#girl (neutral) you have done it again constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ethospathoslogan · 6 years

Text

heavy crown, heavy heart: part one; a logince/sanders sides fanfic

A/N: posting fics at a normal time??? i don’t know her??? also, here is a royalty!logince au!!! ***i have four parts planned for this fic, but im using this first chapter as a “trial” to see what people think, so feedback is greatly appreciated!!!***

summary of fic: Prince Roman Sanders, eldest son of the royal Sanders family, always knew that there would be a time when he would be forced to accept his responsibilities and marry so that he could keep the family name strong. He would one day inherit the throne from his father and he was expected to hit the ground running with keeping the Sanders a strong ruling family. When his father finally decided that it was time for Roman to give up and give in, Roman believed that his quest to find true love was finished. He would have to settle for a marriage with someone that he did not desire and a crown on his head that was far heavier than he expected. That is, however, until the returning of a friend from his past made him realize everything that he ever wanted was so close to being his, he just had to be ready to put up a fight for what -and who- he loved.

ships: logince

WC: 2,648

content/warnings: royalty!au, homophobia, eventual romance, eventual pining

read on ao3!!!

The castle walls stood high up above Roman. Tapestries hung around the ceilings and windows in vibrant shades of red and gold. The sun glinted off the marble floors that already shone so brightly and neatly without the sun’s radiance. If Roman squinted, he could see his own reflection squinting back at him. Lush seats with even lusher cushions sat on the outskirts of the room, but Roman and his brothers knew better; they were never allowed to sit and play in here, and even now, they were still barred from the throne room unless they were summoned. Busts of previous kings and queens adorned the room, all of their stone-cold eyes boring into Roman’s soul. His father’s was still in the process of being chiseled. Roman didn’t know how he would handle seeing his father’s steely gaze on him twice as much.

Finally, his eyes drifted to the throne. A gold base and velvet red cushions, it was a throne that would one day be his. It stood raised on a platform, accessible after walking up a small set of steps. Still, as Roman approached the throne, he still had to crane his neck up to look whoever sat in it in the eye.

And that “whoever” took the form of the King, of his father. His father stared at Roman as he grew closer, his gaze neutral but, nevertheless, Roman felt a chill travel down his spine. Roman had been taken from his room, where he had been working on what could be his artistic masterpiece (a hobby his father condemned), by their squire that he was required in the throne room.

Patton and Virgil, whose doors were left ajar, had stared at Roman when he passed. Roman had ignored his younger brothers, not wanting to trouble them and their imaginations as his already were. Still, though, he could not ignore the growing pit of anxiety in him as he finally reached the base of the stairs. He could not think of what he could have done to irritate his father, even though, typically, there was always something.

Roman took in the man before him. Even with their age difference, Roman could barely see the resemblance. The only thing the father and son had in common were their deep brown eyes, but even then, his father’s were typically cold and judging. Roman hoped that his weren’t the same. His younger brothers took more after their father, adorning the light brown hair that he used to have before it greyed. Patton and Virgil possessed softer features, and the two even had dimples. Roman barely recalled seeing his father smile, but he assumed that his father had them, too. Roman, however, with his red hair and sharper features, took more after their mother.

Roman remembered of her what he could. He remembered her long red hair always pulled back into a braid. He remembered her warm smile in such a stark contrast to her husband’s. He remembered how excited she was to raise three children and see them happily grow up. He remembered her telling him, when he was six, about how he would be the best older brother ever and how he would lead Patton, three at the time, and their unborn sibling to greatness.

He remembered her not coming back after Virgil’s birth, not coming back at all.

Her throne was still pushed up against the back wall in the throne room. A sheet had been thrown over it sixteen years ago. A week ago, Roman had managed to sneak in and get a look at the sheet; it was covered in so much dust, he believed that no one had touched it since.

Roman finally cleared his throat. “You asked for me, father?” He asked, relieved that his voice was not too loud or soft, and didn’t waver.

“I did,” his father replied, tilting his head to get a better look at his eldest son. The sun caught his crown and sent glittering specs of red and gold onto the white floor. “I have news that it is imperative you know of immediately.”

“Of course,” Roman agreed. Now that he knew that he was not about to face consequences for something that he did not even know if he committed, he grew curious for what his father had to tell them. His initial fear was that a war had began to brew somewhere close to the kingdom. Being the eldest of his brothers, it was Roman’s duty to lead their royal army into battle if they were threatened. However, he believed that he would have heard by now if violence had been raging in other countries.

“You remember the Clark family, correct, Roman?” His fathered questioned with a raised brow.

Roman nodded. At the mention of their family’s old companions, his nerves instantly vanished. “Yes, Duke and Duchess Clark,” he answered. “Their son Logan and I were friends when we were children, though we have not seen them since they moved eight years ago.”

His father nodded. “Yes, well, they are making a journey back to our city. The family will be staying in our guest wing.”

A grin then formed on Roman’s face. Himself and Logan Clark had been close companions when they were children. Despite their differences, with Logan who wished to have his nose in a book while Roman dreamed of the worlds they could play pretend in in the garden, the pair got along rather well. Roman had been devastated when Logan’s family decided to move away from the kingdom so that their son could pursue a higher education at a prestigious academy, and he had not seen his friend since. They were fourteen at the time of the Clarks’ departure. He had always thought his friend was attractive then, in the way where Roman could fawn over him for hours (of course he never told anyone that, however). He was always much more occupied with Logan than with the girls that came around to see them.

He wondered what the years had done to Logan now.

“Oh, splendid,” Roman beamed. “It has really been so long since I have seen Logan. We can grow him once again accustomed to life around here-”

“They are not here for a vacation, Roman,” his father interrupted, his tone chastising. “Logan is not here to attend the balls and parties that you feel so inclined to venture to. You boys are both twenty-two and coming to an age where you must start to assume responsibilities.”

The grin dropped from Roman’s face as dread started to fill his stomach. He began to realize that he should have walked into the throne room anticipating something much worse than war.

“Their arrival back to our kingdom is not the only news I must deliver to you,” his father continued. “Myself and Duke Clark believe that it is time that you and Logan find wives. You two are both adults now and the ones who must continue to carry out family names.”

