’s cold exterior worsening as you made it towards college, you paying little to no attention to his behavior as your grades skyrocketed, and your parents began to obviously favor you more. It wasn’t your fault that he acquainted himself with the wrong crowds of people. The known drug addicts, street fights, and illegal dealings had made himself an outcast from your family.

You half minded the tree of the man who you had decided to pin yourself to. Maybe being alone wasn’t the best choice, but it was the smartest choice. If you did wake up after surviving such a feat, this villain could easily take your life away from you. Yet. You were hungry to just talk to somebody, feel their stare as they listened to you, and actually talking back. A starved dog was a desperate dog, you thought with ill humor. He could entertain you for a while, until fate had gripped it’s claws back into you.

“This is the place. Listen here, ya lil’ wench, I’m not hostin’ Casper an’ all of yer other friends, Capiche?” He seemed to calm down as he all but accepted his fate as he stopped in front of a seemingly nice apartment complex. You were surprised that it wasn’t worn down, but it made sense, since that he was a thief.

“Fine by me. I’ll sleep on the couch.” You said, and he gave you a look.

“Ghosts can fuckin’ sleep?”

“Surprised me, too.”

“What the fuck. Ya better not do other shit, such as be inside of my body, ye fuckin’ parasite.” He growled, and you let out a grin.

“Not without your consent, first.” Slipped out of your mouth without hesitation.

At this, he choked on his own spit with surprise, giving you an incredulous look.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“A gho-

“Don’t be a smart-ass. Shit, the only company I have had in over a decade, an’ it’s a fuckin’ dead person.” He growled, unlocking the door, slipping inside before slamming it closed on your surprised face. His outburst didn’t matter to you, but the fact that he let an important part of himself slip so easily, did. You couldn’t help the thoughts swirl into your head.

Was he lonely as you were?

You entered without knocking, noticing that the place was rather neat, yet it smelled awful. Like cigarettes. He sat down at the kitchen table, huffing the white stick as the embers glowed a bright red, glaring up at you, as if challenging you to say something. You floated to the seat in front of him, focusing on your spiritual energy to seat yourself.

“You’re lonely.”

He blew the smoke in your face. Although you had no lungs to cough, you wafted the nasty smell away from you.

“Yer a busy-body stalker who should mind her own fuckin’ business.”

“I have no other business to mind, really. I’m just waiting for fate, I guess.” You shrugged. He eyed you, taking you in silence as you could see the wheels basically turning in his head.

“So, if I help ya pass into the light, or whatever, you’ll forever leave me the fuck alone?” The question caught you off guard as you stared at him. That’s right, he didn’t know that you weren’t fully dead.

“I’m in limbo.”

“Limbo?”

“In between life and death. I have to wake up, or die.” You finished. He set his cigarette down, eyeing you with a blank look as he finally took time to take your wound in.

“Somebody did that to ya, huh? Yer in comatose.”

He was keen, you admitted. You decided that you liked that of your “host”.

“You’re correct.”

“Ya...mentioned a brother, earlier?”

“Correct.”

You jumped as he then slammed his fist harshly against the table, the violent action harshly contradicting his curious behavior. Wide-eyed, you stared at him as a dangerous, churning glint lit up his eyes as he grit his teeth in a snarl. It was unlike his previous expressions, and it worried you.

“Look, I might not like ya, an’ I’m toyin’ with the chance of killin’ ya myself, but...fuck! That’s dirty an’ shitty. Yer own family comin’ at ya like that? Bastard couldn’t do the job properly?” He hissed out, and you felt a bit of tears well in your eyes. Quickly, you wiped them away as he continued to be in his own little spell of pure anger. It was the first time that somebody was angry for you after the incident, you thought. After everything, all you could see was your parent’s grief and sadness, the pitying looks from strangers as your face appeared on the news. Then it dwindled to a winter-like still. Life moved on without you.

“Tch. It’s not my business, though. I gotta long lists of hits, this week, an’ I don’t need a sad ass ghost story to chase after.” He huffed in irony, yet it was as if you could see through him. He was hurting, too, but not from your pain. Something like your story had rubbed him the wrong way, and it was as if the information had dawned on you.

“Then this sad little ghost story will follow you. I have a feeling that in both of our cases, misery likes company.” You admitted, and his eyes turned towards you with realization that you were still there.

“Yer smarter than I thought. I can probably have use of you, yet. Tell ya what, you help me, an’ I’ll help you. Ya want’im murdered?” He asked, hinting at your brother. The way he was pinning you down with a look, gave away something that he wasn’t saying, yet you had a feeling that he was daring you to tell him yes.

“No.” You opted instead, and to your surprise, he blinked at you, trying to hide a look of oddly placed relief. So he was laying a trap for you, and you deflected it.

“I want him found, and dealt with the authorities. I...he’s still my brother. It’s shitty what he did, I know, and it’s tough to acknowledge the obvious truth, but...I want him to get help. See what he’s done, regret it. Move on.” Your words spilled out as Fatgum’s attention was pinned onto your mournful expression.

“Ya’re weak. Too fuckin’ forgiving. He’s not gonna get help, he’s gonna resent those around ‘im, an’ stay a childish brat.” He spat out, and your eyes widened.

“How do you know?” You all but snapped, and he grinned, but there was no light nor humor to it.

“’Cause I’ve seen and dealt with the same fuckin’ thing for years. I’m one of ‘em.” He admitted it so casually, yet there was an edge to it at the last part of the sentence, something that you couldn’t exactly place.

“I don’t think it’s never too late. I wonder if he regrets it. If he’s grieving.” You let out softly, hands on your cheeks as your thoughts focused solely on your brother. Fatgum’s huff made you snap your attention back towards him.

“I’m going to bed. Can’t believe I’m talkin’ to a fuckin’ ghost as if it’s a frickin’ therapy session.” He changed the subject.

“I mean, you and I both could probably use a few classes.” A grin found it’s way to your face, and he rolled his eyes.

“Go to sleep. See ya in the mornin’, I guess.” He stood up, squishing the cigarette deep in the ashtray as he scowled.

“Night, Fat-chan.” You hummed, and he looked at you.

“No sense in that shit. Ya can call me Taishiro. Don’t make a fucki-”

“Night, Tai-chan!” You beamed.

“-ng nickname- oh what the hell ever. Night-”

You gave him your first name, interrupting him, once again.

“-shitty ghost. Ugh.” He opted instead, walking into the direction of his bedroom. You didn’t follow him. Instead, you respected his privacy, just this once as you floated onto the clean couch. This was happening, the thoughts had whirled inside your head as you still felt a little in shock. It was as if it was a fever dream in which you couldn’t escape, and instead, you dragged somebody else with you.

Granted he was a villain with a bad choice of habits and words, yet, you couldn’t really fully hate him. He intrigued you, you thought. Rough around the edges, yet oddly merciful and open to a complete stranger. Well, it wasn’t as if you could tell anybody, and if you did, what was he going to do about it? He didn’t know your body’s location. He knew this, and decided to perhaps play along to your little game, you thought.

It didn’t matter. You were going to get to the bottom of this, and hopefully, just maybe, fate can finally make a decision on your fading life.

………

Notes: This will be more than one chapter, I’ll add more when I can!

#Fatgum #Taishiro Toyomitsu #Fatgum x reader #Angst #Horror #It's a dark fic folks #A lot of triggering elements #So please #Heed the tags #This is the first chapter #Darkest thing I've ever written #I've said that once #but lo and behold #Ghost reader

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whitworth-waldo · 4 years

Text

Here's the second part to my loceit fic, but a quick warning:

THERE IS DECEITS REAL NAME AND REFERENCES TO THE LATES EPISODE

WATCH THAT BEFORE YOU READ THIS

SPOILERS

Something Deceit was always jealous of, was the fact that every other side could show their emotions. It was considered natural for them, but whenever he did it, everyone thought he was trying to manipulate them. At times he really hated that he was in charge of Thomas’ dishonesty.

All the other sides had people there to comfort them when they were feeling bad. He didn’t have anyone, as edgy as it sounds. Whenever he was upset he buried it. He pushed it deep down into his brain so that it would never resurface. But it always did.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never just ignore things. He had feelings that could be hurt, and he other sides didn't seem to understand that. It hurt when Virgil called him useless. He felt bad for saying the things he did to Virgil and Patton, but he couldn’t apologize now. If he did, they would think he was just trying to use them.

Deceit was balled up with his head on his knees and his arms wrapped around his shins. He had a single tear running down his cheek. He slowly got up and wiped his face clean of any tears left over.

“Why do I even care?! It’s not like they do. I don’t fucking care anymore!”

Deceit stomped out of his room and down the stairs. Virgil was in the kitchen, so Deceit gave him a death glare whenever Virgil looked at him.

“Got a fucking priblem?”

Roman had stepped into the kitchen, and was being protective of Virgil.

“Yeah. I do. Not like you’ll listen anyway though, because every fucking time I express actaul emotion you take it as me being minipulative. So don’t fucking ask if you’re not even gonna listen to me.”

Roman and Virgil looked taken aback. Deceit shook his head, he filled a cup with hot tea. He needed the warmth from the tea to actually warm up, while he wasn’t entirely cold-blooded, he didn't have a lot of body heat.

“Why are you even a side? What do you do, besides lie, that is?”

Deceit shook his head.

“You’ll figure that out in the next week jackass. And you wonder why I haven’t shared my name yet.”

Virgil spoke up.

“They don’t know it yet?”

Deceit’s head shot up and he gave Virgil a death glare, Virgil just smirked.

“Don’t.”

“His name is Janice.”

Roman burst out laughing.

“Janice?! What are you? A middle school librarian!”

Deceit, or Janice, hissed. Roman wrapped an arm around Virgil's waist and Virgil kept smirking. Logan walked into the kitchen just then.

“Hey, Logan! Want to know Deceit’s name?”

Logan shrugged.

“Sure, I guess.”

Roman laughed.

“Our dear scaley reptilian rapscallion here, his name is Janice!”

Logan hummed.

“As in the Roman God? J-a-n-u-s? Or J-a-n-i-c-e, which is much less probable. J-a-n-i-c-e is usually a name reserved for females.”

Deceit smiled.

“My name is spelled J-a-n-u-s, like the God. Logan is correct.”

“I usually am.”

Virgil frowned.

“Roman God? What?”

Logan nodded.

“Janus is the Roman God of beginnings, as well as transitions. He is depicted with two heads, as he was always looking into the future and the past. Oddly, he is one of the only Roman Gods who doesn’t have a Greek counterpart.”

Logan sat on the counter and Deceit took a sip of his tea and looked at Virgil.

“See what you get when you try to be a dick?”

Logan tilted his head.

“I infer that Virgil was being rude. What was he doing?”

“First off, he told others my name when I wasn't ready. And secondly, he was making fun of it.”

Virgil looked away and Roman held him closer.

“Can you blame him? You’re constantly lying, and trying to get Thomas to do unethical things.”

Logan made a face of confusion.

“Can you blame him for his own actions? Yes, yes you can.”

Deceit chuckled.

“Plus, I only want what’s best for Thomas! How many times do I have to say that?! I think by now I’ve said it at least 5 times.”

Janus shook his head and walked back to his room. He walked back into the kitchen wrapped in a yellow blanket. He plopped himself onto the floor and sipped his tea. Virgil and Roman had left, so Janus assumed they went into Virgil’s room.

“Hey, I just wanted to thank you for earlier. In that nasty fight, you didn’t have to agree with me.”

Logan hummed.

“Well, you were right. I’m not going to agree with people who aren’t right just because they aren’t well liked.”

Deceit smiled, he leaned back onto a cupboard and snuggled into his blanket. Janus had always liked that Logan seemed to be unbiased most of the time. Logan and him were labelled the brain cells of the group by the fans, and they weren’t necessarily wrong, or Janus didn’t think so at least.

Logan stayed in the kitchen for a while with Janus. They didn’t really talk, it was just a comfortable silence. Then after like, half an hour Logan got curious.

“Why do you always wear a coat and gloves?”

“I don’t produce much body heat, the whole reptile thing. So I wear heavier clothes to keep warm.”

“I always assumed it was just a fashion choice.”

Janus chuckled.

“No, although, it is rather stylish. I’m just always freezing.”

Logan smiled and nodded.

“I know this is a kinda stupid question, but have the others ever, like, ranted about me before? Specifically Virgil.”

Logan had to think back a while,but he did remember Virgil being really upset when Janus made his first appearance on Sanders Sides.

“Yeah, Virgil was really mad when you first showed up.”

Janus nodded.

“Sorry for impersonating you, second nature ya know.”

Logan shrugged.

“Not the worst thing that’s happened before.”

“That’s good. Anyway, what did Virgil say?”

“He said that he couldn't believe we were listening to a darkside.”

Janus rolled his eyes.

“Quite hypocritical, don’t you think?”

Logan nodded, he was finding this moment peaceful. He was also happy that Janus was being what Logan assumed to be himself. He wasn’t trying to be this evil tough side.

“Very. He also said that the D-Day example was a stretch.”

“Completely untrue. The allies set up fake tanks and everything!”

Logan nodded again. Deceit always knew what he was talking about, even when impersonating other sides, that was another thing Logan liked about Janus.

Remus walked into the kitchen about an hour into Janus and Logan talking in the kitchen.Logan was still on the counter and Janus was sitting on the floor wrapped up right next to Logan’s leg. He just got a cup of Orange juice and walked out.

“They’re SO gonna get together.”

Remus was out of earshot of both the sides, Virgil was passing him and looked confused.

“Who?”

“Dee and Logan. They’re still in the kitchen, just talking.”

Virgil scrunched up his face.

“Logan wouldn’t like him.”

Remus just shook his head.

“Sure.”

Back in the kitchen, Janus and Logan were talking about true crime stuff.

“Would you prefer to be called Janus or Deceit?”

Janus shrugged.

“You could call me Dee, or Jan. Doesn’t really matter anymore, since Virgil kinda outed me.”

Logan frowned.

“You still get a preference for what you want people to call you.”

Janus smiled.

“Dee is fine. You know, you and Remus are the only two who have asked me that.”

“Hm, that’s kinda strange.”

Deceit nodded.

“Guess it’s because the others don't like me too much, do they?”

Logan shook his head.

“Don’t know why though. I find your company quite pleasant.”

Janus smiled, he felt a small blush creep upon his cheeks.

“Thanks. I have to say, I think you’re also nice to be around. It’s peaceful, and when we disagree it's just a simple debate. No shouting or offensive things said.”

Logan smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, that’s always nice.”

Janus closed his eyes for a couple minutes, he only opened them when he heard footsteps.

“You guys are still out here? It’s literally been two hours.”

Janus opened his eyes and saw Roman at the fridge.

“Aren’t you and Virgil still accompanying each other?”

Roman looked at Logan weirdly.

“Yeah, but we’re a couple.”

Janus blushed, but he hid it by snuggling even further in his blanket. Roman still probably saw it.

“Do I like him? Why am I blushing? He compared us to a couple! What’s going on? Am I ok?! I’m fine, it’s probably just a crush. Right? Yeah. It’ll go away in a few days.”

Janus was spacing out.

“Yo, Janus, you good?”

He looked up and saw Roman staring at him.

“I’m fine.”

Roman shook his head and left.

“Are you ok?”

Janus tilted his head.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Logan shook his head.

“No, I mean actually. Are you emotionally healthy?”

Janus froze.

“It’s ok if you aren’t, Dee. I’ve noticed that the others don’t necessarily take your emotions into consideration. If you want to talk about it, you could talk to me at any time. I might not be a very emotional person, but I could give advice.”

Janus nodded.

“Thanks, that means a lot.”

Janus rested his head on the cupboard behind him and closed his eyes, only this time, when he opened them he was in his bed.

#deceit x logan #logic sanders #logan x deceit #logan sanders #loceit #long reads #deceit sanders #janus sanders #spoilers

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samthemarvelfan · 4 years

Text

Graveyard: Prologue

Summary: Waking up on a trash heap is never ideal. Getting imprisoned on a planet you’ve never heard of? That’s way worse. Ella was one of Asgard fiercest and most cunning protectors, but when Loki’s rebellion threatens her people’s safety, she’s made it her mission to do one thing and one thing only; kill him. By any means necessary.

Pairing: Loki Odinson x OFC

Warnings: Imprisonment, fight scenes, general calamity, canon typical brouhaha.

A/N: So idk where this is gonna go just yet, but here’s a lil tasty morsel. This is my first non-Bucky fic! and it features my first Marvel love--Loki <3 Tags are open :)

The acrid smell of rust and filth surrounded you as you woke.

Sitting up, you realize that, once again, you’d awoken in your cell. Wishful thinking kept alive the hope that this was all a dream.

“Raaagg!” The guard with the tentacles shouted as he chucked the tray of mush under your door.

You grimaced at the sight of the chunky grayish-blue mush. “Thanks a lot.” You mumble as he walks away.

“...asshole.”

The substance jiggled when you poked it. Begrudgingly, you spooned some into your mouth. How could something this color taste like rotten carrots?

“Morning, Ella.” Korg said through your bars.

You smiled halfheartedly at him. “Hi Korg. Where’s Miek?”

“Ah, he’s part of the welcome wagon today.” He said cheerfully. “I guess a special guest arrived last night.”

You nod, eating your mush. “Really? Who is it this time?” You didn’t care, it was just nice to have a conversation with someone who could actually speak your language.

“Not sure, you know. But rumor has it he’s a King.” He said.

Rolling your eyes, you looked to him, “Aren’t they all.” The words dripped with sarcasm.

“No. Not everyone.” He said plainly. Korg was a...simple guy, sarcasm often escaped him.

“I know, Korg...I—forget it. I’ll see you tomorrow?” You ask.

“Actually, rumor has it a few prisoners are being released to the work shed to make room for new ones. I put a good word in for you!” He said happily.

Your head perked up. “Really? Thank you, Korg!”

