#I want a disgruntled Will Graham please | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

duuhrayliegh · 3 years

Text

social media

warnings: none? maybe a smidgen of language? fluffy bucky, bad description of dancing? idk, there really isn’t anything in this one to be warned about it just super wholesome

word count: 2437

a/n: okay so this came out longer than i meant it to, but i’m not mad at it. there’s mention of he/they pronouns and gender identity, if i didn’t do the subject justice please let me know. also tiktok mentions and all creators are tagged accordingly so please go appreciate their wonderfulness :)

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

if you want to know where these characters are coming from, check out the other parts! you don’t have to read them in any particular order!

ray’s m.list

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Being from the 1940’s, Bucky didn’t have much education in the world of smartphones and social media. When he came out of cryo in Wakanda, Shuri wasted no time showing him the ways of the iPhone. Honestly, he was stunned because there were so many things you could do with it. So much information was available at the touch of his fingers.

Shuri taught him the ins and outs of the phone. He had gotten pretty good at it, if he did say so himself. She had just begun to teach Bucky about social media when Steve pulled him back to the Big Apple. When he returned to New York, he was able to easily contact Steve, who was not as proficient as Bucky was. So when he met the fantastical group of four friends, they began to teach him. This was one of those things that they were incredibly excited to teach Bucky about.

“So you don’t have an account on anything?” Freddie held his hand out for Bucky’s phone.

“No, I have one on something. I think Instant Graham? My friend set it up for me, but she never taught me how to use it.” Freddie smiled and shook his head, dark curls bouncing back and forth.

“It’s Instagram, bubs and that’s a good jumping off point.” He opened the black iPhone and swiped through the pages on the homescreen. Coming across the sunset colored icon, he hovered his finger over it. The screen changed, opening to a white screen with the words, WELCOME to INSTAGRAM, whitewolf. Bucky smiled at the name displayed and Freddie scrunched his brows.

“What is a White Wolf?”

“I’m the White Wolf. It’s Wakandan. We can change it if we need to.” Freddie looked over at Bucky and saw the happiness on his face at the name.

“No, it’s good we can leave it.” He clicked on the profile button in the bottom right corner of the screen. “Okay, so this is your personal profile.” In the top left corner whitewolf was written with a little arrow next to it facing downward. Freddie opened the edit profile section.

“Do you have a favorite picture of yourself? You have to set a profile picture so people know that it’s you.” Bucky nodded in understanding, and then took his phone back to scroll through his pictures. He didn’t have many, just the ones that he took recently. There was hardly any of just him, but he eventually found one he deemed good enough.

“Alright, now what do you want to put in your bio?” Shrugging his shoulders, Bucky leaned back into Cassie’s plush couch.

“What does yours say?” Freddie pulled his own phone out of his pocket. The pale lilac color seemed to shine through the clear case that it wore. Opening his own Instagram, Freddie leaned the phone towards Bucky.

|| he/they || activist || va te faire voir ||

“What does ‘he slash they’ mean?”

“Oh, those are my pronouns.” Freddie received a head tilt from Bucky, so he decided to elaborate. “So, I identify as a non-binary who is comfortable with you using he/him pronouns or they/them pronouns. If you’re talking about me to someone else, you can say ‘he is at the store,’ or ‘they are at the store.’” Bucky nodded, still a bit confused on the subject.

“When do you use each one? Like is there a certain time that you say he and him and another time for they and them?” Bucky was trying to get some clarification on the topic.

“Not necessarily. Usually, when you’re first talking to someone, it’s common practice nowadays to use they/them pronouns so as to not misgender anyone. I know it probably sounds a bit excessive and a small bit over sensitive to you, but to a queer or non-binary person it makes a whole hell of a lot of difference when someone tries to be inclusive.”

“Okay, so like if I just meet someone on the street, I should use the they/them pronouns until told otherwise?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Do you want to include your pronouns in your bio?” Bucky smiled and nodded, happy with himself that he was able to understand that so well.

“So, what does it mean to be non-binary and still use the he/him pronouns? Don’t those two contradict each other?”

“Not really. Gender is a spectrum, as is sexuality, but for someone to identify as non-binary and use he/they pronouns, means that I feel that not everything about manhood accurately describes my truth. On that same hand, I still do identify as a male.”

“Right, right.” Throughout Freddie’s lesson about gender identity, he was able to finish Bucky’s profile and begin to follow the three girls. After clicking the blue follow button on all three of the girls profiles, the group chat between them started blowing up, that was a new phrase Bucky learned last week.

Evie: um, i just got the weirdest insta notif

Penny: me too???

Cassie: I did too.

Cassie: Wait, who is Bucky with right now?

Evie: DANG IT FREDERICK I WANTED TO HELP HIM SET IT UP

Bucky: My name isn’t Frederick, Evie

Incoming Call from Evie

“What do you want, spaz?” Freddie answered on speakerphone. An indignant scoff came from the other end.

“I thought we were all going to help him with that, Frederick.”

“Um, I don’t remember us talking about that.” He laughed as the door to Cassie’s apartment opened, allowing Penny to walk in and smile at the two men on the couch. “Also, when were we going to have time to do that with you being at school and all?”

“We were going to wait until the weekend!”

“Eves, you’ve been saying that for the past like three weeks.”

“Oh my gosh, fine.” Her end of the phone got real quiet, “I’ll be home in like ten minutes. I call dibs on helping him set up a TikTok.” Three beeps signalled to the room that Evie had hung up the phone. Bucky turned to Penny and began to ask about her day.

“Ya know, the usual. Rude customers, bratty co-workers, life’s a dream at the bank.” She slipped out of her nude heels and made her way to the sofa. “What have you boys been up to?”

“We have been setting Buck up with some social media and learning about gender identity and respecting pronouns.” Freddie said proudly as he handed Bucky his phone back.

“Sick! Which ones did you do?”

“All the classics, Instagram, Twitter and Facebook just for PR though because hardly anyone uses it anymore.”

“Right, and can’t do TikTok until Evie gets here. Um, did you set up a Spotify for him?” Bucky recognized the name and the memories of Shuri helping him floated in his head.

“Oh, I have one of those. That was actually the first thing that Shuri helped me set up whenever I got this thing.” He opened the app quickly to prove what he was saying. Penny smiled and gave a small thumbs up. “I do have one question.” The two of them gave Bucky their undivided attention. “What is a TikTok?”

“Right, so it’s just short videos. It’s really pretty cool and a really good way to waste time.” Freddie answered while pulling up his own page on the app.

“Yeah, and the thing that shows you videos is curated to your tastes because it’s based on your likes and people you follow.”

“I’m almost positive that Evie is going to teach you a dance and do a TikTok with you, if you agree to it.” Penny laughed at the thought of Bucky doing one of the dances that she saw on her For You page. The door to the apartment swung open a second time, revealing a winded Evie.

She dropped her school bag on the floor, hunching over while gripping the side of the granite countertop. Evie held a finger up and the group on the couch waited for her to speak.

“I ran--” deep inhale, “I ran from the subway.” Another deep breath as she lifted her upper half, stretching out her back with her hands on the back of her hips. “You haven’t done TikTok yet right?”

“No, your Highness, we haven’t done TikTok.” She smiled big and then plopped herself on Bucky’s left side. She thrust her hand toward him, wiggling her fingers. Bucky cautiously placed his phone in the center of her palm.

“This is going to be good. Okay so since your name on Instagram is whitewolf, we can’t use that for TikTok. It’s gotta be something snappy.”

“I don’t know, I think you can use the same one for both, Eve.” Penny remarked as Evie downloaded TikTok onto Bucky’s phone.

“Well, of course you can, but we’re not going to.” She giggled as the app opened. She looked over at Bucky with wrinkled brows. “Do you have any nicknames?”

“Um, Bucky is my nickname.” He said in a duh tone.

“Well, obviously, but do you have any other ones? Like, what do your friends call you?”

“Bucky or Buck, I don’t really have nicknames.” Evie groaned and threw her head back.

“Okay, well let’s think. You’re a Sergeant. Your real name is James Buchanan Barnes. Superhero name is Winter Soldier or White Wolf. You have a metal arm.”

“You’re literally just stating facts, Evie.” Freddie said from the other side of Bucky, who was nodding along in confirmation to Evie’s statements.

“I know! I’m processing. What about vibraniumjames?”

“That’s disgusting.” “Mm, yeah that’s a no from me.” Penny and Freddie talked at the same time.

“metallicsergeant? jamesbby? Any of those tickle our fancy?”

“The first one isn’t terrible, but it’s not great. Why don’t you just use whitewolf like his Instagram? Or you could do iambuckybarnes.”

“Yeah, I’m with Freddie. I like whitewolf or iambuckybarnes, it’s simple. And I am the White Wolf, so yeah.” Bucky said to a disgruntled Evie.

“Oh my gosh, fine. We can always change it later, but this is fine for now.” She set up his profile, making it match the other ones that Freddie had made. Once she was finished with her work, she turned to Bucky and smiled big again. “Now, I can teach you a dance and if you’re cool with it we can post it on your profile.” Bucky shook his head and pulled himself off of the comfy couch beneath him.

“If we’re going to do this, we need to do it right, so don’t hold back on me.” He smiled as Evie squealed in excitement.

“You know, my school friends were just dying to see the day that you got social media.” This statement confused Bucky.

“And why would that be?” Evie laughed as she scrolled through her TikTok feed, searching for the right dance to do with Bucky.

“Well, for one, they think you’re hot and they’re thirsty hoes.” She clicked on the original dance video, showing the screen to Bucky. “And, for two, they love you. Everyone does.” Bucky shook his head at that. He did too many bad things for everyone to love him.

“Hey, remember what we talked about?” Penny said from across the room. “We don’t downgrade our progress. Most of the general public is more forgiving than we give them credit for.” Bucky nodded then focused his attention on the video.

“This is Cardi B’s song Up. People on TikTok have made a challenge of doing this dance to the song. I think it originated with a girl named Mya Nicole. Anyway! We’re going to do this one, if you’re up for it.” Bucky looked at Evie with one brow quirked. There was so much shaking in this. Nonetheless, he shrugged his shoulders., it clearly was making Evie happy so he wasn’t going to take that away.

“Sickening! Okay, let’s start learning it.” It took a good hour and a half to help Bucky move his body in the way that the dance required. By the time they were ready to start filming the actual video, Cassie had walked in.

“What is happening here?” A large smile spread across her face as she watched Bucky and Evie practice one last time. A breathless Evie turned to Cassie.

“Bucky agreed to do the Cardi B Up dance with me.” She then turned to Bucky, “You ready to do this for real?” The tall man beside her shook his head while laughing.

“Yeah, let’s do it.” From the safety of the couch, Freddie, Penny and Cassie were watching the scene before them unfold. Both Bucky and Evie jumped into frame, with their legs spread wide. Throwing their fists in front of them and then behind their legs in time with the music. Bringing their hands above their head to clap and then jumping again, throwing just one hand up at a time.

Shifting to the side, the pair brought the leg closest to the camera up to their waist while hitting it back down with their fist. They both remained facing sideways as they shook the leg they just hit and ran their hands down their torso. The pair did another vertical jump, bringing their knees up to their fists. Once their feet hit the floor, they folded at the waist, slamming their palms flat on the ground.

Smiles were plastered on both their faces as they finished out the dance, knees bent, bouncing their legs back and forth while tossing their hands above their heads. Loud laughter rang out from the three friends in the living room as Bucky and Evie dropped to their butts. The video ended with Bucky and Evie yelling at the other three in the room.

“You’re definitely going to go viral with that one, Buck!”

“Like an infection?” He asked with wide eyes of concern, more peels of laughter rang out.

“No, like famous, lots of people are going to see it.” That relieved and scared Bucky at the same time. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it, but he knows that his friends wouldn’t steer him wrong.

“Now we can caption it something cute!” Evie breathed out as she leaned over the couch next to Cassie, who was now curled up beneath a fluffy white blanket.

“Don’t forget to tag the original creator, I hate it when people don’t do that.”

The video was posted with the caption,

iambuckybarnes: am i doing the tiktok right realpokemonevie? dance cr: theemyanicole

And it wasn’t long after posting that Bucky got a call from Steve that he needed to come into the tower.

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@mishaandthebrits

#twenty first century liabilities #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes #marvel imagines #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n

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summerstardust · 4 years

Note

the master just can't get over the idea of the reader actually being in love with him and he's scared he's gonna hurt her x dh if possible but to be honest with ya, I'll take any master or any sacha character x THANK YOU XX

Thank you for the request! I’m sorry that it took longer than expected. I hope you enjoy this! 💜

Kidnapping Dates

Dhawan!Master x Reader

Summary: The reader is The Doctor’s companion, but The Master keeps kidnapping the reader in order to get close to them.

Warnings: nothing that I know of(feel free to correct me)

Word Count: 4797

The Master stalked the cold, rainy streets of New London on New Earth. He was there to gain more information about The Doctor for his next scheme, or, at least, that’s what he told himself. Because every time The Doctor was in view, instead of analyzing her every move for weakness, he was trying to secretly look past her and her other companions to get even the tiniest glimpse of you. You and The Doctor’s fam were walking in the middle of the town’s main street with The Doctor leading the herd. The Master was finding it difficult to continue to follow you and the conversation while hiding behind ventures and their carts, trying to lure in tourists. He was certain that he looked insane, tarnishing his ego, but he hadn’t seen you properly yet. He hadn’t seen you in so long and just had to see you. You were cocooned within the herd of companions, as if they knew that you were the favored prey. They had adapted into doing that, keeping you hidden, you were always that target of The Master’s kidnappings, so they always kept you protected and in eyesight. Except for The Doctor who seemed more inclined to show off than to express overt worry. You always blamed her social awkwardness. Nevertheless, The Doctor continued her tour speech of the area.

“Actually, believe it or not, this is the fifteenth Earth since the original. So we are actually walking on the New New New -” The Doctor continued to rattle off a string of ‘new’s until her point was reached. The Master scoffed at her ridiculousness, how she was always like this, trying to impress Humans with nonsense. He grew even more aggravated when he finally saw your face and how amazed you looked, with bright and shiny eyes filled with wonder. He couldn’t wait for the opportunity to finally get you alone, so he could kidnap you. He ventured to think that maybe one day he could make your eyes shine like that because of something he showed you, but he quickly abandoned that thought, ignoring its meanings and returned to focusing on the task at hand.

The form of the fam loosened slightly. You were still in the middle of their protective circle, but the form was stretched out between two vendor carts. You were still too well guarded for The Master could make a move. But as he planned, an eruption of screams was heard from down the street, coming closer and closer to The Doctor, her fam and you. The Master had enlisted the help of an emerging villain who was recently wronged by The Doctor to interrupt this adventure. He trained them in ferociousness in turn for the monster to not hurt you. He made that caveat very clear.

The monster, a disgusting beast with long sharp teeth, and even longer sharper nails, ripped through the crowd of people, wounding the ones not fast enough to get away. The Doctor now turned protective, keeping you and the fam behind her outstretched arms. She explained the monsters' race, and how they were usually peaceful, despite their deadly appearance, but you barely followed her ramble, too overcome with the shock of your ruined outing. She vocalized her confusion of this monster’s out of character behavior. This caused the monster to lunge forward, swiping at The Doctor. He screamed a jagged cry before speaking of how The Doctor, in an act of self heroism against the Daleks, caused the death of his family by giving a self aggrandizing speech pleasing for peace instead of actually acting to solve the disaster that was occurring before her. After explaining his story, the monster lunged again. The Doctor yelled for you and the fam to return to the TARDIS, and after some arguing, you eventually agreed.

It should have been simple, finding the TARDIS, but with the fearful crowd running each and every way, the task was suddenly harder than before. When you and the fam started out your return trip, you had your hands clasped tightly around Yaz’s and Ryan’s hands respectfully. They dragged you through the crowds and you were quite thankful. The crowds seemed to double in both number and fear, it reminded you of when The Doctor took you to the running of the bulls in Spain. One side of the crowd surged, curving into an alleyway, and dragging Yaz away from you. Your hands were roughly ripped apart. Graham, who was also dragged with that moving crowd, cried out for Ryan to keep you safe and to stay together while he went to search for Yaz. Neither you nor Ryan remembered where the TARDIS was located, the crowds and screaming and running made it even more impossible to recognize any possible indicators that the two of you were headed in the right direction. Another wave of scared people serged, dragging you away from Ryan, brutally ripping your hands apart. You both screamed to each other and screamed at the crowds to stop, but it didn't help. You continued to be pulled into the moving currents of the ever shifting crowds.

Eventually they died out, leaving you in a dark alleyway, too dark for the day time. You crept around anxiously, you had no idea if The Doctor had stopped the monster, it could have been anywhere. You still tried to look for the TARDIS, even though you didn’t believe that The Doctor would park her anywhere near a dark and dingy ally like this one. The sound of a glass bottle skirting over cobbled streets distracted you from your search, causing you to turn around and see where the noise came from. You thought it could be the monster. As soon as you did this, you regretted it. You felt a syringe plunge into your neck. The effects were practically instantaneous, making you so weak that your knees gave out and your vision became fuzzy. Someone caught you, even in your daze, you could tell that they were strong, as they picked you up bridal style and carried you with perfect ease. Your head hung limp over your capture’s arm and before your eyes finally closed due to heaviness, you saw the shadow of the individual carrying you. They were shorter and wearing a long coat and cuffed pants. If your hunch was correct, you knew exactly who was kidnapping you, giving you some semblance of relief that it wasn't some random person doing this.

It took you a while to actually come to, but in your anesthetized sleep you had wonderful dreams. You didn’t know if that was just a side effect of the anesthetic, but they were welcomed and calming, given the circumstances. You first felt how ridged your body was, it was clear that he tied you up, he tended to do that, so you weren't surprised, but that didn’t subtract from the fact that the combination of the sedative and rope ties made you incredibly sore. You groaned when you moved your neck from its hanging position, despite not wanting to encourage your kidnapper’s behavior. When you opened your eyes, you saw him crouched at eye level before you, with gleaming brown eyes and a wide smile. He seemed genuinely happy, he always did when he kidnapped you.

The Master kept doing this. You’ve asked on many occasions why he felt the need to kidnap you. If he kidnapped you as a part of his latest plan to “destroy The Doctor”, you could understand his motivations, but he kidnapped you, seemingly, for fun. The two of you shared banter and jokes, more than you did with The Doctor, if you were being honest. When he first kidnapped you, you were understandably angry and uncomfortable and scared. You were not present when the fam met O or when they went to Gallifrey and fought the Lone Cyberman, but from what the fam and The Doctor described, The Master was one to be feared. Which only caused confusion when he offered you tea and biscuits and even a spare room, if you promised not to get in trouble, as his torment, then, for his best enemy lasted longer than he imagined. That was many kidnappings ago, and you had taken him up on the offers of tea, biscuits, and a spare bedroom on many occasions. But with each new kidnapping, you were never able to get to the bottom of why he acted this way to you. You had your assumptions, sure, but you wanted to hear his reason.

“So why are you kidnapping me this time?” Disgruntled and tired from the sedative and the rope that wasn’t too tight around you, but still uncomfortable.

“Why else would I kidnap one of The Doctor’s little pets? To torment her senselessly! It’s quite fun!” He leaned forward excitedly, almost bumping your nose. He always spoke very close to people’s faces, you thought that he thought that this act would make him more intimidating. It might have worked at first, but you were too used to it by now.

“I’m not her pet!” You growled at him, invading his space, as much as you could given the ropes tying you to the chair. You were more upset that he used a rougher rope this time than his comment. You were comfortable enough with yourself to not give into The Master’s teasing.

“Oh, really now?” The Master moved back and eventually stood before you, making you look up to him. Sometimes you hated his childish dependence on power dynamics, you were frankly too tired, with the remains of the sedative still in your system, to care about dynamics. You wanted a comfortable bed and rest, not rough ropes digging into your wrists and sides and ankles and The Master’s fragile ego.

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. You see, I have these ropes restraining my movements, so I won’t be able to punch you in the face. As you know, she abhors violence. I don’t think that the others would want to disobey her, but I don’t really have that much of a problem with rebelling against The Doctor’s quote unquote wisdom”

“So you’ll kill. Was not expecting that! Maybe The Doctor only keeps you around to change you, like how she constantly tries to disrupt my life and change me.”

“I never said I would kill. I’m not like you, so don’t compare me to you. And I’m not like The Doctor, or the fam, or any of her other companions, either, so don’t compare me to them. I’m me and I just won’t hesitate to protect myself when threatened.” The Master pretended to have not liked what he heard you say, but, quite the contrary, what you had said was an example of the reason why he liked you. You weren’t like him. You weren’t like The Doctor. You weren’t like the other humans that hopelessly followed The Doctor like lost puppies. You were something new.

You had a fire of independence and a passion for justice that exceeded The Doctor’s. Where she had to try to be kind or nice, reminding herself with catchphrases and mantras, you never did. The Doctor often failed to register the fine line between justice and cruelty, you never did. Maybe that is why she, truely, kept you around, and why The Master really wanted you beside him. Keeping him from going to extremes like when he destroyed Gallifrey. The Master liked trouble, but he was growing a bit tired of constantly running away from all of the problems he caused with no sense of peace. Perhaps you could have been his peace, but he knew that the damage was done and he had inflicted too much pain to be deserving of any peace. If he kept kidnapping you, he could still keep you safe and in his life, even if it wasn’t to the extent he desired.

The Master turned, leaving your comment hanging in the air, and went to inspect something on his TARDIS monitor and leaving you with your thoughts. You weren’t exactly positive that you could hurt anyone, and you were afraid that he knew that. You wanted to protect people, protect peace and innocence. But you tried to think back to when you were left to fend for yourself in a dangerous situation, and you couldn’t locate a single memory. The Master had always been there, kidnapping you away from danger. You were thankful for that, you were quite privileged compared to The Doctor’s other companions who had to deal with fear and adrenaline and wounds and attacks and loss. You were always safe in The Master’s TARDIS with plenty of foods and blankets and warm drinks.

When you really thought about it, you understood how much he did for you. He clearly cared about you even though he would profusely deny it, and you couldn’t deny that he was attractive. If he was villainous, he wasn’t villainous to you. You saw how he possessed an aura of sadness like The Doctor’s, they were both so lonely, but The Doctor had companions. You wondered who The Master had, then you realized that he only had his TARDIS and you, if you counted the kidnappings, which you assumed that he did. When he thought you weren’t looking, you saw the sadness that pooled in his eyes and the soft touches he would give when controlling the console, almost apologetic for his outbursts. You saw how he was willing to be more vulnerable to you, at least by his standards of vulnerability.

After a long silence, briefly interrupted by TARDIS beeps and wheezing and The Master’s grumbles and mumbles about whatever was on his console monitor, you spoke up again.“Really, what goes on in that dumb head of yours?”

“I am not dumb.” He grumbled, trying to fix something on his console monitor, whatever was on was really troubling him. You would have asked him, but you preferred to taunt him.

“Yes, you are!” You spoke in a sing-songy voice, knowing that it would aggravate even more. It worked, he finally turned back toward you.

“How, pray tell, and I dumb?” He crossed his arms in front of himself, leaning against the console. You preferred having his attention on you.

“Because, if you wanted to go out on a date with me, this badly, you could have just asked.” His mouth fell open slightly. He knew that you were smart and observant, but he thought that he was being discrete. He quickly regained composure, smirking cheekily, trying to ignore his growing vulnerability and to take back the power of the situation. But you just stared right back, not giving into the power of his eyes. You swore that he was trying to hypnotise you into submission, to make you forget your allegation, but you fought back every time he poked your mind.

He continued to stare at you, slightly uncomfortable that you kept standing up against him instead of quivering and flustering before him, but he knew that if you did that, he wouldn’t like you as much as he did. His eyes bored into yours, trying to intimidate you, intensifying his gaze and his hypnotism, but you refused to back down and submit. You saw his eyes grow slightly warmer before he quickly turned back toward the TARDIS, his shoulders tensed. He gripped his console, eyeing the monitor. He spoke again, after a strained silence, still agitated.

“I’m growing tired of you. You will find that ridiculous blue box just around the street corner.” The Master flicked a few switches, causing the ropes that held you to drop and at the snap of his fingers, the TARDIS doors opened instantaneously. “Now run along to The Doctor before I decide to keep you locked in here forever.” You slowly got up and walked to the doors, still stiff. Before you exited The Master’s ship, you turned to get one last glimpse of the strange Timelord.

“You know, if you were to, hypothetically, ask me out on a date… I wouldn’t say no.” You leaned against the TARDIS, and she gave a reassuring hum above you. You weren’t quite sure if it was because of your comment or the sudden physical act.

“Why?” He was questioning and hopeful, with an aura of playfulness in his tone.

You shrugged in a way to indicate subtleness, but only to disguise your intense feelings for the man before you, “I don’t know. You don’t seem as bad as the others say you are. At least, not to me.”

“As you pointed out, I kidnap you constantly.” He couldn’t help but smile at your innocence and naivety. He could not understand how you could still see him as someone decent, despite his evil acts.

“Yeah, but it’s always a part of a scheme to kill The Doctor and her fam, while I am safe and tucked away in your ship away from danger, or it’s right before The Doctor is about to get us into a dangerous situation, when I’m stolen away by you. I would put money on the fact the right after you took me, a monster attacked the fam, and you kept looking at the monitor to check and see whether or not the threat was gone.” The Master didn’t say anything, only smiled bittersweetly at you, after you smiled and waved him a goodbye. The Master snapped his fingers again, closing the doors when you fully exited his TARDIS, mumbling a soft “Until we meet again, Y/N.”

The Master watched you leave on the console monitor, when you returned to The Doctor, he flew off to drift amongst the stars in order to plan for his next kidnapping of you. But when coordinates randomly appeared on the data screen of the console, he grew distracted from his task. He thought that maybe he deserved a break from torturing himself by dangling something he could never have before him, maybe he deserved a little trouble at the moment. The Master, strangely, did not know the place, but the message was sent from an old partner in a small overthrow of a corrupt dictator. The partner had thanked The Master profusely, but he was only in it for the money and to see the dictator, who angered The Master at a banquet, finally and horrifically murdered.

The Master freshened up a bit and followed the coordinates to the meeting place. He strolled out of his TARDIS, confident and excited for a new evil scheme. However, The Master’s face fell in disappointment when he saw The Doctor leaning against her blue box. The Master grumbled and rolled his eyes, quickly turning back to his ship. He was not in the mood for another lecture from The Doctor, he had experienced too many of them in his life.

“Why do you keep kidnapping Y/N?” The Doctor’s voice caused The Master to halt. Even though he wanted to just fly away and leave The Doctor questioning his actions, he couldn’t resist talking about you, but he couldn't allow his best enemy to know. He marched up to The Doctor, trying to be threatening.

“Because seeing the look of fear in your eyes, Doctor, brings joy to my very dark life.” The Master turned to leave, again, even more annoyed with The Doctor’s interference.

“Are you sure that it's my pain bringing you joy? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like Y/N is the one sparking joy in your dark life.” The Master froze in shock. He thought that there was no way for The Doctor to know his true feelings for you. He assumed that The Doctor was too dim catch on to is, admittedly, uncharacteristic behavior. He knew that you would never tell her of the feeling you, correctly, presumed he had for you. He knew that you found the banter quite fun and that you enjoyed his company, as he did for you. If you didn’t, you would be kicking and screaming during every encounter, but the two of you were always polite.

“I have no idea what you are referring to, Doctor. I think your mind is growing emotional due to extended time around Humans. Have your pets been making you watch rom-coms?”