“L-Logan cannot find a wife where the family is living now?” Roman asked, mentally kicking himself for stuttering. Even if Logan and his family was not coming to stay at their castle, Roman did not believe that his father would drop whatever plans of marriage he had. Still, though, something felt wrong about being forced to find a wife alongside an old friend.

“Duke Clark knows very well that the best wife for his son will be among people like us,” his father said. “You and Logan need wives that will only work to elevate you, not common folk who will tarnish reputations.”

“But what about my training?” Roman asked, unable to stop the words from tumbling out in a jumbled mess. “I have been working with our knights to perfect my own training. I know I am a prince but I have been training rather hard. Must we look for a wife for me so soon? I do not think it would be beneficial-”

“I do not think you are in the right state to tell me what is and is not beneficial,” his father snapped, interrupting Roman. “Consider yourself fortunate, Roman, that I did not find you a wife after what you did two years ago. Consider yourself very fortunate, and more so if you choose not to make a mockery of us once more.”

Roman flinched at the memory his father drudged up. Two years ago, another noble family visiting the castle for a ball that was being held. Roman, in an abandoned supply room, pulling at tunics and his hands flying over hard muscle, lips bruised and crates being shoved out of the way in place of their bodies. A servant noticing, his father being alerted, the noble man being thrown out along with his family, Roman being confined to his room.

Roman swallowed thickly, realizing that his father had already made up his mind about what was to be done with his son who had no interest in taking a wife. It was a fact that Roman always knew, and he believed his father knew, too.

King Sanders and Duke Clark finding wives for their sons together was not just a decision made by old friends. It was to let Roman know that all eyes would be on him; he could not run and do as he pleased if he constantly had another by his side. Logan was there to make sure Roman did not stray far from the women they would be meeting.

Roman wondered if Logan was in on the plan, if he knew why their fathers were conducting this, and felt his stomach twist with anxiety and a bitter taste creep its way up his throat.

“Now, do I make myself clear of what is expected of you, Roman?” His father asked. There was no room for negotiation. “You might be the heir now, but that can change very quickly.”

Roman forced himself to nod. “Yes, father,” he said quietly.

“The Clarks will be arriving in a fortnight, then. You are dismissed,” his father said with a dismissive handshake.

Roman turned on his heel and walked out of the throne room. He focused on the clicking of his shoes on the marble floor to distract himself from how his throat felt like it was closing and tears brimmed on his eyes. He forced them back, harshly rubbing at his eyes.

He stalked past his brothers’ rooms. The rooms, set across from each other, had both their doors wide open. Both Patton and Virgil peaked their head out as their oldest brother quickly passed.

“What did he say?” Virgil asked.

“Nothing,” Roman’s voice was clipped.

“Is everything alright?” Patton asked.

By the time the middle brother asked that question, Roman had already reached his own room. He swung the doors open and, instead of giving Patton an answer, slammed them shut. Then, with a strangled shout of frustration, he ripped off his sash and overcoat, surprised that the delicate material did not rip. He kicked off his shoes and watched them fly across the room in a very unprincley manner. Left only now in his tunic and trousers, he flopped down onto his bed and stared up at the canopy that hung over him.

He breathed deeply, willing himself to calm down. He should have expected this to happen all along. For his entire life, he knew that one day he would be married. There were multiple noble families in their kingdom with single, eligible daughters. One of them would have to end up marrying him.

Besides, Logan was a dream, an impossible idea, eight years ago. And any attempt at anyone after then had proved to be a failure. Maybe his father was right. Maybe Roman did finally have to accept his responsibilities.

Roman lifted his head when there was a soft knock at his door.

“Roman?” Patton said quietly from the other side. “Can we come in?” With the we, Roman could only assume that Virgil was with him.

Roman sighed and flopped his head back onto his pillows. “If you must,” he said.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as his younger brothers walked in. Virgil shuffled in from behind Patton and Patton gently shut the door behind him.

“What happened, Roman?” Patton asked, sitting in one of the chairs Roman had set up in his room as Virgil took the other.

Roman huffed out a bitter laugh. “I had a wonderful conversation with our father,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

“Did it go that bad?” Virgil asked and Roman tilted his head to see his youngest brother looking at him with a cocked eyebrow.

“You tell me, Virgil,” Roman said. “Our father summons me in there and informs me that Duke and Duchess Clark, along with their son Logan, will be staying with us for a while.”

“Oh, that is so nice!” Patton interjected, beaming. “It has been so long since we have seen them!”

“Which is what I said,” Roman continued with a sigh. At seeing his brother’s already resigned attitude, the smile fell off of Patton’s face into a concerned frown. “I thought it would be a joy to be reunited with an old friend who I have not seen for almost a decade. That was, until our father informed me exactly why the Clarks were coming back to the kingdom.”

Both of his brothers blinked at Roman. He could see them both putting the pieces together in their heads. They shared a concerned look before sliding it to Roman.

“Our father does not mean…” Virgil started but trailed off, not wanting to voice the unwanted truth.

“Oh yes, Virgil,” Roman said with an eyeroll. “Our father wishes for Logan and myself to find wives here. He believes that it is time that we accept our adult responsibilities, and who better to make sure that the proud, unmanageable prince does what is expected of him?” He tried to let out another laugh but it sounded more like a wet cough.

“Roman,” Patton said quietly, pity laced into his voice. Both Patton and Virgil knew where Roman stood on love and marriage. His brothers were the only people in their kingdom who he felt that he could talk to and not be judged or scorned. The three had always stuck together, even from when they were children. At the time of their mother’s death, Roman took responsibility himself to protect Patton, who was only a toddler at the time, and guide Virgil the way his mother would have expected him to. How funny now, that Patton and Virgil were now the ones to supply the support Roman always gave them.

“I should have expected it,” Roman sighed. “I always knew that this would happen someday.”

“But that does not mean that it is right,” Virgil said, his frustration mimicking Roman’s. “You are the heir, you should be able to choose what you want to do.”

