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peachywise · 2 years

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Lessons in Honest Part 7

steve harrington x reader

Chapter 7: Changes

– other chapters: part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5 ⋆ part 6 ⋆ part 7 ⋆ part 8

– series synopsis: Being Robin Buckley’s younger sibling had always been uneventful, up until she got herself tangled with Steve Harrington. And really, you were happy for her. She deserved friends. What was bothersome was when he got let in on small secrets like your infatuation with Eddie Munson, and decided to take it into his own hands to try and get him to pay attention to you-- by pretending to be your boyfriend.

– notes: im just the biggest clown in the whole clown car, what can i say-- sorry this took me so long team! this chapter was meant to be way longer but I'm splitting this one into another part (half of it is already written, i swear) no spoilers but i am... ramping it up from the next one out, believe me. enjoy!

read here or on ao3

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"I told Robin that we're dating."

You had to hand it to Steve. He got straight to the point. As soon as he shut the car door, he blurted the truth like an embarrassed teenager in confession, telling his priest he'd had 'impure thoughts.'

"Yeah, I guessed that." You said blankly, watching the others pile into their respective vehicles as you pulled out of the driveway. You turned your attention back to Steve. "Mind informing me what she said in reply?"

Steve was very purposeful in averting his gaze. Uh oh. "Y'know," he shrugged his shoulders, the definition of unnerved nonchalance as he tapped his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. "She just… laughed."

He might be feigning that he was unbothered, but you? You were bothered. Why would she find it funny? I mean— yeah, it's not like you were actually dating, but she'd found you in a compromising enough situation that it had to be at least a little believable.

"She laughed?" You asked back with a minor scoff, brow raised.

"Yes," Steve confirmed, still drum, drum, drumming his fingertips away.

"What kind of laugh?"

"What do you mean what kind of laugh?"

"I mean, was it a small annoyed laugh before she said something? Or a full-out fit?"

"Look, I don't know, okay? She laughed and then told me to get out."

Well, shit. You wanted to get upset at Steve for not being creative in his description, but even you could admit that it would be an unreasonable excuse to lash out at him. Anyway, it's not like you didn't know what Robin was thinking. Her out of the blue declaration of your romantic status and the slight smugness on her face as she said it was a clear enough admittance of her actual thoughts.

"She doesn't believe it."

Steve's head twisted to look at you, then back to the road, only for the pattern to repeat. "What? No, no— you saw what she said out there. She did that because she was pissed or unable to keep it to herself or something."

"You may know a lot about Robin, but you don't have the expertise that comes from living with her for years," you informed him. "Believe me. She was trying to catch us in a lie. And she'll continue to do so until she's squished us under her sneakers like bugs, the freaking masochist."

Steve swore a muttered "shit" under his breath. "So what? What do we do then? She said it in front of Eddie."

If you were sure the airbag wouldn't go off, you would have smacked your head on the dash. Eddie! How could it have just slipped your mind that Robin had said what she had in front of Eddie? Yeah, this was in the plan all along, but if Robin were to tell Eddie that she thought this was all a farce, then what would happen? Nothing good, that's for sure.

"Why the hell was he at your place anyway?"

Steve's unprompted question slowed your steadily increasing heart rate to a near-complete stop. You wondered if you had heard the minor edge to his tone wrong as you stared at his perfectly passive face. For some reason, that annoyed you more. His line of questioning still felt accusatory, like it was some sort of slight for Eddie to have been there at all.

"Why were you with Nancy?" You shot back, your mouth blurting it before your brain could adequately provide all the warning bells and whistles that say, 'not a good idea!'

He stayed silent, apart from a minor annoyed huff. Fine. Two could play at that game. You wouldn't give him an answer, either. You could be silent.

For a total of one single minute.

"I'm glad Robin laughed at you," you muttered bitterly.

And even though you knew Steve knew that the laugh really wasn't just directed at him, he still conceded with a half-heartedly sarcastic, "thanks."

The rest of the car ride was spent bickering over the usual things. What radio station to settle on. The leftover takeout bag in his car with old fries that you called 'gross.' His insistence that they were actually your fries and he wasn't your personal 'garbage man.' The fact that he could have fooled you, given his garbage taste in music. The eventual truce that followed discovering you both liked David Bowie.

By the time you pulled over onto the dirt side of the road, all earlier tension had rolled off your shoulders. "Oh, come on. Five bucks?" You offered Steve as he unclasped his belt and stepped out of the car. You mimicked his action, looking over at him over the roof of his car.

"No," Steve flat-out denied, giving you an equally flat look.

"Ten?"

"Do you even have ten dollars?"

Rude, but not wrong.

"They haven't even been in here that long!" You fought back instead of answering what was obviously a rhetorical question. The fries were maybe a couple of days old at most. "Besides, you know fries from Mcdonald's don't mould. It's not even real potato. I think." It was more cardboard and salt than anything. Damn good cardboard and salt, though.

"I'm not eating the fries," was his groan back, already walking to the edge of where the tree line started. A part of your bickering in the car also had to do with Steve pulling you away from your house so fast that he forgot to ask what points everyone was starting at. Nancy assigned positions for everyone, and you two got picked for the east.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. "I'm bringing them with us anyway. Once we find Mike and Lucas—" because you refused to say if you found them— "they'll be hungry. It'll be payback for them stressing us out in the first place." Walking up to Steve, you shoved the brown paper bag peppered with old grease stains into the backpack conveniently stashed in the back seat of his car.

You made a mental note to ask him later if he had ever been a boy scout.

Though you had been keeping the tone light since that minor bit of tension in the car you were refusing to think about again, you could tell Steve was concerned. You were concerned. Mike and Lucas were resourceful. Smart. It wasn't like them to just not figure their way out of the woods. For them to not have come home, or at least radio Dustin back, it was… troubling.

Unclipping the walkie-talkie from his bag after zipping it back up, you clicked the button on the side and asked, "Dustin, do you copy? We're at the east entrance about to head in."

A staticky reply came back a second later. "I copy, but before you go in, I've been thinking. Maybe we shouldn't be splitting up."

Scrunching your nose in confusion, you glimpsed up at Steve, who also gave you a similar look of 'what the hell' before yanking the device from your grip and replying, "we're already here, and this way, we can cover more ground."

"I know, but—" Dustin was cut off abruptly. Your heart jumped at that, wondering what had happened before Nancy's voice rang out over the line. "We stick to the original plan. Everyone checks in every fifteen minutes, got it?"

If there was one thing you were genuinely envious of Nancy Wheeler about, it was her ability to take charge. Your hand was itching to salute the walkie-talkie.

"You got it, Boss," came Robin's reply.

"And be careful," Nancy added, almost as an important afterthought.

Be careful. What did she think you were, amateurs? **********************************************************************

You were worse than amateurs.

You were idiots.

You no longer needed to ask Steve if he had ever been a boy scout. You knew the answer. He hadn't been. Not by a long shot. While you may have entered the forest in the east, Steve's directions and your lack of understanding that his directions were utter crap had you positive you'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. And then another one. And another. You had already decided to name the rock that you had circled back to three times before 'Steve 2.0' because the original Steve had a head just as hard as his successor.

"Can we please tell them we're lost now?" You sighed, deciding to stop and sit down on Steve 2.0 to get a bit of a rest. You must have been at this for almost an hour already, and nothing. Seriously. It takes talent to be so utterly bad at this. You hadn't even run into Dustin or the others yet.

"No, I know where we're going," Steve replied, just as stubbornly as the last time you'd asked. Sure he'd checked in with Nancy like she had asked, but the last time he'd swiped the walkie from your grip before you could cry out S.O.S.

"Really? Then what's so special about this place that you keep bringing us back to it every time?" You pestered him, scrubbing a hand down your face in exhaustion. Though you meant to be sarcastic, it came out weak. No energy zipped into it.

"All the forest looks the same! Stop convincing yourself that we keep circling back," he chastised. You rolled your eyes. Whatever. He had to give up eventually, right?

Dropping your hand back to your side, you groaned as you stood back up. It wasn't that walking for an hour really took it out of you, but the annoyance of bugs and the tenderness to your throat at hollering out Mike and Lucas's name every ten seconds had you in rougher shape than you should have been. And your worry. How had no one been able to find them yet? You were starting to think getting the cops involved was better than what you were currently doing.

Still, you had to try a little longer. For them.

That didn't mean you couldn't lessen your discomfort at least a bit. If you kept going at it like you were, you wouldn't have a voice in the morning with all the yelling. "Do you have water in your bag?" You questioned Steve, already walking towards him when he nodded his head.

"Great," you mumbled a second too soon. Cause what happened next wasn't so great. It was a cruel joke, probably brought upon by the karma of you thinking you were the lesser of the amateurs.

Taken down by a tree root jutting out of the ground.

How embarrassing.

Face down on the ground, you tasted the dirt in your mouth before you felt the pain throb in your ankle. A soft grunt escaped you as you rolled onto your back, staring up at the blue sky above the canvas of the trees as you tried hard to catch the breath that had almost been knocked out of you. Steve's face suddenly blocked off the sun's light as he peered over you. You could feel the warm presence of his body as he dropped down to his knees next to you in a quick rush.

"Shit, Buckley, are you okay?" He breathed out, one hand of his placed on your thigh, the other on the arm you were trying to push yourself up with. You avoided his gaze as best you could, already feeling the hot feeling of blood rush to your cheeks in mortification.

"Fantastic," you all but managed to wheeze out as Steve moved the hand from your arm to your back, helping you push yourself upright. You dusted off some of the dirt from your pants, the tips of your fingers slightly grazing against Steve's hand still resting on your leg. He retracted it back quickly, looking down as if his actions had somehow offended him. You felt yourself frown at that.

Steve placed his now free hand to the crook of your elbow, helping drag you up into a standing position. He soon became a full-body crutch when you put pressure on the foot that had snagged the root. A sharp breath accompanied the action as you immediately raised the foot back up again, stumbling into Steve's chest. His arms wrapped around you, eyebrows drawn together, concern pulling tighter at the muscles of the boy's face. "Is it your foot?" He questioned, eyes tracking down your body, taking in the additional scraps that lined your forearms.

"No, it's my arm," you sarcastically griped, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt as you tried righting yourself up again. Another test of putting your foot down more gently this time had similar effects, sucking in a breath of air to mask the uncomfortable tenderness in your ankle.

"Funny," Steve deadpanned in return, slipping your arm around his neck as his other supported your waist. "Let me take a look at it." Letting him keep some of your weight, you made the pathetic hop back to the original rock you were sitting on, letting Steve gently help you down. Once settled, he knelt before you, making quick work of undoing your shoe's laces. His hands were gentle as he eased the shoe off your foot, a tender touch keeping it from jostling too much. It still hurt, but you were able to school your features enough to make it seem not as bad as it was.

"You're playing doctor twice in twenty-four hours. They should give you a medical licence," you tried to joke. Steve's eyes flashed up to give you a look past his dark eyelashes, unable to hide the minor amusement as he softly shook his head.

"And you should walk around wearing a helmet and pads." He murmured, peeling your sock halfway down to reveal your ankle. His hand cupped your heel as he closely inspected the area. It was red, already starting to swell a little. Didn't take a surgeon to figure that it wasn't a great sign. Steve's fingertips brushed softly over the skin, but you weren't sure if it was that action or the sudden but slow rotation he moved it in that had you shuddering. Flashbacks to the events of last night in the bathroom were a sudden onslaught. The closeness. The way fingers ghosted over the skin like how they were now. The tight band of silence and air.

"I think you've got a sprain. You can't be walking around on this," Steve murmured, shaking you out of your momentary daze as he slipped your sock fully back onto your foot.

You cleared your throat to clear away any lingering thoughts. "The medical licence thing was a joke, Steve. How are you so sure?"