“Oh, just admit it, Master. You like Y/N. I know for a fact that they like you, too.” The Master turned around again, he did not want The Doctor to see his pleased face, but his happiness faded when he realized that the two of you could never be together. For so many reasons it was impossible. He thought that it was simpler to break your heart now then to wait for one of his enemies to kill you or you to die of old age while he remains young.

“Don’t you understand?! Oh! What am I saying?! Of course you don’t understand!” His rage took over him as he turned back to The Doctor.

“Understand what?” The Master just wished his best enemy would drop the subject.

“Y/N can never live with me on my TARDIS, can never be my companion, and can never love me! It’s a big enough risk for me to love them! All of the damage I caused, all of the people I’ve killed whose families want revenge, all of the people who want to see me dead, they will go after Y/N, they will hurt and kill them, just to get to me. I can never allow that. You take so many risks with your pets, Doctor, but I refuse to put Y/N in that much danger. So I will remain their strange protector, keeping them away from the danger you threaten to put them through” The Master gave up trying to explain his position to The Doctor, massaging his brow with his hand.

Throughout this discourse the two Timelords had, they had moved and circled each other. The Doctor had allowed you to listen in on the entire conversation via the TARDIS’s listening devices, and instructed you to exit her ship when she indicated. After The Master had made his declaration of love you wanted to exit then and run to him, but stopped at the doors, watching the scene briefly. You thought that The Master was going to attempt to explain himself further, but but stopped himself multiple times, he suddenly surged back towards his TARDIS. This time he was fully intent on leaving and never coming back. You rushed out of the doors, the TARDIS making no attempt to stop you, as you ran to The Master and wrapped your arms around his torso, you could feel him tense in your arms. You couldn’t see his face, but you assumed that he was regretting following the coordinates. He eventually relaxed, but softly placed his hands on your arms and pushed them away from his body.

“I can’t. I can’t do this to you.” He refused to face you, still walking determinedly to his TARDIS, “I would be allowing you to sign your own death certificate. I can’t let you kill yourself for me. I’m selfish, but I refuse to let the only light of my life perish because of my wants.” You grabbed his hand forcefully, stopping him from moving. You tried to turn him around to face you, but he stood as still as a statue. You elected to move to his side, resting your chin on his shoulder. Your hands were still clasped tightly around his one. You wanted to make this conversation as private as you possibly could, you could see The Master’s agitation and uncomfortableness at being so vulnerable.

“I want this. I want you, Master.” He finally looked at you, his eyes big and round and sad, tears were threatening to spill out.

“I can’t. I can’t. I would be killing you. I would corrupt you. My selfishness will bring your end before it was ever supposed to happen, all because I want someone to love me.” He continued to mutter self deprecating comments about how this was impossible. You hated seeing him like this. You understood that he had thousands of years of past trauma and he should have the opportunity to be open, but in this situation, when you knew that you could ease his pain and he refused to listen to you, all you wanted was to slap his self depreciation out of him.

You abruptly tore your hands from his and cupped his face, planting a soft kiss to his lips. You moved to pull away, as you had an important statement to make to The Master, but he placed a firm hand on the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. You ventured to think how awkward The Doctor must be feeling at this sight. The Master must have been able to see into your mind, because as soon as you thought of The Doctor, he increased his attack on your lips. The two of you parted when you needed to catch your breath. You rested your forehead against his as he cupped your face, occasionally running his hands through your hair affectionately.

“Master, I know that you believe that you are doing your best to protect me now, but from my perspective, I know that you would never have gotten involved with me if you had any doubt about whether or not we would make it out together. I know that you protect me, as you have before. I know that you will care for me. And I know that you will find a way to combate my human biology and lifespan. I believe in you. I believe that you love me. Now you just need to believe me and believe in my love for you.” You tried to look him in the eye, but he skirted your gaze, electing to close his eyes in an act to engrave your words into his memory. He pulled you into a bone crushing hug suddenly, one arm pulling your torso tight against his, the other wrapped around the back of your neck. Your nose rested between the collar of his purple coat and his neck, and you breathed in his scent of warm smoke and cold mint, a juxtaposition that was very him. You didn’t know if this was the last moment you would ever see him this intimately or ever again and you wanted to remember every nuance you were allowed the privilege of knowing.

The Master thought long and hard about his possible relationship to you. He wondered if it was worth it, given that you were Human and he was a Timelord, but you were keen to The Master’s ways. As soon as he saw you, he began drawing up possible plans of extending your life. He had been so wrapped up in his mind about all of the futures the two of you could live, and now he had the opportunity to live out some of those futures. I believed you. He believed your love. Despite how shocked he was about his feelings for you and yours for him, from this moment forward he refused to be without your love and support. He eventually pulled back, still holding you. You couldn’t read his face and grew even more fearful that you would never see him again.

“Please don’t leave me, Master.” You tried to hold in tighter, to plead for your futures, but The Master pulled your hands away from his body to hold them in his hands.

“As long as you don’t leave me, Y/N.” The Master broke into a genuinely happy smile when he saw the relief that spread across your face. You hugged him again, and he picked you up and spun you around a couple of times. The both of you giggled excitedly.

“I guess it's a good thing I made you pack before this then.” The Doctor spoke up when you and The Master separated. Both of you had forgotten that The Doctor was there watching your confessions of love.

The Doctor was fully supportive of your budding relationship with The Master. She helped the two of you move your suitcases and boxes of souvenirs into The Master’s TARDIS and gave you an emotional goodbye, along with a goodbye to the fam, and a promise to call and text frequently. Once settled and happy in your new home, all you could do was smile until it hurt and hug The Master, too excited about the future and your love for the Timelord to fully comprehend the risks of your new relationship. But at this moment of bliss, the risks were worth it.

#dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #doctor who #doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #sacha dhawan #the master x reader #the master imagine #personal post #fanfiction #request #anon

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doctorthedoctor · 4 years

Text

Long thasmin (mostly Yaz) rambles under the cut. I have a lot of feelings about it, but that’s nothing new.

tl;dr Yaz is queer and I really hope this is where they actually plan on going with it.

I wish we knew if they’re planning on making Yaz canonically queer. If they are, I’m so interested in where she’s at in terms of her relationship with her identity. We’ve gotten a glimpse into her past, but there’s still so much we don’t know, like why she was bullied and what prompted her to run off. She’s clearly had to pull herself out of a very dark place, yet we hardly know any details about what bought her there (funny how that sounds exactly like the Doctor).

I know a lot of people are of the belief that Najia is the captain of the thasmin ship, but I’ve personally never felt that way. To me, she doesn’t look or sound thrilled by the concept of Yaz seeing the Doctor when she asks about it. And Yaz doesn’t seem very comfortable with the question. She initially responds with a disgruntled, “Not now!” and punctuates the exchange with, “Please, can we not have this conversation now? And not in front of [Robertson].” And between those lines, neither she nor the Doctor give Najia a clear answer.

This is just my take and it could very well be wrong, but the fact that Yaz expresses multiple times that she doesn’t want to talk about it tells me that a conversation of this nature has happened before. And judging by the tension between them, it probably didn’t go very smoothly.

I mean, nothing about this exchange looked or sounded comfortable to me:

It’s notably different from how Najia and Yaz interact later when the same question is asked about her and Ryan. The two respond with an immediate and definitive, “No.” Najia seems disappointed by their answer, yet she doesn’t press the topic and the story moves forward. This exchange ends up being significantly shorter than the first, solely because Najia accepted their answer the first time around.

Does anyone smell some heteronormativity in the air? Queer people are painfully familiar with having to spend time explaining their identity to others. It’s a conversation we’re forced to have over and over throughout our lives. That definitely sounds like an experience Yaz can relate to.

Ryan and Yaz look uncomfortable when she asks (which is understandable), but Najia looks much happier about the concept and disappointed when she finds out they aren’t dating:

And even the staging is interesting. Najia is positioned between Yaz and Ryan in the second scene, as opposed to being placed next to Yaz with a desk between them and the Doctor. When she’s talking to Yaz and Ryan, she’s on the same level as them and sounds friendlier. But when she’s talking to the Doctor, Yaz is sitting while she stands and assumes a more authoritative position/tone.

Sure, the Doctor is a stranger and Ryan is a childhood friend, but the Doctor was so nice to Najia when she met her. As far as I can remember, she never gave her a solid reason to be suspicious. If anything, she was too nice, given the way Najia reacts to the hug and compliment about her daughter, then proceeds to distance herself. She’s not Yaz’s mum, she’s Najia. And at the end of the episode, she continues to press Yaz about the Doctor, but never mentions Ryan again.

We know that there’s been a strain on her home life at some point after hearing her conversation with that officer, because she mentions Yaz’s parents not understanding her (not getting “what’s up”). As they they talk, the officer mentions Yaz wanting to run away from everyone, including herself. In trying to convince her that these feelings will pass, she essentially tells her there’s something good waiting on the other side if she runs toward herself instead—which is something queer people really need to hear.

It’s obviously not the only factor, and like I said, I could be wrong but...this sure does look like something that would make a person run from who they are:

After all, Yaz did promise her mom she would tell her about the Doctor when she got back from picking up bread, then proceeded to run off with her. As far as we know, Najia is still in the dark about their relationship—whatever that happens to be.

Aside from that, Yaz is the only one in the fam who hasn’t had any romantic interactions outside of the Doctor and the Master. I guess we could also count Ryan (I’m not against it because I headcanon her as bi) but I genuinely get more of a sibling vibe from them. Regardless, we all know the Master cozied up to Yaz because she fits the mold of who the Doctor has traveled with in the past. I can’t speak to classic who, but from Nine and on, the Doctor’s got a type and we all know it, including the Master.

Then we have all of the parallels between thasmin and various couples in the show. I’m not even going to begin to list them, but the crumbs are abundant and delicious. That gay cop and astronaut? I mean, come on.

On top of all that, the one really Yaz centric episode we’ve had dealt with themes of prejudice and a love within her own family that broke away from societal norms. Like, shit. The Doctor married Prem and Umbreen in a small, private ceremony because she was the only one who was willing to look past their religions. And because this was a relationship that went unknown to Yaz (for a vastly different reason, but still), even she wasn’t happy with the Doctor for agreeing to it at first.

Though private, their marriage was an act of rebellion against outside forces. And who did Umbreen specifically have tension with about the concept of marrying someone who was Hindu? Her mother. But she and Prem even created a new wedding tradition that celebrated their own love by tying their hands with the rope that fell in the water. “Now it can be our thing, if we want it to be,” Umbreen said.

(This is a side note, but if Najia truly isn’t chill about Yaz being queer, I really want to see Umbreen tell her about Prem. I want to hear her recount her experiences with her own love being scrutinized and challenged. I think it would be a cool way for Najia to learn who the Doctor really is, and just how much of a positive impact she and Yaz have made on her life already.)

Yaz struggled in Demons of the Punjab because everything she believed to be true about Umbreen’s life (and her own by extension) turned out to be so different from what she expected. But what she witnessed in that episode helped her understand that people deserve to share their experiences on their own terms. If that doesn’t translate into a narrative about Yaz’s own identity, I don’t know what will.

In season 12, Yaz spent this entire time focusing on the Doctor, but it was executed in a way that furthered her own development. Yaz clearly has feelings for her, but now we have a better understanding of what traveling with the Doctor means to her as a whole. Yaz idolizes her, constantly thinks about what she would say or do. She wants to impress her, prove herself capable of solving problems and saving people. In the process of doing this, she’s grown more confident in her own abilities, independently breathing hope and action into situations that feel paralyzing and hopeless. This is exactly what Yaz has wanted all along, with or without the Doctor. Yaz wants to matter and she wants to do work that matters. The Doctor gives her this. She tells her they can’t have a universe without her. She gives her the chance to make an impact in a way she doesn’t feel like she can at home.

I think their relationship could serve as such a wonderful catalyst for Yaz to step into her own identity and eventually find her place without needing the Doctor. Like Graham said, she doesn’t have a time machine or a sonic, but she’s doing the whole human race proud. Yaz deserves a “You were fantastic. And know what? So was I” moment.

I love thasmin as much as the next person, but I’m honestly less interested in seeing her feelings reciprocated by the Doctor than I am in witnessing Yaz’s journey to confront her feelings in the first place. I want to see or hear her express them in a way that leaves no room for doubt. Everything feels so blatantly intentional at this point, but there’s still just enough ambiguity for me to worry that they’re not going to follow through. They’ve planted all these wonderful little seeds along the way, it would be such a disservice to all fans (not just queer fans) if we never get to see them bloom.

#yasmin khan #thasmin #doctor who #doctor who spoilers #s12

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

“A Hippogriff Nibble” || YEAR 3 – Ch.10 (HP au)

Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 8/11/2020

Word count: 4,252

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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Heather looked at her unopened package from Hagrid sitting on her bed. Every time she tried to undo the brown paper, it growled. She sighed and reached for her wand, slowly poking the book into her opened bag and closing it tight. She supposed Hagrid would tell them how to handle it when they got to his class.

Pansy was still struggling on the floor, trying to get her book out of her trunk. For a split second she thought about helping her out, but quickly shook that thought away. Pansy would probably make it angry and bait it with one of Heather’s fingers. She looked down at her hand and thought she’d very much like to keep all her digits and walked out the door – ignoring the glare Pansy gave her. Draco was exiting his dorm too, with Crabbe and Goyle by his sides like always.

She stood in his way. “Can we please talk about Quidditch. I heard Marcus saying he’d hold tryouts soon!” Heather couldn’t stop thinking about Quidditch all morning. It was only the second day of classes but she knew Marcus would hold them without telling them. And it wasn’t like Draco was irreplaceable, so she doubted he’d get a heads up either.

“Oh alright.” Draco led them out of the common room, walking fast like always so that everyone else had to speed to catch up to him. It didn’t help that he grew a good amount over the summer and a bit more after she left his house and now had very long legs.

“You know he’s probably also looking for a new Seeker. We have to find out when tryouts are.” She didn’t know how she’d beat Cassius or Graham but finding out the tryout time was at least step one. Maybe she should take a page out of the twin’s books and put one of them to sleep like they did Crabbe and Goyle.

“I’ll find out, but I doubt I’ll be able to do much to bribe him this time.” Draco stopped them a minute to think. They were a corner away from turning into the corridor that lead to the entrance hall.

“Why can’t your dad do something about it?” Crabbe matched Draco’s pose, scratching his chin as well.

Heather smiled, “Are the new brooms too expensive? For a MALFOY?”

“Shut it, Potter.” He gave her a harsh scowl, matching his father’s so well from last year.

She rolled her eyes, “I just thought you were always saying he could do anything for you.” She shrugged and started turning the corner.

“He can!” He crossed his arms and huffed. “If you find out about Quidditch… let me know.”

She nodded and left him to pout with his friends. She shouldn’t have poked his buttons, but it wasn’t every day she saw Draco having to deal with problems all on his own without his father hovering over his shoulder to save the day. At least he’s now worrying about Quidditch like he should.

She crossed the entrance hall and headed into the great hall to meet Harry, Hermione, and Ron for breakfast. She saw Hermione happily engaging with Ron which was a good sign. She sat down and picked up a cup, tipping it into her mouth and waiting for the cup to fill on its own before pouring into her mouth.

“Could you manage it open?” Hermione sighed, frustrated. “I tried feeding it and – ”

“What do books even eat?” Ron wiped his hands on his robes.

Hermione passed him a napkin. “Oh, I don’t know. I just had to try SOMETHING.”

Heather shrugged. “I haven’t even opened mine yet. We opened Harry’s and it nearly ate our toes.”

“Let’s go. We don’t want to be late for Hagrid’s first lesson.”

“Professor Hagrid, Harry. He’s a teacher now.”

Harry nodded, half paying attention to Hermione and led them out of the castle into the grounds. They walked down the hill and Harry nudged Heather, pointing ahead at Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.

“Did you know they’d be in our class? I was hoping we didn’t have any with them.”

“No, I didn’t know. They must have picked this class then.”

Ron made some sort of disgruntled noise. “Since when would Malfoy even care about magical creatures? Let alone actually CARE for them.”

“You don’t know that…” Heather wasn’t sure if this was a Slytherin thing again. For some reason half the school thought they all hated very normal things. One of the Ravenclaws from last year herbology was genuinely surprised she could keep one of their plants alive during the nursery unit, like she was some sort of actual cold blooded snake… then again they also thought she had been the heir.

Hermione gave a small laugh, “It’s nothing against Slytherins… But come on… Draco caring for anything other than his broom?”

They all had a point. Draco and his goons laughed loud up in front of them and turned back, noticing Harry. Draco fainted onto Goyle and a few other students around them chuckled. She turned to Harry and rolled her eyes, trying to distract him from them.

Hagrid was waiting for everyone outside his hut and beamed happily as more students gathered around him. Heather could tell how nervous he was. He almost tripped on his own feet down his two steps but brushed it off with a cough. He was wearing his very furry vest again with his hair gelled down a bit. Even Fang looked a bit more groomed even if he had dried leaves stuck to his hind legs.

“Welcome! Gather ‘round right over here.” He motioned for them all to stand by the pumpkin patch. “This’ll be a great lesson, everyone! Come on now.” He stood awkwardly as the last students rushed to join the crowd. Once everyone arrived he started again. “Alright, follow me.”

He headed towards the forbidden forest and everyone started whispering, all clearly worried. Ron started trailing further behind and Hermione had to pull him with them by his bag’s strap. They got to the woods line and followed it along until it opened up into they reached a neat little paddock. Everyone seemed to let out a sigh of relief.

They stood by the fence while Hagrid stepped over it and stood in the center. “Now. Make sure yeh can all see. ‘Nough room for everyone… Open yer books to page – ”

“And how do we do that?” Draco’s irritated voice carried from the back.

Hagrid looked puzzled.

Draco pushed students aside and leaned against the fence. “How do we open. The books.” His tone was cold and condescending, making a few of his Slytherin friends laugh.

Everyone took out their books and looked over at Hagrid. He started fidgeting on the spot and nodding.

“Righ’. Well yeh just stroke the spine there.” He walked over and took Harry’s book that had been belted shut and ran his finger over the book’s fuzzy spine until it stopped moving.

Heather unwrapped her book and quickly ran her hand against its spine and saw it quiet down completely. It could have been a normal book if it weren’t for the eyes still following her around. Everyone else followed Hagrid’s lead and quieted their books down.

“Obviously, you stroke them.” Draco was imitating Hagrid’s deep voice to his friend and they laughed.

Hagrid’s small remaining smile dropped and he looked over at Heather and them. “I thought maybe everyone would have a laugh.”

Draco heard and sat on the fence, happy to be getting on the nerves of a professor. “Oh I’m sure we were all laughing our arses off trying to avoid being bitten.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Harry faced him.

Draco grinned but stayed silent, probably thinking he’d still not want to push Hagrid too much. He did still have the power to take away house points and give out detentions.

“Well now that yeh’ve got yer books… I’ll go… get the magical creature.” Hagrid wiped his forehead on his sleeve and left them, disappearing into the forest.

Draco hopped down and leaned on the inside of the fence, kicking a pinecone. “Dumbledore’s really letting this place go to the rats, isn’t he?”

No one spoke but it was hard to ignore him as he voiced his opinions so loud. Heather could tell that the Hufflepuffs who had never had any classes with a single Slytherin until this year were uncomfortable. Several Slytherins laughed.

“Dumbledore really couldn’t find a teacher for taking care of wizard pets? What makes this oaf even qualified?” He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “When my father hears about this he’ll – ”

Harry hopped over the fence as well. “Shut up Malfoy. No one wants to hear you.”

“Harry!” Heather whispered urgently, motioning for him to come back.

Draco looked around and smirked. “Careful Potter! Dementors behind you! Quick someone catch him!”

This time more than just the Slytherins laughed, making Harry’s cheeks turn red. Heather sighed, knowing how horrible Harry must be feeling being the center of negative attention again. Ron and Hermione looked just as irritated knowing they couldn’t help Harry out either.

“OOOOH! Look there!”

A Gryffindor girl pointed behind Harry at the dozens of peculiar creatures hopping the fence into the circle. Draco scrambled to get out and Harry nearly tripped backing up. Ron pulled him over the fence quickly as if any one of those things could bite at them at any second.

The creatures looked mainly like horses, if horses had feathers, and had the head, wings, and front legs of giant eagles. They were grey and white with bits of black that tipped the feathers making them look incredibly majestic. Their sharp beak and claws were solid grey and shiny smooth like steel. If she could pick her favorite part about these creatures, I’d be their brilliant orange piercing eyes. Her eyes trailed down to the giant talons the size of kitchen knives – possibly the reason they all wore leather collars and chains for a leash that Hagrid held as they settled. Their heads all bobbed from side to side as they eyed the group of students.

Hagrid tethered them to the fence and walked back to the center. “I’d like to introduce to yeh all… Hippogriffs!” Everyone was silent, eyeing these giant creatures carefully. Hagrid looked like he was expecting more of a cheer than silence and stood there for a minute before clearing his throat. “How many of yeh have seen one before?”

Heather looked around and saw only one hand come up from one of the few Ravenclaws.

Hagrid nodded. “Good. Good. Well, firs’ thing to note is that they’re extremely proud creatures. Very dangerous to insult and very easy too. They’re very sensitive and offend too easily. So don’t never insult one.”

Harry nudged Heather’s arm and jerked his chin towards where Draco stood, whispering to Crabbe and Goyle. They were all snickering and looking over at the Hippogriffs. Her anxiety rose, both for Hagrid and for Draco. If he got hurt he’d miss the tryouts and her own chances would be ruined.

“I swear if he ruins Hagrid’s first lesson…” Harry shook his head.

“Right behind you if you’re planning what I’m thinking,” Ron nodded.

Hermione scoffed, “Will you two please focus instead of thinking of ways to get into trouble?”

Heather kept her eyes on him, getting more and more worried as he missed all the important safety information Hagrid was telling them about.

“Firs’ yeh bow. If he bows back, yeh’re good to touch him – SLOWLY at first. If the hippogriff doesn’t bow…” Hagrid looked at everyone carefully, “Yeh best be backing away if yeh don’t want to shake hands with their claws.”

Everyone stared at the creatures who were staring back, taking in the information Hagrid had just handed them. Everyone was thinking what Heather was thinking… Were they going to ride them? She didn’t want to ride one. They were giant and had wings and giant sharp talons gripping the ground. The last thing she wanted to do was go anywhere near one and the second last thing she wanted to do was watch any of her friends on one.

“Who wants to go first?” Hagrid clapped his hands and looked around.

Heather stepped back thinking she would bump into Hermione or Ron. She looked behind her and saw everyone else was also stepping back.

“Harry! Good man.”

Heather turned back and met Harry’s eyes as he spun around behind him. Harry hadn’t backed away with everyone else. They exchanged wide eyes but there wasn’t anything they could do unless they wanted Hagrid’s feelings hurt. She watch Harry nod at Hagrid and step forward slowly.

“Harry what about your tea leaves!” A Gyrffindor girl called from behind.

Hermione snorted but Heather could tell Harry WAS thinking of his tea leaves. He looked at them pleadingly but continued towards the center to meet Hagrid.

“Harry, meet Buckbeak. Buckbeak, Harry.” A hippogriff came forward and blew out his nostrils like a long sigh of acknowledgment. Hagrid smiled. “He seems eager.”

Everyone gasped when Hagrid undid the hippogriffs chains and let it fall to the ground. He lured the hippogriff closer to Harry but it stopped halfway, looking very concerned at the stranger before him.

“Don’t blink, Harry. Hippogriffs don’t trust people who blink to much.” Hagrid pushed Harry closer a bit.

Heather’s hands came up to cover her eyes, splitting just enough to let her watch Harry bow. She stared down at the giant claws and saw one lift and curl inward as the hippogriff bowed. She heard Hermione sigh relieved and others cheering quietly.

“Pat his beak, Harry. He’s accepted your company!”

Harry’s shoulders relaxed and he made slow moves as he reached out to pet his beak and head, making his way around to the hippogriff’s fluffy neck.

“I want to pet him!” More students were getting excited and calling out for their turn at the creature.

Heather relaxed and watched Buckbeak close his eyes as Harry scratched him where Hedwig always likes to be scratched. She breathed in and thought about maybe having a turn at petting one too.

“Alright, let’s try getting yeh on ‘im.” Hagrid picked Harry up before he could reply and tossed him onto Buckbeak’s back. “Don’t pull any feathers out!” He smacked the hippogriff’s behind.

“Oh no.” Heather gasped as Buckbeak squawked and spread his massive wings and kicked into the air with his muscly hind legs.

Harry gripped on tight as Buckbeak jumped into the air and started flying high above the treetops. She watched him open mouthed until he disappeared from sight. She met Hermione’s eyes and stood quietly with everyone else waiting for Harry to come back, but he didn’t.

“He’s coming back… right?” Ron squeaked and Hagrid laughed, pointing up to the left.

Everyone watched carefully and after five minutes saw Buckbeak making his way back, diving and landing roughly. Harry slid off and fell.

“How was it?” Hagrid picked Harry up off the ground.

Harry dusted himself off. “It was amazing.”

Everyone cheered loudly and more people raised their hands to go next. As Harry made his way back everyone patted his shoulder and congratulated him on being brave.

“It was actually fun,” he assured Heather.

“I’m still not going to ride one if it’ll take off. I might pet one.” She looked back towards the hippogriffs and saw Draco making his way to the center.

Hagrid let another loose and didn’t realize Draco had made his was closer until the hippogriffs all screeched and jutted their long necks forward as if to try and intimidate him with warning bites.

“I want Buckbeak.” He rolled up his shirt and crossed his arms expectantly.

Hagrid nodded and motioned him back as he led Buckbeak away from the herd. “Alrigh’. Easy there.”

Heather’s anxiety was very high again as Malfoy bowed, but to her – and most other’s – amazement Buckbeak bowed back. Draco strutted forward and started petting his beak and feathers.

“This is easy.” He looked back at Harry. “If Potter can do it then obviously anyone could.”

Heather hoped very hard that he was thinking through his words very carefully. Most of the Slytherins were cheering him on and he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the giant dangerous creature he was petting.

“You’re not dangerous. Are you? You’re just a big giant pigeon, aren’t you?” he laughed.

Hagrid’s grin dropped. Within seconds Buckbeak had turned on him, opening his beak just barely and taking a quick bite of the arm petting his head. Draco stumbled back, clutching his bleeding arm, and screamed very loud, spooking the other hippogriffs. Hagrid had distracted Buckbeak with a snack and slid the collar back on, chaining him with the others.

He turned to the wailing Draco, curled on the ground. “Now. Now. It was only a nibble. Let me see.”

Draco let out more cries, “I’m dying! The beast got me! I’m bleeding out!”

Ron and Harry chortled beside Heather. She got on her toes to see how bad his arm was, spotting the dripping blood coming out in a stream down his arm onto his white shirt. She walked over to where Draco had dropped his sweater and met Hagrid as he scooped Draco up.

“Here, put some pressure on it?” She handed it to Draco who ripped it out of her hands.

“It ain’t that bad. Just a normal cut,” Hagrid made his way over the fence.

Crabbe and Goyle followed behind Heather who was having a harder time keeping pace with Hagrid.

“He’ll still be able to play Quidditch, right?”

“I’ll never play again! My arm’ll get cut off! It’s a mangled mess!” Draco screamed in pain.

“It’s a small but deep cut, Malfoy,” Hagrid laughed nervously.

“We’ll see if that’s what my Father thinks!” Draco spat back.

Crabbe and Goyle continued on and Heather ran back to the class.

Ron immediately rounded on her, “Why were you so concerned with MALFOY.”

“He’s our Seeker! Whether I like him or not the Slytherin Quidditch team needs him.” She frowned at him until his arms uncrossed.