“No sweat. Well, I have to go draw and quarter some Skartelians. Bye-bye, then!”

When Korg had left your cell front, it was once again just you, your slop, and the first glimmer of hope you had. A chance to finally be out of this fresh hell.

You’d forgotten how long you’d been in this place; a week? Maybe two? A month?

The days were long and they all blurred together. Your only solace was plotting your revenge against that repulsive megalomaniac who put you here in the first place.

The day before your capture:

“We must get to Heimdall.” Sif whispered to you. “The people need to leave this place before he enslaves them all.”

Your bloodshot eyes scanned the area. The sound of the riots outside grew louder, and guards patrolled every exit.

Almost every one.

“Sif, look.” You said, nodding to the archway just off the main corridor.

Your stealth is something you were known for. Being as clever and cunning and careful as any warrior before you. Not only that, but Sif had been the one that trained you for battle. You were just as fierce and skilled as she was.

The cold stone of the pillar pressed against your back, “I’m going. One of us needs to tell Heimdall to open the bifrost.”

Loki had cloaked the palace in a spell, blinding those in and around it from Heimdall’s sight.

She nodded, “I’ll give you as much cover as I can.”

You crouched and rolled a ways to get to the next pillar. Your steps and movements were so light, not even you heard them.

The palace guards had just done a rotation to the next corridor, and that’s when you made your breakaway.

You slipped through the archway with ease and began running down the stairs. The cobbled flights of steps were your last hurdle, then it was just a long, but mad dash down the bridge to get to Heimdall.

“Going somewhere?”

You froze. Your foot had just touched the last step, but it was too late. You’d been caught...he had caught you.

“Hm, it looks like you are. Perhaps running to that golden eyed oaf to tell him what I’ve done?”

Loki.

You swallowed thickly.

“What’s the matter, darling? Cat got your tongue?” He smirked.

“Another cheap trick? Had to conjure up a spell because you couldn’t find me yourself?” You spat back at him.

Loki began circling you. When he was right behind you, he spoke next to your ear. “Why don’t you make a run for it and see?”

It was a test. But you knew Loki would never be out here, so close to the riots. The ‘scourge of the kingdom’ rebelling against his reign and rule over Asgard.

“Alright.” You turn quickly on your heel and sprint.

You made it 20 feet when a log appeared out of no where right under your feet. You hurdled forward, stumbling and rolling on the ground.

The slam of the dirt knocked the wind clean out of you.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk...” Loki tutted. “Next time toss a pebble. That’d be a much wiser test.”

You stood as quickly as you could, and charged him. “I’d rather toss a dagger.” Your blades dropped from your sleeves into your grasp.

Slashing at him, the blade narrowly missed his throat. He stepped back smoothly, circling himself around you, before casting his duplication spell.

Suddenly you were surrounded by dozens of him. Each of them taunting you.

“Come and get me.”

Slash

“I’m over here!”

Slash

“Did you miss me?”

All attempts futile. The God of Mischief certainly was worthy of the name.

“You coward! Fight me!” You shout.

In a snap, the copies disappeared. Loki stood behind you, and cleared his throat. “Would you really kill your King, Ellaria?” He asked, using your full name.

“I’m not loyal to a throne, nor am I loyal to a murderer.” You seethe breathlessly.

Loki’s jaw clenched as he took a step away from you.

“Guards?” He said simply.

Suddenly, a dozen Asgardian soldiers surrounded you. “Please escort this little minx to the dungeons.”

You were trapped. The golden men circled you as Loki watched, enjoying the torment.

“Ella! Now!” You heard Sif shout. She had her crossbow at the ready, and fired on the guards. At her fastest, she could fire 30 arrows a minute, plenty to take out a dozen guards.

In an instant, their shields went up, and Loki crouched behind them. “Stop her!” He shouted, staring at Sif.

“Loki...” you called.

He turned quickly, and you slashed you dagger across his face, leaving a small gash on his cheek bone.

His fingertips went to feel for blood, and sure enough, it began to drip.

Loki laughed, his teeth chewing on his lip.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” You smirked.

You planted your boot on the shield of the guard next to you. They were all crouched so it was easier than expected. Backflipping out of the circle of them, you ran as fast as you could down the bridge, praying Loki’s spell didn’t cast that far.

“Heimdall! Heimdall!” You scream.

A quick glance over your shoulder confirms your wonder if you were being chased yet.

“Heimdall! Open the bifrost!” You’re screeching now.

Suddenly, the bridge shakes. He’d heard you!

“Ellaria, stop!” Loki shouts from behind you. You glance to see he’s on a horse, riding fast.

Your lungs expand once more, but before sound escapes you, you see a tidal way approaching you. Angry water pulled from the sea beneath you barreling down from behind you.

“Heimdall! Open the bifrost! Please!” You’re desperate. The maniac chasing you had indeed cast a spell; one to end your life.

You watched as the bifrost began to spin, he’d heard you at last!

Suddenly the wave over took you, launching you down the length of the bridge towards Heimdall.

You were rolling and churning in the waters Loki had cast, running out of air fast.

You’d gotten sent so far by the massive wave, somehow you been forced past Heimdall and into the still-turning stream of light that was the bifrost.

The surge of energy sent your body into a whirlwind. You were soaring through the universe in an iridescent ray of light made of enough energy to light up a continent.

After what seemed like mere seconds, you felt yourself enter and atmosphere. Shortly after that, you’d landed on a pile of...trash?

The tingles rushing through your body drained you. You’d never been in the bifrost alone before, and it was clear your body couldn’t handle the amount of power surging around it.

Clicks and pops made you open your eyes. Shielding them from the sun with your hand, you found yourself surrounded by humanoid creatures of every size and color.

They were speaking. Communicating to one another.

“Help me. Please help me.” You begged, hoping feigning weakness would stop any unwanted hostility.

The orange creature reached his hand out--a hand with eight fingers, and you took it. He hoisted you up to your feet, and gave you a half smile.

“Thank you.”

He nodded, “Mezbanjala fo tutu.” He clicked his tongue quickly.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t understand you.” You said, shaking your head.

The group of creatures eyes suddenly widened, and the lot of them began shouting and running away.

“Hey! Wha--”

You felt a sharp pain in your neck, and then everything went black.

#Loki #Loki Angst #loki x reader #loki x ofc #loki fanfic

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eiirisworkshop · 4 years

Text

InuYasha Fic (working title “Sesshomaru The Babydaddy)

For Good Intentions WIP Fest, details of which can be found @goodintentionswipfest

Years ago I had an idea for a fic about Sesshomaru having a half-demon kid; like I think I might have been in middle school when I first started this. I’ve poked at it a few times over the years, but now that the InuYasha sequel is out and brushing close to my idea in some key ways I doubt I’m ever gonna find the motivation to finish it, just feels redundant since it’s been so thoroughly jossed. And I also don’t want to watch the sequel, because it’s too close and I know I’ll like my idea better, because it’s my idea.

***

He ran his fingers through her long, raven hair and she ran hers through his white. No one in the world could see them—no one needed to. Only the sliver of moon bore witness as it shown through cloud and canopy, bleaching the earth in pools of silver. She was soft, fragile, unafraid. She very nearly frightened him, and she knew it. He liked it.

In the dark it was easy to forget—or, at the very least, ignore—that they were from opposing worlds. In any case, they didn't have to forget for long.

She woke to the warmth of morning sun filtering through the boughs of the wild cherry tree beneath with she lay on a white kimono that was not hers. She knew without opening her eyes that she was alone.

Inuyasha yawned and stretched as he walked.

[The gang talks, Kagome is on break from school. They get to a little, remote villiage.]

Sango glanced around, eyes narrowed. “You know how people tend to stare at InuYasha like they're worried he's gonna eat them?”

“Yeah...?” Shippo said.

“The people here are hardly noticing him.”

[IY says something about prefering this situation to being attacked/chased]

“Sure, but it's strange.” Sango frowned. “It makes me nervous.”

[Miroku drags IY over to question an old lady at a well.]

Miroku: “Hello, ma'am. My friend here is a half-demon, did you know that?”

The woman set her now-full bucket on the ground. “Mhm, figured so, him looking like that.”

“Hm.” Miroku released his grip on the squirming honyou. “And that's not....interesting or alarming or anything?”

The old woman shrugged. “Sort of used to it.”

InuYasha stopped himself a hair's bredth from throttling the monk. “What d'you mean you're used to it?”

“Inn keeper's daughter's the same way. Pretty little thing, real sweet long as you don't make her mad.” The woman laughed, grabbed her bucket and started down the street. “Folks 'round here can't agree if that girl's fire comes from her mama or whatever dark thing begot her!”

[The gang decides to go to the inn]

InuYasha kicked the inn door open with a bang. The only person in the dimly lit room didn't even jump. She just looked up with a smile from wiping down a table and bowed politely. “Good afternoon, welcome. Do you need a table, a room, or both?”

The girl was slim, young—no older than thirteen—but tall for her age, with a thick white braid hanging down to the small of her back. She was dressed in pale blue umanori over an orange kimono with tied up sleeves, a bright spot of color in the mostly drab room. Small, canine ears poked out from the bandana tied around her head, and she looked through her too long bangs with large tawny eyes.

InuYasha stalked up to her, invading her personal space, and started sniffing. She leaned away from him, eyeing him like he was crazy. “Uh, I'll get my mother.”

She darted to the stairs and out of sight.

“You didn't have to scare her like that,” Kagome chided.

“It smells like my brother.” InuYasha crossed his arms and made a face of disgust.

[The girl (Hoshi)'s mother comes down, introduces herself as Akiko, mention's Hoshi's name too]

“Why the hell does your kid smell like my brother?”

“No idea.” Akiko crossed her arms. “Why does your brother smell like a twelve year old girl?” She shifted her focus to the rest of the group. “You here for supper or for the night? Or are you just here for your friend to make trouble?”

[So much stuff and things happen. Not sure how long passes. The gang leaves town. They're not far out of town when they happen to run into Sesshomaru]

“You!” InuYasha stabbed a finger at his brother. “You hypocritical son of a bitch!”

Sesshomaru leveled a look of disdain at his father's younger son. “What are you talking about?”

“You've got a half-human kid!”

[Sesshi has a “pics or it didn't happen” reaction so they all head back into town.]

Akiko looked up from were she was keeping book at one of the dining tables. “I thought you were heading out of town.” She spotted Sesshomaru. “Oh.” She stood gracefully. “You.”

Sango tilted her head toward the demon. “Told you.”

“It means nothing that this woman recognizes me,” he said coolly.

“You're full of shit.” Akiko rolled her eyes. “What the hell happened to you arm?” After too long a beat with no answer forthcoming, she shrugged. “Well, I guess you only need one....”

InuYasha cringed, catching the [sexual] side of her meaning. “Do you have to say things like that?”

“Can you get over it that I slept with your brother?” she shot back quickly then crossed her arms and turned to the full demon. “

[Stuff and things. Hoshi comes in.]

“I'm done with inventory—” Hoshi stopped talking abruptly and went very still. One of her ears twitched.

Beside Kagome, Sesshomaru stiffened, eyes widening. For a long moment, no one breathed. Then, in a single flash of motion almost too fast to follow, Hoshi had crossed the room, stepped up onto a chair to augment her height, smacked her sire across the face, and fled upstairs. Instantly, Sesshomaru bristled and snarled; a drop of blood oozed from one of the three long welts on his cheek where Hoshi's nails had caught him.

“Hey!” Akiko shouted and banged a hand on the table. “Calm down. You break anything in this building, so much as gouge a table, and I'll take your other arm off. You put a single scratch on my daughter and I will end your life. You hear me?”

He clenched his fist but otherwise feigned composure. “I hear you.”

“Good.” Akiko headed for the stairs.

[much stuff and things, IDK]

[Sesshi gets drunk at some point]

“Can we talk?” Akiko asked softly.

“Cruel, giving me the illusion of choice.”

“Oh, you have a choice.” She crossed her arms. “You can say no and walk away. I wouldn't suggest it, though.”

He inclined his head slightly.

She nodded. “Walk with me?”

“Very well.” He offered her his arm. She took it and they set out along the path.

[Akiko explains that Hoshi does have valid reasons to resent Sesshomaru for]

“I don't blame you for not being here, even if I sometimes wish you had been. I never expected you to stay. I knew when I lay with you that you wouldn't.”

“Then why did you?”

She smiled. “It was exciting.”

They stopped on the path in the shadow of a large conifer. He disengaged their arms and touched her face. She met his gaze unwaveringly.

“Why aren't you frightened of me?”

She shrugged. “My mother used to say that you don't avoid the river just because you can drown.” She smoothed one of her sleeves. “One need not fear something just because it's dangerous so long as you respect its power.”

“Mm.” He studied her a moment before leaning to kiss her.

She pulled away. “Don't do that unless you mean it.” He started to respond but she cut him off. “I mean, unless you care.”

He took a small step back.

“Things are different than they were. I'm different. I'm a mother, a business owner. I have obligations and responsibilities. Before, I was girl with next to no prospects and no expectations. All I wanted from you was whatever you were willing to readily give.

“For now, you're just passing through. But if you kiss me, or anything else, you make yourself a part of things here. You do that, and you'll be making a promise you had better not make unless you've every intention of keeping it.”

The corner of Sesshomaru's mouth twitched. “I want you.”

“Too bad.”

He grabbed her shoulder roughly. She smacked him across the face and took several steps back, away from him.

“Don't you dare!” Akiko shouted. She lowered her voice to a snarl. “Do not manhandle me. You've no right. You get to touch me only if I let you and only how I say.” She straightened her clothes, drew herself up regally, and started back toward the inn.

InuYasha hopped up over a bolder, and there was Sesshomaru, sitting on the ground, eyes closed, back against a cherry tree. A soft breeze blew through the clearing, stirring both their hair. Without opening his eyes, the elder brother said, “What are you doing here?”

“Heh.” InuYasha crossed his arms. “I was sent to go make sure you're not killing anything important.”

“I'm not killing anything at all.”

“Good. So, tell me to fuck off and I'll go back and say you told me to fuck off and I'll leave you alone and you can leave or whatever.”

Sesshomaru opened his eyes and looked up at the sky. “Humans are soft.”

“Uh.” InuYasha blinked at the non sequitur. “Yeah, they're squishy and fragile and weak—all the shit you give me hell for being when I'm not. So what?”

“I didn't mean to frighten her.”

“So tell her that.” He snorted. “I don't care.”

“I could kill you.”

“Sure you could.” Akiko put away the freshly scoured cups. “So could your brother or any of his friends or my brother. The ability to kill is not unique, Sesshomaru.”

“I would enjoy killing you.”

She rolled her eyes and reached for more dishes. “Are you trying to make some kind of point?”

“I could kill you. I know I would enjoy doing so. But I don't want to.”

“Mhm?”

“I would prefer you remain alive.”

She snorted, halfway to a laugh. “If you're trying to be affectionate, I appreciate the attempt, but you're really bad at it.”

“I've little practice.” He stood, crossed the room, took a bowl from her hands, set it down, and touched her face. He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

“Watch the claws.”

“I know.” He tilted her chin up gently.

“You've done much for me,” he said softly. “Borne and raised my child, when you need not have kept her....”

“If I'd given her up, who would have taken her? Most childless bakers aren't looking for hanyou babes.”

“That's not what I mean by 'kept.'”

“What do you mean then?”

He fingered the ruff at his shoulder and glanced at her sideways. “I know women have methods for...handling situations.”

Akiko looked to the floor. “Yes.... But they're unreliable and dangerous and, I decided, not worth it.”

#fanfic #inuyasha #sesshomaru #good intentions wip fest

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kingblanketfort · 4 years

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No Official Title Yet!

So this is my FIRST IT fanfic. My first time writing Papawise and Penny. So if it’s a bit off, forgive me, I’ll get better as I go. As of now the fic doesn’t really have any trigger warnings, as I only have the first two chapters, but I’ll list things when it becomes needed.

Chapter One: Deer in Deadlights Everything was swirling with smudged colour, and his head was pounding. Sounds could be heard but not discerned, as it was muffled. Eyes squinting and blinking desperate to focus. That’s when he heard a voice that started to become clearer with each passing second.

“Hey, kid, take it easy…” it was a rough voice, of low timbre. “it’s gonna feel like hell, but it’ll wear off soon enough.” Pennywise finally was able to focus on something as it became clearer and found himself staring at the roof of a yellow tent. He was confused and tried to sit up, but that’s when he heard the voice again and felt a gloved hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle but firm press. “I said take it easy…” Pennywise gave a rumbling growl of confusion and annoyance as his eyes cut over to the source. Into view came a clown.

White face, red nose and lips, a lot like the guise he took, only his hair was blood red and rimmed around the side and back of his head, bald on top, and his eye make up was more minimal and blue. He looked somewhat older, as if in human terms he’d be in his mid to late 50’s. He was noticeably shorter, and a little more stout with thicker arms.

“Who the hell are you?” Pennywise managed to croak out, his voice feeling and sounding like he hadn’t spoken in ages. The older clown pulled back his hand and grunted, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket with an accompanying lighter. The quick click and fizzle of the flame popped and soon the smell of smoke filled Pennywise’s nostrils. He took a long drag before blowing it out, lackadaisically.

“Heh, wouldn’t believe me if I told ya, kid, but I’ve been expecting you.” At this point Pennywise’s patience was already razor thin and this geezer was pushing it.

“Try me.” He growled out. The older clown seemed un-phased by his change in tone and leaned back into the very worn wooden chair.

“The name’s Pennywise----” he put his hands up and wiggled them in a sarcastic motion of fancy, “—The Dancing Clown.” The first Pennywise’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re lying.” He attempted to sit up again, now realising he was in a very soft bed. Something he wasn’t quite used to feeling. The older Pennywise gave a gravely chuckle.