"Basketball player, remember? I got injured plenty of times. Just not by walking." Ah, right. Makes sense. You still didn't have to be happy about it, though. Getting a sprain in the woods? Not your finest moment.

Apparently, you weren't getting your shoe back because the next thing you knew, Steve was dropping his backpack to the ground and adding it to whatever odds and sods were in there. You were about to question why, but he beat you to it, saying a knowing, "It will hurt like a bitch to put that back on, and it's not like you can put weight on the foot anyway." Your mouth closed, thinking for a moment with a frown. You still had to look for Mike and Lucas, right? You'd need your shoe. Really, it probably wasn't a sprain at all. You just needed a few moments to sit down and catch your bearings, and you'd be good to go.

But you never got a chance to argue back. Steve was already moving the walkie-talkie close to his mouth. You were expecting him to finally admit that they had no idea where they were, so hopefully, the group could meet up. What he actually ended up saying caught you off guard. "Guys, little Buckley here hurt her foot. We're going to head back."

"What-" You started to fight back, already reaching out to snatch the metal box out of his hand. He annoyingly lifted it over his head before you could. Voices coming from the other line cut off your impending rant.

"What the hell happened, Steve?" Robin snapped on the other line, her voice both concerned and annoyed. It was impressive, actually. Another voice overlapped hers at the end, Eddie talking over as he hastily asked, "Pip, are you okay? Where are you? We'll come find you."

The moment Steve moved the walkie down to his mouth to answer back was when you managed to get your shot in, snatching it out of his grasp before he could answer for you. "I'm fine; Steve's overreacting. I just tripped."

Steve snatched it back from you just as fast, and you let out a soft indignant 'hey,' as he looked at you with utter exasperation and annoyance. "I have them, Munson." The sharp edge to his voice had you biting down on your tongue. "It's a sprain. I'll take care of them. Keep looking for Mike and Lucas and update us later if you find them." A cacophony of voices muffled through at the same time, but it was quickly silenced as Steve shut off the device and clipped it back on the bag.

The air hung heavy.

"We have to keep looking, Steve," you finally said after the quiet beat, your voice gentle as if pleading for him to let you keep looking.

Steve shook his head. "The others will find them. Those idiots probably made their way back home by now anyway." You didn't know if he believed his own words, but he certainly showed no sign of letting up.

You dragged both hands down your face, tired, frustrated, and trying very hard to still ignore the uncomfortable throbbing pain. A sudden feeling of pressure on your knee dragged you back to attention. Looking down, you spotted it was just Steve giving you a reassuring squeeze. The action relaxed your mind a fraction.

"Trust me."

Breathing out heavily as you dropped your hands, your eyes met his steady and imploring gaze as he waited for you to say something. He was asking you to trust him. That leaving was the best option. That Mike and Lucas would really be okay. His brown eyes were perpetually warm, offering feelings of comfort alongside vulnerability within their innate intensity. His hand was still warm on your knee as he patiently waited for you to respond. The question seemed big, past just what he was asking you to trust him with now. Yet the truth to answer your answer suddenly felt incredibly simple.

You did trust him. You didn't have to think about it.

This was Steve. The guy who befriended your sister and accepted her and supported her when not everyone had or would. Steve, who had always treated you with familiarity and reassurance even though you were just his friend's little sibling. Who offered to help you with some guy without even having to give it a second thought, even if he was getting something out of it with Nancy. Whose eyes always seemed to linger on you, always ensuring you were okay. Even if he was a pain in the ass sometimes, he hadn't let you down before. Not when it mattered. Why would he be doing that now?

So yeah. You trusted Steve. Probably the most out of anyone outside of your family.

You just didn't know when that had happened.

Despite desperately wanting to, now wasn't the time to think about it. So instead, you dropped your head in a resolute nod, offering a soft but sure, "okay."

The corner of Steve's mouth tipped up in a ghost of a smile. "Okay," he replied back.

And then he was turning around and showing you his back. Way to ruin the moment by being weird. He must have sensed the tingling confusion rolling off of you in waves because Steve said as if it should have been obvious, "get on my back."

You almost choked on your own spit. "No!" You blurted out, going so far as to shove a hand to his shoulder. Given all that had happened since Eddie first showed up at your house, you had entirely forgotten about that idiotic near sex dream about Steve the other night. But at the prospect of being pressed close to him? Oh yeah. It all came flooding back. In great detail. "I- look, give me a few minutes, and I'll be able to hobble out of here," you fought back, flushed at the idea of wrapping your legs and arms around Steve.

Steve turned to look at you over his shoulder, a pinched look on his face. "Are you kidding? I'm not hauling your ass out of here over my shoulder if you trip again and knock yourself out. Just do it."

Well, when he put it like that.

Holding air between your cheeks as you tried to muster up your courage, you blew it out in an exaggerated gesture, grumbling, "turn back around." You poked his cheek so he wouldn't watch what was truly the most mortifying day of your life. Steve rolled his eyes but turned his head back anyway. Grabbing his backpack and slipping it onto your shoulders, you shuffled forward, so your butt was just on the edge of the rock. You gave a short mental lecture to your brain to not overthink your following action of spreading your legs wider to nestle between his sides. Your hands found their way to his shoulders to grip them as his hands got a firm grip on your thighs as he dragged you forward, waiting for your chest to be flush against his back before standing up with a slight grunt.

"You good?" He asked, trying to turn his face to peer at you from the corner of his eye. You pushed his face away again. You didn't need him wrongfully reading into your blush and awkwardness.

"I'm good." Though it was a blatant lie coming out of your mouth, it was all the signal Steve needed to begin making the trek forward.

Which brought you right back to your original concern.

"You know we're still lost, right?" You murmured, tightening your arms around his shoulders as you tried peering past his mop of hair.

Not even a bird chirped to fill the awkward silence as the truth finally seemed to permeate the stubborn layer of Steve's psyche.

"Damn it!" _____________________________ tag list: @rexorangecouny @simonsbluee @felicityofbakerstreet @heytherejulietx @ohashley101 @youngflower @ramona-thorns @theblairwaldorf2 @fezco-mylove @hxrgreeves @jbcalway @heizenka @edenstarkk @greekktragedy @trishiepo0 @nonpoppin @bimboshaggy @scoobiessnacks @spideyycents @walkin-in-hawkins

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #joe keery #eddie munson #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #st #stranger things #st fanfic #st fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #st imagine #stranger things imagine

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dextixer · 1 year

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The good, the bad and the fandom -V9E3 - Rude, Red, and Royal - AMAZING - RETURN TO FORM

Greetings, this post is a part of my ongoing series of threads reviewing the episodes of Volume 9. The link to the second episodes review can be found HERE. This series was started so i could give me opinions, be they good or bad, about the new volume of RWBY and to cover some of the FNDM discourse that is inevitably going to happen over the episodes.

Keep in mind that all of these are opinions and not all of them are what one could consider to be "traditional" criticisms but rather personal preference. Also, for the most part i will not go into detail too much in these, just a general overview.

The Good

Red King - Yes, i know he calls himself a prince but quite frankly i do not care. As far as recreating fairy tale characters this seems like a relatively faithful recreation of the Queen of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland, the same ridiculous, over the top and quite insane character.

The VA work is quite great too, being able to switch from threatening, to insane, to childish is quite a feat. Is this character unique? No. But it does what it needs to do perfectly. And quite frankly i cant get mad at a reference here.

I complained about tonal shifts in the last 2 reviews. Well, in this case i cant, because in this case, it makes sense. Queen of Hearts/Red Prince are meant to be unreasonable, insane, childish. Them going from funny/pathetic to genuinely threatening on the drop of a hat is their point.

The Visuals - RWBY is pulling out all of the stops with the visuals this volume. It wasn't nowhere near as visible with the forest, sure, it was bright but nothing truly eye catching. The castle however? Now that had some AMAZING visuals, not only in terms of textures or how things look, but also camera work.

The instant motion with the Red Prince did not bother me at all, that's the kind of energy he kind of needs to have. The Chess board, going from the view of the castle and its inner chambers to seeing only the table, all of these are visually striking.

The Music - I do not want to shittalk Jeff, so please, do not take this as me doing so. I understand that his work schedule took a toll on him, but Casey and her band are showing their prowess by rising up to the challenge currently. While i could not exactly hear the words of the song it felt a lot more unique than many other RWBY songs despite having that similar charm. The Creepy music once Neo gets onto the island is also well made.

The Fight - FUCKING AMAZING! The fight choreography is not the same as Montys was, it lacks the qualities of a dance as it was in the past. And yet, i do not mind it at all. The fight scene was cool and a true return to form for the series i think. The solo choreography of the characters was fine, but the TRUE moment was when they teamed up with their abilities.

Something that we sadly rarely ever see in the series anymore, it reminds me of the old times of V1-V3 when team combos were usually quite visible with team RWBY. Its also quite funny how the Weiss nevermore summon and the kind of attack they do with Yang and Blake reminds me of THE Nevermore fight back in V1. A very simmilar trick, but almost reversed, and not as brutal.

The only minor nitpick i would have about the finisher would be that i think it needed more OOOMPH to it, like, do damage to the board itself, make a crater, really give that IMPACT. But that is a minor nitpick, the fight was fire.

Neo - I have to say, i do like how Neo is just full on out of fucks to give anymore. She is there to kill and noone is going to stop her. It reminds me of Cinder back in V4, the same kind of obsession that comes after seeing arrogance from these characters. Right now Neo is not flamboyant, she is murderous. And i LOVE it. Her semblance getting an upgrade is interesting too.

The Bad

Nothing, and im being serious here. I am not going to find problems where there are none. At best i could maybe make up some minor nitpicks here and there, maybe things will change with a couple of rewatches, but right now i am fresh from watching the episode and nothing serious sticks out to me.

The Episode is just... Its good...

The Fandom

The episode has received quite a wide positive acclaim in general. The only Fandom disagreements were mostly over the role of Weiss and how she is the comic relief, but that is something i have covered before. Mostly RWBY twitter seems to either not be arguing or just rehashing the same old things over and over again (Can you believe that Shanes letter was discussed, AGAIN?)

HOWEVER, there is a single fandom "fight" that has occured, and that is over Neo.

Neo - So, the main discussions have occured whether or not Neo is a sadist or takes enjoyment from the suffering of others and what should her fate be at the end of the volume. Should she stay in the fairy tale, die or come back to Remnant.

I am of the very simple opinion that Neo is a killer that enjoys what she is doing, it has often been shown with her since as far back as Volume 2. While one can definitely write fanfictions making that not the case, at the end of the day it is canon that Neo likes killing/hurting people.

Her fate however is a complex question. On one hand, we already are having an Emerald redemption, as such Neo getting the same treatment is not out of the question. And yet it feels like this volume is leading into a Neo/Ruby confrontation, both due to how done Neo is and how Ruby is also slowly becoming done with it all. Hell, i even have a theory that Ruby will eventually have a break-down after killing Neo.

Ending Word

I had little to say over this episode besides praising it. And that is for the reason, i think that Episode 3 is simply great. Its a LOT better than Episodes 1-2 and the story seems to be picking up the pace and a good rate. I genuinely am awaiting Episode 4.

Of course, these are all just my opinions, everyone else is welcome to agree/disagree or to add on to this in way they deem proper. All opinions are welcome within reason.