“She’d never be friends with him. Would you?” Hermione looked at her but didn’t wait long enough for any kind of response. “So calm down, Ron.”

He sighed, “Sorry. I just hate him so much! Hagrid told us not to insult them! And Malfoy just called him a pigeon!”

Harry kicked at the fence. “He did it on purpose. He wanted to ruin Hagrid’s first day. What a lousy snake.”

Heather nodded. “He said he’d tell his father.”

“It was his own fault,” Dean spoke up above the low chatter.

One of the Slytherins scoffed, “Who starts off with dangerous killer creatures. I’m heading back. No teacher no class.”

Heather, Harry, Hermione, and Ron stayed behind and watched everyone else leave the paddock area. They watched the hippogriffs sit down and preen their feathers. They thought Hagrid would be back to put them away but as they sat there waiting the bells went off in the distance and they had to head back to the castle.

At dinner time they waited by the great hall doors to see if Hagrid was running late to dinner, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Do you think maybe Draco really wasn’t ok?” Hermione bit her bottom lip.

“Madam Pomfrey can fix anything. She’s fixed me up from much worse.”

Heather poked Harry in the arm hard. “Don’t remind me.”

“Come on, I’m starving. Maybe he’ll show up later.” Ron entered the great hall and made his way down to the Gryffindor tables.

Heather waved them goodbye and headed to her own Slytherin table. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting across from a crying Pansy. Heather sat down next to her and waited for Crabbe and Goyle to say anything about Draco but they just looked at her confused.

“Well? How is he?”

“Oh,” Crabbe nodded. “He’s ok.”

Goyle elbowed him, causing him to drop his fork.

“Oh, I mean. Madam Pomfrey said he was lucky to survive. Any more blood out and he would’ve definitely died.”

Pansy started sobbing louder.

“Really? But it looked like just a tiny cut…” She stared at Crabbe but his expression didn’t really say much. “Well he can still play Seeker, right?”

Pansy sat up and turned on her, “Is that all you care about! He’s hurt and all alone in the hospital in pain and we’re all here enjoying this food!” She smashed her spoon into the shared chicken pie in front of them.

“Hey!” Goyle pulled the pie away from her.

“Pansy, he isn’t dying. He has a cut. Madam Pomfrey has healed much, much worse.” Heather watched her break down again and sob into her bright green sweater that probably didn’t meet the uniform rules.

“How could that oaf let this happen!” her cries were muffled.

“Well at least they fired him.” Crabbe looked up at the high table. “See? He’s not here.”

Heather felt sweat beads start to form on her face. Did they really fire Hagrid? On his first day? Would he go back to being grounds keeper or did he really get kicked out of Hogwarts all together? Now she too felt like crying and bit her tongue instead.

She hardly ate anything for dinner and quickly caught up to Harry as they exited the great hall. “Harry! Hagrid never showed up! They’re saying he got fired.”

“Stupid Malfoy!” Ron growled. “He ruins everything!”

Hermione put her hands up to calm everyone down. “We should just go see him. Those are probably just rumors. They wouldn’t fire him just like that.”

Harry sighed, “But his dad can get lots done when he wants to. Firing Hagrid wouldn’t even be that hard compared to kicking Dumbledore out of the castle last year.”

“Hermione’s right. Let’s go see him.” Ron looked at Harry’s watch. “Heather we’ll see you at one.”

“Wait!” Hermione glanced at Heather and Harry. “Maybe we shouldn’t be leaving the castle at night… Wouldn’t want to make things worse for Hagrid if we get caught sneaking to his hut.”

“Oh stop it. We’re allowed to walk on the school grounds. The dementors haven’t let Black through, now have they.” Harry turned to Heather, “We’ll see you at one.”

They parted ways and Heather made her way down to the common room to wait for Harry and Ron. She studied her potions and herbology guide for several hours until they knocked at one and she snuck out of the castle with them. Luckily no one was walking around and it took hardly no time at all to make it down the sloping lawn to Hagrid’s hut.

The lights were on which gave them all a lot of hope that everything was ok. If Hagrid was still there then he must not have gotten fired. They knocked and waited, hearing Fang scratching at the door. Fang no longer barked when it was them and Hagrid seemed to have noticed that too.

“Open,” Hagrid yelled rougher than normal.

They walked in and saw him sitting at his wooden table drinking with a towel soaked in tears on his knee. They sat down and Heather put the cloak away.

“I musta broken a record o’ some kind… Fired firs’ day.” Hagrid hiccupped and drank more from his giant cup.

“Did they really fire you?” Hermione gasped and looked like she was about to start crying too.

Hagrid shook his head and they all relaxed a bit.

“But I’m sure they will soon,” Hagrid groaned. “Madam Pomfrey fixed him up but he’s still cryin’… moanin’ ‘bout the pain an’ all.”

“He’s obviously lying.” Harry pounded the table. “We can prove that!”

Heather rolled her eyes. “How? You can’t intimidate him into telling the truth.”

Hagrid wasn’t even listening to them. “The school gov’nors been told…Sayin’ I started too big an’ shoulda done flobberworms instead… S’all my fault for erything…”

“No! We all saw it was Malfoy’s fault. We’re witnesses! We can tell the school governors that he did it on purpose!” Hermione grabbed Hagrid’s arm and shook him.

Ron nodded. “Yeah! We’ll help you out!”

Hagrid blew into his towel and pulled Harry and Ron into a tight hug. Heather laughed at their faces and helped them not to stumble too much when he let them go.

“Yer right!” Hagrid sounded more cheerful now.

“We should get going, Hagrid.” Hermione got up and unfolded the cloak for them.

He saw them out the door and looked up at the moon and stars. “YER NOT S’POSED TO BE WANDERIN’ OUT AT NIGH’, HARRY.” He looked at all of them and around at the tree line. “I’m takin’ yeh guys back. Don’t come see me at night, alrigh’? Not this year. S’not worth riskin’ yer safety for me.”

They walked back under the cloak with Hagrid watching carefully behind them and Fang at the front, trotting merrily. He pulled Fang back as they left him at the entrance hall holding up a large lantern. They walked Heather down to her common room and hugged goodbye. She stepped in and made her way to the bathroom to change and headed to bed.

Pansy was asleep but she still shook her awake, “Did you go see Draco after dinner? Is he ok?”

Pansy groaned and kept her eyes shut. “Yeah. He’s ok.”

Heather crawled into bed ready for some much-needed sleep. Draco was fine, all healed up. And helping Hagrid would be easy. So far nothing was looking bad and everything seemed very manageable. She curled up under the sheets and closed her eyes.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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shardminds · 4 years

Text

fortune favours the brave

pairing: emma swan/killian jones rated: m (for language & depiction of injury & just to be safe) wc: 5189 pacific rim!au

She passes the pseudo-drift but Killian can’t quite meet her eyes afterwards and Emma catches herself wondering, with clenched fists, if it’s all worth it.

just a warning, this is an open-ended work, meaning the ending is up to your own interpretation and i most likely will not be writing anything else to clarify... unless i decide to have another crack at this au down the line and completely rewrite the whole thing but i am a lazy bitch above all else with too many things to do so please don't get your hopes up!

my initial tag for this was "dealing with the weight of a neurological bond that reveals a lot more about yourself than you’d like." but ao3 said it was too long

this was intended as a birthday present to myself but it's 12 days late and i won't apologise.

also available on ao3 ♠

@artistic-writer is my saviour and i love her.

As soon as the pincer hits her spine, the simulation is over. Quicker than death could ever have captured her, quicker than the pain she was expecting in her lower back, quicker than blinking past a fallen beast and thinking it long past dead. If it were real, she wouldn’t have to deal with the disappointment of her superiors as they marked another tally in the opposite column of their tablets.

Kaiju: 3, Swan: 0.

Pixels dissipate into the air, audios and visuals power down as the relay gel leaks from her display, Killian sighs over the comms and the four walls of the training centre scream failure. Unclasping the plug at her neck, she collapses to the floor. Defeated.

“If your intention was to get paralysed, love, congratulations.” He’s exasperated, words clipped, and she knows he’s probably running his hand through his hair in that way he does or rolling his eyes or praying for this to be over. She can picture it so well because she’s been there, supervising rangers through the same process. That had been her job, her safe space. Then Marshal Mills had coerced her into a compatibility trial with the promise of a bigger bunk and a night off with the last bottle of bourbon on deck. Suddenly, nowhere was safe anymore. “It’s just a simple test,” she’d said, rolling her eyes at Emma’s reluctance to even try. “What harm can it do?”

If he catches the curses under her breath as she stands, he doesn’t let on.

Killian had managed to pass her simulated drift space on the second attempt—eviscerating a CAT 3 with ease and ignoring the distractions along the way. He didn’t talk about what stopped him the first time. Neither did she.

She was not so lucky, struggling not to forget herself in the memories of his past. Each step deeper into the consciousness he’d moulded dragged her further away from the task at hand. Each step closer to finding out what keeps Killian Jones awake at night is a step away from truly knowing him. She felt it all. His pain, grief and loss coming in overwhelming waves, only serving to intensify her own. Each time she failed, she understood him a little bit better and lost herself a little bit more.

Robin said it’s the trauma that helps their compatibility and the resilience in light of such pain. Will said it’s because they’re both insufferable cunts.

You can’t choose your drift partner.

“Again.” Adjusting the helmet slightly, she pulls up her vitals on the inner screen. BP a little high, heart rate too, brainwaves stable. Good enough. If she could just get past the random-access brain impulse triggers, the lure of Killian’s fabricated conflicts, she’d be showering the fabricated city in fabricated Kaiju Blue.

(Of course, she’d never really do that. Regina doesn’t need a reason to resent her.)

“Swan, take five.” The comm in her inner ear buzzes. Killian, again. There’s a tension to his tone, as if he could snap at a moment's notice. It’s not easy, having someone else inside your head—even when it’s not real. It’s worse when every inch of it is projected in agonisingly high definition to your commanding officers. Emma’s been living through his trauma while he’s been forced to watch it back, time and time again. She’ll get it next time.

Next time.

Always next time.

“No, count me down.”

“Swan—”

“My vitals are fine! No bleeds, no dizziness, motor function all good.” The CNS link connects to the back of her neck with a twist of her wrist and a dull click. Power vibrates through the plug suit, humming like the anticipation Emma can feel beneath her own skin. “One more try, I’m almost there.”

There’s no response from Killian. No quip or complaint. He’s silent as Emma closes her eyes and opens them to the darkness of the drift. The next voice she hears is Robin’s.

“Five.”

Her world is blue. Warped. Memories zipping past her that she does and doesn’t remember. Emma recognises one woman’s face from her previous pseudo-drifts. She has a name somewhere.

“Four.”

The woman walks off to some kind of middle distance, between nothing and nowhere. She indicates for Emma to follow with the crook of her finger and a smile.

“Three.”

It’s not Emma she’s seeing.

“Stop chasing it, Emma. Two.”

Taking a breath, Emma wills away the apparition, tuning in to the pounding of her own heartbeat and that of someone else’s — Killian’s, strong and steady. It grounds her.

“Prepare for Neural Handshake.”

When the Kaiju pincer swings for her, she slices it clean off.

She passes the pseudo-drift but Killian can’t quite meet her eyes afterwards and Emma catches herself wondering, with clenched fists, if it’s all worth it.

A CAT 3 and two CAT 2’s attack what’s left of San Francisco a week later in the largest triple event in recorded history and yes, it’s definitely worth it.

Ruby and Graham are deployed in Lone Wolf, along with two Jaegers from Alaska. The fight, like all fights, is raw and too close. Always too close. They return half a day later, lucky to have made it out with their lives. The bags under Jefferson’s eyes carry the weight of the world as he reports back to the bridge with the news.

They’ll never pilot again.

Killian finds her later, sat atop Frozen Serenity with a half-empty hip flask and a cigarette. He doesn’t question her or the tears she wears. He holds her, one arm wrapping around Emma’s shoulders, pulling her into his chest. It’s too close, too much but not enough. It’s times like this—times of wordless understanding—that she’s glad of the bond they supposedly have.

Thankfully, he doesn’t waste his words with reassurance. Regina had spent the last thirty minutes on the comms for everyone to hear. The threat was eliminated; victory, but at what cost? Ruby and Graham had been wheeled in on gurneys, surrounded by medics and techs and escorted directly to isolation. Their Jaeger followed shortly after, complete with thick gashes to its middle and a viciously pierced conn-pod leaking rivulets of coolant and Kaiju blood. It didn’t take Emma long to see why they’d ushered the pilots away.

Sneaking off had been a non-issue.

“Next time,” The warmth of his body offers only slight comfort from the chill of the hangar but she’s grateful for it. “It’ll be us.”

“We might not even drift yet. The simulation is nothing like the real thing.” The lump in her throat has her choking around the words. The fragility of it all should frighten her, but it doesn’t. She’s not scared. There’s no time for fear.

“We will.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s called trust.” When he smiles, sad but hopeful, the tears come again.

It’s all worth it, even if she loses herself in the process.

Jolly Roger, a Mark 3 with a history of fallen pilots, had been in pretty bad shape when Emma had seen it come through the east coast bunker a year ago. With a compromised pod and basically no left side, it was a mess.

Will had already sized the wreck up for parts before it’d even docked in the hangar.

“There’s no way it’ll run again. Core to Wolf, pod fixed up for Snow’s Mark 4, shocks to whoever needs them most and the rest for scraps and refurbs.” He’d said, around a mouthful of instant mac and cheese. Emma rolled her eyes, grabbing a bite of her own meagre rations. “Bet as much as you want, you know I’m right.”

After six months, when Marshal Mills announced they needed a co-pilot for Jolly, Emma collected her prize with a smile and a disgruntled “Fuck off.” from the mechanic.

Seeing it now, all shiny and new, with a fresh core, updated weapon systems and a slick paint job was like looking at a different machine entirely. Killian has the same awestruck glaze to his expression that she has.

He says something under his breath that sounds like “I missed you.”

Three days later, atop the bunker looking out at the wasteland the eastern seaboard has become, Killian finds her again. The horizon is permanently tinged green these days, thick with smog rising from the polluted city that used to be Boston. It’s something else now, something new entirely. New York had really done a number on the east coast.

“So,” he starts, a six pack in his good hand and a thick file—her file—in his mechanical one. “It seems that the fate of the earth relies on us getting intimate, love.”

Emma shrugs his comment off with an eye roll. “In your dreams.”

“In my dreams, we wouldn’t be drinking this backwash,” she catches the bundle of cans as it falls to her lap and pulls two free of the casing. Killian slumps down beside her, a welcome warmth against her side. He’s always warm. “And you’d be wearing a lot less.”

“Pervert.” Her cheeks flush from the windchill and not because of the wink he sends her way as he takes a can from her lap.

He shrugs, gulping back his beer. “I’ve been called a lot worse.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“I doubt anything could, lass.”

He reads in relative silence, which Emma appreciates, only pausing to ask questions at the redacted statements in her story. There’s no point in hiding anything from him now—soon, he’ll see it all. There’s something about Killian Jones that she trusts and she’s not exactly sure why.

“You were there? In New York?” He thumbs the report sheet, filled with more censoring than words. She doesn’t remember much of it; being eighteen, the toils of pregnancy, wrongful imprisonment, the first Kaiju attack on the east coast, holding her child to her chest as the walls crumbled. The memories are all so distant, it almost feels like someone else lived them.

Emma nods. “Unfortunately.”

Killian doesn’t push for the details; all the relevant ones are written on the sheet he’s holding. How they’d found her bleeding beneath rubble and dust, clutching the bundle of blankets and the body within. There hadn’t been time for a funeral.

She’s shaking when he takes her hand.

“It was my first deployment. On a CAT 4, no less.” He traces circles around her knuckles as if they’re anything but strangers. She doesn’t have it in her heart to stop him. “Cataclysm, they called it. The ugliest bloody thing I’d ever seen. Liam, the comedian he is—was, spent the whole fight calling it all kinds of names as we tore it to pieces bit by bit.” He takes another sip of his can, eyes locked on the horizon. “I felt him die that day.”

His thumb doesn't stop tracing its pattern, but she grips his hand tighter—part shock, part understanding.

“Jewel never stood a chance. The emp left us wide open and the blasted thing used its last breath to launch at the conn-pod and—”

“You don’t have to, Killian.” She whispers, beer forgotten at their feet. “You don’t have to relive it.”

“But I do. Every time I step foot in the hangar, I relive it. Every time I drift, or spar or train. Every time I look in the mirror I see his face staring back at me.” He sighs, letting his posture slip further. He’s no longer a Ranger. He’s a lost boy. The grief he carries, the guilt, is something she recognises. “I miss him, Emma, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

Wind blows, alarms ring, sun filters through the murky atmosphere and casts them both in its golden glow and Emma Swan pulls him in for a hug.

He stiffens in her embrace before leaning into it, letting the tension dissipate beneath her touch. It’s intimate in a way that doesn’t need words and her breath catches at the sight of a teardrop on his cheek.

Putting space between them again is hard, but necessary.

“I know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times, but you better be prepared to hear it a thousand more. It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. It will never be your fault. We’re Rangers. We’re disposable. The world is ending and we’re the first line of defence. If we fall—” He’s watching her so intently, hanging on her every word.

There’s no way to soften the blow of a death sentence.

“We’re going to die in a Jaeger, Killian, that much is inevitable. We won’t grow old. We won’t pass in our sleep. We’ll go screaming at the hands of a Kaiju and, I don’t know about you, but I plan on taking a fair share of those fuckers with me in the process.”

A nod.

A squeeze.

A gulp.

He’s still holding her hand when they return to the artificial warmth of the hangar.

He used to drink black coffee, dark and bitter. She hates it, preferring sweetness over caffeination in her warm beverages but getting her own would require a trip to the cafeteria earlier than she’d like to be awake. A few seconds of grimacing over the taste is worth it for the extra half hour of sleep. Killian’s an early riser—of course, he is. It’s a wonder they’re compatible at all.

Killian initially tried to put up a fight over it, hold it out of her reach like kids on the playground or finish it off before Emma could even think of crawling out of her quarters, but she wore him down, little by little.

They’re working on Jolly with Will when she takes a sip, stealing the travel mug from his hand and already half wincing for the unsweetened assault. When surprisingly palatable coffee hits her tongue, she almost chokes. It’s not half bad; no acrid punch of burnt grounds, no grainy aftertaste. Instead, it’s sweet. Creamy. Not what she was expecting at all.

“What’s this?” She takes a sniff at the lid incredulously. Is that… syrup?

“According to Ms Lucas, this is what poses as a caramel latte these days. Filled to the brim with sugar, spice and all things nice, just how you like it.” Will hands him a tablet, outlining the Jaeger’s current specifications. Emma understands enough of it to get by—she’s more attuned to reading neural charts, not the gibberish the engineers put out—but Killian revels in the details. He doesn’t even look her way as he speaks, fully engrossed in the graphs, comparisons and visuals. It also means he doesn’t notice Emma eyeing up how good he looks with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a grease stain on his left cheek. Just the right amount of dishevelled. “Is there any way we can drop a few tonnes to help increase speed and manoeuvrability?”

Will peers at the tablet, overseeing the stats with a critical eye. “No, mate. Not without losing vital armouring.”

“What about swapping out the nuclear core?” Killian hums, swiping to the next screen.

“Don’t be daft, Killian. It’s brand new.”

“The arc-whip?”

“I’m gonna cut in and say no on that one.” Emma interjects, surprised that she even managed to drag her attention away from the warm, sweet beverage in her hands or the enigma of a man that let her take it. The arc-whip is her preferred weapon—combining both distance and close combat, great for the CAT 2’s and smaller CAT 3’s that like to stay just out of reach or dragging back the larger beasts from getting further inland. She’s the one that suggested it be added to Jolly’s arsenal in the first place.

“Come on, love.” Handing her the tablet and tapping a few menus, Killian points out Jolly’s stats without it. Their speed would be improved and their power longevity, but they’d be sacrificing their range completely. “Having an arc-whip and a plasma cannon is overkill.”

The mechanic chuckles, coming to her other side and throwing an arm around their shoulders. “Technically, the plasma cannon is overkill anyway. Massive power drain.”

“Don’t you start.” Killian bats his arm away and Will cocks an eyebrow in challenge.

“Just because I’m right.”

Before either of them can respond, the hangar shudders as alarms blare. The alarm they all dread.

The Breach.

The CAT 2—Axefury—with armour piercing spines and nasty blade-like mandibles, emerges just off the coast of Florida, stalking towards the shore.

Frozen Serenity is deployed, piloted by sisters Anna and Elsa.

The fight takes an hour.

Killian brings her another coffee as they watch the battle from the command centre. He doesn’t say a word, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as she tenses against the cold realisation.

It could’ve been them.

Next time, it will be.

When he knocks her on her ass, straddling her waist with his sparring staff pressed to her throat, Killian’s eyes are the bluest she’s ever seen, and it takes her a second to remember where they are. He smirks, allowing her space to breathe while keeping her thoroughly pinned down.

“Normally, I’d prefer to do other more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back.” With a voice like that, velvet and grit, Emma’s not sure if she wants to push him away or pull him closer. The watchful eye of Marshal Mills keeps her straight. The last thing anyone needs is a show. She struggles just enough to make him cocky before retaliating, using his own weight against him.

In a heartbeat, he’s the one on his back, head caught in a lock between Emma’s thighs. In the time it takes for him to realise what’s going on, eyes widening as he realises where he is, it’s too late. His weapon clatters to the edge of the crash mat, useless.

“For future reference,” She pants, squeezing her legs tighter until Killian taps out against the floor. “I prefer to be on top.”

He laughs and, despite the patrol alarm blaring down the hall and Regina’s eye roll, the world feels a little lighter.

When they drift in Jolly for the first time, the phantom woman from the pseudo-drift is nowhere to be seen. There’s a blip where Killian gets caught up in visions of destruction and earthquakes and rivers of blue eroding the streets of New York, but just as Emma feels the echoes of her memories in his mind, they’re gone. He’s in her head. An uncomfortable yet reassuring presence that she never thought she’d be able to endure again.

“Neural bridge initiated and holding strong. Well done, guys.” Robin chirps over the speakers, dragging them out of the initial drift space and back to their shared reality. She lifts her left arm as Killian lifts his right and they join the jaeger’s metallic palms in a salute that rumbles through the bowels of the hangar.

Cheers erupt from the comm lines as scientists and pilots and soldiers line the walkways and balconies to celebrate their achievement.

She can feel the haze of his irritation through the link.

“We’re another shot at hope for them.” Her uncalibrated right-hand takes his uncalibrated left wrist just above the brace of his prosthetic. He doesn’t flinch but his thoughts stutter, interlaced with images of her soft smile and memories of each time they’d sparred, each stolen hour on the rooftops, each close encounter, each moment that could’ve been an almost, or a maybe. Emma pauses just long enough to imagine What if?

She shakes them away. They owe each other that much.

“We’re a suicide mission.” He’s right and his voice buzzes in the back of her skull. If the comm deck picked up on his words, they don’t respond.

“Yeah,” she lets his arm fall back to his side, making sure her left side—the one that’s wired into the eight thousand tonne government-approved death machine—stays relatively still. “But it’s worth it.”

“Is it?”

She can’t tell the difference between his words and his thoughts right now.

Static crackles in the conn-pod before Robin’s voice calls out again. “Ready to take her for a spin?”

She kisses him, with trembling palms pressed to his chest. Because she wants to. Because she can. Because, more than anything else, she isn’t ready to die. Not now. He is slow to respond, one hand on her shoulder ready to put distance between them at a moment's notice, the other at her waist, pulling her closer. The corridor leading to their quarters is empty and, beneath the harsh light, he tastes like the coffee they’d shared for breakfast.

He doesn’t push her away. She’s grateful for that.

The absence of Killian in her head should be a relief but it isn’t. It feels… empty. The absence of a presence that had made itself at home. She’d worked with rangers for years, ever since the hangar took her in, learning the in’s and out’s of the neural bridge and working to better align pilots with an initial pseudo-drift before putting them through the real thing.

She’d never expected to like it.

It’s exhilarating.

The expiry date they have hanging over their heads is unavoidable now. They’re compatible, truly compatible, doubting that is no use to anyone and despite whatever lead them both to the corps, whatever it is she catches glimpses of when they drift, she trusts him.

Fingers still trembling and head thick with fog, Emma trusts him.

“That was—”

A mistake.

Long overdue.

A one-time thing.

Just the beginning.

“Worth it.”

“Emma—”

“Be quiet.”

She snakes a hand around his waist, using his surprise to yank him closer into the alcove, away from prying eyes. Their dark uniforms blend in the shadows. Chest to chest like this, Emma can barely catch her breath. The cold steel pipe against her back does nothing to dissuade the heat he’s putting out—seriously, how is he always warm? It’s impossible to avoid his gaze either, the intensity of it only magnified with their proximity.

There’s questions there—so many questions—but he doesn’t have to ask them. She knows.

Killian’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.

She knows.

David and Snow walk past none the wiser, caught up in a discussion about something or other. Emma can’t focus enough to listen in, too distracted by everything in her body that screams for her to pull Killian closer and slam their mouths together until they forget about the rest. She holds her breath until the other rangers round the corner at the end of the hall.

“Mills hasn’t cleared Humbert or Lucas for visitation. We’ll be turned away.” Killian whispers, mouth so close to her ear that she can feel his words better than hearing them. His cheek catches hers as he pulls back but he doesn’t get far, her hand still pressed to his side, holding him in place. His brows raise in surprise.

Her palm tingles against the empty air when she lets go.

“Let me do the talking.”

He nods, following as she exits into the corridor, only a half-step behind.

They don’t have clearance. The med bay doors beep dejectedly as Emma’s ID card fails to pass the security check. Will had promised it would work, he’d sworn. Either he lied, already ratted them out to the Marshal or—

Victor Whale.

“Mills already has her reports delivered to her directly every hour,” he sighs, tugging off his gloves, surgical mask and running a free hand through his hair. Emma can see the dark roots coming through. There’s no market for salon-quality peroxide at the end of the world, apparently. “With the intention of alleviating the need for rangers like yourselves to check in. Can’t you go be annoying somewhere else? I don’t have time to file insubordination paperwork, I’m already understaffed.”

Killian reaches out, pleading, his eyes wide and blue and honest. He grabs the doctor’s forearm with his mechanical hand.

“Please, mate. Just five minutes.”

Whale’s brow furrows focused on the prosthetic gripping his arm. The fear of disciplinary action outweighs a lot of things in the hangar.

She’s pale, too pale, and riddled with tubes and drips and monitors that beep along with the pace of her heart. The burns, blistered and seeping, are tinged blue with the toxic sludge that courses through Kaiju veins. Blue burns, as they’re colloquially referred, aren’t uncommon. There are ointments and salves to calm the low-level contact burns and sprays to neutralise the toxins in the acid. What’s left of the governments have put extensive measures in place to ensure that stuff like this doesn’t happen to the general public.

They don’t seem to care for rangers.

As Ruby’s skin sloughs from the slightest friction of the sterile sheets, Emma can feel the first clutches of fear curl around her throat.

Corpselike. That’s the only word that comes to mind. Ruby, once so full of life, has never looked so… not, and Emma can’t help but fall into step with the ventilator that’s currently breathing for her as if somehow it makes a difference. The steady whirr of the machine only working to wind up the anxieties simmering beneath the surface of her skin.

Next time, it’ll be them.

Next time, it’ll be her.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

“We’re having to keep her under.” Someone —Victor? — hums, ignoring them both to look over the digitised chart at the foot of her bed. “There’s a lot of irrevocable damage that we’re still looking into while repairing what we can externally.”

