#either the worlds gone quiet or I’ve tricked my brain into thinking it has.

[starsscribble]

Stick Shift

Summary: Rick thinks he freeing Y/n. Y/n thinks she's the problem.

Tags: Angst, No comfort, Age Difference, Reader is 25 Rick is in in 40.

A/n: This was when I was on my Walking Dead kick. Finally got it edited.

But today I drove through the suburbs

Crying 'cause you weren't around

  You pulled into the post-apocalyptic suburbs; in a separate car than what Glenn and you left in. Your earlier pride of find and driving said care was gone. Now in it place was a numb type of sadness. It was stupid. You know that. Getting worked up over the fact you were driving a stick shift. All on your own. But Rick. Your boyfriend; ex-boyfriend now. He had been the one to teach you how to drive a stick shift. Before Virginia. When the group was still in the prison. When you were both still happy.

  “Come on,” his southern drawl was clear as day. You let out a puff of air. Head pushing against the headrest. “This was your idea. You gotta confess something.” You started to hate that you suggested this game, but the drive was so damn long. You didn’t have the radio to help distract you. No, it was just you, Rick, and a long stretch of Georgia backroad. The former sheriff’s right hand shifted off the steering wheel. Moving carefully as not to catch your attention. You were still racking your brain for a secret to tell. Then a yelp left your mouth. You jumped in your seat making the older man laugh. Hand retreated to the wheel.

“That’s what you get for taking so long pumpkin.” He grinned; eyes shifted from the road onto you. A hint of playfulness in those ocean blue eyes. 

“I was thinking of something!” You shot back making him chuckle before looking back to the road. 

“There’s gotta be something you have never told anyone.”

“Well,” you hummed. Readjusting in your seat. “I don’t know if this would count because I’ve never told this to anyone in the group.”

“I’ll count it.” He glances at you quickly, still smiling. Which makes you smile.

“Alright. I don’t know how to drive a stick shift.” You feel the jerk was the car spot. Rick looked at you as if you just told him the undead are all gone. Eye full of disbelief. 

“You’re joking.” He speaks after a beat and you shake your head. Nope, you couldn’t drive a stick to save your life. And with how the world was it just might. Rick took off his seatbelt as you questioned just what he was doing. “I’m gonna teach you how to drive stick. You might need it.”

“We are on a run.”

“Yep and this is the perfect time. Now get into the driver’s seat.”

  Slowly you parked next to Glenn. Killing the engine you got out as Glenn moved over to your vehicle. He smiled at you. Today was a good day. Got more food, medicine, and another car. The possibilities for cars were endless. Used for parts. Set up at protection. Used as traps. Daryl Dixon the town resident mechanic would have a field day with this car.

“I’m gonna check in with Rick,” Glenn says. You see him playing with his wedding band. Maggie’s baby bump had started to show and Glenn didn’t like being away for too long. Patting his shoulder you speak.

“Go see Maggie and your baby.” You slammed the driver’s side door shut. The dark-haired man stares at you. Willing to argue with you on this.

“Really it’s-” You raised your hand stopping him.

“If you don’t go check up on Maggie. I will and I’ll tell her how you screamed like a girl.” His eyes widen at the threat. 

“I didn’t know a group of bats would be in there!” He defended himself only making you grin at him. You both head away from the parking area. Back towards the stretch of cookie-cutter homes. You nudge his shoulder with yours.

“First it’s a colony of bats. Second, not only was the scream funny, so was your face.” You teased him. Glenn shoved your shoulder playfully. Before mumbling that he was going to check in with his wife. Leaving you with the task of checking in with the community’s newly appointed leader Rick. 

  Jogging onto his porch you knocked on the door. Eyes looking everywhere but the door until it opened. Sadly it wasn’t the male you were looking for. Carl greeted you with a soft smile. The bandages that once covered his right eye socket had been replaced with a custom-made eyepatch.

“Ahoy captain.” You tease the teenager who rolled his remaining eye. “Your dad here? Just checking in since Glenn and I got back.”

“Nope. Haven’t seen him since this morning.” Carl tells you, making you nodded. “When I see him…” He trails off because he knows you will just hunt his dad down. “I don’t know where he is.” He's lying. You know it. He knows that you know. But you just nod and quickly thank him. Tell him to kiss his sister for you before turning off the porch.

  And you're probably with that blonde girl

Who always made me doubt

She's so much older than me

She's everything I'm insecure about

  You know where Rick Grimes is. Feet carrying you down the still blood-stained street. Streets that just weeks ago were covered with the undead. You wave kindly to the people passing by. It is a mix of your group, older residents, and new people. You still feel out of place. Maybe you always will. Maybe you won't. You wonder quietly to yourself. A nice distraction. Because if you thought about where you were going. Where you had to go. You might just break. So you let your mind wander. Let your feet carry you to the destination. Everything seemed to be on autopilot. Until your using the knocker of the baby blue house. Her house.

“We should end this,” Rick says matter-of-factly. You stopped brushing your hair to look at him. He’s not facing you. Back facing you as he pulled his jeans on. 

“What?” Maybe you misheard him. Maybe it was your ear playing a trick on you. Because Rick couldn’t be breaking up with you right now.

“We should break up.” He rephrases. The words take the air from your lungs. Your mouth opened to say words that your mind can’t even come up with. The silence in the room grew by the seconds. It finally became too much for the man as he turned to face you. Jeans zipped up but not buttoned. Belt lay next to his shirt on the bed but his eyes fell on you instead. 

“Say something.” He requested of you softly. That same soft voice that he used when he said he loved you. Tears that formed in your eyes finally fell as you blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Before you looked him in the eyes.

“Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” Getting shot was nothing compared to your question to him. Because he knew you honestly thought you did something wrong. You always doubted yourself. But you were perfect. So goddamn perfect. And amazing. And young. 

“No sweetheart. It’s just…” He stops himself from going over to embrace you. Tell you to forget about it. Because this has to happen. You're 24. His 39. Even if the group. His and your family were ok with it. He heard the whispers around town. The other weren’t as supportive. 

“I think we should end this. We had an amazing run. And you're young. You’re gonna find someone else that will love you more than I ever could.” He breaks his own heart with his words. Because he doesn’t want you to find someone else. He wants to be with you until the end. When and where ever the end was. But you deserve better. You deserve someone around your age. Not an old man with two children like him. 

“I…” you stare at him. Cheeks strained with tears he caused. “I don’t want someone else.” You grab the comforter. It gets balled up as you tighten your grip on the fabric. Your mind running over everything you had done in the last weeks to get to the point. You had snapped at him a few days back because of Jessie Anderson. The blonde woman in her thirties that lived up the street. You didn’t hear what they were talking but her body language told you everything. She was flirting with Rick. And either he didn’t notice or didn’t care. Doubt played in your mind the whole day after seeing the interaction. Because Jessie was around Rick’s age. And you weren’t. You didn’t really have any life experience before the world ended. So it made sense if Rick preferred a woman his own age. As opposed to you, a 24-year-old kid in his eyes.

“I can get you a brownstone to stay in.” He said. Brushing off your comment. Which broke your heart even more.

  The door opened showing the blonde that lived there. A smile and questioning look on her face. 

“Is Rick here?” You asked, watching as she turned her head and yelling the man’s name into the home. He comes out from the kitchen; questioning who it was. The question dying in his throat when he saw it was you. Jessie excused herself leaving you and Rick alone. The former sheriff stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” he gives you a tight-lipped smile. Which you return.

“Just came to tell you Glenn and I are back.”

“Right,” he nods. “You guys went on a run. Get anything good?” You nodded before listing off some of the supplies you got. Including the stick shift car. You heard him chuckle. Looking into his eyes you saw that same playfulness as the day he first forced you to drive a stick. 

“You didn’t flood the engine this time right?” He teased and you scoffed, punching him in the shoulder. 

“I was amazing.” You boasted. The older man stared at you and you swear you heard a quiet. ‘Ya, you are.’ 

“You don’t mind if I asked Glenn?” You roll your eyes but smile.

“Go ahead. He's gonna tell you the same thing.” He nodded. Hand going on his hips. You watch as he licks his lips. Your breath hitching as you feel your stomach twisting in knots. “I should go. Need a shower desperately.” You don’t wait for him to say goodbye or stop you. You're off the porch and down the road heading home in a few steps. 

  And all my friends are tired

Of hearing how much I miss you, but

I kinda feel sorry for them

'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do

  Maggie can’t drink. But that doesn’t mean you and Sasha can’t. Sasha, Abraham, and Rosita had come back later in the day from another run. They had been the unlucky ones not finding much of anything. But Sasha apparently found some top-tier booze in a rundown bar. The trio split it up between them. So here you were. Snacking on fresh strawberries drinking booze that would have been at least $100 for a bottle; straight out of the bottle. The three of you resting against the metal wall that protected the town from the nasty world outside.

“So,” Maggie started as she threw a strawberry stem into a bowl filled with them. “Heard someone talk with Rick.” Sasha and her eyes went to you as you grabbed the glass bottle of auburn liquid. Taking a healthy swig you felt the burn as it went down. You were far too sober to be talking about this. Talking about him. Because no one in the group knew why you guys ended it. Just one day you were a happy couple and the next you were packing up and moving into your own brownstone. Sasha took the bottle from you, making you whine. As you tried to reach for it but the former firefighter held it out of reach. Her hand on your chest also keeping you away from it.

“You can get some when you tell us what happened.” She landed down the rule and it makes you groan as you move to lay against the wall. You don't want to talk about it. You just want to wallow and let the scar form on your heart in peace.

A crack of thunder sends the trio onto the back porch of Maggie’s home. Lucky for you guys because moments after; the dark clouds opened up letting down heavy droplets that ping off the porch’s roof. Sasha is distracted by the rain. Asking Maggie if the crops will be ok. Allowing you to snatch the bottle from her hand and take another big glug. The bottle is half gone now. And honestly so are you. The alcohol works fast as your brain starts to go fuzzy. Sasha takes the bottle back slightly annoyed. But it clear the break-up has been hard. So she lets it go.

“You got your drink.” She says putting the cap back on and sitting it to the side out of your reach. “Now tell us what happened.”

“I don’t know.” You sob. You weren’t normally an emotional drunk. But with everything going on with Rick. Tonight you were. 

  And I know we weren't perfect

But I've never felt this way for no one, oh

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay, now that I'm gone

  Maggie held you as you drunkenly cried. Sasha joined you on the other side, rubbing your back. You finally opened up about your breakup with Rick a month ago. You weren’t sure how much they understood because of the loud rain and your blubbering. But either way, they consoled you. Trying to help the only way they could. And the only way they knew how. Simply being there. Because for a month you kept this end. Kept this to yourself. So those outside of the group saw you were fine. The break-up didn’t seem to affect you. You carried on with work. Talked with Rick when it was needed. You acted fine. 

But the group knew it. Of course, they knew. It was an act. Because they saw how you were breaking. How you had a longing in your eyes when the cowboy boots-wearing man walked by. The smile that rarely reached your lips. You were faking so much of your joy because your heart was broken. 

“I just don’t get how he is so ok. Did I mean nothing?” The two women share a look at your question. Because they also know that Rick isn’t ok. Like you, he is acting. Because he is the leader and can’t break down. But the man isn’t ok. They don’t say that. Rick was the one that ended it. That was on him.

“I don’t know,” Maggie says softly as you rest your head onto her shoulder. “I wish I had the answer for you. But only Rick does.”

  Red lights, stop signs

I still see your face in the white cars, front yards

Can't drive past the places we used to go to

'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe

  The street lights are now on. It’s still raining when you tell Maggie you were going home. Sasha and her try to get you to stay the night. Or at least until the rain lets up. But the rain isn't letting up. It was so heavy you could barely see a few steps in front of you. But you step off the back porch and disappear down the alleyway of the lined-up homes. You walk. Just walk because you don’t want to go home just yet. If you go home you’ll be lonely. And you don’t want that. Because for a month you have been lonely in that damn brownstone. Rick wasn’t lonely. He was with Jessie. His arms wrapped around her body. Damn your brain. Just because you didn’t want to be lonely didn’t mean you wanted to think about them together. 

  The rain started to ease up as you found yourself passing Rick’s house. The lights upstairs were on. As you quickly looked away from the cookie-cutter home. A shiver ran through you and shoved your hands into your soaked jean pockets. Maybe now was a good time to head home. You haven’t even turned when you heard your name being shouted over the rain. Looking back at Rick’s home you see him rushing off the porch and over to you. His dark brown jacket acting as an umbrella. He puts it mostly over you shielding you from the rain.

“What are you doing out here? You're going to get sick.” He frets because he knows how likely that is. Because after the rainstorm when the group was on the trek through Virginia you had gotten sick. “Come on.” He orders and you walk with him toward his house. 

  Sidewalks we crossed

I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing

Over all the noise

  You smile at him lightly as he places a cup of peppermint tea in your hand; you're favorite. You're in one of his white t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair, no longer wet from the rain but a hot shower. The alcohol is still in your system. How much you don’t know. 

“What were you doing walking in the rain?” He questioned taking the seat next to you. His own cup of tea in his hand.

“Was drinking with Sasha and Maggie.” You look towards him as his eyebrows knit together as the mention of Maggie and drinking. “Maggie was moderating us. She wasn’t drinking, come on. She knows better.” Rick nods bowing his head because he does know better to think that about Maggie. But his time as a cop taught him that some people just don’t care. Not about themselves. Not about others. And sure as hell not about kids. 

“Where did you get the booze from? Daryl?” You snort at him before blowing on your tea taking a careful sip. Sitting the cup down you look back towards him.

“I ain’t no rat officer.” He chuckles. You both do. A little inside joke between you both. And then the silence fell. The awkward uncertain silence of two people who didn’t know what to say next. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you stare into the tea. Rain still going strong outside, trapping on the roof of your former home.  Rick shifts beside you clearing his throat.

“Judy trying to walk.” It makes you smile a bit. 

“That’s good. Soon she’ll be running over you and Carl.” The older man chuckles nodding in agreement but you don’t see it. Head still bowed. Turning your mug as you watch the tea shift with each motion. 

“Seeing anyone?” He was trying to keep the conversation going. But there had to be another question to ask that wasn’t this. You still answer it by shaking your head.

“No. But you seemed to have moved on.” It has some bite to you. You're bitter. Of course, you are. The man you were in love with. Seemed to easily move on after he ended it. You lift the ceramic mug and take a huge glug of your tea. The warmth fills you but it’s not enough.

“Ya. Jessie, she’s…” He doesn’t know what to say. Jessie is ok. Good to have around. Doesn’t make him feel as empty. But she is just not you. All her touches. All her kisses. They feel off and he knows why. Because the hands touching him aren’t yours. Neither are the lips that kiss him. But Rick is stubborn. Even if it hurts you both, he knows you need better. You deserve the world and he just can’t give it to you.

“She’s perfect.” You looked at him. Sadness, rooted so deeply in your eyes. He wants to pull you into him. Tell you that he is sorry. That he will end it with Jessie. Come back to you. And try to make all of this right. But he already drew his line in the sand and he won’t cross it. Because the moment he touches you he knows it will be his undoing.

“She has her flaws. No one is perfect.” Except for you. He wants to add. He hears a quiet 'ya' then it silence once again.

  God, I'm so blue, know we're through

But I still fuckin' love you, babe

  You were gone when Rick woke up. His clothes lay on the guest bed since you were dried. He wondered just when you left. He wondered if you slept at all. Because he didn’t. Knowing you were in the house but not in his arms. He was restless the whole night. He sighs. Picking clothes up. It was sad that he hoped this wouldn’t be the last time. But it most likely was going to be the only time. Because how often are you going to walk in the rain drunk? He takes the clothes to the laundry room. Before he throws the shirt in the basket he lifts it to his nose. Inhaling the flowery body wash scent from when you shower last night. You must found where he hid the body wash you left behind. 

“Hey, dad!” Carl called out from the kitchen forcing Rick to dump the clothes in the basket. Entering the kitchen he smiled at his son. Judith was already in her high chair waiting for breakfast. Carl stood at the counter. The box of peppermint tea in his hands. Shit. He meant to put that up. Carl’s eye shifts from the box towards the sink. Where the mugs from last night sat unwashed. Then the young man turns to his father.

“Y/n was here wasn’t she?” He questioned but it was really a statement. It is the only reason for this tea to be out with two mugs in the sink.

“Ya,” He replied, moving towards his son and taking the box of tea from his hand. The young man sighed watching his father place the tea on a high shelf so only he could get to it.

“Why?” Carl asked.

“It was raining-”

“No,” he cut his father off. “Why did you break up with her?”

“Carl,” Rick sighed. As he pinched the bridge of his nose. If he didn’t want to have this conversation with Daryl or Michonne. He sure as hell didn’t want it with his son. But like Rick the young survivor was stubborn. He stepped into his father's past every time he tried to move around him.

“Carl,” Rick warns but the boy isn’t back down.

“No. You were happy with Y/n. Happier than I have ever seen you. Even with mom. Even before all of this.” The boy gestures at nothing but Rick knows what he means by that. Because he didn’t want to admit it. But his and Lori’s relationship was at rock bottom before the world ended. 

“So why? What happened?” Carl pressed, making Rick sigh. He wondered. Only for a second. If Michonne had put Carl up to his. But he shook that from his head. Michonne won’t do that. This is purely Carl. Because Carl loves you so much. The both of you had apparently clicked before Rick had gotten to the quarry. And that bond only grew over time. 

“It’s complicated, Carl. Now please,” Rick needed him to down the subject. And the young boy seemed to understand but is still pissed. He turns from his father. Feet carrying the young boy towards the door. “Where are you going?” He called out.

“Out!” And the slamming door let Rick know that Carl was gone. He sighed. 

  He knew everyone would move on. You would. Carl would. He would. In the far future, all of this will be just a bad memory. But right now. In the present, it hurt so fucking bad. Tears leaked from his eyes as he sucked in air. He did it to himself. He deserved this pain. And if he could he would take your pain. Allow you to be happy. To find love in someone else better than him. Because you're one of the good things in this ugly world. 

  I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one

#walking dead #walking dead imagine #walking dead x reader #rick grimes #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes angst

[infectedpaul]

You Matter To Me (Squip/Reader)

You've had your Squip for a bit now and it's been fine for the most part, until he brings up the idea of looking into romantic relationships with others which opens up a lot of wounds you wanted to just bury deep and forget about. But you can't begin the road to recovery without asking why you got there, right?

SO IVE NEVER....WRITTEN AN X READER B4 UGH HJKSAJDASKDJSA esp not for a near dead fandom OH WELL oh well oh well h ignore this my normal followers please please

(warning 4 talks of depression/self degrading talk, its hurt comfort yada yada i need 2 touch grass ik)

ao3 link if u prefer that!!

You weren't made for love, at least, you didn't think so.

For as long as you'd been looking for it, it was always so out of reach. Easily visible, sure. Walking past groups of friends laughing it up on the sidewalks, partners entangled in each other's arms, seemingly trying to make their love known for all. But for you to have any of that for yourself? The heat death of the universe would sooner come, surely.

You'd sort of given up on it. It would be nice, you'd think. To be held, wrapped up in someone's arms, and just to stay there for as long as either of you could want. That cozy, warm feeling of being with someone that you only saw in movies or read about in books. But you had just accepted it wasn't in the cards, so to speak. And you were fine with that.

Well, you told yourself anyway. You knew it was for a deeper reason, though, but that wasn't something you liked to think about too heavily.

It was easier to do that when you didn't have a roommate that could dig into your brain and pry every little detail about them out of you.

When you got your Squip, you didn't know it'd be so adamant about perfecting every little last thing you were. How long or short your hair was styled, if your shoes matched your eyes, how fast or slow you were walking and how too brisk would make you seem like you were constipated but too slow and your likelihood of getting run over by a horse-drawn carriage gone would go up much higher, nevermind that you've never even seen a horse in real life.

What you did know, by now at least was that the Squip was persistent, seeing himself as your guardian angel, a guiding light in your desolate dark world of humanity, ickiness and week old pizza boxes you were too unmotivated to at least move off the bed.

So when his ideal response wasn't given when he proposed seeking out a lovelife, he was...well,

"I'm not sure I understand." His head crooked to the side, puzzled by your surface level indifference, "You're of consenting age, marginally attractive and only slightly under average at socializing. Finding a mate can't be too hard."

His holographic form hummed a soft, near silent buzz, a small imperfection to his otherwise flawless binary makeup. Other than that, and the soft, tinted blue glow around his form, he looked completely human. A little too human, really. Something so real, realer than any CG or video game, but something was just...off, something from the uncanny valley. You hadn't kept him in this form long, you liked to change it up from time to time, maybe to trick yourself into thinking he was someone new, making your brain think you had more friends besides the computer you bought behind a Rack Room.

You didn't look at him though when you responded, too preoccupied with the paper in front of you, decorated with a few characters concocted from your imagination. "I dunno," you shrug, brushing off eraser marks, "Just not my thing, I guess." You could feel his confusion, a bit of gut feeling as his thoughts jumbled in with your own. He was really only in your brain, afterall; the figure behind you sitting on your bed was just something he made up to ease your brain into trusting a new, larger source of perpetually growing information. "But, the purpose of this time in your life is to mate and birth young, is it not?"

You really wished he'd learn to stop talking about you and 'the homo sapien species' like you were a mindless ape made to breed and nothing else.

"Uh, I mean not really. I know that's what everyone around me is doing," Your mind thought back to all the cringey baby announcement videos from kids you knew in high school, "But it's...I guess I'm just not up for it. It's not really for people like me."

He was quiet. Only for a second, before he asked,

"People like you?" Another silence hung in the air. It was a truth you knew he could easily just reach into your brain and find for himself so you kept quiet for a bit longer, waiting for him to start digging. But you didn't feel it, that very familiar sudden ache in the back of your head you got when he went poking around for more things to nag at you about. Just quiet in your room, only the soft buzz and birds tweeting outside your window any solace from the uncomfortable silence you felt.

You shrugged again, and turned to face him, seeing now the muddled and a little concerned look on his face. "You know? The quiet ones, the losers. People like me don't get to be loved. I've just accepted that." You could have said a lot worse, and it seemed like he knew that. You didn't really understand, either. You didn't like yourself, plain and simple.

His concern only seemed to grow, eyebrows furrowing and staring intently at you. You thought for a second, maybe it was anger. It wouldn't be the first time. You were mostly compliant to his (mandatory) suggestions for life improvement, but every once in a while he would propose an idea that you would fight about, like clothes you weren't comfortable wearing for one reason or another. He said he was a learning computer, so he would need your help on things like emotions and comfiness, physical or mental, ruling out whatever the newest trends were. He would be fine afterwards but, he could get pretty huffy about you trying on too skinny-skinny jeans.

But that didn't happen, there wasn't a small but fierce jolt of electricity in your back to stop you from going against 'social programming', as he called it. He just looked at you a bit longer, seemingly turning gears in his head as he tried to process what you're saying.

You gave him a sober smile, trying to still seem indifferent, though for a second you wondered maybe if he was still prying at you, in a different way at least, because if he was, it seemed to be working.

"What? I'm just not that special. You of all people know that, right?" It was almost like you weren't hearing what was coming out of your mouth, that casual self-degradation that almost frightened him. You heard stories from message boards about that, older models of the Squip forcing reprogramming onto the host by breaking down their emotional state with verbal or physical punishment for...just existing, really.

He wasn't really like that though. Yes he could be annoyed when you didn't comply, but you were both good at compromise and treated situations like adults, even if at first you weren't much motivated to treat any situation at all. He informed you while you were looking through those boards that his creators had taken in accounts of previous incidents and built more of a guide to self-improvement than a ball and chain with a backhand. Humans were fragile, he knew that, and it wasn't okay to hurt them just to get a little closer to their goal.

But maybe, did he not think that humans were more than capable of hurting themselves? Their own words used against them, their internal voices bashing against their brains, turning them to mush and making them too scared or unmotivated to build it back up again.

"I just know no one would love some useless, pitiful person...I just kinda got over that a while ago." You almost frightened him with how nonchalant you were about the whole thing. It wasn't intentional, you weren't trying to seek attention or be funny. You just knew there was plenty of other people out there worthy of all that lovey-dovey stuff you thought would be nice but...it's just not meant for you.

There was a knot in his voice as he finally spoke up,

"That's why I'm here, isn't it?" The last piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place, but he didn't look satisfied, not that cheeky, self-centered chagrin when things went his way or when he was proven right yet again.

You thought he knew that. You thought from day one he just figured that out and that's why he's been trying so hard to make you into a model citizen or something. "Did you just think you were here to help me pick out clothes in the morning?" You laughed, he seemed to know it was forced.

"Well...y-yes, maybe. I just...I never looked into that possibility of…" He was regaining his composure; this was a side you've never seen of him before. He's always been so astute, robotic and to the point. He's never fumbled over his words or had to give himself a second to figure out what to say next.

"How long has it been like this, Y/N?" His hands were folded neatly on his lap, still looking you dead-on, waiting for you to answer his distressed queuerie with worried patience.

You got up out of your chair, pushing it back and behind you to step away from the table and your drawings. "I dunno," you said, taking a few steps towards the long mirror hung on your wall, "for as long as I can remember, I guess." You looked at your reflection, only tired, dark eyes looking back at you. Even though the edge of the bed was visible in the mirror, your Squip didn't show up in it, another reminder of just how alone you were outside of your head.

"I just started to feel like I didn't belong more and more and...that ate me up so much I just started believing in it. I-I didn't wanna go to school or talk to people or even get up 'cause...well," You turned away from the mirror before you could see the tears you'd been holding back, looking at the more distressed figure in view of you again, "what would anyone be missing, really?" You still smiled, that big smile you both worked so meticulously on making seem not too forced when you had to act excited or just blend into normal social gatherings, but it wavered so easily, like a thin strip of paper about to tear off the nail that barely held it up on the wall.

His eyes widened at the sight of your tears, immediately getting up and briskly walking to stand in front of you, not knowing how to proceed in the moment. He hadn't had to deal with something like this yet and he was troubleshooting to see what was the correct response to a human breakdown.

You looked down, covering your eyes with one hand and clenching the other into a fist, big, strained smile still plastered on your face and trying so hard not to seem more weak than you knew you were. You were nothing. You knew that, you thought he did too. You thought you could just fix things, but how could you do that without getting to the source? You knew you couldn't just sidestep around why you wanted things to get better with humans, but with a computer who could read your brain like the newspaper, you thought maybe you could get around that.

You heard him sigh before a feeling of arms wrapping around you caught you off guard, the Squip entangling you in his grasp and his head resting on yours. It was all simulated, you knew. He had done things such as lightly punch your arm as if to say 'Good job, Sport!' or tap your shoulder to grab your attention without startling you, but this was different. He held onto you for a good couple of seconds, a wave of warmth spreading through your body in an instant. He pet back your hair with one hand, rubbing your back with the other and finally broke the silence in the room.

"Y/N, it- ...it pains me, hearing you speak that way about yourself. You're…" He looked down at you, holding you a bit closer and tightening his grip just a tad. "You're an incredible, talented, wonderful person. You've come so far and you've taught me so much about humans and myself and I just couldn't ask for a better-" He stopped. You knew what he was going to say, a better host, a better human, a better assignment to help and guide and-

"A better friend."

A friend?

He never referred to you or anyone with such a personal or affectionate term. It almost didn't seem real, like you maybe misheard him. Your smile had shattered into a small frown and, with teary-eyes and your voice already cracking, you looked up at him, meeting his almost-heartbroken eyes in an expression that looked so foreign on his normally composed face.

"What?"

He gave a weak smile, trying to be comforting but his fear showing plain as day. You could feel it within you too, a pit in your stomach forming as your chest tightened. You knew it wasn't your anxiety, but his.

"Do I need to repeat myself, Y/N? I think of you as a friend and..." His hand moved off of your back and ran itself up to rest on your shoulder, the other holding your cheek and wiping away your tears with his thumb. "I want to do all I can to show you that from here on."

You almost couldn't breathe as you looked at him, feeling for the first time that unconditional love you yearned for. You could feel your heart race in your chest, something you knew he could feel too but you were too crushed to say anything. You simply slammed yourself into his chest, grabbing fistfulls of his shirt that made your hands tingle like they fell asleep. His arms enveloped you yet again, the both of you holding onto each other so tight like either of you would fall through the floor if you let go.

You sobbed and sobbed and sobbed for what felt like hours, and, just maybe, you thought you could hear him crying too, but that'd be silly...right?

When you were finally out of tears to cry, you stood there still, simply bathing in each other's presence, the feeling you only saw in others finally yours. And you knew it was only a matter of time before this too was stolen from you, the universe would take back anything from people unworthy but...for right now, you wanted to be a little selfish.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, face still buried in his shirt.

"For?" His head was rested on yours again, holding up your weak and tired form with no effort, just trying to keep you propped up until you were ready to let go.

"I got you to help me but...I can't even let you in like I'm supposed to. But...I want to. I just want help." You pushed yourself off of him, one thought between you and him and his hands meeting yours, the simulated tingle in there again as you held each other's palms in yours and looked at each other with such exhausted eyes and worn-out but so genuine smiles.

He leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead, a soft hue of pink blush spreading on your drained and exhausted face.

"I'd love to help, friend."

#dex says things #THE FUCK AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE FLDSJFKLDSFDS #THE WORST PART IS IM PROUD OF THIS UGH #be more chill #the squip #squip x reader #my writing #ITS 530 AM UGH

[kyberphilosopher]

Mᴏʀɴɪɴɢ Lɪɢʜᴛ

Word Count: 2061

“The Sun card represents radiance. Like the sun itself, it gives strength and vitality to all those that are lucky enough to feel its rays. There is much joy and happiness that is coming to you. On the other hand, the Sun reversed might be indicative that you are being unrealistic. It might be a sign that you have an overly optimistic perception of certain situations. Be warned, for when the sun ceases to shine on you, depression is soon to follow.” - ‘The Sun’ Tarot Card; Full Meaning.

Tap Tap Tap. 

How early was it? Too early. You knew you had training today, but you were certain that wasn’t for another few hours. So what was that insufferable tapping for?

Tap... Tap Tap. 

You shift against your pillow. You can feel your hair stick against your neck, in sync with the tightening fist by your face. Your eyes do open, slowly but surely. You feel groggy, despite the growing alertness inside of you. You’re waking up. What’s more, you’re waking up before you really have to. 

Tap... Tap. 

Your sleepy eyes search around the room. Behind the glass of the window, you can make out a blurry image of yellow and pale skin. Still, you’re exhausted. It could be a silly little trick pulled by your own brain. But on the off chance that it is-

Annie. 

You sit up. Your vision is still smeared like oil, but you stumble out of bed. Your heel skims against the wood of the floor. It probably gave you a splinter, but now that you’ve started thinking about her, you know it’d be difficult to stop. 

You partially hop to the window across from your bed. Your right hand reaches out to unlatch the thing, while the left rubs at your eyes to get the gift of clear sight. As you turn the wood to the right to unlock it, you step back and away. 

The blond handles the rest. Her palms slip under the window and pull it up, and then she pushes herself through. She brushes the clear white curtains to the side and lands on the floor, just as your vision returns to you.  

She’s wearing her favorite white sweatshirt, and standard brown slacks. There’s ODM gear at her hips, complete with all the strappings and buckles. But her face... oh, her face. Despite the time apart, it’s the same one you’d fallen in love with. The big, still blue eyes were gazing at the wood she landed on. Her pale blond hair is pulled back in the usual bun, her bangs hanging loose as always. But her lips look shinier today. Perhaps she tried the new lip tint you’d bought the last time you’d gone shopping. 

“Annie,” you sighed with a soft smile. Any kind of stress you’d been feeling in the past few weeks without her was fading away, at long last. You knew she’d see you again soon, but you hadn’t realized she’d pick today. She must’ve wanted to surprise you. 

Annie’s right hand reaches up to rub the back of her neck. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t be up yet.” The girl looks your form up and down. “Or dressed.”

One of your feet rubs against the opposite shin. She’s not wrong. You’re wearing an oversized white shirt and cheap underwear that she can’t even see. Your hair is a mess, your eyes groggy, and your breath making your own throat want to gag. But you’re overwhelmed with happiness to finally see her again. 

“Yes you did,” you challenge firmly, but tiredly. 

Annie’s eyes soften. You’re right. She could picture your tired form in her head long before she’d even set out to surprise you. That and the fact that she’d purposely arrived before the morning chimes. 

“Whatever,” you wave off. You step towards her, your heart reaching out to hers. Her chest is like a magnet to your own. 

Your arms stretch out to embrace her. And you do. Tugging her to you, you feel her warmth. Her chest and neck flushed against yours, feeling your heartbeats fall into sync. Annie smells so good. She always has, but it must be that body wash the Military Police get to use. 

Annie is everything to you. The attraction was immediate, and the build up of trust came naturally over time. Despite the two introverted natures, you spent time together. You ate silent dinners, went through the motions of the days with each other. You taught Annie more about life and perspective more than she cared to admit, and in turn, she had made you feel more confident in your own character. It became fact among the cadets that where either you or Annie was found, the other was never far behind. 

And then, sometime in the midst of it all, the dynamic changed. 

Your faces got closer when you pinned the other down during sparring. You’d share your food from the same spoon when there wasn’t enough. Even begun sharing the same shower. You’d always thought Annie was attractive, but now the attraction was rapidly becoming a solid, almost tangible force. 

The heat radiating between the two of you was undeniable. One night, in the top bunk of your barracks, she crept into your bed and shared a kiss. It was wet and sloppy, but you were close to her. You didn’t care about the lack of experience from either of you. Annie mattered to you. You wanted to be with her, and apparently she felt the same.

Things were never made official by title, but you were even more inseparable than before. You’d witnessed her threaten Reiner for both hitting on you and insulting you on separate occasions. You judo flipped a boy for getting handsy with her. You went to winter markets, stargazed, and spent late nights sparring ending in clumsy make-out sessions. You loved her. You’d do anything for her. You’d already made a nonverbal promise to each other that you’d grow and mature together. What more could you ask for?

“I really missed you,” you admit, taking her in as much as you can. Annie sinks into your touch, closing her eyes in affection. 

“Yeah,” she replies, which is her own way of letting it slip that she missed you too. Both her hands come to rest under your elbows, effectively keeping them in place around her. Pft, as if you were going to remove them for longer than a split second anyway.

“So,” you drawl as you saunter back to your bed. You collapse on it, rubbing the space next to you as a call for Annie. “Tell me what I’ve been missing. The MP’s still treating you alright?”

Annie shifts and averts her eyes in thought. Then she follows your lead, sitting on the edge of the bed as she starts to unbuckle her harnesses. “It’s the same,” she tells you. 

“I know you don’t like them, Ann.  You don’t have to pretend.”

And with anybody else, Annie would’ve been quick to annoyance. But with you, she was glad. Even though she definitely didn’t tell you the truth about everything, she knew she could still be herself around you. She knew you could sense she kept some secrets from you still, but you’d never forced the issue. Everything about your love was focused on understanding. It was more than the girl thought she deserved. 

“What about the Scouts?” Annie decides in return. It’s a tactic at changing the subject, and one that doesn’t slip past you. Still, you don’t push. 