“The one who is forcing me to do this is the one who could easily remove me as heir,” Roman said. “To listen to him condemns me to a life I do not want, but so does defying him. I have no other option than to listen and obey.”

“I am sorry, Roman, truly,” Patton said softly.

“Me too,” Roman said, his voice barely reaching his brothers.

“Maybe every single one of them will be terrible,” Virgil said. “Terrible enough that even father would not want them in the family.”

Roman, at that, actually managed to let out a genuine laugh. “That would be ideal, would it not?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Anyhow, we have two weeks before the Duke, Duchess, and Logan arrive. So, I guess we will have to wait two weeks to see if you are correct.”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #logince #logan sanders #roman sanders #stuff i write

127 notes · View notes

writing-radionoises · 6 years

Text

❝ GET A LOAD OF THIS MONSTER ! ❞

Irony is something common in this world. For example, you best friend, Craig, is a ghost, and his husband, Tweek, is a witch. Actually, he's more of a ghost hunter. Wendy is a fallen angel, and her girlfriend, Bebe, is a succubus. Cartman is a demon, and his ex-girlfriend is a nymph. You find that ironic because Heidi was the calmest, sweetest, forest nymph in existence. All she wanted was someone to care for her the way Mother Nature had once. However, after Cartman, she became rather chaotic an aggressive. She doesn't trust men anymore, which is why when you go to see her, you keep your female form. You don't see much of him, but you know that Token is an angel while Clyde is a fairy. You can kind of see how they got attached to each other, but no relationship could also fit quite as well as Stan and Kyle's. Tweek and Craig was pretty close to a perfect relationship, outside of the irony of it. Stan is one of Satan's twins, keeper of Hellhounds. So, as expected, he's a rather powerful person an to be feared. Kyle, on the other hand, has telekinesis. You like to call him Carrie, in reference to the popular book. Not ot mention how similar the two seem at times. The ginger has always had trouble with anger. Seeing that you've introduced all your friends into this story, it might be a wise idea to throw yourself into the mix. Your name is Kenny McCormick, you're a succubus. Before the reader assumes anything, you do have morals. You have a little girl at home, she's not biologically yours, but you like to call her your own. Karen, that's her name. She was dumped off due to being half angel and half demon, no creature wanted her but you. And you make sure she knows that. You cherish Karen constantly, yoru free time goes into loving her and doing things with her. It's not her fault she was born this way. She has found some interest in some of your other friends' siblings and such. Craig's little living sister, Tricia, is one of her best friends. Kyle's brother, Ike, is the same way. Tricia has always been highly involved in your world, more than her own. You've expected this, considering that she lost her brother at such a young age and, until recently, had never actually seen his ghost form. However, that does not stop Craig from being overprotective of her. Ike is Kyle's adopted brother, is the son of a demon and a human, though was raised by a witch for most of his life. Thus, Ike is someone who visits hell on weekends and every other Christmas while also possessing the talent of witchcraft since he was two. Now days, at age thirteen, Ike is raised by Kyle's mother, a simple human. He practices witchcraft on his own. Speaking of ages, Karen's birthday was a couple days ago. That's mainly why you're aware of all the current events in your friends circle, as all of you gather every time one of you turns thirteen, eighteen, or thirty. Significant ages for creatures like your own. Most of you weren't met to live past fifteen. It's easy to say that you have had a tiring and worrisome week. For one, it was the first event Craig had actually revealed himself to everyone at. Since Tricia turned thirteen a couple months ago, he decided it was probably time to stop hiding himself. He isn't a pleasant sight to wake up to first in the morning, though it sure was a surprise for Tricia to find out that, yes, while Craig was nineteen, he still had the body of an eleven year old. It was also quite a mess when you had to shove Bebe in the closet when she tried to give the kids Sex ED. It explains why you're here in the bar, now. You just wanna get laid, or maybe find some friends. Whatever cleanses your mind of worrying. While Tweek and Craig were watching the kids during their sleepover, you couldn't help but worry. Most mythical creatures don't survive after thirteen. Especially cross breeds. That's when a very sober blond sits beside you and tilts their head to the side. Their eyes are a light blue, and you can just barely see hints of a sunflower tattoo on their shoulder. They wore a light blue sweater, like their eyes, and a white skirt that fell to their knees. "What's a pretty gal like you doing in here?" They ask, very clearly confused. "Could ask you the same thing," you responded, taking a sip from your cup. It takes you a moment to register that they referred to you as female, as you quickly glance down at your outfit and nod to yourself. Right form. They roll their eyes, a slight smile on their face, "Well, I'm Marjorine, but most people call me Butters. Came out here to find a witch, I think his name was Tweek . . . ? My parents said I'm sick, hehe . . ." You smile back, realizing that they meant no harm, "I'm Mackenzie, but call me Kenny. I know Tweek, he's busy tonight. Mind me asking for your pronouns? And why they say your sick?" Marjorine stares for a moment before snapping back to reality and nodding, "Oh, uh, well . . . Gender neutral, I guess. They say I'm sick because I'm genderfluid . . ." Your smile quickly turns upside down as you pat them gently. It seems your aura has drawn this one to you. You always get the insecure ones, it seems. "I may seem a bit quick to judge, but . . . Wanna come to my place? Get it on?" You question, an eyebrow raised and a smirk on your lips. You've done this one too many times. They freeze for a moment, staring up at you in both confusion and slight fear, "I-I'm sorry, what?" "Sex. I want you to fuck me," you clarify voice raised back up to a normal tone instead of a seductive whisper. "No." The stern answer that comes out of their mouth surprises you, confusing you before you proceed to convince. "Aww, come on. I can be anything you want. I can male," with a snap of your fingers, your long blond hair is cut short, and your jawline sharp. "I can be a masculine female," snap. "I can a feminine male." snap. "I can even be all of the above, or neither." Snap. Your form changes to whatever you say. Brunette. Noirette. Ginger. Tattoos. No tattoos. Piercings. Anything and everything the blond wants. Yet, they still shake their head. "You be what you wanna be, fella. It's wrong for me to tell you how to present," Marjorine answered, reaching to pull something on their shoulder, only to discover it wasn't there. Your mind draws a blank as you half mindedly snap your fingers and return to your female form. You've never dealt with someone who said no. "What's the problem? Got a girlfriend or a wife to worry about? They won't find out~" You continue to try and persuade, yet Marjorine shakes their head once again. "Sorry, I'm not interested," they smiled cheerfully, "Sex isn't something I want to experience yet. I'd like to get to know you, though." Your brain shuts down, deciding that maybe it wasn't worth the trouble as you continue talking to them, "Fine, fine. What do you want to know?" "You're a succubus, aren't you? Kyle told me something about how people up here aren't normal. He wanted me to find a witch named Tweek an that his husband would be able to help me . . ." Marjorine said, beginning to ramble before shutting themselves up. You nod along with the phrases, "Yeah, there's only a couple humans up here. They're mainly hippies trying to get away from society," you say with a snicker of laughter. "What kind of creatures are up here?" They question, leaning over the bar as their curious blue eyes pour into your violet ones. You begin to ramble on about everyone you've met up here in the small mountain town of South Park. You mainly talk about Kyle and his powers, how he threw you through a wall in rage one time, and how he met Stan. It quickly turns into you talking about Stan and his twin brother, Damien, as the two sons of Satan. You talk about Tweek and Craig, about how they knew each other since kindergarten when Craig died very suddenly and Tweek took on his mother's place as the family witch. You don't mention how Craig died or Tweek's dad. You felt sickened to even mention his mom, even though she had nothing to do with all the drama between the Tweaks an Tuckers. You change the subject to Tricia, Ike, and Karen. You talk about how they're the only surviving mythical children up here so far, about how Karen is practically your daughter and how protective Craig can get over the three. Marjorine listens intently to all you have to say, they say they met Kyle in middle school, before he snapped and moved away from the big city to conceal his powers. They used to be close to Cartman before they figured out how much he was manipulating them. You two talk for hours on end before you decide you need to get home, and offer to take Marjorine with you to see Tweek and Craig since they were babysitting at his house. You take Marjorine home, where Kyle welcomes them from the house next door using the name Butters. They talk for a bit and marjorine mentions they'd rather go by that name than Butters, the ginger apologies and you head inside. Tweek sits in the living room, doodling something while you head upstairs to check on your dark angel. Ike, Tricia, and Karen lay on the mattress on the floor, covered in blankets an plushies with a flashlight on next to Karen's side of the bed. Craig isn't far from the bed, sitting in a chair and playing with one of the baby dolls Tricia brought. Hearing you open the door, he blindly looks around for the source of the sound with his empty and bloody sockets. You tap on the door and his blank gaze meets your bright one. "K . . . Kenny?" He questions, voice raspy and dry. You nod, forgetting he can't see such an action and adding on, "Yeah, it's me. Is Karen okay?" He cracks a weak smile, the moonlight reflecting off of the glass pieces in his neck, "Better than ever."