Inhale.

“What about Gra— Ranger Humbert?” Killian's hand hasn’t left hers since they entered and, for what it’s worth, she’s thankful for the anchor and the ever-present warmth he offers. His presence is grounding and his words reflect her thoughts when she can’t quite reach her own.

Exhale.

It’s too much.

Inhale.

“More of the same”

Exhale.

They never should’ve come

His lips taste of salt.

The inevitability of death.

It burns.

“I don’t want to lose this.” she pants, soft against Killian’s lips as he smiles and steals it away. Like the future they don’t have. That she so painfully wished they could have. “I—”

His kisses trail to her ear, each one as gentle as the last. Too soft, too delicate. It terrifies and excites her how something as small as a kiss can melt her resolve to nothing. Any shadow of doubt disappearing with each step they take closer to the inevitable. After everything that had happened, from sneaking into the med bay, drowning the images with the last of that damn bottle of bourbon that started all this and sparring until they were both bruised and beaten and breathless, sex had been the last thing on her mind. It had crept up on her, crept up on them both, and it was impossible to deny.

That first rooftop rendezvous, first spar, first kiss, all those weeks ago, had cemented this. She can see that now.

Closing what little distance there is left between them, Killian walks her backwards until her thighs bump against the solid table behind them. “You won’t, love. I’ve got you.”

Each touch, each glance, each gasp is another goodbye.

His prosthetic rests on her waist as his other makes light work of the fastenings of her uniform, and she urges him on with a moan. She’s thankful they made it back to his quarters. They won’t make it to the bed.

Emma searches for answers as he pulls off his shirt, praying something in his eyes will reassure her that this—whatever this is—is okay, that they’re not terrible people for finding something worth fighting for at the end of the earth, anything to provide even a modicum of hope that maybe, just maybe, they’ll survive just long enough to have a chance at finding out if it is. She clutches at his shoulders, with nails biting into his skin, and breathes.

She doesn’t find the answers. Instead, she finds herself.

Scared and afraid, clinging to the last comfort she has left.

Three words bloom, fade and crumble in her mind, as fragile as a leaf on the wind and, before she can even speak them, Killian nods.

“I know.”

Somewhere deep inside her chest, behind broken walls and the rubble of a past life, something long since broken, beats.

Emma wakes up to warmth. An all encompassing warmth surrounding her so completely, an aura of heat welding together the cracks that had once debilitated her heart. So familiar, and pure and yet so foreign at the same time.

Each beat of her heart echoed by a shadow.

Each exhale mirrored by that of another, a soft caress against her nape.

The solid and comforting press of a body—his body—against her back, bringing forth memories of the night previous so slowly, like a crack in a dam; first a drip and then a flood. The synchronicity. The passion. The mutual need to just Be.

The absence of all thought except one.

Life is just too fucking short.

As if summoned by her mental recollection, Killian’s arm wraps around her waist. His lips ghost against the skin of her shoulder blade and the kiss he presses to her neck brings a smile to her face.

“Good morning, Swan.” He purrs, voice gravelly and wrapped in sleep. Damn, if Emma had only known he sounded like that first thing sooner—

The thought catches her off guard.

It’s so… normal. Domestic.

She could get used to it. She wants to get used to it.

“Mor—”

The spell shatters. The facade peels away to reveal the truth and the bliss that had wrapped her up in its glow is gone. Reality hits.

The blood-curdling scream of the one alarm they pray will never ring.

The Breach.

Robin’s voice screeches out over the comms in a panicked shout, followed by the calm and commanding call of Marshal Mills. Her own name and rank is called, along with Killian’s. Emma’s blood runs cold when the realisation hits.

A CAT 5.

All units to report.

Approaching New York.

Killian doesn’t move for what seems like an eternity, lips still pressed to her skin in an everlasting kiss, as if time has somehow warped around this very moment, stretching seconds into minutes, hours. Allowing them a chance to come to terms with what must happen next.

Their fates were sealed the second they stepped foot in the hangar.

Emma wrapped in a hospital gown. Killian in a battered, blood-stained plug suit.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, already drowned out by the blaring siren that fills every corner of the room. Emma can’t tell if he’s saying it for her sake or his own.

When she turns to him, pulling herself upright in the process and letting the cold of his quarters seep into her bare chest, he’s smiling. It’s by no means her favourite smile—wide and full of laughter—but it’s something and, for some crazy reason, she believes in it.

She believes in them.

“Fortune favours the brave.”

////

tagging a few of y’all! @thisonesatellite @teamhook @kmomof4 @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @thisonesatellite @darkcolinodonorgasm @carpedzem @hollyethecurious

#cs fic #captain swan fic #ouat fic #ficminds #i'm sorry to anyone that likes once upon a time and pacific rim #this is a mess #but it's my mess

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juniperwindsong · 4 years

Text

Necessary Monsters (6/16)

A/N: Well, as of recent game updates, my story is now AU. I considered rewriting this chapter, and I do reserve the right to go back and change it later to keep to canon. But for now, I'd like this chapter to stand in memory of a character that had no business dying (looking at you, JC).

Summary: "I need a favor." "You what?" "Don't be a prick." "Oh, off to a champion start, you are."

The only thing worse than an alarm clock is an enchanted alarm clock. Felix is sure the squat, tin object takes malicious pleasure in stabbing him to consciousness with its incessant brrrring. He groans and slaps a hand in the direction of the trunk currently serving as a bedside table, but the clock dances away from Felix's outstretched fingers, its shrill ring sounding suspiciously like laughter. Groping about in the dark for his wand, Felix waves it at the clock, now doing an ungainly jig beside the bed, and it falls forward onto its flat face in disgruntled silence.

Stumbling to the wardrobe, Felix pulls out shirt, jumper, and trousers without looking, then stares about him in the darkness for his boots. The outline of one peeks from under the foot of his camp bed, and he trips over the other on his way toward it. Sprawled across the floor, all sense of urgency knocked from him, Felix fumbles for the treacherous shoes and tugs them on with heavy fingers. He reminds himself he's only 22, which is far too young to be this ornery about his turn at night-shift. He knows the one week a month of reversed sleep cycle, and the impish alarm clock that comes with it, aren't the real reason his nerves are on tenterhooks. But they certainly don't help.

Still spread-eagle on the cold, rough wood, Felix allows his eyes to fall closed as he sends up a silent prayer to whatever entity is responsible for managing his cosmic affairs: Please, please let it come today, he thinks, over and over again, until sleep begins to trickle back through his veins.

As the breathing of its current master deepens and slows, the alarm clock rights itself and toddles across the floor towards his ear. It rubs its hands together in undisguised glee.

The Romanian Reserve is not at all what Felix had expected. It reminds him of what he always imagined work in an office would be like: shifts and staff meetings and performance reviews. In Peru, Felix's schedule was set by the sun or the activity of the dragons he tracked. Here, he flicks his wand over a time card in the main building and marches past the hall of tiny rooms to the cramped office where the equipment is stored, and which he has to share with the Senior Dragonologist for the Peruvian Vipertooth.

Luis Rashbold takes up almost the entire closet-sized room. Leaning back in the only chair with his feet propped on the small desk, both pieces of furniture creaking in distress, he dictates his report to a typewriter clicking away on its own. He's only a decade older than Felix, but full of the self-assurance that comes with being one of the youngest researchers to achieve a senior position.

Felix reaches across the desk and snatches the paper from the typewriter, glancing over the events of the day.

"Any change?" he asks Rashbold without looking up from the parchment.

"None. That she-dragon of yours is still hell-bent on getting to Alicanto before the mating season ends. But it shouldn’t last much longer. The summer's half gone."

Sharp pangs constrict Felix's chest at the reminder, but he breathes through them.

"The rotation started over today, didn't it? Who do we have this month?"

Rashbold flicks his dark ponytail back over his shoulder. "Lambton. And do try and go easy on the lad, the healer quit this morning. "

"You're joking. He hasn't been here a fortnight!"

"I've known shorter," Rashbold shrugs unconcernedly.

"And the one before that only got here a few weeks before I did." Felix steps around the desk, carefully avoiding Rashbold's dirt-crusted shoes. "Is the job jinxed or something?" he asks as he lifts the fireproof gauntlets and chest-plate from their hooks on the wall, eyeing the sweat stains on the inside of the equipment with distaste.

"Doubt it," replies Rashbold, sliding another piece of paper into the typewriter. "Most people just aren't cut out for dragons." He catches Felix muttering a cleaning spell under his breath and shakes his head.

Felix pulls the chest-plate over his jumper, glancing at the papers scattered across the desk.

"Did the post come yet?" he asks with a practiced nonchalance that does not fool the older man one bit. Rashbold cracks a wicked grin.

"Sorry, nothing from your secret admirer. What's it been, a fortnight now?" As always, heat rises in Felix's face unbidden, and Rashbold's grin becomes a laugh. "Too bad you didn't pick the Fireball, mate. Your face would make excellent camouflage."

Felix stomps from the room, cheeks still bright red. Rashbold's infuriating laughter follows him down the hall.

Disappointment begins its natural evolution into bitter anger as Felix strides quickly out of the building's backdoor and down the gravel path. He wastes a few minutes wishing apparition was permitted on the Reserve. It's only a twenty minute walk to the Vipertooths' habitat, which is practically nothing; it takes the Horntail dragonologists an hour to get to their plot, housed at the very back of the Reserve. But work is the only thing keeping Felix sane just at present. Each minute of silent walking is a minute he cannot stop his brain sliding into anxious thoughts about what might be happening to Juniper so many miles away.

When Felix first arrived, Juniper's letters, while abysmally short, had at least been consistent. No longer half a world apart, Felix received her owls almost every other day, a privilege he had been denied for many years and did not take for granted. He could tell by her wobbly and often unintelligible penmanship, Juniper's hands had not yet improved enough to make writing an easy task. Nor had her attempts to charm her quill into writing for her been successful either, she explained in her first letter, since she couldn't hold her wand steady enough to cast anything. But after being discharged from St Mungo's and purchasing a quill that took dictation from Flourish and Blotts, her letters were once again full of news: How she had been excused from end-of-year exams; how she still had no memory of her attack or attackers; how Dumbledore had insisted she spend the summer at the Khanna tree farm, an out of the way country house with many magical protections surrounding it.

Felix got the distinct impression from her letters that Juniper was frustrated with the decisions being made for her. She had been expressly forbidden from leaving the Khanna property, except for regular visits to St Mungo's, and Dumbledore and the auror, Moody, checked in on her frequently. But Juniper offered no further information about her protection detail or her recovery. As always, she kept her letters to questions and comments about Felix's new life in Romania, though even those seemed more careless with each owl. Then the frequency of her letters dipped. By the end of July, they had stopped coming at all.

Worry now keeps Felix in a constant state of nerves. He's sure someone would have contacted him if something had happened to Juniper; another attack or a sudden relapse. He remembers Snape's warning about uncharacteristic behavior, and more than once has sat down at his desk with the intention of consulting the Slytherin Head of House. But he isn't sure if a mere lack of correspondence qualifies as unusual, particularly in light of her condition. It's entirely possible Juniper is simply too busy, with her recovery and her other friends, to keep up with their new fast-paced writing schedule. Still, the vacuum of silence he's left in without her letters makes him edgier with each passing day.

Work is the only relief Felix has from the continual parade of worries and what-ifs. And today's arrival of the new junior assistant, a position that rotates between different species on a monthly basis, ensures Felix has no extra brain space to think of anything except keeping the nervous young man alive and relatively unhurt.

Ten hours later, dripping with sweat, dirt, and blood, Felix trudges slowly back across the Reserve just as the sun peeks over the horizon. Pulling off his gauntlets and stretching his sore muscles, he waits for the ever-present torment to reassert itself. The desperation to hear from Juniper, even just a few quick lines to know she's alright and hasn't forgotten him, is a physical ache nothing will soothe. Two weeks is long enough to be objectively concerned, he decides. The time has come to send an inquiry.

Debating which of her many friends to write to, Felix is startled to hear his name being called from somewhere ahead of him. He focuses on the figure in the foreground: a tall, muscular man, though that describes most of the dragonologists here, but with the addition of a cowboy hat, which can only mean one person.

"Hey there, Rosier!"

"Grahame," Felix inclines his head wearily at the Reserve's resident American, who trots toward him with an irrepressible grin.

"I got - shit, you're a mess!" the dark man exclaims cheerfully, as he looks Felix up and down.

"May I help you?" Felix replies, trying to keep irritation from his voice. The American is a junior dragonologist as well, though several years older. Felix doesn’t usually mind the man’s company, but he isn't in the mood for conversation just now. Fortunately, Grahame appears to be in his usual hurry. He thrusts something at Felix as he passes.

"Rashbold asked me to hand that to you on my way. Said you'd want it asap!"

Felix looks down at the object Grahame is pressing into his hands. It's an envelope.

"I - yes. Thank you." He tries to sound aloof, but can't keep excitement from slipping out around his hasty words.

“No worries," Grahame assures him, walking backward to keep sight of Felix. "Catch you later at the pub?" The American pronounces the final word with a fake accent and wry chuckle, but Felix doesn't notice. His entire attention is given over to the envelope in his hands.

The name on the back isn't written in Juniper's writing. Felix isn't positive, but he thinks he recognises the small, cramped script of Rowan Khanna. The morning feels suddenly chill. Fingers trembling, Felix unseals the envelope and pulls out a small slip of parchment. He reads the half-dozen lines once, and then again. Then he starts to run.

"Rashbold!"

"Rosier?"

The Senior Dragonologist looks up from behind the desk, taking in Felix's breathless state in mild curiousity. Felix props an arm against the doorjamb, clutching a stitch in his side.

"I need...a favor," he gasps.

Rashbold guffaws. "You what?"

"Don't be a prick," Felix growls as best he can while still panting.

"Oh, off to a champion start, you are," the larger man chuckles. He falls back against the chair, which squeaks in protest, and kicks his boots up onto the desk. He tries to fold his beefy arms casually behind his head, but the office is so small he smashes his elbow against the wall.

"What could I possibly do for you, Rosier? Never been to Peru, have I? Never chased a dragon across mountains and through forests for weeks without sleep. Don't see how I could possibly help someone such as yourself who's so much more experienced, so-"

Felix can't even feel indignant as he interjects, "This isn't a work favor. It's - personal."

Rashbold's sarcastic smile slips a little. He notices the frantic look in Felix's eye and the parchment crumpled in his hand and asks, more seriously, "What's wrong, then?"

"Something's come up. Back in England, and - I need to take a bit of leave."

Rashbold lets out another raucous laugh, this one incredulous. "What? You can't! You just got here. You're not eligible for six months at least, and even then you know Guivré hardly ever approves-"

"I know!" Felix interrupts, "That's why I need you to cover for me."

"For how long?"

"I'm not sure." Felix runs a hand through his hair in distraction. "A few days, maybe."

Rashbold shakes his head. "Nothing doing, mate. I'm jiggered as it is, I can't pull double shifts that long. I've not got enough wide-eye potion left."

"Please!" Felix's abject pleading shocks both himself and the older man. "Please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't urgent."

Rashbold looks Felix up and down, then shakes his head again, his expression now apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Rosier. But Stella's on me about my hours as it is. If I try to pull something like this, I'll wind up in divorce."

The larger man shifts his gaze to the desk, lifting papers about at random, unwilling to look Felix in the eye.

Felix takes a heavy breath. "Fine." He tosses the gauntlets and vest in the general direction of the wall.

"Hold on." Rashbold stands in alarm. "You're not still going, are you?"

"I have to."

"But, Guivré will fire you if he finds you've gone without leave! I know you're still a bit new here, but you should know what he's like by now."

"I don't have a choice." And Felix is surprised to find his voice even and calm. It's a career-ending decision he's about to make, but somehow, he's entirely removed from any anxiety about it. It's the same feeling of clarity and focus he's used to experiencing in the wild, when circumstance demands immediate action without the luxury of second-guessing.

Rashbold crosses his arms. "Is this about your mysterious letter writer?"

Felix considers a lie, a family crisis would probably garner more sympathy, but his habitual blush betrays him.

"Yes."

Rashbold snorts. "You're seriously going to throw away your position for some girl? That won't even write?"

The heat in Felix's face becomes irritation.

"No. I mean, yes, I am, but she's not some girl. I mean, she is a girl, but..." He struggles to find words to describe everything between him and Juniper to this man who doesn't know either of them and whose business it really isn't anyway. "She's more than just a girl. She's - she's important."

"More important than your job?" Rashbold fixes the junior dragonologist with a shrewdly calculating stare that Felix hadn't considered the other man capable of. Felix holds his gaze steadily, and nods just once.

There's a short silence while Rashbold considers. Finally, the older man heaves himself back into the groaning chair in resignation.

"Alright, look. I can cover you for the week-end. I'll say you got a bad bite and are taking the cure." He points a large finger at Felix. "But if you're not back by Monday, you're on your own, alright?"

Felix's knees almost buckle with relief.

"Thank you, Rashbold," he manages, but the other man waves his words away with a massive hand.

"Don't thank me, just don't make me sorry."

The Khanna tree farm is as picturesque as a Christmas card in the mid-morning light, but Felix isn't in the mood to appreciate the scenery. Security measures have prevented apparition around the property for a league in every direction, so for the second time that day, Felix is forced to race on foot through the grounds. He pelts up the walk to the main building, and bangs on the door with his fist.

It's barely a minute, though it feels like an age to Felix, before the door opens and Rowan Khanna stares eagerly out, face falling slightly when she recognises him.

"Oh. Felix. I thought, maybe you were-"

"What's going on? Where's Juniper? What's happened?" he interjects in a breathless rush. Rowan's dark cheeks turn suddenly fuschia.

"Oh. Um...well, it's sort of complicated."

"What do you mean? Your letter said Juniper needed help."

Rowan stutters wordlessly, shifting her weight between her feet, face still unusually coloured, and Felix's frayed nerves snap.

"Khanna, I've left my job without leave to be here! Tell me what's going on. Now!"

The door opens farther and Felix is surprised to see Penny Haywood standing behind Rowan, expressive face full of worry.

"Are you here about Juniper?"

Felix rolls his eyes hugely. "Yes!"

The blonde girl tugs Rowan aside by the sleeve, allowing Felix to step over the threshold.

"That's good. We need all the help we can get."

A few silent minutes later, Penny is brewing tea while Rowan and Felix sit at the kitchen's wooden farm table. Rowan stares nervously down at her hands, picking at splinters in the wood. Felix takes several deep, steadying breaths, trying to keep his temper under control. If Juniper were in immediate danger, they would surely have taken him to her. But if she isn't, Khanna is going to receive an earful for putting him through all this.

"Where is Juniper?" Felix asks, with what he considers impressive calm.

"She's...not here," Rowan admits, and silent tears spill from her eyes before she can stop them. She wipes them with the back of her sleeve, knocking her glasses askew, and Felix digs his nails into his palm to stifle his panic. He calls up his old prefect skills and speaks as soothingly as he can.

"Khanna, just...calm down, and tell me what's-"

"She's alright," Penny says, turning from the heating kettle to face the table. She's mercifully tear-free, but looks concerned enough to contradict her statement. "She's not...not been attacked again or anything like that. It's - " she sighs deeply. "It's hard to explain.'

Felix closes his eyes in a quick plea for patience. "Please, try."

Penny leans back against the cooker.

"When was the last time you heard from Juniper?"

"Why?" asks Felix suspiciously.

"Because I need to know how much you don't know."

"It's been...two weeks," he admits. "but before that she wasn't saying much about what's been happening to her."

Penny hugs her arms about herself, taking a moment to gather her thoughts, while Felix drums his fingers against the tabletop in agitation.

"Okay. You know Dumbledore made her come stay here for the summer, right?"

Felix nods.

"Well, the thing is...at hospital, she seemed alright. Normal, you know? She was making plans for the summer and next term, like she always does. Even the healer said she was recovering better than expected. But...once she got here, she...changed. We thought she might just be ill or something. She was..." Penny glances toward the ceiling, presumably searching there for the right words. "Subdued, I guess. She wasn't eating, said nothing tasted of anything. And she couldn't sleep. Or wouldn't."

"What do you mean?" Felix interrupts.

"She started having these awful nightmares," says Rowan in a quiet voice. "She'd wake up screaming, didn't - didn't know where she was. It was...scary-" She sniffs, but manages to keep herself from tears. "So, she sort of stopped sleeping. At night anyway. She'd kip a bit during the day, but she'd stay up all night just - just sort of pacing and stuff. It was weird. And then she started - started..." Rowan's lip quivers violently and Penny steps in.

"She started acting, well, really kind of nasty. Snapping at Rowan, and just...really irritable all the time. I've been here a good bit, so I saw it too. It reminded me of Beatrice last summer, you know after being trapped all year. Just...not like herself at all."

Alarm bells go off in Felix's head.

"Did you tell anyone?" he asks. "Her healers or Dumbledore?"

Penny looks down, uncomfortably. "I thought it would get better. Juniper's a lot stronger than Beatrice. Stronger than anyone. You know what I mean, stuff doesn't really get to her like other people."

"I mentioned it once to Healer Early when she was here," Rowan interjects, "but she said there wasn't anything she could do. Something about how magic can't heal the mind and Juniper would just have to...get over it, somehow."

Felix frowns at this.

"I thought Juniper was visiting St Mungo's a few times a week? Why's the healer coming here?"

Rowan and Penny exchange significant glances.

"Did...did Juniper not mention?" Penny asks cautiously.

"Mention what?"

The kettle behind Penny whistles and she turns hurriedly to prepare cups, leaving Rowan to explain.

"When she took the floo to hospital, she'd have these awful sort of attacks. Like, doubled over in pain. For a really long time. And it made her hands worse." Rowan looks down at her own hands lying limp on the table, reciting her words blandly as if they were lines from a textbook. "The healer said the damage to her nerves from the Cruciatus Curse was pretty bad. And that can make magical transportation hard on the body."

Felix raises his eyebrows. "So...Juniper's not supposed to use the Floo network anymore?"

"Or apparate," Penny adds softly without turning around. "She didn't get to take the test with the rest of us."

Penny pours hot water into three cups, and sends them floating across to the table with her wand. Seating herself between Felix and Rowan, she makes a production of adding milk and sugar to her cup, stirring for longer than strictly necessary. Rowan purses her lips around the rim of her tea cup without waiting for it to cool, the steam fogging her glasses. For several minutes, the only sounds are the chink of porcelain and the gentle sipping of scalding liquid.

"Is this...permanent?" Felix manages eventually.

Rowan's cup clatters as she drops it back onto the saucer. She shakes her head violently from side to side.

"No! The healer said it should get better! That she might even be able to take the test next summer! It - It really wasn't...that big of a deal."

But Felix doubts Rowan's dubious tone convinces even herself. Juniper has always been accustomed to quickly mastering spells far beyond her year. And apparition is considered a rite of passage. He can only imagine just how "big a deal" being unable to apparate would be to Juniper.

"After that," Penny continues, still swirling her spoon through her tea. "Everything just got so much worse. I've - I've never seen Juniper so unhappy."

She trails away, staring miserably down into her cup. Felix waits as patiently as he can with his heart racing like a locomotive, but neither girl seems about to continue the story.

"So, does that mean Juniper's back at St Mungo's, then?"

Rowan busies herself cleaning the fog from her glasses, looking anywhere but at Felix.

"No," admits Penny. "See...we thought that maybe it would cheer her up to see her friends, since she's not supposed to go anywhere. So we invited them to come. We had everyone visit in shifts. You know, Barnaby and Andre one week, then Bill and Charlie. And then," Penny's chest heaves with her steadying breath. "Tonks and Tulip. They came up a couple of weeks ago, and they thought Juniper...needed to get out a bit."

Felix almost knocks over his still-full cup of tea. "But Dumbledore said she wasn't to leave the farm!"

"I know," Rowan moans, covering her face with her hands. "I tried to tell her. I knew she'd get into so much trouble if they found out, Dumbledore and Snape and that auror. But, you know what she's like."

"And Tonks and Tulip don't set any store by rules either," Penny adds in disapproval.

"But - but," Felix splutters, "where would they even go? If Juniper can't apparate-"

"Tonks has a muggle motor," explains Penny glumly. "Her dad taught her to use it. So, they all went into the city one night."

Felix struggles to keep his frustration at the two students in check. He's only four years their senior, but they suddenly seem ridiculously young to be watching out for Juniper by themselves.

"To be fair," offers Rowan timidly. "Juniper did seem a bit more herself when she got back. Or at least, she was talking again, laughing, you know?" She lowers her head to her teacup, slurping loudly.

"And I guess that encouraged Tulip and Tonks," says Penny, now fiddling with her tea spoon. "So when they left they...they sort of took Juniper with them."

"What? Where?" barks Felix in alarm.

"London," Penny and Rowan say simultaneously.

"London," Felix repeats. "So, it's taken you the better part of an hour to tell me that Juniper's run away to London?"

Both girls look uncomfortably at the table. Rowan's lip quivers violently again, but Felix's mounting frustration smothers the part of him that cares about such things.

"Surely, you wrote to me as an afterthought." Felix's voice trembles with poorly suppressed fury. "Presumably, two of the smartest witches of their year would know to contact Dumbledore immediately. Or Healer Early. Or that auror. Someone in the same country and able to ensure Juniper's safety in a timely fashion."

By the end, Felix's words are a venomous snarl, and Rowan begins to sob again. Penny looks from her to Felix, eyes pleading.

"Juniper didn't want anyone to know! She made Rowan promise not to tell anyone at the school. She - she wasn't very nice about it, either."

"And-and-and I didn't w-want her to get into trouble," wails Rowan.

Rising from her chair, Penny puts her arms around the other girl's shaking shoulders.

"We were afraid if we told Dumbledore or anyone else, Juniper might be expelled. And Rowan didn't want to break her promise," explains Penny in a soothing voice, stroking Rowan's hair. "Barnaby was the one who suggested we write to you, because...Juniper never said we couldn't tell anyone, just not anyone at the school. And you and Juniper write and she looks up to you. We thought she might listen to you if you told her to come back."

Felix is unsure whether this is true or just flattery designed to quench his anger, but either way it has the desired effect. His whole body relaxes as worry and concern take a backseat to a newly re-kindled hope growing rapidly into excitement. Perhaps this is the opportunity he's been waiting for: a chance to help Juniper when she needs it most. This isn't the monster he'd always imagined saving her from, but it could do in a pinch.

For a few minutes, Felix indulges in a half-plan, half-fantasy of knocking on Juniper's door in London, reveling in the look of shock and awe that crosses her face upon seeing him before she throws herself into his arms, just like at the Quidditch match. Well, perhaps with a few more tears, only natural given what she's been through. But all the horror is sure to melt away as he holds her, murmuring comfort against her hair, until she turns her face to his, eyes full of appreciation and something else he's only ever imagined...

Felix pushes back from the table decisively.

"Where in London?"

Chapter 7 | Masterpost

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moonlightmadnessreviews · 5 years

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Child’s Play (2019): Chucky Come Lately, The New Kid in Town

We’re coming up on a month since the release of Orion Pictures’ Child’s Play remake. In the lead up to the polarizing release, there were two very different teams drawn up: you were either Team Good Guy, or Team Buddi. If you were the former, it was thought you were an elitist, unable to see past your love for the original and too closed minded to admit you were even a little curious as to how the new movie would turn out. If you wore the latter team’s jersey, you were part of what is wrong with horror today, ready to gobble up corporate studio schlock even if it means trampling all over the original. At a time when a remake is announced every other week, I want to discuss why it’s okay to root for the home town hero, while also being curious about what the rookie has to offer.