“Told ya you wouldn’t believe me. But it’s the truth.” He stated, blowing out more smoke, pointing to ginger Pennywise with the two fingers that were expertly holding his cigarette between. “You’re from a different universe of Earth, where you used to hunt, different from mine. I was brought here upon my death. I’ve been here for 27 years in this hellhole. Looks like you got roped in too.” He paused to take another deep drag and lean forward. “let me guess, a group of raggedly children calling themselves “The Losers Club” found a way to bump you off, hm?” Orange haired Pennywise’s mouth twitched into a snarl.

“How do you know?” he hissed. Again, un-phased, older Pennywise looked at him with growing impatience.

“Because that’s what happened to me too. Don’t you get it? We are creatures from the Universe, and it has plenty of alternate realities and planes. Different versions, different timelines and events. Parallel universes are not a foreign concept to you, are they? That’s what this is. And it’s that fuckin’ turtle’s fault.”

“WHAT?!” the younger clown nearly roared. “I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him with my bare hands! I’ll rip him to—!”

“Alright, yeah, that’s great, kid. I said that too, but there’s only one way to escape this. It’s atonement. I’ve already gotten the message, I’ve been here for over two decades and still haven’t ‘washed my soul clean’. But first, let’s make this easy---everyone around here calls me Pops or Pappa, so, that’ll work. I’ll call you ‘Penny’ for short. No discussion.” Papawise flicked his ash into a very colourful, yet grimy looking ashtray. Penny’s eyes only flashed angrily.

“We have no souls to be washed!” he stated, balling his fists.

“Mmhm, you’d think that. I certainly did. We were wrong. So we’re damned.” He then squashed out his cigarette. “right now you just have to rest. I’ve already tried cussing that fucking turtle up and down, but the rage got me nowhere. We don’t have a choice.”

“Never! I refuse!” Penny proclaimed and threw the covers off of himself. As he looked down he realised that something….didn’t feel right. He was used to taking a human-esque form before, but…this one felt different somehow. He looked down at his hands and flexed them. Different muscle, different…bone structure sensations under the skin. His head swam again, and he placed a hand to his forehead and instantly knew for sure something was off. His usual forehead which was broader (a feature he purposely chose to warp to give a sense of his otherworldly presence) was gone. It felt like---- “human?!”

“Hey, whoa, Pen---” Penny pushed past Papawise and quickly found a small vanity near the far corner, unopened face-paint containers strewn about it. Large hands slamming down on either side of the vanity desk he stared at his reflection for the first time in a long time. He couldn’t believe it! He looked human only he still bore the wild reddish orange hair and facial markings that represented his clown make-up from his persona.

“WHAT IS THIS!?” he yelled, turning on Papawise. “Am I … am I a HUMAN!?” he reached up to touch his teeth, his brain trying to will his transformation into his toothy gaping maw, but…it didn’t happen. Just human jawbone with human jaw muscles clenching. He found his childish buck teeth still there, but the rest were just rows of normal teeth. Papawise rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“We both are…”he replied. “Mataurin wasn’t fucking around when he set this whole thing up. That’s what I keep tryin’ to tell ya. To think that that world’s Pennywise was this childish---”

“Shut your mouth! If what you say is true, he can’t stop us, we are the Eater of Worlds! WE ARE GODS---!”

“Not. Anymore. Now. Sit. Down.” Papawise demanded, pointing to the bed. But Penny took a shuddering breath, his eyes downcast seeing the tremble of his chest heaving. His hand slid to his chest, and he felt a heartbeat. A very human one. He could barely see straight he was so angry. “look, it’s a big ol’ bummer---trust me, kid, I know. I had the same reaction when---”

“Stop calling me that you name THIEF!”

“DON”T YOU GET IT?!” Papawise argued back, finally raising his voice, sick of the impetuous nature of this creature. “We are stuck here, chucklehead, and whether you like it or not, we are being forced to atone for our apparent SIN of just EATING TO SURVIVE. The whole thing smells rotten to me sure, but we have NO CHOICE but to MOVE. ON!” this surprisingly shattering boom of a voice rocked Penny and rooted him to the spot, casting him into utter silence.

Something about this being, though he bore the same name, was extremely commanding and solid. Deep inside his selfish and egotistical, self serving core told him that this being, this version, or whatever he was---was to be respected and oddly, that he shouldn’t even dare to tangle with him. This made a wave of…something run through him, he just didn’t know what. The silence permeated the tent before Papawise sighed heavily and took a step towards him.

“I’ve been here long enough….trust me, this is our penance. We have to work for everything now. We toil as the humans do. Brought to their level.” Penny wanted to argue but instead found himself asking only a simple question. “What do we do?” for a split second, he felt a heavy weight, like a rock settle into the pit of his…stomach? Yeah, that’s it. Stomach. He unconsciously placed his hand over it. Unable to hold back a smirk, Papawise approached him and placed a thick hand on the younger clown’s back, gently leading him to the tent flap, pulling it back.

“What do you think?” he revealed a travelling circus troupe. Carriages on wheels, impromptu cages of animals pacing about, the smell of popcorn, cotton candy and fried goods filled the air. People and various performers were talking amongst each other as a few were working in the distance putting up the Big Top, yanking on ropes and driving in stakes. Others were busy setting up their game booths and food trolleys. “Welcome to the real circus, my boy.”

#fanfic #i tried #it movie #two cents #pennywise

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advernia · 4 years

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fic: push me off a bridge (to catch me as i fall)

— war was never the best place to realize that trust was a very long free fall, but they had to start somewhere. (or: five times the jack of hearts receives treatment from alice the second, and all that happens in between.) || ao3 ver.

features: au!kyle’s route where kyle/mc is platonic, a hella slow burn edgar/mc development, more details of the war that you probably didn’t sign up for, and a! named! mc!

1: this is ridiculously long (14+k!?) but if you’re up for it, there’s post-reading notes here! (･∀･○)

There's a nice, narrow slash on his face; diagonally marking what many a mouth has called a remarkable young man's handsome features.

They're just staring at him for some reason and if he were, well, someone like a certain beauty-marked-pretty-boy-who-happened-to-be-his-superior; he'd be threatening both of them to do their jobs or else. But he's not that someone, he's different and quite eccentrically so, as demonstrated by him simply smiling back at the doctor and assistant's pointing stares and asking the most inappropriate question at the moment.

"Is there something on my face?" Edgar asks, tone cheery.

"Nope," Kyle replies, an eyebrow raised. "It's just... Okay, wow, nice cut you got there. When's the last time you actually came here for treatment? Actual treatment."

"Hm... I can't recall. But I certainly don't visit the infirmary as often as my unit does."

A snort. "Yeah, that'll be the day. Ever wonder why they spend a lot of time here in the first place?"

"To visit the oh-so-talented Seven of Hearts and bask in his medical talent?"

"... Are you going to treat him or not?" Alice the Second pipes in, a frown directed to her boss. "Because if you won't, I will."

Kyle swivels his chair around to gawk her. "... You sure you want to?"

"But why not? It's the reason why Edgar came here in the first place, right?"

"It's hard to tell with someone like him, but yeah, probably. But the main issue here is that."

The doctor points to the not-so-elephant in the room, the Jack of Hearts' once-flawless left cheek.

"If you're going to treat him, it's gonna be an up-close-and-personal thing," Kyle says, ominous voice at odds with the growing grin on his lips. "Can you take it?"

Edgar jumps into the conversation, smile still present. "I'm not one for having people at close distances, but I imagine having you treat me is better than identifying what Kyle might have drunk last night, Alice."

"That's what he said, lucky you! So, are - "

"Oh, hush, you two," she huffs, making her way to a cabinet with brisk steps. She plucks out a bottle and a bag of cotton off a shelf, then makes a beeline for the sink. "I'm treating you, Edgar, because you're in an infirmary and you're injured. And if I have to be up-close-and-personal, it's because the injury is on his cheek, Kyle. That's all there is!"

She's muttering a couple of other things they can't hear as she's filling a basin with water, so Kyle takes this opportunity to slide his chair closer to where Edgar sat, whisper unnecessarily conspiratorial as he says:

"Her ears turned red."

"Yes, very much like your hair."

The two share glances before laughing.

Alice, much to his amusement and also a bit of dismay, does not end up getting 'up-close-and-personal' with him at all - rather than sitting directly in front of each other (because that's what Kyle does to his patients), she chooses to move her chair to his left side, all her attention set on the injury without the feeling of the patient staring at her while she works.

Maybe he should start giving her a little more credit.

"Edgar?" she says as she dabs a damp cotton lightly on his cheek, "How did you get this injury in the first place?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"If you don't mind telling me, then yes."

He chuckles as the cotton slowly traces its way upwards to his cheekbone.

"Well then. How about a little exchange?"

"Exchange? What do you mean?"

"I tell you how I got this cut in the first place... but in return," he angles his head sideways a bit so that he could meet her gaze, "You have to tell me your real name."

Her arm freezes, and the cotton stops touching his face.

And that was the first time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

"Lady Idike!"

She turns her around to the sound of her name, a frantic yell of help right by the tent's entrance - someone's struggling carrying his comrade on his back, his face strained with grime and sweat. She rises to her feet, eyes searching for any vacant space before rushing over to the new patients, leading them over to an area by the upper left side of the tent.

"Gently, now," she ushers as the soldier kneels down slowly to lower his friend's body on a cot. "What happened?"

A deep breath. "... We encountered the Three of Spades' squad by the streets of the Upper Central Quarter, and... I got careless, didn't see a trap coming right for me. This guy here, he... p-pu-p-ushed me... just in time, a-a-an-and..."

Tears began forming at the edge of weary eyes as he tried to continue, but any more words were drowned out by broken sobs. Idike sets a hand on the man's shoulder, squeezing lightly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees someone approach from her right.

"You did good, getting you and your buddy back here," Kyle says as he walked over to the sobbing soldier with a kind smile on his face. "Got any wounds?"

"... O-on-only b-br-r-bruises an-and sc-scrapes, sir..."

"Got it - we'll be with you in a sec, so sit tight. Idike, what about him?"

She nods and runs over to the cot, fingers immediately heading towards the unconscious patient's left hip and thigh; a visible mix of damp blood, broken flesh, and torn cloth combined. Clearing out a bit of the mess and pressing down gently, two of her fingertips come across light pricks, causing her to pull her hand away. Kyle clicks his tongue at her reaction, moving beside her to check the damage himself.

"Caltrops," he mutters.

"Cal... what?"

"Something like tiny metal spikes. See those things stuck on the soles of his boots? Caltrops. There's some hanging by his pants too, tricky things."

"Are they lethal?"

"Assuming they didn't hit something vital or that they weren't coated in poison, then no. They're annoyingly sharp, though."

Idike sucks in a deep breath, taking in one last glimpse of the gaping wound before turning to face Kyle.

"What do we need?"

"My, my. What do we have here?"

With a raise of his hand, his troop trailing behind him stops moving, hands swiftly finding the hilts of their swords and bodies shifting to a defensive stance. Without the noise of boots crunching on leaves and dirt, the forest surrounding them was tranquil - inviting, even, as the near setting sun tried to dye every lick of green with its reds, yellows, and oranges.

A few seconds pass. He lowers his hand, but none of them relax.

A few more, until -

- a dagger, seemingly materializing out from nowhere, flies straight and true for his cheek.

The Jack of Hearts smiles, drawing his saber from its scabbard in a split second to parry - a sharp clang echoes throughout the forest, and the threat falls defeated on the ground. With a few steps forward and a quick bend of his knees, he takes the weapon into his other hand.

"Do be careful," there's a lilt in his voice as he speaks rather loudly to the wilderness. "Alice treated this same cheek not too long ago - I'd hate to return to her and have her do it all over again."

Winds rustling the leaves of the trees answer, but there's a strange energy that comes with it, something similar to the sensation when magic would come to play: the air tingles with a prickling charge, filling one's lungs with a sense of alertness and unshakable jitter. Without warning, he throws the dagger upwards, towards the high branches of the large oak tree just a few meters ahead.

It doesn't come back nor does it make a sound of hitting a mark, but in its stead someone drops down from the tree, two feet gracefully landing on the ground.

The tension doesn't fade.

"Ten of Spades, Seth Hyde," Edgar waves, as if greeting an old friend. "Nice weather we're having, aren't we?"

Seth scoffs, a hand reaching for one of the daggers set on his hip - though there's a notable lack of expression on his face, every bit of his posture screams of a threatening aura waiting to be released on a moment's notice.

"... What did you do to her?" he asks, voice an unnerving low.

"Nothing that concerns you," Edgar shrugs, and Seth watches as his lips curl into a teasing - teasing! - smile.

"Though I believe a better question is... what did she do to me?"

It's been... four days? Or had it been three? Perhaps she lost count.

All she knew these days was to focus. This was no London confectionery anymore, with all its flours, sugars, fruits and honey.

"Scalpel," a quick command, accompanied by an open hand held out towards her. She nods, picking out the tool carefully from a metal tray and handing it over.

There were no preparation periods, baking hours, timetables, opening and closing times, or rush hours.

"Forceps," the scalpel returns to her with its blade drenched in scarlet. Idike sets it aside and pulls out the next tool, placing it on Kyle's palm.

This was no warm bakery, open kitchen, or pleasant shop.

"Caltrop extracted," Kyle mutters as he glares at the object held upright by the forceps: it's a small thing with four sharp teeth, decorated with blood and pieces of skin. She stares at it, glimmering under the light of the tent's magic crystal lamp.

This was life and death, and she willingly chose to be part of it.

Someone charges at him with a rapier held up high in the air, almost like a guillotine. A shame that it doesn't meet its intended mark though: Edgar parries the strike halfway down, watches as his opponent's eyes grow wide as saucers at the sudden impact, then delivers a smack right to the chest and two well-aimed jabs to make the man crumple to his knees along with his weapon.

From his left, someone not an ally rushes towards him presumably armed with a blade as well, and from his blind side; a set of throwing knives come for him like bullets.

What a pickle.

The knives are faster, but it only takes the swift motion of sinking down onto to his haunches to avoid them completely. The lunging soldier however was now just paces away from impaling his forehead, but he takes advantage of his position to aim for the underside of his enemy's outstretched arm; gloved hand reaching out to grab the forearm with a grip tight enough to cause a loud scream of pain and the release of the sword, followed by barreling upwards - his opponent starts to lose his balance in response to the motion and Edgar uses it, dropping his saber for a moment to fully grab the man's arm and throw him effortlessly over his shoulder.

A pained groan escapes the poor soldier's lips before he lays limp on the ground, unconscious. Edgar leaves him there and picks up his weapon, calm countenance at odds with the persisting sounds of battle ringing loudly in the forest.

He glances at the path forward, obscured by leaves but unable to completely hide the traces of freshly unearthed soil underneath the foliage.

Meanwhile, the sun was sinking down the horizon, beckoning the night to pour itself out on the sky.

"A pity, Ten of Spades. But it was quite fun while it lasted."

Turning on his heel, the Jack of Hearts set out to reconvene with his troop.

"... and since there was sufficient evidence found that the area had been already laid on with various traps, the King postponed the advancement to Black Army territory through the forests."

Kyle hums absentmindedly as he was stitching up a patient's shoulder. "Smart move - glad he didn't decide to order someone to just get rid of the traps using magic."

Zero shakes his head. "Inefficient and costly. We still have a good amount of magic crystals in our inventory, but it's wiser to use them for a better time."

"I know. Still, a better time, huh?" cutting the excess thread with a scissor, Kyle lets out a heavy sigh. "The only 'better time' I can think of is you lot giving me and my assistant a break."

The doctor gestures to the whole of the medical tent, nearly full with lines of cots and miserable men: there were a spare few that were up and about, doing their best to look after the needs of the others; but the rest were either unconscious or groaning where they lay. The Ace of Hearts' lips drew a taut line, the mixing smells of pungent disinfectant and coppery blood dancing strongly about his nostrils.

"... Is Idike okay? Seeing all this."

Kyle snorts. "Of course not - bet she still cries a little bit inside each time someone's carried here, and that's fine by me. But what's important is she hasn't been running away from this: it's been three whole days since we've set up here, and so far she's been giving every single one her all."

"I see... where is she now?"

"Ordered her to take a breather. Should be having dinner or something."

Contrary to what Kyle ordered her to do, no, she wasn't having dinner at the moment.

Not taking a breather, either.

She's dragging someone by the hand to their shared tent instead, mind and body working on adrenaline or reflex at this point: make some light by using a magic crystal and hanging it on a lamp, seat or make the patient comfortable, gather some basic tools and place them on a tray beside where you'd sit, then evaluate the patient's condition as calmly as possible.

And it's only when she's seated herself in front of her patient does she realizes who -

"Oh," she says, the word coming out of her mouth even before she knew it.

Usual Red Army procedure dictates that after their given missions, the Chosen Thirteen (save for the Seven on some occasions) would gather in the commander's tent to report the results of the day's operations. The gathering, facilitated by the Queen, required that all information and notable observations should be accounted for; down even to the most minuscule detail. Once all was said and done, the Jack would narrate a summary of all the reports given and from there, the strategy planning would begin.

The King would finalize the orders once everyone came to an understanding and agreement of the current situation and objectives, then they were promptly dismissed.

Rinse, repeat. Whatever the Thirteen chose to do after the gatherings was completely up to them, unless they had orders.

Edgar didn't have any tasks assigned that night, so he chose to have a brief rest by the river just a short walk from the encampment. But on his way there, he runs into her - Alice the Second with all her loosely plaited honey-colored hair, bags growing under her eyes, and the apron she wore over her dress stained with suspicious splotches.

It gets interesting when she points out that the glove of his right hand had a tear on it, and even before he has a chance to explain himself, she already closed the distance in between them and took his right hand into hers, raising it up for her to check.

But in all honesty, never would've he imagined that she would actually drag him all the way to her tent.

"You know Alice, were I someone else, I would've taken this as an invitation."

"An invitation for what?"