27 notes · View notes

pjbehindthesun · 7 years

Text

chapter 3: on evolution

Thursday, June 21st, 1990

“Hey, Red!”

I grit my teeth as I try my hardest not to slam the filter basket into the espresso machine before turning around. Another yuppie asshole, stinking of cologne and money, leaning on the counter like he owns it, right in my face. He’s so close that I have to keep myself from recoiling in surprise. His impeccably pressed blue dress shirt has one of those white collars. As if there could be any doubt.

“Hiya, gorgeous, how about a refill?” he fixes me with a flirtatious smile, all perfect white teeth and empty blue eyes.

“Sure thing, sir,” I reply with what I hope is a convincing smile and take his cup. He puffs his chest out a little at the “sir.” I don’t know why but I half expect him to pound it like a gorilla.

“How long have you been working here?” He blatantly eyes me up and down. “Can’t be very long? I think I would have noticed a gorgeous thing like you.”

Thing. Figures.

“Only a couple months, and only part-time,” I keep my voice neutral, but his sliminess is saturating all my senses, tuning out the chatter of the other customers, the clank of dishes, the smell of coffee. I hand him his cup.

“How about you give me your phone number too, baby?”

“Oh, uh,” I try for a natural laugh, “no, I’m taken.”

He takes the cup with one hand and grabs hold of my hand with his other one, lacing his fingers into mine before I can pull away. “I don’t see a ring,” he says in a low, unctuous voice, “so I don’t see a problem.”

“No, really, I –” I stammer as I rack my brain to try to find a way out of this interaction without pissing him off. He may be slime, but he’s paying customer slime and I’m on the clock. I’m still fumbling for words when the ding of the cafe doorbell and the thud of approaching boots cut through my thickening fog of anxiety.

“Hey bud, you wanna tell me why you’re bothering my woman?” comes a menacing voice from a tall figure who’s just materialized behind the asshole. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to laugh.

The jerk’s mouth falls open as turns around and finds himself looking squarely at Chris’s black-clad chest before he looks up. He releases my hand like he’s been electrocuted and puts his own hands up defensively. “Hey, brother, it’s cool, didn’t mean anything by it, you know how it is…”

“I’m not sure I do, maybe you can tell me.” Chris’s voice is a little softer now, a little lower, but somehow that makes it all the more intimidating as he folds his arms across his chest and scowls down at the yuppie.

“Come on, man, you’ve just got a really hot piece here, can’t be helped!” He attempts a smile, and something in his contorted face reminds me of the evolutionary origin of the primate smile. Show your fangs, clenched together, submissive, unthreatening.

Chris leans in further and says, quietly, “I’m thinking unless you want to be my next ritualistic sacrifice, it can.”

Ok, that’s it, I’m finished. I whirl around and wipe up the bar, letting my hair fall in front of my face so neither of them can see me laughing in the mirror. Unfortunately, that means I miss watching the asshole skitter towards the door, but when the bell dings I turn back around to see Satan himself grinning at me.

“Pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you, Mr. Crowley?”

“A simple thank you works, Cora.”

“So that’s a yes then. You cost me a customer.” I glower at him as I grab the coffee pot and make my way out from behind the bar.