Child’s Play was originally released in 1988, having been written and directed by Tom Holland from a story by Don Mancini, produced by David Kirschner and distributed by MGM. The film was a hit, drawing enough at the box office to spawn six sequels, and the cult following was immediately under the spell of the pint sized, Voodoo practicing antagonist, Charles Lee Ray. I recently turned 30, and it wasn’t until I was in my early teens that I realized the original trilogy was called Child’s Play and not Chucky, as I’d always referred to the movies. Brad Dourif plays Chicago serial killer Charles Lee Ray, The Lakeshore Strangler. After he’s chased into a toy store and fatally wounded by Detective Mike Norris (Chris Sarandon), Chucky transfers his soul into the body of a Good Guy Doll. The rest of the movie follows Chucky and the first person he reveals his identity to, a six year old boy named Andy Barclay (Alex Vincent), as Chucky murders his way through babysitters, old accomplices and Voodoo mentors! All the while, Chucky preys on Andy’s innocence, telling him they’re “Friends til the end!” simply to make it easier for him to transfer his soul into Andy’s body.

This set up was, and still is, perfect! For much of the movie, Chucky is a stoic rubber doll, resembling one of the Cabbage Patch Dolls that were so popular in the 1980s. It’s clear to see how excited Andy is when he gets the doll as a birthday present, and you feel genuine fear for the kid knowing there’s the soul of a serial killer trapped inside his new best friend! I would give anything to travel back in time to sit in the theater on opening night and experience the moment Chucky finally reveals his true nature to Andy’s Mom! What may seem silly to us now must have made for an awesome group experience in that theater, especially considering the amazing animatronics and Dourif’s fantastic voice over work, his animalistic aggression striking fear into children for years after.

For all the praise we can give Chucky and the lore his movies built up, they did become somewhat formulaic, but Chucky and pals had solidified themselves in the minds and memories of millions. It’s easy to see why fans were hesitant, and confused, when the remake was announced. Some went as far as to write off the movie completely before even hearing what the changes would be. Well, as it turns out, the changes were pretty drastic, in part due to the legal issues of having a remake separate from the Mancini Chucky universe, soon to make a place for itself as a spin off TV show on the SyFy channel.

Child’s Play 2019 has brought Chucky and Andy into the era of asking someone for their WiFi password as soon as you walk through their door. The film is directed by Lars Klevberg (Polaroid) from a screenplay by Tyler Burton Smith (Kung Fury 2) and produced by David Katzenberg and Seth Grahame-Smith (IT, Chapter 1 and 2). In our post-Stranger Things world, Andy, played here by Gabriel Bateman (Lights Out), is no longer a six year old child but rather a young teen having trouble fitting in and making friends in his new neighborhood. His mom, Karen Barclay (Aubrey Plaza), is still a single mother working in retail, but the doll she brings home for Andy’s birthday is incredibly different due to the exclusion of one incredibly important character: Charles Lee Ray. Gone is the Voodoo. Gone is the Lakeshore Strangler. Gone is the voice! The new direction is daring to say the least.

In this version, Chucky is a WiFi capable, Cloud connected Buddi doll. As part of their use as an educational tool for children, Buddi dolls learn from their Best Buddies, picking up on their sense of humor, social cues and behaviors. Eventually Buddi could help you keep track of your calendar and even control climate setting in your home. Seems pretty cool, right? Well it would be, except Andy’s Buddi doll was hacked by a disgruntled factory worker who does away with Chucky’s limiters for language, violence, and seemingly even his free will.

What I feel works especially well in the new take is Chucky’s innocence at the start of the movie. A Buddi doll’s only mission is to imprint on their new owner and be the best friend this child could ever ask for. We get scenes of Andy and Chucky playing chess, hanging out, and even looking through scrap books of Andy’s art. Chucky takes a genuine interest in Andy and simply wants to be his Best Buddy, so when Andy is scratched by his mother’s cat, we get the first glimpses into Chucky’s unlocked potential for violence. He wants to punish anyone, or anything, that wishes Andy harm. Chucky hasn’t just imprinted, he is frighteningly obsessed.

One of my favorite scenes plays out as Andy, and his friends Falyn and Pugg (Beatrice Kitsos and Ty Consiglio, respectively) are watching a particularly brutal horror movie. I was genuinely giddy in the theater when the clips started to flash on screen, so I won’t spoil it here. This is where we see Chucky’s gears start to turn. Much like a child who may pick up on violent behavior they’re exposed to, Chucky sees Andy and his friends laughing at the outlandish violence on screen and decides to “entertain” them with a butcher knife.

Through out the course of the 90 minute run time, we see Andy struggling with how to control Chucky, now having gotten the wrong impression of violence and feeling rejected by his Best Buddy. The stakes are raised as Chucky becomes increasingly violent, seeking to please Andy at every turn only to make things worse, like a genie who twists their master’s words, making them sorry for not being more careful with their wishes. Come the third act, we can start to see hints of Chucky’s own fully formed personality, now having been twisted and deranged by the movies events.

This movie was more fun than I anticipated, and it even got my wife’s stamp of approval after I dragged her to the theater with me on opening night! Rather than try to be some incredibly bleak, super realistic take on the story, Child’s Play knew exactly what it was and went all out with the ridiculous concept. The movie’s R rating was also used to its full potential, and though most of the scares are pretty telegraphed, they shower you with so much blood and gore that you can’t help but laugh. Andy’s group of friends, though not nearly as charismatic or fun to watch as the cast of Stranger Things or 2017’s IT, really helped to give the movie some much needed warmth and heart. Brian Tyree Henry (Atlanta), who played this movie’s Detective Norris, also gave a great performance, balancing comedy and that detective bravado just right.

The standouts though were Gabriel Bateman and this movie’s Chucky, none other than Mark Hamill (Star Wars and The Joker in Batman The Animated Series, I mean DUH!). Bateman gave a great performance as Andy, carrying a lot of the movie’s emotion, and Hamill helped give this Chucky his own voice. The third act culmination of Chucky’s deranged personality would not have been nearly as effective if not for Hamill’s amazing voice over work. This is not to say though that the movie was perfect. Aubrey Plaza was bland as Karen Barclay, giving every line that classic, so-edgy-it-hurts, Plaza sarcasm. It works on Parks and Rec and even the movie Safety Not Guaranteed, but it feels so out of place here. Thankfully, Bateman was there to sell most of their scenes together, or I would not have been able to buy into their relationship as mother and son, much less care about their survival. In addition to Plaza, there were a lot of jokes in the first and second act that simply didn’t land. The lines fell flat and hardly got more than a chuckle from most of the audience I was with. I’m sure they were after the wit and timing of the young ensemble cast of IT, but that came from time and intensive work building off screen relationships within that cast. Some jerky editing also made the movie feel like it would have benefited from an extra 15 or 20 minutes, leading to certain scenes that were meant to be emotional being brushed over and rushed.

Lastly, let’s address the elephant in the room: Chucky’s redesign. The very first reaction I heard as Chucky’s face flashed on screen was “Ew, what the fu-“. I want to give the effects team credit for sticking to mostly animatronic work once again, but Chucky’s face was simply horrendous. I’d like to think this was intentional, perhaps they wanted to play up the Uncanny Valley effect as much as possible, but I can’t see myself or any other fans saying the design won us over, no matter how fun the movie was.

Did Child’s Play 2019 have to be a Child’s Play movie? No, not at all. In fact, they could have called it “Alexa Gone Wild.” and it would have held much of the same effect. With that being said though, I think I enjoyed it as much as I did because of their new take. It impressed me just enough to leave me thinking “Wow, that was really fun!” I love the original Child’s Play, and Brad Dourif is quite honestly irreplaceable, but the film makers saw the challenge they had with this new version, knew the audience they had to try and win over and they swung for the fences. I may not be able to convince everyone to give this movie a shot, and I’m fine with that, but I think the most important thing to remember is this: If you’re going to update one of my favorite toys, my “Friend til The End”, then make sure the new version keeps me entertained til the end, friend.

Rating: 3.5 Full Moons out of 5 🌕🌕🌕🌗

#Child’s Play #Child’s Play 2019 #Child’s Play Remake #Chucky #Good Guy Doll #Buddi Doll #Brad Dourif #Mark Hamill #Gabriel Bateman #Aubrey Plaza #Horror #Horror Movies #Film Reviews #Movie Reviews #Moonlight Madness #Moonlight Madness Reviews

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leah-halliwell92 · 5 years

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Cleaning House

You and Richard had been in a relationship over a year and finally you two decided to buy your own house as Richard sees your future together with getting old and grey. When you have found the perfect dream house it´s time for move in and that is quite the show as his friends from The Hobbit decides to help as they are happy for Richard finally having a steady relationship and they keep teasing while helping carry the stuff when he is going to propose. You don´t hear luckily this conversation as it turns out Richard was thinking of asking you to marry him over a month now but is waiting for the right moment. But one of his overly loyal fans (ex from his beginning days) doesn't appreciate the fact that he is in a relationship with you and decided to do whatever it takes to separate the two of you. Only thing is, she had to underestimate greatly the level of Richard´s love and devotion toward you and how protective he can be when his loved one is threatened. His temper is about flash out with full force.

For the lovely @deepestfirefun!! Love you!! ❤️

“Yes!” You cheered as you pushed yourself away from the table on your wheel computer chair.

“You alright there love?” Richard asked with a small laugh as he walked into your apartment take away bags in hand while balancing a six pack of (favorite ale/stout/beer/or soda) and the keys in the other.

You gave him a light yet triumphantly smug laugh and stood to help him with the beverages and said, “You remember that little house we saw last week? The one we were gonna put a bid on but couldn't because–”

“An offer was already on it yeah, what about it?” he finished for you pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Well, (sister’s name) called and said that the place is back on the market,” you said, “She called me I pushed our offer for it, same pricing and all.”

“And by your reaction a moment ago I gather we got the house?” He said a cocky grin on his bearded face.

“Yes!” You cheered.

You squeaked in surprise when you felt hands on your hips and a pull from Richard as he threw you over his shoulder.

“This is cause for celebration!” he boomed as he made a speedy dash to the bedroom.

“Wait what about the food!” you laughed as he gave your bottom a playful smack.

~//~

“Bout time you got a place of your own Rich,” Graham said as men walked into the studio to start recording for the second season of “Castlevania.”

Richard nodded an ear to ear grin on his face, “I was more than happy when she told me about the house and was more than relived she got it considering the figurative bow I have to place on it.”

Graham gave him a questioning look and gasped in surprise when Richard pulled out a black velvet box.

“Oh dear didn't know ya felt that way,” Graham teased, “In all seriousness though, when are ya gonna ask her?”

Richard scoffed a laugh and gave him a playful shove as they laughed like old bitties before saying, “Hopefully when when we get the house and all is in order.”

The end of the recording day came which found Graham being fed by You at your flat, he’s said more than once that you’d have made a good gender bent Bilbo Baggins if they way she cooks and eats is to go by anything. To which he’d get a shoulder nudge from you.

The week went by and between Sunday and the following Monday papers for the new house were signed, books and trinkets put in boxes and stacked (quickly followed by the cutlery, plates, cooking utensils and such in boxes and stacked as well ready to be moved. But the real surprise came in the form of Graham who burst in to the flat followed by Aidan, Dean, Jed, Adam and Martin.

“What are you all doing here?” You ask the group in wonder.

“We’re here to help auntie movie her things!” Aiden said a boyish grin on his face.

“But we don’t move in till tomorrow,” You say with a laugh as you spot Dean nod to Aidan and both young men go to pick up the sofa.

“Rich called while you were at work and said the house is ready for you to move in,” Jed said as we went to pick up a couple of the smaller boxes first.

“You mean to tell me that the company is gonna help move us in?” You asked as a shower of giggles fell from your lips as Graham came out a box under one arm and another box held on his shoulder by the other.

“Whats so funny ‘bout that?” he asked gruffly.

“Nothing,” you said with a shrug trying to stem the large smile that wanted to come through, “Where’s everyone else?”

“They’re waiting for us at yours to put the place together,” Martin said as he followed after you to start moving the larger bookshelves to the front of the flat.

And in less time than it would have taken you and Richard to move on your own, all you owned was taken to the new house in one piece. It also helped that you’d already sorted through what furniture to keep and/or sell when the time came to move in together when they decided to start house hunting almost three months ago...this also meant that Richard practically lived in your flat when not filming which didn't bother the both of you a bit considering it was also a way for them to get familiar with each other for when you did movie in together.

When you opened the front door you were greeted with Luke, Lee and the rest of the company with a loud cheers. You felt like you were back on the set, all of them loud as can be as they laughed, talked and helped around the house to set things in their place. The most fun came when it came time to set up the kitchen.

“I took the liberty of stocking up the pantry,” Martin said looking rather smug about it.

“I helped...” Luke grumbled as he walked behind Martin who gave the taller man a very hobbitish disgruntled look.

You laugh as they start bickering about who got whose favorite food stuffs or what nots.

“Does it also mean one of you is cooking?” You ask a teasing grin on your face.

This cause both men to quiet and the rest to laugh.

“Thought not...now both of you out of my kitchen!” she bellowed jokingly.

Through all the moving and setting up you realize you’d not seen much of your man.

“Does anyone know where Richard is?” You ask in wonder as you start gathering the ingredients for a quick yet hearty stew.

You didn't see the knowing looks that the group shared with each other.

“I think he said something about which bed to choose for the master bedroom,” Lee said.

“He damn well know we’re keeping his bed,” you said frustratedly as set the dutch oven on the stove before going to confront a certain dwarf king.

“Rich you know damn well we’re keep–” You stopped short when you saw him standing in the middle of the rather impressive master bedroom a knowing grin on his face. “I know damn well we agreed on my bed since yours can house my ever petite frame,” he said with a laugh.

You give him a small grin as you look around to see the room lit in a soft warm glow emitted from the candles that were lit around the room.

“What is all of this?” You asked in wonder.

“Well I was hopping to do something...” he started and before you know it he’s kneeling down.

“What are you doing?” You ask as happy tears came to your eyes.

“(Y/First/N) (Y/Last/N) you’ve made me the happiest man and I can only hope I’ve made you the same...will you do me the honor of making you happy by becoming my wife?”

“Yes you brooding dwarf lord!” you say as you throw yourself on him toppling him over causing him to laugh and the rest of the eavesdroppers to cheer.

You laugh as he manages to get the ring on your finger and make your way back out to do get on with dinner and feed the hoard of men in her home.

~//~Two Months Later~//~

You knew it was only a matter of time before news of your engagement would get out, you’d already told family and close friends, but what you weren't prepared for was the reaction of the fans. You knew some would be reactions would be good and others not so good. But you were bound to go through whatever punch would show itself because that is what one does in a relationship. And you’d gone through some things before meeting Richard and you sure as hell were not going to drop him because an obsessed teen didn't like you being with him.

Turns out the majority were happy and even congratulating towards Richard and yourself when you came clean about your engagement nearly a month ago. Your instagram was blowing up with mainly good wishes to you and Richard and for you to have many happy years and love filled moments.

What you weren’t expecting was the rather persistent negative comments and actions from one particular fan. Upon closer inspection, and A LOT of deep internet searching, it turned out to be Serina. You mentioned it to Richard and the man looked like he was going to smash his head on the hardest surface he could find.

“She’s an ex from a long time ago. Way before I was being seen or hired for big roles and the like...things changed after ‘Spooks’ though,” he said voice serious and brow furrowed, “She got a bit too invested in my role choosing and even would say which she thought I should choose. She became borderline stalker at the time and went as far as to threaten a restraining order placed against her. Since nothing could be proven at the time and she had backed off when I told her of the restraining order if she kept persisting. I broke it off with her then and hadn't heard of or from her till now.”

You nod but don’t know how to react.

“The worst part is that we have to wait for things to escalate,” You say with a sigh.

Richard pulls you close and says, “Come to me if things get out of hand. It not a question...and please don’t shut me out if things go from this to worse.”

You nod and press a kiss to his whiskered lips.

A couple of months later, you saw a junk tabloid with a statement from Serina. The piece went on and on about how you had stolen Richard from her despite them not having been together in years. She dared to bring his mother, may she rest in peace, into it! You read the article and was horrified that she’d dare bring his mother into this. it didn't stop there, apparently there were pictures of them together which she cage the interviewing tabloid as ‘evidence.’ You’d never seen Richard so angry as he was at that point. It took a lot to get him to calm down.

“Babe, this is what she wants...” You said as you both go ready for bed, “I’m not going to deny this is a rather backward way to “get you back” and I suppose in her mind she believes she’s doing what she needs to do to do it.”

You got in bed and saw how defeated he looked right then. Not only about Serina making her reappearance but the extent she is going to try at getting him back. You pulled him close to your chest and held him.

“We will get through this,” he said quietly the promise of that tied to not only his tone but how he held you, “She will not separate us...I won’t let her.”

You teared up and said, “I know.”

With that said you fell into an uneasy sleep.

The following morning you woke to Richard on the phone.

“What’s all that about?” You asked after he finished his call.

“I have an idea...lets get married,” he said a bright smile on his features.

“Babe we’re already getting married,” you say getting out of bed and into the bathroom.

“I mean right now...”

“Babe...I want to marry you you know I do,” you started and walked to the bedroom and straddle Richard’s lap, “Theres nothing else I want to do. But you know as well as I that a shot gun wedding is not the answer. The uproar that is bound to occur because of said wedding is not something I want to deal with. And it shouldn't be something you need to worry about or take care of either. Plus...you know very well your mam will come to haunt you if you only marry me through in front of a magistrate and call it a day,” you say with a grin as you run your fingers through his hair.

He breathed a laugh and nodded.

“What we can do is if you want to get the ball rolling on the whole wedding and marriage thing started...is call Graham and have him be our witness at the magistrates then take our time for the big wedding?”

He looked shocked at the suggestion.

“That way not many if any people know apart from Graham AND we can have our large wedding as we see fit,” You say with a satisfied smile.

“I’ll make some calls,” he says still looking as shocked as he sounded.

The morning went on without a hitch as preparations were made for you to marry before a magistrate. You were on cloud nine as you sifted through the dresses you have to find you do not have a white one for the occasion.

“Richard!” You call out as you made your way to the kitchen, “I need to head to Westfield for a dress, come with me?”

“Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?” He asked teasingly passing you a mug of tea.

You gave a laugh and said, “Not in case of emergencies.”

He gives a chuckled nod and together you finished your breakfast before making a dash to the tube and the shopping center.

“Magistrate said today at three,” he whispered to you as you waited for the tube.

You nod and try to resist the urge to laugh at the get up he’s wearing to keep a low profile.

~two and a half hours later~

You sigh admitting defeat as you slumped into a chair in the food court.

You didn't see Richard hum to himself in thought.

You’d spend most of that time searching for THE dress. Said dress would not only be for the magistrate appointment but a back up dress for the after party for their actual wedding and reception.

He was about to call surrender as well till the he remembered the dress you’d fallen in love with nearly six months prior.

“I’ll be right back,” he said and made a dash for the store before you could say or do anything hoping that the dress he has in mind is still available for purchase.

With a small shrug you decided to take a look at what is available to eat while you waited for your mad dwarf king to come back.

Meanwhile, a semi-breathless Richard slumped on a bench after running nearly to the other side of the shopping center for the dress you're going to wear for their later appointment. He heaved a deep sigh of relief at the bag to his left and let his head fall back to relax a bit before heading back to you.

“Never thought to bump into you here of all places,” a voice said said from his right.

He held back a groan as he looked up to find Serina looking at him a smug grin on her face.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asked in a serious tone.

“I was doing a spot of shopping...saw you sitting here all lonely and decided to pop by and say hi,” she said in a light tone.

He sneered at her knowing its true but did not lower his guard for a moment.

“What are you doing here? Where’s the hussy? Did you finally drop her?” She fired off question after question which didn't calm him down any.

After taking a breath he smoothly answered, “I’m here shopping same as you, (Y/N) is around looking for a place to eat and no we are still happily engaged...despite the article and photo you sent the tabloid.”

That last jab was more a childish move on his part to point out that she won’t get between him and you. Which seemed to work as she bristled at the jab given.

“Whats in the bag?” She asked briskly eyeing the bag.

“A couple of shirts,” he said putting up his acting mask on and taking the bag in hand as calmly as he could, “Now if you’ll excuse me I really need to get going.”

Richard knew she’d follow and was proven right when he turned as if to go the gent’s bathroom before turning around suddenly to face her.

“You really think you’re going to win this? Because keep in mind I kept a few things on you that you don’t know about,” he said with a knowing sneer, “Remember Johnny? And Markle,? Sean? Jim? And all them blokes you slept with while I was working to get roles you remember them? I do and they sure remember you and have quite the bone to pick with you if they find out where on their radar you are. So don't push me because the shove back you're going to get from me is going to make that tabloid interview look like school play...good day.”

With a smirk and nod (a very Guy goodbye) he took the opportunity of her shock to make a run for it. On his way back to the food court Richard made the appropriate calls to bring to attention of what had transpired between Serina and him not only to his PR team and manager but also to Graham and you. That done he sighed in relief when he caught sight of you.

“Did you really tell her of that?!” You asked in astonishment as you looked around to make sure Serina wasn't just going to pop up out of nowhere.

“Yea...it does help that what I said was true as well,” he said as he scratched the back of his head.

You gave a relieved sigh and made your way to the directory to see where their stomachs took them.

Back home you were feeling the pang of disappointment at not having found a dress as you found yourself yet again looking through your closet to see if you could find something to wear for the court house.

“Hey babe could you come out here please?” Richard called.

“Ok, but I haven't found anything to wear...”

You stopped in your tracks when you saw the dress.

“What do you think love?” Richard asked as he buttoned up the wrists of the shirt.

“I think you know me very very well,” she said with a delighted laugh, “Its beautiful.”

You picked up the dress and draped it over your body to see on the mirror before saying, “You shouldn't have.”

Richard gave her a loving smile, “Of course I did...you looked heartbroken when you didn't find anything. I knew I had to do something to put a smile back on your face, I’m just glad I chose the right dress.”

You nod and quickly put it on.

“Wow,” you say as you look at yourself in the mirror.

“I second that love you look gorgeous,” Richard said as he pressed a kiss on your neck.

Light makeup and hair done the both of you made your way to the court house where Graham stood waiting.

“Bout bloody time,” he grumbled before his eyes looked like they were about to bulge out at the sight of you, “And you look gorgeous.”

You blushed and said thanks and proceeded to make your way up the steps and into the office of the magistrate where your future with Richard was waiting to begin.

#Richard Armitage Imagine #Imagine Request #Richard Armitage x You

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alovevigilante · 3 years

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Job interview: by Kari Keillor

Interviewer: Hello, Mrs. Kailior is it?

Kari: No, it’s pronounced Keeler, like the elves but without the b.

Interviewer: yes, I see... ok. Well, I see here that you are interested in working for our fine establishment.

Kari: yes, please as I need the money.

Interviewer: ok then... why do you want to work here?

Kari: I need money.

Interviewer: (jots down notes) ok, yes... yes... hmmm, I see here that you only have your associates degree, is that correct?

Kari: yes. I’m also one class into my junior year of college at a four year college.

Interviewer: oh... I see. Well, I’m sorry, but in order to complete this interview we need our applicants to have a minimum of a four year bachelors degree to be able to do this very important job we need filled.

Kari: I’m not a bachelor.

Interviewer: yes, we see that here on this paper. That means you aren’t qualified to be what it is we’re looking for here.

Kari: you haven’t seen me. Your nose has been down in my resume the whole entire time.

Interviewer: um, yes, see we don’t quite know how you got in here to be seen, seeing that you aren’t up to our qualifying qualifications.

Kari: yes, well seeing that I’m unseen, and as long as I’m here, maybe we can discuss what I HAVE done in my life that can be an asset to your job requirements. Perhaps that will suffice and be of some value to your qualification team.

Interviewer: no.

Kari: ok. Well, it was nice not really meeting you.

Interviewer: yes. Thank you for fulfilling my requirements of having to see a certain amount of people to fill this very important position that we probably won’t fill for quite some time and leave empty, and make others in our company do the job in addition to the jobs we pay them to do, and won’t pay them any extra to do this extra work of this job we have left, unfulfilled. Also, we will all complain about it a lot, and the middle management, that’s me, will shrug and yell at the people below me, and we will tell our higher ups, but they won’t be available because they will be golfing, and eating croissants on a veranda in Paris, while everything below them goes to shit. And when their workers become disgruntled, they will blame me, and I will say that I am following their protocol of the very important and highly overrated way of how things have always been done in business.

Kari: yes. That sounds about right. Well, thank you for saving me all that time and grief.

Interviewer: no problem. Good luck to you, and it was great not giving you a chance.

Kari: yes, and thanks for not investing time or effort in me!

Interviewer: sure thing! Take care now!

Scene.

George Carlin: Kari?

Kari: yeah?

Carlin: feel that clamp on your ass?

Kari: yeah.

Carlin: that’s bitterness.

Kari: right. Well, what do you want from me? I’m going back to school.

Carlin: why?

Kari: to become what I already am now only accredited by society.

Carlin: do you want to do this?

Kari: not this way.

Carlin: then why don’t you just wait til you feel better about it.

Kari: George, I’m 46. By the time I get my masters I’ll be over 50 years old. Wait?! I don’t have time to wait anymore. I’m sick of not having a degree.

Carlin: why?

Kari: cause I can’t do shit without one! I have an associates degree. Do you know what that means when you’re looking for a job, George?

Carlin: yes, cause I’m you. But enlighten me anyway so we can feel worse than we already do now.

Kari: ok, well, it’s basically the equivalent of having a high school diploma. When you look for a job that’s above minimum wage the requirements are usually the minimum of a bachelors degree in whatever and a certain amount of years of “on the job” experience.

Carlin: so?

Kari: ok, well, DON’T have it, George!

Carlin: then don’t do it, Kar...

Kari: George, I’m tired of not doing, ok? It’s time for some success for Kari Keillor, ok? I’m tired of the glass ceiling of social norms.

Carlin: great. Then continue to write and yell and scream and that will create the momentum you need for success in your chosen field.

Kari: a graduate degree in Art therapy and counseling?

Carlin: no asshole! Writing comedy!

Kari: no.

Carlin: fine, ok? We’re all here waiting until you come to your senses.

Kari: George, unfortunately we need to collaborate for that to occur, and I got news, we don’t have that.

Carlin: you don’t have to collaborate to write, Kari.

Kari: George, maybe you have forgotten what it’s like here on planet earth in the 3D, since you are now NOT here in the physical, but in order to lead a decent life, it takes tangible money, accreditation, and collaboration with people. I have none of the above.

George: yeah, I see your point. Ok then, off to school we go.

Belushi, John: oh fuck, I gotta go back to school and do this shit with her?!

Richard Pryor: yes sasshole, because you are belligerent to people online with your shit!

Belushi, John: don’t blame all this on me, Hamis is all up in Murray’s grilled ass...

Richard: ok, look. Kari’s pissed, ok? So now, our ass is being enrolled as a psychology major. This is what you get for being a shit... and a dick!

Kari: guys, look, it’s what we have to do to be seen for what we are. If it costs another 100 grand to do it, then so be it.

Belushi, John: this suuuuuucks, ok?! I’m not into it, so I’m not goin!

Gilda Radner: (pulling John by the ear) oh, you’re goin! Kari will sew your asscheeks together and drag you by the extra thread if need be.

Kari: I decided not to go near his asscheeks fictitious or not.

Gilda: probably a good decision.(1) Ok, let’s put it like this, we’re back to class. And you need to apologize to bill Murray, Steve Martin, John Cleese, Eric idle for being idle-y, Frank oz, and Mandy patinkin!