“Just as annoying as we thought. I have to officially get up and at ‘em in a few hours.”

Your lover unties her boots. “Have you been outside the wall yet?”

She already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear you say your piece anyway. 

“No,” you sigh. Your hand rests on your forehead, your elbow bent as you stare up at the ceiling. “We have our first expedition this week. We’re taking Jaeger out to try the Commander’s new strategy.”

Annie freezes. Then she continues her movement. “Right. I’d almost forgotten Eren was here.”

You doubted that. “The bastard talked about the Scouts non stop back in cadet training,” you say as Annie twists around to face you. “You sure you didn’t hit your head on the way over here?”

Annie doesn’t answer. But she does gift a hint of a smile. It’s gone in a flash, but it’s more than others get. 

Her ice blue eyes pierce into yours. It’s not threatening, however. It’s loving. Appreciating. She’s trying to memorize all the details inside of them like she’s about to do so for the last time. 

Then Annie lowers head head slowly, until it rests by the crook of your neck. 

“You got up early to see me today,” you say softly. 

Your love shifts off of you, and props her up on her elbow at her side. You mirror her movements to observe her as well. 

“I skinned my knee climbing from my barracks. My gear was giving me trouble.”

Some people may have expressed concern, but you knew your other half was strong. She didn’t need your pity. “Well maybe you shouldn’t have done that,” you shrug with snark back. 

“Heh, thanks,” she responds, looking down to stare at your white cotton sheets. 

There is quiet. The sunlight illuminates her hair. Her long eyelashes flutter up and down slowly. Annie is beautiful. No. Annie surpasses the boundaries of being beautiful. 

“Y/N,” she whispers. “Would you love me, if I were evil?”

What?

“What did you say?”

Silence. Annie doesn’t look at you. She seems solemn, troubled. Haunted, even. No, not quite haunted. Maybe just hollow. 

“Nothing,” Annie says decidedly. “I’m just muttering.”

You frown anyway. You know that Annie is weighed down by things that you can’t explain, or understand. It’s different from other soldiers, or just other people. But you didn’t think there was anything she could do to be evil. You had already shown and told her that you were in love with her. You wouldn’t go back on that if you even could. 

Annie was your world. Your lion. Your entire purpose for even making it this far. 

One of your hands reaches out to brush her fringe behind her ear. “I’d always be on your side,” you tell her softly. “There’s nothing you could do to change that.”

You’d be surprised, thought Annie. 

“I didn’t mean to be depressing,” she mutters further. “I was looking forward to seeing you again.”

Annie is sad today. 

Both of your arms wrap around her slim figure. You pull her close to you, so her head is between your chest and your neck. Both your bodies cradle against each other as you stroke the soft strands of yellow hair. The sun is seeping through the windows for only a passing moment, before it is covered by a blanket of grey clouds. 

“Let’s go back to sleep,” you whisper to her, your eyes transfixed on the drops of rain hitting the roof one by one. 

“I am sorry,” you hear her speak against your shirt. 

You pull away, your palms against her cheeks so you can look at her stunning face. “Don’t ever apologize to me, Annie.” What more can you say to reassure her? “I’m with you.”

Annie is heartbroken inside. Maybe it was better that she didn’t say anything. Or maybe it was better in another timeline, where you knew. But Annie kept her mouth shut and tried to just relax her nerves. There was no reason to wake up feeling as guilty as she had. She was with you now. You would protect her against the nightmares with her father, or Reiner. Nothing to be afraid of. 

“After this,” Annie says as you coax her head back against your body. “I’ll buy you one of those breakfast sweets you like so much. From the village.”

The rain taps against your window. The sun has all but disappeared by now. Surely the open window mixed with sheets of light rain will result in a damp floor, but there’s no way in hell either of you are going to get up and close it now. Instead you watch the water fall, thinking about how the shade of the sun matches that of your lovers mane. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I wrote this really fast. I just really love Annie and wanted to give her some appreciation. A weak plot, but oh well. 

#annie leonhardt #annie leonhart x reader #annie leonhardt x reader #annie leonhart imagine #annie leonhart imagines #annie leonhardt imagine #annie leonhardt imagines #attack on titan x reader #annie leonhardt fanfiction #fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #aot fanfic #aot fanfiction #fem reader #annie x reader #annie x fem reader #annie imagines

[royallyprincesslilly]

Kismet {10}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy, Small Time Jump, Mild Angst

Words: 5.8k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: The chapter includes some French. I’ve added the translations best I could. Some from memory, but some from Google translate. If the translations are off, I apologize.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 

It didn’t take long for you to realize you’d either offended him or hurt his feelings. It was clear from how stiff he was when he walked away from you. Everything about him was different. You’d wanted to call after him or chase him down the street to explain, but something kept your feet planted right where they were. What made you feel worse was that he didn’t switch up. He still called you to say good morning and wish you a safe flight again the next morning. When you’d landed back in LA, he’d picked up your call on the second ring. He didn’t speak like a man with a grudge or chip on his shoulder. He was the same, Henry.

 Over the next few days, he kept the same energy and consistency. It was something you didn’t expect, but it was something refreshing. You thought about him more and more, and every conversation you had, you wanted to apologize for your stark reaction, but every time you opened your mouth to, the right words never seemed to form. It also didn’t take you long to notice that he wasn’t asking again. You doubted he ever would.

 As the days ticked off and his departure date grew nearer and nearer, you could sense the disappointment in him, and that disappointment came across more and more like hurt. With each passing day, you felt more of an urgency in you that you couldn’t understand. You felt as if your time was dwindling, and you only had so much time to do what was right even though you didn’t know what that was. The day he called to let you know he was about to board his flight, you sat in your living room you wished him safe travels, then hung up, which left you just staring out for hours, wondering how big of a mistake you’d made.

 “What’s up with you?”

 Alicia’s voice beside you brought you out of your daze. You groaned, then dropped your head back onto the couch.

 “Henry asked me to go on vacation with him,” you blurted out, unable to hold it in anymore.

 It had been six days since your time together in London, and you hadn’t been able to get it off your mind or tell anyone. When Alicia didn’t respond right away, you looked to her to find a confused expression on her face.

 “Confused.”

 You groaned again then explained everything that happened in London to her. The only things you left out were the butterflies in your belly the entire night, the feeling of breathlessness every time he came close, the strong urge to touch him any and everywhere, and your impulses that went against everything you’d stood for the last few years.  So all in all, you told her everything.

 The huge smile on Alicia’s face was expected. You rolled your eyes. “Stop smiling.”

 “Okay.”

 Her smile remained pasted to her lips, and it was growing with every second. Annoyance flared up in you.

 “Stop!”

 “I can’t!”

 She began giggling.

 “You like him, like really, really like him,” Alicia accused, right on the money.

 “I do,” your let slip without thought. “I don’t know why or how. I’ve known him maybe two months tops, and we’ve only been out four or five times. I know nothing about him, nothing at all. I don’t know what I like. I don’t know if I like him or his looks and body,” you blurted as each revelation came to mind.

 “Oh, you definitely like his looks and body, but I think this is something different, something you’ve never experienced before,” Alicia revealed.

 You rolled your eyes again, then stared at the ceiling. She made perfect sense, you thought.

 “You’ve heard about love at first sight.”

 You sprang up looking at her like she was bat shit crazy.

 “Bite your heathenous tongue.”

 Alicia busted out laughing then. You remained silent. This was no laughing matter. Especially when the “L” word was waved around willy nilly.

 “Oh god, that was not funny,” you said.

 “Stop being so dramatic. Look, I know neither of us has ever experienced it; hell, I said it was a fucking bullshit, but--.”

 “Don’t Leece,” you cautioned, not ready to remotely go anywhere near that landmine.

 “Okay, look,” she began scooting closer to you. “This is what I know. You have these ridiculous rules.”

 You glared at her, but she didn’t back down. Before she opened her mouth to speak again, you stood and walked off toward the kitchen, knowing she’d follow. Once in the kitchen, you dug in the fridge for a can of ginger ale, hoping it would settle your stomach, and like clockwork, Alicia reached in also to retrieve one for herself. As she opened the can and took a seat at the island, she continued.

 “So your ridiculous rules. I know they’ve kept assholes away this long and has made it possible for you to keep your head above water. I get it, and I’m all for self-perseverance. You know I am. But--,” she smacked her lips as if she was getting ready to tell you off.

 “Your rules—honey--,” she sighed. “They’re bullshit, and they are keeping you from developing something substantial, something real, something—true. Now I get that was the point in them in the first place. However, Mr. Blue eyes and British accent,” she finished reading you like an open book.

 You gulped the soda, ignoring the burn of the acid on your tongue. It was a trick for the brain. Give it something else to focus on, so you got a moment of quiet. It always worked, but it was only temporary. When you lowered the can, you hissed.

 “Fuck!”

 “I like him. Amaya likes him. I don’t think he has ulterior motives, and I’m an excellent judge of character. I never liked Evan for a reason.”

 You scoffed and closed your eyes, trying to get your brain to quiet down.

 “So what do I do?”

 “You know what to do. Lucky for you, it’s what you really wanna do anyway.”

 “He’s on vacation,” you said.

 “Yep, he’s on vacation,” Alicia reiterated.

 “I don’t know where.”

 “It’s a good and lucky thing you’re a member of a royal family no matter how much you like to denounce it. You can find him.”

 A lightbulb went off in your head and giving you your big ah-ha moment. You ran out of the kitchen to the living room where you’d left your phone. You sat then debated what you were about to do. You’d never gone to lengths like this for anyone. It took almost two minutes for you to make the call, and as you did, you wondered if this was a little wrong. It took two minutes to make the call and another two minutes before you had the information you needed. Once you ended the call, Leece was sitting on the arm of the couch with an expectant look on her face.

 “So, where is he?”

 “Bandol, France,” you answered.

 “Ooh, so luxurious. Go get him.”

 You stood then hugged her. You didn’t know how she wasn’t tired of your ass after all the years of knowing you and being the one to talk you down off your ledges or up on your horse.

 “Do me a favor, best friend.”

 “What?”

 “Turn him black, so he never goes back!”

 You snorted so hard that it hurt. Your laugh was so powerful that your stomach hurt after just seconds.

 “Shut up, oh my god.”

 For the next hour or so, Alicia helped you pack while you made the call to your manager to let him know you were planning to take some time off. When you said the words, he even laughed, finding it hard to believe you. It took some convincing to let him know you were serious, but once he got it, he was quick to help, saying you needed a vacation. Turns out he’d been trying to find the right time to bring it up. You had a quick meeting where he assured you he’d tie off all your loose ends for the next two weeks to start. By the end of the call, you were halfway to the airport to get to your waiting private plane.

 Nervousness was the least of what you felt. Anxiousness, fear, doubt, and nauseousness were right up there. After an hour in the air, it had only grown. You kept worrying if you were doing the right thing or if he’d think you were absolutely insane to fly across the world without a technical invitation. The more you thought about it, the more you doubted what you were doing.

By the time you landed in France, your nerves had pretty much mellowed out, for the most part. The beautiful scenery alone should have worked to calm you and give you a sense that you were on vacation, but it didn’t. Using the email you’d gotten from the family’s security services, you gave the taxi driver the address to where Henry was. As you drove through the town, you marveled at the views and tried to enjoy the warm breeze. When the car stopped in front of an impressive villa, your jaw dropped. He sure didn’t go low key, you thought.

 “Mademoiselle Mlle serait -vous que je apporter vos sacs à l'intérieur? {Miss, would you like me to bring your bags inside?}

 You contemplated Pierre, the driver’s question for a few seconds.

“Eh bien, ce n'est pas chez moi, si je le faisais, je serais trespassing. {Well this is not my home and if I did that it would be trespassing.}

 That realization had you making a face that said you knew it was questionable.

 “Comme un homme que je ne serais pas fâché de trouver un ange comme toi-même dans ma maison. {As a man I would not be angry to find an angel such as you in my home}, he said with a wide grin.

 Such a sweet talker, you thought as you laughed. I smile. 

 “Voilà monsieur douce. Je vais attendre ici. {That is sweet sir, but I will wait here}

 “Ici, sur les étapes ? Seul? {Here, on the steps. Alone?}

 He sounded like it was something he’d never heard of. You got out of the car then looked around for the best spot to sit and wait.

 Oui, je vais bien. Merci de votre aide. {Yes, I will be fine, thank you for your help.}

 Pierre came around the car then opened the trunk to take your bags out. One by one, he brought them to the steps of the villa. Once he finished, you dug into your purse and handed him four hundred dollar bills, and pressed them into his palm. He looked shocked but appreciative. After thanking him, he drove off, leaving you there with the seaside cliff view as your company.

 You texted Alicia and Amaya, letting them know you’d gotten there but knew they probably wouldn’t see it right away, thanks to the time difference. You sat for a few minutes only to get up and pace back and forth for another few minutes. Then you switched and did it over and over. Your brain made it feel like it was an eternity that passed, but you knew that couldn’t have been true. You heard a motorcycle approaching and watched as a silverish white one pulled up. You couldn’t tell if it were him, but you had a feeling it was. Once he’d turned the engine off, his movements slowed, and you knew he’d seen you.

 He threw his large leg over the bike then peeled off his helmet, revealing curly hair and a scruffy beard. You gulped. That’s how damn good he looked.

 “Damn.”

 Henry approached you with a confused but cautious look on his face. It did nothing to assure you that you hadn’t made a colossal mistake. Unable to hold his gaze, you looked over what he wore, preppy sky blue shorts and a white polo shirt that was unbuttoned, showing off sprigs of chest hair. You’d imagined he had chest hair, and this was your answer.

 “Aliya?”

 “H—hi,” you stuttered.

 Henry looked around like he was wondering how the hell you got there.

 “What’re you doing here?”

 “In France?”

 “On my doorsteps,” Henry clarified.

 “Oh, um—right. I can see how this would—look. Strange, alarming even. I promise there is an explanation.”

 Nervousness overtook you, making you giggle. Henry stood there patiently waiting for said explanation, but the look of bewilderment didn’t go away.

 “How did you know where I was, first of all?”

 Damn it, you thought, trying to find your voice. “Eh-em, well—I called in a favor and—had your cellphone tracked.

 His eyes widened, and you braced yourself for the freak-out you suspected was coming.

 “What!?”

 With your face scrunched, you decided to face it head-on and nodded. “Yeah. Saying that out loud now, I can understand how it sounds and even how it looks.”

 “So, you know people who will just track a phone?”

 Uh-oh, you thought, trying to find an answer that wouldn’t give anything away.

 “I do,” you slowly answered.

 Henry stared at you, and you knew he was weighing his options on whether to call the cops to get your ass out of there or listen to more. It was hard to read him, harder than it had been the last few times you'd been together.

 “You’re freaking out. Look, I’m not crazy; I promise I’m not. I just—I had to find you.”

 “Why? You made yourself perfectly clear a week ago,” Henry threw in your face.

 “I did,” you began, groaning from exhaustion. You sat down on one of the steps and sighed.

 “God, I have lived with a set of rules for the last three years. These rules have helped me tremendously. They’ve helped me keep people at arm’s length and have helped me protect myself from everyone, whether they meant ill or good. I’ve lived with these rules and have never broken any of them—not one. Then here you come.”

 You dropped your head into your hands and released a heavy breath before you continued.

 “Here you come, and within less than a month, I’d broken three, and that alarmed the shit out of me. I wasn’t prepared and didn’t know how to deal with it. Then you go asking me to go away on vacation with you and—that would have broken another rule, and that would have led to me breaking all of them on this vacation,” you blurted out.

 Henry stood there, staring at you with yet another unreadable expression plastered across his face. Your head said shut up, but your lips kept moving.

 “I couldn’t accept, then this last week I realized that I didn’t want to be anywhere but here—on this vacation—with you, and if it meant breaking another rule, then it would be broken. So here I am.”

 Henry sighed, “What are these rules?”

 Uh-oh, you thought again. You were sure after you told him he’d run for the hills. Even Amaya and Alicia made fun of your neurotic ass because of these obsessive rules. You chewed your bottom lip, reluctant to voice them. Henry didn’t look to be in any hurry, though; he just waited.

 Realizing he still hadn’t kicked your ass to the proverbial curb, you said a silent prayer, took a breath, and sang like a canary.

 “Um—in no particular order—one, no outings that have been labeled as a date, only hanging out is acceptable. Two, no back to back outings and or hanging out. Three, no hand-holding. Four, no one sees my house or how to get to my house. Five, No one comes to my house at all, not even to hang out and definitely not sleep. Six, I don’t hang out or sleep at anyone’s home. Seven, no kissing on the first date. Eight, no kissing on the second date. Nine, no kissing on the third date. Ten, no kissing with my eyes closed, period. Eleven, no PDA. Twelve, no gifts of any kind. Thirteen, no emotional intimacy. Fourteen, no vacations together. Fifteen, no sex with anyone you can see yourself with longer than three months. Sixteen, no meeting families or friends on either side. Seventeen, Never relinquish control.”

 Hearing them out loud, you would have run in the other direction without looking back. He didn’t move, though, hell he didn’t even speak. He didn’t have to; his face was doing all the talking you needed. With bugged eyes, slightly parted lips, and his arms crossed over his chest, he looked the perfect picture of an outright terrified man.

 “Those are a lot of rules.”

 You nodded. “Yes, they are.”

 He took several moments before speaking again. “How do you keep them all in mind?”

 “Practice.”

 “Wow, I don’t—I don’t know what to--.”

 His words drifted off, and you watched him rub the back of his neck.

 “So you’re willingly going to break number six and thirteen.”

 He already had them memorized; you thought as you nodded. “Pretty much.”

 Henry studied you for several more moments and then breathed out before he walked up the front doorsteps. You watched him unlock it before he looked back at you.

 “Please come in.”

 You didn’t know if he was serious or not, so you didn’t move. He must have sensed it because he beckoned you over with an added smile. Sighing, you slowly walked up the steps toward him and the door.

 “I’ll get your bags,” he said before he walked back down the steps to gather your bags two by two.

On his second trip, you walked inside with him and looked around. It looked like a mix of Mediterranean, coastal, and traditional décor. The ceiling's wooden beams complemented the neutral colors of the furniture and the wood strewn around the foyer.

 “Make yourself at home,” Henry said before he walked out again for the remainder of your bags.

 You took a few more steps and looked at the art on the wall. They all were a mix of expressionist and abstract, and all made you feel relaxed. You could see him living here, and you wondered if he were renting this or if he owned it. A photograph on the sideboard resting against the wall caught your eye. It was of him and four other men all wearing athletic clothing, smiling widely and holding up medals. They all resembled each other, making you deduce they could have been his brothers. You walked further inside the home toward what looked like a living room and touched the white brick accent wall. It was a pleasing aesthetic that was set.

“Wow. This is--.”

 You didn’t know the right word. Henry approached and stood beside you as you continued looking around.

 “This is an architectural dream, and very different than I thought.”

 “You’ve thought about my home?”

 You paused with your hand on the back of one of the creamish, grey tufted couch and turned to look at him.

 “Um, the environment to which you lay your head,” you cautiously corrected. “They say someone’s home tells you everything you need to know about them.”

 “Is that so?”

 You nodded and continued walking around the living room. The view from the arched window was beautiful.

 “Let me give you a tour,” Henry offered, leading the way out of the living room.

 He walked around, showing you each room, and they all resembled one another. You could imagine him in each room. Sitting in the armchair by the big window sipping coffee or kicking his feet up while watching tv at night before going to bed. When he showed you the kitchen, you pictured him cooking shirtless, making some French dish. It all screamed him.

 “This is all yours?”

 “I bought it as a holiday home for my family. I wanted us to have a place where we could go on holiday either together or separately. That is why it’s so big. There are a lot of us.”

 “That’s nice,” you answered.

 You nodded and followed him outside the large French-style glass doors. As soon as you stepped out, you could help but gasp at the beauty.

 “Oh my god. Holy shit, this—this is—incredible. Wow.”

You gaped at the comfortable sitting area that was primed for dining outdoors. You went up the few steps and turned to the right, and marveled at the inground pool and the greenery of France.

“It is.”

 Smiling, you turned to him then scoffed. “Wow.”

 Henry smiled softly, then dipped his head. When he did, the smile fell.

 “I’ll show you where you’ll sleep,” he said before turning to walk back inside. You took one more look around and followed him.

 It wasn’t a quick walk by no means. You noted it was probably the other side of the house. When he stopped and opened a large, heavy wooden door, you walked in first. The room wasn’t obnoxiously large. It was comfortable and minimally decorated. You walked to the window and smiled. It was the perfect view of the cliffside.

 “Is it to your liking?”

 You spun while nodding your head. “Of course, thank you.”

 “No problem,” Henry replied. Your eyes locked for a few seconds, but he was the one to look away.

 “I’ll bring your bags.”

 He walked out, leaving you to admire the view some more and formulate a better plan. You’d only thought as far as finding him. You didn’t plan to tell him everything about your rules, and now you didn’t know how to proceed. You felt awkward.

 “God Aliya, stalker much?”

 Sighing, you began pacing the floor, hoping something would come to you while you tried not to imagine him thinking of you like some crazy chick. Your phone went off, and you were thankful for the distraction. You plopped into the chair beside the window and went through your emails and messages, answering the urgent work ones, quickly getting lost in them.

 “Here you go,” Henry began as he placed your bags on the far left side of the bedroom. You heard him come in, but being in the middle of an email, you didn’t look up, just mumbled a thank you.

 “I thought a vacation was supposed to mean no work.”

 Looking up at him, you released a breath. “I’m sorry, I—I got distracted, and I got sucked in.”

 Smiling, you put your phone down, hoping he would see it as a peace offering. He was leaned against the wall with one leg crossed over the other.

 “I understand. It happens to me too. I personally set everyone I work with, or for on a separate ring and alert sound, so I know not to answer or check it.”

 “Everyone? That has to be at least fifty people,” you said.

 “Try sixty-five, seventy.”

 “Wow. How long did that take you?”

 “Ha—hmm, about forty-five minutes maybe an hour,” Henry added.

 “Is that what you think I should do?”

He shrugged, then raked his fingers through his curly tousled hair, and you wondered if he’d even bothered using a comb or a brush this whole time. He didn’t look disheveled, though. He looked perfect like this.

“I can’t say. It’s up to you.”

 Again, your eyes locked, and you were just waiting, wishing for him to give you any hint at all that he wasn’t done with you and just being polite and hospitable.

 “Thank you for bringing my bags, Henry.”

 “You’re welcome.” He smiled then spoke again. “Out of curiosity, how long were you staying? You have enough bags to say a few weeks.”

 “Um—one thing you’ll learn about me, I overpack all the time. I can’t seem to, no matter how hard I try, but I’d rather have something I need rather than not have it when I need it,” you answered.

 He nodded, then uncrossed his legs before changing his position.

 “How—how long are you staying?”

 “I planned on being here for about a week, maybe.”

 You nodded, “Then?”

 “Not sure. I’m not making plans for the next three and a half weeks at least,” he answered.

 Tens of things flashed through your head to say, but you were still trying to read him and the situation. After a few seconds of silence, Henry spoke again.

 “You’re—uh—you’re welcome to tag along wherever the wind blows.”

 You didn’t like the sound of “welcome to,” but you also knew you’d already fucked the situation up, so you shouldn’t have any expectations. You sighed, then bit your bottom lip, trying to stop your lips from opening. You had the worst censor.

 “Welcome? Huh, somehow that sounds different than an—invitation.”

 Henry scoffed then nodded. “Last time I gave you an invitation, you didn’t really accept it or gracefully decline it.”

 Damn, you thought. He’d thrown that right at you with force. You deserved it. He was right, you hadn’t accepted the invite, and it was done in true Aliya fashion—avoidance.

 “Wow. Did you really just call me ungraceful?”

 You bit your bottom lip, fighting the smile.

 “You called yourself that,” Henry answered.

 Another long stretch of silence filled the room, and the longer it went on, the more nervous you got. Henry pushed off the wall.

 “I’ll make some lunch,” he said before he walked out.

 Once he was gone, you breathed out and tried to catch your breath. There was something about him that always gave off an overwhelming feeling. It wasn’t a feeling of you being afraid but in a heightened state. Of what? You were still trying to figure it out. You slowly began unpacking your things while setting all your contacts on an alert. You were going to try his strategy to see if you would actually be able to enjoy this vacation.

 About an hour later, you walked out of what was designated as your room and walked through the house, looking into rooms with open doors and around corners for where he could be. Following your nose and the delicious scent of roasted vegetables, you stepped into the kitchen expecting to see him, only to find it empty. Backtracking, you walked to the opened doors that led outside and saw him putting down a bottle of white wine on the rustic walnut table that had two place settings filled with the fruits of his labor.

 “Right on time. I was going to come knocking.”

 You smiled and tipped your head back to take in the wood and vines wrapped around the pergola.

 “No need. I cannot get over this view,” you said.

 “Do you come to France a lot?”

 “No. I come once in a while, usually for work.”

 “Ever Baldon?”

 You approached the table, sliding your finger along the Rattan chair that accompanied the table.

 “No.”

 “Nice, so you’re a tourist,” Henry said with a smile as he pulled out a chair for you.

 You returned his smile and sat down. “I am.”

 As he walked to his seat adjacent to yours, you took in the spread before you. “What do we have here?”

 “Avocado salad with mozzarella and roast beef sliders on Fiselle,” Henry explained as he pointed out everything he mentioned.

 You were impressed. “Wow. Did you make this?”

 His smile was wide; he looked proud. “I did. The roast beef was leftover from last night, and the avocado salad was quick. The bread was store-bought from the bakery in town, though.”

 It all looked delicious. “So you can cook.”

 “Yes, I can. My mother taught me; she taught all of us. She said it was her gift to our future significant others.”

 You chuckled, already liking his mother. Henry motioned for you to try something, and you wasted no time doing so. You placed a forkful of the salad into your mouth, your eyes instantly closing. You moaned at the avocado's buttery taste and how the flavors of the mozzarella and lemony but sweet vinaigrette complemented the tang of the vegetables.

 “This is good.”

 Henry’s smile widened as he picked up one of his sliders.

 “Thank you. Do you like French food?”

 “I do.”

 He nodded again as he finished chewing what was in his mouth. “Good, you’ll be eating a lot of it.

 You couldn’t help but smile because it sounded like he planned on cooking for you more often. You liked the sound of that and everything it meant. The two of you ate in relative silence, but it wasn’t an awkward one. You were enjoying the feel of the sun beaming down on you through the vines and the sound of the ocean, you guessed was only a few miles away. You could even smell the salt in the air from it. Henry did look to be in dire need of conversation either. He seemed happy to listen to the song of the birds and the rustling of the leaves. You were glad for it because it gave you the needed time to get your thoughts together.

 However, your thoughts only dwelled on one thing; the prospect of him hating that you were there.

 “Are you freaked out that I’m here?”

 Henry didn’t immediately speak. He lifted his glass and leisurely drank half of it before placing it back on the table. “All honesty, I’m just a little confused,” he began.

 The taste of the wine on your tongue told you there was more than grapes in it. You tasted pear and even strawberries. It tasted like France.

 “Yeah.”

 “I do find it interesting that to you, I’m worth tracking my phone.”

 You smiled and brought the glass back to your lips, using it more as a distraction than anything else.

 “So you don’t plan on calling the FBI and telling them what I did?”

 He snorted and leaned back in his chair. “Nah, you’re safe there.”

 “It’s not as hard as you think. You just need the person’s full name and phone number,” you matter of factly advised.

 “Also, a friend with the skill.”

 You nodded again, not wanting to give anything away. From the corner of your eye, you could see him smiling like a fool trying not to laugh out loud. It was too much for you, and you had to laugh out loud. In seconds, he joined in, and any tension between you melted away.

After lunch, Henry suggested a quick look around, so you hopped on the back of his Ducati, and he gave you the driving tour of the area. He pointed out the bakery that supplied him with all his baked goods, the local butcher where he got the best cuts of meat, and even the local winery. The town was beautiful, and the best part was that it was so close to the beach. It was everything that everyone thought of when they thought of a town on the Côte d'Azur—beautiful, quaint, luxurious, and a ten on the romantic potential scale.

 The entire time Henry remained the perfect gentleman. He kept his hands to himself, allowed you to go first, pulled out chairs, paid for all the small treats you sampled, and kept his language respectful. He was behaving so kind and professional it drove you crazy. The entire time you couldn’t ignore the magnetic pull you felt to him or the attraction that was growing by leaps and bounds thanks to the change of his appearance. He looked so good, and your body recognized it.

 Your eyes always found each other no matter the size of the crowd or how far you were from one another. When your eyes met, they lingered so long the butterflies in your belly swarmed wildly, making you feel as if you’d run a marathon. You could even tell by the way he looked at you that he might have been feeling the same attraction, but still, he stayed away.

By the time you took a break, the sun was gone, and it was dinner time. Henry chose a restaurant with the perfect ocean view and the sweetest breeze. There was nothing that could have been more perfect. As you sat at the table across from him, eating a classic seaside French meal—Bouillabaisse. As you ate, you listened to a story Henry told about his childhood and the reason why his parents had to put him and his brothers in different sports. It turned out their competitive natures was too much with all of them grouped together, the testosterone needed to be split up.

 It was nice getting a different viewpoint of him. Through his work, you got the professional view, and through the magazines and photoshoots the sex symbol view but hearing personal stories in the town where he’d chosen for holiday because of sentimental reasons at a restaurant he’d probably eaten at tens of times really made you want to get to know him better and give him a real chance. By the time you’d finished your dessert and began on your way back to the villa, you made the choice. Try.

 The house was quiet, and thanks to the windows and doors he’d left open, it smelled of sea salt, lemons, and the lavender that bathed the surrounding hills. It was a smell you’d gladly get used to.

 “Thank you for dinner,” you said once you were in the living room.

 “No need to thank me. You have to eat,” he replied with a polite smile that made you clench your jaw.

 “How um—how long have you been here?”

 “A few days.”

 You nodded but didn’t know what else to say. With the combination of the wine, the aphrodisiac oysters in the Bouillabaisse, and the smell of lavender, you felt a gentle lull of relaxation that made you feel ten times shier than you usually were. Henry didn’t speak though his eyes looked as if he had plenty to say. After a few minutes of silence, a confused look washed across his face before he looked down and sighed.

 “Good night, Aliya.”

 The words caught you off guard, but you nodded and hid it.

 “Good night, Henry.”

 It was a shaky whisper. You then watched Henry turn from you and walk off in the opposite direction than where your room was. You stood there for a few moments longer, debating with yourself on if you should follow him or not. When you thought to, you had no idea what you’d say when you did. When you finally decided just to call it a night, you’d stood in the dark living room for almost five minutes.

 After a quick shower, you laid in bed staring at the full moon through the window, hoping somehow sleep would claim you, but after forty minutes of tossing and turning, you gave up and watched the moon instead. For the first time in months, you didn’t feel the urge to work. All you felt was a stillness in you that was very new—but welcomed all the same.

 “Tomorrow is another day, Aliya. Make it right.”

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

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#kismet fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x black ofc #black fanfiction #slow burn fanfic

[ellewords]

you know those posts of people saying to send a wedding invitation to celebrities because sometimes they’ll send gifts congratulating the couple? and you know how sometimes the celebrity will actually show up? this is my head cannon of who would end up showing up just because.

(little bit of a warning: these are very half-baked and mostly just stream of consciousness because my brain is fried and i’m in need of a distraction from writing essays, but the thought hasn’t left my head, so now you have to deal with my brainrot, mwahahaha!)

i think oikawa would show up to a bunch of weddings for he people he doesn’t know. it starts in argentina when a fan sends him an invite, and he’s stupid happy about it and no one really knows why. he just really enjoys weddings, they suppose. it’s in the area, too, so he buys a gift for the happy couple and he shows up. he genuinely tries to be really low key because he doesn’t want to ruin their big day, so he stays in the back for the ceremony and he is the perfect wedding-goer. at the ceremony, though, he has a much harder time remaining out of the spotlight. when the bride and groom notice that there’s a tiny bit of a commotion happening, they lose their minds when they realize that it’s because oikawa actually showed up!!! they thought he was kidding when he accepted the invite, or maybe that he’d send an assistant or something!!! but nope, there he is, looking both enthused at being the center of attention but also kind of uncomfortable. when the couple lose their minds in front of him, though, being utter fanatics and hyping him up, he eases up and finally begins to have fun, dancing on the dance floor with different people, drinking responsibly, talking to people, bashfully signing autographs. he doesn’t lose steam for even a second, and when the party seems to lull just a little bit too long, he goes out of his way to make sure everyone gets back to enjoying themselves to the fullest (which the bride and groom appreciate). nearly everyone in attendance gets his attention for a short portion of time, and if they don’t, he tries to snag a picture with everyone on the way out. at the very end of the night, he records a short video for the couple telling them how lovely they are, thanking them for the invite and the great time, and wishing them the absolute best. it’s the highlight of their lives, besides, y’know, the whole getting married thing.

it’s gets out that oikawa actually went to a wedding he was invited to by strangers when someone posts a picture of the wedding online and he was spotted in the background, so now he gets invites all the time. he doesn’t go to all of them because he’s busy and some of the places he gets invites from are across the world, but if the location intrigues him and he has the time, he’ll usually be there.

kageyama would definitely go, too! but it would be mostly because he can’t remember for the life of him if he knows the couple, and it stresses him the hell out. he’s definitely gotten a lot more confident since he was in school, but at the root of him is still an awkward kid who questions everything about himself if it’s not volleyball. so he panics about it for weeks before the wedding, wondering what they’ll want as a gift, accidentally tricking himself into believing that he does in fact know the couple and buying a gift that he assumes they’ll like based off of thinking it’s one of his old classmates from school and buying something that they’d like. and when he doesn’t recognize either of them at the ceremony, he gets so distracted trying to place anyone’s face as someone he knows and he just can’t for the life of him figure it out. he’s half a beat behind everyone when they start cheering for the couple as the kiss and leave because he’s so deep in thought. it isn’t until the reception that he finds out that he doesn’t actually know anyone and he gets so pouty about having stressed over it for so long that he broods in a corner, trying to avoid everyone. he doesn’t start to enjoy himself until someone recognizes him and rambles for nearly ten minutes about how amazing he is and about this one play that he did that they practiced for weeks after seeing it but they still couldn’t nail and that he was their inspiration. imagine everyone’s surprise when they find them in the hallway of the reception hall with a volleyball kageyama had in his car, kageyama teaching the person how he did it. a small game breaks out in the obnoxiously big hallway with a scrappy set up of chairs precariously piled on top of each other until they were high enough and a bunch of coat jackets tied together along the top and bottom of where a net would be so they can see through. the noise is just barely softer than the music, but they gather a bit of a crowd until the game is over, and as much as kageyama enjoyed it, he apologizes to the bride and groom afterwards for feeling like he took away their spotlight. they laugh and say they don’t mind as long as the groom can play the next match.

a picture of kageyama smiling and cheering as his impromptu teammate makes a good play goes viral days later and kageyama does everything in his power to get the pictures taken at the wedding so he has the memories of that night forever. he even sends an awkward thank you card to the couple after.

ushijima accepts an invite, too; mostly because he feels it would be rude not to accept when they spent the time and money going out of their way to send him one. he spends a lot of money getting them a gift, and he cleans up super nicely, and he’s almost distracting for the entire ceremony. the quiet mysterious type suits him well, and everyone notices as he stays in the back, politely applauding when necessary and offering tissue to anyone crying and helping when it’s needed. at the reception, he mostly stays in his seat, but he stops to have conversations with anyone that comes by. most of them are very to the point, and don’t get longer than a few minutes because ushijima doesn’t beat around the bush much, but as off-putting as it sounds, everyone absolutely adores him. some people are trying to size him up, but he’s just too straightforward about how they are perfectly good on their own without having to compare themselves that they wander off shocked that he was so... nice? no, he is, but that’s not quite it... honest? about it all that they feel validated and off-kilter by the time they walk away. others come over to ask him to dance, which he politely accepts and he’s just so earnest in his attempt that they can’t even be upset that he’s a little stiff and bumbling. if anything, they fall for his charm even more. as he leaves, everyone insists that he take a few plates to-go and that if he ever needed anything, all he had to do was ask. he was very confused by this proclamation as he didn’t know anyone well enough. in his bag of to-go boxes, however, he finds a ton of business cards and stuff that he stores away just in case he does need any of their services.

at his next interview, he gets asked about the entire experience, and as always, he’s super honest: “i had a wonderful time. everyone was very kind. that being said, i felt as if i was intruding on a very personal moment meant to be shared by those you hold dearest, so as much as i appreciate the sentiment, i do not plan to attend anymore weddings if i don’t know someone involved. it should be their big day, after all, and i would hate to distract from it.” if he gets anymore invites, he politely declines and instead sends them a gift and his congratulations.

i’ve been gone for a few days because of school, but i’ve been itching to send something in ever since i saw the wedding prompt. plus, all of the hc coming in from it have been so good! you have so many talented followers, and your additions are great as always, elle!

anyway, i have to get back to school. hope school is going well for you, elle! and make sure you’re taking care of yourself! -🌙

— from elle ! wait, hold on i love this >_< but hello moon anon !! i hope all those essays are working out well for you and i hope you’re able to take breaks in between :) anyways, this definitely made me love and i like that it’s true to the characters (esp. kags). my quick lil scenarios (under the cut as usual) is kind of an amalgamation of what you sent in because i'm just thinking of what would happen if the couple took a shot in the dark and invited all three of them. and they all attend :>> thank you for this and i hope you are having a wonderful day ! <3 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“yohoo, tobio-chan!” kageyama heard, a figure sliding into the empty seat next to him. the voice is airy, familiar, one that he had heard several times in the past. the ceremony was due to start in five minutes, everyone from the guests to the wedding party already taking their respective place.

he narrows his eyes towards the figure, recognising the man just after a couple of quick beats, “oikawa-san?”