"I wonder. Oh, assume this instead: the lone young woman of an army inviting a man to her quarters in the middle of the night... what do you suppose people would think if they were to witness such a scene?"

Silence - her eyes, the most innocent of blues, blink once, twice, thrice -

- all of a sudden they widen, her cheeks bloom with color, and then -

"A-a-ah-ahhh! I-it-it wasn't intentional! I saw an injury on your hand, and - "

"Yes, yes - I understand. Believe me, I do. But you realize that you could've brought me to the medical tent instead?"

Edgar simply watches as Idike's lips quiver defiantly, but it's short-lived as she expresses her surrender by burying her face into her hands, mumbling incoherent as she shook her head back and forth repeatedly; loose strands of hair dancing about.

He chuckles, bringing a hand to his mouth.

Perhaps I took it too far?

The wound on the back of his hand is a single slash, just in need of some disinfectant and a little ointment for good measure. She tends to it like going through the motions of every day she's dealt with ever since she begged Kyle to bring her along to the front lines: fingers deft and gentle, movements precise and prudent, pace not slow but steady.

She finished applying the ointment when he speaks, breaking the silence that hung in between them.

"Alice," Edgar lowers his head in a bow that has her blinking rapidly again as she sets the bottle of ointment down on a tray, "allow me to sincerely apologize for teasing you."

"No, no! You don't have to bow - I too, have to apologize since I... um, overreacted. You were trying to warn me for being careless, so... thank you, Edgar."

Idike gives him a small smile when he raises his head to look at her again, and as her eyes meets his she's reminded of how difficult it was to decipher what he was thinking about when he stares at her with such a blank expression on his face.

Then again, Edgar was difficult as he was strange; an enigmatic character whose great idea of a peace offering was caramel corn. The memory makes her smile a bit brighter as she looks away to take his ripped glove from another tray, along with a needle and a small white spool.

"That isn't necessary, Alice," he tells her when she starts threading the needle. "Fortunately, I have a spare set of gloves with me."

"Good," she hums, but she began to sew anyway. "... Say, Edgar?"

"Yes?"

"How did you get that injury in the first place?"

It's a rehash of their previous conversation, save for the fact that this time, he asks her the same question for a good reason.

"Do you really want to know?"

"I do, but does that mean you'll ask for my name again?"

A wry smile plays on his lips - they'd go off topic, but he could humor her for now. "Would you tell me if I asked it of you this time?"

She laughs, but no response follows. Oh, how he wished that her attention was set elsewhere rather than her needlework: with a head tilted downwards, he couldn't see the entirety of her face - she was ever so honest with her emotions, and being unable to see whatever expression crossing her features right now was unfortunate.

"... How did you know?" she asks after a short while, sewing coming to a halt. "About my name, I mean."

Gingerly she looks up a bit and he can finally see her eyes, blues tinged with confusion and perhaps some doubt - similar to when she studied him the day he gave her caramel corn, grip on the paper bag a little tight.

"I suppose there's no harm in telling you. Do you recall how you introduced yourself to the King and Queen of Spades the night you arrived here?"

"To Ray and Sirius?" she blinks before mulling it over for a few seconds. "... I just told them my name?"

"'You can call me' were the words you added with it. Quite an unusual way for a lady to introduce herself, unless doing so was common in the Land of Reason."

"That was your only clue?" she fully raised her head, now openly gaping at him. "Huh...? But wait, I haven't run into you yet that time, so how did you..."

Edgar brings a finger up and holds it against his grinning lips.

"Your reaction when I first asked you back in the infirmary confirmed it - I have to admit, you're surprisingly more cautious than you appear, to the extent that you're unwilling to give away your real name and make us settle for a fake one instead."

"What the - it's nothing like that!" she exclaims, fingers clutching onto her apron. He falls quiet as he waits for her to continue, watching as her lips drew themselves into a frown and her eyes waver with evident hurt and regret.

But why regret? He's the one suddenly backing her to a corner over something as simple as a name - she had some right to be cross with him and he certainly didn't mind (he'd been wondering if someone like her was even capable of being angry); but the fact still remains that she didn't deny his words. The ongoing silence wasn't helping her case any further, either.

Three seconds.

Four.

Five.

Then finally her mouth opens, hesitant.

"... If you've noticed that one detail..." she says, voice small, "... Does that mean you've been suspicious of me ever since?"

Edgar's smile grew thin.

Yes, he ought to give her a little more credit.

"Secrets, whether minor or major, can be such incriminatory things... don't you agree?"

Idike holds her breath.

"Before I forget, Alice."

With the mood heavy and possibly going nowhere at this point, he decides to take his leave, smoothly rising from his seat.

"The Ten of Spades, Seth Hyde," he doesn't miss how her shoulders jump upon hearing the name, "your friend - was the reason for my injury. Ah, but don't you worry - he still lives. I haven't the slightest clue about his unit, however."

She breathes in deeply, he's walking away. Shifting the tent's flap aside, the biting night air greets him, and he looks over his shoulder - she hasn't moved, nor does she turn his way. In the end it seems that he still won't be getting an answer, but perhaps he could try some other time instead.

If she even wants to see him after this, that is.

"Thank you for the treatment, and I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."

With that, Edgar leaves.

Idike sits in silence, staring at the half-mended glove on her lap.

And that was the second time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

The instant the King of Hearts fully steps into the medical tent; the overpowering stench of blood assaults his nose.

It's a different warpath inside the seemingly wide space, its four corners occupied with wounded men and the aftermath of their treatment stored away in sacks set on the corner nearest to the tent's entrance. Fluttering about the meager spaces left in between cots and the area itself were only a handful of people tending to the chaos: mobile soldiers with what looked like minor wounds, the Seven of Hearts, and also Alice the Second.

Lancelot walks over to where the doctor stood, a white coat back facing him.

"Kyle."

Said person turns around, and Lancelot's face contorts itself instinctively into a glare.

"Huh - Lance?" Kyle frowns, a syringe at the ready in his right hand. "It's past midnight - skipping out on sleep again?"

"I can say the same to you, so you're not one to talk. Put that away for a moment."

A shrug, but the syringe is set aside on the nearby trolley. "As you can see, you've made more than enough work for me already. So hurry it up, what do you need?"

"You can work while you talk. I need a summary of today's report."

"Got no more time to read the whole thing?"

"Unfortunately, I don't. Rest assured, I'll still take the written report before I leave."

"Must be tough being a man of war," Kyle mumbles as he starts to lay out small napkins on one side of the trolley. "A hundred eighty-seven dropped by injured, twenty-five lying down with major wounds. Fourteen were initially in critical condition - used some magic crystals to help with the pain and lull 'em to sleep after treatment, but they're better off going back to headquarters."

"Causes of injury?"

"Majority's still the usual sword or bullet," nimble hands begin pulling out contents from the medicine bottles, then settle an assorted amount of them on top of the napkins. "But some guys under our Six ran into the Three of Spades' squad by the Upper Central Quarter - they plant and throw caltrops, imagine that. Then the Nine of Spades wreaked havoc with his bow and arrow: considering the statements of his victims, I assume the arrowheads were dipped in a herb formula that causes temporary muscle paralysis - made sure to tell our Four about that, since his troop took the brunt of it. Did he mention that in the gathering?"

Lancelot nods, then his eyes narrow. "... Are there casualties?"

Kyle pauses, his hands frozen in place.

The gap of silence is filled in by cries, bemoaning, and frustrated yells.

"... Got our first one an hour ago. Blood loss and an infection too far gone - risked his neck for a new recruit."

Lancelot follows Kyle's line of gaze, to a cot set almost by the center of the tent: a white sheet's laid over it as a shroud and by the foot of the cot wails a soldier; head downcast, on his knees, and a tightly woven fist repeatedly pounding the ground. Alice the Second comes running over to the man's side, hands reaching out to stop him from hurting himself any further.

Both King and doctor soundlessly watched as she did her best to help the man get up on his feet, despite the crack in her voice and her cheeks tear-stained still.

"This place is preposterous!"

"How so, dear Queen?"

"Do you have holes for eyes? Did you not see the houses we passed by? They have thatched roofs, for goodness sake, and even without the aid of a magic crystal; you could clearly see that those hardly look properly reinforced! This whole area with its closely linked houses is simply a disaster waiting to happen if fire was to be put in the equation!"

Edgar snickers as Jonah continued to ramble on about (in his words) the 'baffling and questionable quality of life' of Black Army territory. True enough, the simple wood or stone houses did pale in comparison to the usual brick or marble homes found in Red territory; but perhaps that could be attributed mainly to the primary livelihood differences of the territories: while Black territory soil was kind and bountiful to agriculture, Red territory grounds were a trove of abundant mineral deposits open for exploration.

"Now, now. I'm sure that if the people of this village wanted to, they could improve their homes any time they wish. It just so happens that they willingly chose to devote their time to their livelihoods - quite impressive of them, don't you think?"

Jonah scowls. "First and foremost, if they had all the time to care for their finely plowed fields and well-structured barns, then they should also have half a mind to keep themselves safe. What use do these fields serve if their cultivator isn't present? What happens to domesticated animals without their owners to feed and guide them?"

Edgar claps his hands softly for a few seconds. "Such touching passion. If you're that concerned, why not bring it up with the Black Army leaders? I'm sure their Queen would also be willing to listen."

If glares could burn through skin, then Edgar was sure that his head should be going through spontaneous combustion at this point.

"Remind me again, why are you here?" Jonah stops walking, raising his lantern a bit higher to survey their current location. It was probably a few hours before dawn, but the dark of the night still wore itself thick around the mountain village. "The King specifically ordered your unit to survey and secure the waterways of the Civic Center that are also linked to those that flow through Black territory, correct?"

"Right you are. I've already dispatched my unit accordingly to do the task as we speak - however, the King expressed interest in villages, such as this one, which are far off from Black territory proper but closer to the Central Quarter. It was agreed upon that occupying these areas immediately would be of best interest, lest the enemy uses them as vantage points."

"That's the reason why my unit is here in the first place," an exasperated sigh, followed by a stern tone. "Admit it; you decided to come along, uninvited, because - "

Jonah abruptly holds his scolding, glower redirected at the darkness just ahead. With no one talking, the only sounds around were the faint chirping of crickets and the winds rustling through grass and straw roofs.

According to an earlier reconnaissance report, the Black Army ordered the evacuation and relocation of the civilian areas under their jurisdiction before the war started.

Two days ago, a number of scouts confirmed that the Black Army villages closest to the Red Army encampment were deserted.

Hours before he and his unit made their way to the village, watchmen claimed to have seen not a single trace of movement around the perimeter, even with the aid of magic crystals.

"Queen Jonah," a soldier whispers after a few seconds have passed, "Your orders."

Fixing himself into a defensive stance, Jonah tosses his lantern away from him - it lands with a dull thunk on a patch of grass, and his fingers slowly reached for the hilt of his sword.

"Discard your lanterns and draw your blades. We have company."

Day four without a single drop of alcohol. How quaint.

Here he was abstaining, but both Armies showed no interest in giving up the war just yet - the proof of all that was clearly evident in every corner of the medical tent, and also adding to that were a new group of potential patients barging themselves into said tent.

"Seriously? It ain't even morning yet," Kyle mutters under his breath. Beside him, Idike smiles weakly.

One of the men run towards the doctor and assistant, white uniform dirty and cap in tatters on his head. Still, he has enough energy to salute and speak in a booming voice that probably everyone in the vicinity hears, whether they wanted to or not. "Sir Seven, Alice the Second!"

"It's great that you still got some pep, so drop the formalities." a lopsided grin makes its way to Kyle's lips, then he gestures to the new arrivals. "What happened?"

"We, the Eight of Hearts' unit, had a run-in with the Jack of Spades and his troop in our attempt to occupy one of the Black Army villages present in the upper quadrant," the soldier relays - Idike's eyes widen, but she says nothing. "In the midst of battle, Ace Zero and his unit came to our aid, pushing the enemy back and allowing the wounded from our side to withdraw! The skirmish still continues as we speak!"

"Jack of Spades, huh... he leads a sword-based unit. Anyone in critical condition?"

"No, sire! Er, I mean, none! I think! Oh, wait! One of us took a heavy blow from the Jack himself, sir!"

"He's our priority then - gotta pity a guy who gets hit by that claymore," Kyle motions the soldier to lead the way and he complies, doing another salute before turning on his heel.

Kyle's already taken a few steps forward when it dawns on him that something - no, someone's missing. When he looks behind him he sees his assistant standing still, head downcast and hands tightly held together. Wisps of her hair that escaped her plait shield her face from his view, but he finds it relieving to see that neither her shoulders nor her knees were shaking.

The sight of her makes his expression turn wry - really, she could stand strong for days then become incredibly fragile just as fast; and that's exactly why he refused to let her near the front lines in the first place. She was kind, too kind for a war, and the fact that she had spent a considerable amount of time with both Armies didn't make this any easier for her.

Weeks ago the Black Army took her in when the Red Army saw her as a threat.

Now, she was willingly tending to Red Army soldiers, the sworn enemies of the same Black Army who called her a friend.

He walks back to where she stood and when he's close enough, he reaches out to take hold her shoulders.

"Hey," he says. Idike looks up at him.

"Oh - " her voice is a shadow of her usual self, the blue of her eyes waver with a flurry of emotions. Worry. Fear. Grief. Frustration. Exhaustion. All that a scrambling mess in one girl.

"Hey," he repeats, hands moving upwards to pinch her cheeks. She yelps in protest, face contorting even further.

"Owww!" she whines, the pain springing life back into her voice. "Kyle, what are you - "

"We have fourteen new patients lined up."

Her eyes widen, she stops squirming. Satisfied, he lets go of her cheeks and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his white coat.

"And supposedly, one of them's in bad shape. Think you can help me out?"

He keeps his gaze on her steady, she stares back. There's still some uncertainty flickering around the edges of her eyes, but her irises are filling in with the usual clarity of a blue sky, and that's what he - and the patients inside the tent - needed from her right now.

And eventually - thankfully - she nods, eyes not leaving his.

"I will," she says.

Right: a swoosh in the air, just seconds released, aim most likely for his left thigh or knee. A quick shift of his leg to the other direction, and an arrow materializes from the darkness and pierces the ground where his leg used to be. A brief look into the arrow's position suggests that the source is at an elevated position, possibly in -

Behind: heavy footsteps, grass crunching loudly; suggestive of someone rushing and most likely with a weapon. A twist of his torso, a raise of his saber up to his shoulder while he keeps his lower body steady to maintain balance; and clang! He comes face to face with his attacker and their short sword, strength shaky and current stance leaving them wide open. So what he does is to keep his right leg grounded as he lifts up his left; body pivoting smoothly as he delivers a heavy kick to his opponent's side.

The man screams in agony, leading to a loose grip on the sword and a wavering focus: the perfect opportunity to land a finishing blow through a series of rapid slices for disarming, a few sure steps forward, and - crack! - a knifehand strike lands on his opponent's neck.

Not wasting any time, he dives to the nearest place for cover, that being what looked like a small house. Back flat against the wall, he watches as the place where he once stood was again struck and with arrows this time, one hitting a discarded lantern and effectively snuffing the light of its magic crystal and the other two narrowly missing the body of the soldier he just defeated.

Jonah clicks his tongue.

Another light source gone. Dealing with ranged units in the dark can be so tiresome.

"Our morning got off to a good start, don't you agree?"

"Wha - "

Jonah whirls around to see Edgar leaning against the same wall and nonchalantly holding a bow and arrow in his hands, though his focus was more on the latter.

"Ah, yes. Our good doctor really is sharp, isn't he? The tip was dipped in a formula."

"Why you little - do you realize that this is hardly the time to be impressed!?"

"On the contrary," Edgar smiled as he raised the bow up to his shoulder height and nocked the arrow, "I think it's highly appropriate."

And with a sudden burst of speed; the Jack of Hearts ran out from his hiding place, aimed high, and released his hold on the arrow - he doesn't see how far it goes but seconds later there's a cry of pain and the loud rustling of leaves nearby, followed by something wooden and something heavy falling to the ground.

Jonah steps out from behind the wall, a dainty eyebrow raised. "That man better not be dead."

"How morbid of you," Edgar says as he casually discards the bow, then draws his saber. "A little paralysis doesn't cause immediate death, Jonah."

"But a sharp or faulty aim can. Enough of this - we ought to regroup with - "

"Men! Aim for the Queen and Jack of Hearts!"

The pair stood still as two groups hastily approached them from both sides - swords at the ready, they silently watched as they were encircled by what looked like an angry mob of soldiers all dressed in the same black uniform, the gleam of their weapons made seemingly eerie by a lone lantern paces away from Jonah's feet.

"Oh? Did the Nine of Spades have this much swordsmen under him?"

"Hmph. A trivial matter - they can call all the reinforcements they want, but their numbers mean nothing against the Queen of Hearts."

"Ever so dependable," Edgar grins as the soldiers begin to inch forward in unison. "But it's bad to keep all the fun to yourself, you know."

"Hey there. Can you hear me?"

The man lying on the cot lets out a groan as he awkwardly nodded - there's a gash across his chest reaching down to his stomach, looking loud and angry and all vibrantly red with spilled blood. Kyle inspects the injury without so much as batting an eye, stooping down a bit to get a closer look.

"Looks bad, but we can manage." he mumbles after a few moments, then he turns to Idike waiting behind him. "Get rid of his clothes and wipe the chest area clean."

"Alright," she steps forward to stand over where Kyle stood, gazing at what she needed to work with. First, she needed to get the patient out of that thick jacket - if she couldn't move his arms much, she could just go with cutting through the cloth instead even if it would take a little more effort on her part. Next, she had no other way around the shirt so she should cut it out, which meant that a clean replacement had to be ready after treatment. Lastly, since the blood was a bit messy, she needed to prepare two towels to make sure everything would be wiped down.

Her fingers are about to reach out when the soldier speaks, voice raspy yet firm -

"Don't touch me."