Belushi, John: I didn’t do shit to those guys! They have a whole bunch of problems all on their own! They’ve all lost their will to laugh! So why are you blaming me?!

(Terri and graham snicker in the background)

Harold ramis (aka hamis): listen John, we all know you like to instigate, and now all of us are going to be forced to listen to lectures on the human psyche, and you are to blame! So just apologize to them, and get this shit over with! I’m not willing to go back and become a junior in college again! Well, actually come to think of it, it may be slightly interesting to see how the human brain relates to how we interact as a collective people. This could benefit our writing immensely! Ok, I’m in. But Kari, just mention meatballs to bill one more time... for old times sake...

Kari: Hamis, how many times can a person mention that ridiculous, old timey movie before people start asking themselves if you’re insane?!

Richard: 34.

Kari: I don’t think it’s that many, Richard...

Belushi, John: nooooooooo! God, no! Ok fine, I’ll apologize... anything’s better than talking theory with ole schezwan head over here...

Kari: oh great! Now I’m gonna be called racist again... and still...

Belushi, John: Ramis isn’t Asian... you’re ok...

Michael stuvic (meathead from “All in the family”): No! Ok?! That’s just WRONG! She is a racist, a bigot, a lunatic, and she needs to be stopped! Gloria and I will not raise our little Joey the way that she’s been raised! We need more people to revolt against her incompressible blather!

George: she was raised in a good parochial upbringing.

Meathead: “I just thank god I’m an atheist...” (2)

Kari: I AM NOT A RACIST OR AN ATHEIST! I believe in all people being equal, and in God!

Meathead: no one said you were an atheist... A racist? Yes, but not an atheist.

Kari: EVERYONE thinks I’m the worst!

Belushi, John: no they don’t! They just think you’re a devil worshiper!

George: Belushi, stop fucking with Kari, she basically has the balls but doesn’t literally like people may or may not think, to write what she thinks we want her to say. So, now she has to apologize for being a shit but not, cause we were kidding and what she said wasn’t that bad or even bad at all... and Mandy, Judas Priest isn’t satanic, nor are they an anti-Semitic heavy metal group. They sing a ridiculously high pitched, screaming bloody murder, very, very, very long song called, “painkiller” about a flying skeleton half robot man that is on fire riding a motorcycle, and killing evil in its path. That’s it.

Richard: yes. It’s the age old story of skeleton half man half robot or machine, that gets pissed, and decides he’s going to take revenge and vengeance, so he flies in the air with metal and smoke and thunder and lightning and steel, and all that heavy metal good shit, and he crushes people’s dicks.

Gilda: sounds innocent enough to me...

Carlin: you like metal now, Richie?

Richard: well, I’m her, so I have to.

Belushi, John: THAT’S what the song is about?!

Kari: look, I don’t freaking know, alright?! All I know is that I only wanted to hear him sing it because he sings ungodly high for a man that hasn’t been kicked in the nut sack.

Hamis: we all want to hear that...

Belushi, John: .... but nooooooooo! She’s a fucking crazy woman! She’s insane! She’s telling me to sing a satanic song and I’m not ok with that!

Judas Priest: how many times do we have to say we’re not satan worshipers before someone believes us?!

Richard: 34.

Karl: ok, that’s it. I’ll apologize for all of you, because I do it all the time anyway. Ready?! Here goes: I’m sorry to everyone! I’m sorry I’m such an asshole and that everyone must be so insulted by me and my mere existence that no one in my life talks to me anymore. Ok?! There! I’m sorry you think I’m crazy because I’m a bored housewife who needs a destiny, and who hates to clean never, and cook sometimes but usually either orders out or ma comes over and cooks dinner for everyone at 6am, and I’m not even qualified to work as a person who talks poops on sesame street ok?! Cause I’ve most likely been banned from there in my head and maybe out, I’m not quite sure yet, because of being me! And I’m sorry, if that embarrasses you, or if I embarrass you by mere genetics or association! And yes, separation, isn’t cool with me, but it’s fine If you aren’t cool with me, cause I’m me, and if it’s a choice between you and me, I have to choose me, cause I’m all I got, ok? I wake up with me in the morning, and go throughout my day with me, and yes, close your ears people who don’t want to hear this part cause it can be construed as dirty like some of you believe me to be, I also bathe and sleep, with myself too! I do that! So, the opinions of you plural, make a marginal difference to me if I let them, which I usually do, because I’m human, and I have feelings and I care, but the scales have tipped now, and me, wins, cause I care about how I feel too now, ok?! And if you have a low opinion of me, and treat me that way, you, are out! Cause I’m not down with people who haven’t invested that much time or effort to get to know me talking smack about me like they’re experts on the subject of me, cause they’re not! So please enroll in the school of Kari keillor directly for the information, that’s ME, or shut your pie holes! It’s as simple as that!

Richard: God I love her....

Carlin: Kari?

Kari: yeah?

Carlin: to the school we go, unless we hear otherwise.

Kari: what otherwise?!

Carlin: exactly.

Scene.

Kari: no scene! Wtf are you talking about?

Carlin: you are now witnessing reality. The reality is, no one collaborates with you, so it’s time you make the executive decision to support you, and we’re down with that.

Karl: you have, no choice.

Carlin: I know, but it’s nice you bounce it off is anyway.

Kari: ok, who wants to end this extremely lengthy scene and/ or monologue?

Belushi, John: I will. I wanna know something...

Kari: oh man....

Belushi, John: no, really, I’ve always wanted to know something and it’s really important.

Kari: ok, what is it?

Belushi, John: when there’s so many amazing pizza places around the Chicagoland area, why would ANYONE eat at a chain pizza place?!

Kari: scene.

Belushi, John: no, fine... I apologize to Frank oz, my old time pal, for calling him an asshole. He’s not one. He’s a really nice, and forgiving person.

Big bird: yeah! Wait a minute... who’s he?

Kari: sigh... scene...

1. “I think that is a good decision.” Is a quote from my husband’s cousin Gary, and I don’t know where the hell he got it from, but it’s most likely from a very obscure movie, as it’s an obscure reference.

2. A direct quote from the show, “All in the family” said by the fictional character Michael Stivic created by Norman Lear.

0 notes

thewhiterabbit42 · 6 years

Text

Night and Day

Part 6 of Home for the Holidays (Masterlist)

Summary: You spend the next several days settling in with Gabriel only to find no matter how close he comes to almost being his former self, something keeps pulling him back.

Pairings: Gabriel x Reader

Warnings/tags: Human Gabriel, slow burn, implied PTSD, bed sharing, mutual pining, secret cuddles

Word Count: 4216

Special thanks to my wonderful beta @sumara62 for being so many things beyond just a beta. Also special thanks to @nobodys-baby-now for her suggestions AND for pushing my muse along (do they touch yet? I DON’T KNOW. Ok, I know, but you’ll totally have to see for yourself).

***Please do not repost or copy my work to any other site without my written permission. Giving credit does NOT count. Reblogging is ok.***

<<Previous Chapter Night and Day Next Chapter>>

You’d always found it easier to survive the daytime. Leads were easier to chase. Research and resources were more naturally accessible. No matter how stuck you felt, everyone else continued on, and sometimes seeing the world alive around you was enough of a distraction.

You weren’t sure if it felt that way now because you had Gabriel with you, or if you both simply had so much to do you didn’t have time for your mind to wander. The days passed in a blur as you did your best to get as much crossed off your list before your friends returned.

You took a trip into town and got yourself some proper outerwear.

“Go ahead and say it.” He looked thoroughly disgruntled, glaring out from within the grey pea coat and blue checkered scarf you’d bought for him.

“Say what?” You asked, confused. The selection in the store hadn’t been ideal, but what did you expect from a place whose population was fifteen hundred on a good day?

“I look ridiculous.”

“You look fine,” you reassured, taking a moment to adjust his collar and admire him. The truth was, he looked better than fine. You know he never would have worn this particular style, and you never would have pegged him for it. Now that it was on him, however, it suited him.

“I look like a-mmmffphh --” You stuffed his scarf over his mouth, cutting off his protest. You’d heard more than enough of his grumbling while you had been wrestling him into the damn things.

“You look good.” You insisted.

He eyed you a moment as if you were crazy or it was somehow a trick, seemingly in the midst of debating whether or not it made him wish he had the power to smite again. After a few moments, he peeled back the fabric from his face.

“How good?” He asked, his indignance giving way to the smallest hint of pride as he raised a curious brow at you.

Really good.

You placed the scarf back over his mouth before grabbing the end of it and tugging. Satisfied it was secure, you turned and headed to the car.

Thankfully, it had been easier to find the rest of his wardrobe. The stores were practically overflowing with flannel, button downs, T-shirts, and jeans, and other than a few remarks about it being a Winchester’s paradise, Gabriel had managed to find what he needed.

You, on the other hand, had a bit more trouble.

“Is that a sweater?” He asked, eyeing the garment you had held up in front of you with such disbelief you would have thought it was a burlap bag.

“... what’s wrong with it?”

You knew it was dumb to even pick it up. It probably looked stupid on someone like you. You’d only been tempted because it was simple and, more importantly, seemed warm. He wasn’t the only one feeling the temperature change, and while there were many unpleasantries you could ignore, being cold was not one of them.

“Nothing,” he said, almost too casually, “I just don’t think I’ve seen you in anything that doesn’t button or hide bloodstains.”

Finding out Gabriel’s definition of food related categories had been interesting (albeit not surprising).

“Really?” You demanded, folding your arms over your chest.

“What?” He asked, innocently.

You pinned him with a look. “You were in charge of getting us snacks.”

“And I think I did an exceptional job of it,” he stated, proudly gesturing toward the slew of items he’d placed in the cart.

You arched a brow, holding up a giant bag of skittles he’d tried to hide beneath a sack of oranges.

“You’ll notice, I remembered you liked popcorn.” He pointed to the variety of boxes ranging from kettle corn to homestyle, trying to divert your attention.

“Skittles aren’t snacks, Gabe.”

He folded his arms over his chest, his posture mimicking yours. “Not with that attitude they aren’t.”

As had the rest of process of putting everything away once you returned.

“Do we have to do it now?” He whined.

In his defense, it had been a long day. Any attempts to see how he slept had only been met with that ambivalent shrug of his, leaving you little to go on. As much as you sympathized with everything he was going through, he was going to have to learn how to talk to you again if he wanted this to work.

Until then, he could buck up and carry his weight.

“There’s plenty of laundry to do, if you’d like,” you informed him. You had no intention of actually making him do any of it. In fact, you cringed at the thought of what might happen if you did.

The look he fixed you with suggested he was not impressed with his options. You smiled sweetly in return, handing him another bag to unpack.

“Really?” Gabriel asked, his voice caught somewhere between incredulous and hopeful as he pulled out two things of marshmallows. One was filled with large, square shaped puffs while the other had miniature sized ones.

“You’re always complaining,” you reminded, tossing a package of hershey bars, a box of graham crackers, and a variety pack of hot chocolate onto the counter in front of him.

For a moment, he just stared at all the items before his lips quirked into an almost shy, little half-smile. “You spoil me, you know that?”

You dropped several more items in front of him. “Oh, believe me, you’re going to earn your treats.”

His eyebrow crept up and the way his mouth curved you thought he was going to be a smartass. You didn’t realize how much you missed that until the spark of mischief faded again, leaving you disappointed.

It quickly changed to compassion when you heard the tiredness in his voice.

“Wait, just how much more do we have left to do?”

You found the bag with the deli meats and cheese you’d picked out together, handing it to him along with some condiments and bread.

“Why don’t you make some sandwiches, I’ll finish this, and we’ll go from there.”

You noticed a pattern with him. No matter what the morning entailed, around mid-afternoon he’d run out of steam. The natural break for lunch helped ease this, but you found yourself stretching it out, forcing yourself not to rush through the meal for his sake. You were so used to forging ahead through the discomfort and fatigue, to always keeping yourself moving toward the next thing, that you’d forgotten how nice it was to stop and breathe until you had someone forcing you to slow down.

You also found it made all the difference that you had someone to breathe with again.

You did a full walk of the grounds, checking the existing warding around the perimeter and getting an idea of where more would be helpful.

“There something you want to tell me, sweet tart?” He inquired, giving you a pointed look.

There were plenty of things you could tell him, but when he posed a question out of left-field like that, how were you supposed to know what he was talking about?

“I still have no idea how that ring of holy oil ended up outside the window or how it managed to catch fire.” You gave him a wide-eyed look, hands raising innocently in front of you. “Though you still haven’t told me why you were outside my motel room. In the middle of the night. Near the window closest to my bed…”

You folded your arms over your chest and he hastily cleared his throat. “Not what I was referencing and I told you, it wasn’t what it looked like.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “Mmmhmmm.”

“This is about you, sweets, not me.” His stare was patient in a way that almost bordered on paternal. It did absolutely nothing to help his case and only encouraged you to be even more obtuse.

“I still haven’t ridden the Dean express?”

He winced. “Try again.”

“Nor have I climbed Jolly Green,” you added

“Thanks for that image.” Sarcasm bled into his words, but the face he made was well worth having endure the thought kicking around in your own brain.

“Might’ve dabbled a little in the divine… I have to say, for a being that’s been around forever, your brother was woefully inexperienced with that tie of his.

Everything went still on his features, his head giving the slightest tilt as something flared within his gaze.

“Really?” You weren’t certain if you’d ever heard him as incredulous as he was right then. “Cas?”

You couldn’t resist snickering at him. “When did you become so gullible?”

Gabriel, on the other hand, looked as though he had an idea or two about what he could do to you with his scarf. “Real cute, chuckles. Now if you’re done playing games --”

“Alright, I confess!” You interrupted with a large, theatrical gesture. “I hated Glee. I only watched it because you liked it… Happy?”

“That’s - hold up, what’s wrong with Glee?” He demanded, looking far more disturbed by that thought than anything else you’d said.

“You mean besides the fact it’s filled with frivolous high school drama and musical numbers?”

“That’s the whole point!” He exclaimed, about to argue when he closed his eyes and gave the slightest shake of his head. “Wait that’s - that’s not what I - Why is this place a no fly zone for anything with wings?”

His stare bore down on you, exasperation splashing through gold in a way that almost made them glow.

Your lips curved deviously. “How’s it feel being on the other end of it for once?”

He sighed. “... I’m beginning to miss the Winchesters.”

You’d fixed any warding that had faded or chipped and added a few extra sets of your own. Even given his human cognitive capacity, Gabriel retained a wealth of knowledge of magic, and you let him decide the best way to lay it all out while you focused on making sure it stayed disguised until the snow came and acted as a natural shield.

From the increasing chill in the air, that could be happening any day from now.

Unfortunately, finishing the property meant engaging in activities neither of you were used to: raking, clearing fallen branches, trimming back brush. You ended those days worn, muscles sore, with blisters the size of quarters, and a newfound appreciation for manual laborers everywhere.

There were far worse things you’d had to take care of, but cleaning and dressing your dominant hand turned out to be a little tricky.

“Easy there, Dr. Giggles,” Gabriel said, plucking the supplies from your grasp after he finally had enough of watching you butcher the task. He pulled up a chair, intently looking over the areas of raw skin.

“Dr. Giggles?” You questioned your curiosity fading . His hands were surprisingly gentle, handling your much smaller ones with precision and care as he set about fixing the bandaging.

“Because you are just a hoot and a half these days.” Sarcasm slipped into his tone, though his mouth quirked up on one side as he glanced up to make sure you knew he was joking. Amber was richer than it had been since he’d returned, making the unique blend of color in his eyes sing so beautifully you were almost lost in them until --

“Wait, isn’t Dr. Giggles an insane doctor from a horror movie?”

He shrugged. “Details.”

Your eyes narrowed, uncertain what your response should be to that. Grateful, you decided as those honeyed hues began to dance.

“How are your hands?” You asked, noticing the careful way he moved them as he took care of yours.

“They feel so wonderful I’m just atingle with pleasantness.” He took a final moment to inspect his work before releasing you from his grasp. “And now yours should at least feel marginally better.”

You resisted the temptation to roll your eyes at him, and instead motioned expectantly toward the part of him in question. “Hand ‘em over.”

He groaned. “Listen here, sweetheart, if anyone’s supposed to make bad puns around here, it’s me.”

“Quit slacking and I won’t have to,” you told him, motioning again. “Now give them to me.”

“Thought I was supposed to keep them to myself?”

A self-satisfied smirk stretched across his face as you threw a box of gauze at him, sending several unopened packets scattering across the floor.

Eventually you even got him out for some proper firearms practice.

“Close your eyes. Feel the weight of the gun in your hand. Think of it as an extension of yourself. Be one with the gun. You are the gun.”

He cracked open his eye at your comment, his brow of stretching upward. “Are you serious right now?”

“Nope.” You loudly popped the ‘p’ before giving him a smirk. “Point there,” you gestured toward the row of bottles you’d set up for targets. “Aim here,” you reached out, tapping the sights on top of the pistol. “Shoot, and if you don’t hit it, adjust something until you do.”

Gabriel had always been sharp, and the basic process itself was easy for him to manage. It was the subtleties that were a little more difficult, primarily, maintaining an awareness of all the different parts of him required to make a consistent, steady shot.

“Hips,” you reminded, as you stepped closer, your hands gripping the part of him in question. You angled him back into the right position, wondering how many more times you’d have to do this before he remembered.

“I know I’m not technically paying for any of this, but I may need to start charging you a handler’s fee,” his brows gave the slightest bounce and for a moment you were speechless. Relief quickly blossomed into delight, your chest filling with warmth at the familiar gesture.

He, however, mistook your pause as missing the joke completely. “You know, for all the hands you keep putting on the goods.”

You stepped around to the side of him, your arm intentionally lingering around him to keep his stance steady. You folded your other hand over his, never breaking eye contact, and you swore you saw the slightest twinkle enter his eyes. You shifted the gun a fraction of an inch up and to the right before pulling the trigger with his finger. Glass shattered, as did his stare, his head jerking toward the sound, brows shooting straight to his hairline.

“I’m doing this so no one else gets the chance to handle your goods,” you said dryly, patting his shoulder before you stepped away.

It was heartening seeing his silence begin to break, but it wasn’t all playful humor or flippancy that came to the surface. Talking also meant questions, some of which you weren’t ready for.

“What happened to him?” Gabriel’s voice was hesitant, almost as if he wasn’t certain he had a right to ask. Considering he’d spent more time with you and your brother than some of your family ever had, he had every right to know.

You inhaled, releasing your breath slowly. You needed a moment to calm the prickling along your nerves and the tension beneath your skin that instinctively flared. When you closed your eyes, you felt those fingers digging into you, the ones you still couldn't escape, opening a gateway through which the cold would seep. You shivered as memories of another place flashed across your mind, a place that was peaceful and utterly terrifying.

“Sweet tart?”

This time when he touched your shoulder, you didn’t jump. Instead, it helped you push back against the panic so you could keep it under control.

“Not today, champ.” You smiled, and though it was meant to be reassuring, it was laden with the underlying sadness you still couldn’t shake. “But you’re welcome to ask again tomorrow.”

You went back to raking, missing the conflict that crushed the color in his eyes.

His questions emboldened your own curiosity, eventually leaving him in the same boat.

“Where do angels go when they die?” You caught him off guard and he sputtered, choking on a bite of frozen pizza you’d made for dinner. It took him a few seconds to recover, though you weren’t sure if it was to fully clear his windpipe or if he was trying to figure out the best way to answer.

“It’s called the Empty,” he began, and there was a pregnant pause before he continued. “It’s an old place, somewhere not even my Father has dominion over.”

Your eyes widened. The name alone sounded terrifying, and you couldn’t imagine it being a nice place to spend eternity.

“It’s supposed to be peaceful, a place of rest,” he added, catching the look on your face.

Supposed to be.

“Gabe --” You hesitated. Should you even ask the question burning through your mind? You always had this urge to know what exactly it was that you faced and there was no doubt in your mind that this was a big piece of the missing puzzle you needed to understand what it was he battled whenever retreating to that faraway place.

He smiled, the same way you had at him earlier. “For most of us, it is.”

You heard his message loud and clear as if he’d actually spoken it inside your mind. Not today, kid.

You were wrong. There was more of him there than you’d thought, but something was preventing him from returning. Yet, as with any day, eventually the darkness returned and the light would fade, giving way to that inevitable silence and distance you tried to erase. By morning, it once again dominated him, as if a reset button had been pressed overnight and each time it varied how far back out you could coax him.

Unfortunately, you had your own aversion to the night, which made it hard for you to determine what exactly was happening with him.

You had plenty of reasons to be afraid of the dark. You knew what was really out there in the shadows (though more often than not it simply masqueraded as normal in broad daylight). It wasn’t the tangible monsters that made you dread the sun going down so much as the ones you couldn’t put your hands on or kill.

The first night in a new place you were safe, as if your personal demons always took a wrong turn somewhere and refused to stop to ask directions. It may take them a day or two, but they always found their way back to you.

You knew it was only a matter of time after you fell asleep that they would return. The thought had you laying there for minutes -hours?- until you lost track of time entirely. From the corner of your eye, you could see Gabriel doing the same. You wondered if sharing a bed bothered him. Nothing had ever seemed to before, but maybe things were different now.

“Gabe?”

He turned his head toward you and the moment you felt his gaze land on you the question retreated from your tongue.

Chuck, you were such a coward sometimes.

“I think it’s only fair to warn you… I get nightmares.” You’d honestly meant to tell him sooner, but, as with several things, you’d been hesitant to bring it up. You weren’t sure how much more you should tell him. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t be finding out all the lurid details of what your statement entailed over the next few nights.

“Me too, sweet tart,” he said quietly, a sardonic bite entering his words. “My father really knew what he was doing when he constructed the human brain.”

You snorted before you realized what it was he had just admitted.

You glanced over at him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you?” He shot back.

You sighed, looking back up at the ceiling once more. “I’m sorry if I wake you.”

You knew from your previous stay with Red and Roxy that you were a screamer. Not only that, but you were a loud one. There were several nights they’d heard you clear across the inn.

That had been months ago. You didn’t know if that was still the case. You hadn’t stayed with anyone else since then, and you hoped for Gabriel’s sake you’d moved past that.

You had a sneaking suspicion you hadn’t, and that it was your night terrors keeping him up by increasing number of looks you received and the progressively darkening circles beneath his eyes. Yet, he never said a word about it, and anytime you asked, he gave the same response.

“How anyone sleeps this far above the equator is beyond me.”

A few nights in, you switched sides of the bed, putting him closer to the fireplace. You made sure to have the fire well built right before you went to sleep in hopes that it would last into the early morning. It took you until the end of the week to finally figure out what was going on.

You lay awake, your arms clutched around you as you tried to will away the chill that lingered beneath your skin. All you could see when you closed your eyes was ice and steel… so you simply stopped closing them.

You stared up at the ceiling, watching the way the firelight flickered dimly across it. The flames had grown smaller, but had yet to extinguish, the embers beneath them bright and warm. Yet you couldn’t shake the cold or the dread that remained well after you’d awoken.

Something other than the crackling of the fire caught your attention, and your head immediately turned toward the sound. It was so soft you almost missed it, the tiniest gasp from the bed beside you. Gabriel shifted, his body drawing into itself as he clutched the blankets tightly around him. At first you thought he’d just woken up and was trying to get back to sleep when you saw the violent shiver that tore through him. He inhaled, his breath stuttering before he let out a soft moan.

Son of a bitch. He hadn’t been blowing you off with his answers. The man looked like he was freezing.

Guilt squeezed inside your chest as you sat up to check on him. Tentatively you reached out, lightly pressing the back of your hand against his cheek. His skin was warm, not overly so, but in no way did he feel cold. Perhaps his chill, like yours, was based upon memories trapped beneath his skin.

His discomfort brought your thoughts back once again to Chuck, your anger flaring as you wondered just what role the Almighty ass played in all of this. Had he really brought Gabriel back this way? Hadn’t the former archangel suffered enough?

Everything inside you responded with an emphatic yes and you realized if you continued to lie there, you weren’t any better than anyone who’d turned their back on him.

For all your outrage, you had no idea what to do. Should you wake him? Should you leave him be?

You picked up the edge of your blanket before spreading it over him, making sure he was fully covered before you slid closer. Tentatively you wrapped your arm around him, curling it up over his as you rested your cheek against his back. His body was so rigid it reminded you of stone, and you could only imagine how it must have felt for him after a night filled of this.

You simply held him against you, hoping on some level he could feel the comfort you were trying to provide. The minutes dragged on and while some of the tension began to give, it didn’t feel like you were doing enough. The shuddering continued at inconsistent intervals too close together for your liking.

Your intuition whispered something across your mind, something that found its way off your tongue and through your lips before you thought better of it. “It’s ok. You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

Everything in him stilled, and for a moment so did your breath when you thought you might have woken him. The next wave of discomfort hit shortly after, though this one was not as long as the last. The trend repeated, the shivers growing shorter and weaker until he finally went still. It took a little longer for him to relax, but eventually his frame was molded against you, his body unfurling from it’s tight position.

He wasn’t the only one feeling the effects from the contact. Your eyelids had grown drowsy, the heat from his body almost lulling you back asleep. You caught yourself in time, however, and reluctantly released him before moving yourself back to your side of the bed.

The next morning when you awoke, you were greeted by warmer, less distant hues and a smug little smile. “I thought you said there was no way I was getting under your blanket?”

Your brows drew together until he gave a slight tug, drawing attention to the fact that you had left your covers over him.

You took a moment to languidly stretch your arms above your head, hoping to hide the way your nerves thrummed. “I got tired of hearing somebody complain they were cold all the time.”

Next Chapter>>

ALL the tags:

@girl-next-door-writes @sumara62 @fand0maniac @feelmyroarrrr @omgreganlove @jannalionheart @baritonechick, @deaths-maiden @lucifer-in-leather @stone-met @blondecoffeecake @raspberrypuddle @ourloveisforthelovely @the-moose-of-baskerville @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @crowley-you-sinnamon-roll @tistai @christinalibertymikaelson @room-with-a-cat @authoressskr @revwinchester @flufy07 @greieba

Gabe Squad: @theblackenedsky @bloodstained-porcelain-doll @pepperwoodatnight @lacqueluster @samikitten @a-vast-african-plain @onlyanothersocialcasualty @kazosa @carryon-wayward-winchester @nobodys-baby-now @dlb1999 @ludwigs-a-monster @archangelgabriellives @a-wing-and-a-pen @tricksterxangel

Home for the Holidays: @unleashthemidnight @4evergeek @schizonephilim @winchestergirl-13 @keepingcalmisoverratedgoddamnit

#Gabriel x Reader #gabriel fluff #gabriel series #gabriel #supernatural fanfiction #slow burn #bed sharing #mutual pining #implied ptsd #fluff #home for the holidays #rabbit writes

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karingudino · 3 years

Text

Dancing On Ice fans beg Jason Gardiner to return to save ‘boring’ judging panel

DANCING On Ice followers have referred to as on bosses to deliver again acid-tongued decide Jason Gardiner.

Viewers of the ITV1 skating present have pleaded for the Aussie star – who was famed for his put downs and jibes – to return to the ice panel.

Rex Options

Dancing On Ice followers have referred to as for Jason Gardiner to be introduced again as a decide

Rex Options

It comes amid criticism in regards to the present line-up and their scoring

It comes after some followers turned disgruntled with tonight’s scoring, particularly after so lots of the contestants had been awarded equivalent marks.

Taking to Twitter, one fan wrote: “What the heck is Ashley and John watching? Garbage judges …. deliver again Jason Gardiner. Graham Bell was AMAZING #DancingOnIce.”