#rwby #rwby volume 9 spoilers #volume 9 episode 3

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riverstardis · 1 year

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fatal error part two:

tried to take a bite of my toast right as lofty threw up🥴

it’s difficult because we as the audience know exactly what happened and can go back and check if we want but it’s totally understandable that lofty and dylan don’t remember exactly what happened in the moment

ethan looking up huntington’s :( cal also did that and like even though they both clearly already knew what it is and what the symptoms are i guess it’s completely different looking at it as a doctor vs possibly being the patient

cal’s not shown up for work because he’s with emilie. you gotta feel bad for ethan because every time cal skives off, the consultants act like he’s personally responsible for him😭

iain and lily are covering a pride event and he’s on the phone to dixie

i was gonna say i swear this is set in february which seems like a random time for a pride event but then i remembered february’s lgbt history month so nvm makes sense

diane’s mum going “standard procedure? you mean when somebody goes to work and ends up dying?” at this hospital? you’d be surprised😬

“let me spell it out for you: used to be a chick, now she wants a d—“ HELP😭😭

emilie’s here and ethan’s treating her

i’m confused as to how much everyone else knows because when she and cal come in louise calls ethan over but then zoe’s like no ethan i should take this before she gets pulled away elsewhere so zoe obviously knows who emilie is but louise doesn’t? but in the following few eps all the staff seem to know she’s their mum?

emilie has aspiration pneumonia :( that’s the most common cause of death for people with huntington’s

she keeps trying to talk to ethan but he just ignores her and explains the medical stuff only

“when you’d made up your mind about something, you used to hold your breath until you got your way. once, he did it for so long he passed out. scared the life out of me” aww i can imagine that as well sjdkd

he shouts at her to stop it😥 and then of course charlie gets mad at him🙄 charlie worstie don’t act so surprised you could’ve very easily predicted he would have this reaction to her you shouldn’t even be letting him treat her

this poor guy’s childhood best friend getting mad every time dylan and the others treating him call him robert instead of his deadname and they just ignore her and carry on sjsjdjfkf shut the fuck up girlie

louise went to get cal’s post and the gene test results letters there😬 also in the pile is a magazine called “hotties on holiday” which cal denies is his SKDKFKKF

ethan comes in and asks louise to leave so he can speak to cal alone and she’s like “okay but look after him because he cried like a baby when zoe relocated his arm. kind of turned me on. is that wrong?” and ethan’s like “… yes” HELP

ethan going “you have no idea what it’s been like for me these past few weeks” to cal is kinda funny because obviously cal does know because he went through exactly the same thing when he found out BUT cal isn’t acting like he knows is he? yeah he went through exactly what ethan’s now going through but now that he’s through it he’s acting like ethan doing exactly the same thing is unreasonable. god they both need so much therapy.

“ethan, you should’ve called me, we could’ve helped each other” you could’ve told him earlier and then you could’ve helped each other

cal’s managed to engineer his way into a situation where he’s the sensible one for once😭

why is this girl just reeling off transphobic one liners like this😭

“this is all because of mum isn’t it? you were never there and now you’re trying to make up for that” yeahh cal tries to deny it but his reaction says otherwise

charlie fairhead shut the fuck up for once challenge

“ethan, emilie’s your mum. the longer you go on denying that the harder you’re going to find this” he isn’t denying she’s his biological mum though is he?? he just still considers his adoptive mum his mum

like his mum is dead and charlie’s basically telling him to just replace her???

“y’know, our biological mother is dying and it’s cal i’m more worried about. can you believe that?”

i think charlie’s pep talks work a lot better with cal than they do ethan tbh. with cal he hits the nail on the head and usually manages to help him but he doesn’t seem to do a very good job figuring out what ethan’s really thinking and where he’s coming from

ethan tells cal he thought about what he said about emilie not wanting to die in hospital and he’ll ring round some hospices and he’ll tell connie that they’ll both need some time off and cal thanks him and ethan’s like “that what brothers are for” see it only took him 2 weeks to undisown him sskdkd

“pride. it’s like gay christmas” so true

lofty ends up in a lift with diane’s mum and she starts talking about her not knowing that he was with her :(

dylan and lofty🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

aww lily’s wearing a pride pin on her scrubs

this is the point where lily starts to associate with iain

aw charlie and connie are watching cal and ethan with emilie from outside resus and charlie’s like “those lads have come out of this really well, i hope your proud of them” and connie says “i am. but if you tell anyone, i’ll deny all knowledge of it” sjdkkkf

see what confuses me about that though is that connie clearly knows what’s going on so you’d think the thought that they could have inherited huntington’s would have at least crossed her mind but when ethan tells her in s32 it doesn’t seem that way? then again iirc it does cut from him initially telling her to them talking about how cal got him tested without him knowing so i suppose maybe she was shocked initially but then what wasn’t shown was her being like oh yes i remember that your birth mum had it

#classic casualty #fatal error part two #charlie somehow manages to be 10x more annoying that usual in this storyline

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nella09archive · 8 months

Text

Marriage. 44

Chapter 44: Alone in the Dark

Wherever I am I hope I’m not dead. A short while ago, I was crash landing into a planet. I could still feel the impact, and boy does it hurt. How do people travel in those? I try opening my eyes, only to see that’s partly out of the ship. How long was I out?

As I was coming to, I start to realize that, I’m slowly falling out of the ship. Soon enough, with whatever energy I have, I fly out and up. I finally take notice of my surroundings, and I’m surrounded by miles of stone spears. I fly up to get a better view, to come find out, I crash landed in a canyon. Before I knew it, I spotted creatures jumping on the surface, coming my direction. That’s when my energy finally gave out, and I fell, head first, back into the canyon.

…

“Where’s my father?!” I can’t believe this! Why do I feel like I’ve been lied to my whole life? Clearly my father knew something, this whole time and didn’t tell me. He clearly hid things from me. And if what Vegeta said is true, could it be possible I’ve met Goku before. “Move out my way Mrs. Ying! Or tell me where my dad is!” I was in no mood to deal with anyone today.

“Miss. Chichi. Your father is in an important meeting. I’m sure, he would gladly see you after. If you properly create an appointment.” I’m so close to snapping. For starters, how dare she address me like that! Second, my father in a meeting was a lie!

I grab her by the collar and pull her closer to me. “I asked you nicely, and you belittle me. Now, get out my way.” I simply moved her to the said, and ask Gohan to lead me to dad. I have no time for this. I must get to the bottom of this at once.

…

Mom must be really angry, if she’s talking back to Mrs. Ying. What I still don’t get is why. After speaking with Mr. Vegeta, I have more questions than answers. And mom is sure acting funny. Almost to where I don’t get why she looks ready to explode. When we finally reach grandpa, does mom look like she calm down. “Gohan, wait for mommy here.” With that she walks inside, and closes the door. Oh look, it’s Mr. Li.

…

My head hurts, and I feel an easy sense of rage, that isn’t my own. “Chichi.” That’s when I shot up, and could feel panic rush through me. I then look around, and notice that I’m covered in bandages and in a bed. What in the world? Then I look next to me, and there’s this weird creature. It’s pink in color, and has weird skin, plus, they too look shock. I try to wave a hello, only for them to get up and leave the room.

I then try to figure out, why do I sense that Chichi is enraged. What’s going on? I try to reach out to her, only to feel blocked by a raging headache. No good. My poor Chichi needs me, and I can’t reach out to her. Please, I just hope Gohan is with her, and helping her. As much as I love seeing my wife angry, it still upsets me when she’s unreasonably angry and I can’t help her. My poor wife.

…

“Dad, tell me the truth! Stop looking away from me! What the hell you so ashamed about? Tell me!”

“Sweetie, you don’t understand. It’s not that easy to talk about.”

“Try me! How about you just give me answers! Tell me, did I ever meet Goku before the fire?” He’s looking away, but he does say yes. “When?”

“A year after your mother died. It so happened that Gohan had found Goku just a few months. He complained the child he found was uncontrollable. I thought he only needed a friend, and I also wanted to show you off to my best friend.”

“Can you tell me what happened that day. Please, dad.” He agreed. I could feel the pain in his voice, as he told me the memory.

… … …

It’s been a year since my wife has died. I truly miss her, but I’ll promise to make sure Chichi grows up happy. And I’ll tell her many stories of her mother, and give her all her clothing. She’ll be so happy. Uh? A letter from my old training buddy, Gohan. Oh, he found a child along his walk. So unusual. The child seems strange, and misbehave. Oh, it’s probably just Gohan’s imagination. His old age is showing. Oh, I got an idea. I’ll bring my princess, and they could be great friends. Maybe I can convince Gohan to come live in the village with us.

Once I made it to his home, he’s waiting for us outside. He said that the boy is sleeping, and funny enough, my Chichi is too. Me and Gohan were talking, when we heard a noise coming from inside his hut. This noise had woken up my Chichi. Soon, Gohan had brought out a small child. He was strange indeed, especially with that tail. We then set the children down next to each other.

Gohan looked worried, while I was very excited. The boy, Goku, look at Chichi curiously, and Chichi did the same. Then his tail moved, and poked Chichi’s face. She started giggling, poked the furry thing, he laughed too. Chichi then had Goku face in between her hands, as she continued giggling. It was so cute. Goku looked confuse, and tried to take the hands away. “I don’t see why you’re so worried, Gohan.”

That’s when things got worst. Goku’s mood suddenly changed. He went from happies confused, to biting Chichi’s hand. My baby! How dare he! That’s when Chichi started to cry, and I tried to get my baby away from him. But when I tried to get my Chichi, Goku bit me. He was also holding onto Chichi, tightly with his tail, and growling at me. I backed away, stud for the moment. How was I supposed to get my crying Chichi away from this boy? Not only that, the boy was hugging Chichi, and licking her face. What in the world is going on? I then snapped out of it, and was readying to strike him, when Gohan finally was able to pull him away. I tried to calm Chichi down, while Gohan tried to keep Goku at bay.

I was in the process of get my capsule car, when Chichi left my side. Oh no! Where she go? When I finally caught her, she was making her way to Gohan. I picked her up and walked to the car. Before I left my friend, I heard Chichi say bye-bye. “No Chichi.” I then looked to Gohan. “Hopefully you’ll learn to teach that child some manners! I don’t him want anywhere near my Chichi, unless he does.” With that, that was the last I ever saw and heard of Gohan. Till I received a troubling letter, stating he hopes to make amends for he’s not sure if he’ll live long.

… … …

“That last letter came to me 6 years after.” I was more shock that Vegeta was right about the possibility of meeting Goku very young, than rage at my father for keeping this a secret from me. “I didn’t say again because I had long forgot. Well, till Goku showed up, and confirmed that my old friend had passed.” I couldn’t even look at my father. I just got up, and walked away. I got Gohan, and we made our way home. I need time to process this new information.

When we got home, I felt I was just going through the motions. Even Gohan tried to pull me out of my thoughts, but it didn’t seem to work. Maybe I could work on a project or something. I tried to gather my tools, only to absentmindedly look at my hands. “What am I thinking? Not like something was going to be there.” I went back to gathering my tools, and sat on the couch.

“Mom, are you ok? You seem more quiet than usual. Did grandpa say something weird?” I just smiled and shock my head. “Mom, why can’t I hear your thoughts anymore?” That’s a good question, I don’t even know.

“I don’t know. I been so deep in thought, I didn’t realize. Maybe it has to do with focusing on myself.”

“Oh, I see. But I wonder what does Mr. Vegeta met by it’s rare for a sayian to chose a life mate after he’s grown.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I could ask him.” Then my hand started hurting out of nowhere. It usual does that sometimes, especially if I’m overly worried about something. I always thought it was just a delay pain from something I did earlier. Did I punch a wall earlier? I punched Vegeta yesterday, and my hand hurt right away. Maybe it’s nothing, then again, I thought back to what dad said. I do remember, when I was 7, I suddenly started crying for no reason. I cried the whole day, and I couldn’t explain the weird sense of pain. Then the next day I was perfectly fine, and I thought maybe something happened and I was just reacting late.