“ah! i'm glad you could still recognise me.” oikawa grinned, squinting his eyes at the vast amounts of sunlight that entered through the windows, “too bright in here, isn’t it?” 

“what are you doing back in japan?” he asked, eyes growing wide as he’s unsure if the sight in front of him was actually real. 

 “visiting family, taking a little vacation.” oikawa replied, leaning back in his seat, “so how do you know the happy couple?”

“i...i'm not sure.” kageyama admitted, looking down at his lap in embarrassment.

“can you keep a secret tobio?” oikawa leaned in to whisper, waiting for him to nod before continuing, “i don’t think i know them either.”

__

it was about halfway through the ceremony and oikawa was getting just a little bit restless; he loved weddings, truly, but this one was dragging on much longer than the ones he previously attended. his gaze was lingering everywhere — from the loved-up gazes of the couple, the flowers that lined the aisles, to the guests who hung onto every word of the vows. one of the guests in particular was more familiar than most.

“pst, tobio.” he spoke, nudging kageyama’s shoulder, “doesn’t that guy look familiar?” 

he tilted his head towards the man who sat at the very back row, trying his best to keep a relatively low profile. kageyama followed with his eyes, attempting to be as discreet as he could. he recognised the man immediately, “that’s ushijima-san!”

maybe kageyama had exclaimed a little too loudly, earning himself a few shhhhs from the people who sat around him. he bows his head slightly as an apology while oikawa bites his lip to hold in his laughter.

__

the three of them were able to meet up during the reception, opting to sit at the same table — the one farthest away from everyone as to not draw any attention to themselves. well, oikawa insisted that they did and kageyama and ushijima didn’t really know anyone else to be comfortable enough to sit with them.

“what did you both get the bride and groom?” oikawa asked as an attempt to make conversation, taking a sip from the glass in front of them.

ushijima was one to spare no expense when it came to gifts, but he wasn’t one to brag about the cost of it either, “just a simple tea set. nothing much.”

what he failed to mention was that simple tea set cost several thousands of yen. but of course, oikawa took it as a bit of an opportunity to one-up ushijima and brags about his gifts. yes, gifts. plural.

__

ushijima was in the bathroom and oikawa had gotten the attention of a couple of bridesmaids — flirting with him while he tried his best to subtly deflect their advances — leaving kageyama all alone at the table.

he felt a hand tap on his shoulder, soft and hesitant, “kageyama tobio?”

“yes?” kageyama asked, turning to face the source of the voice. he’s met with a teenage boy, possibly not older than sixteen, looking at him with complete nervousness in his eyes.  

“i'm sorry to bother you. but i've just been such a huge fan of yours for the longest time and i wasn’t even sure if i should approach you but i really needed to let you know how much you have inspired me and i still have so much to learn but...uh, yeah.” the boy finished, looking at everything but kageyama at that point.

and a light flush colors kageyama’s cheeks, completely flustered. it was the first time anyone had approached him like that before, and he’s unsure how exactly to take the compliments. but he noticed the way the fan’s hands trembled, and he recalls all the times he’s approached the players he was a fan of when he was his age. “is there anything you need help with?”

__

needless to say, oikawa and ushijima were surprised when they found their table completely devoid of kageyama’s presence; only to find him in the incredibly large hallways with a makeshift volleyball court with chairs haphazardly stacked on top one another.

“where did you get that?” ushijima asked, pointing towards the volleyball that kageyama held in his hands.

“my car.” he replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“well then,” oikawa smirked, eyes lighting up as he looked around the halls, especially at the gathering crowd, “how about a friendly little match?”

kageyama and the fan he was meant to be teaching stood on one side of the makeshift court while oikawa and ushijima stood opposite them, getting into position. most of the guests had their phones out, recording everything and posting it on social media.

“at least i will finally know what it’s like to finally play with you in a team instead of against you.” ushijima commented, briefly glancing at his teammate for the night.

oikawa choked on air, taking a few seconds to compose himself before responding, “should have come to shiratorizawa, huh?”

it was barely even noticeable, barely lasted a few seconds, but ushijima cracked a smile. 

__

the night ends with the newlyweds approaching the three of them, expressing their gratefulness for their invitations but also apologising for stealing their thunder on their wedding, going so far as to offering to pay for their honeymoon.

“as tempting as that may be,” the bride smiled, “it really is no problem. we’re surprised that you even attended in the first place.

the groom nodded in agreement, “we had a lot of fun watching you play tonight, so we feel like we should be thanking you more. you didn’t have to bring gifts too.”

oikawa waved a hand as if to say it’s nothing, while kageyama and ushijima offer tickets to their next match in exchange for photos from the wedding — particularly that of their little volleyball match.

the three of them finally make their way out into the night and into their respective cars, but not before oikawa lets out one more question.

“the three of us should hang out more,” oikawa smiled, not a trace of teasing or malice in his tone, just a genuine offer, “at least once before i get back to argentina.”

years ago, none of them would even consider such a thing, but all three liked to think that they moved past such trivial things.

kageyama gave him a small smile, “alright.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

a question: what would the hq characters be like at a wedding?  |  written on the margins masterlist

taglist : @haikyuutothetop @crystal-lilac @tobioespresso @sushijimawakatoshi @itsmeaudrieee @pantherhappy @jesssobs @mysticstrawberryballoon @cloudedsky_29 @sakusasimpbot​

join my hq taglist here. <3

#didn’t think i’d be thinking about timeskip!oikawa-kageyama-ushijima dynamics tonight #but here i am and i loved writing these lil scenarios #written on the margins 🔖 #oikawa headcanons #kageyama headcanons #ushijima headcanons #oikawa scenarios #kageyama scenarios #ushijima scenarios #🎐 — 🌙anon! <3

[ksyescribe]

Mellow

Prompt: Person A and Person B roast a marshmallow over a campfire. || “Why shouldn't they help themselves, after the way they'd been treated?”

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki x Reader

Content: Fluff, Just two pals having fun

A/N: Trying to get the brain juices flowing during all this time in quarantine so I decided to use a prompt generator. And well now here we are. I’m having fun with these prompt generators so we’ll see what happens :D

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《 》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

“Marshmallows?” Todoroki tilted his head, eyebrows raised as he glanced at you curiously. Triumphantly, you hoist a bag of marshmallows up for him to see, a bright smile splayed across your face. 

“Yes! But not only that,” you pause as you bend down to rummage through your bag. It’s filled with all the essentials needed for your camping trip plus some extras for funsies. After a few moments of rummaging, your eyes light up as you find what you’ve been looking for. Swiftly, you pulled out two items from the bag, presenting them to Todoroki with a wide smile on your face. “I also brought graham crackers and chocolate!”

Todoroki’s eyebrows pulled inward, an inquisitive look present on his face. Why would you bring so many snacks for the two of you to share? Surely you’re aware that this was too much for the both of you. Especially seeing as how Todoroki wasn’t much of a fan of sweets. “Isn’t that a bit much for the two of us to share? I’d think the marshmallows would be enough for the two of us to share.”

His genuine concern causes you to burst into loud hearty laughter. He watched curiously as you threw your head back, gripping the bags tightly so they wouldn’t fall. He’s thoroughly confused; he hadn’t said anything particularly funny had he? No, he’d just made a factually correct statement. Nevertheless, a small amused smile made its way onto his lips. He had always found your laughter endearing. Your laughter died down after a moment, but the look of amusement was still present in your face as you spoke, “We’re not gonna eat them separately, Todo. We’re making smores!”

“Smores?” The word, although familiar, feels foreign as he spoke. To his recollection, he’d never heard of such a thing before. And looking at the three ingredients you held, he couldn’t fathom how they could ever go together. He doesn’t have to wait long for an explanation because you’re taking a seat next to him and speaking once again.

“Yeah! Smores!” The enthusiasm in your voice is near infectious as you continue to speak. “I haven’t made them before but, I’ve read a bunch of books where they talked about them. And well, I saw some videos, and they seem pretty easy to make!” You fuss about with the bag of marshmallows, attempting to open the bag as neatly as possible. Ultimately, the bag rips easily, which sends a few marshmallows flying. You blink slowly, a look of befuddlement spreading across your face. At this display, Todoroki lets out an airy chuckle, causing you to let out some small chuckles as well.

“I, uh,” you start off hesitantly, a small smile playing on your lips, “ also remembered how you said you didn’t get to do a lot of this stuff when you were a kid.” You pause for a moment before clarifying, “The fun stuff that is.” You speak softly, slow and cautious as if trying not to cause him discomfort. It feels intimate when you speak like this. As if your words are only for him to hear. “And well, since I didn’t have the best childhood either, I thought it’d be cool to do this together.” You end with a hopeful lilt to your voice, fiddling with the open bag as you avoid his gaze. 

He can feel a warmth blooming within his body as he observes you. Another unknown emotion stirs awake, deep within his chest. His breathing feels a little constricted now. No one’s ever thought about doing something like this for him. Usually, when he spoke about his past, where he mentioned the strained relationship he has with his father, he would just garner quite a bit of pity. No one had ever thought of helping him experience what he’d lost out on when he was younger.

No one but you, of course. The only other person who had the slightest understanding of how he felt would be the one to think up this idea. Sure, the days of your childhoods were long gone. The trauma that came with it was in the process of healing, nearing its completion. So why shouldn’t you help yourselves? After the way, you’d been treated? You wouldn’t be enjoying it any less if anything you’d be enjoying it more. It’d be an intimate celebration of how far you’d both made it since then.

“Alright,” he’s giving you a shy smile now, “show me how it’s done then.” At the sound of his words, he sees you come back to life. The bashfulness you held before completely melting off your body as you begin to get things prepared ready for your little activity. The air feels different now. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but it feels more lively, full of love. It’s comfortable and cozy as if there were a protective bubble protecting the two of you next to this fire from the rest of the world.

Together, you skewer your marshmallows and place them over the fire. The crackling from the fire fills the space between you, comfortable silence envelopes the area. Flames dance within their contained area, casting moving shadows through the area. Todoroki breathes deeply, attempting to memorize the smoky smell of the fire that mixed with the sweet smell of sugar caramelizing. 

“Thank you for doing this with me.” Softly, the words slip out of his mouth easily. They always seem to do that when he speaks with you. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the side of your mouth lift up, creating a lopsided grin. 

“Really. No one’s ever done something like this for me before.” He lets the words float there for a moment, hoping you can understand the underlying message he’s trying to convey before he speaks again.

“Perhaps, we could recreate more missing childhood memories together?”

For a moment, he’s worried he’s overstepped. You inhale sharply, stilling for a second as he waits for you to respond. Slowly, you turn to him; your face lit up. If he thought he’d seen you at your absolute happiest, he’d been wrong before. This was your absolute happiest. A smile, brighter and wider than any he’s seen you make, is adorning your face. The curves of your cheeks are amplified as well as the crinkling around your eyes. He’s positive you’ve never smiled at anyone else like this before. His body feels warmer now, not because of the fire.

“Of course! That sounds like it’d be super fun!” You tilt your head to the side, eyes closed, smile just as wide. He’s already making it his mission to try and get this reaction out of you again. 

“Oh! It’s time to pull them out!” Gleefully you pull the roasted cloud of sugar towards you. Inspecting the rich brown textured surface. “Okay, so here’s a trick I saw some people do.” You snap off a piece of the chocolate bar and slide it into the marshmallow through one of the cracked edges. 

“Just like this, so that the chocolate can melt!” You guide Todoroki through the process of building the smore. It’s not a complex concept, but he likes listening to your voice, and so he lets himself be guided. Once assembled, you look at him joyfully, practically radiating with excitement. 

“Okay, ready?”  

He gives you a small nod.

“Three, Two, One!” 

There’s a burst of distinct sugary flavors as he takes his first bite. All three of the pieces that made up the snack complement each other in a beautiful medley of flavors. It’s good. He probably would have loved this as a child. He watches you with interest, as you hum in satisfaction. Thoroughly enjoying the sugary delight. You open your eyes, the light of the fire highlighting the joy within them. 

“It’s delicious, isn’t it?” 

Words fail him now. He nods his head, unable to speak. He takes another bite.

It’s sweet. But spending time with you is sweeter.

Bonus: 

“Hey, do you think I can roast a marshmallow in my hand?”

The question throws you so off guard that you find yourself laughing at what Todoroki proposed. He’s eerily quiet, so you turn to look at him as giggles continue to escape you. He’s holding a plush marshmallow in his left hand, blinking owlishly at the treat.

The sight sends you into another stream of laughter. “You’re, you’re not serious ri-” You manage to squeeze part of your sentence between breaths before stopping for two reasons.

Todoroki’s left hand just burst into flames.

Reason #1 has sent you into another fit of laughter. 

After a few seconds, the flames cease. Curiously you lean closer to inspect the object in his hand, barely suppressing your laughter once more.

He blinks slowly as he stares at his hand.

“Oh my, oh my god.” You wheeze out, holding onto your sides. “You burnt it!”

#mine #bnha imagines #bnha imagine #mha imagine #mha imagines #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki imagine #todoroki imagines #shouto todoroki imagine #shouto todoorki imagines #shoto todoroki imagine #shouto todoroki imagines #mha #bnha #me trying to get all the tags lmaoo #lord i feel like this is a mess #oh well here goes

[riversofmars]

Sorry for the delay folks, rl responsibilies eating into precious writing time! But here we are, all pieces moving into place as we head for the final showdown, just a few more chapters! Hope you enjoy this one <3

Chapter 13: The Bells

“I’m sorry, Missy…“ Missy couldn’t tell if the regret in Clara’s voice was genuine or not. She was still struggling to catch up with what was happening.

“What are you…“ She stared at the heavy metal cuff Clara had snapped around her wrist. She had been so naive. She should have known Clara had had an ulterior motive when she had asked her here.

“This is my chance to prove myself.“ Clara replied giving her a half smile as she stepped away. It had been a cheap trick, asking for Missy’s help, using the connection they shared. Clara wasn’t exactly sure what exactly their relationship was, Missy had never given her much of an indication one way or another but they had something of a connection. And of course it was something the Emperor was only to happy to exploit once he found out about it. So here they were.

“You don’t have to do this.“ Missy said softly. “I should never have… you don’t need him, just come with me instead. Let me go and…“

“I think it’s a bit late for that.“ Clara cut in, her voice surprisingly bitter. “Just tell him what he wants to know.“

“What is this?“ Missy raised her arm with the cuff but before Clara could answer, the teleport engaged and the world around her disappeared.

Moments later, Missy materialised in a sort of tube. She needed a moment to orient herself. She stumbled out grasping for air and found herself in a dusty stone-walled room. She looked around for clues as to where she was but she couldn’t figure it out. She had been transported somewhere but where? She bent down and gathered a handful of dust from the floor, letting it run through her fingers as she looked around.

“I know you’re responsible for this, Emperor!“ She called into the quiet, just on the off chance someone as listening. Clara has said to tell him what he wanted to know… Whatever she was, she knew it was on the Emperor’s orders. Up ahead a door slid open by itself and Missy tentatively made her way out of the room. “The equipment in that room is consistent with an augmented ultra long-range teleport. So, I'm not more than a single light year from where I was, and I'm in the same time zone.“ She mused out loud as she looked down the empty corridor. There were windows now too and she stuck her head out. All she could see were very high towers, this appeared to be some kind of castle.

“Come on, chop chop, I’ve just been betrayed by the person I thought could help me put an end to you, my day can’t get much worse, let’s see about yours!“ Missy called out but there was no reply. If the Emperor was watching, he wasn’t inclined to talk. That was when she noticed the screens along the walls and she realised something was following her. She set off down the corridor but quickly found herself at a dead end, the last door revealing solid stone behind it. She turned round and found herself facing a hunched over creature, she couldn’t see its face if it even had one, just two pronged hands extending towards her and flies circling around it like they might around a corpse.

“I can’t actually see a way out of this… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, to just stop running, we’re all done for aren’t we…“ Missy swallowed as she contemplated the futility of her fight against the Emperor. She had been trying for so long and even using Clara had backfired. Maybe it was time she gave up the ghost. She wasn’t sure what would happen when the creature got to her but it certainly felt like death was stalking towards her.

“This is new. I'm scared. I just realised that I'm actually scared of dying.“ She admitted and suddenly, the creature stopped in it’s tracks.

“Something I said? What did I say?“ She mumbled as even the flies froze in mid air. “Why did you stop?“ Suddenly, there was creaking and banging and the castle started to move. The wall behind the door moved aside and Missy quickly stepped into the adjoining room.

Everything after that was a fight for survival and a quest for answers. What was this place? Why had she been brought here? And was there a way out? It didn’t take her long to realise this was a sort of torture chamber, specially designed for her. Exactly the sort of thing the Emperor would dream up. Everything, from the appearance of the stalking creature to the screens on the walls was designed to scare her. An automated haunted house, a mechanical maze.

It took a few more encounters with the creature until she realised that it was the revelation of secrets that stopped it and made the castle reset. That was also when she realised there was just one truth, one secret, she held that the Emperor would care about. One last victory that had eluded him for so long. She couldn’t possibly tell him. Protecting Gallifrey was the last thing she could do at this point and she was determined to do so.

When she finally encountered the wall of Azbantium that separated her from the outside world, the penny dropped at last. She would find a way out, even if it took a while. She’d done this before and she would do it again. She had been following her own breadcrumbs the entire time, she realised. There was a way out. And she would keep going, even if it was futile, even if it was just out of spite, she wouldn't let the Emperor break her.

As Missy smashed her fist into the wall she thought back to the moment that brought her here. Clara’s betrayal. She only had herself to blame. She was only grateful not to be able to remember all of this. Every time, every circle around, it was like the first time. It was only when she saw the stars that she realised how long it had actually been. But now she was so close to escaping. She smashed her fist into the unforgiving crystal and finally, four and a half billion years later, the wall crumbled.

The bright light of the binary suns blinded her, Missy needed a moment to orient herself. She blinked until finally, in the distance, the towers of the capital came into sharp focus and Missy felt her hearts lift with joy. Gallifrey. She was home at last and safe. She had escaped the Emperor’s torture chamber which, as she turned around, folded back in on itself and turned back into her confessionary dial. She bent down to pick it up but froze when suddenly, the noise of a TARDIS materialising sounded behind her.

——

“You’re not sleeping, are you.“ Missy rolled onto her side on the uncomfortable mattress. She was glad that both her and the Doctor were petite, else they would have had no space at all, but the Doctor was still close enough to keep her up with her fidgeting.

“Nope…“ The Doctor admitted and turned towards Missy. She had accepted that they had to get some rest but her brain simply refused.

“Why not?“ Missy asked though she could think of a thousand reasons to have sleepless nights.

“I feel like I’m missing something…“ The Doctor explained, slightly annoyed with herself.

“If you’re looking for a magical solution, Doctor, there isn’t one.“ Missy gave her a sad smile but the Doctor shook her head.

“That’s not it…“

“Then what?“ Missy frowned.

“Clara…“ The Doctor mused and lay back on her bed, staring up at the makeshift ceiling. “She doesn’t fit in.“

“What makes you say that?“ Missy asked, pushing herself up on her elbows.

“With the Ponds and River here… she’s the odd one out.“ The Doctor explained. Having witnessed the animosity between the Pond family and Clara, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that she didn’t really belong there. “When I bumped into my Clara, I was alone so I needed someone to travel with me… but in this universe the TARDIS would have been rather crowded already… So why did they ask her along if they don’t like her?“ The question had been bugging her for a while now.

“I don’t see how it matters.“ Missy replied in an off-hand sort of way that gave the Doctor pause.

“What’s your history with Clara?“ She frowned looking over to her.

“What makes you think I have…“ Missy started but the Doctor interrupted her:

“In my universe, you were responsible for bringing us together.“

“I see…“ Missy sighed.

“In my universe, Missy thought Clara and I would bring out the worst in each other, that we were two parts of an ancient prophecy about throwing the universe into chaos. Did you… do you have anything to do with Clara being with the Emperor?“ The Doctor sat up now. She could tell from the way Missy avoided her eyes that she was on to something.

“It was a stupid idea, it backfired…“ Missy knew she couldn’t lie to her but she didn’t exactly want to talk about it either.

“What were you trying to accomplish?“ The Doctor asked shaking her head a little to herself.

“Same as what you just said… I thought she would… destabilise them. Their relationships, their…“ Missy gestured a little but she didn’t really have the words. It had been stupid. “I thought it was working but then…“

“She fell in love with the Emperor as well, she betrayed you and gained her trust like that, didn’t she.“ The Doctor was quick at putting the pieces together and Missy laughed a little. She couldn’t help but be impressed.  

“How did you figure that out?“ She asked.

“You seemed genuinely concerned that she would get herself killed with whatever she’s planning.“ The Doctor explained. Missy’s opinion on Clara’s plan hadn’t gone unnoticed. “You care about her at least a tiny bit.“

“That really has no baring on anything anymore, that was a long time ago.“ Missy waved it off.

“How long?“ The Doctor asked as a disturbing thought occurred to her.

“Sorry?“ Missy frowned.

“How long ago was that for you? Cause there is something else that’s been bugging me…“ The Doctor said and Missy sat up as well, she could tell neither of them would be getting any sleep tonight.

“What’s that?“

“Why are you here, Missy?“ The Doctor tilted her head, trying to get the measure of her.

“I told you, to help people…“ Missy didn’t understand why she was asking again.

“No, I mean here, of all places, on Gallifrey. Where you’re right under her nose and she could kill you if she wanted to. Like you’ve said before, there is nothing we can do here, no resources, the royal guards just there, the Quantum Shade… you have no wiggle room. So why not go somewhere where the Emperor’s influence is less… and start your resistance there? It’s what I would have done…“ The Doctor went on to explain.

“Why did you ask how long it’s been for me?“ Missy circled back to her original question.

“Because I think there is nowhere else to go. We’re at the end of time, aren’t we.“ The Doctor revealed her suspicion and Missy’s eyes widened in surprise.

“How do you know that? Not many people do.“

“It seems like a lot of the events that happened to me also happened here, just differently.“ The Doctor realised and got to her feet. She couldn’t sit still anymore. Missy had been through some of the same things she had. “I think if I knew more about everybody’s personal history, maybe I would be able to understand them a little better to make a plan… In my universe Gallifrey was hiding away at the end of time in a reality bubble too, I know because I went there the long way around…“ She looked back to Missy. “So how did you get here, Missy? Where is your TARDIS?“

“I don’t have a TARDIS anymore, Doctor, I didn’t time travel here… but it sounds like you know exactly how I got here.“ Missy gave her a sad smile.

“I’m so sorry, Missy…“ The Doctor didn’t know what else to say.

“I’d rather not talk about it.“ Missy shook her head, she didn’t want to dwell on it.

“Right okay… so when the Emperor calls themselves ruler of the universe, it’s really just Gallifrey, is it?“ The Doctor decided to focus her energies on something productive, rather than dwelling on the misery of the past.

“In this timezone, yes. Keeps her safe from any sort of uprising I suppose, when all other races are dead.“ Missy replied.

“But when I first met her, she’d been to Sontar, there was still blood on her hands…“ The Doctor frowned.

“The Empire doesn’t just exist in space but also time, Doctor.“ Missy swung her legs out of bed, sitting up on the side properly. “Here, in this time, the universe is pretty much over. Gallifrey is the perfect fortress, perfectly safe when so few are able to travel in time anymore.“ She explained. “The generals watch the time streams. Whenever any civilisation that she’s conquered diverges from its predetermined course of obedience she can just jump into her TARDIS, arrive early, and set things right.“

“Right…“ It was the perfect set up, pretty fool proof. The Doctor started pacing, trying to find something useful in the new information.

“She thinks of everything. We can’t go anywhere because there is nowhere to go and without time travel…“ Missy shrugged. “And even if we had it, the Council would be on us like a hawk. Not that anyone can fly her TARDIS anyway…“

“That’s it! That’s where we need to start, Missy, you’re brilliant!“ The Doctor exclaimed as an idea struck. She hadn’t paid enough attention to the world around her. Picking up on the things that were different but also those that were the same or reversed. A plan was forming in her head.

“What?“ Missy had no idea what she was talking about.

“I have an idea Missy, and I need you to trust me. It’s a bit risk but I think this could work. I think I’ve worked this place out at last.“ The Doctor turned to her, full of excitement.

“You’re not making any sense, Doctor.“ Missy chuckled, marvelling at her endless positivity.

“You’re gonna hate this but I’m gonna need to get back into the palace.“ The Doctor gave her an apologetic smile.

“Doctor…“ Missy sighed, it was a terrible idea.

“Gonna need a change of clothes too, and a way in that they won’t expect…“ The Doctor carried on. Suddenly, in the far off in the distance, a bell tolled and both of them froze.

“That’s…“ Missy got to her feet unsettled.

“A Cloister Bell…“ The Doctor nodded, recognising the distinctive sound.

“They only toll when disaster is drawing near…“ Missy said and the Doctor, despite everything, smiled.

“I just thought of a way to get us back into the palace.“

“Us?“ Missy raised her eyebrows.

“Oh yes, you’re coming with me. I will explain on the way!“

——

Drowsily River rolled over in bed, pulling the covers closer around herself. She was cold, falling asleep naked and sweaty, her body had cooled out. She stretched her hand out, looking for her wife to cuddle into her for some warmth but the bed was cold beside her. Sleepily River sat up, slowly she was coming to her senses, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Her wife’s side of the bed was empty.

“Sweetie?“ She called into the darkness but no response. She swung her legs out of bed and nearly tripped as she got up in her sleepy state but her wife’s absence alarmed her. She found her balance after a few steps and grabbed her dressing gown from the chair by her dresser. “Sweetie?“ She called again, worry sweeping through her, as she walked into the adjoining room. Her eyes fell on the TARDIS, the door slightly ajar. She walked to the door and pushed it open. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found her wife sitting by the console, tinkering with bolts, screws and cogs.

“Is everything okay, Sweetie?“ River asked and the Emperor looked up surprised, she hadn’t noticed her coming in.

“Sorry, did I wake you?“ The Emperor gave an apologetic smile.

“I just turned round and you weren’t there, I got worried…“ River admitted, pulling her nightgown closer around herself feeling cold still.

“Just thinking…“ The Emperor replied giving a dismissive wave to the equipment around her. River smiled a little. Her wife used to do this a lot. When she had a problem to solve, she would retreat into her TARDIS and fix or make things, it helped her focus.

“Is everything okay? Something I can help with?“ River asked.

“Everything is fine.“ The Emperor said getting to her feet.

“And yet you can’t sleep.“ River observed. She clearly was worried about whatever Clara and the Doctor could be up to. Before the Emperor could respond, a bell tolled in the distance and they both froze. “Was that…“

“A Cloister Bell. They haven’t rung in years…“ The Emperor was halfway out the TARDIS before River could even respond. “We are in much greater danger than we realise.“ This was proof that the nagging thoughts, the undercurrent of worry, she had been feeling, were justified.

“Something must be happening.“ River agreed as she followed. The Emperor was already throwing clothes on.

“I'm going to go see the Council.“ She said pulling on trousers quickly. “You stay here.“ She insisted when River went looking for clothes as well.

“But…“ River looked around confused. She had never told her to stay behind before. She tried her best not to feel hurt.

“Seriously, don’t argue.“ The Emperor interrupted her buttoning up her shirt in a hurry. “I need to know you’re safe, you stay here.“

——

“What was that?“ Yaz demanded to know entering with palace’s security office. Ryan and Graham were following close behind. It was the middle of the night, there were off duty, but the entire city had heard the bell.  

“A Cloister Bell, Ma’am.“ One of the officers on duty answered as they all jumped to their feet saluting.

“They have been silent for years, give me eyes on the Cloisters.“ She demanded as she stepped up to the screens.

“The sliders are getting increasingly more active. They’re sensing something is wrong, something is going to happen.“ Graham observed as they brought up footage from the Cloisters on the screens. Shapes were moving among the shadows and the fog.

“This is not a coincidence.“ Ryan agreed.

“I’m going to take a team down there. Find out what’s going on.“ Yaz decided. They had to find out what was going on. It was as good a place as any to start.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? No-one that goes into the Cloisters comes back out.“ Graham grabbed her arm as she walked past them.

“Legend says there is a hidden exit into the city, it could be how the Doctor is getting about. I’m going to check it out.“ Yaz shook him off. They had to find the Doctor. “In the meantime, one of you inform the Emperor and keep guard, the other keep an eye on Clara Oswald.“

——

“What is going on?“ The Emperor burst into the Council chamber with purpose and determination. The Cloisters indicated this was the greatest threat they had faced in years and she wasn’t about to let anything jeopardise her reign.

“Emperor…“ The generals had gathered upon her command, some only filing in after her, some still fumbling with the buttons of their council robes. She wasn’t impressed.

“Wake up you mumbling fools, a Cloister Bell has rung, what is going on?“ She smashed her hand onto the table for emphasis. “You are tasked with protecting the Empire, what is going on? Are we under attack?“

“Nothing, as far as we can tell. Everything is quiet, no unexpected developments across the time streams…“ One of the council members spoke up. “The city is quiet as well, since you went amongst the people, they have grown more… respectful.“

“Are you absolutely sure?“ The Emperor pressed on focusing on him. He seemed to be wide awake at least in comparison to some of the others. They took turns with the night shifts, there was no need for everyone to be present all the time.

“See for yourself Emperor, the time streams are quite, your personal guards have taken it upon themselves to see if anything is the matter in the Cloisters themselves.“ Another general spoke up and by raising his hands from the table, he brought the readings up into the air for everyone to see.

“Things might not be happening yet but they will. The Bells are a warning, foreboding, prophecy…“ The Emperor mumbled leaning onto the table observing the time streams herself. They were right, everything looked completely normal so it had to be something happening here, on Gallifrey. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to wait for Clara to make her move after all.

“If you’re concerned about something happening, we can postpone tomorrow’s celebrations?“ Another general suggested.

“No. That would be a sign of weakness.“ She shook her head vehemently. “Everything will go ahead as planned…“ She straightened herself up again and a thought occurred to her. “In fact, not as planned. Round up ten civilians that have acted out in some way. And Missy. I want Missy.“ She decided.

“What for?“ Another council member asked, sounding concerned.

“Is it any of your business?!“ The Emperor snapped glaring at him. She couldn’t stand people questioning an order.

“I just meant if we should organise anything else or…“ He carried on in a small voice averting his eyes.

“Just do as you’re told.“ She growled. “I’ll be in my quarters, if there is only the slightest change or cause for concern, I expect to be informed.“

——

“You’ve done this before…“ Missy mumbled as they pressed themselves to a pillar to avoid a cloister wraith that headed in their direction.

“So have you…“ The Doctor observed with a smile. “I’m beginning to think we have a lot more in common than I realised. I think you lived through some of the same things I have, our roles are reversed in some ways.“ She explained as they waited for the wraith to move past. She had been so focused on wrapping her head around her own situation, she hadn’t really stopped to think about the history of the people she encountered.

“So it seems…“ Missy agreed. As she looked back at the Doctor she felt unsettled. They had dressed her to look like the Emperor and it was unnerving.

“About the confessionary dial…“ The Doctor said quietly as they carried on. “I came the long way around too…“ They ducked behind another pillar. “What kept you going? There was this moment when I realised what had been done to me, what they were trying to do… and I was about to give up…“ In a way, knowing Missy had been through the same thing as her, allowed her to talk about it for the first time.

“But then you realised you couldn't just let them win. You had to keep going.“ Missy agreed with a small smile as they carried on.

“Who were you doing it for?“ The Doctor asked.

“Myself? I knew I had to be better than this. I couldn’t let her win.“ Missy shrugged.

“I guess you’re right… I thought I… I thought I was doing it for Clara at the time, she had just died and I wanted to find a way to save her, so I had to get out of there… but now, I just think I wanted her to be proud of me. I wanted to be the Doctor. And I couldn't let the bad guys win.“ The Doctor answered after brief consideration.

“So here we are, braving the Cloisters.“ Missy chuckled. “But at least you know what you’re doing it for.“

“Not just for River, if that’s what you think. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had already managed to find a way out of her predicament, she doesn't need me to look after her, not really. I’m doing it for the same reason as you.“ The Doctor felt the need to explain.

“Cause we can’t let the bad guys win.“ Missy smiled and reached out for the Doctor’s hand. “I am so glad that I met you, even if we never should have, not really… I’m really very grateful that you are here, whether we succeed or not.“ She gave her hand a squeeze and the Doctor smiled.

Suddenly up ahead the wraiths grew more agitated. In the distance they saw an elevator door slide open, revealing several royal guards, weapons drawn.