One other added: “We’d like Jason gardiner again for some honest scores x x #DancingOnIce.”

A 3rd viewer merely tweeted: “Deliver again Jason Gardiner #DancingOnIce.”

Rex Options

Jason give up Dancing On Ice in the summertime of 2019

However followers need him to return

One even penned: “Please, deliver again #JasonGardiner the judges are dreadful how will you rating the identical scores.”

Jason, 49, shocked followers in August 2019 when he introduced he was leaving Dancing On Ice after 13 years on the present.

The present panel is made up of Jayne Torvill, Christopher Dean, John Barrowman and Ashley Banjo.

On the time, Jason mentioned in an Instagram video: “In spite of everything these years I really feel it’s time for me to say goodbye to my judging position and return to issues I’ve been placing on maintain and have been on the again burner for some time.

“To all of my DOI followers I actually thanks on your assist and encouragement through the years, I do know we’ve gone by way of some controversies and I’m glad you bought my distinctive judging fashion and honesty.”

PA:Press Affiliation

The skilled dancer had been a decide on the present for 13 years

It got here following reviews that producers had been secretly plotting to switch him.

Referencing this, he added: “I do know there was loads of hypothesis about me and the upcoming collection of Dancing On Ice. I needed to set the report straight, I’ve been an authentic decide since 2006.

“I’ve finished each collection besides one, after I was changed by my good pal and dance sister Louis Spence in 2012.

Instagram

He now works as an eco-friendly farmer in Portugal

“The present had been off air for 4 years and when it was revived I used to be the one authentic decide to return.”

Jason’s choice to go away got here months after he had clashed with Gemma Collins on DOI.

Former Towie star Gemma accused him of being a bully as a result of he in contrast her to a fridge.

Instagram

The star has stepped away from showbiz

FIRST OUT

Dancing on Ice shock as Myleene Klass is eradicated

Fab sab

Sabien Kulczynski called ‘a machine’ on Fittest Family as he lasts 37 mins on log

SNOW WHITE

Dancing on Ice’s Holly Willoughby stuns fans by wearing a ‘wedding dress’

DESTINED

Dancing On Ice’s Jason Donovan says he may have spent his life with Kylie

‘I nearly killed him’

Lee Mack in tears as Would I Lie To You? stunt goes badly wrong

‘Who’s ready?’

Dec dresses as a woman in blonde wig to tease Saturday Night Takeaway return

But although fans might want to see Jason return to the ice panel, The Sun exclusively revealed earlier this month that he has quit showbiz for a new life abroad.

Following lockdown last year, Jason flew to Spain and completed a biodiversity and sustainability course.

He is now based in Portugal and works as an eco-friendly farmer and builder, describing himself as a ‘Nomadic Permaculture Designer’.

Ex Dancing On Ice ‘Mr Nasty’ judge Jason Gardiner quits showbiz to become an eco-friendly farmer

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source https://fikiss.net/dancing-on-ice-fans-beg-jason-gardiner-to-return-to-save-boring-judging-panel/ Dancing On Ice fans beg Jason Gardiner to return to save ‘boring’ judging panel published first on https://fikiss.net/ from Karin Gudino https://karingudino.blogspot.com/2021/01/dancing-on-ice-fans-beg-jason-gardiner.html

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elfnerdherder · 6 years

Text

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 18

[Support me on Patreon] [Read on Ao3]

Chapter 18: The System of Dr. Tarr and Prof. Fether

Will was discovered hours later by a boy around the age of ten. Will recognized him almost immediately, from his light blonde hair to his too serious face. He paused a polite distance away from Will –four and a half steps, to be exact –and he tilted his head in such a genuine gesture of curiosity that Will found it amusing rather than off-putting.

“You’re Molly’s son,” Will said when the boy gave no greeting.

“Yes.” The boy huffed a breath and buttoned his jacket. It seemed Georgia was going to finally allow it to be cold, and it was a chill that sunk deep. “You’re Will Graham.”

“I am,” Will agreed.

“…Mom said that I can trust you. Is that true?”

Will considered him, from his nicely laced shoes to his raglan sleeved jacket. It looked far too big for him, the jacket of an adult rather than a kid. He wore it with pride, though, that much Will could see. This was a jacket of heritage, of ancestry. At the tattered edges of it, he could sense nostalgia, a boy that worried over the threads of it whenever he was at his most vulnerable.

“What’s your name?”

“Wally. Wally Foster.”

“…Is that your dad’s old jacket, Wally?” Will asked.

Wally smiled a little and bobbed his head. He turned in order to show off the back, the name ‘Foster’ in a proud, arched cursive.

“It was my dad’s, but he gave it to me,” he explained turning back around to give Will his undivided attention. “So it’s mine now. It’s my favorite. He played baseball.”

“What…happened to your dad?”

“Cancer,” he said after a beat. Will’s lack of disgruntled behavior bolstered Wally, and he sat down on the step that Will’s feet rested on.

“My dad died from cancer, too,” Will revealed quietly.

“Really?”

“Really, really.”

Wally nodded, and Will noted his fingers sliding along the cuffs of the jacket, worrying at the threads of it.

“Your mom said that you can trust me?” he asked, and he silently chastised himself for the break in his voice.

Wally flashed him a grim smile and nodded. “She said…we can’t trust anyone in this house, but we can trust Will Graham. If something happens, I’m supposed to find you.”

Will focused particularly on that, on her words said in the mouth of a kid. “She said you can’t trust anyone here?” he whispered, leaning in.

“Yeah.” Wally fiddled more with the sleeves, and he let out a sigh. “She said not even the other kids. ‘Cept maybe Abigail, but she’s not a kid. You and Abigail.”

“Did she say why we can’t trust them?”

Wally liked the comradery Will gave, saying ‘we’ rather than ‘you’. His face brightened, and he shifted closer, like he was sharing a secret. “She said they’re not nice people, Mr. Graham.”

“Just Will is fine, Wally.”

“’Kay, Will. She said they’re not nice, and they could hurt us if we’re not careful.”

Will nodded thoughtfully and looked out over the front yard, a brilliant and loving display of hydrangeas and lavender intermingling into a garden of sorts. He wondered if that was five hundred yards, or if his newfound babysitter would start chirping at his leg if he went too far.

“Do you think that?” Wally pressed when Will didn’t speak.

“What’s that?”

“Do you think they’ll hurt us if we’re not careful?” Wally pressed.

Will thought of the blood down the back of his head that morning in the shower, the way Molly’s hands had felt at the top of his scalp, cold. Her once warm hands were cold, and he didn’t recognize her anymore.

In truth, he saw more of her in her son than anything else since his arrival at the house. The parts of her kindness, friendliness, and light were all wrapped into a small, neat bow in her son. Will had wondered where she’d hidden the parts of herself that first drew him to her, a lighthouse when his world was crashing around him, and he saw it now in Wally. She made herself a fortress of stone, something cold, calculating, and willing to pull the trigger should the need arise.

And all of her goodness she hid in Wally.

“You know what, Wally, I do,” Will said with a quiet sigh. “I think your mom is awfully smart, and you should listen to her.”

“I try to,” Wally assured Will. “My dad said the same thing.”

“It sounds like your dad was a good man.”

“Say, I’m going to go and see if they have a soda,” Wally said, jumping up. “Since…since I’m going in there, do you want one?”

Will smiled a little and nodded. “That’d be nice, Wally. Only if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Well, I was going to go there anyway,” he said, and he was up the stairs and running into the house the way only a kid could run when their mother was smart enough to give their kid the truth, but not necessarily the whole truth.

Which begged the question: if Molly was really in on all of this, why would she warn her son away from the people that she should supposedly view as her family –the one place she could call ‘home’?

Will was approached by a young woman that evening when he was attempting to isolate himself in his room. She stood at the foot of the stairs, wind-chafed and resolute, and he recognized her as the girl that’d first found him after Nate had died, hands bloodied and mind frozen in shock. She’d worried for him, for a breath of a moment.

“You’re…Will Graham,” she said quietly, and he tensed.

“Please don’t try to touch me,” he said warningly. He wouldn’t throw her about like he’d done with Matthew, but there was only so much a person could take before they began drawing lines by force. He imagined his hands around her throat, squeezing before tossing her aside, and his stomach turned. Violent thoughts pushed towards the front of his mind, begged entertainment. He blinked and banished them away. He’d been in the house for too damn long.

“No, I’m…I’m sorry they did that.” Her smile was watery, wavering as she shifted and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind one ear. “Some people here are…well, you know.”

“Are you Abigail?” he asked. He thought of Wally, rambling about just who he was supposed to trust.

“I am,” she affirmed. “I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re…you’re having a hard time, I just…”

She stopped talking and looked down, sniffling discreetly behind a hand. She looked to be about seventeen or eighteen, far too thin for a healthy diet. She carried sorrow in the dip of her shoulders, resolution in the set of her jaw as she looked back up at him with intent, blue eyes.

“You’re not like other people here,” she said at last, and something in her voice made him tense.

“Is it that easy to tell?” he asked dryly.

“I heard a lot of people wondering why Dr. Lecter would bring you here.”

“I’m wondering the same about you,” Will replied, and he rocked back on his heels as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “How old are you?”

“Old enough to understand what I’m seeing when I see it,” said Abigail, and she sniffed again and looked down. “Did you ever hear of the Minnesota Shrike?”

“I have.”

“That’s my dad,” she revealed, and she glanced up beneath her lashes to study him. “He’s here, in this house.”

“Well it looks like Dr. Lecter extends amnesty to just anyone,” Will sneered.

“He killed girls that looked like me.”

“I recall.”

“I thought maybe being here would…stop him from that, but…Mr. Graham, it was either them or me, and now that he can’t go about to find them…I’m scared that he’s going to Change me.”

Will thought of Red Dragon whispering his wants, his need to Change. Farther down the hall, there was the sound of plates clattering, glasses clinking as dinner was set. Abigail glanced from the sudden noise, then back to him, her mouth fluttering before pressing tightly shut. Despite the openness of the stairwell, she was divulging something much like a secret to him, and he softened his voice to recognize that.

“Dr. Lecter wouldn’t stop him?” Will asked.

“He would if you pretended to care about it,” she revealed, equally quiet. “If…you pretended to care about me, he’d pretend, too. Enough to stop my dad, should he decide to eat me.”

Will thought about that, eye-to-eye with Abigail Hobbs on their respective stair steps, although they didn’t allow their gazes to meet directly. He thought of Wally, then Molly, then the reports he’d read on the Minnesota Shrike, the profile he’d drawn up as an essay in one of his classes when rumor had risen that the Shrike had a soulmate. The flash of her eyes screamed her penchant for manipulation, although the longer Will stared, the more he was convinced of her honesty. If he cared, then Hannibal cared. If Hannibal cared, then everyone else cared.

“Just what are you trying to ask me to do?” he asked at last.

“Sit with me at dinner? He always sits next to me and touches my thigh while we’re eating.”

“And this isn’t a magical quest bestowed upon you by Dr. Lecter to ensure that I start participating in the endeavors of this place?”

She had the grace to smile a little. “He asked everyone to leave you alone, actually. He wants you to come to us on your own terms, but…I just…”

“You’re trying to survive however you can,” Will realized, staring at the turn of her jaw. He could smell the stench of it, the same as it was for him. They were survivors, something much the same as the other as they tried to survive their lot in life. Rather than submit to her father’s whims, she instead tried to find a way around it, to preserve herself however possible.

Will could respect that, although he balked at the thought of having to sit down among so many obviously unstable people.

“Please,” she whispered, and he cringed from it. “I see the way people here look at you, and I…please.”

“…I’ll do it,” he said, and her shoulders slumped in relief. “Although whatever superpowers you think I’m capable of, I can’t guarantee.”

“Thank you,” she said, and he was forced to follow her down the hall, towards the formal dining room where people were helping to set the table, their chatter amiable and excited.

When they saw Will and Abigail, it was even moreso. He ignored the way their heads dipped close together, their faces alight –if they really were unsure of him and his place in the house, it didn’t show with how they looked at him. Perhaps Abigail was right: Hannibal wanted him, therefore they followed through with his desires.

“Dr. Lecter would want you to sit down there,” Abigail said, gesturing towards the head of the table.

Will eyed the spot with extreme prejudice before he meandered towards the seat, ignoring the stares pinned to his skin.

“You sit there,” he decided, motioning towards the end seat.

“But-”

“Your father can’t sit on your other side if you’re on the end,” Will said, and he sat down pointedly in the second chair in.

Abigail smiled and sat down on the end chair, relief oozing from her skin.

“Thank you,” she said again.

“Thank Wally,” he grumbled, and when someone swooped by to fill his glass with wine, he managed a grunt towards them, too. The house arrest bracelet chafed on his ankle. He’d have to find a way to get the fucking thing off of him. Maybe take Abigail and Wally with him when he ran.

Just how many other people were there that were trapped due to the faults and failures of their parents? Their lovers? Their families?

When Hannibal walked into the room, deep in conversation with Molly, Beverly, and Francis, he didn’t stop in his tracks at the sight of Will seated beside a quietly contemplative Abigail, but he took immediate notice. His gaze flickered briefly over them, analyzing, before a perfectly subtle smile graced his lips and he looked away. His incisors flashed as he seemed to taste the room before him.

The space beside Will on the other side remained empty.

“I’m so happy to see you here, Will,” he said as he stopped just behind his chair.

Will took a long, pointed gulp of his wine.

“I wasn’t aware that you knew Abigail,” he continued, and the voices coalescing along the table stilled to better hear him.

Will had a wild urge to say something particularly nasty, what with the way everyone watched the two of them, waiting. He took another gulp of wine, swallowed it down, and wiped his mouth. Just behind Hannibal, a few steps back, a man with a halo of hair, a shiny head, and dagger-like eyes observed first him, then Abigail that sat just out of reach.

Her father, then.

“I do. She’s been showing me around the house.”

“How kind,” Hannibal Lecter murmured. “Thank you, Abigail, for making him feel more comfortable here.”

“I was more than happy to, Dr. Lecter,” Abigail replied, and it all felt rather forced to Will, this pseudo-conversation when the three of them were more than well-aware that there was something far larger at hand. “He said it may make it feel more like home.”

Presumptuous. Will gave her a particularly dark side-eyed stare, which she returned with little to no guilt.

“Dinner will be delicious tonight,” Hannibal Lecter said by way of reply, and he skirted the table to sit at the head of it.

Without ceremony, the man with the balding head sat down on the other side of Will. He smelled of sweat contained beneath layers of jackets for a prolonged amount of time, coupled with the aftertaste of cold, dry dirt. The turn of his cheek screamed meekness, but the cunning glint in his gaze as he watched Will from the corner of his eye put Will on guard immediately. He thought of the women he’d only ever read about, people whose lives were cut short due to a covetous, hungry need. He’d have liked to have thought he could have seen someone like Hobbs in a crowd and known them for what they were, but it was a lie, something to self-soothe. In reality, Hobbs looked –at first glance –much like the sort of person you’d forget about immediately after seeing.

Ultimately leading to your downfall.

“Mr. Graham,” Garrett Jacob Hobbs greeted quietly. He had a well-mannered, salt-of-the-earth sort of speech, quiet and dignified.

“Mr. Hobbs,” Will returned lightly.

“I wasn’t aware that you’d met my daughter,” he said, and the way his tongue curled around the title was possessive while maintaining all forms of politeness.

“She’s been by far the kindest person in this house,” Will said. “I’ve found her to be invaluable.”

Hobbs had no reply to that. His mouth shifted and curled in on itself, as though it were fighting back the words he desperately wanted to say. A quick glance to Will’s hardened stare made him shift and busy himself with his glass of wine.

There were no speeches, no pep-talks. The food was set out for everyone, and those that helped to cook it were thanked, everyone friendly and obliging as they patted one another on the back and thanked Hannibal warmly for such exquisite cuisine: paella with freshly foraged mushrooms, cuttlefish, and a velvety red wine to compliment the taste.

Will picked his way around what he deemed to be a questionable and therefore undesirable meat.

With Abigail beside him, those that snuck glances made no move to speak. Beverly and Molly sat across from him, and it was as easy to avoid their stare as it was anyone else’s. His eyes fixed to the corner of his glasses, and he fiddled far too long with his spoon between bites.

“Abigail,” her father said, speaking around Will’s back. “I’d like to speak with you after dinner, before my night watch.”

“She was actually going to take me to the library,” Will said for her, after he polished off the wine. He needed it to keep his mouth from becoming too sharp. “Sorry.”

On the other side of him, Abigail shifted in her chair, uncomfortable. He felt her father’s stare against his skin, prickling and persistent, but he ignored it. She was one of the only things that could have brought him to the table, one of the only things to convince him away from the solitary room that brought him some form of respite. If the look in Hobb’s eyes was any indication, he’d made a good call. One of few, but still good.

Despite the disquieting sensation of so many eyes on him throughout dinner, when Abigail reached out underneath the table and took his hand to squeeze it, Will didn’t recoil from her. Instead, he returned the gesture, squeezing just as tight.

Hannibal Lecter was the one to walk about with him on the grounds that evening. It wasn’t so much an option, in truth; Will had waited until Hobbs saw himself off towards his shift of night watch, then left Abigail in the presence of a boy somewhat near her age that smiled with an awkward cheekiness. Standing there in the foyer and watching Abigail walk away left Will with something aching just at the space where his ribs met in the center of his chest –something painful and persistent.

Then Hannibal appeared at his elbow and suggested a walk.

He zipped his coat against the cold and huddled into the shell of it as he trudged through the damp grass. Hannibal followed, a whisper of a step behind, and if he had something in mind to discuss, it wasn’t voiced. He let Will pause just at the edge of the forest, and he didn’t give voice to the warning that the chafing ankle bracelet provided.

Birds cried in the dying light, the sun sinking far too soon now that Fall was upon them. Will tracked fast, frantic leaps of bats dancing among the trees in search of bugs, and he stuffed his hands deep into his pockets to maintain warmth. There was the crisp smell of acorns and clover, coupled with the rancid bitterness of the dying leaves on the forest floor. Will inhaled it and held it inside of him as long as he could. When he exhaled sharply, great clouds puffed and curled about his mouth, wisping up above his head.

“You once told me that you dreamt of a house in the middle of a forest,” Hannibal said quietly, disturbing the quiet. “That sometimes, if your dreams became lucid, you would walk to. Standing in the field beside it, you would look back to the lights and feel some semblance of peace. It appeared much like a boat adrift on the ocean, and it was one of the few times within your own mind that you could feel safe.”

When Will said nothing in response, he continued, “Is that what you were searching for when you called Jack Crawford? Some semblance of safety?”

“Some semblance of sanity,” Will muttered.

“And you found a Great, Red Dragon instead.”

“There were no speeches tonight. Are you trying to normalize these people to me?” Will asked. He glanced back to Hannibal, scowling. “Because I sat next to a man who’s murdered at least eight women and ate them during dinner.”

“And you stand now in front of a man that’s killed fourteen.”

“No, I stand in front of a man that was convicted for the murders of fourteen,” Will corrected crossly.

Hannibal neither confirmed nor denied. He merely smiled, the faint moonlight above making his blue eye appear far darker than it was.

Will looked back to the forest that contained the remnants of his panic, the aftershock of the fall of Randall Tier. He felt a scream building, but he didn’t want to let it out. If he started, Will figured he’d never stop –scream after scream after scream before he was swallowed whole by them all.

“Who did you kill?” Will asked, agonized.

“You refer to something recent?”

“Who did you have these people kill?” Will reiterated, and he swallowed down a curse. “That has Jack Crawford sounding so tired?”

“Thirty-two other people in this country held some variation of your name. My friends supposed that for me to be with someone, they should be utterly unique in every way,” Hannibal said after a long, pressing pause.

His words stirred something in Will, something that made him round back on Hannibal, a snarl jerking past his lips.

“Don’t call them your friends,” he hissed, and just beyond Hannibal’s shoulder there were faint shadows moving in front of curtains pulled across windows. “Don’t call those people your friends when you and I both know that you don’t give a damn about them. You don’t give a damn about anyone.”

“Will-”

“And don’t…don’t try and claim that you give a damn about me. You just want to possess me, control me because you don’t like being out of control. You have your pawns in there, and you have your lackeys, but when you’re out here trying to wrap me up inside of my own head, don’t try to bull shit me and tell me that any of those people are actually your friends, Hannibal Lecter. Not when just hours ago, you were content to inform me you’d kill any of them, should they stand between us.”

The look on his face was impassive; it was his eyes, though, that made Will pause, made his breath suck back down his throat.

God, he almost looked proud.

“You see me in a way that no one else does,” Hannibal murmured. His voice was low, like he was revealing a grave, dark secret. “I’m glad that you’re becoming comfortable enough to speak your mind to me, all things considered.”

All things considered being the fine line Will walked between living and dying, he supposed.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that you could fool them all, considering how many of us you fooled.”

“Some people just want a place where they feel like they belong, Will. Humans, despite everything, are social creatures. Pack creatures.”

“Well, you may be fooling them, but you’re not fooling all of them.” Will watched a shadow pause before one of the curtains before they drew it open to stare outside. His smile was a snarl. “There are a few of those people that are well aware that the things you care for are in limited supply.”

“You refer to Abigail?”

“I refer to any of them that have to go to sleep with one eye open.”

“I have Garrett Jacob Hobbs under control. Rest assured he won’t harm anyone here.”

“His daughter isn’t so confident.”

Hannibal smiled. “She’s resourceful, isn’t she? You’re so wary of my manipulations that at the first scent of an honest sob-story, you find your way to her and seek to protect her from not only Garrett Jacob Hobbs, but my presumed apathy to her plight. So sure are you of me, but you fail to see her in her entirety.”

“She’s like me,” Will said, and he was suddenly aware of just how close Hannibal had become. A mere breath separated them, a strong breeze enough to make them touch. He stiffened his spine and wet his lips. “Sometimes…we have to do terrible things to survive.”

“You led to the fall of Randall Tier.”

“And whatever she’d done, it’s only so that she survives. I can respect that.”

“Survive, survive,” Hannibal chanted, and his head dipped low, far too close. “That is your mantra, dear Will. To survive; not to live, not to Become. Just where are your lines, I wonder? When is it no longer survival, and instead basking within your own dark desires and fantasies?”

Will thought of his dreams where he dipped hands in blood and licked them, thoughts when he wondered if he’d have to break Abigail should she dare touch him. Whatever his expression, it delighted Hannibal; his eyes brightened despite the gloom of the evening, and he withdrew, allowing Will his space, allowing Will enough air to breathe.

“Just a thought,” Hannibal said, and he turned and headed back into the house.

Will, despite everything in his bones screaming for him to run, had no other choice but to follow.

A lovely, warm thanks to my patrons: Emily Elm, Matilda, Sylarana, Heather Feather, Inky-Starlight, Duhaunt6, Superlurk, and Frosty Lee! <3 You guys are the best!

#Hannibal #Hannibal fanfic #LiaS scribbles #where the wicked walk #the following au #hannibal au #hannibal soulmate au #abigail hobbs

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shardminds · 4 years

Text

I would stop the world for you

Pairing: Emma Swan/Killian Jones Rating: E for smut WC: 6975 ABO!AU

Scratching an itch is what she’d called it, over breakfast with a barely-there smile and a smear of whipped cream from her hot chocolate on her bottom lip. It. This. Them.

He’d known that it would be easy to fall for her. He’s been trying not to ever since.

Here it is! The ABO you’ve all been waiting for... maybe?

I want to give a BIG thank you to Salem (@artistic-writer) who is not only the reason for this works conception but also the brave soul that beta'd the living shit out of it, helped me muddle together a summary after I killed my brain while writing and put up with my whiny arse throughout. The bitch is fantastic. Show her, her writing and her art some love!

I also want to thank Sara (@darkcolinodonorgasm) for giving this a once over at the 4k mark and screaming at/with me when I thought my muse had run out. You're wonderful!

Also on AO3

Tagging a few who showed interest early on! @thisonesatellite, @kmomof4, @hollyethecurious, @winterbaby89, @gingerchangeling, @resident-of-storybrooke, @tiganasummertree

It started with a text. Usually, Killian would have let it be and left the message unread until his break for fear of Liam catching him slouched over the battered oak workbench in the corner of their somehow impeccably kept workshop, eyes glued to his phone rather than the carburettor of the ‘76 Impala he should be working on. It would have earned him a lecture on professionalism and appearance and the same ‘this business is important’ shpiel Liam came out with every time he caught any member of their small team in a moment of distraction. As CEO of Jones & Jones Auto Refurbishments, he tended to let his ruling Alpha traits come through as a business owner - assertive, confident, loyal and a little bit of an arse if he didn’t get his own way. Killian, similarly Alpha in his nature, knows they’re unfortunately similar in their personalities, although he likes to pride himself on not being an arse all the time and being the more likeable Jones sibling. Hopefully, many people would back him up on that. They’d butted heads throughout their lives but, at the end of the day, Liam is all he’s got and a simple text message is usually not worth losing his brother’s favour over.

Liam wasn’t there today though, choosing instead to meet up with some of their more high profile customers to discuss refurb schedules in the spring quarter. His absence bumps Killian up from CEO’s younger-not-little brother and head mechanic to CEO’s younger-not-little brother, head mechanic and acting CEO until Liam gets back from his weekend away talking shop with a bunch of ponces who buy classic cars but have no clue about the maintenance or upkeep. It’s a lengthy title. They’re working on it. The biggest take away from his temporary promotion is that he can check his phone whenever he damn well pleases. Will and Robin are working away on the rust bucket of a Mini Cooper that had been dropped off yesterday by a disgruntled Graham on the other side of the workshop. They’re bickering, as usual, over if the vehicle will need a respray or not. Killian lets himself zone out of their squabbling as he pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

What’s waiting there for him has a thrum of arousal awakening before he can even compose himself to read it fully. Emma. His best friend, confidant and the occasional recipient of his knot whenever her heat gets the better of her.

It’d been less than 48 hours since he’d seen her last to fuck out the residual energy his rut had left coursing through him. It was needy and raw and, when his knot hit, he’d had to stop himself from clamping down on the gland in the juncture of her neck. There was no way he’d have been able to resist sinking his teeth into the supple skin there if his rut was in full swing but that’s exactly the reason they’re careful about the scheduling of their trysts – avoiding his rut and indulging her heat whenever possible. They have apps to log it and everything.

With spring coming in, most Alphas were taking time off to handle their season. Killian had felt his coming a mile off and immediately locked himself away and started prepping high-protein meals, sterilizing his toys and cancelling all his plans – including the ones involving a certain willing Omega. He likes her a lot more than he probably should, but he doesn’t want to force the obligation of his mark onto her. A lot of other Alphas would’ve already. He’s been told as much and knocked half as many out for trying. Always coming to Emma afterwards, battered and bloody. She welcomes him with open arms, cleans his wounds and thanks him in her own way. He knows she doesn’t want that whole marked, barefoot and pregnant life and he respects that. There’s no way he’s ready to bring kids into the world. His one-bedroom apartment above the workshop is no place to raise a child, for god’s sake. He knows Emma feels the same. Her reliance on the contraceptives Dr Whale supplies her with is concrete proof of that. She even keeps a box in Killian’s bedside table, just in case.

As much as he’d love a repeat performance of the other night, they’d already discussed their clashing calendars. Liam was away on business and Emma was covering for David at the station while he rode out his rut. Well… his wife rode it out. They’d be fine for a couple of weeks. Killian has a reminder in his phone for when Emma’s next heat is due to hit so he knows when to stock up on carby foods, ice cream and good coffee. He’s freed up that week for her, knowing how needy she can get through her heat.