She stops, Kyle stops too. He's just nearby and getting the disinfectant ready, but he heard those three words - and the rest that would follow - loud and clear all over the din in the tent.

"Are you going to finish the work of the Jack of Spades? Part of your little Black Army family?" there's sardonic laughter - it goes on for a while, doing absolutely nothing to diffuse a palpable tension, then it's replaced by an angry growl. "I won't allow you, Alice - I definitely- "

"...op that."

Kyle looks over his shoulder. She said something, didn't she? Did she reach her limit? Was she going to cry, or -

"What did you - "

"Stop that," Idike repeats, high-pitched voice struggling not to shout but it doesn't mask the sheer emotion in her words that practically hiss themselves through her teeth. "I don't care if you don't like me, don't trust me, or if you think that I'm a Black Army spy! But don't you think for a second that I'm going to leave you here to bleed just because you said so!"

"How dare you - "

"How dare you! Do you think that your suspicion of me will mean anything when you end up dead!? Does it matter more to you than your own life!?"

The soldier lets out a gasp. Idike takes in a deep breath but she holds her tongue as she gets to work, lithe fingers unbuttoning the jacket with fervor.

Ah, she really needed those scissors.

"... You can doubt me all you want," she says, voice still struggling to keep itself leveled as she stared at the soldier straight in the eye, "But please do make sure to live through this, first."

And with that Idike stalks away, murmuring something about scissors, a shirt, and some towels. Kyle watches her go, lips quirking themselves into a smile, something like pride gleaming onto his expression.

Behind him, he hears a something like a whimper - then a sniffle.

"You heard the lady," Kyle chuckles, plucking out a bottle of salve from a trolley. "Glad to know I'm not the only one she gets angry at."

The Nine of Spades' specialty was archery - a rough approximate of men under his command was at least forty to fifty: half of them were trained in the art of archery, while the rest were trained swordsmanship or the art of wielding longer weapons like polearms in order to protect and keep enemies away from their ranged half. A group with good range.

The Seven of Spades on the other hand had probably around sixty to eighty men in his troop, and their weapon of choice were either blades or axes. When disarmed, the troop had no problem engaging opponents head on with their fists and legs. Quite appropriate, seeing that the Seven of Spades was rather bulky himself. A unit of great brawn.

Now, the Queen of Hearts had a total of a hundred and forty-five men under his command; all rigorously trained to be versatile in both melee and ranged weaponry, and also capable of manipulating magic to their advantage when deemed necessary. However, given that occupation of a village only required a minimum dispatch for convenience, that grand number was reduced to thirty at the moment.

Thirty, plus two Chosen.

Against two units with also possibly reduced numbers, but nonetheless still an advantage combined with knowing the general territory and geography better.

"Perhaps my uninvited appearance was a stroke of luck," Edgar muttered, sparing a glance upwards. Dawn was finally painting the sky... which meant that they were taking longer than expected.

"For once, I agree with you," Jonah huffed as he picked up a broken javelin off the ground - without bothering to aim he throws it ahead of him, and the sharp end pierces an opponent's thigh. The man shouts as his knees buckle, and one of Jonah's soldiers takes the opportunity to knock the man out. "Dealing with the Nine of Spades' flimsy unit would be easier if not for their annoying arrows!"

"If the whole or even half the unit of the Seven of Spades is in attendance, then we may have a problem," Edgar shrugs as two men, unarmed but with eagerly raised fists, rush at him at the same time: it only takes a sweep to the side, a swift kick to the back of the knees, and a single arc strike with his saber - to make his enemies fall face flat on some grass. "We can make do with our numbers granted that we avoid any major injury or arrow, but our endurance will be put to the test at this rate."

Jonah says nothing, but his narrowed gaze flickers to the pouch secured on his belt.

Edgar, of course, had already taken that into account - magic could dramatically alter their odds, but it was hard to tell whether the time was right to use it. While they knew their opponents, they couldn't say the same for their numbers; or their equipment. The Black Army had a limited supply of magic crystals, but what were the chances that the Nine or Seven of Spades' squads had crystals with them? Then there was also the issue of -

"Qu-Q-Qu-Queen Jonah!"

The two turn their heads to an ally running towards their direction, cap missing and face pale.

Jonah's brows furrowed as he stared at his subordinate: parts of his uniform and his face was stained with something dark, resembling soot -

And it's also then that Edgar catches a trace of movement from the corner of his eye, from the grove leading to a forest near the village: a glimpse of black cloth, flutter akin to a robe -

"My Queen, several houses have been set on fire!"

"Y'know, he was that same guy who didn't want you anywhere near his wound back then."

"Oh... Back when I just started as your assistant?"

"Yup. Good times, huh?"

A smile touches Idike's lips, hands taking hold of another sheet hanging on the clothesline. Oh, how she missed the feeling of warm sunshine on her skin and winds playing with her hair - stepping out of the medical tent for a bit to get the laundered cloths was a good choice.

Kyle also seemed to enjoy the brief respite, seeing as he was busying himself with stretching his arms and rotating his neck.

"Is he okay? It's good that none of his vitals were hit, but he lost a lot of blood..."

"Don't worry about it. He'll get better in time - even if your outburst made him go all emotional."

She goes quiet, fingers focused on folding the sheet in her hands. It's all well and good that her words actually meant something to that soldier, but in turn -

Are you going to finish the work of the Jack of Spades?

- those spiteful words haven't left her mind, either.

Part of your little Black Army family?

A frustrated sigh escapes her, but she quickly tries to swallow it down and settle for refolding the sheet instead - there's the crunching of grass behind her as she spreads out the whole sheet once more, and then suddenly she feels the weight of a warm hand on top of her head.

Idike stops.

"Hey, you should be the one reassuring me or something." Kyle says - he takes a step forward to stand beside her, his hand still on her head.

"About what?" she asks, breathing in the smell of crisp cotton in the air.

"About them, your folks back at the Black Army. That they'll be alright. You of all people should know how strong they are, yeah?"

Silence falls in between them, pregnant yet comfortable until she lets out a soft laugh; her shoulders drooping and hands shaking.

Yes, she knew, even if she only spent a few days with them, even if she only got to properly talking to five of their Chosen. She had a feeling that no matter how much Fenrir Godspeed, the Ace of Spades, wanted to test out his guns; he would never kill in cold blood or allow himself to be killed in turn. She believed that despite how feminine Seth Hyde, the Ten of Spades, appeared and acted; he possessed as much or even more strength than his rank required and demanded of him. She's aware that even Luka Clemence, the Jack of Spades, so quiet and aloof; strapped his heavy claymore constantly on his back and it definitely wasn't just for show. She witnessed herself that Sirius Oswald, Queen of Spades, dared not carry a weapon; but instead offered every spare second of his time and tactical ability for the pure benefit of the Black Army.

And she understood - if only just a little - how much Ray Blackwell, King of Spades, treasured the boundless freedom in a peaceful every day.

She still believed in them - even if she wasn't fighting with them.

"... I know," she whispers, words carried by the winds. She turns her head to face Kyle, lips easing themselves into a wry grin. "After all, they're the ones giving us so much work."

He stares at her, at the blue of eyes - before breaking into laughter and ruffling her hair.

Kyle, as punishment for ruining her already mussed up hair; ends up helping her gather the remaining pieces of cloths on the clothesline, folding them, and putting each piece neatly inside the large basket she brought out from the medical tent. It's only then does she discover that he can't fold a measly towel without fumbling around with it, but after some grumbling attempts he gets better - he's folding towel number five when she stops and stares at the next piece of fabric she had to take down from the line.

A pristine white glove.

Gingerly she frees the small thing from a clothespin and takes it into her hands, cradling it as if fragile: a finger traces over the surface where a tear used to be, now nowhere to be seen thanks to tiny stitches patching it shut.

Secrets, whether minor or major, can be such incriminatory things... don't you agree?

After a little more staring she raises her head and speaks, her voice a little louder for Kyle - the first person of the Red Army she exchanged a normal look with, the first person of the Red Army she had come to genuinely respect - to hear.

I want to believe in them, too.

"Say, Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"What if I told you that," she pauses to look at him before continuing, "Idike isn't my name?"

He tears his gaze away from towel number five to find her figure amidst and across all the fluttering whites, an eyebrow raised.

"... What, it isn't?"

She smiles a bit. "It's a nickname."

"Is it, now?" he blinks. The winds continue to blow softly; playing around with the sheets, the ends of his coat, and the strands of her honey-blonde hair.

"Let's hear it, then. Your full, real name."

From afar, his eyes follow the movements of her lips as she articulates the syllables of her name.

Her full name, figures. Does the Black Army even know that she was going by her nickname? Why was she telling him this now? Was it common for Land of Reason folk to give out their nicknames first before their names proper after some time had passed? Or was it really her intention to keep her name a secret from the moment she fell into Cradle?

Her earnest, almost relieved expression on her face told him otherwise, though - she's watching him with clear eyes, as if waiting.

So he rolls those same syllables on his tongue, the letters coming out steady and unsure on his mouth. He says it once -

"... That's right," she nods.

- repeats it again -

"Yes?"

- tries thrice -

"... Kyle. Are you making fun of me?"

She's openly frowning at him in an instant, the solemnity gone from her expression just like that, and he can't help but snort.

"I'll stick to Idike," he says, turning his head back to towel number five. Darned long piece of cotton. "Shorter. Less complicated. Is that why you go by your nickname instead?"

"... Admittedly, yes. It is a bit hard to say, isn't it? Even I had a hard time saying it when I was a child and most of my friends thought so, too. Now that I think about it, that's probably why it grew to be a habit of mine to introduce myself with my nickname."

"Huh. Your name isn't that bad. But y'know, since you were so serious earlier... I was starting to think that your name must be something complicated or embarrassing to the point that you'd keep it a secret."

"Hey!"

"It's a good thing we found someone to carry that basket of yours, huh?"

"... Kyle. The clotheslines are just behind the med tent - we could've carried the basket back ourselves!"

"Carry something that heavy? You're stronger than I thought! You exercise regularly?"

"What the - no! And you're exaggerating, a basket of cloths isn't that heavy!"

"Hey, that isn't good. You should exercise regularly, or else you'll get fat."

"You're missing the point!"

Kyle chuckles, watching Idike puffing out her cheeks like a little kid not taken seriously - they're only steps away from going back inside the medical tent when a clamor reaches their ears and makes them stop where they stand, both of them instinctively looking for the source of the noise.

"Did something happen?" she mumbles. Kyle shrugs in response, but he does squint his eyes to try to see what's ahead of them: the reinforced wooden walls surrounding the garrison, red banners swaying in the breeze, soldiers moving about, and -

"... horses."

Three of them, to be exact: pretty white stallions, as prim and regal as the Red Army uniform, getting larger and clearer as they approach. Idike squints and she sees them too, a hum of awe leaving her lips.

"Where do you think they're going?"

"Nice question. They're moving pretty quick, so maybe to the commander's tent. But they can also be heading - "

The horses still spur forward, sound of hooves hitting the earth starting to reach their ears. So far not showing signs of swerving to the left, therefore not heading to the center of the camp.

There's only one more place where soldiers would hurry to in times of war.

" - towards us."

"A good morning to you both," Edgar greets doctor and assistant oh-so-casually as he dismounts, like there weren't two unconscious men strapped to the back of his horse. The two soldiers who rode alongside him dismount as well, also revealing someone unconscious laying on their horse's back. Idike winces as she goes over to them, asking what happened with a brow creased by obvious worry.

Kyle sniffs the air and frowns - it gets deeper when he studies Edgar and his companions: parts of their uniforms, particularly their sleeves, caps, and boots were far from clean. They looked like they decided to spend some time rolling around in a fireplace. "You lot smell like smoke. Was your mission to set something on fire?"

"You wound me. I wouldn't dream of using such a brazen tactic if the great risks applied to our side as well. Sadly, the opponent didn't share the same sentiment."

"The opponent?"

Edgar smiles but says nothing more. Instead, he gets to removing the straps that held the men secure on his horse.

"These are men under our Queen that suffered from severe burns. That, combined with either a round of beatings, mauls from an axe, or arrow shots; courtesy of the Seven and Nine of Spades' units. I performed some amount of first aid with the help of magic crystals before bringing them here, and I'm sure you can handle the rest."

"Will do," Kyle watches as Idike ran up a nearby group of soldiers, presumably to get help in carrying the injured to the tent. It takes a few seconds of talking and gestures but she comes out successful, a group of able-bodies heading their way. "Still, you look pretty shabby yourself - sure that you ain't hiding a couple of burns?"

Edgar snorts - two soldiers approach him, saluting and offering to carry the unconscious to the medical tent in his stead. Nodding, he moves aside and lets them.

"I believe those words are meant for Jonah - he's the one who rushed towards a row of burning houses to save his men, I'll have you know. He also adamantly insisted that I bring them back to you - it's a good thing I decided to procure and hide away some horses beforehand."

"Heh. Cunning as ever, our Jack; as noble as ever, our Queen. Are you heading back to wherever you came from?"

"Along with reinforcements, yes. I believe Jonah has the situation under control by now, but there's much work that needs to be resolved."

"... Resolved, huh? That's a funny way to put it," Kyle shrugs, about to walk away. "Well, whatever. Just make sure to drag yourselves back here when you're done - and don't even think about skipping out on treatment, you hear me?"

With Kyle heading back to the medical tent Edgar stops to adjust his gloves, mismatched palettes splattered with shades of unsavory colors: earthy browns, crushed greens, murky reds, charcoal black. There was little to no trace of its pure white glory, but that was hardly anything new to him at this point.

They weren't damaged today, though. Not a single hole, tear, or rip.

Hm. Would she have noticed again if there were?

The thought escapes him just as fast as it crosses his mind, causing him to shake his head. As he told Kyle, there was still work to resolve and also things he needed to investigate; which meant he had no time to dawdle. Regaining his focus, he's about to mount himself on his horse when -

"Edgar!"

The call rings loud in his ears, echoing like the chime of a bell: there's no waver of hesitation, tremble of nervousness, or shake of anger.

It's just her and her clear voice, calling out his name.

So he turns around, smile at the ready, words planned out and ready to leave his lips once he'd see her face, but -

- it all comes to a halt when something damp touches his forehead.

His shoulders jolt slightly, surprised at the cool sensation but he doesn't pull himself away. It dawns on him that she's wiping his face with what looked like her handkerchief; the white square patterned with daffodils tracing his forehead, the curve of his cheeks, the lines of his jaw, and even the tip of his chin.

It happens all so fast and gentle, such well-practiced motions on her part.

And when she pulls away, hand holding a soiled handkerchief to her chest, she tells him:

"Be careful."

Their gazes lock together - steady and unafraid, jade meeting blue.

And that was the third time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

"Jonah informed me that you joined him without warning on his mission."

Ah, here we go.

Keeping his smile calm, Edgar stood still under his King's scrutiny. With the two of them only left in the commander's tent and with those eyes blue as ice highlighted eerily by the lamps, the air suddenly felt quite heavy.

"That, I did."

"Your help in subjugating the Seven and Nine of Spades' troops was greatly appreciated. But explain yourself."

Lancelot Kingsley leaned back on his chair, but by no means did his imposing tone or aura lighten.

"Do allow me to address my insubordination first - if you find it fitting to punish me immediately, then I shall gladly accept and reflect on my actions." Edgar bows low, eyes set on the ground. "On the other hand, my King, if were to explain my actions; I believe it's because I've been finding our current advantage over the Black Army rather odd."

"Odd, you say... Do you find it so surprising that we've been emerging victorious on each encounter we have with the enemy?"

"Nothing of the sort. In fact, it's the expected outcome even before the war began." Edgar raises his head with a shrug, the smile on his lips still present. "But considering the recent reports of the Chosen and the village conquest the Queen and I experienced... I can't help but think that there's a third party meddling, or, should I say... assisting our cause in the most peculiar manner."

There's a brief pause, poignant yet also brimming with the tension of a challenge.

Edgar lets it sit very still, simmer a little further, then speaks up again.

"Or it may be a result of incredible chance," he says, adapting a lighter tone. "Whatever the case, I find it quite unsettling and insulting, as well. We certainly aren't so weak or foolish to require such aid; it's like our army's capabilities are sorely underestimated. And in addition to that... we also have Alice the Second as our trump card, do we not?"

Lancelot's eyes narrow ever so slightly.

There weren't much sheets today, but there were a hefty amount of towels.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she rises from her laundry spot; a quaint area by the riverbank with a patch of soft grass to sit on and with a comfortable arm's reach to the river's waters without the need to bend excessively. Stretching her arms upward, she finds herself staring up at the sky.

It's dark, but beautifully cluttered and lightened with stars. Sign of another day gone - four about to turn to five days of a war still raging.

Her arms eventually fall to her sides and she picks up her laundry basket, keeping her grip tight on the handle. Even if her nighttime laundry duties were something like her brief respite away from the medical tent, she couldn't - no, she didn't allow herself to stay out for too long.

If she did, she's not so sure that she could return calm and smiling like Kyle could always do.

If I have another outburst, I'm not so sure I can stop myself again.

So instead, she distracts herself with thoughts of work as she makes her way to the back of the medical tent and to the clotheslines: after hanging up laundry, she might as well head to the mess hall and grab some dinner for herself and Kyle, and also for the volunteers helping them out if the portions can fit in the basket. After dinner, check the condition of the critically wounded, see if they needed anything like bandages to be changed. Speaking of bandages, were there still enough of those going around in trolleys of the tent? When was the last time they restocked? She'd better ask when she gets back.

The list gets long, longer, and so on and so forth; and her feet have the urge to pick up the pace, until -

... Hm?

"Off with only a warning... how gracious."

If you insist looking for your... third party, then so be it. But remember where you stand, Edgar - you have your own duties to fulfill in this war. One misstep, and you might as well be at the mercy of your so-called chance.