“I also want to ask Mr. Vegeta more questions, but I don’t think he’ll answer them now.” I just smiled at my little boy, and patted the seat next to me. We enjoyed the rest of day in peaceful silence, deep in our own thoughts.

…

I can’t control it. Every time I feel slightly angry, I just charge, and it’s hard to calm back down. These people have been nothing but supporting, yet I can tell I cause them some sort of trouble. On top of that, they agreed to help me fix my ship to head home. But the way I am now, I don’t know if I could even go home.

…

As I watch mom go about her daily routine, I noticed something is off. She would get angry at the slightest moment, and out of nowhere too. I even had to move things out her way, before she broke it. Mom says she doesn’t have the faintest clue why she so angry. Sometimes she mumbles things, like how bad her head hurts or saying something about her hands. Mom would even take long, steaming baths, saying she’s trying to relax. And she would comment how cold it gotten, when it’s clearly hasn’t. “Mom, are you feeling ok? Are you getting sick?” All she answers is that this isn’t a cold.

So strange. Maybe I should tell someone, but who? Bulma? She’s smart. What about Mr. Vegeta? Could it be part of that mate thing he said. The little he did tell me, is that somehow my parents are connected. Mom then breaks another plate, as she was cleaning. That’s it! I have to ask someone. I’ll ask Mr. Vegeta. Hopefully I could find him.

“Come on Mr. Vegeta. I’m worried about my mom. You just have to know.” He just looked at me indifferent. He asked me what’s wrong with mom, and for the moment I’m happy that he’ll help. “She says how it’s super cold, when the weather is perfectly fine. She would get angry out of nowhere, and or violently break things without reason. Heck, she even shows to not be in control about her own strength. To top it off, she complains about a headache and her hand hurting.”

“From what you tell me, the problem isn’t your mother, brat.” I looked at him confused. “It’s that damn Kakarot. Raditz did asked if he ever had a head injury?” I nodded. “Most likely his programing is running again. Your mother should be fine after a few days.” He then starts walking away. “If she’s lucky.” He then looks over his shoulder at me. “And tell the harpy to stop trying to reach Kakarot, if she wants the headaches to stop.” I just looked at him in shook, as he flew away. What in the world does he mean by that?

It take me a bit longer to fly home. I was just so lost in thought; I just don’t know what to do. What did he mean by program running again? What he mean did he mean she’ll be fine after a few days? And that comment about if she’s lucky? I’m so confused. It’s probably a grown-up thing. Maybe once I tell mom, she’ll explain it to me.

…

My control over this new form is starting to pay off. I’m able to switch on and off on command. But something still troubles me. Why can’t I reach Chichi? Every time I try, I have a huge headache. So, I gave up trying. Living with the Yardratians had helped me a lot. Like controlling my own ki better. If it wasn’t for their help, I would still be unstable. I hope Chichi and Gohan are doing ok. I really miss them.

Chichi…

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theliterateape · 2 years

Text

Muscling Past the Pain to Get to the Other Side

By Don Hall

I cracked a permanent molar on the right side of my mouth when I was eight years old. I slipped on an icy sidewalk, landed on my chin, received three stitches and a gold cap. The dentist didn't want to remove the tooth because my head was still long before being fully developed. A cap it was.

For a long time I never thought about it again. I couldn't see it, so why would I care?

By the time I was marching with the Razorback Band in college, the gold had worn thin and my head was much bigger. One afternoon I was chomping down on one of those jumbo-sized Tootsie Rolls® and it pulled the cap completely off. I almost swallowed it. It hurt like hell but I had stuff—you know, college stuff—to do and had developed a twenty-year distrust of doctors of all stripes. I elected to let it be until it drove me crazy with pain and I would finally relent to getting another cap.

I decided to muscle through it.

The result of this was that I had a throbbing headache for the next two years. Given that I drank far too much in college, the blackout drinking was perhaps a response to this nagging tooth. It may have contributed to a few random bar fights and the generally held opinion that I was a really angry young man. Untreated pain can be a catalyst for unrepentant assholery.

My senior year, my girlfriend convinced me to get my tooth fixed. I relented and the headache went away like a roommate crashing on your couch rent-free for a couple of years finally getting the boot. I can tell the story but the memory of the actual pain is long gone. The resulting Denis Leary sort of thumping fury lasted far longer than the toothache. I was always dramatic as a kid but the muscling through this pointless pain had changed my personality slightly into being an avatar for the angry young man, the enraged drunk, the caustic provoker.

Muscling through the pain has a price. The pain finds a way to express itself like the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park find a way to terrorize Jeff Goldblum.

The first Christmas visit with my third wife—the one I proposed to after the third date, the one whom my family fell in love with as well, the quirky, funny, devil-may-care pixie whom I was suddenly married but just getting to know—a strange thing happened. Mom took us to the mall (remember the mall? That place of gathering to shop for stuff for purchase? Think Amazon but offline.) and wanted to get her a coat. Part of my mother's love-language is buy stuff for the people she loves and my wife's coat was typically DIY, possibly found somewhere, and Mom thought she could use something nicer.

We walked around, looking at this coat and that, when my wife turned on a dime, headed to the changing room, and commenced to sobbing like she'd just realized they shot Old Yeller. Loud. Wailing. Overwrought. My mom just looked at me with shock. I had no answers and assumed I'd done something wrong because, you know, husband. We are always on the hook for something we fucked up.

Later she claimed she was just overwhelmed by gifts. By the thought of new stuff. By my mother's generosity. Made sense.

Over the years of our marriage, this happened in tandem with what I'll call white-trash outbursts of unreasoning rage, so caustic and hateful I'd just leave the apartment and walk around until the storm passed. She explained it away as she just needed to “let that stuff out.” It was healthy to cry uncontrollably, she'd say. It was a sign of mental health to pry open her psyche and let those demons out.

She was muscling through the pain. It turns out that she married me out of a sense of escape, an opportunity to evade the kinds of scumbags she was so often attracted to who fetishized her as a depository for kink, a way out. She confessed later that she was never in love with me yet married me anyway. She was living two realities like a trumpet player with an exposed cracked tooth doing his level best to function past the pain. So she drank too much, bottled up the pain of her double life, and let that stuff out once in awhile to survive the consequences of her duplicity.

That stuff finds a way to pop up and out because muscling through the pain has limits.

"Dude. I don't how you're even sitting here, eating lunch, cracking jokes. If I were in your shoes, I'd be in a fetal position with a gun in my mouth. How are you Okay?"

My friend was among the first I'd told the tale of my third divorce. It was fresh, maybe two weeks from the reveal of her third and fourth lives she'd adopted since coming to Vegas. It was a story that seemed so surreal, so outsized and nearly comical, it would have been as ridiculous if she had confessed to being a space alien or a person from the future. Infidelity is common; this was not common. This was insane.

"Well, first, I don't own a gun."

I muscle through it.

I had, in the first nights alone in my apartment (formerly our apartment), to let that stuff out. I pounded whiskey and laid on the floor sobbing like an Italian widow. I cried so much and so hard my face resembled the puffy redness of a recent plastic surgery patient or the recipient of a severe beating. For three days and nights I hid from the world and wept.

Then I got up, took a shower, and started muscling past it.

The pain finds its way to creep out but never in front of others. As much as my friends and family let me know that it's fine if I lose my shit, let's be honest, no one wants to deal with a GenX man wallowing in his grief. In the brief hundred years between the divorce and my leaving Las Vegas at the end of August, I've become a hermit. I keep to myself for the most part and muscle past it.

I recognize that it's still right there, waiting to leap out and crush my chest. I'm bingeing on Manifest—a Netflix science fiction show—and find myself bawling like a baby at any sort of grief-oriented storyline. No one would call the show a sentimental vehicle. No one watching it cries. But this show has me weeping like I'm bingeing on Pixar.

It's cool. I find myself watching random gameshows and sobbing when someone wins big money, too.

Muscling past it.

Soon enough (but not soon enough at all) this pain will be like my tooth. I won't feel the pain but will remember it in abstract. I know that if I live long enough, the devastation becomes a story to tell. We are all just an amalgamation of stories. I'd rather tell one that involves getting up after a punch in the soul than one that simply can't muscle past the pain.

Hopefully, unlike the tooth, it won't seep in more assholery. I mean, how much more of an asshole can one be?

#pain #muscling past grief

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years

Note

Could I please get a Tommy fic where he's not the one who's possessed (idk who instead) but anyway him and the reader both make it onto the bus but like not without a struggle and maybe the reader gets injured, not life threatening but bad, and he comforts them as they drive away. And maybe this injury also elicits a confession from them like they knew each other before and are friends but they both like each other but won't say it. Confession could be words or just an abrupt kiss or mix of both. Anyway they're both camp councillors and borderline flirt with each other all the time. Thanks!

OH HO HO MOTOR IS RUNNING

I Thought I Lost You For a Sec (Tommy Slater x Reader)

Warnings: angst, murder/blood/violence/gore, major and minor character death, attempted murder, major character injury, Arnie was chosen!au, kissing, confessions, applying first aid written badly, Alice dies (i’m so sorry queen), Arnie dies (sorry king)

Word Count: 1.9k

"How much Tylenol did you take, asshole?" Alice asked, stepping closer to her boyfriend. She'd been looking around the shelves, busying herself while the three of you explored on. Arnie wasn't feeling well, apparently. He'd just sat on the bench, and closed his eyes.

You, Tommy and Cindy had gone into the room with all the creepy witch shit, and your flashlight shined on Arnie's name carved into the wall.

"That isn't funny. Alice will freak." Cindy said, looking to you. As if you'd carved into solid stone with your fingernails. And, really, this wasn't how you'd prank your friends. You'd known them all for forever, holding them all together like one single piece of string as they grew apart. You and Tommy glanced at eachother, and then you gave her a small shake of your head.

"I didn't do it." You told her. Tommy had been standing right besides you as Cindy looked at the books, found that the cave went deeper. The three of you looked towards the entrance to the room, your heart sinking.

Alice stepped right in front of Arnie, snapping in his face to try to get his attention. She even shook his shoulders, saying,

"Earth to Arnie. Earth to Arnie." Before she walked away with a sigh. She wanted to get out of there. This witch hunt had been a deadend, and now she was stuck babysitting. She looked over her shoulder when she saw her boyfriend get up, and head towards the wall. She watched him pick something up, and she asked, "Arnie? What the hell are you doing?"

Your flashlights shined in the dark, shined the curly, brown haired figure holding an axe. Tommy was behind you, but you and Cindy had gone through the tunnel first. And, before any of you could tell Alice to step back, to run across the room to where it was safe, you all watched as Arnie swung his axe into her head. You and Cindy screamed as you watched him split her head open, but Tommy was grabbing you both by the shoulders and saying,

"Shit, go! C'mon!" Before Arnie was even done. He pushed you guys through the hole, following you both back into the room. The three of you looked around, trying to find an exit, when Cindy looked at the altar. She ran over, trying to tip it, before she yelled,

"Tommy, help me!" And Tommy was right behind her. He helped her knock it over, all of the books and candles landing with a crash. Tommy grabbed you by the arm, yanking you forward and making you go first through the hole as Cindy yelled,

"Go, go, go!" You ducked down and crawled as fast as you could, Cindy pushing you to make you go faster. Just as you reached the end of the short tunnel, you heard Tommy yell. You turned and you saw that Arnie had followed you. And had grabbed Tommy's ankle. You screamed,

"Tommy!" And you watched as Cindy turned to try to grab his shoulders, and you scrambled to help. You watched as he was yanked back, quickly moving to lie flat and try to kick the brunette away. He kicked him once, twice, before he finally kicked him against the cave wall, and the pair of you dragged Tommy out before the cave could close around him.