Regardless, she doesn’t usually text him while he’s at work. She knows how Liam gets. It must be something important. He swipes open his phone, taking a second to smile at his lock screen. It’s a picture of the two of them, curled up with matching cups of hot chocolate and a shared blanket that he’d taken at some point to prove to Ruby that they occasionally do things other than fucking. Sometimes ‘Netflix and Chill’ means just that. Emma’s hair is a mess and so is his but their smiles are genuine and it makes his heart warm every time. He flicks up her messages with another swipe of his thumb and his smile falls.

Swan: I’m early. Need you now. Please.

She means her heat. He’s not stupid. Had it been a month already? A quick check to his calendar shows that she’s not due for another week at least. They meticulously planned these things. Killian Jones, a self-professed neat freak, and Emma Swan, the proud owner of a ‘floordrobe’, disagree on a lot of things when it comes to personal organisation. The one thing they do agree on, however, is keeping track of their cycles.

The last time she’d been early, they ended up fucking in the back of her Yellow VW Bug on the way home from a beach trip with the Nolans. She’d been wearing the smallest bikini he’d ever seen, the two black triangles only just covering her breasts before being secured by a thin strap at her nape and a second behind her back. Instead of matching bottoms, she’d gone with a pair of frayed denim shorts that brushed the tops of her thighs and hugged her behind so deliciously that he could barely keep a hold of the growl brewing in his throat. Sand clung to her arse and the back of her legs and he wanted nothing more than to brush it off and pull her into his lap. He could smell her arousal creeping up on her before she could, approaching as inevitably as the tide, and he knew they would not make it back to her apartment before it hit. For the sake of David, Mary Margaret and the rest of the families trying to enjoy themselves on a rare sunny beach day, Killian bundled Emma into the cramped back seat of her car and began the two-hour drive back to Storybrooke.

She had him pull over after half an hour to give her a hand, so to speak.

The upholstery stains had been a bitch to get out.

Before thinking of the consequences, he fumbles out a text back to her.

K. Jones: Be there in 5.

“Rob! Will!” He calls out across the shop, knowing he’s been heard when the incessant bickering turns to silence. The two Betas would be able to handle things on their own for the day. They’d get no work done, sure, but he could afford that. Work had been slow all morning and there was no sign of it picking up any time soon. As long as they finish the Mini by the week’s end, Liam will be none the wiser. Pulling on his leather jacket, Killian headed over their way. “Something’s come up. Can you cover for me?”

“What is it this time, lover boy?” Will chimes in, appearing from under the hood of Graham’s Mini, his white vest smeared with oil despite him not remotely touching the engine today. One eyebrow raised in a questioning glare. “Missus need you to lick her boots again?”

Rob issues him with a slap, sending his friend’s head straight into the hood of the car with a metallic thud and a groan. They’d have to buff that one out later. Well…Will would.

“That’s no way to talk to your superior, William. Show some respect.”

Rob laughs at the snarl he gets in return, reaching across to ruffle his friend’s buzzcut. Will clenches his teeth, biting out his response. “Call me William one more time and I’ll show you some respect.”

Killian had always found their relationship a little odd. Will is always ready for a fight, a punch first ask questions later kind of bloke and Robin is the one that drags him back to reality with a gentle hand…and maybe occasionally a firm shove. They’re two sides of the same coin and Liam would be lost without them in the shop. Hell, Killian would be lost without them in his life.

Especially now.

“Lads, I’m trusting you to not burn the place down. Lock up when you’re done, will you?” He launches his keys at Rob who plucks them out of the air and tucks them into the breast pocket of his pristine overalls, patting them for good measure. Rob, he could trust. Will, on the other hand…It’s a good job Liam had gone all out on their liability insurance.

They bid him farewell with a sarcastic “Aye aye, Captain!” before Killian can protest. He doesn’t have the time to bollock them for being insolent. Plus, they’re doing him a favour by watching over the shop, both automatically aware of the nature of his absence. He flips them off, jumping into his Jeep and slamming it into gear before speeding across town with little regard for the speed limit. It’s okay. He’s got connections in the sheriff’s office.

Well… one connection. The same connection he’s about to fuck the living daylights out of.

Scratching an itch is what she’d called it, over breakfast with a barely-there smile and a smear of whipped cream from her hot chocolate on her bottom lip. It. This. Them.

He’d known that it would be easy to fall for her. He’s been trying not to ever since.

Emma’s apartment building is tucked away on the other side of Storybrooke. Past main street and the town hall, almost on the edge of the town boundary. The whole apartment block is a sanctuary for unclaimed Omegas; tucked far enough away that they’re able to endure their heats in peace, but close enough that you can still get lunch delivered from Granny’s if needed. Alphas, upon entry, have to provide ID, evidence of their previous rut and what their intentions are while visiting. Luckily, Ruby was on duty today – pillar-box red nails offering him a little wave as he passes by the entrance checkpoint. Killian didn’t even have to slow his Jeep. She had the barriers open for him already. Emma must’ve called ahead.

Rolling his truck into the nearest parking bay, Killian almost forgets to check if he’s locked it before he’s vaulting over the fence and sprinting into the sterile building, taking the linoleum stairs two at a time to get to Emma’s third-floor apartment faster. The building smells of bleach and fresh laundry but, underneath it all, he can taste something distinctly her. Earthy yet fresh, sweet and almost spicy. It swells around him like a warm embrace when she throws open her door.

He hadn’t even knocked.

She’s a sight for sore eyes dressed in one of his old band t-shirts, logo far too faded to be legible anymore, and a pair of boy shorts that do nothing to hide how slick she is, wetness seeping through the material with every second spent stood in the doorway. She’s gorgeous and glowing, a thin sheen of sweat causing her to glisten under the fluorescence of the hallway lights, flecks of gold catching in her lust-darkened eyes. Her hair hangs in matted curls over her left shoulder and he knows she must have been too impatient to blow dry it that morning, instead opting to let it air dry while she took care of herself in other ways. Fuck. He can’t think about that right now. The tang of her heat in the air makes him want enough as it is. He does not need filthy images of Emma trying to get herself off with the knot toy he’d bought for her last year when her heat and his rut had clashed. He does not need to think of how she was probably whining for him, aching to be filled by something real, way before she texted him to come over.

She wants him, needs him, and he can smell it rolling off her in waves.

It’d be rude not to oblige.

She must’ve had the same thought because she pounces on him the second he moves to step forward, arms surrounding his neck and legs circling his waist. He can’t help but reach down to her arse, giving it a light pinch which has her letting out an indecent moan before she’s crashing their lips together. He shouldn’t miss her. It’d not been two days since he last had her, hard and fast against the tiled walls of his shower and yet, when she’s like this, desperate and begging in his arms, he damns every second they were apart. The door slams shut behind them and Killian promptly shoves her up against it, swallowing down the noise it earns him.

Emma kisses are urgent and powerful, overwhelming in their ferocity. Omegas aren’t usually celebrated for their power but she’s different. Her heat brings out a side to her that drowns out his comprehensive thought with fiery kisses and insistent touches. She tears down his resolve so completely. Is there any way he can deny her when she’s like this, hands impatiently tearing at the buttons of his shirt?

Omegas are commonly seen as the weaker class, apparently only superior in their fertility, and abused by the archaic roots of their world. Killian had never understood the prejudice held against them, even as a boy. He’d been born into privilege and he accepted that. As the son of an Alpha father, sibling to an Alpha brother and an Alpha himself, he will never be able to comprehend the struggle that comes with being born with a target on your back. He will never know the pain of suffering through twelve heats a year or the immense risk that other Alphas pose on a regular basis when you’re unclaimed. He will never know the sheer unadulterated bliss that Emma feels when he fills her so full of his come that it leaks around his pulsing knot, mixed with her sheer slick on its path down her thighs. He will never know just how much trust she puts in him when his teeth graze over the patch of skin along her neck that calls for his bite. But, for her, he tries.

“Stop thinking.” She growls, tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth, utilising probably more force than intended. Her hands make their way under his shirt in an attempt to push it off his shoulders but it doesn’t budge far, the buttons she’d missed in her haste straining to accommodate. Her eyes, emerald and dangerous, flutter shut as he lets the hand that is not supporting the small of her back slip beneath her sodden underwear. The scent of her hits him stronger now and all he can do is bite back the groan in his chest. She’s soft and silken and he can see how absolutely consumed she is by her pleasure in the way she relaxes into his touch. Her lips part against his mouth in a gasp. He wants.

“I came all this way and that’s all you have to say?”

“Killian, please.” Her thighs clench his hips as he dips one finger into her centre. He’ll never tire of this. Feeling her twitch and whine as his deft fingers work their magic. She unravels beneath his touch and it’s maddening. Teasing her, caressing her core and revelling in the slick that spills beneath his ministrations, builds his own arousal in an agonising burn. Her lips take his again in a breathless kiss, a mess of mouths and tongues and teeth. Fire rushes through his veins as he fights the urge to fuck her senseless right there. As much as he wants to slam her against the white varnished wood and take her so deep she can’t help but cry out, he doesn’t fancy a repeat of the last time they’d been so impatient. He’d awoken on the floor, half-hard, after literally fucking the door off its hinges and knocking himself out on the frame on the way down. Emma had laughed about it for weeks after and the apartment block billed him for the repairs.

Beds are easier to replace and Killian has fucked her in his fair share of them.

He smells her orgasm approaching before it hits. He always does. The heady scent of her sex becoming richer, sweeter, thicker before he dips a second finger inside her cunt, pushing deeper to massage the rough spot that sends her over the edge every single time.

Emma can’t help but run her mouth as she comes. Shaking in his hold, fists balled in his hair, cursing his name between kisses until she’s spent and boneless. Each expletive sending a throb to his cock, straining against his jeans. Such foul language doesn’t come to her naturally but Killian drags it out of her with each circle of his index finger against her clit.

“Such a filthy mouth, Swan.” He smirks, breaking away to press a kiss to her neck. The resulting shiver that creeps down her spine has her clench around him once more, a wave of slick coating his hand. Her shorts are ruined, completely soaked through. It makes it all the easier to tear them off as he removes his hand from her folds, seams protesting as the fabric splits, revealing her in her entirety to him. Pink and wet and fucking delectable.

He’s wearing too many clothes.

“I can’t help it.” She shrugs, still breathless, fingers returning to the buttons on his shirt that she’d missed in her insistence to run her hands through the thick hair there. “Blame it on my heat, or your fingers, or both.”

Killian chuckles. His chest jostling her ever so slightly where they’re still stood. With practised ease, he begins the short distance to the bedroom.

“I’d love to take all the credit but you were already halfway gone by the time I got here.” Together they shrug the shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall to the hardwood floor as they make their way. Emma leans into him then, letting her head rest against his chest, just over his heart. He knows she’s got more in her and the next wave will take them both in its wake, but for now, he’s content to just hold her as she recovers, her breathing falling into sync with his own heartbeat, avoiding the cluttered glass coffee table as he walks her through the living room.

“I’ve come four times today.” Her breath is hot against his nipple, which hardens with the combined weight of her confession almost as if commanded to do so. He stops short of her bedroom, adjusting her weight in his arms so he can open the door without disturbing her further from her rest. “I was hoping I’d be able to get it out of my system without you. I know you’ve been busy.”

“Emma, love, don’t be stupid. That’s why you keep me around.” Pressing a kiss to her crown, inhaling the soft vanilla of the shampoo that she loves so much, he steps inside the room she calls her own. It’s messy, not as much as it used to be but more than he’d allow his own space to get, and he has to tiptoe between abandoned outfits she’d probably tried on that morning before deciding that work was just off the cards today. It’s never advisable for Omegas to be in public for their heat, claimed or otherwise. He can imagine her pouting in the mirror, hair wet, arousal rearing its head between her thighs, unsatisfied and wanting. “I can make you feel good. I want to.”

“Ah yes, my own personal fuck toy. How chivalrous of you.” He dips her onto the bed, ignoring her sarcasm, and pushes aside the toys she’d clearly been using, still sticky with her essence – a couple of small vibrators, a string of anal beads and the knot toy he’d supplied her with over a year ago. She’d admitted to him that it didn’t get much use. She’s come to rely on him for satisfaction, these days. Why would she need a toy? Killian adds washing them to his mental to-do list because she will definitely forget once he’s done with her. Emma unfurls her legs from around his waist and lets her back slump against the mattress with a soft thud. In the soft light from her bedroom window, he gets a good full look at her core, fresh slick coating her outer lips in a delicious glaze. Maybe later he’ll get the chance to feast upon it, eating like a man starved in that way that makes her toes curl and her voice hoarse from screaming.

“If that’s what the lady wishes?” He hums, dragging his eyes from her cunt to her tits. When had she removed her–his shirt? The swell of them is enough to drive him wild, their pert buds the same soft dusky rose as her mouth. He leans down to take one into his mouth, not missing the relaxed sigh it earns him. Looking up at her from this angle makes his cock stir, her head thrown back, long pale neck exposed in a subconscious invitation. He squeezes at her neglected nipple with slick coated fingers, trailing patterns into the quickly pebbled flesh there.

Fuck, he wants to mark her. Take her as his over and over again. He wants to fuck her through his rut and show her how deep under his skin she has managed to crawl. Every inch of him yearns for her. Every second they’re not like this, together, entwined, is agony. He can’t let himself think that way, not like this. Emma is not an object, not a thing to be possessed and claimed. She’s headstrong and stubborn as any Alpha. She belongs to no one.

Her moans sear into his mind, a permanent brand, a reminder of everything he cannot have.

Tonight, like many other nights, he pretends she belongs to him.

“This lady definitely wishes.” She sighs, bringing him back to reality. Somehow she always seems to ground him, despite being the root of all his desire. A smile, a laugh, a cry. It always brings him right back. Back to her. She squeezes at his shoulders, pulling him up so she can kiss him again. It’s languid and warm, passion simmering beneath her tongue as it finds its way into his mouth. These are his favourite. The kind of kisses that burn slowly, growing deeper and deeper until they’re both left gasping for air. He could kiss like this forever. Suffocation be damned. Her hands slide down his chest, through the hair she loves to toy with so much, down across his firm stomach. The muscles there flutter under her touch and Killian’s cock aches to be released from its denim prison. She seems to notice just as he does. Her hand makes the final stretch to where he wants her most, cupping him roughly and giving a hard grasp. He snarls, animalistic desire shooting through him. It’s inevitable, the call of her heat claiming him fully. She loves it this way the most. Rough and hard. Alpha.

One eyebrow quirks up, behind a mop of messy blonde hair, with kiss bruised lips and eyes so dark they’re almost black. A challenge. He loves a challenge.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?”

Their fingers clash while trying to unbuckle his belt, caught between the dark thatch of hair there and the soft leather. Emma retreats first, choosing instead to utilise the belt loops and tug him to his knees between her spread thighs. Laced with urgency, their kisses grow sloppy, insistent and chaotic. Killian struggles to shove his jeans low enough to let his cock spring free. They don’t have time for anything else. She needs him now. Slick glistens as it trails down her thighs, the sheets below soaked with it and every hitch of her breath drives him wild with hunger. Everything smells of it, the inescapable musk of her sex drowning his last rational thought.

His Omega needs him.

“Killian.”

Pushing into her is better than anything he could have ever prepared for. Years ago, the first time she’d invited him to bed, he’d popped his knot embarrassingly fast from just the sheath of her alone. The feeling tight and foreign. He’d never had an Omega before. He hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of her heat. It hit him like a train. It still does. They’d laughed it off, her face pressed into his neck, and he’d vowed to make up for it in other ways, ensuring she was thoroughly satisfied by the time the swelling in his cock had dispersed half an hour later.

He’s had more than enough practice now, though. She’s hot and wet and still so impossibly tight. Slick gathers on the tip of his length as he slides true. All of him. Emma doesn’t even flinch, taking it all in her stride and demanding more with small cants of her hips, breathy moans falling from her lips with every inch. Killian was fucked from the get-go. With shallow pants, she writhes against him, legs winding their way around his hips again, only wanting him to move deeper, faster, harder as he tortures her with devilishly slow thrusts. The drag of his thick cock against her insides draws out the most sinful sounds and Killian can’t help but slow to take it all in, hands gripping her hips.

“You’re desperate for me, aren’t you?” Arousal coats his voice, deep and gravelly. An entirely different man to who he was five minutes ago. Not a man at all. An Alpha. Killian the Mechanic didn’t have the balls to so brazenly ask that question. Killian the Alpha definitely did. Emma’s resulting moan at his speech makes him throb, his cock dragging deliciously against that spot inside her that makes her only cry out for more. It’s intoxicating to watch himself disappear completely inside her sopping heat, folds moving to accommodate his size. “You fucked yourself over and over wishing it was me. Wishing I was here to fill your greedy wet cunt. Am I right?”

She can’t even form words; head thrown back, hair splayed out in a crown of gold against soft white sheets, eyes fluttering shut and mouth falling open as she allows herself to sink into bliss. Like this, a slave to her desire, she’s otherworldly. This is his power.

He takes her chin in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes while his hips snap with a little more force. Not as rough as she really wants it but rich with the promise of more. Always more. “Answer me, Omega.”

“Y-yes,” Hearing the words break through a deep moan only fuels him further. Knowing he’s responsible for every ounce of her pleasure proving to be a greater turn-on than anything else ever could be, flames of his impending orgasm teasing at his base. He might be the Alpha but she holds all the power here. “But it wasn’t enough.” She sighs, teeth catching her bottom lip as his cock drags almost fully out, taking a second to nudge her clit and the slick gathered there before plunging straight back in, deeper, drawing a sob from her in return. “Fuck, Killian! It’s never enough.”

“And why’s that, love?” His voice is calmer than he feels. He leans down to press a kiss between her breasts, letting his tongue drag in the valley between them. Salt blooms on his tongue along with the unmistakable tang of her. All five of his senses are under siege by the very presence of the Omega – his Omega – in his arms; her sharp taste, her rich scent, her needy touch, her fucked voice and the sight of her completely at his mercy all adding to the sensory overload that has his own release building low in his gut. It tears at whatever shred of control he has left, leaving only raw impulse behind.

“Because it’s not you, Alpha.”

With that, Killian breaks.

He pulls out completely, cool air hitting his length, barely noticing Emma’s cry of protest. She clenches around the open air, slick leaking from the space left in his wake. Seeing her like this, open and wanting, has electricity fizzing beneath his skin. The primal urge to take her over and over clawing deep in his belly. Her thighs tremble, still clinging to his hips despite the distance he tries to put between them, resisting his attempts to untangle her crossed ankles from behind his back. He wants to slide in, take her until she’s filled with nothing but him, and ride it out that way until they’re both spent and softening in the glow. He wants to tell her he loves her while they’re tied together. He wants to sink his teeth into the juncture of her neck and be hers until his last breath. He wants to be her Alpha. Wholly. But he can’t.

He can fuck her but he can’t love her and, in some ways, that’s worse.

She drags her nails through the carpet of hair at his chest, noticing his hesitation and striving to bring him back from the edge of madness. Back to her. With one touch, she’s expressing more than she ever could with words, not that she could even form words at this point, her breath coming in gasps. Totally ravished. It says Are you okay? and I’m here and, atop slick soiled sheets and freely given moans, Mine.

It does nothing to ground him now. Nothing can.

One word pulses through Killian’s mind. Instinctual. Carnal. Feral. Slamming her ankles to the bed and flipping her onto her stomach with abundant force, it rips from him with no hesitation.

“Present.”

In another life, maybe it’d be different. Maybe he’d be a gentle lover, revelling in every inch of her skin, tasting wherever his tongue could reach. Maybe he’d be able to worship her in the way he wants, with prayers dying on his lips, finding god in her thighs and the devil in her curses.

In another life, he would not have to hide the fact that Emma holds his heart in her palm, deft fingers holding the ability to destroy him entirely. But that’s what he does. He hides, always, behind filthy words and hungry kisses, giving her everything she wants in the form of his thick cock coaxing her to completion again and again. She loves it, informing him in screams when pleasure hits. He loves her, irrevocably. It’s too easy to forget that they’re nothing more than friends when she’s like this.

Pushing to her hands and knees, Emma slides her hips up from the bed with a hiss of yes alpha. Slick, viscous and rich, leaks further down her legs. She flips her hair over one shoulder as she looks to him, revealing the curve of her spine from her arse to her nape and the scars of their previous encounters. They litter the pale expanse of her back, evidence of where he’d clawed too hard at her flesh and drawn blood. Regret tinges the memories a little, but not enough to stop him. Killian lets his eyes drag over her, ready and willing and calling out for him. Half lidded eyes, lust glazed and begging, find his as his gaze reaches her face. She’s beautiful, ethereal in a way he can’t quite describe with words, and like this, submissive and yet still fully in control, he falls just a little bit more.

“Please, just fuck me.”

Did he ever stand a chance?

He sheathes himself in seconds with no resistance, a snarl pulled from his throat by the overbearing heat of her dripping cunt. It’s almost too much and his fingers grip at her hips; the stark slap of skin on skin, broken moans, and laboured creak of the bed an overwhelming cacophony of sound that stokes the flame in his belly. The telltale signs of his release tug at his periphery but he staves it off. What kind of Alpha would he be if he didn’t ensure his Omega was satisfied first?

No. Not his.

Bypassing the thought completely, he slides a hand from her hip to her core, gliding over the engorged nub he finds there. One pinch. That’s all it takes for Emma to collapse face-first into the bed with a scream caught by her pillows, arse still proudly presented because she’s nothing if not obedient. Her orgasm hasn’t claimed her just yet, but it’s close; insides gripping him impossibly tighter.

“You're naughty, Omega, presenting like this, arse up and suffocating me with the scent of you,” Killian tries his best to enunciate, channelling every modicum of control he has left into keeping his voice deep and authoritative. The Alpha. Her Alpha. It calls to her basest nature, making her writhe with want. It must work. Along with the caresses of his fingers against where they’re joined, it has her insides fluttering. Any noises she makes are caught in the sheets below and he’s glad for that. Anything more would be a death sentence. “But you know how your Alpha likes to fuck you, don't you?"

No. Not hers.

Emma turns her head to the side, sweeping blonde waves shifting just enough that he can see her face as he fucks her with renewed vigour. The broken please cuts like ice down his spine, before it breaks off in a whine. It’s too much for her, being filled and stroked and brought to the edge. And yet, she wouldn’t have it any other way; always urging him on when Killian ever dared to fuck her slowly. She delights in the aches and bruises he leaves behind.

He could fuck her for hours like this, pounding into her with reckless abandon and not a care in the world but, perhaps selfishly, he wants more. He wants and wants and wants. He wants an Omega to call his own, to fill up and care for, he wants to nest together through her heat and shower her in gifts and make her breakfast every day. Instead of some faceless Omega in the fleeting moments he lets himself think this way, it’s her. It’s always her.

He snaps hips in time with Emma’s hurried heartbeat. Staccato thrusts hitting her just right as his fingers match the pace.

“Alpha!” She sobs with her eyes clenched shut, balled fists clutched in sheets. He can feel her teetering on the edge. The precipice of her orgasm stirs his own and, when she screams at the fervent attention to her clit, her whole body shudders. He’s close, so close, fucking her through her climax as she convulses around him. The scent of her release permeates his skin and fogs his mind in a way that nothing else can. It’s heady and seductive and her.

“Emma.”

His knot comes, to no surprise, as quickly as she did. Swelling out from the base of his cock and dragging a moan from her spent form at the familiar stretch of it. His thrusts slow, movement stilted by the knot that secures him, emptying himself within her centre without a second thought. She hums as he fills her with warmth, eyes fluttering open just a little. Her smile is dangerous and his breath catches in his throat. Generally speaking, she’s fucked; hair even more of a mess than when he arrived, lips bruised from kisses and bites, sweat beading at her temples and in the dip of her collarbones. She’s fucked and when she looks at him like that, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth, he can’t help but groan as his cock stirs. How does she even have this effect on him? Even now, with his knot still solid inside her. With laboured breaths, he gently manoeuvers them onto their sides so they’re curled together on the bed. His jeans, still shoved just below his hips, making it slightly more difficult than it should be.

Emma relaxes against him for a while, resting against his arm tucked up under her head with that same secret smile. Only the sound of their own breathing breaking the silence between them. She’d be sated for a couple of hours after that, residual energy from her orgasm would see her through until the early evening. With a little help from his friend, double shot espresso, he’d be ready to go another round by then. If she asks him to stay, that is. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t. He doesn’t force it. She can handle herself. It’s one of the things he likes so much about her.

Time passes agonisingly slowly and, as much as Killian could stay here forever with Emma Swan pulled close against him, he’s lost feeling in one of his arms and both of his legs.

“My Alpha?” The smirk is audible in her tone. Killian freezes, his whole body tensing beneath the weight of her words. She snuggles back against him, dragging his other arm over her waist, entwining their fingers together.

“What?” He can feel her chuckle against him and it jostles his softening cock, knot still full but well on its way to receding.

“You know how your Alpha likes to fuck you.” She grunts in a terrible impersonation of his dirty talk. Heat spreads from his chest to his face, a blanket of shame at his own outbursts. Now sated, his primarily Alpha urges were all in check, leaving Killian alone to deal with the consequences. Leaving Killian to explain why, in not as many words, he’d told his best friend that he was hers.

“Got caught up in the heat of the moment, is all.” He feebly tries to brush it off, but she turns in his arms to look him in the eyes. With hair splayed out in a halo of gold, there’s no fear or anger or shame on her face. Only the same smile. Any other protests turn to ash on his tongue. He wants to tell her the truth but he couldn’t bear the rejection. Having part of something was better than having none of it at all. Right? “You know how it is.”

“Maybe.” She pouts.

They lie together in silence for a little while longer, her fingertips tracing idle patterns on his wrist. He doesn’t know how much time goes by but he’s holding his breath for most of it. Cautious. He doesn’t want to fuck this up. If this is the only way he can have Emma, in friendship and in heat relief, he will take it. His knot is almost fully receded when she next speaks, turning and pressing a kiss to the column of his throat as he fully slips from her, soft and wet.

“Maybe next time my Alpha can let me ride him senseless?” She purrs, fingers tangling in the hair coating his chest. Killian doesn’t know how he has any strength left in him but, somehow, with Emma’s lips at his throat and her voice in his head, he does. Rolling her onto her back just as they were joined earlier, he hovers above her. She’s still smiling and it’s beautiful, one eyebrow raised as if to challenge him on it.

“Yours?” He almost chokes on the word, knowing that this step would be one they will never return from. She nods, shuffling so she can lean up to kiss him softly. It’s barely a press of lips, Killian too busy processing her words to be able to respond. “Really? Not just...?”

“I’m not ready to be marked yet, Killian, but It’d be nice to keep you around for more than… well… this. What do you say?” His forehead falls against hers, noses pressed together in a sweetness Killian never thought he’d be able to witness. She cups his cheek with her palm and he meets her halfway for another kiss, firmer but no less sweet. They come together, over and over again, taking their pleasure all over her apartment until he’s not sure where Emma ends and he begins. He would never have it any other way.

Killian doesn’t make it home that night.

He doesn’t make it home all week, actually. Rob and Will do not burn down the workshop but they also don’t finish the refurb work on Graham’s Mini and the suspicious head-shaped dent on the bonnet had yet to be buffed out.

Liam is going to kill him.

#cs ff #cs fic #cs smut #captain swan fic #captain swan #ouat fic #Ficminds #WHAT DO I EVEN TAG THIS AS I NO LONGER HAVE A FUNCTIONING BRAIN #let me know what u think tho!#em's foray into abo

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