So he's been granted permission to investigate, given that it doesn't interfere with his missions and that he proceeds with caution. The King doesn't address the idea of there being an actual third party, but the lack of confirmation or denial might as well mean that it was plausible... and that he was aware of its existence, himself.

As for Alice... her ability still serves to be of use to us, so it would do well to keep her close. She is, as you say, a trump card in this war... and it's important to keep our advantages hidden until the time is right.

Simply put, the King was protecting her and if Edgar were to wager a guess, it wasn't in fear of the Black Army taking her back. If the King really saw her to be the advantage that she was, he still would've brought her to the front lines; but not with the freedom to continue her duties as the doctor's assistant.

For were she still the same person that she was two and a half weeks ago, Alice would've jumped at any chance of escape.

But at a drop of a hat, she changed. To army that gave her nothing but grief upon her arrival in Cradle, to the men who drew their swords at her and threatened to end her life, to those that kept her on the edge for days with their wary looks, and even to him who took her away from the Black Army by force... she chose to extend her hands to each and every one of them with a newfound purpose simply on her mind.

To help them.

To keep them alive.

It hardly made any sense, and in all honesty there little to no things that could leave him so vexed in a short amount of time.

How does she do it?

Was there truly a person in the world who was that tolerant?

How was it possible to turn obvious distrust into genuine kindness so quickly, without fear of betrayal?

"... Edgar?"

Ah - he's aware that just by thinking about an individual cannot summon said person like magic, but when he looks up he really sees her in the flesh, standing in front of him and holding a filled laundry basket in both hands. Her apron has added splotches on it with each new color just as equally suspicious as the older ones, honey-blonde hair still a haphazard plait now resting on her shoulder, and the new tickling smell of soap wafting from her figure presumably a result from doing laundry.

There are still bags overstaying their welcome under her eyes, but what he studies is the curious glint in them when she asks:

"... Can I help you with that?"

One minute ago they're enfolded by silence and a cool night's breeze, then the next she's suddenly laughing quietly to herself, features softened by a kind smile.

"Really. Are we going to keep meeting like this?"

He matches her smile, keeping his bare arm still outstretched.

"I hope not. I'd like to experience a day where I take care of you, for a change."

Idike chuckles, starting to wrap a bandage around his left forearm. To be fair, if her eyes weren't drawn to the light coming from his lantern as she was making her way back to the medical tent, they wouldn't be in this situation. But they were, and not so far away she saw the Jack of Hearts sitting cross-legged under a large tree, stripped of his long coat and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Curious, it was only when she stepped a bit closer did she realize what he was doing.

He was doing his own first aid and from the looks of it, he was already halfway done.

Now she sat beside him on the grass, helping him with the finishing touches.

"Do you really mean that?"

"Certainly. I still intend to make a good effort on becoming your friend, if you recall."

"Even if you don't trust me?"

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second. The bandage continues to wrap itself around his skin with her guidance, coiling like a snake.

Two seconds.

Three.

"... Say, Edgar? Is it alright if you listen to me for a bit?"

"... Of course."

She hums for a bit, keeping her eyes trained on the bruises on his arm, on the bandage she was trying to secure.

"When Kyle took me in as his assistant... I took up his offer for the wrong reasons. At first, I only saw working by his side as a guarantee for my safety in Red Army headquarters, and maybe my first patients understood that, too - when I began helping out in the infirmary, there were some soldiers that gave me odd looks but said nothing; then there was also this one person who refused my help outright, claiming that I'd poison him there and then."

Ah, yes - the soldier from our Eight's unit, Edgar muses, but doesn't say. The day that the Seven of Hearts declared Alice the Second as his assistant did cause quite the commotion in the barracks.

"I wasn't offended, really - I felt nervous since he was glaring at me, sure, but in the end being Kyle's assistant was my decision so I treated him anyway. I figured that all those pointed looks and that accusation was justified considering who I was to this world, and that I was with the Black Army at the start."

"... That is, until I forced you to come with me."

His comment prompts her to flash him a wry smile before continuing. The bruises are now hidden under strips of white.

"I wasn't angry or hurt, so I just took in all their suspicion. Besides, I couldn't find it in myself to turn a blind eye on someone who was injured - I may have made my decision to become Kyle's assistant for my own sake, but I wanted to help people in need... that much was genuine. I wanted to save lives."

A brief pause. When she speaks again, her voice shakes slightly.

"... So earlier this morning, when that same soldier who accused me refused my help again, and went as far as saying I'd kill him since he was already in such bad shape... something in me just... snapped."

A dry laugh escapes her - it's a heavy mix of frustration and anger and he could tell that it was still a bit raw; that those two feelings still took hold and grew root in her somewhere, not dissipating in the slightest.

So even the benevolent can feel such profound emotion.

"I... tried my best not to yell at him, even if I wanted to. I had so much, so much to say to him. About me. About the Black Army. About him being so stupid for rejecting help. About our patients in the medical tent, about how they all wanted to recover and live. About how Kyle and I and all the volunteers were giving our all every single day just to look out for everyone."

The bandage is now wrapped securely on his forearm, and she ties it nicely despite her fingers quivering.

"... I... I hardly said any of those, in the end. But when I got some time to clear my head... I wish I could've said something else from the start. Something I was reminded of... just this morning, too."

She stops moving, eyes still downcast. Her fingers still hold his wrist, her warmth mingling with his skin.

"... And what would that be?" he asks.

Idike goes quiet again, so he listens to her breathing as he waits.

A heavy inhale by the nose, a quiet sigh through her mouth.

"You know - "

Her voice has found itself again and it has turned itself into a solemn whisper, dainty fingertips of her free hand now tracing over his bandaged forearm then to the exposed flesh of his wrist; his skin tingling at the light drag of her nails on them.

" - I can't heal you if you're dead."

She speaks the obvious, but of a topic that someone of her disposition most likely wouldn't talk about often, much less willingly mention unless -

Ah, he mouths.

Such was the effect of death.

The night continued to stretch on, tainting the sky pitch black but adding it with stars, bountiful and twinkling.

"... Edgar."

"... Yes, Alice?"

"Why do you allow me to treat you?"

No actual reason - but perhaps out of personal interest.

"Because you willingly offered your aid."

That was true as well - she approached him with all her honest intentions clearly written on her face, and he accepted it.

"Even if you don't trust me?"

Ah... Is that what it looks like to you?

"You seem to be mistaken. I never claimed to be suspicious of you."

Being extremely cautious around a young woman with a revolutionary ability but with a heart of gold hardly seemed necessary.

"But - you noticed I kept my name a secret, and I thought - "

If you were thinking that I thought you to be dangerous or something similar because of that, then you've misunderstood me completely.

"I apologize if my approach to you that night felt like an interrogation. But if anything else, your reactions made it very clear to me... you had your own reasons for doing so, correct? It gave me little reason to prod further or fault you for it."

Although if she was affected this much by his parting words, then it's a sign that she's learned that secrecy wasn't to be taken so lightly in times of war - how funny that he; the Jack of Hearts, would be the one to teach her that.

She seemed to have heard enough, her fingers finally releasing his wrist to fall back on her lap. Again, he finds himself wishing that he could see her face - she had used him, in some sense, to air out the pent-up emotions she's been holding in for heavens know how long. Did her moment of catharsis make her feel any better? Was his input or presence of enough use? What change would this conversation bring about in her? Would it be for the best, or for worse?

Was there a smile or a pained expression on her features?

Really, what was going through her mind right now?

Slowly, he finds himself reaching out a hand to her.

And that was the fourth time Alice the Second treated the Jack of Hearts.

"Enemy squadrons spotted ahead! The Queen and Ace of Spades appear to be at the helm!"

Their King isn't present...? Zero narrowed his eyes, focusing on the silhouettes that became clearer on the other side of the Black Bridge as they approached. True to what was announced, he could only see the ever so composed figure of Queen of Spades and the oddly colored shock of hair known only to the Ace of Spades; their mounts a few steps ahead from the group trailing behind them.

"Well now - to have their Queen out on the field... perhaps their King is out on much urgent business?"

Zero glances at Edgar - there's a smile playing on the oddball's lips as usual, but years of grudging acquaintanceship helped interpret that a little further: the man was grinning, and that meant Edgar Bright was most likely in good spirits - may mercy find the poor souls unfortunate enough to cross blades with the demon today.

That aside, having Sirius Oswald on the front lines was unusual. Would an actual negotiation be held on this Bridge, or was the Black Army plotting something else?

The soldiers started to murmur among themselves, but then the clear cut voice of their King resonated among their ranks.

"It hardly matters if the King of Spades has business somewhere else - Red Army, I expect all of you to stand your ground. We are here for a negotiation as they requested, and if this happens to a pretense... I see no reason why we shouldn't retaliate in response: it will also serve as a good lesson for a King who seems to forget his Army's position as it stands in this war."

Zero felt a chill run up his spine. Speeches from the King, where charisma and callousness would mix, were really something else to the ears.

"May glory run crimson through our veins," Lancelot recited.

"May glory run crimson through our veins," came Zero's and the Red Army's reply, perhaps loud enough for the incoming Black Army to hear.

It happens in quick steps, like a practiced dance as they were to meet the Black Army halfway through the bridge:

First, it starts with Zero's horse unable to stay still for a second: he manages to calm it down, and from the corner of his eye he sees Edgar resolving the same problem as well -

Second, the winds that kept on blowing around the bridge suddenly died down, Black Army banners finally staying still on their poles: this would not be unusual if the air didn't feel so thin all of a sudden too, making breathing a little harder than it should be -

Third, the air simply isn't thin anymore: a tingling charge, prompting hair to stand on end and filling one with a sense of alertness and jitters, starts to creep in as Zero breathes and it downright makes him feel sick to his stomach with familiarity -

Fourth, everyone seems to get the feeling that something's wrong: from the right end of the bridge the King of Hearts abruptly orders his soldiers to stop, and from the left end Zero hears the Queen of Spades shouting a similar command, but -

Fifth: the pavement they are on literally starts crumbling. No one sees why it happens but it just does; starting from the center of the bridge then spreading quickly from the sides, the road breaking into cracks then growing to fissures then gaps in all directions and it just goes on; wider and larger and faster and it doesn't just stop for anyone and the cracking sounds continue to grow louder and stronger -

And in all the chaos of crumbling rocks, neighing horses, and astonished and panicked screaming; the Ace and Jack of Hearts turn around, concerns on one thought and one thought alone -

"King Lancelot!"

"Do you recognize them?"

"Yes. This person is from Sirius' unit, while these three are under Fenrir."

Kyle lets out a sigh, staring at the four odd men out in the medical tent. No one would dare do anything to them in this place, but still -

"I still can't believe it," Idike's brow furrows as she wipes the forehead of the one she claimed to be under the Queen of Spades, "How could something as grand like the Black Bridge collapse? You don't suppose it's the work of..."

She trails off to shoot him with a knowing look, and he shrugs in response.

"Making a bridge like that collapse isn't a feat an army can even do on short notice. It's definitely a possibility."

But if they're willing to pull off something this big without a care of the aftermath, it's either this whole thing was a display of power or a warning.

Kyle lets out another sigh, shifting his gaze towards her instead: the headstrong bottomless appetite confectioner turned temporary doctor's assistant for a month, also known as Alice the Second.

His sort-of drinking buddy.

His sort-of student in the medical practice.

His assistant.

When he calls out her name - her real name - her head snaps to face him immediately, only to find him walking his way to the tent's entrance. He parts the cloth with the back of his hand, and a cool night's wind flows into the tent.

"Got a second?" Kyle asks as he looks at her over his shoulder, faint moonlight streaming down his feet. "We need to talk."

"Zero! Look up! There's a floating marshmallow in the sky!"

"... One more ridiculous comment out of you, and I'm seriously going to abandon your corpse in this forest."

Edgar chuckled. It's a good thing his back was leaning on Zero's own to help his body stabilize itself - riding a horse backward was turning out to be a fun experience.

"How rude, Zero. I'm in perfect health, yet you call me a corpse? As your mentor, I'm dreadfully hurt..."

"You're a corpse in a different sense of the word," Zero mutters, keeping himself focused on maneuvering his horse around the dark forest path. "And what part of you is in perfect health right now? You fell off a collapsing bridge alongside an incredible amount of rubble down a twenty-meter lake - if I didn't know better, I wouldn't have guessed that you survived. "

"How touching. But yes, despite a head injury and a number of unfortunate scrapes, I live to tell the tale: my first time utilizing the precautionary magic crystals each Red soldier is given before battle, for the sake of saving myself from an unexpected situation. It's amazing how I suddenly regained consciousness, lying face flat on some shore."

"... King Lancelot says his thanks. If we didn't react the way we did, he wouldn't had enough time to compose himself."

"Oh...? Did he use magic to resolve things?"

"... He did. He also apologizes for being unable to reach you in time."

Edgar hums, closing his eyes. He didn't mind not being rescued, but what bothered him was in the end; the Beautiful Beast still saved the day with his magic: it's not the outcome Edgar would've wanted for his King, but it's the outcome he would've expected of from his King.

Surely the man knew that his powers were linked to his lifespan but there he goes once more, ignoring all that in favor for doing a noble deed.

"Kyle is going to throw a fit once he hears that our King used magic again."

"If he can even find King Lancelot, that is." Zero says, grip tightening on the reins. "After settling the bridge incident, issuing additional orders, and assigning my unit to search for possible survivors like you; he's nowhere to be found."

"Oh dear. Did he look terrible or as stoic as ever?"

"You shouldn't use those words to describe your commander. But those who last saw him said he looked awfully pale."

Edgar didn't have anything else to say after that.

When he opens his eyes, he sees the sky, maybe. All black and white and hazy. Kind of like his mind at the moment.

His eyes are struggling, too. But he can still see the floating marshmallow.

It's oddly shaped though. It's circular, sort of tiny. Coin-sized. Far up and away.

Oh.

"Am I dead?" Edgar says, voice low and serious. He felt the jump of Zero's shoulders as soon as he spoke.

"... And here I thought you'd be sleeping until we made it back. So much for peace and quiet."

"Zero. Am I dead?"

"Get a grip. You're alive."

"But you called me a corpse earlier."

"What are you, suddenly five years old? I didn't mean it literally."

"Ah. So that means I can still be healed."

"Kyle and Idike will do their best once I get you to them."

"But the marshmallow must've taken her away already."

"... What nonsense are you going on about now?"

Zero waits for a reply, but it doesn't come.

It's Kyle who first notices Zero enter the medical tent - a casual hey followed by a query about the bridge incident is about to leave his mouth but once he sees the Ace, the first thing he blurts out instead is:

"What is that, a sack of potatoes?"

"You're insulting potatoes," Zero answers flatly - he was effortlessly carrying the unconscious Edgar on one shoulder, face not showing a single sign of strain. "Do you have an empty cot right now?"

"Yeah, take your pick - " Kyle points to several areas of the tent in rapid succession, then he squints at Edgar. "Wow. Never thought I'd really see the day. You really sure this is our Jack of Hearts and not a sack of potatoes?"

"You're the doctor, you tell me," Zero starts moving towards the nearest cot, and Kyle follows. "Not sure if it's everything, but Edgar told me he has a head injury and scrapes - he managed to survive the whole fall by using all the magic crystals he had."

"Just like some of his guys from his unit did, huh? He must've taught them well on how to use their magic crystals."

"But I doubt Edgar taught them to risk their own lives to try and save him."

"Aw, but look on the bright side," Kyle grins as Zero sets Edgar's body carefully on the cot. "There are people around willing to help out our Gentle Demon - isn't that a good thing?"

Too bright.

That's what his eyes are trying to say, but he opts to force them open anyway. Eyelids still heavy, all he can manage now is to make them flutter slowly - it's a start.

Strong smells of disinfectant and blood flood his nose each time he breathes, which meant that Zero successfully delivered him to the medical tent and he didn't even notice. That head injury might've been worse than he initially thought. How many hours have passed? How long had he been asleep? Was it still night or was it already midnight - or past midnight?

"... Oh? Waking up?"

Among the various voices and noises in the tent, his ears could pick out that one languid voice, just nearby.

Kyle.

"... It's due to surprise," Edgar manages to say, his throat a bit dry. "I can't seem to smell not a single whiff of alcohol on you, how tragic."

Eyes starting to regain their focus, he manages to see Kyle's face looking down at him with a lopsided grin.

"Sheesh. Just woke up and you've already got something smart to say. Can't we get a thank you instead?"

Edgar laughs softly. "... That seems lacking though. Do you accept caramel corn as thanks?"

Kyle immediately scowls. "You and your awful food preferences. What kind of thanks is junk food, anyway?"

Before Edgar could answer with a compelling narration on the value of junk food, another voice pipes up, light and distinct.

"I'll have it if you don't want it, Kyle."

... Did he hear right?

He blinks once, twice, thrice; and there she is in the flesh, entering his line of vision: a young woman with honey-blonde hair, blue eyes, a smile on her lips.

Oh.

"Hello there, stranger," Alice the Second says.

With the doctor shuffling himself away to attend to another patient, Idike remains by Edgar's side. When he manages to sit up, she hands him a cup of warm water.

"How are we feeling? Does anything still hurt?"

He shakes his head, draining the cup in a few gulps before handing it back to her.

"... Today is the night of the full moon."

"I know," she replies casually, taking the cup back in her hands. "The view from here was gorgeous, too. Is the moon always that pretty, wherever you are in Cradle?"

"I've never given it much thought."

"Really? That's a shame."

She pulls up the chair next to the cot and sits, setting the empty cup on a nearby trolley. He's watching, waiting, and when she looks at him; she's smiling again.

"I didn't go back. To the Land of Reason, I mean."

"I can see that."

"Kyle tried to talk me out of it, saying that I should go back to my peaceful world. You know how he hates people foolish enough to throw away their own lives? If I went back, I told him that it would be the same as abandoning those same lives and others I might be able to save - like yours, for instance."