You clamoured out, nearly falling as the rocks fell behind you. You could feel tears burning your eyes, from either the events of what had just happened or the dust that fell when the cave finally closed. Cindy sobbed, and you reached to grab onto the boy besides you. You held onto his arm, burying your face into his coat. Tommy held you close, smoothing his hand down your back before he paused and asked,

"Do you hear that?" He asked, and the three of you listened. It was a slow steady breathing, loud in the silence of the cave. Finally, Cindy asked,

"He's still alive?" And you ran a head over your face. You tried to keep it together, tried to keep yourself calm as you quickly said,

"He- He can't get us. He can't get us." You said, and leaned back into the warmth of the boy besides you. "He can't get us." You repeated one more time, like a mantra to yourself. You closed your eyes, trying not to cry as you buried your face into the shoulder of his coat.

***

"Tommy, take them to the bus and Ziggy and I will-" Cindy had started to say her plan. She'd gotten herself a shovel and Ziggy a trowel. The four of you had been discussing the witch, how you were finally going to break the curse. You'd each gone through hell, with Ziggy nearly being killed by Arnie, Cindy having to kill Arnie, Tommy nearly being crushed in the cave in, and you breaking your leg in the cave below, making Tommy have to carry you everywhere you went. But, you'd found the hand. Both you and Tommy's noses had started to bleed when you sat in the moss, and it only took a quick passage reading from Tommy for you to realize where you were sitting. The two of you had dug and ripped up the moss, before you finally found the skeleton hand of one Sarah Fier.

"What?" You yelled, staring in disbelief at her. You couldn't believe she was side-lining you. You looked to her sister, and then to Tommy. He grimaced, rubbing the back of his head. You scoffed. "So, that's it? Tommy and I find the hand and we don't even get to see it through?" You asked, and Cindy gave you a look. You knew that wasn't just it. She said your name quietly, her tone even as she said,

"You can't walk. Tommy- Tommy had to carry you here. And you need to get to a hospital." She said, and you frowned. You knew she was right. You knew that, perhaps, you were being a little unreasonable. That it would be even more unreasonable to make Tommy carry you all the way to the Sarah Fier tree. But it sucked. And, plus, you felt stronger with all of you together, even if Arnie laid in a heap in the kitchen. Even if there wasn't an axe murderer chasing after you now. Tommy reached over and gave your hand a squeeze, and you looked away. It was hard to say no to them, especially when Tommy was looking at you like that. He said a soft,

"It's okay. It's basically already over anyways. We just get to go home sooner." He said, and you couldn't deny that getting to see your bed, most likely a hospital bed first though, was compelling. And, well, you supposed you'd be alright if Tommy was the one coming with you. Sighing, you said,

"Fine. Fine." And you gave a defeated gesture. "But, you better not take all the credit when you talk to the papers." You said, cracking a half-attempt at joke. Cindy and Ziggy smiled, and Tommy gave your hand another squeeze. And, really, that was all you needed to make you feel better.

***

Tommy had chased down the last bus, yelling,

"Wait, wait!" As it started to drive off. It came to a screeching stop, and it's doors hesitated before they opened. Tommy had been carrying you bridal-style, so he had to turn sideways as he stepped onto the bus. "Thank you, thank you." He told the bus driver as he carried you on. He panted, and you would've felt bad if you weren't gritting your teeth in pain.

Running had led to jostling your leg, and every step Tommy had taken had felt like a searing hot-iron pressed to your skin. You were gripping his jacket tight, trying to get a grip on yourself. It wasn't like you could've told Tommy to slow down, otherwise you would've missed the bus.

Tommy grabbed the front seat, one that was quickly evicted by its previous taker the second they saw your leg. You tried not to let out a curse as Tommy sat down, your grip on his collar so tight that your knuckles were turning white. Instead you let out a pained noise as you buried your face into his neck, moving to grip his shoulder instead. Tommy rubbed a hand down your back, doing his best to help you rest your leg and to ease your pain. You grit your teeth when the bus started moving, already hating the ride. Softly, he said,

"In hindsight, maybe I should've grabbed the Tylenol." And you let out a pained, half-laugh. You slapped his chest lightly, telling him.

"Don't make me laugh. It hurts." And he chuckled in response. Then, his hand was brushing your thigh. Tommy had been the one to wrap the makeshift bandages around your wound. He'd used the end of his sweatshirt, and had made a makeshift crop-top of it. He checked it gently, made sure it was secure, and turned around to ask,

"Can someone pass me the first aid kit please?" And the counselor across from you went to get it. They passed it to you, and he opened it. It was full of Band-Aids and Neosporin, and the only thing helpful was the clean bandages. You watched him as he untied them, and you winced as he pulled them off. As gently as he could, he wrapped clean ones around your leg. He said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Every time you even made a face. Once he was done, he brushed a hand over your face, tilting your head to look up at him. You did, glancing over his features.

Tommy was one of your oldest friends, and, well, part of you had always liked him. He was sweet, caring, kind, and maybe you spent most of the summer flirting with him. He'd proven that he was all of those things and more tonight. He'd stuck by you in the cave, carried you up the hole, and got you on the bus before it left. He cared for you in a way that made your heart skip a beat, and, as you stared up at him, you couldn't imagine how you would've gotten through this night without him.

"Y'know, when you first fell- well, I thought I lost you for a sec. It scared the hell out of me and, the entire night, all I could think about was making sure you were safe and-" And you didn't let him finish. His words were too sweet. He was too sweet. You couldn't stand it anymore and you reached up to cup his neck, pulling him in by it and pressing your lips against his. He seemed surprised for a moment, but he was quick to kiss back. He cupped your cheek, holding you close and stealing your breath away. His kiss was slow and soft, addicting in the way you could barely think about anything else. And, for a moment, you didn't feel an ounce of pain.

When you pulled back, the two of you were silent for a beat. Before Tommy softly chuckled.

"Well, if I had known running away from an axe murderer was the way to get you to kiss me, I would've-" And you cut him off again, pulling him in for another round of kisses.

#fear street #fear street 1978 #fear street tommy slater #tommy slater fear street #fear street tommy #tommy fear street #tommy slater #tommy slater x reader #thomas slater x reader #thomas slater

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honey-milk-depresso · 3 years

Text

Obey Me Mute s/o who seeks revenge

Ahahahahaha *chokes* welcome to my shit of RWBY inspired fanfics. I pretty much had successfully killed myself with my history textbook for my next week exams so I hope it was worth it. Anyways, on with the headcanon! (Inspired by Neopolitan from RWBY)

To summarize just what the hell happened to you, you had a simple life with your stepmother who you cherished dearly. She didn’t cared if you couldn’t speak like others. She finds your acts of kindness louder than words. But for some reason, all was shattered when some criminal demons from Devildom killed her.

Using the nearest thing to you to defend yourself, you found a parasol leaning against the chair and aimed the tip at the chest to stab them.

Even if you had won against them, that feeling of enragement was still not satisfied. Seeing red, all your life was finding a way to kill all demons as you felt they only steal the ones you love far too early.

Unreasonable, yes, but you couldn’t care by that point. Learning how to summon yourself to Devildom, you would figure out a way to start a raid. First stop, the House of Lamentation.

(This is kinda like enemies to lovers-)

Lucifer

He was still awake when you sneaked into the house.

For some reason he felt the air became a little stiff.

Like, someone was in the house.

And it wasn’t Mammon coming back from his casino run.

He checked the area, and...

Out pops you attacking him.

And it was just him and you dueling it out.

He finally managed to land a hit on you,

though he might find you quite impressed that you hit him multiple times with your parasol, and manage to dodge a lot of his attacks because you were just so fast and agile.

Way to hurt his pride, s/o.

But now that he manage to attack back.

He can’t help but wonder how the hell you, a mere human with incredible reflexes wtf-, came to Devildom.

You must really did your homework to learn teleportation spells, huh?

Well, he glared at you, and you glared back.

He doesn’t feel like killing you,

mainly because, well, pity-

So he just took you Diavolo somehow-

And now you live in a house,

full of demons-

Man oh man,

he had to hold you back from killing Mammon, who was surprisingly the first one to wake up.

he had many problems with you, even if you couldn’t speak.

you attacking random demons all the time, at every corner and inch of Devildom-

like wtf, s/o-

C H I L L-

And you acted so salty and sassy even when you were mute through your actions-

Like damn-

He gets how it’s like to lose a love one, like how he lost Lilith,

But I guessed he doesn’t really know how it feels like to lose the one thing that kept you together,

and when it’s gone.

He comforted you, even if he was still salty of your first meeting,

He would be there for you when you weep your stepmother’s death

when you screamed in silence.

eventually you loosened a bit,

you carried out subtle actions of care towards him,

like organizing his desk or cleaned his room.

he smiled when you left, stubbornly claiming you weren’t helping him through actions, sign language, however you communicated.

and warmed up to him, taking into consideration that some demons weren’t bad, but the thought of him maybe doing this only to kill you later still lingered in you,

But you let that slide, sort of-

If he tried to pull off some funny shit on you, you’ll be prepared to attack him once more,

But for now, you’ll let things the way it is.

Belphegor and Beelzebub

You attacked him while he was asleep

That was conveniently after Beel stepped in.

And while Beel served as a big threat, you served a lot worse almost.

Your agility and speed was able to dodge most of Beel’s attacks,

And you kept hitting him hard in the face with your parasol

WHY DONT DO THAT S/O

DONT HIT THE POOR BABY PLS, I GET IT UR MAD BUT NOOOO-

Eventually, you got hit.

And Belphie was shook-

Now, just how tf did a human ended up here??

They brought you to Lucifer who you glared straight back.

It was burning with hatred and vengence, which confused Beel

Have they did something to you?

It took a while to get used to you trying to constantly attack them and the other brothers which Belphie didn’t mind you trying to kill Lucifer-

Beel convinced you that they wouldn’t hurt you or anyone close to you.

Well won’t hurt you is one thing,

But demons had already took the one thing you loved; your stepmother.

Beel could understand, to some extent.

Losing a person you held close to your heart would surely be soul-shattering,

but he still had some love ones surronding him.

And while Belphie could relate to you the most, thinking all humans are cruel and cause of Lilith’s death, much like how you think all demons are cruel and cause your stepmother’s death,

He can’t say he lost his entire life.

He still had Beel.

Having only one person who made you feel whole,

only to be taken away from you, they can’t really blame you for your actions.

They would have been doused in anger and tried defeating anything and everything in their way.

They were there for you when you cried

You couldn’t utter a word or sound, but your face was enough to scream a million words of how much you missed her.

And eventually you were there for them when they had nightmares of Lilith.

It was quite surprising to see the three of you getting along,

and while you still had a burning hatred for demons,

that flame and anger had slightly diminished.

Of course, if they tried to kill you, you wouldn’t hesitate to protect yourself and strike back.

But you were fine with the relationship you had with the twins.

And while Belphie thinks humans are cruel,

he was fine with you.

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me belphie x reader #obey me belphegor x reader #obey me beel x reader x belphie #obey me beelzebub x reader x belphegor #obey me belphie x reader x beel #obey me belphegor x reader x beelzebub #obey me x reader headcanons

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inglourious-imagines · 4 years

Text

Piece Of Cake (Fred Weasley)

Summary: Fred claims that asking a girl out to the Yulle ball is a piece of cake. Harry and Ron dare him to prove it.

Prompts: fluff list: 2 - "I don't care, just hold me." & angst list: "Try to see things in my point of view." & miscellaneous list: 4 - "My mum thinks I'm dating you." (changed a bit)

Warning: angst at the beginning, some swear words, fluff at the end

Author's Note: This is for @lunalovecroft 's 1K writing challenge! Probably it was meant to be the other way around, but that idea suddenly strucked me and I decided to give it a go. Happy reading ♡

HP Taglist: @alienoresimagines @95swifi

"You have a place in my heart no one else ever could have." - F.S. Fitzgerald

All the Yulle Ball decoration were making Y/N beyond sick, every ribbon reminding her that she still did not have a date to accompany her throughout the approaching evening. Molly Weasley was so kind to send her as a gift the most beautiful dress Y/N had ever seen in her life and now she was genuinely thinking about not going to the ball at all.