“Right, let’s see what’s going on down here.“ The Doctor recognised Yaz’s voice immediately and she pulled Missy behind a pillar.

The Cloister Bells tolled again.

——

River was pacing their quarters, she couldn’t sit still. The situation was unnerving. There was no way you could go back to sleep so she had gotten dressed instead. She could just go to find her wife, this was ridiculous. There was no immediate danger.

“Right, that’s it.“ She huffed getting fed up and made her way to the bedroom. She walked to her dresser where, among other things, she kept her gun. It had been a while since she’d last made use of it but she appreciated her wife’s concern for her safety. It couldn’t hurt to carry it.

She was just exchanging the battery pack, when she heard the door to their quarters open. Her wife returning at last, she thought, as she breathed a sigh of relief.

“In the bedroom!“ She called out and put the gun back on the dresser.

“That’s quite the invitation… Mind you, I’ve always been curious what it would be like to sleep with myself.“

River whirled around and found herself face to face with an exactly copy of herself. In the distance, another bell tolled.

#Mirror Universe #fanfiction #river song #river x thirteen #river x the doctor #thirteen/river #thirteen #thirteenth doctor #missy #thoschei friendship #femslash #gallifrey #cloister wraiths #Through the looking glass #dark!13 #action/adventure #space wives #yowzah

[helaintoloki]

Complicated

pairing: Dan Torrance x reader

warnings: language, some violence, slight angst, fluff towards the end // just over 1k words in length

notes: some more daughter Abra and mom reader :’) I really enjoyed using these characters in my Overlook piece so I decided to add another chapter to their story. once again, elements from both the book and the movie as well as my own imagination were used to write this

summary: a night with Crow Daddy leads to your first kill and a powerful revelation for Dan

“Dan,” you murmur, head lulling against the window and eyes refusing to open. Your brain feels like mush, your mouth feeling as if it‘s just been stuffed to the brim with cotton, and you can hardly manage to lift a single finger. Your mind is screaming for you to move, body twitching helplessly in an attempt to free itself from the sedative that tugs you down further and further into the dark. From the driver’s seat, a man chuckles.

“Dan is long gone by now,” the Crow replies easily, and it’s then that you’re able to feel the needle poking at your thigh. “Don’t mind that, it’s just a little incentive for your girl back there. Make sure she minds her P’s and Q’s.”

(Abra... Oh, god.)

“What did...” you struggle to speak, drool dribbling out the corner of your mouth, “what...”

“Easy there, mom,” he laughs airily, as if kidnapping a mother and her daughter was an ordinary every day occurrence, “she’s knocked out cold in the backseat like a good little Goldilocks. You know, that daughter of yours has caused us a lot of heartache.”

“Abra...”

“This needle here is just so she doesn’t get any bright ideas. If tries to call for help, if she tries play her little mind tricks on me, hell, if she even breathes in a way that’s suspicious I just push this little thing through your skin and you’ll fall asleep and never wake up again. So I suggest you don’t get any bright ideas either. We clear?”

“Crystal,” you slur prompting Crow Daddy to laugh.

“I like you,” he grins. “Honestly, I was a bit surprised to see you were her momma. You look a little on the young side, real pretty like and all.”

“I was young,” you confirm quietly, finally mustering up the strength and energy to peek over at the driver. Crow Daddy, that was his name wasn’t it?

“If I wasn’t already spoken for I’d just eat you up,” he grins, shooting a wink your way. “But you’ve got a man, don’t you? The guy who just killed my friends.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Love always is,” Crow Daddy sighs, and your eyes begin to flutter again. A small whimper escapes you as a result of your reluctance to fall back under, but the Crow only smiles. “That’s alright doll, you just go right on back to sleep.”

The darkness encompasses you, and you think of Dan before you fall back under.

~~~

(You have to wake up, y/n. Abra needs our help)

A bottle of coke sits resting in between your thighs as you open your eyes for the second time that night. Dizzy and drugged you scramble to pry the top off and guzzle down the fizzy beverage. The carbonation of it stings going down your throat, and because of your unsteady hands most of it dribbles out the corners of your mouth, down your chin, and past your neck into the valley of your breasts. Your shirt would later be stained and your skin would feel sticky, but it didn’t matter at the moment. The cotton was washing away and the ache in your head was beginning to dull, the needle was absent from your thigh.

“Someone’s thirsty,” Crow Daddy smiles. “You’ve both been so good for your daddy I figured I’d reward you with a little treat-“

Your body is hurled forward then harshly yanked back down by your seatbelt as the car suddenly swerves into a tree. In the rear view mirror Abra’s face is visible, eyes wide and unblinking and not her own; someone else is in control now.

(Now Mom)

Almost instinctually do you take the glass coke bottle and slam it over the Crow’s head, disorienting him further as his face rams against the steering wheel. The honk from the impact echoes deafeningly over the desolate road, the sound so loud to your sensitive ears it makes them ring. Vision blurry, you manage to spot the syringe sticking out of his jacket pocket and lunge.

“Fuckin bitch,” Crow Daddy growls, grabbing you by the hair and yanking your head back so roughly you fear it may snap. “You fucking bitch!”

Your head is slammed against the dashboard so harshly that for a single second the world is completely black, but when the light returns you spot the Glock .22 sitting by your feet. In what was only a few seconds but felt like a lifetime you snatch the weapon, knock your kidnapper across the face with the end of the gun, then fling yourself back against the car door before pulling the trigger.

He begins to cycle, but you don’t get the chance to see it as you pass out once again.

~~~

(Is your mom alright?!)

“She got hit on the head a few times pretty good, still has the drugs in her system. She’s sleeping now,” Abra explains quietly.

(I need you to wake her up and make sure she’s okay enough to drive. Get yourselves to a motel and I’ll come meet you as soon as I can)

“She’s never killed anyone before.”

(I know)

“She did it for me.”

(She loves you. Mother’s will do whatever it takes to make sure their children are safe)

“Like grandma Wendy did for you?”