He blinks for a moment upon hearing her last statement.

"That's noble of you. But surely you know that means seeing this war - no matter what the outcome - to the very end."

"I can do it. I will do it. It'll be tough, but I'll push through - I have to."

Resolution makes her eyes shine, beautiful in its utmost clarity. He's drawn to the sight, semblance of a response forgotten.

"Oh! By the way, I never thanked you that night we talked."

"... You don't need to. I was merely listening to your thoughts."

"That may be true, but it helped me a lot. So... thank you, Edgar. And I'm glad you're safe."

She beams at him with a smile reminiscent of warm sunshine on skin, and he's lost in it even further when she adds:

"Welcome back."

"... Alice."

It slips out of his mouth even before he realizes it: she's about to leave, chair neatly set aside and feet ready to go elsewhere, but she stops to the sound of his voice calling. She peers at him curiously, and it dawns on him that he's made a mistake.

This isn't like me at all.

"... I realized that you still haven't told me something," Edgar says slowly, as if carefully listening to his own words as well.

A tilt of the head to the side, a series of blinks. "I haven't?"

He nods, then it hits him.

"Your name."

They go quiet for a few seconds. Her face is blank; he studies her with a half-serious expression.

When she laughs, he finds himself staring again.

"I can't believe," her features soften with obvious amusement, "that you're so hung up over a nickname."

So it's a nickname.

"Am I?" he eases his lips into the usual smile. "I've always believed that the first step to making friends is to tell them your name."

"... ike."

Whatever she said escaped her lips a little too fast and far too soft for his liking, drowned out by the din in the tent.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

Alice - Idike - laughs again, and somehow it manages to echo in his ears loudly than any other sound present in the medical tent. Smiling, she leans over to him a bit, raising a cupped hand to shield her lips from prying eyes, like a child would do when spilling out their secrets.

"My name, good sir, is..."

30 days remained before the next full moon...

#ikemen kakumei #ikemen revolution #ikerev fanfic #edgar bright #ikerev alice #kyle ash #ikerev zero #lancelot kingsley #jonah clemence #yeEHAWS into a void: i! finally! finished! tHIS!#just in time before zero's route haha... i'm so done...

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wonderlandleighleigh · 5 years

Text

A Kitten in the Sarah Rogers Memorial Community Garden

I promised @toenail-stink-hate-echo-chamber a fluffy fic involving Steve Rogers and a Kitten.

Takes place in my Just This Once, Everybody Lives universe (Steve stays, adopts a little girl named Maggie, and nobody dies).

Title: A Kitten in the Sarah Rogers Memorial Community Garden Characters: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Maggie Rogers Ships: None Genre: Fluff, Kidfic, AU Summary: Steve finds a visitor in the garden.

Fic is under the cut!

It’s May, and beautiful. There’s lemonade, there are new mint plants to find homes for, and nobody is calling his phone.

Today, Steven Grant Rogers is fully enjoying his retirement.

It’s easy to get caught up in the garden, and he does it often. Watering and weeding; soil checks. Making sure animals haven’t swiped the literal fruits and vegetables of his labor. It’s also a great way to keep his mind off of the fact that Maggie is now attending preschool.

‘How the hell did that happen, anyways?’ he thinks as he keeps weeding, and decides it’s time to give up on a particularly unhappy strawberry bush.

There is a rustling sound in the rose bushes, and Steve’s ears perk up immediately. It’s getting late now, and he should be wrapping things up; Maggie will be home soon, and he’s gotta be at the bus stop.

But that rustling.

He stands carefully, moving quietly across the garden, grasping a hand rake tightly. If it’s a raccoon, this could end with a trip to the hospital and a lot of jokes from Sam about Captain America getting rabies.

When he pulls the bushes aside, though, it’s not a raccoon at all.

It’s a kitten.

Small, less than a year old, probably, and orange.

It gives a tiny meow, and then runs off, trotting away quickly in fear.

Steve frowns.

“Aw.”

*****

Sam shakes his head as he watches his friend carefully set down a small bowl of cream. “Okay. This is definitely the softest thing you’ve ever done.”

“You know, you say that, but you’ve never seen me wear onea Maggie’s flower crowns,” Steve tells him as he dusts off his hands.

“Yeah, okay, Mr. You get killed, shake it off.”

Steve grins ruefully and sits down on the bench swing. “Go away before you scare the kitten.”

“There isn’t a kitten.”

“There might be soon.”

Sam shakes his head and laughs. “You better send me a picture of this thing, otherwise it might be time to send grandpa to the funny farm.”

“Bye, Sam.”

After he leaves, Steve sits back and waits. It’s another nice day; a little hotter, but fine.

He waits for about an hour, tapping his booted foot gently in the dirt, before he hears the rustling again, and freezes.

The kitten - the same kitten - stumbles out of the rose bushes again, looking around. It’s tail is a little matted, but it seems okay; happy to sniff the air and follow its nose to the bowl of cream.

Steve lights up when the little thing starts lapping some up, dunking a paw in and licking the cream off.

He watches for a little while as the kitten eats, before he slowly, carefully bends over, and scoops it up.

It yelps and writhes and Steve barely keeps hold, before the little sucker is gnawing on the meat between his forefinger and thumb.

“Gah,” he says, but doesn’t let go.

The cat pees on his jeans and frowns.

“Yeah. Okay. I get it. If a big scary monster grabbed me, I might pee too.”

Which is not at all true. He’s been grabbed by plenty of big, scary things (Thanos. Ultron. That one time with the Hulk...), but he’s trying to relate.

*****

The local vet is nice. An older man whose office walls are covered in photos of dogs and cats and birds and ferrets and hampsters and guinea pigs of all shapes, colors and sizes.

Steve watches calmly as he checks out the kitten.

“Well, he’s definitely a he,” the vet says. “And he seems pretty healthy for a kitten who hasn’t spent much time with his mother.”

Steve nods. “He okay to adopt?”

“Oh, I don’t see why not,” the vet grins. “He’ll need to be neutered and we’ll have to do some blood work. Check him for worms and fleas and diseases. Why don’t you leave him here overnight, and I’ll call you in the next day or two with a status update.”

Steve hesitates.

“I promise I’ll call, Captain.”

He nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

*****

“A kitty?!” Maggie squeaks as they eat dinner that night. “Really?!”

“Yep,” Steve grins. “He was in the garden. He’s hangin’ out with the animal doctor right now, but if he gets a clean bill of health, I can bring him home.”

“We’re gonna have a kitty?!” Maggie cries, so excited that she knocks over her sippy cup, which Steve catches quickly.

“Yep!” Steve grins. “We’re gonna have a kitty.”

“What do we name him?” Maggie asks. “Where will he sleep? Does he get his own room?”

Steve chuckles. “He can sleep on the couch.”

Maggie frowns. “Where will Uncle Bucky sleep when he visits?”

“They’ll just have to share,” Steve grins. “As for a name, we’ll have to think on it.”

“What about Buttercup?” Maggie asks.

Steve chuckles. “Let’s keep thinkin.”

*****

Steve picks up the kitten two days later. Little guy’s got a clean bill of health, and Steve watches him as he explores the apartment, jumping on tables and wiggling his way underneath the couch.

Steve grabs a chair and settles down, just watching. It’s nice to have a pet. He never had one as a kid, but he fed neighborhood strays all the time.

His mother had always liked animals. Sure, she was a nurse for people, but there were plenty of days the neighborhood kids would come to Sarah Rogers with wounded dogs and cats and she’d fix ‘em up, feed ‘em water.

He can almost hear her voice, giving firm but kind instructions on animal care.

“Not so different from people,” Sarah Rogers would muse when Mrs. Grossman next door would chide her on wasting food and resources on injured dogs and sickly cats. “And if God put ‘em on Earth with us, he didn’t do it just for us to ignore their pain.”

Steve smiles sadly, and blinks, looking down to find the kitten sitting at his feet, wagging his tail.

“Hungry, Buddy?” Steve asks, getting up.

The cat’s butt wiggles and he pounces suddenly, gripping onto Steve’s jeans.

He chuckles. “Okay. Let’s to a trip to the kitchen. I gotcha some nice Fancy Feast.”

*****

When Maggie gets home, the kitten suddenly has another playmate, and it’s clear that they’re going to be attached at the hip.

“Still needs a name,” Steve reminds her after dinner that night.

She lays on the floor with the kitten lying on her chest. “What about...Tigger.”

Steve considers. “Maybe. He did pounce on my leg earlier to hitch a ride.”

Maggie giggles. “I hope he does it again, I wanna see.”

Steve grins, and reaches out, petting the kitten’s head. “Hm. What about...Ralph?”

Maggie light up. “Like Wreck-It Ralph? We watched that movie it was funny!”

“Yeah. You like that name?” Steve asks, smiling at her.

Maggie beams at the cat. “Kitty your name is Ralph now. Is that good?”

Ralph gets up, turns in a circle, and then settles back down on Maggie’s chest, tucking his little head into his arms and purring.

“I think he likes it,” Steve grins.

*****

When Maggie goes to bed that night, Ralph follows her and settles down on the bed, curling up again.

Steve grins and snaps a picture with his phone before sending it to Sam.

“Who’s the crazy old grandpa now?” he texts.

“It’s still you,” Sam responds.

Steve smirks, and heads to bed.

#fic #steve rogers #just this once everybody lives #captain america #pro steve rogers

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Indomitable; shattering glass doesn't fix hearts (Trixya) - Dymphna

Hi! I began posting this on AO3 awhile ago but decided to bring it here as well since… well, I don’t know, it’s the fic I like most that I’ve written myself. I’ll be the first to admit it takes quite awhile to get to the actual plot but… bear with me guys! I hope you enjoy, any feedback is appreciated :) <3

You can find me at my blog @tropicaldepressionkatya

Who the fuck wears nude shoes to a hunt in the woods? Trixie couldn’t believe her own stupidity. She’d think it was her first hunt. When she glanced down at her feet, the mud was already all over the soft shoe. The fabric soaked it all up, and Trixie wanted to just take them off, preferably throw them in a fire as well. Unfortunately, she had made a choice. And the price was a pair of perfect nude colored heels.

So there she was, crouched, a once beautiful pair of shoes on her feet, her hair in a ponytail. She was chewing on the inside of her cheek, eyes not leaving the tree. The tree where the demon was supposed to appear.

Everything had led her to that point, and she was prepared. Salt, salt bullets, iron, even. The thing about demons was that they responded differently to certain things. Salt always kept them out, but couldn’t always kill them. Iron only worked on some.

After Trixie had seen a hunter with angel blood kill a demon, she had cursed her own parents for not sleeping with angels. The runes, which apart from looking amazing, also made them better at, let’s say, everything. They had knives and swords that were given to them by the angels themselves, buzzing with light and slicing through the demons with ease. After a hit in the chest, they crawled back to where they came from.

Trixie was jealous, but she couldn’t change her blood type and decided to let it go. She had killed plenty of demons all on her own, without runes and fancy knives. She was an amazing hunter, even though working alone could get her killed faster than she’d like.

Her legs and knees were beginning to hurt, the demon hadn’t showed up yet. Beginning to get impatient, Trixie cocked her gun, checking the bullets, cleaning her knives.

“Did you hear that?” Someone hissed, a little too loud, to be sneaky. “Someone is here.”

Changing the position of her feet, Trixie stopped breathing, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.

“It’s probably nothing. Let’s get this over with.” She exhaled again

Two women walked towards the small open spot, the tree in the middle. Big, majestic, demonic. Probably all Trixie’s favorite things, it just missed some pink.

The smaller one, wild curls bouncing as she glanced around, reached for a bottle, which she sprinkled over the tree. Trixie caught a glimpse of a tattoo. She had no idea what they were doing. The other woman, a little taller, wearing a tight dress and black pumps, almost tripped a couple of times, before she lighted a match.

Trixie liked to think she was pretty smart, but she didn’t realize that the girls were going to light the demon tree – her demon tree –on fire until the match was thrown towards the tree.

“What the fuck?!” Trixie jumped up, her voice a low growl. “Do you have any idea what the fuck you’ve just done?!” She yelled, grabbing her gun and cocking it again.

“Oh my-“

The smallest girl also pulled out a gun, black and modern, yet not a revolver. Trixie knew her bullets wouldn’t kill a human, but the long shaft looked intimidating.

The taller blonde, apparently a lot slower than her friend, pulled a machete from her back. The fire reflected on the metal. It seemed so close, too close. Trixie might have been angry, but her job was protecting the mundane, so she lunged forwards, yanking the smallest girl closer to her. “Watch out! Your fucking fire is gonna bite your asses.”

Stunned, they looked back. Just shortly, but Trixie had lowered her gun. “I hope you know that this town is seriously fucked now, it’s y’all’s fault.”

“We actually saved the town!” The blonde called, machete loosely dangling in her hand. “You don’t know what we’re talking about.”

“Whatever,” Trixie put away her gun. “I’ll drop a flower on your grave.” She turned her back to the girls, jogging away. The girls wouldn’t hurt her. Not when she saved them from getting severe burns. Trixie thought it was weird they carried weapons, but consumed by anger and annoyance, she didn’t think to give it, or them, any attention.

“Is she wearing nude shoes? Out of fabric? Is she stupid?”

Throwing the shoes back into the sink, Trixie rubbed her eyes, sighing. As expected, those shoes were ruined. Now all she had was a pair of pink and white cowboy boots and a selection of ugly black and blue pumps. After she’d saved the town from the demons that were going to flood the town, she’d go shopping. Her formal wear was beginning to thin, all her nice clothes destroyed during working hours. So there she was, in black jeans and an orange sweater. She hated that sweater. It tickled her all the time, and by the end of the day, her skin would be red and itchy.

The sun was beginning to rise, and Trixie realized she had lost another night of sleep to working and not being able to sleep. The coffee maker was way too loud, deafening almost, in the quiet motel. She didn’t like coffee, but the lack of tropical redbull forced her to do things she didn’t like.

Slipping into her white boots, Trixie took her shoes, strutting through the hallway. The lights were on, but there was no sound, no living soul in sight.

The dumpster next to the motel doors were something that had put Trixie off at first, but it was the closest to the woods and the city. After all, it was convenient. From where she was standing, she could see a crushed wall and an obvious hole in the roof. She hoped no one was dumb enough to use those rooms.

She dropped the shoes in the dumpster, sighing once again before she turned around.

“What is a pretty lady like you doing up so early?” Trixie had almost bumped into a tall man. He had a lot of muscles, and light hair. Generally speaking, he was attractive.

“Not just appearing and scarring other pretty ladies.” Trixie didn’t mean to snap, but his gaze held something offputting and empty. She tried to brush past him, but he spoke again.

“Come on, we’re already here, let’s make the most of it.” His voice was deep, but missed the warmth Trixie liked.

“I have an appointment in two hours.”

“Oh, with a boyfriend?” He teased, and Trixie turned fully back to the man. Her face was blank, something she always had been able to do. Resting bitchface, people said. Others said she was just a bitch.

“No, with the police. I’m helping them.” Trixie was bluffing, but she had a certain confidence, one that people simply couldn’t ignore.

“Oh,” His voice dropped in volume. “What are you investigating, hm?”

“Classified,” Trixie smiled, waving. “I’m going to get ready now.” The man didn’t say anything else.

Closing and locking the door behind her, the coffee maker was done, and she poured herself a cup. The key to delicious coffee was lots of sugar and milk. A lot of it.

Walking over to her suitcase, Trixie frowned. FBI clothing. Her last formal skirt was covered in blood stains, after she had raided a vampire nest a few weeks ago. She really needed to go shopping.

Since she didn’t have much choice, she picked a dark pant suit. One of the few positive things about it was that she had a pocket for her lipstick.

Moving to the small bathroom with her mug in her hand, clothes over her arm, and shampoo bottle in her other hand, she bumped the door open with her hip.

She’d been in the motel for a few days, so she knew the water took ages to heat up. So Trixie turned on the shower, carefully hanging the clothes over the sink as she sipped the last of her coffee. The motel towels were crappy, they always were, but bringing her own was just something she couldn’t afford. She was usually on the road, anyway. The apartment she owned in California was just collecting dust. She hadn’t been there in four months.

But having a place where she could stack all of her stuff, her books, her bills, and pictures was nice. She planned on going back for some time after her current job.

She stepped into the shower, the water turning dark with dirt almost immediately. Her feet and legs had been gross, covered in dirt. She’s washed most off when she got back, but dirt was annoying like that.

Her flowery and over-expensive shampoo covered the smells of her adventure and the lack of sleep, even though her makeup was going to finish that job.

Whatever she had to do, she would. She was going to fix the mistakes of the girls in the woods. She didn’t have a choice, really. She wouldn’t run away, even though it’d probably be safer.

“Miss Johnson?” Trixie turned at the sound of her fake name. When she was an FBI agent, she was Jessica Johnson, a widow. “Your coworkers have arrived.”

“I-“ Trixie bit her tongue, offering the officer a polite smile. “They’re here sooner than expected. Delayed flight,” She explained. “Could I talk to them for a minute?”

“Of course, they’re with officer White.” He said. “I’ll take you, Johnson.”

“Please, call me Jessica.” Trixie followed the man, wondering if they were real agents. Her fake ID was convincing, but with the shoes she picked, she’d never be fast enough to outrun an agent.

“Well, here they are. If it’s fishy…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “Call me when you’re done, okay?”

Trixie closed the door behind her. The doors in the whole building were rather heavy. Trixie wondered why that was. But when she spotted the two agents, it was a good thing the doors were heavy.

She pulled her gun, pointing it at the woman with wild curls. The blonde pulled her gun a little later.

“What are you doing here?” Trixie snapped. “You set a very special tree on fire, no way they would let two idiots be FBI agents.” Trixie slowly cocked the gun, her eyes following every movement of the girls.

“We are,” The blonde spat back. “I’m going to reach in my pocket, grab my ID.”