“I’m thinking that’s one you won’t miss.”

“I won’t, but my boss will,” I stick my tongue out at him. “And thanks. But really. Your woman??”

“Hey, it got rid of him, didn’t it?”

“Still. You didn’t have to John Wayne the shit out of the situation. I could have handled it, you know.”

“Oh, believe me, I know, I’ve witnessed it. He just seemed like the type who wouldn’t get the hint unless he knew you were someone else’s territory.” He lowers his eyes to his boots like he’s ashamed to even admit that the type exists, but we both know he’s got it pegged.

“Well, at least we’ve evolved past territorial pissing.”

“Maybe you have, Smokey…” he looks up slowly with an evil grin.

“Gross.” I wrinkle my nose with a laugh. “What brings you in?”

“Apart from the usual terrorizing of the bastards?”

“Obviously.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re still coming to our show on Saturday! You’re not working, right?” This is the third time in the two weeks since we met that he’s stopped by the cafe to remind me about his show. Considering that I only work here part-time, that’s a pretty impressive stalking record. Even I have to admit that the boyish eagerness is adorable.

“Not working. No lab. I’ll be there. My friend Lucy’s coming too, is that cool?”

“Is that cool??” he echoes as he pulls me into a hug that lifts me off my feet and sloshes out some coffee from the pot.

“Oh shit, let me help,” he says, setting me down and grabbing the rag from the pocket of my apron and bending down to wipe up the floor and the toe of my boot.

“You’ve done enough, I think. And you’d better let me get back to the rest of my non-predatory customers.” I raise my eyebrows and nod down the wall of dark, heavy wooden booths. He lightly takes hold of my shoulders and steers me around to face them, walking me awkwardly down the narrow row.

“I’ll see you Saturday, baby bear,” he grins in my ear before letting go and backing out of the cafe.

My nearest booth of customers is a pair of girls about my age, and from the looks on their faces they’d been watching the whole confrontation. “How are we doing over here, ladies, anyone need anything? More coffee?”

“Was that Chris Cornell??” One of them asks with wide eyes.

“That’s him.”

“He’s your boyfriend??” her friend squeals.

“No, definitely not,” I shake my head with a chuckle as I top off their mugs. “Just a friend. Can I get you anything else?”

***

Friday, June 22nd, 1990

“So, what video am I picking up?” I ask over the phone, wary of the response. Tonight’s our standing bi-monthly movie night, which is something of an odd tradition because although Cora is my best friend in this world, we can’t agree on movies to save our lives. We end up alternating in order to keep the peace, which means half of the movies are romance or comedy (my pick) and the other half are…

“John Carpenter’s The Thing?”

“No way. We did that already, I am not watching that thing with the dogs again.”

“They’re puppets, Luce!”

“It’s no, Cor.”

“I’m assuming The Wrath of Khan is still off the table?”

“As long as it still has ear-invading alien bugs…”

We go back and forth a few more rounds until she gets me to settle on The Empire Strikes Back. At least Harrison Ford’s not bad to look at. And it will be easier to find in the store than some of the more obscure ones she’s come up with in the past.

It’s a little after 4:30 when I hang up, which gives me enough time to get the last of these invoices sent out. The hallway in front of my desk is actually pretty quiet, for once. I’ve been in this job for two years now, ever since I graduated, and I honestly think my supervisor Greta gave me her old desk in the front of the station so she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone anymore. Everyone treats me like a receptionist, constantly asking me questions and calling me “Excuse me, Miss?” I don’t mind too much, I guess – I actually like people, unlike Greta The Disgruntled – but it makes it a little harder to get everything done. I’m just getting down to it when I hear my name echo down the hall. Jake is jogging towards my desk with a big smile on his face.

“Hey, Jake! Done for the day?” I ask as he comes to a halt at the counter above my desk.

“Nearly. I just needed a quick breath of fresh air, seeing as I’m now in the sea of paperwork portion of the program.” he scrunches his eyes shut and then widens them with a zoned out look, as if trying to refocus.

“Oh, well then, welcome to my native habitat.” I wave a hand over the pile of papers and brightly colored sticky notes spread across my desk.

He props his elbows on the counter and rests his chin on his hands. “I like it here. The locals, anyway.”

Don’t ask me why, but talking to Jake got so much easier over the last week or so. I used to be a nervous wreck whenever he’d come by to say hello. One time I spilled a bottle of White-Out in my lap and ruined my skirt just because he waved. In my defense, he’s like, ridiculously, superfluously good-looking. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, just the perfect cliche. But last week we started chatting more, and he seems so much less intimidating now that I know what a sweetheart he is. It’s been refreshing to make a new friend, and I really don’t know what I was so worked up about.

“So, save any lives lately?”

“Today was pretty boring, thankfully,” he knocks gently on the press board of my desk, “just an anaphylactic toddler.”

“Poor thing!”

“Nah, she’s okay now. Just a strawberry-free life from now on.”

“I don’t know, that sounds pretty terrible to me.”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” he concedes, straightening up and ruffling up his hair a little. ““How was your day?”

“Compared to a lifesaving day in the pediatric ward, I’d say it was absolutely riveting,” I tease, patting the ream of paper piled up in my outbox.

“And what are you up to tonight?”

“Movie night with my friend. It’s a tradition.”

“Lucky friend,” he smiles, “whatcha watchin?”

“Star Wars. She picked it out,” I add hastily. Jake’s bright green eyes light up even more, if that’s possible.

“Oh, which one?”

“Don’t you start too! Empire.”

“Hmm. More of a Jedi fan myself. Empire’s so dark, I’m a sucker for a happy ending.” Is he blushing?

“Me too! Cora says it’s all just a little too perfect, but what does she know, she likes the weirdest stuff.”

“Cora? That your friend?”

“That’s her.” I point to a picture of the two of us on my desk, and he cranes over the counter to get a closer look. It’s a somewhat blurry, lopsided, sun-spotted photo we took of ourselves at the Japanese garden at the Arboretum in March, when the cherry blossoms were going insane. I took a whole bunch just in case none turned out, which was wise, because this is the only one where we’re even remotely both in frame, and Cora’s grumpy expression is the perfect barometer of how many pictures I’ve made her take before that one. But she’s a faker, because she’s got the same photo up on the cork board in her room.