When she threw herself at the bench in the Great Hall right next to her best friend Hermione who was sitting way too far from Ron, Harry and the twins were seated. Y/N knew about the brightest witch's secret crush on the young Weasley that was slowly but surely growing into something more than just a simple crush. She'd even swear that Ron felt exactly the same about Hermione but she had to promise not to get involved or play a cupid.

"He didn't ask, did he." Y/N dared to speak up first, glancing from Hermione's sad expression on her face to absolutely oblivious Ronald just a few metres away from them who seemed to be stuffing as much food as possible into his mouth as fast as he could.

Y/N's eyes wandered from one Weasley to another, much taller one, who's smile was so contagious that she found herself grinning like an idiot for no particular reason.

"What do you think, Y/N." Hermione sighed bringing her back from her daydreaming, "guess he's not the only one who didn't ask, right?"

Y/N looked at her friend again, simply nodded as she wasn't able to react in any other way. As much as she tried not to, she felt a bit disappointed when the only person she wanted to go to the Yulle ball with, hasn't asked her.

"They've been bickering for the past 15 minutes whether asking a girl out is easy or not." Hermione stated, clearly upset with the whole situation.

"Are you serious, 'Mione? What are their points of view?"

"Well, Harry and Ron are obviously struggling to even compliment a girl in the right way but Fred reckons there's nothing easier."

The girls look at each other and burst out laughing in the next second. "Like he'd know how to ask." Y/N managed to get out of her through her laughter, "however, I must agree with Harry and Ron. They're the most oblivious idiots."

"Tell me about it." Hermione giggled but a trace of hurt flew over her face and Y/N suddenly felt really sorry for her dear friend.

"Hey Y/N!" Fred shouted out of the blue, his clear voice echoed through the Great Hall causing other students to perk up their heads in order to find out what possibly he has in mind now.

Y/N threw a look full of question marks to Hermione before turning her head to the tall red-head. "Yes?"

The moment his typical mischievous grin appeared on his face Y/N knew that something either funny and unpleasant to her or something embarrassing is about to happen.

"Will you..." Fred kept on talking as loudly as possible while wildly gesturing with his arms - apparently pretending to dance, "go to the ball..." now he was just pointing at her and him, "with me?"

Y/N's whole face turned brightly red, her nervous eyes wandering from student to student with such awaiting and amused expressions on their faces. Her heartbeat fastened in the matter of seconds that it seemed like it might jump out of her chest. Y/N looked at Hermione for help with such desperation hidden behind her gaze but her friend just simply shrugged, absolutely shocked with the sudden question, just like Y/N was.

A few seconds passed and Y/N was still sitting at her spot totally speechless. She imagined many times how Fred would ask her to the ball but never in a million years did she think it'd be like this - shouting at her in front of the whole Great Hall with absolutely no sign of sincerity or romance; to her it seemed like some sort of a bet to prove his point.

Their eyes for a moment and Y/N realized that Fred was convinced that she's going to accept his offer, confidence was basically radiating off of him. She knew he's not bragging, Fred was one of the kindest people she'd ever met but sometimes, sometimes he just wasn't able to estimate the situation.

Anger was slowly bottling up in her as she quickly stood up grabbing all her books. As much as it hurt her to say it, Y/N was still able to straighten up looking directly into his eyes. "Sorry, Weasley, not interested. But thanks for the offer, I feel flattered." The sarcasm in her voice was more than obvious.

Y/N winked at Hermione, rightly feeling satisfied with her as she heard a few laughs from many students when she walked out of the Great Hall leaving absolutely speechless and embarrassed Fred Weasley.

•••

Y/N rushed into her dormitory, not wanting to deal with anybody at the moment as the anger was slowly transforming into hurt. This wasn't what she imagined.

She threw herself at her bed; her books were casted off on the ground, papers flying all over the place.

"Y/N! Wait!" a muffled voice of the too familiar Weasley filled her ears and before she knew it, Fred was standing in the middle of her dormitory with flushed cheeks due to the long run, doors slammed shut behind him.

"Let me explain." he almost begged taking a few steps towards her. She quickly got on her feet as she shook with her head couple of times. "Please, no. I don't care if your intentions were the noblest, but it happened and that's it."

"If you could just let me talk."

But Y/N didn't see the regret in Fred's eyes, or how his hands trembled a little bit, she was way too furious to notice all these things.

"Try to see things from my point of view, Weasley! You basically shouted at me in front of the whole school if I want to go to the ball with you! I understand that you just wanted to prove something to Ron and Harry but this is not a game for me."

Every single word that left her mouth went straight to Fred's heart. He never in a million years intended to hurt Y/N, he'd rather suffer himself than have something happen to her. But he was scared, Fred felt truly terrified of asking her out and when the boys confronted him about it, he panicked. He didn't have an idea why he reacted that way. The pounding heart, sweaty palms, the hotness in his cheeks - all this was new to Fred Weasley and he wasn't sure what do to with his stormy emotions.

"I'm real sorry, Y/N. I didn't want to offend you but that doesn't mean I don't stand behind what I said earlier." he tried to ease the tense in the small room, his lips even formed into a cute little innocet smile.

"I don't know, Weasley. I simply think-"

"Let me make it up to you! The ball's tomorrow, just say yes."

Then they were there - Fred's puppy eyes that no matter how serious the problem was, Y/N wasn't able to bring herself to say no. She knew he's very well aware of that fact, he somehow managed to melt her heart.

"Fine. I'll go to the Yulle ball with you, Weasley. Don't make me regret it."

"I can certainly promise you that, Y/L/N."

•••

Y/N was nervously pacing in her new white dress that she got from Mrs. Weasley while Hermione was watching her with an amused expression.

"You know, this isn't funny." she frowned but a part of her was telling her how unreasonably ridiculous she is.

"Actually it is," her best friend couldn't held back the laughter, "you'll be fine. I bet he's even more nervous than you are."

"Hermione! His mum thinks I'm bloody dating him!"

"That's just so perfect. Maybe you will be after tonight."

Their eyes met for a moment and then, as if their minds were connected, the girls started giggling like some 13-year-olds. Y/N finally relaxed a bit, just like Hermione did, as they both promised themselves to look after each other during the evening.

"So what do you think?" Y/N winked at her friend, "shall we?"

"Absolutely."

•••

The duo walked together down the stairs leading to the dance hall, side by side, both of them smiling widely. Y/N found Fred's tall figure right away as he was nervously pacing back and forth mumbling something under his breath while George watched him amused. Just like Hermione watched her a couple minutes ago. God, how similar they could be.

"Well done, brother dear. Fucking well done." George whispered into his twin's ear tapping his shoulder. Fred's gaze immediately landed on approaching Y/N making him stop in his tracks. George just smirked and left with his own date to give them some privacy.

Fred was closely watching her every step, how elegantly she carried herself through the room, the beautiful white dress flew around her making her look like an angel descending from the sky.

"Blimey, I don't think I've ever seen something so beautiful like you." Fred breathed out, his eyes roaming all over her body.

"You don't look too bad as well, Weasley." Y/N blushed at his compliment as she sent him one nervous smile. The truth was, he looked way more better than just 'not bad' and she had to remind herself not to stare at him too much. He pulled her into his side, his scent and warmth immediately embracing her, and she found herself falling for this dangerously good looking red-head.

"Everybody's turning their heads after you. I swear I even saw a smile on Snape's face." Fred pointed out, his voice filled with obvious jealousy as his grip on her waist tightened.

"I don't care, just hold me, Fred." Y/N gave him a reassuring smile taking his hand in his, "just hold me."

"I never wanted anything more."

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applejuizz · 3 years

Text

laughter of youth.

the scout regiment has managed to rescue eren and recover annie’s crystal from their enemies, yet at the cost of many soldiers’ lives. levi learns a valuable lesson of trust. characters: levi ackerman x gn! reader (platonic!), historia reiss, sasha braus, jean kirstein, mikasa ackerman, eren jaeger, connie springer warnings: canon violence (vague descriptions), mentions of blood/wounds word count: 1.764 inspired by attack on titan 2: final battle and the story of “our man”, the customizable in-game character.

Paperwork after paperwork after all the paperwork...

Levi had come to dread the sound of hasty footsteps pacing up to his wooden office door and its prolonged creak as Miss Four Eyes allowed themselves in carrying yet another pile of experiment reports, barely containing their unreasonable excitement. While they fervently sought the tiniest free space to fit the monstrosity held in their arms, their flow of Titan anatomy ramblings never ceased.

Levi, you won’t believe what Eren managed to do today...!

Victor - who the hell is Victor? - stood awake the whole night and was as energetic as ever in the morning! This new breed of Titans is quite interesting!

I keep naming these Titans and I won’t shut up already and I should slap myself before you kick me across the fields, Levi! - he couldn’t possibly describe the joy these words would bring him coming out of Hange’s mouth. Too good to be true, unfortunately.

He shifted into his chair, straightening his back and shaking off the annoyance that had been constantly pulling on his nerves for three days already.

Thankfully, his office was quiet and the hallway was blissfully empty. Hange had taken a day off from experiments to let Eren rest. On that note, Jean and Eren had stopped arguing for once, Sasha had ceased her relentless search of meat and he could finally relish in the silence surrounding him. It wasn’t often that he got to have such quiet moments to himself.

And because they were so rare, only when he got the chance to savor them did he realize how much he actually hated them.

It wasn’t that he disliked being alone - on the contrary, he loved solitude a little too much for his own good. Instead, he found that whenever he allowed his mind to rest, he was assaulted by intrusive thoughts and memories that he’d rather bury deep in the back of his consciousness. Perks of being a soldier.

His eyes took in rows and columns of observations on the papers in front of him. His hand signed each and every one of them away promptly, yet his mind was drifting, conjuring up crimson fields, disgusting Titan flesh sliced in half, the blood-curdling screams of soldiers trampled off their horses or chewed to their demise. Nothing he wasn’t used to. However, that didn’t mean it didn’t make his skin crawl sometimes.

He thought back to commander Erwin, weak and thinning, laying in a hospital bed with only an arm left. Levi knew his superior was a strong man; he didn’t worry much about his recovery. What did plant the seed of doubt in his heart was the fact that somehow, the man he’d thought nearly invincible had been so badly wounded, and that alone was a strong indicator of the deep shit they all were in.

And of course, the one member in his squad that had never returned from the battlefield hung dark and heavy over his consciousness, a shadow of guilt, the same damn story repeating itself over and over again. No matter how much he tried to avoid it, it came crawling back like an awful nightmare, looming over him along with the deaths of all the other people he has trusted and cared for. Isabel and Farlan, Petra, Eld, Günther, Oruo… and now them too.

I won’t die on you, sir!

Like hell you won’t.

Their promise rang in his ears as if trying to mock him. The shadows of his consciousness sneered at him: look what happens when you decide to trust people, you twerp. Should’ve known better. Haven’t you learned your lesson?

“Tsk.” He set the cup he’d mindlessly lifted back on his desk. The tea had gone cold. He’d have to ask someone to brew him another. Not exactly pleasant, but enough to distract him from the dark path his thoughts had gone onto.

Before he could even stand up from his chair, though, loud voices boomed from downstairs through the whole hideout and caused the floor beneath his feet to vibrate. They were followed by clattering of pots and Jaeger’s unmistakable yelling, obnoxious and over dramatic as always.

So much for his quiet moment.