Trixie nodded, balancing her focus over the blonde and the girl with dark hair. The blonde fished out an ID, it looked real enough. Then again, so did hers. “Isabel?”

“The one and only,” Isabel lowered her gun. “That’s Rose.”

“Sounds like the fakest names ever,” Trixie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I’m the FBI agent. Y’all are imposters.”

Rose scoffed at the same tone as Trixie. “Well, girl, what was a real FBI agent doing in the freaking woods at night? Alone?”

“Important stuff, but that’s-“ The door was flung open, startling Trixie, who turned to the person. It was the man from that morning. “What the-“

Even though the man only hit her with one hand, his power was enormous. As she was being thrown against the floor, she realized that it was a demon. Her vision got blurry, the air was slammed out of her lungs. She needed to get up. She needed to protect the girls.

She forced herself up, slightly dizzy, but she had fought in worse shape. The blonde girl, who Trixie had written off as not so bright and slow, had a blade in her hand. Trixie would recognize blades like that everywhere. Freaking angel bloods. Of course they were, no one else would be as stupid to burn a demon portal tree. The other girl, Rose, reached for a weapon, but the man – demon – hit her with his fist, full against her head.

“Shangela!” The blonde called out through gritted teeth. Trixie’s head was too messed up to connect the dots. She didn’t care, anyway. It didn’t matter who these girls were, as long as they would be alive when Trixie left the building, trying to come up with a great lie.

She cocked her gun, the metal cold against her warm fingertips. She could feel blood drip down her neck. The blonde girl lunged away from the demon, hissing when he clawed at her skin.

Narrowing her eyes, Trixie had trouble keeping the gun straight, seeing straight. She shot. She was pointing at the demon’s head, but missed. It hit him in the shoulder, an unnatural sound leaving his mouth. Even if he was just distracted for a moment, the blonde lady, Isabel, jumped back forwards, slamming her fancy knife into the demon’s chest. With much more strength that Trixie thought was possible for a skinny thing like Isabel, she repeated the action multiple times, until the man opened his mouth, the demon circling out before vanishing with an agonizing scream.

Isabel was panting, dropping the dead body and rushing to Rose, or Shangela’s, side. “Hey,” She whispered, so softly that if Trixie had been standing two steps back, she wouldn’t have heard it. She wouldn’t have heard the desperation, fear and slight crack in her voice. “Shangela, Shangie, are you there?”

Trixie wondered how no one had noticed a gunshot or the obvious sounds of a fight. She just assumed the walls were soundproof. She hurried to the door, seeing a few officers frown at her. She smiled politely, closing the door again. Getting that body out would be a problem.

“Is she alright?”

“Fuck no,” The blonde snapped. Trixie was almost sure her name wasn’t Isabel. “Damn it, why did I leave my Steele in the hotel?” She ran a hand through her hair, biting her lip before getting up in frustration. She kicked one of the chairs before a few creative and impressive cuss words left her mouth.

“That isn’t gonna solve anything,” Trixie bit at the woman. She moved closer, her first-aid classes coming back. She had plenty of experience with wounds. Her head had stopped spinning, and the blood hadn’t dropped onto the floor, so she knew she was good. Better than the girl – Shangela, she assumed – on the floor.

After a quick glance, she knew the woman needed a hospital, or a real doctor, at least. She remained calm, speaking slowly to not alert the other girl. “She probably has a concussion. I can’t tell if she’ll wake up all by herself. I think she needs a doctor.”

“Okay, okay,” The girl breathed out, returning by her friend’s side. “Hear that Shangela? We’re gonna call Pep for you.”

“Who the hell-”

“Did I fucking ask you anything?” The blonde snapped probably harder than she intended to. She released another shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I’m really frustrated. I can’t carry her all by myself. Could you please help me?”

“My Jeep is outside,” Trixie said, looking at the still unconscious body. “But the body. We can’t become wanted after y’all burned a demon portal.”

Isabel closed her eyes, grinding her teeth. “Fine. I’ll take care of the body. Can you cause some distraction?”

“Isabel,” Trixie smiled. “Distraction is my second name.”

From the corner of her eye, Trixie could see the younger woman drag the body behind her, doing surprisingly well for her slim and breakable form. The officers were gathered around her as she clutched her forehead. The wound wasn’t deep, but stretched long enough over her face to worry some. Her agonizing groans were rather convincing, and men were always looking for a damsel in distress.

“I- it was a man! How did you not see him?! He rushed over there!” Tears were streaming over her face, and Trixie was amazed at how amazing she was doing. “Please, he said he was going to kill me!”

Several officers shuffled away, to the direction Trixie pointed at. Two stayed by her side. “Miss, it’s going to be okay. Come with us, we’ll make some phone calls-”

“No, no,” Trixie wiped her tears away. “I- I should go home.” Trixie wiped at the last tears. “I’m okay, I’ll be okay. I just… need to get out of here.”

“I understand, miss,” One officer said softly, a soothing tone to his voice. “Should I go and grab your purse?” He already was moving towards the door when Trixie saw Isabel hurrying back inside.

“No!” Trixie cleared her throat, hoping her voice would break just a little. “It’s fine, I can do that myself. Can you please help him get behind bars?” The innocent flutter of eyelashes broke something in the man, his eyes softening. It wasn’t the best thing for an officer.

“Thank you,” Trixie sniffed, wiping under her eyes again, offering the man a smile. She got up from her crouched position, taking the offered hand before she slowly skipped back to the room. Isabel was already inside, A bright grin on her face. “Good enough?”

“Yeah,” She said, a hand pressed against Shangela’s arm. “Help me with her, okay?” Trixie didn’t even have time to brag about her theatrical skills and charm.

Trixie put the lady’s arm around her neck, gently lifting her to her feet. The other girl did the same. “So, I’m guessing you’re not Isabel?” As she groaned softly under her weight.

“Aquaria,” She muttered back, walking as fast as she could. Even though no one was walking in the main office, they didn’t know how fast they’d be back. The black Jeep was shining around the corner, and Aquaria let Trixie alone to deal with the unconscious girl as she opened the door. The two of them gently laid the girl on the back seat. She’d been out for a good ten minutes, and Trixie was beginning to worry.

Hopping in her car, the blonde was already sitting in the passenger seat, typing furiously on her phone. “Who’re you calling? We’re bringing her to the hospital.”

“No!” Aquaria snapped once again. She really seemed on edge, and Trixie couldn’t blame her. “How do you think they’ll look when they see her with all those wounds? With weirdly shaped scars? Too many questions. Besides, Peppermint can get her back on her feet in just a few hours.”

Aquaria pressed call, and was getting frustrated pretty fast. Trixie watched the girl on the backseat with caution and worry. She hoped this Peppermint person was as talented as Aquaria claimed her to be. If she wasn’t, Shangela would be dead by morning, she guessed. But Trixie felt like she couldn’t argue. Shangela had angel blood, after all.

“Okay,” Aquaria breathed out. “Here left. Pep will be there in half an hour.”

“That’s fast, where’s she from?”

“She’s in France, right now,” Aquaria glanced at Shangela, her curls decorating the last seat. “She needs to set up a portal, but she loves us. We’d do anything for her, and so would she.”

Trixie decided to say nothing. So Peppermint was going to travel by portal. Right. Sure. Whatever.

Trixie followed Aquaria’s direction, parked in front of a rather fancy looking hotel, at least in comparison to her motel, and helped carry the brunette to their room. Room 015, first floor, luckily. The hallways were thankfully empty.

“Let’s bring her to the bed,” Aquaria opened the door with a key, and Trixie was stunned. How in the world could they afford that place? The kitchen was small and neat and the dinner table had 4 spots. The table was decorated with a white tablecloth and yellow flowers. There even was a rather large lounge. “Over here.”

Trixie followed Aquaria’s lead, Shangela’s eyes sometimes opening a bit. At that point, Trixie wasn’t sure if she was affected by the hit on her head or if the demon blood had been too much for her. The burns in her legs and arms had been big.

Gently, they placed the woman on the bed, which was big and looked incredibly soft.

Aquaria brushed Shangela’s hair out of her face with a fond look on her face. “You’ll be okay, Peppermint is on her way.”

Trixie felt like she didn’t belong in that moment, too intimate and familiar. “Wanna help with the hot chocolate?”

“Hot chocolate?”

“Pep likes hot chocolate. We’re kinda friends, I guess. We don’t need to pay her anymore, so I make sure we always gets some chocolate when she comes to the rescue.”

“Oh,” Trixie whispered, nodding her head and following Aquaria back to the kitchen. Now that there wasn’t an unconscious girl hanging between them, Trixie noticed that it wasn’t white and gold, but a soft pink cream color and bronze. The couch was one of the few shades of brown that Trixie thought didn’t look like shit, and the painting above a dresser had blue and pink tones that matched the walls and the kitchen cabinets. “I didn’t know hunting paid this well.”

She let her fingers glide over the dresser, which was spotless. Cleaned that morning, probably.

“Oh, it really doesn’t,” Aquaria smiled, opening the cabinet to grab a pan before moving to the fridge, which undoubtedly was too large for a hotel room. Aquaria’s mood had shifted, she didn’t seem too worried anymore. “You get creative, though. Lots of people die, you know. The unsaveable. We just…”

“Take their money,” Trixie finished. She hadn’t done that often, found it a rather disrespectful thing to do, and got what she wanted by lying, shoplifting, and going on dates to fancy restaurants. “I thought y’all angels were nice people.”

“Being nice doesn’t bring bread to the table,” Aquaria added some sugar to her mixture. “Can you close the curtains? Peppermint will be here soon.”

Since Aquaria didn’t say why, Trixie didn’t think it was her place to ask. She just did what was asked, muttering her questions under her breath, growing annoyed with the whole situation. In all honesty, she should probably go to her motel, try to solve the case, and forget about Aquaria and Shangela. But her curiosity was sparked, and if there was one thing Trixie knew about herself, it was that all questions should be answered.

So Trixie let Aquaria babble on and on and on. Humming or chuckling where needed. She talked a lot, stumbling over her own words from time to time, earning a genuine giggle from Trixie. It only took Peppermint about ten minutes, before she literally walked through the wall.

“What the fuck?” Trixie chocked out when she saw the light wall darken, the core so black, it looked as if nothing had ever been there. “Aquaria, What the fuck is happening?”

Aquaria glanced over the edge of her phone, an eyebrow raised. “Oh,” Aquaria dropped her gaze to her phone again, shutting it off a few seconds later. “The portal.”

Aquaria moved closer to the wall, a bright smile of excitement on her face. It was as if she had forgotten about Shangela. Or that she didn’t really care. Trixie shrugged those thoughts off, because it could just be her coping mechanism, and because it definitely wasn’t her job to judge whatever was going on between them.

A woman with black braids and pink lips stepped through the ‘portal’, smiling brightly as she spotted Aquaria. “Hello, dear,” Her voice was soft and gentle, and Trixie could imagine her hug being comforting and motherly. “What happened? Where is she?”

Aquaria led the woman to the room, and Trixie felt left out and unsure what she should do. It was a familiar feeling, even though she rarely paid attention to it. She preferred to work and travel alone, not wanting to take care of anyone, or being a burden for someone else. However, it did get lonely.

But Kim had warned her for that, yet young and dumb Trixie had been fueled by anger and fear, and she never thought about what it had meant, getting into the business. Now that she was almost ten years older, Trixie knew, and had to live with the consequences every day, sleep with it every night.

She hadn’t worked together since Kim, and even though she wouldn’t call saving Shangela’s live working together, she didn’t mind listening to Aquaria’s rambling, or the change of scenery. Sometimes, Trixie wondered if she made the wrong decision by working on her own.

“You okay?” Aquaria had her hair pulled in a high ponytail, the grey-ish tone in her hair more prominent now that she was opening the curtains again. The sun was shining, and even though Trixie doubted it would warm her skin up, it was pleasant to know she wouldn’t need a raincoat.

“Yeah,” Trixie gently shook her head, coming back from wherever her mind had wandered. It was a place she didn’t like to visit. “Is she going to be okay?” Trixie pointed at the door. The door was closed, and she swore she could hear a faint whisper.

“Pep is fixing her,” Aquaria’s hands were balled into fists. “She’s been through worse, Shangela,” The blonde let herself fall on the couch, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. Trixie could see the hint of dirt under her nails. Maybe it was blood.

“What about you?” Trixie couldn’t believe she forgot to ask that. Her social skills were rusting, that was obvious. The occasional hook up didn’t require much talking. Most of the time she was lying, anyway. She couldn’t be Trixie Mattel, often she had to be Jessica, or Isabella, or Alice. It was easy to forget who she was, even though fighting always brought her back.

“I’m fine,”

“No demon blood?” Trixie had a hard time believing that. Aquaria had been dressed in a skirt and the thinnest white blouse she’d ever seen. “Want me to take a look?”

“No, when Shangela wakes up, she’ll do it, it’s fine.”

“You sure?” Trixie carefully stopped herself from correcting Aquaria. If Shangela wakes up.

“Yeah, runes will heal it in no time.”

Right. Aquaria had angel blood. Trixie tensed up. “I can look at yours, if you want. I make killer healing runes, just so you know.”

“No,” Trixie sounded harsher than she meant to. “I mean I’m fine. I should just … go.”

“What?” Aquaria sounded surprised, pushing herself up and shaking her head. “Hell no, you’re staying. Wouldn’t it be better if we solved this case together?”

Trixie scoffed. “It’s obvious y’all need it, because you set a portal on fire.”

“Geez, let it go,” Aquaria chuckled. “We’ll work on that, it’ll be good in no time.”

“Let it go,” Trixie scoffed, pushing the tip of her shoe into the carpet, which looked too soft and expensive for an hotel. “I could be on my way home, but no, I might have to stay for weeks if it’s as bad as I think it is.”

Aquaria raised an eyebrow. “Weeks for closing a broken portal? Girl, how aren’t you dead yet?”

“What?” It came out harsher than she meant, but Aquaria seemed unbothered.

“I already texted someone from back home, she’ll bring some stuff and we’ll be done here in like, two days.” Aquaria looked at her nails, sighing in annoyance when she noticed that the baby blue polish had chipped a little bit. “I have to fix this.” As much as she tried to hide it, Trixie guessed she wasn’t fine, too restless to be okay.

The girl walked away, but Trixie wasn’t done. She often spent weeks trying to find a solution, and this freaking teen just let someone bring the answer to all their problems to them? Well, the solution to some problems.

“What do you mean? What is she bringing?”

Aquaria, who had an air of slight arrogance around her, looked at Trixie as if she was the one who figured out how to use the potty two days ago. “Some sort of dirt made from iron and salt. A few sticks with runes. I don’t know, we’ve used it for ages.” Aquaria spoke while painting her nails a cute orange, soft yet outstanding. “Where are you from?”

Dumbfounded by the simple question after Trixie had come to know something major, she just stood there for a long moment, trying to grasp the meaning of the words, before they hit her in the chest. “I live in Cali. Well, my house is there. I travel a lot.”

“I can tell,” Aquaria didn’t clarify what she meant, and when Trixie was about to ask, about to be offended, the girl began talking. “We’re from Boston. We go home often enough, Raven has a large place. Sometimes we do smaller cases in little groups, the big ones all together. We’re with a lot, you know.”

Trixie, for one, couldn’t imagine working with a large group. That only meant more people to look after, more people to protect. She couldn’t even protect one extra, how the hell was she about to take care of a group? However, Aquaria didn’t seem to have that problem.

“Sounds like fun,” Trixie rolled from the heel of her foot back to her toes. “Does this Peppermint person always take so long?”

“She won’t be ready before dawn,” Aquaria closed the bottle, blowing her nails with elegance and a certain laziness that was fascinating. “You can leave, if you want. It was really nice to bring her here.”

“I-“ What was she supposed to say? “It’s fine, I hope she’s okay,” Trixie glanced back to the closed door. “Can I come over tomorrow? Just to check if she’s okay.”

“Of course!” Aquaria stopped blowing her nails to smile. “Maybe you could help with cleaning up some more demons. You seem like a good hunter.”

It did feel indispensable to leave Aquaria, a foolish girl who painted her nails before fighting demons, possibly alone to kill maybe a dozen of demons. “Sure, why not?” Trixie scratches her nose, careful not to smudge her makeup, a strange tingle in her chest. “I’ll come over at noon?”

Aquaria nodded, giving her an awkward wave while not stopping her blowing. When Trixie left, she knew for a fact that Aquaria wasn’t looking at her.

Her fingers were shaking when she tried to open her room, the faint smell of something disgusting not bothering her for the first time since she checked in. She couldn’t stop the tremble, her heart was throbbing in her throat, and tears were threatening to well up any moment. It was weird, Trixie didn’t know where it all came from.

And yet she did.

Careless banter with someone who understood what she did. Someone who knew more than her and wanted to work together. She hadn’t worked together in three years.

When the lock finally clicked open, Trixie pushed herself in, hoping to find relief in the motel room, an empty room, a silent room. Nothing changed.

So, deciding that facing her feelings would be too hard, she kicked her shoes out with more force than intended, and moved to the little kitchen. The glasses had been dirty when she arrived, and she had only cared to clean one. Filling it with water, she took a small sip. Even though it did cool her down, she still felt like crying, like fainting.

I love you.

The words were loud and clear in her mind, she could even imagine that stupid crooked smile.

She threw her glass against the wall with a yell. She reached for the used plate in the sink, which soon followed the glass. Some of the glass hit the wall, jolting back at Trixie. She didn’t know if something hit her. Not then. She didn’t care.

See you at dinner, loser.

She leaned with her palms on the itchy tablecloth, her breathing uneven when a large tear rolled over her cheek. She never saw her at dinner.

#rpdr fanfiction #trixie mattel #aquaria #peppermint #tw blood #tw fighting #indomitable #dymphna #submission #shangela laquifa wadley #trixya #lesbian au

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