“That picture is sickeningly adorable, you know that?” Jake beams, straightening back up. “Well, what are you up to tomorrow night then?”

“Oh, uh, tomorrow’s the Soundgarden show.” Why is he so interested in all of my evening plans all of a sudden?

“Hmmm. Busy lady. Well maybe –” Greta’s squawky fishwife voice, saying something indistinguishable but clearly annoyed, suddenly booms off the linoleum from goodness knows where, making us both jump and then laugh. “Better let you get back to it before the boss lady catches you slacking,” he teases with a smile, patting the counter a couple times with his hand before he darts around the corner.

Did he – was that – was Jake just trying to ask me out? No way, I’m imagining things.

But what if he was? I mean, I’ve been crushing on him since he started his residency here last summer. He’s so kind, and funny, and thoughtful, and… expected. He’s everything I’ve always been told I wanted. Daughter of a doctor, I always figured that would be my life eventually too. So why don’t I feel more excited that he’s finally noticed me?

…Why haven’t I run into Jeff again?

Jesus, it’s almost 5, I’ve got to finish this paperwork and get out of here.

***

June 21st. Which makes it three months and two days. My life’s changed so much since that message from Xana that it’s barely recognizable. And I don’t even have time to figure it out, because we’re still in this fucking contract, promoting the album, as though in the minds of the record company, nothing’s happened. And I guess for them, that’s true. They’ve got whatever new thing coming down the back end to fill the void. And Andy’s words are still reaching new people, just like he always wanted, but he’s not here to see it. What about our void?

I guess that’s what tonight’s about. A bunch of us are meeting out at Discovery Park, just a typical bonfire type deal, but we’ve all got this in common. This… loss. Me and Stone, Bruce, Greg, Chris, Kevin. A club no one wants to be a part of, but everyone seems to need. I don’t even have the words to make sense out of it, and I fucking hope no one tries. Just as I’m tossing the bundle of firewood and the case of shitty, cheap beer in the trunk of my car, a little Corolla rumbles into the parking lot and scatters my thoughts about Andy. It’s so ancient that it’s hard to tell what color it’s supposed to be, but I’ll settle on blue only out of charity. It’s old enough that it never even had a passenger side mirror, and the rear bumper appears to be held on by sheer willpower. The engine shuts off and that gorgeous girl from the hallway last week steps out.

“Hey, Lucy?” I call out.

Her face breaks into this warm, radiant smile as soon as she spots me, like she’s known me forever, before her shyness takes over again and her cheeks flush a little. “Hey, Jeff.”

“Hi,” I grin back, blissfully forgetting about it all, for now. “Whatcha up to?”

She waves a bag from the video store excitedly. “Movie night! Not for a while, though, Cora -- that’s my friend on your hall -- she usually doesn’t get back from the lab until around 8, and that’s on a good day.”

“Even on a Friday?” I wrinkle my forehead. What’s so fucking important?

Lucy seems to read my mind. “I know, I know. You have to love her for it, though, we need people like her to save the world. She’s a mad scientist, you know that, right?”

I chuckle a little. “No, I actually don’t know her at all. I run into that guy of hers occasionally. He’s… interesting.” My Great Plains manners are asserting themselves. I honestly can’t stand the guy, but I’m not about to say that to this friend of his.

“That’s a word for what he is,” she mumbles through her teeth to the pavement, and I feel another surge of warmth for her.

“So movie night is just you girls, I take it?”

“By definition. Where are you off to, with your firewood?”

“Oh, uh, a bonfire thing. Up at Discovery Park.” I shut the trunk and lean on it, hoping she doesn’t ask me anymore about it. Talking to her is just… comfortable, easy, and there’s not enough of that in my life right now.

“What’s the occasion?” Shit. But it’s not like she could have known. I look over her face, all open and sweet, and try to find a way to say it out loud.

“Uhm, there isn’t one, really, it’s just… a bunch of us… uhm… we… we lost a friend. Little while back…” I blink fiercely to try to stop the stinging in my eyes.

She hops up on the trunk of my car and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, Jeff. I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” I swallow hard to push down the lump in my throat as she rubs her hand up and down my arm briefly before dropping it to her lap.

I glance over at her, expecting to see the usual pitying expression, but she’s just watching me carefully, with serene blue eyes. A wisp of blonde hair is blowing in her face and she tries, unsuccessfully, to keep it looped behind her ear. I don’t know how she’s doing it, but it’s like she’s lending me some of her calm, wrapping me up in it and making it easier to breathe.

“So, uh, you work at the hospital?” I sniff, trying to regain some composure.

“How’d you – oh, I’m a ditz, my badge,” she giggles, toying with the Harborview photo ID around her neck.

I gently lift it from her fingers and inspect the photo. It’s a good one, although I’m sure this girl couldn’t take a bad picture if she tried. “Wow, your hair used to be so long.”

“Mmhmm, even longer than yours. Although I wish I’d thought to wear hats more often, I bet they cut down on the maintenance.” Her eyes linger on the oversized blue striped beanie I’ve got on tonight as a small smile plays on her lips. I pull the hat off and set it on her head, pretending to judge her like a critic evaluating a painting.

“Well? Am I pulling it off?” she giggles.

“Unfairly well, actually. Gimme that back,” I say as I snatch it off her head and arrange it back on my much scruffier head.

“So what do you do at this hospital of yours?”

“I’m a medical biller. It’s a fast-paced and exciting world.” She adopts a monotone, but she can’t keep a straight face for long before that nervous giggle bubbles back up.

“That’s right, you told me that. Living the dream. What’s your real dream?”

“It’s not important, it’s nowhere near as cool as yours.”

“Oh come on, what does that have to do with anything?”

She blushes furiously and looks down at the ground. “I just think it’s so cool, you know, that you’re a musician. I wish I was more creative.”

“I mean it, what is your big dream?” I don’t mean to hassle her, but it’s not just small talk now. I am just genuinely curious about what she wants for her life. And I just met her, what the hell?