With an exasperated sigh, Levi picked up his cup again and left his desk and the piles of papers behind, shaking off the last of his melancholy. These damn brats can’t get anything done without wrecking havoc first…

The kitchen was right beneath his office, so all he had to do was climb down the short flight of stairs, put the cadets back in their place, ask horseface to brew him some more tea and go back upstairs. Simple enough.

He came to the sight of Eren, Jean, Mikasa, Armin, Sasha and Connie all hunched around in a compact group, chattering loudly and all over each other. Historia’s dulcet tone surprisingly prevailed amongst deeper voices, although she was nowhere to be seen.

“Wait! You need bandages before anything else! The gash in your side isn’t looking good…”

“Yeah! You’ve literally been through hell and back!” Jean marvelled.

“No, guys! They need food!” Sasha exclaimed as if she'd made a grand discovery, grabbing a half-boiled potato straight out of the pot.

“Sasha, no! The potatoes aren’t done yet-”

“Oi, what the hell is going on here?!”

“C-Captain Levi!” Jaeger stumbled back on his feet, broom in his hands, his headscarf sitting askew on his head. The huddle immediately dispersed, everyone had gone dead silent. Levi scanned the room quickly, not paying much attention to the soldiers’ faces and rolled his eyes.

“I thought I told you to clean up the kitchen, not turn it into a pigsty!” He passed a critical hand over the table, gathering up the dust in his palm and making a grimace. Cleaning supplies, pots and cups were scattered all over the floor and the table, as if the cadets had all come to a mutual agreement of dropping everything at once just to see how many white hairs Levi would gain in his hair.

“B-but-”

“Get back to work and stop yelping, you’re turning my brain into mush.”

But before he could open his mouth to bark another order at Jean, his eyes finally landed on who was once the centre of the huddle: Historia Reiss holding on to a hunched figure’s arm, obviously attempting to provide support, but ending up resembling more of a lost puppy clinging to someone’s sleeve.

“Captain Levi!” the petite girl exclaimed, a hint of relief present in her voice, “I-I went to get water from the fountain and I found them there! They seem stable, but I think they might need a doctor-”

His thoughts were running at light’s speed, yet he couldn’t get his body to wake up from its frozen state at the bottom of the stairs. What must’ve only been seconds felt like hours. As if time had decided to finally slow down, to finally stop the nonsensical blurry of days, months, years passing by only to give him a chance to breathe. A chance to understand. Was it just too good to be true?

“Captain…?” Springer trailed off, eyes bulging out of his little bald head, and quickly recoiled as Jean subtly elbowed him in the stomach. Only then did Levi notice that he had been standing among the shattered porcelain of what used to be his teacup, his hand still hanging in the air as if clinging to the ghost of the object.

The cadet finally raised their eyes from the floor, face bloodied and battered, yet still brightened by youth and devotion.

“Captain Levi… sir.” They saluted in a weak voice, raising two fingers to their temple.

Their last name rolled off Levi’s lips in a stronger tone than he thought he’d manage, yet still trailed off a bit in disbelief. Clearing his throat, he stepped over the broken porcelain.

“So. You came back, huh?” Out of all the words piled up on the tip of his tongue, begging to spill out, the best he could come up with was a rhetorical question. But the soldier still let out a dry chuckle, straightening their back as much as their wounds allowed them to. Their legs wobbled and the Ackerman girl, who had been quietly watching from the sidelines, immediately jumped in to offer extra support. Seeing the usually stone-faced Mikasa’s facial expression filled with a flurry of emotions similar to those churning in his heart allowed him to relax a bit.

“Of course.” The wounded cadet answered. “I made a promise, didn’t I?”

Levi gave a slight nod, features stoic, yet he felt his heart grow with pride in his chest. The same glint of determination glowed in their eyes as it did back then, during their rookie days, when they had placed their fist over their heart and had sworn to stay alive. He had heard the same promise come out of so many of his dead comrades’ mouths that realistically, he shouldn’t have expected this particular soldier to honor it. Yet for some reason, unknown even to himself, he had chosen to place his fragile trust in them. Maybe it had been their thirst for revenge, or their sheer willpower which, dare he say, could surpass Eren’s; whatever it had been, he did not regret it.

He drew closer, steps light as feathers on the wooden floor and took advantage of their hunched position to card his fingers through their hair, ruffling it affectionately. These damn kids keep getting taller… he thought bitterly to himself. The gesture managed to transform their wince of pain into a look of total and innocent wonder. The look in the eyes of a kid who's just got the utmost gesture of validation from a parent.

“You’re a good kid,” he conceded, patting their scalp twice before letting his hand fall back to his side. He could barely recognize the gentle tone of his own voice. “Although were you not wounded, I’d have roundhouse kicked your ass for scaring everyone like this.”

The phrase hadn’t even been that funny, in his opinion, but they let out a joyous, loud laugh, contagious to the people around them. It even pulled a chuckle out of Mikasa.

And as he stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by the laughter of youth, he finally understood. Placing his trust in these kids, fighting alongside them, protecting them with the price of his life were worth all the risks because they were humanity’s last hope. And he would do anything to one day see their joyful faces wiped clean of crimson wounds and dirt and death. Anything.

#attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot imagines #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot x reader #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #connie springer #jean kirstein #historia reiss #sasha braus

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incorrectbandofbrothersquotes · 3 years

Text

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 6

Adore You

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 4.2k

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @iilovemusic12us @hesbuckcompton-baby @tvserie-s-world @whovian45810 @50svibes If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update!

Warning(s): The beginning of this is just a touch NSFW, but nothing explicit. Also, mentions of abuse and later abortion.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

AO3 link

Chapter 6 here we go!!!

Sunlight pooled into the room above the Blue Boar, warming the skin of the two bodies tangled up in the sheets upon the bed. It illuminated for Juliet all the places Ron had touched her the night before, the memory of it as electrifying and sensual as the moment itself. She stirred to look up at his sleeping face, goosebumps erupting over her as she recalled the number of times she’d whined his name as he drew climax after climax out of her. It made her squirm against him now from her spot tucked into his side. No one had ever made love to her like that before, and she found herself hungry for more already.

To steady herself, she listened to his heart, counting the beats coming steady and strong. It didn’t help quell the ache between her thighs because she just remembered bracing herself against that firm chest as she straddled and rode him. Face growing warm with all the images of their tryst, she shifted again. This time, enough to wake him.

“Morning,” he said, voice raspy with sleep. “‘M surprised you’re up. Must not have done my job right.”

“Believe me, you did more than enough,” she returned, pressing her lips to his chest, right beside the faint marks from her fingers. Her own voice was a bit hoarse as well, but she had used it quite a bit during the evening.

“I see,” he smirked. “You want more then.”

Very few people could make Juliet Fletcher blush, but that made her cheeks burn. He was right after all. Even with everything they had done, she was eager to have him again. And again and again and again…

“Shut up,” she grumbled.

“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “Tell me what you’d rather I do with my mouth.”

She giggled at that, biting her lip as she considered his offer. “I want it on mine.”

True to his word, he said nothing, but pulled her close for a deep, heated kiss. Their lips were still slightly swollen from the night before, but it didn’t stop them. There was no rush this morning, just gentle exploration, soft moans, and slow hands.

As his mouth trailed from her jawline to her collarbone, he stopped, something on her skin standing out to him - something he hadn’t noticed in the night. A circular, red scar where her collarbone met her shoulder. He gently touched it with his index finger.

“Birthmark?” he guessed, but something in his gut told him he was wrong.

She shook her head. “Scar. The cigar was a pretty typical threat for Dad, but he made good on it once when I got carried away with back chat. And Billy wasn’t around.”

His face shifted just slightly when his jaw stiffened and his mouth turned down. “How old were you?”

“Ten,” she told him. “I don’t even remember what I said or why we were fighting. But I remember the pain, that’s for sure.”

He met her gaze. “You’re awfully casual about something like that.”

“It was so long ago,” she returned with half a shrug. “Honestly, I forget it’s there most of the time. And he’s gone now.”

The way she averted her eyes told him it bothered her more than she was letting on, but he didn’t pry. Instead, he pressed his lips to the scar in a display of tenderness that nearly took her breath away. It did not erase what her father had done, but it felt more healed than it ever had before.

After their morning round, they decided they needed food or they’d never be able to keep this up. So they headed downstairs.

Juliet hummed through most of breakfast, which was a stroke to Ron’s ego, but he didn’t mention it. He just watched her pop a bit of food into her mouth and do her little in-seat dance that was fucking precious in his opinion and appreciated that he was with her. It seemed odd that the last time they’d had breakfast, they were perfect strangers. Just a few weeks later, they knew each other...well, intimately.

“Why the book?” he asked suddenly.

She looked at him mid-bite into some toast. “Hm?”

“Why did the book make you kiss me?” he said.

“It really wasn’t the book to be perfectly honest,” she said, setting the toast back on her plate. “It was what you did to get it.”

He cocked his head to the side questioningly as he took a sip of his coffee.

“The whole making up multiple bidders, and choosing Humphrey Bogart as the winning name,” she explained. “And then how much you paid for it. No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.”

“No way,” he returned. “Not even when you were engaged?”

She shook her head. “Arthur was...a very self-centered man. He wasn’t unkind, but he had a role he wanted me to fulfill. And I was expected to do it without him putting in any effort to keep me there. I think...he always thought I was lucky to have him. So he never took on any grand gestures.”

“I’d hardly call bidding on your book a grand gesture,” he replied, unsure what else to say to that. Putting effort into someone you liked? Wasn’t that setting the bar a little low? That felt like the bare minimum. He had always thought of love as two people sort of earning each other, and continuing to prove that they cared.

“It was to me,” she said, her voice soft and just a smidge quieter than usual. Which told him she was really touched by what he’d done. It didn’t surprise him since apparently the only man who had never let her down was her brother. “Thank you.”

“Well, don’t get too mushy, I mostly did it so I can make fun of you,” he said, lightening the mood.

She snorted. “You’ll get loads of material from that, trust me.”

“You’re not afraid of what I’ll find?” he asked.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she shot back, a determined gleam in her eye.

For a moment, he believed her. She did seem to put almost her whole self out there for the world to see, so ready to take a risk. With the father she had and the heartbreak she’d endured, it would have been especially understandable for her to be afraid of everything and everyone. But she took the world head on, and had even opened herself up to him, without once asking him for any sort of promise for a future. She was so remarkable to him, he just sat back and admired her. Until she froze and the color drained from her face.

“Jules?”

She didn’t answer him, she only stared at a spot on the table, eyes fixed on something in the middle. He followed her gaze and saw a small spider, maybe a couple centimeters long, creeping across the wood.

“Juliet?”

“Fucking shit!” she cried, leaping from her seat. The chair scraped against the floor before toppling onto its side as she scampered away, pressing her body into the wall on the other side of the pub. “Ron, you have to kill it!”

He gaped at her, utterly astounded. “Are you serious?”

Her ghost-like complexion told him she was, but she nodded her head anyway, eyes wide with paralyzing fear.

“Spiders?” he questioned. “That’s what gets you?”

“They’re creepy!” she insisted. “It’s perfectly normal to be -”

“It’s the size of a -”

“I DON’T GIVE A GOOD GODDAMN HOW BIG IT IS, RON, JUST KILL THE BLOODY THING!”

Resisting the urge to laugh, he picked up a napkin and slapped it down over the spider, wiping it away before balling it up and walking it over to a trash bin to dispose of the remains. When the coast was clear, he approached her and she shuddered.

“Ugh, I still feel it on me,” she said.

“It never touched you,” he reminded her.

She scowled. “Look at my face.”

“I am looking at your face.”

“Does it look like I want to be sassed?”

“It does not.”

“Then keep your little opinions to yourself.”