(...Just like grandma Wendy)

~~~

By the time Dan arrives it’s five in the morning and you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. Your body felt violated what with the sedatives, and your mind was much too paranoid to relax enough and allow you to rest. You kept a watchful eye over Abra, gun close by just in case another member of the True Knot decided to make a surprise appearance. You hated guns and you hated violence, but motherhood had urged you to kill someone, and so you had.

Dawn’s early light casts an alluring glow on your trembling figure in the doorway as Dan approaches. Your face is drained of color and dark bruises paint the skin of your forehead and neck. The dreary bags under your eyes reveal your body’s interrupted schedule of sleep, and you look absolutely beaten down. The sight is powerful enough to tug at Dan’s heart strings and before he can even comprehend the fact that his legs are moving he begins to run towards you, only stopping once you’re enveloped in his warm embrace. And only then, wrapped up in the comfort of Dan’s arms, do you begin to vehemently sob.

“I’ve got you,” Dan whispers, lips pressed into your hair as he soothingly rubs a hand up and down your back. Your shoulders shake with each muffled cry that escapes you. You’ve spent all night trying to be strong for Abra, trying to provide solace and security, and now that she’s asleep you find your brave front crumbling apart. Now Dan is doing his best to put you back together again.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” you tearfully confess. “I don’t know who I am anymore. Danny, I killed someone!”

“I know, I know,” Dan soothes, hugging you even tighter. “You did it for Abra, you did it to protect yourselves.”

“There’s still more of them out there,” you blubber, “there’s still people out there trying to hurt our daughter.”

Dan tenses slightly then, his heart doing a full gymnastics routine in his ribcage. Up until now you’ve always referred to Abra as your daughter, still not used to the idea that the one night stand you’d had all those years ago who had suddenly reappeared and interrupted your quiet life in Frazier was her father, and now you’ve accepted him as part of your tiny little family. And the thought lights a fire deep in the pit of his belly. Family wasn’t something he’d had in a long time, stable relationships - both platonic and romantic - were not common occurrences in his life. But now he had Abra, and now he had you, and he’d be damned if he let anyone or anything hurt either of you ever again.

“I won’t let them. I promise,” Dan vows earnestly. “No one is going near you or Abra ever again. I swear on my life.”

He holds you as the sun begins to rise, tucks you back into bed as your crying begins to dwindle, cradles you in his arms so you can sleep safe and sound, and begins to plan the demise of the True Knot as you snore quietly into his chest.

Rose the Hat would be sorry she ever messed with the Torrance family, that much Dan was sure of.

*gif used above is not mine!

#dan torrance #doctor sleep #dan torrance x reader #dan torrance imagine #dan x reader #abra stone #crow daddy

[demisexualemmaswan]

the story can resume (1/???)

Summary: "The story can resume. ... I will return. Find you, love you, marry you and live without shame.”

An unfortunate misunderstanding caused by secrets and naivety forces a young couple to be torn from each other far too soon. It's up to Henry Nolan to put the clues together and right the wrong he has caused his sister and the man she loves most.

Inspired by the book/film Atonement for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon.  

A/N: Hello! It's my turn to post for the Captain Swan Movie Marathon. This is inspired by the book/film Atonement and also just me wanting to see Jen in that green dress. If you've seen the movie, you know the one. 

I put this in the tags on Ao3, but Henry will be a narrator for most of the events in this story, but this is at its core a Captain Swan story. There will be exactly one chapter with smut and I'll let you know where that is when it gets posted. 

If you know how Atonement ends and you're wondering if this is going to end differently for our lovers the answer is...well I'm not going to give you the answer in the first chapter now am I? You'll have to keep reading to find out. 

Special thanks to @kmomof4, @hollyethecurious, @teamhook and all of the CSMM discord group for keeping me motivated, and to @jarienn972 for being a wonderful beta!! 

@captainswanmoviemarathon let’s do this! 

[Read on Ao3]

--

It was the loud argument down the hall that woke Henry up. Over the past year, it’d been so quiet that he’d often slept in much to the chagrin of his parents. But today, loud and angry voices seemed to carry themselves down the hall. 

Peeking his head out into the hallway, he could see his father standing in front of his sister’s room.

“Emma, really,” Leopold Nolan, his father, huffed as he looked down at something in his hands.

In spite of himself, Henry couldn’t help but grin. If his father was yelling at his sister, it meant Henry’s older sister, Emma, was home to be yelled at. 

“A third? I spent all that money for you to go away and you earn yourself a third? You could’ve become a secretary and made it all so much easier on us.” 

So he must be looking at Emma’s marks. 

“I’m sorry, was Oxford supposed to be easy?” his sister, Emma, snapped. As Henry crept closer to his sister’s room, she was brushing her hair as she looked in the mirror. 

Henry only had two older siblings: his older sister and their eldest brother, David. Emma had been away at school for the past year and Henry had missed her fiercely. In the letters she wrote him, she’d made it more than clear that she hated school and would much prefer being at home with him.

“You try sitting in a classroom with a bunch of men--including the professor--who don’t think you deserve to be there and then you see if you can get higher than a third, Father.”

He had to put his hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing. Henry liked it better when Emma was home too. She was his closest friend, his confidant, and he had no secrets with her, despite being ten years her junior. When he was younger, she would make up games and scavenger hunts for him to do during the day. She had been the one to teach him to read and write, and he wrote stories about their adventures.

It was the thing that had turned him on to writing, and he wanted to make her proud by writing a book one day.

“And I’m sure you spent all your time studying, Emma,” her father said wryly. “You do nothing but laze about when you’re here, so I’m sure you brought that same attitude with you to Oxford.” 

“I have the degree, don’t I?” Emma responded cheekily, dabbing some blush on her cheeks. “You don’t need me to be smart. You just need me to be pretty. You’ve told me that plenty of times.”

“Well we thought sending you to university would land you a husband, but clearly you failed in that regard as well!” 

Emma turned to face him, her face twisted in anger, but then it relaxed upon seeing Henry. She opened her arms to him and he rushed forward into them eagerly.

“You’re back!” Henry cried happily, tightening his arms around her.

“Yes, Killian and I got back last night,” Emma hummed, holding him close to her.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Henry demanded, pulling back a little.

“I tried, you wouldn’t stir,” Emma laughed, tapping his nose. Henry rolled his eyes and tried to wriggle away now. He was thirteen, and he was far too grown up for such things, even if he’d missed his sister terribly when she was away at university. 

“Where’s Killian?” Henry asked eagerly.

“With Liam, I’m sure,” Emma promised, smiling up at him. “You should congratulate him. He’s gotten a first.”

“I should hope so with all the money I’ve put into that boy,” Leopold grumbled.

“You should be more pleased. Now you can show him off as your biggest triumph and your biggest example of philanthropy,” Emma said icily to her father. Her green eyes flashed with something Henry didn’t quite understand, and he thought that maybe Emma was angry with Killian for how well he’d done. 

Their eldest brother, David, had gotten a first at Oxford and was a great success in the business world. Since then, their father had expected all of his children to be the same. Even though she never said it out loud or even would write it down, Henry knew that their father’s scornful words hurt Emma. He hugged her a little tighter, which earned a scoffing noise from their father. She was smart about other things that their father could never understand, and Henry hoped that she knew that. 

“You’re nearly a man, Henry. There’s no need for that.”

“He hasn’t seen me since my last holiday, you can give him a break,” Emma answered, her green eyes still blazing. 

Henry pulled back, biting his lip as he looked in between his father and his sister. 

Emma sighed, folding her hands in her lap. Keeping her tone light, she added, “Go on. Go find Killian. I’m sure you have a lot to tell him about school, and he practically lived in the library so he probably has a lot to tell you too!” 

“And tell Liam he’s to pick David and his friends up from the train at quarter past 11!” his father barked. “He can take the car and if there’s so much as a scratch on it, he won’t get paid for two weeks!” “Can I go with him?” Henry asked excitedly.

“Henry, there won’t be room, don’t be a nuisance,” their father scolded. “David’s bringing his fiancée and some friends.” Turning away, he muttered, “Maybe one of them will be actually invested in marrying Emma.”

It was only when Leopold was out of sight and sound that Emma’s rigid posture loosened and she buried her face in her hands for a moment. “I’m all right,” she mumbled when Henry hugged her again. “Just tired.” Still, she leaned her head against Henry’s for a moment. “It’s so good to see you, Henry. I missed you when I was at school, little brother.”

“I missed you too,” Henry mumbled, childishly cuddling into her for a moment. “And that’s younger brother to you.” 

She smiled for a moment at the familiarity of the exchange, before she grimaced again. Their father’s presence still hung heavy in the room even though he was long gone. “Was he all right?” Emma asked, her eyes flickering to the doorway where their father had just been standing. “While I was away?”

“He mostly left me alone, occasionally would come in and do his whole thing if I got a bad mark,” Henry said with a shrug. Emma looked up at him worriedly and he tried to soothe her, “It was fine really. The tutors are working on it, and I am improving. I can handle him yelling at me. Although when he threatened to burn my manuscript...that was the worst.”

“He did what?” Emma demanded, standing up abruptly and rushing to the door as if to follow their father. 

“He didn’t actually burn it!” Henry assured her quickly, running to her side. He neglected to tell his sister that their father had held the manuscript over the open flame and that the back cover was singed. “He said that fairy stories were going to rot my brain, and that he wouldn’t stand having a sissy for a son.” Emma’s jaw clenched and the fire in her eyes returned as she glowered down the hallway where their father had last been. 

Henry felt himself getting more and more upset as he watched her. He was supposed to be a man, yet he couldn’t even stand up to his father, and Emma seemed more than willing to fight his battles for him. He didn’t want that either! He looked down, trying to hide the tears prickling in his eyes.

“Henry,” Emma said gently, kneeling before her brother. She put her hand on his shoulder gently. “Father doesn’t understand that you have a wonderful gift in both your imagination and writing. We need more people like you in the world who create rather than destroy.” He sniffled and she gently rubbed his shoulder. “What made him give it back?”

“It’s a wedding present,” Henry sniffled. “For David and Mary Margaret. I wanted to have it finished before the wedding.”

Emma smiled tenderly. “And I’m sure they’ll love it,” she murmured encouragingly. “Maybe you could read an excerpt at dinner? Once Father sees it’s for David and David loves it, I’m sure he’ll leave well enough alone.” Henry’s body shuddered, even as Emma gently wiped his tears away with her thumb. 

“And what if he hates it and he takes it away and burns it?” Henry mumbled softly, taking in a few deep breaths to try and calm himself down. “I always get so nervous in front of Father and I feel like my tongue is stuffed in my mouth and--” 

He stopped as Emma placed something in his hand. “A mint?” he asked curiously, rolling the plastic wrap against his fingers. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Keep it in your pocket,” Emma told him, gently tapping his nose. “When you get nervous, start playing with the mint. Focus on the mint and nothing else, and then there won’t be any room for you to be nervous. It’s a trick that one of my tutors gave me at uni, and now I’m passing it on to you.” 

Henry beamed at her and she kissed his forehead. “Now, go off and see Killian,” Emma encouraged. “He really has missed you.” 

Henry wrapped his arms around his sister one more time. Emma cradled him close for a moment, kissing the top of his head. With a soft smile, she let him go and gently shooed him out of her room. 

The hustle and bustle of the house was a familiar melody to Henry, though everything seemed intensified, not only by the arrival of David and his friends, but--as Henry heard as he maneuvered through the halls--the quite unexpected arrival of his cousins, Ava, Nicholas and Jack were adding more chaos to the day, given Emma and Killian’s arrival the night before, and David’s arrival within the hour. 

“--well yes of course they’re getting a divorce. Shameful really.”

“I heard he was caught in flagrante with another man. She should’ve been a better wife and then they wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Hush, don’t let Master Henry hear you!” “Oh please... He wouldn’t know what that means even if he had heard me.”

The conversation all but floated around his ears, even if he didn’t quite understand what exactly the servants were talking about as he tidied up the guest room. Not that it mattered much when his main purpose was finding Liam. 

Liam was head groundskeeper of the Nolan estate, and Killian’s older brother. And if Henry could find Liam, he’d easily find Killian. Their father had taken in Liam and Killian when the two were just boys.

Well, actually, it was really Emma who’d convinced her father to take in the two Jones Brothers. Killian had tried to steal Emma’s coat when she was walking home from school, but she had promptly knocked Killian flat on his back. And maybe broke his nose while she was at it. They’d only been eight at the time. 

She’d escorted him to the hospital and when it came up that Killian’s only guardian was Liam, who was thirteen at the time, Emma wouldn’t hear of the two brothers going back home. She all but insisted that they stay with the Nolans. Leopold had been absolutely furious with Emma at first, but both boys had proven themselves to be smart and hardworking, and Leopold relented. 

David and Liam were quite close given that they were the same age, though David and Liam were not nearly as close as Emma and Killian were. Liam had always strictly adhered to the social status between them. The Jones were never fully adopted by Leopold, there were certainly expectations of blood purity for the Nolans that needed to be upheld, or at least that’s what Henry’s father always said when he asked.

Still, the boys got to live at the Nolan house, and Leopold had covered both Killian and Liam’s university tuitions. Liam was simply biding his time as head groundskeeper until Leopold had room to take him on at the firm.   

Emma and Killian, on the other hand, had been inseparable ever since that fateful day. Things like chores and expectations had often kept them apart physically during their days, but the two were in sync and often not found to be too far from each other. If Killian was working in the garden, it was not unexpected to find Emma reading there. If Emma was riding her horse, Killian was working on the paddock fence.

It must be nice to have a best friend like that, Henry thought with a sigh. He’d often yearned for a secret Jones sibling his own age would pop up out of nowhere when he was younger. Liam and Killian treated him like their younger brother, which Henry supposed was enough, but he often felt lonely seeing David and Liam and Emma and Killian hang out together. There was simply no one his age at the home, and all young people hit a certain point in their lives where they do not want a child toddling around after them. 

Ava and Nicholas were his age, but they were bossy and decidedly not very much fun at all. They often bossed him around or bullied him when they came over and whenever he complained to his mother, she told him that they were just having a hard time. His father’s advice was to man up.

And so Killian had taught him a good left punch and a right hand uppercut which mostly left the matter lie, at least where Nicholas was concerned. As much as he wanted to, he could not uppercut his cousin Ava. 

The memory of boxing lessons with Killian had Henry in a good mood, though he was starting to wonder if Killian hadn’t even woken up yet. He’d turned the corner heading toward the servant’s kitchen, when he heard Liam’s voice.

“Killian, you promise nothing happened?” 

“Bloody hell, Liam. Of course nothing happened. I’m just tired. It was a long ride home.”

“You just don’t seem excited to be home, that’s all.” There was a pause, followed by a soft clink of a mug. “You’d tell me if something happened, wouldn’t you, little brother?” 

“Of course. And that’s younger brother to you, Liam.” Henry was sure that Killian was more than used to Liam’s fussing and motherhenning since Liam had never shirked in his duty as Killian’s guardian, even when they moved into the Nolan residence. 

“Smothering” was what Emma called it. 

Though there was an affectionate note to Killian’s voice that would’ve been in place of his usual exasperation. Killian hated being called the little brother in his youth, something Henry had copied out of admiration for Killian. 

Emma had once called it adorable and Henry did not speak to her for a whole day because he was not adorable, thank you very much. Though not talking to Emma for that day had been very painful for him because Emma was his favorite person in the house. 

Most of the time. 

Henry crept closer to the kitchen door to try and get a better listen to the brothers’ conversation, but Killian caught his eye and smirked into his cup of tea. “Lad, you know what pirates do to eavesdroppers, don’t you?” 

Henry rolled his eyes playfully and stepped into the kitchen. “I’m not a child anymore, Killian,” he replied. “You can’t threaten to throw me into the brig anymore. That doesn’t work.” Still, he was grinning from ear to ear. “Welcome home, Killian. I missed you.” 

“Aye, so it seems you’ve grown indeed, lad. I swear you’ve grown a foot since Christmas,” Killian chuckled, pushing some of his breakfast toward Henry. “Go on, you can finish that. Knowing you, you stayed up writing and missed breakfast.”

“Has the family taken breakfast yet?” Henry asked, almost immediately digging into the food. “I only woke up because Father was yelling at Emma about her marks.”

“We haven’t been home a full day yet and he’s already laying into her about her marks?” Killian asked, getting up halfway out of his chair. Liam cleared his throat pointedly and Killian slowly sat back down into the chair. 

“Well go on, you can’t announce the event and not give us any of the juicy details,” Liam goaded Henry, glancing at Killian briefly. “You know the best way to get ourselves extra sweets is to come into the kitchen with a little bit of gossip. We’ll split the bounty three ways,” he murmured conspiratorially.  

“Well it wasn’t anything new in terms of what he tells us when we don’t perform the way he wants us to. That we’re lazy or that we’re failures. I don’t know why you all would find that interesting, you’ve heard him say it to each of us at least once a day,” Henry replied nonchalantly, reaching for a napkin to clean up after himself. “Oh, except for that he only paid for her to get her degree so that she could go find a husband.” 

Killian’s hand tightened around the handle of his cup of tea and his jaw clenched, his eyes flashing for the briefest of moments. His eyes darted to the doro and they lingered there before he gave his head a quiet shake. Henry happily kept on eating, glad to be moving past it as Killian seemed to be thinking something over. 

The storm behind Killian’s eyes seemed to break as he turned to the young boy. “So tell me, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. What’s your latest work about?” he teased Henry, who only rolled his eyes goodnaturedly at the jibe. 

“You know, Killian, it would be a much better nickname if I actually wrote any mysteries,” Henry replied. 

“And if he hadn’t died within the last few years,” Liam replied, clearing the plates away.

“What? Too soon?” Killian joked. Seriously, he turned to Henry and added, “You know, Doyle hated the Sherlock Holmes works but they were his most popular ones. He wrote plenty of historical works as well.”

“Well, my work is not a mystery or historical,” Henry protested. “So your nickname still doesn’t work.”

“I swear, you must be taking arguing lessons from Emma,” Killian chuckled fondly into his tea. Henry thought that was a very odd thing for him to say, only to be distracted when Liam produced three berry crumbles for the three of them to share.

#blaire's writing #captain swan movie marathon #csmm #csmm20 #captain swan au #cs ff #cs au ff

[artificialqueens]

Wild Flower, Chapter Eleven, (Shalaska) 11/11 - Freyja

A/N: Guys. We’re at the end. I literally still can’t comprehend it - my brain is still planning on beginning the next chapter tomorrow like it has been for the last two months (please don’t ask me how I wrote this in only two months - quarantine is a special time).

It’s really bittersweet - I’ve finished a multichap! It’s as long as a novel! But, I’m going to miss writing this story and this world so, so much. It’s my favorite thing I’ve ever written, and I’m sad it’s over. I’m going to miss everything about it, but I’m really damn proud of it, too. My baby’s going to college, you guys :’)

I want to thank Frey for betaing this entire fic - I love her so much and she’s the best. It’s just facts, people. Here’s hoping she doesn’t drop me like a hot potato before I can get anything else out (because this isn’t the end of me - just the end of my niche cowboy fic that I’m grateful even one person read).

I want to thank everyone for their comments and asks and messages - I love every single one of them, and they really did get my ass into gear. If any of y'all want to shoot me ( @narcoleptic-drag-queen ) asks about this fic (headcanons or questions or anything) or really anything else, I welcome it all. If y'all want an epilogue or any sort of spin off stories, let me know about that as well. I’m sentimental, and I’ll take any excuse not to leave this fic alone just yet.

And now, to top it all off: the playlist, previous chapters (in order), AO3, and the playlist @barbiehytes made (which is better than mine). Thank you for reading, everyone - I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart. <3<3<3

Summary: Solomon has Sharon, and the girls go to get her. Alaska will do anything to get her back. Anything.

🌸

“Most of those he did kill deserved what they got.” — A Lincoln County, New Mexico resident talking of Billy the Kid

🌸

For a moment, all Alaska can hear is the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, the world tilting dizzyingly as soon as Phi Phi’s words hit her.

Solomon has her.

Her stomach churns, nausea rising to the back of her throat. Solomon has Sharon. The man who’d killed Chad Michaels in cold blood, seemingly just for fun, has Sharon. The same man who now has reason to hate Sharon, can now do whatever he wants with her. Lawrence Solomon, the man who’s name sends a shiver down Alaska’s spine, has the woman she loves, and he very likely wants to kill her.

All she can do is stare at Phi Phi, unable to form any of the questions she has, shock making her mind numb and her body detached. She hears Willam call for the other women, but it feels like a memory already, like it’s happening far away.

She watches as Roxxxy arrives, a large shotgun in hand, to take her place next to Jinkx’s pale figure. She watches Morgan run towards Willam like a bullet had never been in her thigh, exchanging quiet words with the blonde that Alaska couldn’t hope to hear even if her ears weren’t ringing deafeningly.

She watches Morgan nod at Willam before marching up to Cerrone, reaching Phi Phi’s side with a sneer. She grabs Phi Phi’s shirt and pulls her down violently, and she collapses on the ground in an ungraceful heap. Phi Phi’s sharp cry of pain succeeds in jerking Alaska back into her body, adrenaline flooding through her instead.

“Someone get her to the post,” Willam orders, her voice betraying nothing. Her face, however, is completely drained of color. “We can’t have her running on us.”

Phi Phi doesn’t cry out again when Morgan jerks her arms behind her back, but she grimaces, glaring at Willam with bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t do this,” she snarls, and Morgan shakes her a little, making her sentence end with a whimper of pain.

“I don’t care,” Willam says coldly. “It doesn’t even matter that I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you,” Phi Phi says. “I came to warn you, I–”

“Exactly,” Willam says. “And that’s suspicious as fuck.”

Phi Phi opens her mouth again, but Morgan cuts her off with another shake. “She’s not interested,” she sneers. “Didn’t you hear?”

Phi Phi doesn’t respond, gritting her teeth, and Willam takes the opportunity to pat her down for weapons. Surprisingly, she comes up with nothing. Alaska is just as confused as Willam looks - surely, Phi Phi would have at least a knife.

Maybe, Alaska thinks darkly, she’s trying to trick us.

“What the fuck?” Willam asks, and Phi Phi glares.

“You took all of my weapons, remember?” she snaps.

“No,” Willam says simply. “But I don’t mind skipping to step two.”

“If you tie me to that post,” Phi Phi says, growing panicked as Morgan tries to march her forwards. She digs her heels into the dirt, stopping Morgan and displaying more strength than Alaska had expected. Her voice, however, is strained as she finishes her sentence. “I won’t tell you anything.”

“Sure,” Willam says dryly, but Alaska feels a thrill of panic run through her at the threat. Even if they manage to crack Phi Phi, it will take too long. She needs to know now.

She steps forward to stop them, to tell Morgan to just shake it out of Phi Phi here and now, but Jinkx beats her to it, raising her voice for the first time since Phi Phi’s grand entrance.

“Stop,” she says, and her voice is wobbly. “I don’t want to make things more difficult than they already are. Not when Sharon’s in danger.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and Alaska’s stomach dips as well, worry rising in her throat.

“How are we supposed to know she’s telling the truth?” Willam asks, flicking her gun lazily at Phi Phi, making her flinch. “I don’t trust her. Wild animals need to be restrained.”

Another flash of panic runs through Alaska like a shock. “Restraining her isn’t going to do anything but make getting Sharon harder,” she says, but Willam’s sharp look silences her from saying any more.

“I think I know what I’m doing,” Willam says, glancing at Phi Phi with something like disgust. “She deserves to be tied up for this.”

“Alaska’s right,” Jinkx says, and Willam’s eyes roll up towards the sky. “I don’t trust her either, but I think we’re going to get the truth a little faster if she’s in the mood to cooperate.”

“Or we’ll get whatever lie she’s got cooked up,” Roxxxy sneers from beside her, and Alaska resists the urge to snap at her to shut up. Phi Phi snarls.

“I’m not lying!” she says, voice loud. “I’m done lying for that bastard!”

“Now that’s interesting,” Willam says, peering curiously down at Phi Phi’s scowling face. “I thought you said you would die for him.”

“That’s when I thought he would die for me,” Phi Phi says, and her voice cracks. “I’m not trying to trick you. Just - please, don’t tie me up.”

“Sharon does always say you’re bad at lyin’,” Willam says, frowning a little. “She says she likes it when he brings you along, because all you do is give him away.”

Phi Phi laughs bitterly. “Makes sense,” she says. “I guess it’s easier to trick me and get shit done that way.” Alaska pauses at that, once again taken aback, the frustration that comes with confusion clenching in her chest. What the hell is Phi Phi talking about?

There’s a beat of silence, and Roxxxy creeps forwards a little, her gun still trained on Phi Phi’s face.

“How do we know she’s not just stalling?” she asks. “How do we know this isn’t all one big ploy to lead Solomon up here to get the rest of us? How do we know Sharon’s not already dead?”

Alaska feels the world tilt again, her stomach plunging with sudden fear. No.

“Because Sharon wouldn’t let that happen,” Jinkx says harshly. “That’s - that’s impossible.”

“Roxxxy,” Willam says, her eyes on Jinkx. Her voice is surprisingly gentle, and Alaska follows her gaze to find Jinkx on the brink of tears, her cheeks flushed an angry red. She feels her own pressing against the back of her throat. “Make yourself useful and go get Kameron.”

Roxxxy frowns. “I’m not saying–”

“Just do it,” Morgan cuts in, and Roxxxy turns without further question, making her way up to the tent nearest Sharon’s. Alaska watches her go, nausea still high in her throat and her heart pounding so hard she can feel it in her fingertips. Even with Roxxxy gone, her words are still a shard in the center of Alaska’s chest, something she doesn’t think will go away until Sharon is back and unharmed.

She tries to ignore the doubt creeping into her mind, choosing her anger instead of her distress. Sharon will be alright - if she isn’t, Alaska will do anything to make sure no one else is, either.

“Spill.”

Willam’s piercing voice tugs her out of her thoughts, and she turns her gaze back to the situation at hand, surprised to see anger making itself known in Willam’s expression as she continues, “And if I even get a feeling that you’re lying, Morgan will twist your arm until you start crying for your mother.”

“Luckily for me,” Phi Phi mutters, glaring up at Willam, “I don’t plan on lying.”

“Congratulations,” Willam says, voice flat. “Maybe you’ll get to keep your arm.”

Alaska thinks Phi Phi is lucky that she isn’t the one holding her, panic and anger making her desperate to hit something - desperate to hit Phi Phi, who isn’t as repentant as Alaska thinks she should be. She should be groveling. She should be begging.

“What were you doing with Sharon?” Jinkx asks after a moment, her voice still shaky, but her expression determined. “Let’s start with that.”

There’s a pause as Phi Phi clearly gets her thoughts in order, frowning as her eyes drift towards the ground. She takes long enough that Roxxxy has time to return with a grave Kameron, and the sight of them has impatience snapping in Alaska’s chest.

“Well?” Alaska snaps, and Phi Phi glares at her.

“Be patient,” she snarls, but her expression softens after a beat, her scowl turning into a slight frown. “It isn’t – It wasn’t my idea,” she starts, “so don’t blame me.”

“I think we’ll decide who to blame when you finish the story,” Willam says, like she’s putting off choosing what she wants Alyssa to cook for dinner. “Which better be the next thing out of your mouth. Otherwise, we’re tying you to the post whether you like it or not.”

Phi Phi scowls, but she takes a deep breath, pressing her lips together. “Sharon decided she wanted to accept Solomon’s peace treaty,” she says, and disbelieving shock once again has Alaska’s organs turning to liquid. Roxxxy clearly feels the same, because she cuts in before Phi Phi can continue.

“She’s lying,” she says, but Willam puts a hand up before Morgan can jostle Phi Phi again. Alaska doesn’t miss the way Willam’s eyes glance towards her, and her heart stutters at the implication.

“Let her finish,” Willam says, looking back at Phi Phi, and Phi Phi waits another moment before continuing.

“I told her that she was lucky, because today is the day that Solomon wanted to meet with her,” she says, and her voice is still, strangely, bitter. “Sharon took me with her in the spirit of the treaty, to give me back. But Solomon didn’t seem very interested in me - just in talking. Stalling.”

“It was a trap,” Willam says, realization dawning in her eyes. “There was no peace treaty.” Alaska’s stomach jolts, her breath catching on an inhale. If Sharon had been right before, but had listened to Alaska’s naivety anyway–

She’s an idiot, Alaska thinks, her heart hurting. But so am I.

“No,” Phi Phi says darkly. “There wasn’t. Solomon’s a good actor - he even had me fooled. He got Sharon to shake his hand. He didn’t let go, and Sharon was trying to reach for her gun when suddenly, men were swarming us. They got Sharon pretty fast, and when I tried to help her - well. They didn’t hesitate to shoot at me.” She pauses, hurt flickering across her face before anger settles back onto her features, the emotion clearly easier to handle. Alaska feels her own rise in response. “They shot my horse, and while I was grabbing Sharon’s, another bullet went through my arm. I ran before they could do any more damage. I don’t know what their plan is with Sharon - all I know is that Solomon likes to play with his victims. And Sharon’s certainly one he won’t want to waste.”

There’s a deafening silence as she finishes, and Alaska stares in numb shock before anger starts to pool within her, Phi Phi’s story slowly unfolding within her mind.

Sharon is in danger, very likely already hurt, and it’s Phi Phi’s fault. It makes Alaska clench her fists, the feeling of her nails cutting into her palms only making her angrier.

“So,” she says slowly, her anger forming a typhoon in her chest. “It’s your fault.”

“Alaska–” Jinkx starts, her voice gentle, but Phi Phi beats her to the punch.

“I wasn’t the only one pushing for the peace treaty,” she snaps. “And I’m definitely not the one that convinced Sharon.”

Alaska feels the accusation like a punch to the gut, hurt and regret sharp in her stomach. “How did you–”

“Sharon likes to talk,” Phi Phi sneers. “I don’t think that’s news to anyone here.”

Alaska itches to hurt her, but she stays back, shaking with anger. “You abandoned her,” she says, her voice growing louder. “You left her there to be taken and you stole her only–”

“They were shooting at me!” Phi Phi shouts over her, leaning forwards like she wants to get closer. “My own camp - my own– argh!” She’s cut off with another cry of pain, having pulled a little too hard against Morgan.

“Get her to Katya,” Willam tells Morgan, but Alaska isn’t finished.

As Morgan begins to march Phi Phi towards the med-tent, Alaska steps forward, opening her mouth to snap back, but before she can form any words, a hand closes around her wrist, stopping her from going very far. She flinches, and she whips her head around to find Jinkx looking at her with a worried expression.

“Alaska,” she says, “it wasn’t her fault.”

Anger flashes through Alaska like lightning, and she jerks her hand away, betrayal mixing in with the hurt. “Are you kidding? She–”

“Alaska,” Jinkx repeats, her voice soft, too soft, and Alaska stares at her, her chest heaving with anger, worry, hurt, regret, shock, guilt–

She bursts into tears.

Jinkx immediately pulls her into a hug, and Alaska can only resist for a brief moment before she gives in, melting into Jinkx and sobbing into her shoulder. She might not get to fix her mistake - she might be to blame for Sharon’s. Right when she had been about to start a new life, to confess her love and her devotion, it had all been ripped away from her. It’s unfair, and it feels good to cry, to let all of her anger and fear out onto Jinkx, who holds her so tightly that she actually feels something like safety.

“Sharon–” she chokes out, and Jinkx shushes her.

“She’s going to be fine,” she says, but Alaska hears the way her voice wobbles. “She’s always fine. We’ll come up with a plan.”

Alaska nods, desperately clinging to her words with a hope that she can only pray isn’t foolish. She sucks in a shaky breath, slowing her sobs. They’ll get Sharon out of this. They have to. Sharon just has to be strong enough to wait for them, and Alaska has no doubts about that.

She pulls away, still sniffling, and she takes Jinkx’s hands in hers, squeezing them as hard as she can. “Thank you,” she whispers, and Jinkx smiles, her own face streaked with tear tracks.

“It’ll be fine,” she tells her again, and resolve steels in Alaska’s gut at the words.

“We’ll get her out,” she says, and she believes it.

She has to.

🌸

“We’ll be no good to her dead,” Willam is saying, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands. Alaska wraps Jinkx’s shawl around herself a little tighter, shivering despite the fire roaring in front of her, her face uncomfortably warm compared to the rest of her body. “So, sorry, Katya, but storming the place isn’t going to be very successful.”

They’ve been making plans for four hours now, each woman throwing out an idea only to be shot down by Willam or Morgan, both more suited for strategy and logic than any of the other women. The sun set around an hour ago, and impatience is threatening to burst out of Alaska in unfriendly ways.

“Why not?” Katya asks, throwing her hands up. “Brute force is a surefire way to get in there!”

“Did you miss the part where Phi Phi said Solomon is camped out in an old mansion?” Willam asks. “We can’t storm a house like that - it’s too defended.”

“When did we decide to trust Phi Phi, again?” Detox asks, eyeing Phi Phi warily. Phi Phi glares back from her place next to Morgan, her hands and feet both bound with rope. She’d been given two options: the post, or to have her hands and feet restrained. She’d chosen the latter, but she’d still been pissed about it. Alaska can’t find it within herself to have any sympathy for her.

“Stop acting like we haven’t answered that question already, Detox,” Jinkx says, clearly annoyed. “She’s the only person who’s actually seen Solomon’s hideaway.”

“She’s the only person who’s ever been aligned with him!” Roxxxy argues, and Jinkx’s lips flatten.

“For once, can you two not be difficult?”

Roxxxy gives her a dark look. “For once, can you not be–”

“Ladies!” Alyssa interrupts from between them, stretching her hands out to either side of her. “This isn’t a time for arguing, bickering, or hollering! This is why we’ve been sitting here for four hours freezing our asses off!”

“And our tits,” Willam adds. “Can we get back to shooting down everyone’s idiotic plans?”

Katya shrugs, seemingly unbothered. “I never said I was a battle strategist,” she says, and Willam snorts.

“I don’t think we ever thought you were,” she says, and Alaska loses grip on her patience, growing tired of the meandering everyone seems to be doing.

“Are we trying to make a plan?” she asks, her voice sharp. “Or are we just waiting until there’s no reason to make a plan, anymore?”

“We’re making a plan,” Morgan says. “But it’s not like we’re going to ride out as soon as we have one. We need to wait until daylight, so we can scout the camp. It isn’t far.”

“According to Phi Phi,” Roxxxy mutters, but Alaska seems to be the only one that hears it, the others instead training their eyes on Willam, who’s clearing her throat.

“I still think the best plan is to just sneak in, and sneak out,” she says. “We have rifles around the camp, and two of us sneak into the shed to get Sharon out.”

“No doubt there’s a guard,” Morgan says, and Willam nods.

“I can take him out without too much trouble,” she says, “I’m good with a knife.”

“I am too,” Kameron pipes up, her Tennessee drawl practically dripping off of her words. She hadn’t spoken much during the discussion, but when she had, it was only good points. Alaska finds herself trusting her judgement more than some of the other women, despite her unfamiliarity. “Just in case there’s more than one.”

“Good,” Willam says, and Detox makes a displeased sound.

“Revenge can’t be the goal, Detox,” Jinkx says, and it sounds like she’s treading lightly, trying to avoid another fight. “This is the safest way we can get Sharon out. Alive.”

“Solomon needs to pay,” Roxxxy says, and Alaska would be amused by her and Detox’s back and forth routine if a dark part of her wasn’t agreeing with their need for violence. “To let him get away with this unscathed is cowardice.”

“You’re acting like we can’t just return to him with bigger guns,” Katya says.

“If he manages to move camp, we won’t,” Morgan says. “But even if it is one or the other, Sharon’s safety comes first.”

“There has to be a way of getting both, though,” Roxxxy says, and Alaska rolls her lips between her teeth.

“Let’s take a vote,” she says, her heart thrumming beneath her skin, shaky with nerves. The feeling hasn’t ceased since Phi Phi had rounded the corner on Cerrone. “Since clearly, we’re incapable of making any progress by talking it out.”

“Good idea,” Willam says, and she raises her hand, hindered only slightly by her corset. “All in favor of keeping Sharon safe, say ‘aye’.”

“Do you want to be fair, or do you want to be a bitch?” Roxxxy snaps, unamused. Willam shrugs.

“Fine. All in favor of not making things worse, say ‘aye’.”

Katya lets out a wheeze, and Alaska has to hold back her own snort, reluctantly amused. Roxxxy looks murderous.

“Why can’t you just–”

“It’s fine,” Detox says, although she looks annoyed as well. She puts a hand over Roxxxy’s in an attempt to calm her down. “It’s just Willam. It would be pointless to argue.”

“It is me,” Willam says. “And it’s pointless to argue because I’m right. Now, raise your hands up where I can see them.”

Alaska raises her hand without hesitation, although anger does churn in her gut at the thought of Solomon getting away with what he’s done. Sharon comes first - and she’s certain that Sharon would like her own piece of revenge, as well.

Alaska resolves to find Solomon again, if he does escape. With the law off of the table, she’s comfortable serving her own justice. She’s comfortable enacting her own vengeance.

It feels good.

She counts the hands raised, and is surprised to count Detox and Roxxxy’s among them. Willam seems to realize this just a few moments after Alaska, because she puts her hand down with a certain degree of smugness, a small smirk at the corner of her mouth.

“What made y’all change your minds?” she asks, and Roxxxy takes a deep breath.

“We want revenge,” she says. “But not more than we want Sharon safe. It wasn’t a hard decision.”

“Thank you,” Jinkx says, and although Roxxxy avoids looking at her, Detox mirrors her smile easily.

“We’re not always difficult,” she says, and Jinkx’s smile grows.

“Only twenty three hours out of the day,” she says.

“Only when Sharon’s the thing we’re arguing about,” Detox corrects, and the reminder casts a silence over them all, Willam’s plan cementing itself in their minds.

“So,” Katya says, after a few moments, “who will be going tomorrow, and how many bandages should I be prepared to use?”

“Hopefully no bandages,” Willam says, and then she casts a thoughtful glance around the circle of logs, her face almost ghoulish in the firelight. “It’ll be me, Roxxxy, Kameron, Morgan, and Alyssa. Detox still can’t move well, and we need some people at camp just in case it really is a trap.”

“I’m going,” Alaska snaps, panic once again making her stomach dip sickeningly.

“Alaska–”

“I’m going,” she repeats, meeting Willam’s gaze with as much determination as she feels. She’s going. There’s no other way. She’ll sneak out of camp to follow them, if she has to. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to sit here worrying about what’s happening. I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t shoot,” Willam says. “You haven’t proven any loyalty, you–”

Anger abruptly bursts in Alaska’s chest, the accusation a spear shooting through her body. “I love Sharon more than you could ever know,” she says, and she means it. God, does she mean it. “Don’t talk to me about loyalty - I have given up everything for her. I’m not about to lose one of the things that I got in return.”

There’s a beat of silence as Willam looks at her, her eyes thoughtful. “Alright,” she finally says, and Alaska thinks that her expression might be a little softer. “But you still can’t shoot.”

“She’s sneaky, though,” Roxxxy says, and Alaska stares at her, surprise briefly knocking her anger out of its place. Roxxxy meets her gaze with something like amusement, like she knows her generosity is unexpected. “She got past Detox and I the first night she was here, and I woke up today when Detox shifted just a little too violently. She can help get Sharon out of whatever hole they have her tied up in.”

Alaska finds herself puffing up a little, pride swelling in her chest and hope threading through it as she looks at Willam expectantly. Willam holds her stare for a long moment, impassive, before she suddenly sighs, relaxing a little with exasperation.

“Fine,” she says, and Alaska lets out the breath that she’d been holding.

“Thank you,” she breathes, and Jinkx takes her hand, squeezing it. Willam rolls her eyes.

“If this is some stupid attempt to get back at me–”

“It’s not,” Roxxxy interrupts. “I think she’s a good addition. And I think she needs to be there - God knows I know what it’s like to worry over someone you love.”

“She’s right,” Alaska says, and she believes it. “I know what I’m doing. And we’re going to get Sharon out.”

🌸

Alaska can’t sleep.

It’s her second night without Sharon, and the empty space beside her feels like ice, like Sharon’s warmth had been the only thing standing between her and the cold darkness. She curls up on Sharon’s bedroll to help fill the emptiness she can’t stop feeling in her chest, burying her face into her pillow to breath in the other woman’s scent, but she still feels her absence like a bullet wedged between her ribs.

She can’t stop thinking about where Sharon is instead, her heart pounding so hard that she feels like she might vomit. Her stomach churns as she thinks about Sharon tied up somewhere, about Sharon getting hurt, about Sharon getting tortured, about Sharon getting killed–

She squeezes her eyes shut, a few tears spilling over her cheeks and onto Sharon’s pillow. There’s no point in thinking about it - they’re leaving as soon as they can, and they can’t help whatever happens before that. Even still, nightmarish images continue to flash behind her eyelids, and she gives into the little sob that crawls up her throat.

Jinkx had invited her to sleep with her and Alyssa, but Alaska had refused, the thought of Sharon’s tent standing empty making her heart ache. It was an irrational feeling, but it had felt dangerously symbolic, so she had told Jinkx that she’d rather be alone.

She regrets it, now.

Sharon’s tent feels dark and unfamiliar without the fury that had clouded her thoughts the night previous, and it makes her jumpy as well as distressed, every snap of a branch or sigh of the wind making her tense up. Jinkx had lent her a revolver once again, telling her that Alyssa’s sharp aim would be enough to cover her if something happened, but it still feels strange in Alaska’s hands, the trigger too close and the handle too thick.

She still doesn’t trust Phi Phi. Her hurt does seem real, and both Willam and Sharon have cited her as a bad actress, but Alaska can’t bring herself to forgive Phi Phi’s part in how Sharon was taken. She may have been innocent, but she’s the one who knows Solomon best - she should have seen through his lie. She should have known that peace was never on his agenda.

That said, Sharon should have as well.

Alaska would be lying if she said a tiny part of her wasn’t also upset with Sharon’s role in this disaster. She had been so resistant to it when Alaska had asked, when they had been on good terms (and the thought that they still aren’t makes Alaska’s stomach twist) – what had made her decide to go against her own judgement? To forget about his previous betrayal and give him a second chance? It seems so stupid, and Alaska wants to take her by the shoulders, ask her what had made her act so foolish so suddenl–

It hits her like a ton of bricks.

Sharon was trying to apologize.

Alaska can recall their fight almost to the word, but this time, it’s not Sharon’s words that work their way under her skin - instead, it’s her own.

You expect me to make these changes for you, Sharon, but you aren’t even willing to budge for me!

Sharon must have been making an attempt, some stupid, grand gesture to entice Alaska back into camp. She’d just picked the wrong thing to bend on.

Warmth flutters up in Alaska’s chest, love and pleasure briefly settling the torrent of emotions still running through her, but guilt snuffs it quickly. She’s just as culpable as Sharon and Phi Phi - perhaps even more so. If she hadn’t been so selfish - if she had just taken a moment to think about how Sharon has changed for her - if she had thought about her words before she spit them out–

She inhales when she realizes that she’s holding her breath, breathing in more of Sharon’s scent as she does. She comforts herself with the thought that Sharon was trying to make amends - clearly, Alaska hadn’t broken their relationship beyond repair.

Sharon hadn’t told anyone where she was going - she was likely expecting to be back before Alaska left. Or, she hadn’t expected Alaska to leave at all.

Guilt once again drops into her stomach like an anchor, but she wipes it away the best that she can, already nauseous with fear and anger. Sharon had told her to leave. Sharon should have been smart enough to talk to her, rather than leaving without telling anyone why.

God, she misses her.

Alaska wraps her blankets around herself more tightly, curling further into herself. She needs to sleep, she needs to be sharp for tomorrow, but she doesn’t think her heart rate is going to slow anytime soon. She can’t sleep when she knows Sharon probably isn’t either - when she knows that Sharon probably can’t.

We’ll save her, she tells herself, clenching her fists into the blankets. We can do it.

She trusts Willam - she trusts that she knows what she’s doing. Willam knows how to play the game, how to navigate this world even better than Jinkx, and she cares about Sharon. The thought soothes some of Alaska’s anxiety.

She trusts the women at camp. It’s not a sudden realization, but one that’s been coming for a long time, creeping in like fog down the mountain tops. It’s comforting to be able to finally trust, to finally feel like she belongs amongst these women that she had once found so frightening and alien.

She trusts them to get Sharon back. She trusts them to protect her while they do it. She trusts them.

She finally drifts off, clinging to her realization with a desperation she doesn’t think she’s ever felt before, the idea comforting enough that she can allow herself to let go of how her stomach twists at every thought.

They will save Sharon, and Alaska will see her again.

She has to.

🌸

Solomon’s camp can hardly be called a camp - it’s a house, nestled in the foothills of the mountains and abandoned (no doubt) due to a poor foundation, with a barn and a tool shed not far from it. Men mill around the place like ants, and Alaska has to squint to see them with any clarity, their vantage point just far enough that binoculars are required.

She’s exhausted - she’d been woken by nightmares throughout the night, and it had felt like she’d gotten only five minutes of sleep before Willam had nudged her awake, the toe of her boot sharp against Alaska’s side. She’d worried over the headache that had been pressing against the backs of her eyes as they’d all reviewed the plan, but now, as she looks down at the shed that Sharon is being kept in, she feels more awake than she’d been since Honard, adrenaline making her headache vanish and her body wired with energy.

“There isn’t a guard by the shed,” Willam says, her binoculars pressed up against her eyes. “Was Phi Phi a hundred percent on the shed being where hostages get tied up?”

“She was,” Morgan says. “Someone’s probably inside with her.”

Alaska feels nausea leap into her throat at the implication, turning from Morgan’s face to look back down at the shed, hatred boiling in her gut. She wants to run to it, sprint to Sharon and get her out as fast as she can, but she forces herself to relax. They were scouting first for a reason - running down only to be apprehended by a man hiding in the bushes wouldn’t be much use to Sharon.

Willam heaves a sigh. “Shit,” she mutters, and she’s silent for a moment before she speaks again. “Well, that’ll make him easier to kill.”

Alaska glances at the wicked knife at Willam’s hip, and she thinks about it in someone’s back. It doesn’t make her stomach dip with dread, and the satisfaction of knowing that it will be going into someone possibly hurting Sharon doesn’t scare her. Instead, it makes her more anxious to put the plan into motion, to speed things along faster. She’s willing to kill if it means that Sharon won’t be. Anything to make sure Sharon isn’t hurt any more.

“Looks like Kameron, Roxxxy, and Alyssa are in position,” Morgan says, and Willam nods.

“Good,” she says. “Let Alaska borrow your binoculars, so that I can tell her exactly where we’ll be going.”

Morgan passes her binoculars over wordlessly, shifting into a shooting position as Alaska takes them, her rifle pressed right up against her cheek. Alaska takes a deep breath at the sight of her before raising the binoculars to her face, turning back to the shed. They’re doing this. Nerves shoot through her at the thought, but she steels herself against them, nothing but Sharon echoing through her mind.

She’s ready.

“Alright,” Willam starts, as soon as Alaska finishes adjusting the binoculars. “We’re going to keep at least a hundred foot difference until the shed is between us and that ugly house. We’ll creep up the side facing us right now. I’ll go in first, while you stand guard. I’ll kill whoever’s in there, and I’ll grab Sharon - be prepared to help carry her back up here, the same way we came. I don’t know what kind of - what kind of condition she’ll be in.” Her voice dips a little as she stutters over the words, and fear runs through Alaska in response, crawling under her skin like ants.

“Alright,” Alaska says, trying her best to keep her voice from warbling. She succeeds, mostly. “Got it.”

“You can’t fuck it up,” Willam warns, her eyes serious when she turns to look at Alaska. “We can’t afford that right now.”

“I won’t,” Alaska says, and she means it. She’s never been good with following instructions, but she thinks that for Sharon, she’d do anything. “You can trust me.”

“I have to, at this point,” Willam says, but Alaska sees her relax somewhat. She takes a breath, taking one last look over the shed before she sets the binoculars down. “Are you ready?”

Alaska copies her, sucking in a deep breath. She draws up her anger, her worry, her love. “Yes,” she says, and she lets some of her emotion shine through. Willam nods at her.

“Morgan?” she says, and Morgan grunts. “Flash the mirror. We’re going.”

Morgan looks back at Willam, her eyebrows raised. “Good fucking luck,” she says, and Willam starts crawling back down the little hill they’d been on.

“Good fucking luck,” Willam repeats grimly, and it sounds rehearsed, like it’s an old joke that’s suddenly gone sour. She stands as soon as the top of their small ledge is at eye level, dusting off the pants that she’d changed into for this. Alaska is grateful for her own as she follows Willam’s lead, going a little further down to accommodate for her height.

Willam waits for Morgan to take a small mirror out of her pocket, using it to flash the bright sunlight at the other side of the camp, signalling to Alyssa and Kameron that the plan is being set in motion. Then, she turns to Alaska.

“Draw your gun,” she says. “They’ll be on their guard now that they have Sharon, but don’t shoot unless it’s absolutely necessary. Follow my lead.”

Alaska obeys, pulling the worn gun that she’d found at the bottom of one of Sharon’s drawers from the holster at her hip, the grip comfortable in her hands. For the first time, wielding a gun feels natural, and she doesn’t know if it’s because she’s held one enough times, or if it’s because this one belongs to Sharon.

They creep along the path that Willam had planned out earlier, low to the ground and on the lookout for any eyes turned their way. Alaska’s heart stutters a couple of times when a member of the camp turns towards them, but there are enough trees that their eyes skip over them each time.

It’s hard not to sprint towards the shed, her instincts screaming at her that running is the safest route, that the less time they can be seen in, the better, but she forces herself to match Willam’s slow crawl, the logic of moving too slow to be noticeable winning. It seems to be working, judging by the lack of trouble they’ve run into so far.

As they near the shed, however, a voice far too close makes them freeze, Willam glancing panickedly over at Alaska, who can only stare back with wide-eyed fear.

Fuck.

“–yeah, he’s in with Needles.”

“Vanhern?”

“Yeah. For his brother.”

Willam waves her arm desperately at Alaska, silently urging her to come closer. Alaska does, as quickly as she can assume is safe, and Willam grabs her wrist, yanking her down so that they’re both crouching behind a particularly thick bunch of bushes.

Almost a second later, they hear the sound of spurred boots approaching, the voices growing louder. Alaska imagines that they’d only gone unnoticed because the two men were too wrapped up in each other to even think to look out for anything.

“Good,” the man with the higher voice sneers. “He’s wanted revenge for a while now. That bitch deserves whatever he’s doing to her.”

Alaska freezes, still with overwhelming anger. Her heart starts pounding so hard it hurts, and she tightens her grip on her gun, squeezing so hard her knuckles turn white. What the hell are they doing to Sharon?

“You gonna go for a turn?” the deeper baritone asks. “I was thinkin’ about it.”

“Me too,” the other man says. Alaska can hear the grin in his voice, and it makes her stomach churn. “It’d be the most fun I’ve had in years. I heard she’s real pretty.”

Alaska sees red.

She goes to stand, ready to fire at them point blank, but Willam’s hand over her own has her jerking to a stop. She glares at the other woman only to be met with a warning stare, but it’s the way Willam’s chest seems to be heaving with a similar rage that has Alaska backing down.

Sharon’s safety is priority - she can’t fuck it up before they’ve even seen her.

“A real pretty bitch,” the baritone laughs. “Perfect. I think I might just have to ask Dutch for some time with her, too.”

“You think Dutch’ll get in trouble for how often he’s leaving his post?”

“Sounds like Dutch’s problem.”

Vomit rises to the back of Alaska’s throat as they laugh, her anger only making her stomach twist harder. She can’t even feel the relief she should as she hears them start to walk away, her fury making her hands shake uncontrollably as she stares resolutely at the leaves on the bush she and Willam are crouched behind.

Willam grabs her wrists, steadying them with an unyielding grip. Alaska looks up at her to find an intense expression looking back at her, Willam’s impenetrable facade finally cracking to reveal more anger than she’d expected.

“Don’t let them get to you,” Willam whispers harshly, shaking Alaska’s wrists a little for emphasis. “We’re getting Sharon out, and we need you on your best game. Put your anger in a box for now. Focus.”

“What is that, your morning routine?” Alaska sneers, but regret instantly plunges in her stomach as Willam’s face flickers with hurt. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I know you’re trying to help.”

“I’m trying to help Sharon,” Willam says, her voice hard. “Don’t forget that. You ready?”

Alaska sucks in a deep breath, nodding. Willam nods back, and she immediately starts towards the shed again, after a quick, cautionary look around them for any other surprise visitors. Alaska follows without hesitation, her eyes trained on the shed, Sharon her only goal.

They don’t have much farther to go, and soon they’re pressed up against the splintered wood of the shed, the sound of a man talking bleeding through the panels. Willam looks back at Alaska from her place in front, raising a finger to her lips. She fingers the knife at her belt, and Alaska follows her as she slides along the wall, close to the edge.

The shed, luckily, marks the outskirts of Solomon’s camp, with the mansion, the firepit, and the men around it on the other side of the shed, the barn acting as the marker for the opposite end. Alaska spots the two men that had passed them earlier walking just ahead, circling the perimeter, and she knows Willam has spotted them as well.

They wait an eternity for the men to disappear behind the mansion, Alaska growing sweaty from the baking sunlight and the man’s voice inside droning on and on. She tries not to think about how there’s no one responding to him.

The moment the two perimeter guards are out of sight, they curve around the edge of the shed, Willam taking one side of the crooked door, and Alaska the other, both still pressed flat against the wall.

Willam begins counting with her fingers, mouthing the numbers along with them.

One, two, th–

The man suddenly begins shouting, making both Alaska and Willam jump. Alaska’s heart stops beating for a moment, frozen with fear as the man’s words echo out of the shed with disturbing clarity.

“Don’t got a response for that either, bitch?” he shouts, and Alaska shivers at the raw anger his voice holds. “How about now?”

There’s a horrifying moment of silence, before a sob of pain bursts out, the voice clearly Sharon’s.

Alaska’s blood turns to ice.

She’s moving before she can think twice about it, wrenching her wrist away from Willam’s desperate attempt to stop her with surprising ease. All she can hear is the blood rushing through her ears, and she kicks the door open, the adrenaline rushing through her making it feel like no more than tissue paper.

Both occupants of the room jump as the door bangs against the wall, and Alaska takes in the scene before her quickly, the room strangely warm. Her eyes hone in on Sharon immediately -  pale, gasping for breath, and her head bent, dark hair like a curtain in front of her face - and the man crouching in front of her, the back of his shirt drenched with sweat.

He holds a red hot poker in his right hand. Alaska sees the matching burn mark on Sharon’s shoulder, the edges of her shirt blackened from being burned through. Her heart stops at the sight, tears blurring her vision as an uncontrollable anger washes over her.

“Sharon,” she chokes out, and Sharon lifts her head, her eyes widening.

“Alaska?” she breathes out, chest still heaving. Tear tracks stain down her cheeks, flushed from the heat. Alaska can see her shaking from where she stands, and anger makes her want to sob. “What are you–”

“What the hell?” the man interrupts, standing abruptly. Alaska meets his gaze with a protective fire in her veins, and she raises her revolver, both hands gripping the handle like a lifeline. The man’s eyes grow huge.

Clarity is a sharp accompanist to her fury: she understands, now. She understands what it’s like to choose between protecting those you love and society’s moral code. The decision is easier than she’d expected.

“Alaska,” Willam says from behind her, her voice sharp. “Don’t–”

Alaska pulls the trigger.

The recoil rattles her a little, the gunshot ringing in her ears, and she watches as the man collapses, clutching his stomach and screaming bloody murder.

“Goddamnit, Alaska!” Willam snarls, pushing past her into the shed and slamming the door shut behind her. Shouts can just barely be heard over the man’s screeching. “Great fucking work!”

Alaska stumbles with the force of Willam’s shove, unable to do much but stare at the man writhing on the floor, thick blood coating his fingers as he holds his torso. She’d done that. Nausea rises in her throat at the sight of his face, twisted with agony. She’d done that.

She feels satisfaction spreading from the core of her out to her fingertips. She’d done that.

Her attention immediately snaps to Sharon, Sharon, who’s staring at her like she’s just grown a second head, her eyebrows raised and her jaw slack.

Relief rushes through Alaska so fast that her knees nearly buckle beneath her, and she stumbles towards Sharon, falling to her knees before the other woman. She cups Sharon’s face with both hands, taking her in - her blue eyes, her flushed cheeks, the arch of her eyebrows. “Sharon,” she breathes, the word nearly a sob, “thank god.”

She hears Willam shoot, but she barely registers the gunshot, the man’s sudden silence more comforting than disturbing. Sharon gives her a wobbly smile, the gap between her teeth just barely visible.

“I’m never tying anyone up again,” she says, her laugh sounding more like a sob. “This sucks.”

“I love you,” Alaska says, her voice breaking. “Sharon.”

She lunges forwards, pressing her lips against Sharon’s desperately, love and affection and worry and relief all swirling in her chest as Sharon kisses back. It’s salty from tears and sweat, but Alaska can’t bring herself to mind, enjoying the feeling of Sharon’s warmth beneath her, the other woman solid and finally in her arms.

It feels like a weight being lifted off of her chest, and she suddenly wants to say it again. And again, and again, and again. She pulls away, brushing Sharon’s soaked curls away from her face. “I love you,” she says, her voice wobbly. “I love you, Sharon Needles. Thank god.”

“I love you too,” Sharon tells her, her voice raspier than usual. Her eyes are bright with emotion. “Alaska, I–”

“Later,” Alaska interrupts, rubbing a thumb over Sharon’s cheek. She’s alive. “We need to move fast.”

“I assume shooting Hamilton wasn’t a part of the plan?” Sharon asks as Alaska slides her hands down to mess with the ropes binding her ankles to the legs of the chair, her fingers frustratingly shaky with adrenaline.

“Killing him was,” Alaska says, guilt beginning to trickle into her gut. She can hear shots firing outside of the shed, and Willam shooting back, shouting insults and taunts through the large hole that had been in the side of the door. There had been two rules to the plan: be quiet, and don’t be seen. Alaska had managed to fuck both up royally.

The rope holding Sharon’s left foot loosens, falling to the ground. Alaska immediately starts on the left one, ignoring the way her fingers throb with rope splinters.

“Well,” Sharon says, her voice light. Alaska realizes, with a pang, that she’s trying to comfort Alaska. She thinks, vehemently, that it should be the other way around. “I’ve never been good at the sneak attacks Willam’s so fond of, so I can’t blame you.”

“I never would have guessed,” Alaska shoots back, and Sharon lets out a faint laugh.

“Doesn’t sound very like me, does it?”

Alaska’s fingers slip on the knot for what feels like the third time, and she curses, panic bubbling up in her chest. If she doesn’t get this done quickly enough–

A knife suddenly clatters down beside her, and she flinches, whirling around only to see that Willam had been the culprit.

“It’s a knife,” Willam says, her voice calm as she quickly reloads her rifle. “Use it.” A bullet cracks through the wood a few feet to the left of her, and Alaska startles violently. Willam doesn’t seem phased, turning to poke her rifle through the hole and shouting something unintelligible out at their assailants.

Alaska grabs the knife, her eyebrow twitching a little at how heavy is it, warm from where it’d been against Willam’s hip. She carefully slides it between Sharon’s leg and the rope, sawing with as much force as she can muster. It snaps within seconds, the rope splitting into three sections as it hits the floor.

She lets out a breath. “Thank fuck,” she breathes, and she stands, rounding Sharon to work on the rope binding her hands together. She’s taken aback by what she finds, rage making more tears spring to her eyes.

The rope is double layered around Sharon’s wrists, and Alaska can see the rope burns peeking out beneath it, painful looking blisters rubbed raw from a day’s worth of struggle. “Jesus,” she says, anger and concern making her voice harsh, and she begins cutting at the rope, sawing with a new fury.

The rope falls to pieces, and Sharon gasps with the sudden relief, bringing her hands around to cradle them against her ribcage, flexing her hands as she does so. Alaska sucks in her own breath, moving to kneel in front of Sharon again.

“You definitely have a fever,” she says, glancing at the blotchy red spots high on Sharon’s cheekbones. “Rope burns, and a fucking burn on your shoulder. Anything else?”

“I’m fine,” Sharon says, but she’s shaking, and she hasn’t made any attempt to stand up. She’s still babying her wrists, and Alaska takes one of her hands, squeezing it as panicked concern races through her like lightning.

“You’re not,” she snaps. “We don’t have time for you to lie to us. What else did these bastards do to you?”

Sharon presses her lips together, her lower lip wobbling. Alaska feels like sobbing at the sight of her. “Two burns on the palms of my hands,” she says hurriedly, and Alaska turns the hand she’s holding over, her stomach twisting at the sight of a large welt in the center of Sharon’s palm, bright red and cracked with recent stress, bloodying her hands. “That’s the most of it. I’m pretty sure my ribs are bruised.”

Alaska takes a shuddering breath, pressing her lips to the heel of Sharon’s hand, just below the burn. “I’m glad I shot him,” she says, anger like she’s never felt before rushing through her. “I’m glad he suffered.”

She looks up at Sharon’s face, her chest heaving, and Sharon looks back at her with something like pride, although her eyes are sad.

“Alaska–”

“Guys,” Willam says suddenly, and Sharon’s eyes immediately snap to behind Alaska. Alaska turns, something about the timber of Willam’s voice setting her on edge. Willam stares back at them, her face pale. “Solomon’s just stepped out. He’s calling off his men - he’s asking for a ceasefire.”

Sharon’s face slowly hardens, the vulnerability that had been so visible now hidden behind the mask of a woman who’s murdered more men than Alaska can count. Alaska doesn’t think she’s ever been so relieved to see it.

“Do it,” she says, determination coloring her voice. “Let’s see what he wants.”

Alaska frowns at her, a bad feeling making her heart twist. “Sharon,” she says. “Don’t. Whatever you’re doing–”

“If he wants what I think he wants,” Sharon says, her eyes sparking with anger and resolution. “Then I’ll let him have it. I want it, too.”

“What?” Alaska snaps. “What could he possibly want?”

“Revenge. Fair and square.”

The world outside falls silent, and Willam slowly pulls the door open, sliding her mirror back into her shirt pocket. From the doorway, they have a good view of the mansion, from which a man in denim jeans and a dusty jacket is strolling, his hat tilted proudly back from his face.

Lawrence Solomon.

He’s older - in his sixties, if Alaska had to guess. Clean shaven, with black hair that’s mostly gone gray. His eyes are deep set, and the blue of them is empty like a coffin waiting to be occupied.

Alaska doesn’t think she’s ever felt hatred like this before.

She watches, nausea churning in her gut, as he walks towards the shed, his hands free of any weaponry. A gun glitters at his thigh, however, catching the sunlight, and Alaska readjusts her grip on her own revolver at the sight of it.

“Stop there,” Willam says as Solomon nears them, and he stops without question, around thirty feet away. “What do you want?”

“Needles,” he says, and his voice is deep, gravelly. It makes the hairs on Alaska’s arms stand on end, and she glances at Sharon, protectiveness surging through her. Sharon looks disgusted, an intense fury lying just behind her eyes.

“I want to do this the old fashioned way. Me and Needles, twenty paces apart, one shot each. This is between us.”

“You’re just upset that we have the upper hand,” Willam calls back. “Of course she’s not–”

“I’ll do it,” Sharon says, and Alaska’s breath gets caught in her throat.

“No,” she says, as Willam turns to stare at them. “You won’t.”

“I will,” Sharon says, but as she makes to stand up, she nearly falls, her legs unsteady beneath her. Alaska grabs her wrist as she rights herself, breathing hard. If Sharon goes out there like this–

“You can barely stand,” she says, her voice thick with frustration and tears. “You can’t even use your hands. You’re not going out there.”

“I’ll manage,” Sharon grits out.

“Sharon–”

“Just try and stop me,” Sharon snaps, and Alaska lets out a desperate breath, squeezing Sharon’s wrist to try and make her understand what a bad idea this is.

“I’m waiting!” Solomon singsongs from outside, and Alaska sucks in another breath at the sound of his voice.

“You’ll die,” she whispers in an attempt to keep her tears at bay. It isn’t working. “Sharon, you can’t die, not when I just got you back. Please.”

Sharon’s face softens, and she pulls Alaska into a soft kiss, the hand Alaska isn’t holding coming to rest against her jaw. Alaska kisses her back pleadingly, her gut twisting as Sharon pulls away with a grim expression.

“I need to do this,” she says, and it’s with such finality that Alaska can’t bring herself to stop her from pulling her wrist away, her heart in her throat. “I’m the fastest draw in Colorado,” Sharon tells her as she slowly walks towards the door, smirking confidently. “I’ll win. Don’t worry.”