“I want to…” Jesus, she’s almost cringing, “…be a mental health counselor?” her voice rises up, asking rather than telling.

It takes me a second to realize that the reason she’s cringing is that I’m gaping at her, and I try to pull my face back together. “Sorry,” I say, inadvertently laughing a little, “it’s just… it’s perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! What are you waiting for, you should totally do that!”

She beams at me and adds, “I just don’t know how good I’d be at it, but like, I grew up in this tiny little town, and… there just weren’t a lot of mental health services, well there wasn’t much of anything, and…” her voice trails off as she notices me grinning back. “Ha, what??” that nervous laugh again.

“It’s nothing, heh, I just, uh… I grew up in a town of like 700 people, so I sort of know the feeling.”

“You did?? Where?”

“The absolute fuckin’ Middle of Nowhere, Montana. The booming metropolis of Big Sandy.”

“Whoa, Montana! You’re a long ways from home.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She grins at me again and fidgets with that one golden wisp of hair. “Where’s your little town?”

“Brewster, it’s in Washington, a ways east of here. I mean, I guess everything is, unless you live in an island in the freaking ocean, obviously, well, I mean there’s West Seattle, obviously, but, no, you know what I mean, right?”

“Right,” how is it possible for someone to be so irresistibly cute when they just ramble on about nothing?

“Well, I should let you get going, I don’t want to keep you,” she says, patting the trunk under us and jumping back down to the ground. No, really, you can keep me.

“Yeah… yeah. Well, we’ll see each other around?” I don’t even care how desperate my voice sounds, I just want it to be true.

“Yeah, definitely,” she says with another subtle flush on her cheeks. She gives an awkward little wave and darts across the parking lot and into the building.

Definitely.

#behind the sun #chapter 3 #fanfiction #fanfic #chris cornell #jeff ament #pearl jam #soundgarden

20 notes · View notes

hekate1308 · 7 years

Text

Declaring War

Part of my Season 12 Destiel AU. Enjoy!

Sam doesn’t realize how far he has come until Mom finds them.

It’s hard to believe it’s only been three months since Cas chastised him on that bench.

Once he decided he actually was all in, though –

“So you are saying we could find out what they are planning next?” Dean asks, excitedly.

He nods, his eyes falling on the book on Dean’s nightstand.

Poems by Christina Rossetti.

He would have bet Dean didn’t even know that name.

“I need a few days. Have to make sure they don’t notice I’m hacking them.”

“Sure, Sammy.”

He hasn’t called him Sammy since he returned.

He points at the book.

“Which one is your favourite?”

“Love from the North” Dean answers immediately, without even blushing.

Being with Cas – and perhaps his friendship with Crowley – has done him good.

“I always preferred Emily Dickinson...”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Of course you would. Some of us don’t like to be depressed after reading poetry”.

It was the first of many talks like that.

Yes, he had his setbacks – when he felt like he was still treated unfairly, even though he was hacking the Men of Letters’ database constantly, and they could help even more people – but always something happened to check these tendencies really quickly, now that he paid attention.

“No – “

Frustrated with his brother’s lack of progress at their latest hunt/actually rescue mission but for some reason they’re not calling it that, he takes the laptop out of Dean’s hands.

Only for the first time, he sees the resignation in his eyes, and abruptly hands it back to him mumbling “sorry”.

Crowley shows up at the end of an old, regular hunt where all three of them took quite a beating.

Sam almost screams when Dean hands him the keys to the Impala.

Dean and Cas get in the backseat, naturally.

“Don’t look at me like that, Moose. I’m not one for cuddling.”

He rolls his eyes and ignores him.

Until he realizes that the King of Hell keeps throwing Dean and Cas and even him small glances, as if making sure they are okay.

The girl is taking way too long telling her story. Sam understands she just survived an attack, but they have to move quickly –

Yet, before he can say anything, Cas kneels down next to her and murmurs something, Dean watching them with soft eyes.

When they leave, the girl is smiling, and it doesn’t feel like a lot of time has been lost.

He’s learned so much about his brother in the last three months.

He always thought Dean was brave, and strong, and kind.

Now he knows he’s also romantic, gentle, incredibly intelligent and quick-witted.

“Hey” he absent-mindedly says one day, “Kelpies only live in fresh water, right?”

“Yeah” Dean replies in the same tone, “and you can escape them by getting salt water between yourself and the damn thing.”

“Has that been proven? The Men of Letters are – “

“It didn’t devour me at the time, so I assume it’s true.”

“When did you hunt a Kelpie?”

Dean puts the book he was perusing away.

“I was... twenty-three, I think?”

Oh.

Sam never even asked about the years he’d been at college.

“Where did you get the salt water?”

“Engineered some in a bottle before I left the motel. Kind of easy. Get water, put salt in.”

“Smart”.

Dean shrugs.

“You do what you have to do.”

The monsters and other hunsters were slow to trust him. Now he can easily understand why. He did the right thing leaving the Men of Letters, but he should never have joined them in the first place, and he was a little... stand-offish in the beginning.

Thankfully, he learned.

The vegan djinn – “Just call me Al” – is back.

Sadly, Dean and Cas are on a milk run.

Literally, these days. Dean doesn’t drink anymore.

That leaves Sam and the djinn sitting in an awkward silence. The first time they met, they almost got into a fight. And that was when Dean and Cas were there.

“How are you holding up?” Sam asks eventually.

Al narrows his eyes.

He holds up his hands. He’s just so... tired of the whole damn thing.

“I’m not judging you. I promise. I just want to know.”

He relaxes.

When Dean and Cas return, they find them “geeking out about A Thousand And One Nights” as Dean calls it, although he adds, “Plus the translations you’re talking about aren’t worth it.”

Now, he can even admit that Crowley has his good points.

“All alone tonight, Moose?”

“Dean and Cas are on a date.”

He can’t begrudge his brother and best friend the chance to enjoy their new-found relationship.

“Puke-inducing sweet, aren’t they”.

They both know Crowley doesn’t mean it.

He still keeps Sam company until they return, and it’s actually kind of nice.