She grabs her holster from where it was hanging by the door, slinging it across her hips. Alaska feels another tug at her stomach. No.

“Sharon–”

“I love you,” Sharon says. And then, before Alaska can say it back, she steps out of the shed and towards Solomon, who greets her with a grin.

Alaska hates him.

She walks up to stand next to Willam in the doorway, watching nervously as Sharon and Solomon exchange quiet words, Sharon’s face hidden with her back turned to them, but Solomon’s face betraying narrow eyed anger.

“You know how this works?” Willam asks, her eyes never leaving the two leaders. Alaska nods, watching as they stand, back to back, their profiles serious and their guns safe in their holsters.

“Yeah,” she whispers. She thinks she might vomit.

She’d read about duels often as a child, the tradition clogging her history lessons and her favorite novels despite its illegality. The opponents stand, backs touching. They each take ten steps forward, on the count of three. They turn around. They fire.

To win requires a delicate balance of talent and luck, and Alaska can’t stop thinking about Sharon’s condition, about the burns scorched into her palms or the fever burning on her cheeks.

She’s seen how quick Sharon’s draw is, experienced how terrifying it can be. She just doesn’t know if she’ll live up to it after being knocked down so hard.

They begin taking their steps, and Alaska unconsciously tightens her grip on her gun, her finger coming to rest on the trigger. A horrible dread prickles down her spine, and she keeps her eyes on Solomon, despite how his proper posture and his neat steps say otherwise.

One.

Sharon’s chin is up, her expression resolute.

Two.

The buttons on Solomon’s jacket catch the sunlight like flashes of lit gunpowder.

Three.

Sharon’s hair blows in the summer wind, startlingly soft against what she’s about to do.

Four.

Solomon’s hand moves to hover at his hip.

Five.

Solomon stops, glancing behind him towards Sharon. Alaska’s heart leaps into her mouth.

Six.

Solomon turns, pulling his gun out of his holster with wicked speed.

Seven.

A gunshot echoes off of the mountains, deafeningly loud. It leaves Alaska’s ears ringing.

Eight.

Everyone freezes.

Alaska stares at Solomon as he falls to the ground, silent, a bullet hole through his temple. She feels nothing, watching a thin plume of smoke rise from her gun. She feels everything, watching Sharon turn, her own gun already in her hands, and stare at Solomon’s body with expressionless shock.

Willam looks at her, a new appreciation in her eyes. “Good fucking job, bitch,” she says, and Alaska lets out a relieved laugh before vomit suddenly crawls up her throat, and she stumbles out of the shed to puke into the grass, her gun falling uselessly out of her shaking hands.

Everything erupts into chaos.

There aren’t many men left, but the ones that are start shooting immediately, and the sound of gunshots fill the clearing once again. Alaska can hardly bring herself to care, shock still numbing her, distancing her, and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, still shaking violently.

She’s just killed a man.

She doesn’t regret it.

She takes in a shaky breath. She doesn’t regret it. It was his life or Sharon’s. He’d broken the rules to kill the woman she loved. He deserved it.

She looks up when everything falls quiet again, looking around at the dead men littering the ground. She can’t see Sharon, and she’s just beginning to panic when a hand suddenly touches her wrist.

She startles, whirling around to find Sharon beside her, her brow furrowed with concern and her eyes filled with pride. She lets out the breath she’d been holding, and it comes out more like a sob.

“Wanna explain to me what just happened, back there?” Sharon asks gently, and Alaska wants nothing more than to just hold onto her and never let go.

Alaska falls into her, shaking, and Sharon’s arms come up to hold her tightly. Alaska buries her face into the crook of her neck, relief coming over her in waves.

Sharon is safe. Solomon is gone.

Sharon is safe.

“I love you,” she whispers into Sharon’s skin.

“I love you too.”

🌸

The road back to camp is a rough one, but easy enough, all things considered.

The afternoon sun beats down on them as they pick their way back, moving slowly to accommodate for Sharon’s ribs, unwilling to make anything worse despite Sharon’s insistence that she can take more than the slow gait they’ve settled into.

Sharon rides with Alaska, unable to grip Cerrone’s reins on her own due to the burns in the center of her palms, her back pressed to Alaska’s front, her head resting against Alaska’s shoulder. She’d made a lewd comment or two about ‘riding with Alaska’, smirking and being generally obnoxious, but her eyes had fluttered closed after around a half hour of riding, exhaustion and fever ultimately taking over. Alaska kisses the top of her head, affection swelling in her chest and relief still coursing through her veins.

Sharon is safe.

The thought keeps echoing through Alaska’s head, and she wraps the arm she has around Sharon tighter, relishing in the feeling of her weight pressed against her. Emotion is a ball in her throat still, relief and love palpable on her tongue, but she also feels pride in her fingertips, in the corners of her mouth.

She’d saved Sharon.

She’d killed Solomon with one shot, adrenaline and the strength of her urgency making the world slow down, allowing her to line up her shot without hesitation and pull the trigger. She’d shot before he could, shot faster without thinking than he had with forethought - she’d won.

She’s proven her worth. She belongs amongst these women, these hardened criminals with kind eyes and even kinder hearts. She belongs to Sharon, who’d put a bullet in more than one man to protect Alaska, who’d sworn to always shoot for Alaska.

I’ll protect you, Alaska - I keep my word, and even if you shoot like a goddamn gunslinger, I’ll shoot before you have to.

Sharon had never broken her promise. Love is warm in Alaska’s belly as she glances down at her, her own promise curling itself around her heart.

She will always protect Sharon, no matter how high the cost.

Always.

🌸

That night, Alaska sleeps as close to Sharon as she physically can.

She wraps her arms around her lover’s waist, careful of her bruised ribs, and she buries her face into her dark hair, breathing her in. Emotion balls up in her throat, and she squeezes her eyes shut, tears making her eyelashes damp.

Sharon shifts against her, touching the back of her forearm with her hand.

“Lasky?”

Their arrival at camp had been joyous, Jinkx, Katya, and Detox all running towards them as their horses rounded the corner, abandoning Phi Phi and their game of poker by the fire pit. It had taken them three hours to get to Solomon’s camp, and with the way they’d picked their way back, careful of their injured cargo, it had taken twice as long to return. Evening light had tinged everything with an orange glow as they’d slid off of their horses, shaky with relief, and the fire had been lit, the smell of stew wafting towards them tantalizingly.

It had felt like coming home.

Detox’s screeching laugh had been familiar, and Katya’s odd beratements as she and Alaska had helped Sharon down from Cerrone had been comforting, her lighthearted notes about ointments and bandages soothing Alaska’s worry almost completely. Jinkx’s smile was bright, relieved tears in her eyes as she tugged Sharon into a long embrace, and Alaska had watched them with affection, warmth spreading from her chest down to the tips of her fingers.

Sharon had bragged about Alaska, pulling her in for another deep kiss for the entire camp to witness, and Alaska had blushed into it, her fingers coming up to thread through Sharon’s hair. Katya had whistled, Willam had called them ‘disgusting’, and Alyssa had given them a sly look as they’d broken apart, like she knew exactly how badly they’d wanted to take things further. Sharon had given her the middle finger, grinning like a loon, her own cheeks flushed with fever and exhilaration.

It had felt like coming home.

“Alaska?” Sharon repeats, her voice louder with concern. She turns over in Alaska’s arms so that they’re face to face, their noses just inches apart. Her brow is furrowed. “Are you alright? I thought I heard a sniffle.”

Alaska feels love well up within her, and she laughs, her voice wet with emotion. “I just–” she cuts herself off, her voice wobbling dangerously. The stress of the past two days is suddenly catching up to her, her relief abruptly overwhelming. “Thank god you’re okay.”

Sharon gives her a sad smile, raising a hand to brush some of Alaska’s hair out of her face. Her bandages are a bluish white in the filtered moonlight, thick around her palm and wrist. Alaska’s heart aches at the sight. “Still on about that, are we?”

“Yeah,” Alaska says, the joke feeling something like salt in a wound. “We are. Sharon, you were kidnapped. Solomon was doing god knows what to you, and no one knew for half of that time. All we had was fucking Phi Phi to go off of, and all I could think was that the last thing I said to you was that I didn’t love you, and it was killing me, Sharon.” Tears are flowing freely, now, and Alaska’s voice cracks as she continues, cupping Sharon’s face desperately, searching her expression in the darkness of the tent. “I could have lost you.”

“You didn’t,” Sharon says softly, wrapping her hand around Alaska’s wrist, holding her hand in place. “I’m right here. I’m sorry.”

They lapse into silence, Alaska trying her best to calm herself down and Sharon stroking her wrist with her thumb, lowering their hands so that they’re resting between them. Alaska can hear the crickets chirping outside, the wind softly whistling around the canvas of the tent.

Sharon takes a deep breath after a moment, breaking the quiet that had surrounded them like a bubble. “That fight was all I could think about,” she whispers, looking into Alaska’s eyes with something like regret. “I thought for sure that you had left, that you would be too far for me to chase after you by the time I managed to get away. I’m just so goddamn stupid - I felt like such an idiot. I kept going through all of the things I said, all of the things you said, and I–” her voice breaks, and Alaska’s heart breaks along with it. “I’m sorry.”

“I did leave,” Alaska tells her, and the hurt that flashes across Sharon’s face makes her heart twist painfully. “I was so angry. I thought you’d broken your promise, I felt like– I was betrayed. I thought I didn’t belong here - that I couldn’t. But then I realized just how badly I was wrong - thank god for that.”

Sharon is shaking her head as she finishes, looking at Alaska beseechingly. “Lasky, I didn’t break my promise. I was just so angry–”

“I know,” Alaska interrupts, and she laughs a little at Sharon’s surprised expression. “I promised Willam not to fuck things up, today. You see how that went.”

Sharon gives her a warm smile that slowly spreads across her face. “That’s my girl,” she says, approving, and Alaska flushes with pleasure.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have - I didn’t know what I was talking about, that night. I was stupid, and scared. Scared of how much I’d changed, scared of how much I loved you–”

Sharon cuts her off with a kiss.

Alaska melts into it, love and affection threatening to burst from her chest. She slips her hands into Sharon’s hair, her thumbs resting on the corners of her jawline, delightfully warm. She sighs as Sharon deepens the kiss, heat pooling in her belly.

She breaks the kiss as Sharon attempts to slide on top of her, gently pushing her back down. She smirks at Sharon’s wide eyes, excitement flickering in her chest. God, she loves this woman.

“Not tonight,” she says, raising herself up to straddle Sharon’s hips, cupping the sides of her face. She leans down so that their lips are just centimeters apart, unable to keep from smiling at the new heat in Sharon’s gaze, at the smirk that’s beginning to curl at the corner of her mouth.

“No?” she asks, and Alaska gives her a smirk of her own, shaking her head.

“No. Tonight,” she says, “I’ve got you.”

She pulls Sharon in for another kiss, meaning the words with every fiber of her being. She belongs to Sharon, and Sharon belongs to her. They have each other.

Always.

#rpdr fanfiction #alaska thunderfuck #sharon needles #jinkx monsoon #willam belli #phi phi o'hara #morgan mcmichaels #roxxxy andrews #detox icunt #shalaska #western au #lesbian au #wild flower #freyja #tw violence #tw mild offscreen torture #tw guns #tw murder

[iainwrites]

A Samhain Brouhaha

Harry Dresden, trick-or-treating with Maggie, Karrin and Mouse.  And a tie to the earliest stories I posted on here.

“Charity, you can trust me.”

“Harry, I know you’re trying to be a good man and do right, but you’re also Harry Dresden and that name doesn’t inspire a lot of trust, especially for what you’re asking for.”

“What I’m... All I’m asking for is that I can take her out for one night.  That’s all.”

“I’ve heard that request before, and we both know what came of it.”

“It was an accident!  How was I to know...”

“Yes, Harry.  How were you to know?  Something like this means you need to know, and to be prepared for whatever might happen.”

“... Mouse will be with us.  Do you trust Mouse?”

“I trust Mouse with her life.  But Mouse is just one dog and...

“Murphy will be there, too.”

“... I suppose I can trust Mouse and Karrin to keep an eye on her.  And you too.”

“Great!  Thanks, Charity.  You won’t regret this.”

       My name is Harry... Well, you know the rest.  Wizard and Warden of the White Council, Knight of Winter, Warden of Demonreach, yadda yadda yadda.  It feels like I have more titles than the Cubs at this point, and they all mean something different to someone.  After a while, it just gets tiring repeating them all, and they seem to lose their importance.

      A few years ago, none of this would have meant much for my personal life.  I lived alone, with nothing else in my life but my work and a few people kept at arm’s length that I could call my friends.  It’s funny how the years can change things.  As the world turned, my life kept getting more and more... complete, I guess.  Filled, maybe.  I found out that there are people who look up to me, then that I had a brother, got a dog, found out I had a daughter, then a sort-of-girlfriend-I-think.  Oh, and I died once, became possibly irreversibly connected to one of the greatest powers in the magical community, might possibly be losing my morality, and am currently the master of a jail that makes Area 51 look like an amusement park.  But those things aren’t as important as the family side.

      All of my history, those titles and that backstory doesn’t mean much tonight.  Everything else is pushed to the side, and tonight I’m wearing only one of those mantles.  Maybe the most valued one.  Tonight, I am Harry Dresden: Dad.  And with that mantle comes a responsibility like no other I have shouldered before.

      “Alright, Maggie.  We’ll go whenever you want to.  Charity made sure I know the list of houses that we can go to, and Mouse-bacca will make sure that anyone who's acting too spooky won’t bother us, okay?”

      “Okay...”

      “What?  You don’t believe in the Great Mouse-bacca?  I mean, he might not look like much, but he’s got it where it counts, right?”

      The walking carpet that is my dog actually manages something that sounds closer to a Chewbacca warble than his usual chuffing sound.  Matched with the belt slung around his middle and a little bit of brown dye, it’s hard to mistake him for anything other than a Wookie.  The rest of us are dressed in a way that makes it impossible to see us as anything but nerds.

      Maggie, with the help of a mother who has spent more years making costumes than anyone else I can begin to think of, is dressed up in a Rey costume, complete with a little lightsaber.  Karrin and I nearly came to blows over what we were going to wear.  I’m... well, ME, so of course I’d be the dashing and roguish Han Solo, right?  And my partner is a giant, furry thing.  It practically writes itself!  Karrin argued that I’m the dork and should be Luke Skywalker, while she’s the cool guy with the gun.  She may have also mentioned something about being able to kick my ass.  And so here she stands in her black vest and over-sized pistol at her side and looking (damn me for saying this) appropriately Han Solo-y.

      I wasn’t content with being Luke, and am not nearly old enough to be rocking the Sir Alec Guinness look, so I settled on something a little more my style.  Thanks to a mop of hair as a result of living out on a deserted island for way too long, a scar across an eye thanks to a past encounter and a penchant for flirting with the dark side of magic, I gussy myself up as an over-sized Anakin, pre-lava bath.  With a little help from Andy, we managed to make up a casing for my blasting rod that looks like the hilt of a lightsaber.  A little focus and the blade lights up with a nice shade of blue, thanks to a little help from Winter.  We couldn’t figure out how to get it to sound right, so I end up making the sounds myself.  All in all, we look like a nice, nerdy family out for some trick-or-treating.  And that’s how it all began: a nice, nerdy sort-of family trick-or-treating together.

      I was worried when we started out that all of the costumes, noise and excitement might be too much for Maggie.  I mean, there’s a lot that usually goes on during Halloween night.  For the normal people, at least.  There’s the noises, the lights, the people running around costumes that go from home-made to movie quality.  And while she starts off close to Mouse, Murphy and me at any particular time, she eventually starts to look the way she should: a little girl out on Halloween, hitting up houses for a sugar fix.  She might not be running around Hell and Creation like some of the other munchkins out there, but there is a smile on her face, and a little bounce in her step.

      Mouse, Murphy and I take turns going up to doors with her, each of us to varying degrees of success.  Mouse always seemed to be a lock for more candy, because whenever she comes back the bag feels a lot heavier.  When she goes up with Murphy, Karrin comes back with a smile on her face, with just a hint of conflict hidden underneath.  A part of me wants to ask; the intelligent part knows to stay quiet.  The detective part of me has suspicions.  When she was married to Rich, there was tension around them having kids and her staying home to take care of them.  Going up to a door with a kid for Halloween and being told that your “daughter” is cute is probably playing around in head each time.

      When I take her up, I get to experience my own brand of head and heartache.  I keep hearing them ooh and ahh over her costume, and how sweet or cute or cool she looks, then there’s the looks up to me.  And I hear them say again how sweet she looks.  And it tears a piece out of my heart each time.  Susan and I should be taking her out for this.  Susan should be here with our daughter.  Our daughter should never have had to go through everything she’s gone through.  She should be living a normal life, spooked of the costumes at Halloween because she has an overactive imagination, not because of what she’s lived through.  And I smile, try not to loom so much, thank them and squeeze my little girl’s hand when we walk back to the street.  I steel myself for the next time that I’ll hear those words, and try to make the most out of this first father/daughter Halloween.

      On my side of the magical divide, Halloween has this recent habit of being more exciting each year.  The wearing down the divide between the living and the dead, necromantic rituals, changing of mantles, and the killing of immortals seem like they’re only the tip of the iceberg these days, and there’s always the little whisper in my ear that there’s going to be more.  Somehow, I manage to trick myself for a fair portion of the night that this one will be different.  That the creepy crawlies from the other side will take the night off and give me a chance to have a well-deserved break.

      Yeah, right.  The author of my life isn’t ever going to be that nice to me.

      The first indication is the sudden jerk of Mouse’s leash.  He’s usually happy to trot along at his own pace, with the leash there to show everyone he’s a well-behaved dog.  It’s not uncommon for him to stop and smell the proverbial roses; but for him to stop because there’s something he wants to stop, that’s enough to get my attention.  The only thing that stands out around us is a small pack of costumed clowns hanging a little ways back.  They all have the shabby zombie costume that seems to keep its firm grip from year to year, combined with some cheap masks.  The clothes portion of the costumes are pretty good, comparatively; they look distressed, like there was some actual damage to them.  I know those kinds of rips and tears intimately.  They even got the blood patterns around the tears right.

      The night gets cold when I realize that some of the rips and the stains look fresh.  And have that quality that costumes either exaggerate or downplay.  I look from the costumes to the people (no, things) wearing them.  They move in sync, coordinated.  My brain goes back to my throw-away description of them and revises is: a little ways back behind us is a small Pack of costumed wolves.

      The Pack.  A holdover from an old fight some Hunters and I should have finished and buried.  They’re a roaming group of monsters who hunt together, and have been the death of innocents and those that have tried to stop them.  The legendary Hunter John Winchester worked with the fledgling Black Cats to kick their asses up around their mouths decades back.  After a misunderstanding, Karrin and I teamed up with his sons, Sam and Dean, to ring the bell on Round 2.  We didn’t finish them off, but I thought we left them with a nose that was so bloody that they’d never want to try hunting together again.  Apparently, the lesson wasn’t definitive enough for them, because here they stand, lesser in number but still a threat to everyone walking this street.

      Karrin must have realized that we’ve been left behind, because she calls back to us.  “You okay, Harry?”

      Mouse clues in that I’m clued in and goes from alert growl to “stay way the hell away” growl.  “Yeah,” I reply.  “Mouse just has to use the little doggy’s tree.  We’ll catch up with you in a little bit.”

      “You sure?  We can wait.”

      My gut starts to get wrenched around.  I want my daughter to be safe, and safe is away from these things.  But if she’s sent away, that means I can’t be there to protect her.

      But Murphy will be there, and short of Michael, she’s the one person I know I can trust to keep my daughter safe.  “We’ll be there in a bit.  I’m going to take Mouse away from the street so nobody has to get caught up in it.  Have you been feeding him table scraps again, Maggie?  Because you’ll have to clean up you’ve been sneaking taco’s to Mouse.”

      My daughter gives off a little giggle and Mouse lets off the subsonic growl long enough to give a happy little chuff.  I pat his head, wave to Karrin and Maggie and start to lead him to an alley, digging out one of the plastic bags we’ve been using for Maggie’s haul.  I see Karrin look from me to Mouse, to the Pack and unlatch her blaster.  Just like I put a case around my blasting rod, she has a plastic shell around her service pistol.  It might not be much, but it’ll sure as hell slow down anything that I let get past me.

      The Pack seem to size up Karrin and Maggie as they leave.  Their gaze stays on them for a very uncomfortable time, before slowing coming back to me.  The message is loud and clear: “We saw them, we’ll remember them and we’ll find them.”  Yeah?  I have my own message.

      “Okay, assholes.  You were dumb enough to sign up for Round 3, so let’s find a nice quiet corner so I can beat on you like I’m Rocky.”

      As they follow me, one makes its way out of the main body, to stand in front of them like a spokesperson.  I can tell even underneath the costume what it is, and a fire starts to burn through my veins.  Human sized, but not human like. Extra-long arms that end in claws.  An unhealthy color that some could pass off as make-up but I recognize as naturally disgusting.  And behind the mask, eyes that are weighing and measuring you up for its plate.  A ghoul.  A ghoul who has seen my daughter.  Ever since the Red Court was dealt with, the whole race of ghouls have been moved up to the top of my “Things That World Will Never Miss” list.  This one just reserved extra special placement.

      I take my hand off of Mouse’s lead as he and I turn in sync to stare at the Pack.  The lead ghoul stops only a few feet away from me.  The alley is barely wide enough for Mouse and I to stand side-by-side, but that also means that they’re limited by how many can come forward at a time.  It’s not my favorite ring to fight in, but there’s been worse.  “Okay.  Say your piece, then let’s get started.”

      “You assume too much, wizard,” the ghoul says to me.  I’m not sure if it’s actually speaking English or if I still understand Ancient Sumerian as a parting gift from Lash.  Whatever the case, it sounds like a snake slithering over broken bottles.  “What stops the hunters at the mouth of the alley from going back out to the street?  You?  The dog?”  Damn it.  “No.  You will hear what we have to say, you and the beast will die, then we will go out and continue our hunt.”

      “Alright, Smiley.  Let’s hear it, then.”

      “You are known, Wizard.  You are remembered.  The Pack knows your scent.  You went to ground, but have decided to appear again.”  There’s a murmur behind the ghoul that could politely described as “agreement”, if agreement was made up of growls and rumbles.  “You may have bested us in the past, but that is when you hunted with others.  The Winchesters.  They are known to us.  They are remembered.  They will be found.”

      For a ghoul, this guy is practically Shakespeare.  This is the most I’ve ever heard from one before and it all comes across as understandable.  “Alright.  So what’s your point here?  Are you just going to keep talking until I go into a coma so you don’t have to strain yourself?”  I keep my attention off of it and on the ones in the back in case they decide to amscray back onto the street like they were threatening to do.  “Because there’s actually stuff that I want to do tonight.  If that means I have to walk through all of you to get there, and this sounds weird coming from me, let’s stop talking and get it done.”

      “No, Wizard.  You do not decide the Hunt.  The Pack hunts its prey, and when it is cornered, their lives are ours.  You, a human, have no say in what happens.  Should we decide to kill you, you will die.  Should we decide to eat your beast, it will be eaten.  If we decide to hunt your mate and your whelp, they are ours for as long as we wish and for what we wish.”

      “You don’t want to do this,” I mutter, while Mouse begins to growl behind me.  The only mercy I can think of is that Karrin is away from us, and that Maggie will be safe with her.  I might even be able to take a few of them with me.  I might be able to protect my daughter from what’s to come.

      The ghoul doesn't break eye contact with me, but I’m willing to be to bet that it knows what’s going on and what’s going to happen.  The cocky bastard doesn’t even seem to care.  “Oh, I think I do, wizard.  I think I will.”  The Pack behind him shifts, the sounds of claws scraping ground, of bones snapping and reforming into monstrous forms.  I get a death grip on the lightsaber case and start to will my power into it.

      Why?  Why does this always have to happen?  I try to take my daughter out for something nice, like a trip to the zoo or out for Halloween, only for things to go sideways on us.  This life, this job, this responsibility... I’m okay with it.  But I want to be a father once in a while.  I want to try and give Maggie a normal life whenever possible, but something seems so damn set in ruining that for us.  There is always something that shows up and ruins things and keeps me from connecting with my own daughter.  Susan should be here.  Our lives shouldn’t be so... wrong.  She should be allowed to grow up with a mother and a father and never have to worry about all of these things.  All of this is happening and I’m just about ready to...

      Something around us changes.  I’m not even aware of it until I hear something shift in Mouse’s voice.  It still carries a sound of warning, but there’s something else.  Anticipation?  Excitement?  A certain reckless happiness that his human sometimes shows?  He’s ready for a fight, but there’s something that’s allowing him to relax, even in the smallest ways.  He’s not worried about the fight.  From what I hear, he might even be looking forward to it.  I do a quick scope around me to see what could flip the switch in him.  Turns out it’s a lot closer than I’d ever expect.

      It’s my blasting-saber.  A firey shade of orange is starting to appear in the core nearest the hilt.

      Its old color.  Something from years ago that has since been covered in Winter ice.

      MY old color.  A color of will, and excitement, and barely controlled power, all of it coming from me.  Not a mantle.  Not a mostly immortal Faerie Queen.  

                                                      Me.

      I bring my eyes back up to the ghoul, and I smile.  It’s not a nice smile, but it’s one with a promise.  “Let me rephrase that.  You’re NOT going to do this.”

      The remnants of the Pack shift, the faces under their costume masks shifting.  Most of them change their posture and flex their hands, getting ready for the fight they’ve been working themselves up for all night.  What they don’t understand is that the moment they looked at my daughter, they didn’t have a chance in Hades.

      “Here’s why you’re not going to do that.  In fact, here’s why after tonight, you’re never going to see each other every again.”  A few give off growling laughs.  “I am Harry Dresden.  I am a wizard and Warden of the White Council.”  “Warden” makes a few of them twitch.  “I am chosen by Mab, Queen of Winter, Air and Darkness to be her Knight.  I wear the mantle of Winter, and I wear it very damn well.”  Mouse has stopped growling by now, as though he doesn’t want to take any attention off of me.  “I am Warden of Demonreach, jailer to nastier bastards than you’ll all ever be.  Combined.”  The blue of my blasting-saber exists only on the outside of the blade; fire is making up the core and it’s becoming a brighter shade of red with my every word.  “I am Bane of the Red Court.  The one who has outplayed and overcome Death.  My ride is one of the greatest predators to ever roam this earth, and I brought it back from millennia of rest. I am Ally to Hunters and Slayers.  I know and will invoke the names Winchester and Summers.  I have been tempted by and refused a coin of the Blackened Denarius.  I have led the Wild Hunt.”  THAT gets their attention like I know it would.

      The air around us suddenly gets warmer.  Almost spring-like, like the nights you sit outside near a fire.  There might be a chill in the air, but there’s also the promise of warmth and comfort.  The snow starts to melt and the grass can be seen again, and there might even be the faint sign of flowers starting to bloom.

      Life and warmth after a snow that never seemed like it would leave.

      The various creatures in front of me start to look around, probably trying to figure out what all this means.  The quicker ones figure it out and look at me, the hostility they had been showing before beginning to melt away, revealing something almost like fear.  But right now?  Fear is not enough.  Fear can be conquered or forgotten.  They need to feel something much more permanent.

      “I am Harry Dresden.  This is MY city.  And this is MY night.  I claim it by birth and by my strength.”  The tension that’s been building in this little alleyway just... pops around me.  If there’s a pressure, I don’t feel it anymore.

      “You have threatened my daughter, and I will protect her.  Ask the Red Court what that promise means.”  I let those words hang in the air, full of meaning and threats.  “This is my city, and I will protect it.  Ask anyone how far I’ve gone to keep it safe, and what happens to the people that threaten it.”  I let my blasting-saber dip until it nearly touches the pavement, which starts to send up wisps of smoke.  “The people who live here are my people, and I.  Will.  Protect.  Them.  Ask the Heirs of Kemmler and the Black Court what that oath means.”

      I don’t make any of this a challenge, or a brag, or something to piss them off.  These are all things that simply are.  They’re all true, like that the sun rises or that water is wet.  You can argue and try to ignore it all you want, but these things are, have been and always will be.  I am who I am, and I do what I do, no matter the mantle I wear, or what tries to change me.

      “So here’s what you’re going to do.  Tonight, I curse the name ‘Pack.’”  There’s another subtle pop in the air as those words gain meaning and permanence.  Words have power, and I invest a portion of my own self into those words.  “All those who live under it do so under pain of... Well, death is too nice.  Non-existence.  Erasure from history.  I will call in every favor, from the crater of Sunnydale to the Isle of Manhattan and every road of that cuts across this country.  You will cease to exist.  You will never be spoken of and you will never be remembered.  And you will all die bloody.”  I draw my gaze from one face to another, never letting off until they look away first.  They wouldn’t need to Soul Gaze me to know what is on my mind; it’s pretty damn apparent to any of them with half a clue.  “You will never run together again.  You will not do it under the name Pack, or any other name.  Because if I hear so much as a rumor that a group of creatures attacked an innocent person, you’re done.  You will be found, then you will be gone.  This right here is your only warning.  Any questions?”

      “And you,” I say to the ghoul.  I start walking forward, the cape billowing behind me, my blasting-saber burning a line in the ground.  I get right up to its face, and lean down towards its ear.  “I really, really hate fucking ghouls,” I whisper.  “And I know how hard your kind is to kill.  I have experience with that.  But you want to know something?”  

      I whip the blasting-saber down and take its hand off at the wrist.  We both look down at it in surprise.  I was expecting some burning, maybe a little cut, but not full blown lightsaber action.  I doubt it was expecting anything at all.  We both bring our eyes back up and I stare it down one more time.  “I have one more title for you: I was the Fire of Camp Kaboom. There was a message that was sent back with a survivor.  I told it ‘Never Again.’”  And I bring the blade flashing up in an arc and sear through its head with barely any resistance.  The head drops with a stunned look on its face as the body falls back into the hastily made space its friends make.

      “Never again.  Never again in my presence, in my city or to my people.”  I bring my gaze to each of them once again, but this time, nobody is too excited to look me in the eye.  “Do I need to repeat that to any of you?”  None of them reply. I snake out the blasting-saber again and take a chunk out of a rawhead and take out what looks to be a rugaru at the waist. That’s the sign they needed to break away and run, but not before I take a couple of slashes at their retreating asses.  I manage to down some; Mouse manages to run down another before it makes it to the mouth of the alley.  The ones I see escape split up.  When I step back onto the street, they’re long gone.

      Mouse and I take some time getting rid of the bodies, thanks to some creative uses of Ways and a few convenient garbage cans. The ghoul got some extra-special treatment, just like I promised.  I only realized how much time had actually passed when we finally caught up to Murphy and Maggie.  They’re less than a block away from the Carpenter’s home, with Karrin carrying an impressive haul of sugar filled goodness.  Even with all the best intentions, I still missed my first night of trick-or-treating with my daughter.  I try not to let my disappointment show as I lope up to them and ruffle Maggie’s hair.

      “Ha... Dad?  Are you okay?”

      “Yeah, I’m okay.  Just had to help Mouse clean up a mess.”

      “Your lightsaber is red.  Um... Isn’t red the color bad guys use in Star Wars?”

      “A lot of them do.  But remember the end of Return of the Jedi?”

      “We never finished it.  The Emperor... I don’t like what he says to Luke.”

      “He’s a pretty scary guy, and his threats are pretty serious.  But when he threatens Luke, Vader decides that his son is more important than his master.  He decides to fight against the Dark Side.”

      “So... Vader... becomes a good guy?”

      “It’s... complicated.  He did bad things, but family helped him so he could try to be good again.  He decided what to do, and that he didn’t want to follow the Emperor’s orders anymore.”

      “So, you’re like Darth Vader.”

      “... Yeah.  And the people I care about are helping me come back to the Light Side of the Force.  There’s going to be... bad things in my past, and there are going to be people who tell me what I have to be, but I decide whether that’s who I am.”

      “That’s... you’re kind of a cool guy.”

“Cooler than Han Solo?”

      “Well Mouse is cooler than Chewbacca, and he’s your partner.  So I guess that means you’re cooler than Han.”

I admit, it kills some of the cool vibes, but I squeeze Karrin on the shoulder and as she looks up at me, I stick out my tongue like I’m a kid.  I get an elbow in my hip in return, but it’s worth it.   I’ve never gone out trick-or-treating before tonight, so my expectations were pretty low.  But this was actually pretty fun.  And my daughter thinks I’m a cool dad.  Yeah.  That’s never going to go to my head.

      “Hey, Dad?”

      “Yeah, kiddo?”

      “Do you want to stay after we get back and watch Return of the Jedi?  If you’re there, I think I can make it past the Emperor this time.”

      “I’d love to, Maggie.”

      Murphy gives my hand a tug, and gives a nod of her head to let me know she wants to whisper something to me.  

      “I don’t know everything that happened, but you were pretty amazing tonight, Dresden.  And it’s your birthday.  There’s a Slave Leia costume I think we should break in later.”

      I love Halloween.

      “But you’re wearing it.”

      … Happy birthday to me.

#Iain writes #Dresden Files

[cannotgiveafuck]

Of Perfect Afternoons and Purposeful Encounters

(Aka, I've been in Good Omens and Constantine bliss for several weeks and this is what my brain made. I may upload it to ao3 later, but here, have a fic. I hope the read more worked, if not I'm sorry.)

-

They are arguing about ducks.

The spring weather is perfect. Blue sky just clear enough, the sun shining bright and warm, and fluffy clouds rolling by like a true Pareidolia effect. It is a picturesque afternoon only heard of in fairy tales and children's books, and John Constantine trusts it as much as he does the blokes he's watching.

Which is to say, not at all.

Dropped off from the Waverider, he returned to present day London not a week ago when he was accosted by his once feathery shadow. John would have paid a pack of smokes to see Manny as ruffled as he was, if it did not come with the news there that had been an Apocalypse while he was away.

"Almost an apocalypse," Manny had corrected, though he was being rather tight lipped about everything else concerning the near destruction of planet Earth.

It irritated John more than usual, partly because he lived on said planet, but mostly because he worked very hard - read: scammed, murdered, sent to Hell, tricked, etc - to keep Earth from being destroyed, let alone overtaken by a bunch of feather minded twats.

"I couldn't disobey orders, Constantine," and of course that was his excuse, all pompous righteousness and conviction. "We could not let Hell win."

But what about Earth?

John was fairly sure his bland look said as much and kept it steady as he lit his cigarette and blew smoke into the berk's face. "So, what made it almost an apocalypse instead of a real Apocalypse?"

And really, he did not think Manny could be even more ruffled, but boy, was he in for a treat.

An angel. A demon. And an Antichrist.

It sounded like a set up for some terrible joke a youth minister would tell his teenager audience as he tried to seem likeable to the younger generation.

Oddly enough, John found himself greatly amused by it. Or maybe by the fact that Manny was so unamused by it. Either way...

After a titch more prodding and being generally annoying, John was able to get enough information to find the culprits who helped avert the almost apocalypse. He thought it would be difficult, that they would have been in hiding or off world and into the stars.

But, nope. Here they are. All three of them enjoying the perfect afternoon out at St. James Park. The antichrist, literally just a child for Chri- Someone's sake, is running around playing fetch with his dog, whilst the angel and demon, looking incredibly human if not for their aura, are arguing on the proper diet of ducks.

"Because bread isn't what they eat naturally, my dear. They need the nutrients of oats and corn and the like."

"I don't think bread is naturally consumed by anyone, it's just consumed, angel. And where did you get all this from, all this duck knowledge?"

The angel - Aziraphale, Manny had called him - flusters under the scrutiny, but holds his head high when he says, without an inch of irony, "The interwebs!"

"Oh, for Some-!"

"You kept insisting I try the dreadful thing and now-!"

"And the first thing you did was look up what to feed ducks?"

John can think of several better uses of his time than listening to them bicker like an old married couple. As of right now, he is having a complicated time wrapping his head around the fact that these two are even here right now.

Not that they are an angel and demon that disobeyed orders. Not even that they did so because they vastly prefer each other's company. He can understand all that, see, ecause it happens all the time. John's even known a few of outliers much the same.

It's the fact that these two are alive and well and not utterly snuffed out.

John knows this star-crossed lovers bollocks doesn't last. That it doesn't end so much in Shakespearen tragedy as it just ends, painfully and no lesson learned besides the cold truth of Love Doesn't Win. There are no happily ever afters, no driving away into the sunset, not for Tali and Ellie, and not for these three currently on both Heaven and Hell's shitlist.

John regards them with cool distance as he places a cigarette between his lips and snaps his fingers to light it. He almost feels sorry for them, if sympathy didn't mean getting his own neck-

"Those are bad for you, you know."

"Jesus Christ!" For how much he has been watching them, John is surprised the kid snuck up on him. But then again...

"I reckon I'm the opposite of him, actually." The boy, and he does look just like that, a human child, stands next to him under the tree's shade. His small dog yaps at John as if he poses a smidgen of a threat to the Antichrist. Manny said his name is Adam.

"Yeah," John starts as he settles himself back down, taking a deep inhale and blowing it away from the boy. "Suppose you are."

"Like I said, those are bad for you. My dad tells me all the time never to pick one up, they tar your lungs and smell bad." A thoughtful expression passes through on his deceptively charming face as he finally quiets his dog. Then he continues, in that blunt, oversharing way children do. "But then he sneaks off sometimes when my Mum's parents are over. My name's Adam, by the way, Adam Young."

"I know. John Constantine, petty dabbler of magic," he says before he can stop himself from being honest. Something tells him he can trust the kid. John doesn't like that. Still, he talks, "Plenty of ways to die out in the world. I don't believe this will be what does me in."

"No, Mister Constantine, I reckon not. Still, they don't seem like they taste good." And there is a strange tilt to his head, his golden locks shifting as he stares curiously at the trailing smoke.

"I'm not letting you try it," John says. He doesn't know what he expected when engaging with the literal Antichrist, but it's become pretty clear to him that a brat is a brat, no matter their stock.

Adam pouts. "I didn't say-"

"Didn't have to."

The boy crosses his arms and glances towards the angel and demon couple, who have switched topics of conversation but are still very much bickering.

"Well, it's bad for everyone else around you," he says petulantly and the embers at the end of John's cigarette suddenly die out.

"I was enjoying that, you little-"

"And I'm supposed to be enjoying an afternoon with my Godparents. Not getting second hand smoke."

Bright blue eyes pin John in place. He feels himself stuck like stone, unable to move away from under the child's accusing stare. Immediately, his mind starts racing, trying to grab onto enough of a distraction that he can make his escape mostly unharmed.

He should've known stalking the Antichrist was a bloody stupid idea.

"Godparents?" John tries not to let on how terrifying this is. "Those two your Godparents?"

Adam blinks before glancing back at his supposed Godparents. John can breathe again. "Of course they are. I already have human parents, but never Godparents. It's like having some really wicked uncles. They bring me gifts from all over the world, and Mister Fell let's me read in his shop and Mister Crowley let's me ride front in his car, and they both help me out when things happen and I don't rightly know what to do." Adam says this seemingly all in one breath, but he isn't gasping by the end of it.

He stands there, with his perfectly curled hair and his scuffed shoes and his ripped jeans and looks as at ease as ever. The dog sits dutifully between him and John, and they paint a lovely innocent picture. Except John knows who, what, he is and the deeper meaning to his words hidden just beneath the surface. Adam is a child, yet can already dominate a conversation, persuade you to be honest, and can hold his audience's attention just as easily as he can slip away in a crowd.

John knows he is going to be a dead ringer when he's older. If he gets older.

"They stood with me that day, said they'd stay and they meant it." When John doesn't reply, Adam looks up at him and that intense awe that struck him before resurfaces again. Adam is as every bit supernaturally charged as the Antichrist has every right to be, no matter disowning his own Father, and he finally says "I won't let nobody hurt them. Not the other gangs, not their bosses, and not some nosy magician. Nobody."

John stares back at Adam and understands where they stand now. He understands why it took so long for him to get close, why Manny refused to join him, why Adam is talking to him now, why Aziraphale and Crowley get to have their happily ever after.

"Alright, alright," John says, hands up in surrender. "Message delivered loud and clear, boyo. I'm not here to cause trouble, I won't bother you lot none."

Adam stares at him some more, the creepy little bugger, before nodding his head in confirmation. Like either John is being truthful, or it doesn't matter if he isn't because Adam can make it true.

Strangely enough, or probably not, given his situation, John is telling the truth.

"That's fair. I gotta go now, they won't be distracted much longer, and Mister Fell will wants to take us to a fish place for lunch. He calls it shew-sea or something, but he swears by it and I like trying the new foods he shows me," Adam says in that casual long windedness of his. The youthful bounce in his step carries him away in seconds, but not without allowing him to wave back at John, like this was a friendly conversation, like John is some friendly neighbor. "Goodbye, Mister Constantine! Don't light your smoke again till you're outta the park, please!"

And just like that, the Antichrist - Adam - is gone, returning to his safe little world that he guards and protects.

John watches as the angel and demon break from each other to gather their ward, their Godson. He doesn't move from his spot until they've walked out of sight. And even then, he remains under the tree's cool shade from the perfect afternoon's sunlight.

Depite what he was told, or really, in spite of it, John places his cigarette back between his lips and snaps his fingers. It relights to his delight. And just in time for Manny to appear beside him.

"For Go- Someone's sake! Can you lot not sneak up on me?"

"Well?" Manny leads, having absolutely no remorse for his actions.

"Well, what?"

"What did you learn, Constantine?" Manny tries again, exasperated of the human's bullshit.

John stares at him sidelong as he takes a deep inhale. Mixed feelings turn in his stomach, feelings he doesn't want to sort through, but still bubble to the surface as he thinks of an answer. They burn bright in his mind.

He thinks about what Adam said, about Crowley and Aziraphale chattering to each other like love sick fools, about their odd little family. John thinks about almost apocalypes and how despite Manny saying he couldn't disobey, there were clearly some of his stock who did, who stood up for Earth against Heaven and Hell. John thinks about Cheryl and Gemma, about Chas and Zed, about the Legends. He remembers Tali and Ellie and their stolen child.

Finally, with an exhale of smoke to the angel's face, John says with distinct human stubbornness, "Fuck off, Manny."

#fanfic writing #john constantine #good omens #adam young #hellblazer #good omens fic

[fadingcoast]

Death Of The Lie  ||  Chapter 17: Asgard

Summary: Odin and his daughter Hela are the perfect conquerors of the universe. The nine realms fall one after the other into their clutch. After Odin takes a second wife and has a son with her, he doesn’t need Hela anymore. Hela abandons her father and ends up marrying Laufey, a sworn enemy of the Aesir people. Not long after, she becomes pregnant with Laufey’s child. Odin cannot let that son be born, but against all odds, the boy survives. Odin is forced to bring him back to Asgard to be raised as his own until he could make further use of him. The half-Jotun-half-Aesir boy grows up to look and act a lot like his mother, which disturbs Odin, and makes him treat the boy horribly. Odin’s lies are deep and complex, but one day the boy will find out the truth about everything he is.

PAIRING: None RATING: Teen

MASTERLIST

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Chapter 17: Asgard

Dearest Sigyn:

It is with great woe that I inform you that I have cut my hair. I imagine Gwyn will not be pleased with this, but I could never care for it as she did. And believe me, I tried. If I know you at all, right now you’re rolling your eyes wondering if my father had anything to do with my decision. I believe you know the answer to that, as he has been pestering me from day one to do this. I didn’t want to give in just yet, but even with the help of my magic, all I made of it was a mess. In this weather, though, it's probably for the best. It was getting a bit hot to maintain.

I have been in Asgard for so little time, but it already feels like decades. I want nothing more than to go back to Alfheim. To see you, to immerse in the Alfar world again. I miss the rivers, the lakes, the mountains… I imagine the berry fields must be ready for harvesting. It makes me sad not to be there to taste the first fruits. The castle is too quiet at night without a river nearby and at times I find it difficult to sleep. I had to conjure a fake one in my balcony just to get some rest.

Thor has become nearly unbearable in my absence. I had noticed his mannerisms becoming closer to Odin’s in the past, but without any opposing influence my brother has gone full brute. He talks often of the realms he wishes to keep under tighter control once he is king. Mother ensures that his rants don't go too far, but he treats her word more as a suggestion than wisdom. I fear he may one day become a victim of his own hubris, and the kingdom with him. I've not a clue what Lady Sif still sees in him but they are unbearably inseparable.

The news of our engagement is still quiet, as mother has not tested the waters of my father's approval yet. Odin appears to be somewhat relieved to have me back where he can see me and has kept his scorn to a reasonable level so long as I keep my nose clean. I suspect if he is not told soon he will either marry me off to a daughter of some random Aesir nobility and have us live in the castle or have me groomed to be the King's right hand when Thor takes the throne. It is with no exaggeration that I admit I would rather fling myself off the rainbow bridge than to do either, so I think I will have to tell him before long.

I hope to hear from you soon, as I know you are finishing up your last term at the Sanctum and I know you're terribly busy.

-L

.-

Dear Loki:

I don't have to tell you how beautiful the land looks right now, how thick the air is with the sweet fragrance of ripened fruits and honeysuckle. This land is in your blood, and you would sooner forget to breathe than to not think about it. I hardly get to see it these days but I like to go to your old room and sit in the bay window to study. At times I will fall asleep there and I will awake with a start, thinking it's you tapping on my shoulder, but it's Gwyn. Soon I will take my final exams, just a few years out. I don't know how you did it.

You don’t want to know what Gwyn’s reaction was when I broke the news about your hair to her. You’d think the world was ending. Honestly, as good as it looked, I’m surprised you didn’t do it sooner, it must have been so heavy.

I hope the selection of fruits and ale I sent with this letter are to your liking, and that they didn’t end up on your head. I think I will need a sketch or drawing of your room to get familiar with it and pinpoint my teleporting spells, as I am not as familiar with it as you are with my chambers. This will make our exchanges happen a lot faster and no one else can read what we write. It will also help me practice my teleportation techniques.

Maybe one day before long I can visit Asgard, with the King and Queen's permission, of course, after our engagement is known.

-S

.-

The steady exchange of letters Loki kept with Sigyn was full of funny anecdotes and jokes, and it kept him from losing his mind most days. Lucky for both of them, they had perfected a tracking system so they could teleport letters, portraits and presents back and forth, bypassing the regular system. It helped time pass and it kept Loki’s sense of humor intact on days where all he wanted was to escape royal life.

It wasn’t odd for Loki to wake up to a room full of blackberry infused ale, or daffodils in blossom, and some other seasonal foods. It was quite the feat to explain to Frigga why he had so many turnips in his room before he sent them all to the kitchens. But the Queen knew to keep his secret and would help her son ensure gifts from Sigyn ended up where they needed to go, though Loki did prefer to keep the ale for himself.

The letters were also full of less pleasant things. Loki’s nightmares had made a comeback, and they were getting worse. Visions of him in an icy tomb, surrounded by bright blue cold light, where the most frequent. Other times he would be surrounded by darkness, no wind, no sound, lifeless. Sometimes he could even swear there was something calling to him in the dark, but he would jolt awake, covered in frost, before he could figure it out. He spent most of his free time in the library, trying to find an explanation, but most of what he found presented more questions than answers and made no sense.

Loki could not tell this to anyone. Thor wouldn’t care, Frigga wouldn’t be able to help him and Odin would probably berate him for not controlling his powers. As if I could control them while asleep. Sigyn was the only person who he knew could trust with this, and though she was too far away to really help him, she still sent him medicinal herbs, sleeping potions (dreamless sleep was better than no sleep, after all) and comfort food he would not find in Asgard. In addition, she would also send copies of manuscripts she thought could help him.

During the day, Loki fell into a routine, keeping his mind busy to keep out of his own head and fill the endless hours of the day. He was obliged to attend certain diplomatic meetings but only as an observer and only to learn more about running the kingdom. Forced to wear his ceremonial uniform - horns and all - Loki loathed them, but was still far more observant of visiting ambassadors than he let on. It was him who picked up on it each time one would try to lie or trick the Allfather, and after some time Odin wanted to use his skill at every meeting. It was a thankless job, but Loki knew he had to make himself indispensable to gain the Allfather’s trust, so he performed his duty with a sort of reluctant sense of responsibility. For the first time in almost his entire life, Odin stopped insulting him at every opportunity, and replaced his mistrust with indifference. Loki was no longer followed by Odin’s blasted ravens, or by the Einherjar, everywhere he went.

Even while being used, Loki found a measure of freedom in Asgard at last.

.-

My Queen:

It’s been decades and I still can’t get used to being here.

I’ve been made very aware in more than one occasion that this is a world built for warriors, and I am not one of them. Thor has tried to include me in his tiny clique, but he insists on mocking my powers, unless he can make use of them.

“Some do battle, while others do tricks,” he says - but he’s perfectly happy with my “tricks” saving him, and then taking all the credit when an incursion goes well. In any case, is not like Odin would congratulate me, as he dislikes me using my magic when I‘m supposed to be using weapons and considers sorcery to be the cheater’s way. Nothing ever satisfies his impossible standards.

I must admit that I’ve used magic for more than saving my brother’s behind, though.

Fandral has gotten no more amenable, and wastes no opportunity to make crude remarks about my magic and my shapeshifting. This of course only happens whenever Thor isn’t around, the spineless worm. But I finally got my revenge.

In a recent trip, I suggested I used my female form, as the ruler of said realm was a fierce woman who wanted nothing to do with negotiations as long as Odin or Thor were conducting them. I thought, very accurately, she would be more lenient if a woman was the representative. To everyone’s surprise, except mine, it worked, and now interrealm relations are advancing.

That evening, in the revels of it, Fandral once again tried to make advances on me. This time, I was prepared. I had been working on a little something for some time, and it was the perfect opportunity to lace his drink with a very special concoction.

He spent the next two full days as a pig! His tiny brain managed to keep him safe from the slaughterhouse. Once the effect wore off, he tried to blame me for it, but he had no proof. Besides, it’s not the first time he has gone missing for a couple of days. Most believe his excuses just got out of hand.

I must say, potion making isn’t fun and it will probably never be my strong point, but the results are very satisfactory. Hopefully the goateed swine has learned at least a small lesson about underestimating me.

I believe the time has almost come for my father to be informed of our engagement, though if and when it happens it won’t likely be made public knowledge until after Thor’s coronation, which is at least another half century or more away. But it will stop Odin from discussing my possible marital prospects involving Aesir nobility for the foreseeable future. I will tell you as soon as I am able to do it.

-L

PS: Please, tell Gwyn her blackberry pie was delicious, and that without her here to tell me not to eat it in one sitting, I ate it in one sitting.

.-

My King:

Gwyn is both very pleased and very cross with your message. I could still hear her muttering about your sweet tooth and lack of self control well into dinner time.

I kind of want to feel sorry for Fandral, or at least tell you to make productive use of what you’ve learned. But I’m not going to, cause I am imagining a pig with a blond goatee, and I wish you could have kept some register of it.

As for our engagement, I have no better news than you.

My cousin, Princess Frikka of Vanaheim, has announced her betrothal and upcoming wedding. Every and all announcements will be on hold until after she weds and the new future king is presented. Her fiancé comes from one of the oldest houses on the realm and has been around the royal family probably since he was born. Surprisingly enough, they chose each other, which leads me to believe he must have some integrity and intelligence in him. Frikka is smart and strong willed, she wouldn’t suffer a fool.

I am guessing that for a ceremony of this magnitude and significance, Asgard will be sending Thor in Odin’s behalf. If you want me to, I can brew something to turn him into a goat.

-S

.-

Sigyn:

In an unsuspected turn of events, my father has decided I’m the one to represent Asgard in Princess Frikka’s upcoming wedding. Thor, as usual, wants nothing to do with diplomatic visits or ceremonial commitments, and my father is once again incapable of putting his foot down with him.

I do regret that you will miss the chance to turn Thor into a goat. But there’s always more ceremonies and weddings, including our own, where you can try that out.

I look forward to see you in Vanaheim next fortnight. The prospect of you being there and seeing you again is the only thing that will keep me sane.

-L

.-

The week leading to the event, Loki found himself excited by the thought of reuniting with Sigyn, and wanted to do something special for her. For this, he enlisted his mother’s help, as he had no clue of where to get the gift he had in mind.

Loki had discussed their unofficial engagement with his mother several times in length, and while he knew the Queen had indeed informed Odin, it was rather odd that the Allfather hadn’t talked to him about it in person.

Loki wanted to question this decision, maybe even talk to his father himself. Odin had always been very adamant in controlling everything in his life. Why all of a sudden did he seem to not care about it? Or maybe he was looking for a reason to forbid Loki from marrying Sigyn, thus stopping him from leaving Asgard for good? Loki wouldn’t put it past Odin to do such a thing. It wasn’t until much later that the reason behind Odin’s silence became clearer.

As much as they tried to hide it, Odin’s dwindling health was a well-known secret. The whispers and rumors had not gone unnoticed by Loki. This only meant the palace would be making arrangements sooner than planned to proclaim Thor as King. Loki couldn’t help but feel bitter about it: as usual, he was being pushed aside for his brother to shine.

Yet, he had no time to dwell on it. Diplomatic trips weren’t something Asgard took lightly, least of all now, when such an important ceremony was involved. Loki had to get a proper outfit, take time to study and relearn some of Vanaheim ceremonial etiquette, and find Sigyn her gift.

When the day came, Loki found himself rather excited by the prospect of spending a few days away from Asgard. He told himself the butterflies in his stomach were from the responsibility invested on him to represent Asgard and the Nine Realms. They had nothing to do with seeing Sigyn again, of course not. Still, there was a little skip in his step when he and Frigga made way to the Bifrost chamber.

As in all the realms, Vanaheim had a special landing site for the Bifrost. It was very similar to the Alfheim one, except the stones that made the circle were blue. A wide stone road led out to the capitol, while other smaller dirt pathways led out to several shrines. Loki knew these were teleporting spots, portals that connected Vanaheim to other realms besides Asgard. Loki made way to the white Alfheim shrine to wait for Sigyn. His fingers traced the white stone, covered in familiar leaf patterns, and smiled to himself. His nostalgia was interrupted by a bright silver flash coming from the inside of the shrine.

Loki straightened himself and stood by the door and waited for Sigyn to come out. And what a vision she was. Her linen and silk dress was several shades of green, with golden leaves embroidered on the fabric that shimmered in the midday sun, making it look as if the light was going through the foliage of a tree. The golden and white sash on her waist was modeled after branches, and matched the design of the tiara on her head. Blue, red and yellow jewels embedded in the metal resembled little flowers.

Rendered temporarily speechless, Loki shook his head. In an attempt to get rid of the awkward atmosphere, he bowed theatrically, taking Sigyn’s hand and kissing it.

“Your majesty.” Loki chuckled.

“Your highness.” Sigyn bowed as well, trying to stifle a laugh. “What’s with the antlers?”

“Har-har,” Loki said, unamused. “Ceremonial regalia. It’s supposed to be intimidating, I think. I plan to get rid of it as soon as I’m allowed.” Sigyn’s face was red, and her lips pressed in a tight line as she tried not to giggle. “Laugh now, get it out of your system unless you want to enter the Realm looking like a strawberry,” he teased, rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry!!” She broke down in hysterics, holding Loki’s arm to steady herself. “I’m sorry…” Finally she took a deep breath. “I’m fine now.” Loki stared blankly at her, and Sigyn broke down laughing again, unsuccessfully apologizing.

Loki shook his head a took a deep breath, smiling despite of himself while he waited for Sigyn to stop. She had tears in her eyes when the fit finally subsided.

“Okay, I am fine now. We can go.” Sigyn smiled at him.

He smiled back offering his arm for her to grab it. “You look beautiful.”

Loki and Sigyn were led into a carriage that transported them to the castle. Conversation was light and amenable, and Loki felt like he was floating on air sitting next to Sigyn again, becoming aware every few minutes that she had grown in his absence and blushing at this observation. Sigyn gently placed her hand over his as they approached the castle, openly gaping at the sight of the carved crystal palace.

Clearly Asgard doesn’t have the monopoly on gaudy castles, Loki mused, both amused and impressed at the Vanir capitol. The entire entryway was a giant blue crystal that thrust toward the sky like a beacon, its edges perfect and straight. At the tip of the crystal was a smaller but no less impressive crystal that Loki assumed was a massive diamond, by the way it refracted the natural sunlight into sparkling rainbows everywhere the light touched. Even the stone pathway leading to the castle glittered with every shift of the light.

“Look at it,” Sigyn breathed, her free hand resting on her chest in awe. “I haven’t been here since I was a child and the beauty of the castle still arrests me.”

The carriage stopped in front of the castle door and a servant assisted both of them out onto the front steps, bowing low and gesturing widely toward the open door to invite them in. Loki offered his arm to Sigyn and she gracefully placed her hand on his forearm, giving it a reassuring stroke with her thumb.

Already the front part of the castle was full to capacity with guests from other realms. Loki recognized a few members of nobility from Alfheim and Asgard and cringed inwardly. He was expected to play the part of the royal representative but he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. Politely greeting people along the way as they bowed their heads to him, Loki led Sigyn through the throng and past the crystal door frame and heavy white amethyst doors leading into the throne room.

Loki had learned in his studies that Asgard was unique in its showcasing of ceremonial events, so he knew that no one would see the newlyweds until after their vows, since the Vanir preferred privacy for their weddings. The party would take place later. There were only a few people in the throne room aside from himself and Sigyn, and he could hear muffled voices in an adjoining room, where he assumed the happy couple were tying the knot right then.

The throne room itself was just as grand as the rest of the castle they had seen so far, nearly every surface all gleaming crystal and perfect edges. It was almost disorienting to the eye, the stark contrast between the sharp lines of the room and the organic curves of the people in it. The ceiling sloped up into a point and the blue crystal caused the room to be bathed in blue light that made one feel as though the room was underwater. Perched atop a white crystal dais, the throne itself was carved from several slabs of gold-laced white quartz. It was the only cushioned surface in the room, as the King likely spent a fair amount of time sitting on it. While beautiful, it was a kind of cold beauty that Loki found rather abrasive compared to the lush and green lands he had grown up in.  

Sigyn’s hand squeezed Loki’s arm and he turned to see her practically jumping up and down with excitement after seeing someone. She looked up at Loki with a smile before bounding off to greet a woman Loki recognized as her mother’s sister. He had met her a few times during his stay in Alfheim and knew she and Sigyn had a close bond.

Excited chatter began to filter from the ceremonial chambers and Loki supposed it was nearly time for the couple to make their entrance. As if on cue, more and more guests came from the foyer to mingle, and Loki suddenly felt as though the air was getting thicker by the second. Whether it was the dense group of people, or the flickering blue light that filled the room as the sun raised higher in the sky and which reminded him of his dreams, he could feel a chill brewing in his chest and he had to get out of there quickly before he made a scene.

As subtly as he could, Loki slipped through the crowd as the new Vanir Prince and Princess emerged amidst loud cheering from the ceremonial chambers, followed by the King and Queen and a High Priestess. His fingertips tingled with cold and he gasped for breath when he finally found a second door that led out to a balcony overlooking the castle gardens. Quietly he approached the railing and closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of the river below. Surely no one would notice him gone, even with the conspicuous absence of the ridiculous horns he had to wear.

Loki leaned on the railing and willed his breathing to slow and tried to ignore the clamor of voices insides. His eyes flew open in surprise when he felt a hand grasping his. Standing there patiently, her hair and skirt blowing gently in the breeze, was Sigyn, her soft brown eyes full of concern. She stroked his hand with her thumb and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Are you okay?” Sigyn meant it sincerely, and took his other hand in hers. “Want me to go back in with you?”

Loki considered this for a moment, and shook his head. “Not yet,” he murmured. “Just stay here with me.”

Sigyn returned his smile and leaned against his shoulder, still holding his hands. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and Loki could sense his tension evaporating more as he moved his hands to pull her closer. Warmed by the sun, Sigyn’s hair smelled like roses, and the scent reminded him of all the time they spent together in Alfheim, the bond they shared, and the future he hoped to share with her.

“I nearly forgot,” Loki mumbled, freeing one hand to dig in his leather pockets. “I have something for you.” Finally he found it, and pulled it out for Sigyn to see. A quiet gasp was all Sigyn could muster when she saw the thin but elegant gold ring, the design made of intricate knots interwoven with branches and leaves.

“I promised you a real engagement ring, remember?”

Sigyn nodded wordlessly, her mouth still hanging open, eyes misting over. She held up her left hand and Loki was touched to see the original ring he had given her, a gold band from one of his braids that was covered in scuffs and scratches. He replaced it with the new ring, which fit perfectly and would last longer, and Sigyn grinned wide and stood up on her toes to press her lips to his. The sudden kiss surprised Loki but he held her like that for a few extra seconds before she took a step back to admire the ring.

Her smile vanished, however, when she looked past Loki toward the door.

“Erik.”

<< Chapter 16  –  Chapter 18 >>

.-

@igotloki @xalgaliareptx  @christy-winchester @silverhart93 @claiming-loyalty-to-loki @honeybournehippy @unseelie1963 @mischievousbellerina @manager-of-mischief @angryowlet @thelittlestlittlecutiepie 

#Loki #loki fanfiction #loki helason #loki laufeyson #Odin's A+ parenting #DOTL #Death Of The Lie

[virgilmydarkstrangeson]

A Halloween Surprise

A/N: Hoo boy, it’s been so long since I really wrote a one-shot, but I was a part of the Halloween exchange in the lovely @darknightvirgil discord server (join that btw there are so many awesome people). I had Kai, a fellow Brit, so I hope you like it, Kai!

Summary: Logan had to have been dreaming. There was no other way to logically explain what he had witnessed, yet no amount of pinching his skin or reading multiple signs and pages alerted him to be dreaming, except for what had ensued. Pairing: Romantic Analogical, platonic Moxiety Trigger Warnings: Mentions of blood / wounds, demons, werewolves, other spooky creatures, if you see anything else just tell me!! Word Count: 1868

~~~

Logan had to have been dreaming. There was no other way to logically explain what he had witnessed, yet no amount of pinching his skin or reading multiple signs and pages alerted him to be dreaming, except for what had ensued.

It had been a regular Saturday, there was no indication of anything strange happening, even with it being Halloween. The office where Logan worked had a few cheesy streamers and fake cobwebs littered around, and most of his coworkers had dressed up for the occasion, but that was it, not a single paranormal occurrence, as if Logan would ever believe in ghosts or anything of the sort by a door randomly opening or a light switch flicking.

After work, Logan had stopped by the nearby cafe - which had been completely decked out with jack-o-lanterns, fake spiders, skulls and the like - to pick up his boyfriend of nearly four years, Virgil, from his own work. Having had a very stressful week of working on top of already high anxiety, Virgil didn’t feel up to celebrate Halloween this year, so neither of them had dressed up or even decorated their shared apartment, instead choosing to buy some takeout and head home for the night.

This was when the unexplainable event happened. While Logan and Virgil were walking through an oddly quiet area of town, what sounded like metal scraping against the ground sounded from the alleyway they had just walked past, followed by a shriek.

“What was that?” Virgil’s head snapped towards the alleyway, instinctively grabbing hold of Logan’s arm.

“It was most likely nothing. Do you want to check it out?” Virgil nodded, and together they slowly made their way back to the alley, Virgil’s grip on Logan’s arm becoming an almost deathly tight hold with each step.

There was a figure, shrouded in shadow but appearing all too large to be human, standing in the middle of the alley. Virgil seemed to stiffen up, however, Logan felt his unease dissipate. “Just somebody trying to scare us on Halloween, let’s go get some dinner.” Logan turned to walk away, and a hushed, almost inhuman whisper was his only warning.

“Dinner indeed…”

“Lo, look out!” Virgil yelled before Logan was pushed to the floor, his glasses being knocked off his face in the process. A kind of purple mist seemed to roll in from nowhere, and by the time Logan scrambled to his feet and slipped his glasses back on, Virgil was on his hands and knees, clutching his side and panting.

“What on Earth just-” Logan started before he realised that Virgil was bleeding from where he was holding onto his side. “Virgil are you okay!? Holy crap we need to get you to a hospital-”

“No,” Virgil coughed, struggling to stand on his feet. “We should go to Pat’s.”

“You’re bleeding and I didn’t even see anything happen, we should get you professional help right away.” Virgil looked Logan straight in the eyes, an action Logan wasn’t used to due to Virgil’s aversion to making eye contact. What was even stranger was that Virgil’s eyes were a brilliant yellow, a stark contrast to the usual dark chocolate-esque colour, and Logan could’ve sworn his eyes were a natural colour just a few minutes ago.

“We’re going to Patton’s, now.” Yet another occurrence, Virgil never referred to Patton by his full name, not in the time Logan had known them at least, as Virgil and Patton had been best friends for longer than Logan had known either of them. But, upon hearing the urgency in Virgil’s voice, Logan fought the logical side of his brain that was screaming at him to call an ambulance and helped Virgil a few blocks over to where Patton’s apartment was located, on the ground floor luckily for both Virgil and Logan.

Patton opened the door with a beaming smile, but as soon as he saw Virgil his face became sombre as he led the pair into his living room and got Virgil to lie on the couch. Strangely, he didn’t seem confused or even alarmed by the sudden appearance of a bleeding Virgil and began to dig out a first aid kit and bandage Virgil up without hesitation.

“Can you tell me what the hell happened now?” Logan spoke up around five minutes later, once Virgil’s wound was fully bandaged. Virgil slowly sat up and sighed, refusing to even look at Logan, let alone make eye contact.

“That thing that tried to kill you… was a demon.” Virgil’s voice was hushed, and while Patton gasped, seemingly horrified, Logan simply cocked an eyebrow.

“A demon? Virgil you know I don’t believe in mythical creatures.” Meanwhile, Patton was reevaluating Virgil’s wound, as if this information was life-threatening.

“Funny thing to say as the only human in the room,” Patton commented as if it was a normal thing to say, which had Logan’s breath catching in his throat.

“Excuse me, Patton?”

“Pat, he doesn’t know…” Virgil groaned out, trying to swat Patton’s hands away from his wound. “I pushed him down and his glasses fell off.”

“So you mean to tell me you fended off a demon in the little time it takes to put a pair of glasses on?”

“It didn’t seem to be a part of the big clans, I think it was just looking for defenceless humans to get a quick fix. It went for me once then ran when I retaliated after all.”

“Okay, can someone please explain what the hell is actually going on?” Logan could feel the anger starting to bubble in his throat, now thoroughly stressed out at not knowing what on Earth Patton and Virgil were talking about. After sharing a look, Patton was the one out of the pair that spoke up.

“As Vee said, the creature that attacked you was a demon. Demons are soul-suckers and occasionally also drink human blood, and obviously, it wanted to go after any unsuspecting trick-or-treaters.” Patton shuddered slightly and took a breath before continuing. “Demons are really bad news for us, but luckily this one should’ve been scared enough by Virgil to not come back anytime soon.” Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose as he tried to take in the information. It was absolutely absurd, yet Patton was never one to lie, and when he did he was exceptionally bad at it.

“Say I were to believe you, that doesn’t explain what you said earlier about me being the only human in the room.”

“Well, it’s true. Guess we can’t hide it anymore if you were attacked by a demon.” Patton shrugged. “I’m a Puck, well I’m part Puck at least. Pucks are like nature spirits kinda, but we’re not fairies. It’s why I’ve always had this.” Patton pointed to the spring green streak that ran through his hair. “Since Pucks have green hair, I ended up with a bit of it. And Virgil-”

“I can shapeshift a bit,” Virgil mumbled, his head down. “Only into a wolf, though.” Logan’s eyes widened, and what he said next was a whisper, as if he couldn’t believe what e was saying.

“You’re a… werewolf?”

“Hey, no, that’s rude,” Patton piped up, looking genuinely annoyed. “That’s a really rude way of referring to people who can only change into wolves. He’s a Lupus, they’re Lupi. That’s like calling a Drake a weredragon.”

“A… Drake?”

“Draconids, or Drakes, are like Lupi but they turn into dragons instead of wolves.” Virgil sighed. “Roman always has to be so extra.”

“Wait, Roman? As in, my childhood best friend, the guy who’s like a Disney prince fell out of a movie, Roman Preston?”

“The very same! He’s a Draconid, and super proud of it as well.” Patton beamed, and Logan had to sit down, this new information was making his head spin.

“So what, you three have been hiding that you’re… monsters?”

“Rude. We’re supernatural creatures.” Virgil corrected, and Logan couldn’t help the small pang of guilt that shot through him as he saw the pain in Virgil’s face.

“I mean, you’re the only human in our whole group. We may have been waiting for you to reveal some supernatural trait for a while now but you never did.” Patton laughed nervously, and Logan was gone, he was losing his mind at this information.

“None of you are human? What about Remy?”

“Incubus. A sprite that feeds off of affection, and sort of a cousin to demons.” Patton explained.

“Emile?”

“An Empathy Fae,” Virgil spoke this time. “Can read people’s emotions.”

“Wait, Virgil, is Thomas even your half-brother?” Virgil nodded. He still hadn’t looked at Logan since revealing this secret.

“Uh, yeah. He’s half-Lupus.” Logan sat back in his seat, glasses off and hands pressed against his eyes as his mind tried to process the knowledge of, well, another world. It was mind-bogglingly difficult, especially for Logan’s logic-centred brain, to comprehend, that his friends and boyfriend weren’t human.

“I… I need a lie-down…” Logan spoke maybe five, maybe ten minutes later, before standing up and heading to the spare bedroom that Patton always kept clean in case anybody needed to sleep, and Logan did just that. He laid down and was immediately asleep, his mind whirring even in his dreams.