It really feels normal now, having dinner with Dean, Cas and Crowley.

Espeically since they are celebrating saving another family of ghouls.

The kids are three and four year olds. Sam shudders when he contemplates what the Men of letters would have done.

And all of a sudden, Mom shows up.

Sam is shocked at how little he cares. He can even watch her walk away without regrets.

If he thought that was the last he’d hear from her in a while, he’s mistaken though.

Because she starts on him again, the same way he now sees she did before.

She sends him texts, asking him how he is, leaving sly comments about Dean.

I know you don’t want us to be odds.

If you feel lonely, you can always call. I assume your brother is often preoccupied.

Have you been translating any old texts lately? It can’t be easy, doing all the brain work alone.

What bothers him the most is remembering that once it didn’t.

This time though there are no secrets.

The second he gets the first text – the you don’t don’t want us to be at odds one – he knocks on Cas’ and Dean’s door.

“Oh, hey Mel” he says when he recognizes the water wraith.

“Hi” she calls out from the bath tub she’s lying in.

“Got in a bit of a scuffle, no one was hurt thankfully.”

“Was it the Men of Letters?” he asks, concerned.

“Oh no, just a regular hunter. Knocked him out. I just need a place to stay for the night.”

“We thought you were already asleep, otherwise we’d have told you” Cas tells him.

“I know that. You guys okay here, or should I take Mel back to mine?”

“Ever the charmer, Winchester” she calls out and he winks at her as he pulls Dean aside.

“It’s Mom.”

“What does she want?”

He shows him the text.

Dean sighs.

“She’s not very subtle, is she.”

The resignation Sam saw on his face when Mom left for the first time is still there, the pain isn’t.

“You’re gonna answer her?” Dean asks, his voice neutral.

“Of course not.”

Dean nods, a small smile on his lips.

“I just hope she doesn’t tell the British pricks where we are.”

“I doubt it” Sam says somewhat bitterly. “They are all over her. She wouldn’t risk their standing with them.”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Man, John would have loved that.”

They haven’t talked about Dad in... a long time.

But Dean’s – right. Dad would have been with the Men of Letters in an instant, which is why Sam left when he started seeing him in a mirror.

Apparently their parents weren’t as badly matched as they always thought.

“Want us to get you a new phone?”

“I like knowing that she’s out there” he admits. It’s still Mom.

Dean smiles and squeezes his shoulder.

“Hey, no hard feelings. It’s your call.”

And that’s where they leave it.

They drop Mel off a few hundred miles from where she found them. Granted, they have to make quite a lot of stops because she can’t live too long outside of water, but it’s worth it when they watch her being reunited with the cousins she hasn’t seen in years.

They are doing that, whether Mom understands or not.

A few weeks in, she’s growing desperate.

I talked to Mick. You can always return.

“Mick?” Dean asks when he wordlessly hands him the phone. “Wasn’t he the guy you nerd-bonded with?”

Sam throws a pointed look at the copy of Alice in Wonderland Dean checked out of the local library an hour ago.

“I know, I know” Dean rolls his eyes, “But come on, could he even shoot a gun?”

“Yes. Just wasn’t much use in the field.”

“Oooooooooh exciting, 0 minus the 07 still wants you.”

Sam shoves him aside.

“Shut up” he murmurs, but he means it nicely.

Crowley appears, looking angry and – worried?

“What is it?” Dean asks immediately.

“Someone just rode into town. Faux leather jacket, compensating-for-something motor bike, psychopath?”

Dean swears. “Ketch is here?”

“And based on the arsenal he brought with him, I would say he means business. Do you want me to take care of it?”

Time was when he would have just acted without asking them first. It’s certainly nice to be in on whatever he’s planning.

Dean and Cas share a look in the unspoken language of lovers who know each other as well as they know themselves, and then his brother asks, “Sam?”

And here’s the thing. Even when he was still convinced the Men of Letters were right, he didn’t like Ketch. He likes the killing part of hunting too much.

But still... leaving him to a demon, even if it’s Crowley...

“We should talk to him.”

It probably won’t do much, but still...

Dean nods.

“Figured. Just so you know, if he tries anything, I –“

“You won’t have to” Crowley says simply.

“You’ll come with?”

The demon stares at him as if he’s actually transformed into a moose after all.

Of course he comes with.

It’s not hard to find Ketch.

He’s in the most comfortable hotel in town, naturally.

“Not even a pool is worth that” Dean mutters. He brightens up when Crowley tells him Ketch is drinking at the bar.

“Wanna do this the fun way?” he asks.

Cas immediately takes his hand.

“We’ll bring him out” the former angel announces and they saunter off.

“Don’t talk to any strangers” Crowley calls after them with a somewhat indulgent expression.

They’re back within five minutes.

Ketch looks disgusted, and it takes Sam a moment to realize it’s not about Dean and Cas being a couple.

It’s about Cas having lost his angel powers.

Ketch is really into power, he knows that. He thinks that’s why he went after Mom in the first place. The power she held over them.

His eyes widen when he takes Crowley in, though.

“You are – “

“Crowley, King of Hell. No reason to introduce yourself, I won’t need to use your name in the future.”

Before the situation can escalate, Dean steps in.

“Why are you in town?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Mary spilled the beans on what you have been doing. You are risking our mission.”

And it only goes down from here.

It ends how it can hardly fail to end.

It becomes obvious that Ketch wants to kill them – and every single monster he ever comes across – and that he cares about little else.

Sam swallows. He thinks back to everything he saw, everything Ketch did.

How long did he torture that wendigo again before setting it on fire?

There’s no need to speak.

They look at Crowley and nod.

A moment later, both him and Ketch are gone.

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t see this coming” Dean says with satisfaction.

Sam doesn’t pity Ketch either.

They are aware what they have done, of course.

They have openly declared war on the Men of Letters.

They need to get them out of their country. It was inevitable.

A day later, Sam gets the last text Mom will ever send him, at least he thinks so at the moment.

They are coming for you.

#my writings #destiel #season 12 au #sam winchester #mary winchester #crowley

6 notes · View notes