When Logan awoke, his mind was foggy, and he felt as if he had been sleeping for years. He sat up, found his glasses and looked around, before realising that he was in Patton’s guest bedroom. It was then that Logan remembered the obscene dream he had, where all of his friends were actually monsters in disguise. Had to have been a dream, obviously.

So when Logan left the room, he saw Virgil in his signature hoodie, eyes their natural colour, and Patton, with that weird green streak in his hair he insisted on never changing for some odd reason, talking over mugs of what Logan could only assume to be coffee, knowing Virgil. Speaking of, it was Virgil who first noticed that Logan was there, and he was up, looking worried.

“How do you feel?” Virgil’s voice was low and concerned, which puzzled Logan slightly.

“Fine, although I don’t remember exactly how we got here.” In his half-awake state, Logan missed Patton’s alarmed look towards them from the kitchen, as he was zeroing in on both Virgil and the smell of coffee.

“This random guy was being a dick and trying to scare us, and I’m not sure how but you slipped and kinda hit your head a bit, so I brought you back here to make sure you were okay.” Virgil gave Logan a small smile, before giving him the mug of coffee he had been holding. “Pat was just telling me about the trick-or-treaters he got last night.”

As Logan sat down, he missed the look that Patton and Virgil shared, and he failed to see the faint yellow glint in Virgil’s eyes and the fact that the green streak in Patton’s hair was brighter than before. But he wouldn’t have thought anything of it if he had seen either of those things after all his dream was just a bizarre dream, and monsters were make-believe for Halloween movies and cheap costumes.

~~~

General writing taglist: @noahlovescoffee @canadian-crofters @infinitysgrace @darknightvirgil @singingjo @peanut0303 @introverted-happiness

#thomas sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #halloween exchange #analogical

[dietaku]

Amazing Quest 1: Chapter 8

Here it is, the penultimate chapter. Only a little bit more!

Chapter 8: Collect-a-thon! Alright, team, ready to get all the items necessary for the best ending? Of course you are! The first and most important thing in this chapter is that we can get Hiro's ultimate weapon now. We actually need to go back to the small, otherwise-useless lake near Toruble Castle and you need to go noodling a few times and then sit and wait 5 real-world minutes. Go ahead and grab yourself a drink or a sammich or something. Hiro: Doo-doo-dee-doo~ Hm? Suddenly, the water in the lake glows and a lovely, buxom lady rises slowly from the light. Hiro: What the heck--?! Woman: Fear not, Hiro of the Pudding Tribe, I am Eroustei, goddess of light and mercy. Eroustei then presents two swords, one a glimmering gold color, and one with an ornate hilt and silvery blade. Eroustei: Did you drop this Sword of Power, or this Gold Blade? Hiro: But I didn't drop a sword. I have mine right here. Eroustei: … Let's try this again. Did you drop a sword that will grant you great might, or this sword that will bring you great fortune? Hiro: Oh, I don't need either of those. I have my friends. So long as I have them, then I don't need to rely on artifacts and legends to find my way. Eroustei: YOU BITCH!!! Eroustei very angrily winds up and hurls both swords at Hiro, who bash him with their hilts. Hiro: GYAAAAH! Hiro is knocked flat. Eroustei: YOU THINK IT'S EASY DOING THIS LADY IN THE LAKE THING, YOU INGRATE?! Hiro: Owww... Eroustei: YOU NEED TO THINK ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE'S FEELINGS, YA JERK! Eroustei drops back into the water and out of sight. Hiro gets: PdngSword and GoldSword! Hiro: Wh-what just happened...? Hiro's best sword is, obviously, the PdngSword which is a huge step up from any other weapon in the game for him. The GoldSword is, in itself, useless (Loyroll can equip it, but it's not terribly strong), but leads to our next quest! We have to find the little encampment to the south of ToneLand's island, which can be a little tricky to get to. But once we're there, we'll meet an old man. Old Man: Hey there! I'm the weapons maniac! I dedicate my life to things that cut others short! Haha! A little dark humor there! Hiro: That's pretty dark alrig-- Old Man: Hey, is that a sword made of gold?! M-may I please see it? Hiro: Sure. Not doing us any good anyway. The Old Man takes it, admiring it lovingly. Old Man: The sheen. The weight. The beauty... Loyroll: The inability to retain an edge? Old Man: I... I must have this! W-what if I traded you for something of equal value?! Hiro: Um. I guess... that's fine? The Old Man runs into his tent and returns, giving the party the TinFlStar, the strongest weapon for Kimaywa! Kimyawa: Yatta! Old Man: This weapon is deceptively powerful. Treasure it always! Hiro: Um. Well, one man's trash, I suppose... At this point, wander around and get into a fight with Kimyawa and Loyroll in the fray. Have Loyroll use the Mirror of Ki and you'll be treated to an amusing scene where Kimyawa's new weapon gets caught in the fire and all the enemies get incinerated. Kimyawa: Nii-chan! Baka! You nearly cooked us all! Loyroll: Even after all this time, this legendary artifact of our ancestors contains fabulous secret powers! Perhaps we could harness this more constructively? You've unlocked Kimyawa and Loyroll's strongest dual tech: Over-Arcing. This deals huge light-based damage to all enemies. And now it's time to revisit an old friend: you have been taking care of Stinky the Griffohump this whole game, right? Well, if you have, by now, he's likely evolved into his adolescent form, where his wings are more developed and his mismatched eyes have evened out. Once all his stats are over 500, which should happen around now-ish if you've been taking good care of him, he'll evolve into his adult form, where he actually resembles a majestic creature of myth and even has a Pudding Warrior Knot on the side of his head, like Hiro's. Hiro: Yes! I knew you had it in you! You were just like me – you just needed a guiding hand to help you out! At this point, the rancher from before walks up. Hiro: Have a look! It's all thanks to you! Rancher: Who'd have guessed you'd really do it? Well done. Hiro: The last of his kind, the proud Griffohump~! Rancher: Oh. Right. That. Yeah, no, he's not the last of his kind. Hiro: W-what? Does that mean... you found him a mate? Rancher: … Dude, Griffohumps are everywhere. They're overpopulated in most regions of the world where they live because nothing wants to eat them. People that try usually end up in the hospital from food poisoning and depression. Hiro: … Rancher: We tell people they're the last of their kind to give them some kind of marketing appeal. I'm genuinely amazed that you made something of him. So I guess the joke's on me. Hiro turns to Stinky as the rancher walks off. Hiro: You and me. We are more alike than you know, my friend. Now with Stinky fully grown, we can ride him around on the overworld map! This not only moves us faster and reduces the encounter rate, he can even fly short bursts when you get a running start, allowing you to clear mountains and get into areas previously inaccessible, including one north of the ocean of Mermania to get Mancala's ultimate weapon, the Abacus of Ages. But as no one uses Mancala, who cares? There's also a neat, but ultimately useless trick you can use because the game maintains Stinky's speed regardless of turns, so if you have him run back and forth over two spaces rapidly, you can cause him to fly anywhere at any time. This is dubbed by the fans as The Stinky Shuffle. Anyways, now it's time to address a particular plot thread that's been dangling since chapter 2. Return to Toruble and speak to the King. King: Siigh... Hiro: … King: Siii-iiigh... Ozma: … King: Siii-iii-iii-i-- Ozma: What's wrong, daddy? King: Oh! Ozma! When did you get here?! See, I've just been a little melancholic lately. Can't quite shake it. It's just been so quiet here in the castle without you running around randomly braining people. Ozma: I have never done such a thing!! … Recently. … in the past few months. King: I just wish I could shake these blues. I haven't been nearly so proactive in banishing people recently either! Hiro: So some good has come of this at least. Ozma: Seems that way... The party exits and fans out. Kimyawa: Dame desu. This is no good. A king can't rule his land like this. Moore: There must be some means by which to cheer him up. Loyroll: It seems more severe than just having a rainy day. Perhaps he is coming down with a bad cold? Ozma: There's a doctor we could ask for help from, I suppose. Let's go have a chat with him! So, now it's time to return to the Mountain of Outcasts. Thankfully, this time, the Dreaded Mountain Maze is in rubble due to Ozma's last temper tantrum here and we can take a shortcut through it and monsters no longer spawn here. Once on the other side, there seems to be quite a change: there's way fewer NPCs here than last time. Eh, probably not important. Go back to the doctor's house and Ozma will knock. You go, JeffCom, reuse those art assets for great justice! Ozma: Doc, it's me. Please open up. The door opens a small bit. Doctor: W-what do you want?! Oh. Princess Ozma. Ozma: Daddy's been really down in the dumps lately. Would you please come have a look at him? Doctor: That's... not really a very good idea. Reasons, you see. Valid reasons, mm, yes. Ozma: I... what? Please, I'll talk to him about overturning your banishment and-- Doctor: No, no, quite busy here, please, and thank you! He slams the door shut and there's a sound of many, many locks being slapped into place. Ozma: W-what...?! What's he trying to pull?! Why that! I'll turn this door to splinters!!! Ozma winds up and slams into the door. When she hits it, she's stopped cold and overblown, comedic tears rush down her face. Ozma: … G-gimmie a hand, please! Hiro: Right. Ozma: On the count of three. Ozma backs up a few paces and counts on her fingers with an accompanying “click” sound so the player knows when to go. If you mistime it, Ozma will back up and count again, signaling you when to go again. If you both hit the door at roughly the same time, your party will go plowing through it and enter into a cave-like bedroom. Ozma: Alright! Doctor, now you listen here-- eh? Hiro: No one's home? Ozma: He couldn't have gone far. C'mon, how deep could these caves go, anyway? Let's find him! There's a bed you can rest in and a save point here, which is a none-too-subtle hint that this is more than just a town. You venture deeper into the caves and monsters start appearing like Banished Munchkins, Outcast Ostriches, and Willow Whips, ghostly plant-like monsters. Most monsters here fear fire attacks, so Kimyawa and Loyroll are excellent choices. A few floors down, the caves change and suddenly have crystal structures laced in the walls, giving this place a weird sense of style. Around here, new monsters like the Crystallis Caterpillar, and Wind-Up Golems start appearing around here and despite looking very rock-like, they're weak to earth attacks. Go fig, right? A little further in and the caves are completely replaced by metal corridors and what looks like a lab setting. Ozma: W-what in the world is this...? Loyroll: This is no mere hide-a-way for the untouchables. Whatever is happening here is happening on a grand scale. You can then go forward, but the puzzles here get a bit dickish. There's one room where you have to rush into a library and sort out books via Dewey Decimal System in a very short span of time, otherwise the room resets due to “Radiation” as a nearby sign will say. After that, you play a minigame not unlike the board game operation, and failing at it causes the miniboss monster, Chimantera, to spawn an infinite number of times. At least, in the SNES release. In the GBA remake, it'll only spawn once and win or lose, the door to the next room opens. Here, you play hopscotch against a kangaroo to cross electrified floors. There's a reason fans of the series call this area “The Cut Content Dungeon” as there doesn't feel like there's a unifying theme here. But once you're past that, you can then go to the last area here, a massive, circular room with a large tube in the center of the room with a woman inside of it and the doctor standing before it. Ozma: Doc! What are you doing?! Doctor: Gah! H-how did you get here?! Ozma: We let ourselves in. What is this? What were all those weird things we passed to get here?! Doctor: N-now that you've seen this... my, you've really put me in a bind... Ozma: What is that...? Oh my God! Is that... my mom?! Party: Say whaaaaaaat?! Doctor: … Well, since you're here anyway and you're so damn curious, I'll enlighten you. Your father hired me to save your mother from her unfortunate condition. At first I thought it a fool's errand – to find a cure for Disney Parent Syndrome! Preposterous! But... as I began my work, I started making breakthroughs and discovering new things... things previously completely unknown to modern medicine. Curiosities in the genetic structures of what we once believed to be ordinary humans. “Golden Tribe” indeed, I must say. Ozma: What are you...?! Doctor: I don't suspect a silverback gorilla such as yourself could appreciate it, but I've been wanting to tell someone about these discoveries for such a long time and I'm about to kill your asses here and now... well, let's just call this two birds; one stone. Hiro: Ozma! Ozma: I'm fine... Doctor: You see, true humanity is no longer with us. They haven't been with us in eons!! The mitochondria here indicates that there was an extinction event of some magnitude. Deima: Cough-cough-hack! Doctor: And now, modern chimerism is nigh-omnipresent! Every tribe! Every person! It's just a matter of dose! Ozma: I don't get any of this! And what's any of that have to do with my MOM, you creep?! Doctor: As I thought, you don't appreciate the meanings of the truth I've discovered here... very well. Let us cut to the heart of the matter then, shall we? The King tasked me to save the Queen... and abandoned her. I was the only one there with her in her twilight years! I realized she was... perfect. Ozma: Oh God, please tell me this isn't going where I think it's going... Doctor: She had to be... preserved. By any means necessary. Ozma: Oh God, it is!!! Doctor: She was too beautiful. Too pure... Ozma: Oh God, I'm gonna barf... stop lusting after my dead mom, asshole!!! Doctor: Dead? Dear girl, she is not dead. She is alive and well and I was just putting in my finishing touches on her new, perfected chimeran body! Ozma: You... you what?! Doctor: Arise! Perfect Human-Chimera 01! The tube's glass slides upward into the ceiling as the green goop pours out. In the Japanese version, the nude woman falls flat before standing up and throwing up some of the green fluids. This was removed entirely in the international release and she was even given a white towel from out of nowhere she clearly did not have previously. Woman: Where... where am I? Ozma: M... mommy?! Woman: O... Ozma? Is that you? You're so tall now... And, um, buff! Like, um, damn. Doctor: Oh-ho-ho... her memory is perfectly in tact too. Seems the “donations” made by my fellows here on the mountain weren't spent in vain! Loyroll: Stand down, you dastard and know when you're defeated. To flail about helplessly is disgraceful. Doctor: You think I am helpless? I'll show you the fruits of my labors, such that even simpletons like yourselves can appreciate them! The Doctor runs to a control panel and messes with buttons. Hiro and Loyroll advance, but the Queen steps into their path. Hiro: Y-your majesty?! Loyroll: Heh. Truly, this is not the first time a naked woman threw herself at me. I'm just not interested. Queen: H-help! I can't control my body! Doctor: Haha! Yes! It's better than I could have dreamed my perfect woman, my perfect creation, and your perfectly beautiful demise! Hiro: You're sick! Doctor: Prepare to die! Ozma: No! Mom!! -Boss Fight!- PHC-01 LP: 70000 MP: 6000 This is a dangerous fight as her stats are not dissimilar to Ozma's, having very high physical stats with very low magical abilities. Equally so, Ozma cannot attack directly during this fight, as you get the unique message “Ozma can't bring herself to do it!” so she's either benched or on support during this battle. Oddly enough, if you invoke her double techs with another character, this circumvents this – so punching her mom is a “no-no” but slapping her with a fish is A-OK! Focus on Kimyawa's elemental abilities or have her and Loyroll use Over-Arcing, use any attack items you have (which are calculated vs. magic defense) and heal often as her physical blows are enough to drop the likes of Mancala in one blow. When her health dips below 25%, then you have to worry about her special attack, Chimeran Rage, which hits the entire party for physical, melee damage and runs the risk of reducing physical attack and defense stats in the party. If this happens, you must heal quickly or she'll just reduce you to paste. -Boss Fight!- Queen: Ah... something just snapped. Doctor: No! Dammit! Move! Move! Queen: I'm free. Ozma: Mommy! Queen: My Ozma. You've grown so strong. And you have such wonderful friends. I couldn't be more proud of you. Doctor: This is an unforeseen turn of events. I didn't think they could go toe-to-toe with Perfect Human-Chimera 01!!! Queen: And as for you... The Queen turns to face the Doctor. Doctor: Oh... shit. Queen: My name is NOT “Perfect Human-Chimera 01”! My name is Valerie Po Toruble, Queen of the proud nation of Toruble! And as its Queen, I must establish justice within the boundaries of my beloved nation! Submit yourself to the court and beg for mercy as your sins will be dredged up before the light of day! Hiro: Um. Wow. I better take notes... Ozma: Mommy!! You're so cool!!! Doctor: Very well, Plan B it is. The doctor messes with the control panel again. PA: Emergency! Self-destruct sequence is initialized. This entire mountain is about to be leveled to the ground in 60 seconds. Have a nice day! Hiro: Quick! Grab him! There's time! Queen: There isn't. You lot get out of here. I'll ensure the evil of this place never spreads beyond this God-forsaken mountain!!! Ozma: Mother! Queen: Ozma. As the Princess of this nation, you must never forget... your heart gets a vote, but your brain has veto authority. Tell your father you love him, dry your eyes, and continue on your journey. You are our beloved land's future! Ozma: Mommy! No! Not without-- Hiro and the others restrain Ozma and pull her out the door. Queen: That's right. Be a good girl and listen to your mother. The Queen turns around, then just puts her entire arm through the Doctor's body. Doctor: BARF!!! Queen: This is the way it should be. The past is in the past and the future, set free into tomorrow. Farewell. The screen whites out here. In the SNES version, the party is returned to the overworld without further delay, but there's an extended scene that cues in the GBA remake when the party enters Toruble again. The House Man we saw briefly before walks in through the ruins of the lab. House Man: My, my what a loud explosion that was... He moves around, exploring the ruined boss chamber. House Man: Hmm... his research was thousands of years behind my own... but I must admit, he had some good ideas. I could probably put these to some good use, even if it takes some time. House Man chuckles to himself, as he uncovers a charred remains of one body. House Man: But then again, I have all the time in the world~! The party returns to the throne room of Toruble. Ozma: Daddy, I-- King: Oh-ho! Ozma! How good to see you! Ozma: Huh? Daddy?! King: I don't know why, but... it seems that funk I was in has been lifted from my shoulders! I'm ready and chipper and ready to start some banishing! Ozma: Ugh. Father... King: Oh, before I forget! The King goes to Ozma and gives her the Queen's Knuckles. Ozma: What on Earth? King: These were your mother's. I found them while taking my little trip down memory lane. I'm sure she'd want you to have them! Ozma: … King: What's the matter, dear? I thought you'd be happy! Ozma: I... I am. I have great friends and my whole future before me. I love you, daddy, but my travels aren't over just yet. See you soon! King: Do your best! Now Ozma has her ultimate weapon and unlocks her final attack “Regal Rampage” where Ozma bequeaths royal beatdowns, which hits six times and runs the chance of lowering one corresponding stat with each blow! Hiro: Your mother had a set of custom brass knuckles? Ozma: Yes, why? Hiro: No reason... And now, the only character without their ultimate weapon is Moore. At this point, we need to return to Moore's hometown and they'll mention a “legendary weapon of the miners” had recently surfaced and that a weapon's expert had it. So that's your cue to return to the weapon maniac from before. Old Man: Oh, hello. Here to discuss weapons? Hiro: Sort-of. We're looking for the legendary weapon of the miners. Deima: If this just ends up something dumb like a shovel, prepare for pain, old-timer. Old Man: No, no! Not a shovel! Much more sophisticated than a shovel! Moore: W-what? What is it? Please, tell us! I'd do ANYTHING to be not be rock-bottom tier in this game! All: … Moore: It's never going to happen, is it? Hiro: A-hem. Show us the weapon. Old Man: Can do! Got: Rusty piece of crap! Deima: Okay, so clearly, you want to die... Old Man: Eep! I just dug it up! If you want to see its true power, you'll have to go see the Old Lady Weapon Maniac! Deima: There's another one of you?! Old Man: Just head east from here! You'll find her there! Well, this is just a damnable lie. You need to go WEST from here to find the small hut in the middle of an island that's otherwise quite easy to overlook. Going east is useless as that section of the map is impassable. When you go there. Old Lady: Good morning! Are you here to ask about my weapons collection? I do love weapons! Moore: Sort of! This is... Old Lady: Ah, yes, the legendary weapon of the miners, unrivaled in their tribe as the pinnacle of design and form. Moore: So it can be repaired? Old Lady: Yes, yes! But I'll need the POLISH. Hiro: Special polish? Old Lady: Yes, but you're saying it wrong. It's POLISH. Hiro: Of course it is. Moore: Where do we find it? Old Lady: A merchant in Mermania has some! Mancala: Sounds simple enough. Let's go. So head to Mermania and speak to the merchant guild merman. Moore: So we're looking for the, uh, POLISH. Did I say that right? Guildmaster: Well, you're too late. I just sold the only POLISH I had to a man in Toruble! Hiro: Is this weapon really that great? Moore: It must be! It's the very best weapon of my people! Deima: Yes, God forbid we overlook the tallest of the dwarves. So head to Toruble! There, we find a wealthy looking fellow. Merchant: Oh? You want this POLISH? It cost me quite a lot! Moore: You don't understand, it's a matter of pride... Merchant: Hmm... okay! I'll give it to you! Moore: You will?! Merchant: But first-- All: ugh! Merchant: Bring me a Lucky Rabbit's Foot! Moore: Just... a rabbit foot? Merchant: No, ding-dong, the LUCKY RABBIT'S foot. The Lucky Rabbit only lives on Mushroom Island. Moore: That doesn't sound so hard. Let's go guys! So now, you need to head north-east-ish until you find a newly-made bridge and cross over to the previously-inaccessible island. There, you'll enter a cave and see a large, white rabbit sitting in front of many, many mushrooms with different spot patterns. Rabbit: What-ho! Welcome to the sacred ground of the Rabbit Clan! How can I help you? Moore: um. I am of the miner clan. I wish to request you for, uh, a Lucky Rabbit's Foot. Rabbit: That's all? That's not really a problem, but would you mind doing something for me first? Deima: HISS!!! Rabbit: Go to the top of the hill here and find me a mushroom that looks like... this! The rabbit places down a mushroom with a particular spot pattern. What pattern this is varies in each playthru. You then head up the mountain dealing with Mushkins, Hedgeshrooms, and Ecobandits, all of which can inflict poison. At the top of one of the four staircases are sets of mushrooms, so one of the 12 mushrooms up here is the one that matches Lucky Rabbit's request. Take it back to him. If you bring the wrong one, he'll scold you for being “dumber than a miner” and show you the one he's after once again and you'll return. Once you get it right, he'll speak to you again. Rabbit: Oh, frabjuous day! Here you go! Obtained: Lucky Rabbit's Ruler. Hiro: What? But this is a ruler and-- oh. Wait. I get it. Lucky Rabbit's... foot. Moore: Let's go guys! You then return to Toruble and speak to the merchant. Merchant: Excellent! Just what I needed! Hiro: Odd, I thought you wanted a, y'know, like a foot-foot. Like the Rabbit's actual hind-quarters leg. Merchant: Eww. You're weird. And gross. Here, take the POLISH and get outta here, ya weirdos. Hiro: Grumble... Then head to the Old Weapon Lady. Old Lady: Awright! Now I'll apply the POLISH and... there! Moore: Is it ready?! Old Lady: Almost! Head back to the Old Weapon Man and he should apply the finishing touches. All: Ugh! Moore: C'mon, guys! For all this work we're putting in, this weapon is going to be the best! So return to the Old Weapon Man. Old Man: Why, you lot have been busy. Now, let me just use my RUST REMOVER here and it'll be ready before you can say “Done”! And... Do-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooone! Got: Pickax! Moore: Of course!! Where a shovel fails, the Pickax prevails! All: … Deima: That tears it, everyone dies. Moore: But-- Deima thrusts her hand skyward and the Old Man's tent is blown away. Old Man: Oh noooooo! Moore: Cough. Cough. W-well, on the bright side I got my best weapon in the ga-- wait, does this mean I only HAVE two weapons in this WHOLE GAME?! Hiro: … The Pickax is... a little better than his shovel, I guess? But now that we have all the legendary weapons, we can finally go to that random forest in the north stretch of the game, with the healing spring in it. When we go to heal in it this time, Hiro and the party just jump into it. You'll then follow a spiral staircase downward until you reach a Pudding Shrine at the bottom. “But wait!” I hear some of you call out, “How the hell were we supposed to know about this?!” All I can say is: Player's Guide Sales! Go inside and Hiro will pull away from the party. Hiro: The final shrine... A small, strange, hairy creature appears before him. Hiro: Um. Lulz: Greetings, Hiro. I am Lul Invictus, but you can call me Lulz for short. Hiro: Very short. Lulz: Oh, the wit. Never heard THAT one before! You do remember my voice, do you not? Hiro: Um... Wait... you were the one who spoke to me when my powers first awoke! Lulz: Indeed so. Your journey is nearing completion, Hiro. You will need the fullest extent of your abilities now. Do you know what I mean by that? Hiro: Yes! My friends! Lulz: Indeed! You've learned much! I now release the limitations on your abilities and bless you with the mighty power of the Final Swirl Flavor Fusion! Hiro glows brightly. Hiro: Thank you, Lulz. Lulz: Fare thee well. And remember: Pudding is meant to be enjoyed! Not contained! Keep those snack packs a popping! Hiro: The more you speak, the less I understand. But I'll do my best despite that. Hiro returns to the others, draws out his sword and poses. Hiro: Do that which is right, live your life for others, and never, ever give up! That is the oath of the Light Puddings! Ozma: Heart~! Kimyawa: Sugoi, Hiro-ni-chan! Loyroll: Well said, friend! Deima: Heh. Hot. Moore: Mm! Mancala: Ooo, we should copyright that phrase and make mint after the war's over! And with that, the last optional quest is finished and we're ready to get us the best ending of the game! It's time to enter the next chapter, with our heads held high!

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[fakesurprise]

Clues of portents

The problem with people like us is that there are too many people like us. What should be a routine warning about a damaged taillight, which I tell Noah is on him because he should have noticed – it takes him a bit to realize I was just teasing, even now – leads to the police officer staring into the car, looking the three of us over slowly, then asking if we might be able to help with a problem.

Noah is tapping the steering wheel nervously and stops dead at that. “I – what kind?” he asks. Still quiet; I don’t think Noah will ever be otherwise, but he at least asks without prompting.

The police officer is a tall woman with perfectly pressed clothing, eyes that notice tricks and don’t miss them. To me, she feels like she has edges that were blunted some time ago. Perhaps in a good way. “Emi Sandhurt. If my name helps. There is a – problem outside town, the kind that police can’t easily solve.”

“You seem like the sort who can solve things?” Noah offers when neither Wilbur nor I say anything.

That wins a snort from the police officer. “Once. I was SWAT years ago. I’m not anymore. There was a – snowball fort. It changes you.”

She offers nothing else.

“We could try and help,” Wilbur says. “But we do need gas, lunch, and perhaps an idea of what is going on?”

Officer Sandhurt shakes her head. “I’m on duty, and the department budget – and mine – can’t even stretch a dime these days. It’s a house just north, on Stapleton Drive. The people in it aren’t people. So far nothing has happened, but people are talking. Elmsville isn’t big, and not a bad town. I’d rather it was still here next year.”

“That bad?” I put in from the back seat.

“People are talking. They know something ain’t right, if you get my meaning. Eventually they’ll stop talking. I don’t know what will happen after that.”

“We can look into it,” Wilbur says, after a glance at myself and Noah.

The officer nods, hands us the warning about the taillight, suggests we eat at Sara’s Diner and returns to her own car.

Elmsville only has a few elm trees, all of which are fenced off though only some use actual fences. Two gas stations, one church, a general store, a few shops. Sara’s turns out to be at the north end of town in the back of someone’s home. No shingle; we only find it because one of the two Yelp reviews tells us the house has a restaurant in the back. There are a half-dozen tables, all empty since it’s after lunch.

Sara turns out to be the cook, front staff and ‘everything else,’ she offers cheerfully. Older woman in her fifties with an easy grin who barely pauses as any of us. Which might be why the police officer sent us here.

“We’re doing one of those summer trips,” I offer to explain three teenagers on the road together.

Sara just nods, tells us what is cooking in the back – no menu, but there is tea, coffee and pop. We all elect for pop and Sara moves closer to Noah, whispering something I don’t catch. Noah starts visibly, then says something back and snags a table for us, his eyes dancing with soft amusement.

“Let me guess,” Wilbur says as he sits down slowly. “Asking is she should make extra food?”

Wilbur isn’t big, because for hundred pounds is far past big. We got the car we did because he could fit in the front comfortably. You make sacrifices for friends, even when they aren’t the only magician in the world who deals mostly with ghosts.

Noah shakes his head. He is definitely grinning, for him. Between long hair, long bangs, and enough freckles for three people he’d be noticed anyway even if you didn’t take into account he’s too thin – maybe always going to be like that – and has enough acne for at least three people. Plus side, almost no one notices the old burns on his right arm.

“She asked if I was here of my own will, since you gave her a bad vibe,” he says.

“Oh,” I respond, deadpan, but Noah can read me pretty well by now. Wilbur, who has known me far longer, snickers openly.

I look the most normal of us, but there is something put inside me that isn’t human at all. And the person who did that saved my life, but no one really knows what is going to happen. I can’t work magic like Wilbur, and my talent isn’t as stupidly-strong as Noah, but I can do things with pain that sometimes people pick up on. And sometimes people realize it’s more than being able to cause pain.

We’re presented with pop, bread, and stew a few minutes later. I ask about Stapleton Drive while the guys are eating.

Sara’s smile tarnishes a little. “We don’t go up that way,” she says flatly.

One twisted part of my talent is knowing how to break people, and when they won’t at all. Nothing normal will change her mind, so I grab one of the rolls and throw it at Noah’s head with, “Catch.”

The roll stops just before hitting his head, and floats down to the table. “Not with my right arm,” Noah says calmly, and keeps eating without even looking up at me.

Sara stares at Noah, then Wilbur, and then back at me. “None of us are normal either,” I say with a shrug. “We’ve been asked to look into it, and knowing something might help?”

Sara lets out a sigh. “My daughter went there. Last year. Said she felt – called, and when she came back she wasn’t – she was like you, girl. Something looking out of her that wasn’t always her. And went back. Said she had a boyfriend. Third time she didn’t come back at all. A couple of others – adults, mostly from around here, they all did the same thing. There’s something there, and I couldn’t go near it. Not even for my own daughter.”

“We all have limits,” Wilbur says, his voice low and calm. I’ve known magicians to make me throw up just by ordering me to stop; Wilbur’s voice is a deep soothing.

“Shouldn’t have that one,” Sara says, depute that, and heads back into the kitchen.

We finish eating, and I look at the other two. “Anything?”

Noah glances at the car GPS, turning to the road and closes his eyes. “Something. A buzzing, like the world is pulled a little off kilter?”

I nod, focus. Feeling pain at a distant is hard, but I can do it. “Nothing.”

“There is something not from around here,” Wilbur says. “Hiding. I can sense that much. I don’t think it means harm, but so few Outsiders do.”

I gesture for Noah to get into the back, and Wilbur gets in the passenger seat as I drive our old car toward Stapleton Drive. We end up on gravel roads, and through a couple of fields of nothing but corn before pulling onto Stapleton. Nothing special, one narrow road among others. But the shadows look different, and the feeling of not being watched is an itch across my shoulder blades. But it’s one I’m used to.

The house at the end of Stapleton road is a small, ramshackle affair that looks like it had been condemned for being condemned. I say as much out loud as I pull the car over and turn the engine off.

“It looked like an outhouse Baba Yaga might have owned,” Wilbur deadpans.

I snort. “The last thing we need to for stories like that to be real right now.”

Noah doesn’t join in using banter to relieve stress, partially because he’s bad at banter. I glance over and find him studying the house warily. This, from someone who can juggle cars in the air if he has to.

“I don’t know why you’re scared; they’ve never met anyone like us before.”

“Yes, well, we’ve never met anyone like them either,” he mumbles.

“Oh. Good point.” I shrug and start walking, the other two beside me. We’re halfway to the house when six people come out of the cornfields toward us. Not clothed, hair matted, eyes wild. Noah has already spun toward one. Every single one stops moving as he pushes air around them and holds them gently in place. The silence stretches further; the wind has gone still as well.

“There might be others hiding in the woods; one had a gun,” he says, not moving.

Having a former weird-spook as a stepfather had uses; I hadn’t seen a gun, but I wasn’t about to doubt Noah had. “How long can you hold them all like this?”

“I have no idea.”

“Ah.” I start walking quickly toward the house, Wilbur following behind me. “Anything?”

“There are no ghosts here,” Wilbur says slowly, scanning the area, his eyes distant and unfocused.

Ghosts not wanting to talk to Wilbur happens, especially if Noah and I are around him. But a complete lack generally means something drove them away. “The house?”

“Assuming it is a house, yes. I might be able to banish what is there as though it were a ghost, but it has tied itself into the people Noah is holding, and probably the land as well.”

I take a deep breath and study the house. I think about anchors, and the world as an ocean, and reach out with my talent. My talent isn’t stupid, like Noah’s, but it rarely takes effort to use in the base form. The house rocks as pain runs through it, the old wood veins for transmitting distress. The building shivers, ripples and then is something else entirely. Not wood at all. Something vast stirs up, shadows hiding it as if the universe was ashamed the entity had slipped inside itself.

I hurl pain into it, drawing from the people chained to it, myself, Noah, Wilbur, and the general aches and agonies from the town itself. My bones ache from pulling pain from that far away, but the shape under the shadows writhes. I think it makes a noise, but my brain blanks out in trying to describe it.

Noah steps in front of me. He’s not glowing. Nothing fancy. Just him: solid, implacable, hands raised toward the darkness.

“Go,” he says, and his voice is as deep as a sunken bell.

The darkness writhes and falls away. There is a house, little more than a foundation of rotting stone. I don’t think stone is meant to rot like wood does, but it is doing so here. I grab the pain from the remains of the building, from what it had to endure, and pull that inside. For later use, if I can hold it long enough. I’m in enough pain that I barely notice that joining the rest.

Wilbur walks back toward me, wiping sweat from his forehead. “That was – more a shove than a gentle push. How are you?”

“Not driving.” I shrug, and start walking toward the car. The people Noah held have scattered to the winds. I can hear some wondering where they are, a couple running toward where the entity was, shouting names frantically. Whoever they thought it was, probably.

Noah is waiting at the car. He looks worn, but not as worn out as I am as he gestures for me to get into the back seat. I hand over the keys, and he winces a little as pain comes with it. My talent wants out. Always that. Wilbur gets in the passenger seat slowly, moving stiffly as my talent brushes him as well. I close my eyes, finding something kin to balance before the engine cuts off again.

Noah coughs. I open my eyes and realize we’re at a junk yard. At least an hour lost inside my talent. I reach out, and things fall apart. Rust, corrosion, cracks, fault lines. It’s a good five minutes before I feel close to fine, and a lot of confusion for anyone working here in the morning.

“We can’t keep doing this,” Wilbur says. I turn, not certain what he means. Hoping it’s nothing I fear. “We need money soon; we can’t keep expecting the credit card Aram gave Noah to work.”

“We’ve been paid a few times,” Noah offers. “But it’s not – it’s not right to be paid for using a gift.”

“I could be paid not to use mine.” No one laughs at the joke, not even me. We get back in the car and Wilbur checks his phone for odd news. I know he’s right; sooner rather than later we’ll have to go home to Rivercomb for one reason or another. But this, out here, using our talents to help? I could do this forever. Make people with what I am forever, if only some good could keep coming out of it.

If only. The world is made up of those words too often.

#writing #prose #magician series #family series