“Not an opinion,” he returned. “It really didn’t touch you.”

“What did I just say?” she shot back.

“You’re being unreasonable,” he said.

“Okay, and?”

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s just finish breakfast.”

“No way!” she cried. “I’m not going back over there, what if there are more of them?”

“There aren’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually, I was just there.”

“Can’t we just leave?” she asked.

“Juliet, I promise if there are any more spiders, I will kill them just as swiftly and mercilessly as this one,” he said. “Let’s finish our meal.”

She eyed him skeptically, as if at any moment he would open up his jacket to reveal a secret stash of spiders just waiting to assault her, but he only held out his hand. Reluctantly, she took it and allowed him to lead her back to the table. He resumed his seat right away, but she inspected hers first. Satisfied there were no more spiders, she sat.

He sipped his coffee. “So, is it just spiders or all bugs?”

“Spiders, mostly,” she answered. “Other bugs I can take care of myself.”

“Why spiders, then?”

“It’s just a thing,” she said with a shrug. “I can’t explain it.”

He could have argued there was a lot about her that couldn’t be explained, but decided against pointing that out. He just took another sip of coffee. She reached for her fork.

“Juliet, wait!” he said urgently. “I think I see another one!”

She screamed and hurled the fork away from her. It soared over to the adjacent table and clattered onto it before skidding to a stop. She looked over at it, chest heaving with her frightened breaths. Incidentally, it was free of any creatures. She glowered at Ron and the infuriating smirk on his face.

“That’s not funny,” she grumbled.

“It’s a little funny,” he returned.

“I loathe you right now.”

“I can live with that.”

She snatched his fork from in front of him and used it instead. “You’re a bully.”

“Eat your eggs,” he replied.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she retorted.

He shot her a steely look, and she stuck her tongue out at him before taking a bite of her eggs. She chewed and swallowed.

“That’s a good dad look you’ve got there,” she said. “D’you use it on your subordinates?”

“Dad look?” he questioned.

“Y’know, the stern look,” she said. “You pull it off well.”

“You seeing that as paternal is only a little bit disturbing,” he replied.

“That’s fair,” she conceded. “I didn’t have the best example.”

“I’d say you probably had one of the worst,” he said.

“Wouldn’t fight you there.”

“To answer your question, if my men disappoint me, I make it known, in whatever way the situation calls for,” he said.

“That’s...vague,” she said.

He only shrugged again before he changed the subject. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“I’m actually taking the train to Trowbridge to interview the defense attorney for the Lee case,” she said. “I should be back by this evening, though.”

“You want some company?” he offered. “We don’t have any training going on today.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Sure,” he said. “Despite your attitude, I kinda like spending time with you.”

“Flattering,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I actually...would love that. Thank you.”

Once again, something so basic was - to her - going above and beyond. It was clear to him that Juliet had become accustomed to a certain level of interest in her, and it was low. He hoped to prove otherwise.

***

Trowbridge was not much bigger than Aldbourne, there was just more going on since it was the capital of the county. Juliet was meeting the defense attorney at his office, and she confessed to Ron she was a bit nervous about the interview. He wasn’t an attorney that worked for the government, he was in private practice. His name was Harvey Cooper, and when Juliet had done some background on him, she discovered he was well-known for cases like the Lee case. He had actually sought out Meredith Fisher when the police report came through about Peggy’s body. There was a lot that could go wrong, but Ron reminded her that there was also a lot that could go well.

They arrived at the office, where they were greeted by a secretary. Harvey emerged from his office with a smile that would have been more appropriate for a salesman than a defense attorney for a murder case. He shook Juliet’s hand, accepted without question that Ron was her photographer, and took them back to his office. He gave a brief, cheerful tour of the place, explaining that he’d done some updating, but was limited because of the war. Juliet and Ron exchanged a surprised look at the man’s chipper disposition.

“Well, Miss Fletcher, I must say I’m surprised you’re working this story,” Harvey said as they all took seats in his office, Juliet and Ron on one of the desk, and Harvey on the other. “I read some past issues of the London Pursuit, and saw you were an entertainment writer.”

“Yes,” she said gracefully. “I got a bit of a promotion, you see, with the majority of the men otherwise occupied.”

“Sure, sure,” Harvey replied. “Of course, in my line of work, I’m more than aware of what women are capable of.”

Ron watched Juliet’s careful disguise of her distaste to that remark. She forced a smile and tucked her hair behind her ear, before retrieving her notepad and pencil from her bag.

“Certainly,” she said. “Which brings me to the point at hand. I’ve spoken to the prosecution about Meredith Fisher’s case, and the evidence is really strong. How do you plan to plead?”

“Not guilty,” Harvey answered simply.

“On what grounds?” she asked, unsurprised by that answer.

“Institutional failure,” he said.

That took her aback. She blinked for a moment and sat back in her seat. “Institutional failure?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Operation Pied Piper was under prepared and under planned. According to my research, no one vetted any of the families who agreed to take in children. If you signed up, you were approved, no questions asked.”

Juliet’s brow furrowed. “While that’s certainly interesting, it doesn’t absolve Mrs. Fisher of responsibility for her individual actions. No other unvetted family has done this.”

“But they could have,” he insisted. “I believe Mrs. Fisher is being made into a scapegoat for something that could have reasonably happened to any number of the children who were part of the program.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and Ron watched her. He could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Ron didn’t quite understand it either - it was a flimsy argument.

“Are you...are you taking the piss?” she questioned.

“Not in the slightest,” Harvey said.

“Mr. Cooper, that argument is generally only used in civil cases for things like job termination,” she said. “This is murder. And it didn’t happen to any of the other children. Mrs. Fisher isn’t a stand in for something that’s been happening nationwide, this is a single instance.”

“But, if the committee in Parliament had done its job, Peggy Lee would never have gone to the Fisher home,” he said.

“Why?” Juliet pressed. “Does Mrs. Fisher have a record of violence?”

“No, but one interview could have told them that she had no children of her own,” he said. “They never could conceive - a naturally devastating thing for a woman. Who would trust her with a child after discovering that?”

She froze, and Ron watched something flash behind her eyes. A storm was brewing inside her, a hellish anger at the implication there. He didn’t agree with what Harvey was saying either, but that was just the sort of comment that set Juliet off.

“Your entire argument is childless women being unhinged simply because they are childless,” she said, and there was a strain on her voice to keep it level. “There are plenty of women who cannot have children who do not go around murdering other people’s, myself included. Your head is up your ass if you think this will be an acceptable defense in a court of law!”

It took Ron a moment to fully absorb what she had just admitted. He wondered for a fleeting second if Juliet was bluffing, but she was too ethical. In situations like this, she wouldn’t lie - not about something so serious. He also wondered if it was something he could ask her about, but that was a conversation for later.

“Any doctor would diagnose her as unstable,” Harvey said, face darkening. “And I don’t appreciate your tone, Miss Fletcher.”

“I don’t appreciate your ignorance, Mr. Cooper,” she shot back. “She wasn’t diagnosed as anything except woman, and that was by you, not a doctor.”

“Hold on -”

“So if I - I dunno - leapt over this desk and strangled you,” she cut across him, and Ron held back a laugh. “You would reasonably expect another attorney to argue that it’s the responsibility of the London Pursuit because they should have known, say, that my ex-fiancée was an attorney therefore I’m more likely to kill one? Because scorned women are known to be more furious?”

“That’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same, only in your case, worse,” she snapped. “A child is dead, and you are making a mockery of the fight for justice.”

“I’m doing my job -”

“Your job should entail getting Mrs. Fisher evaluated by a doctor and arguing down her sentence based on her mental capacity,” she returned. “Instead, you are reducing her to a monster because she is unable to give birth.”

“I’m not -”

“Even if it were true - which it isn't,” she interrupted him again. “It would still be her own fault for putting her hands on a child!”

Harvey slammed his hands down on his desk, which prompted Ron to get to his feet, but Juliet didn’t even flinch. She stared that lawyer down as if they were in the courtroom already and she was the cross examiner. She was so unafraid it was almost difficult to believe that just hours ago a little spider had sent her running across the room.

“Miss Fletcher,” Harvey said levelly, casting a sideways glance at Ron. “You clearly came into this interview with your mind made up about my client and this case. I must ask you to leave.”

She stood up. “You’re right, I did come in here with my mind made up,” she said. “But that’s because I’ve got the facts. Unlike you, Mr. Cooper, I do not rely on drollery to do my job.”

“That’s a bold statement coming from a woman -”

“Do not ever reduce me to my sex, Mr. Cooper,” she snapped. “Yours certainly will not protect you from being intentionally stripped of your dignity.”

With that, she turned on her heel and swept out of the office. Harvey stood up. He went around his desk and started after her.

“Hold on, what does that mean?!” he called.

Ron intercepted him at the doorway, stopping Harvey with a hand to the chest.

“No,” Ron said simply, with a warning look. It went without saying that Ron had about fifty pounds on Harvey, so if he followed them out, there would be consequences. When that was well understood, Ron went after Juliet.

She was already outside by the time he caught up, and she was waiting for him. The wind blew her hair, and he was briefly struck by how attractive she looked. He was already aroused by how she did in the interview. When he wasn’t on the receiving end of her ranting, it really was something. It was something when he was, but ultimately more enjoyable when it was directed at someone else. Because he could just sit back to watch her go and admire her.

“Well done back there,” he said.

“What an absolute wanker,” she said. “Institutional failure, what a fucking joke. And how insulting for Mrs. Fisher. Everyone deserves a lawyer who takes them seriously. And he clearly doesn’t.”

He only nodded in agreement. “What did you mean by the dignity stripping comment?”

“I can’t print anything about this until the trial happens, but believe me, that conversation will be included in the article,” she said. “I’m not normally one to get set on taking someone down, but if he seeks cases like this out just to pull stunts like that, the public should be aware.”

Her face was red with frustration and her pace had quickened. Luckily, Ron had no trouble keeping up since his strides were longer than hers. His own heart was racing, but mostly out of his excitement about her. When there was a break in the buildings, he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into the alleyway, pinning her against the wall. He stifled her yelp of surprise with a searing kiss. He wanted to show her how much he felt for her. She was smart, passionate, and annoyingly ethical, but he adored her. Seeing her in action only reinforced just how much.

She moaned into his mouth before they broke apart for air, but clung to his jacket so he wouldn’t get too far away. Her eyes took a moment to re-focus on him after the dizzying intensity of his kiss.

“You’re incredible,” he breathed.

She searched his face for something behind his words, but found him genuine. “Thank you.”

She bit her lip as she looked him up and down, that hunger from the morning returning to her. She craved him again, and when he smirked she knew he was aware of the effect he had.

“God, what’s wrong with me?” she sighed, shaking her head.

“Plenty, but I really like you anyway,” he returned, and she beamed. “You wanna get back to Aldbourne?”

She nodded eagerly. “God, yes.”

He turned to get onto the street again, but she pulled him back for another kiss, this one just a little longer than the last.

It was on the train back to Aldbourne that he decided to inquire about what he heard her say in Harvey’s office. Her head rested on his shoulder as the countryside whizzed by, slowly disappearing as the sun sank behind the horizon. He looked at the yellow glow on her face and couldn’t help himself.

“You really can’t have children?” he asked.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Oh, crikey, I almost forgot I mentioned that.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if -”

“No, it’s quite alright,” she assured him as she sat up. “We are sleeping together, so you’ve got a right to know.” She paused and looked down at her lap before continuing. “I was pregnant once. By a man I’d been seeing only a few weeks. But I was nineteen years old and terrified of what life would be like with a child I didn’t really want.” She fiddled with the handles of her bag. “So I made the decision to terminate. Only, something went wrong, and I was told because of the mistake, I’d be unable to have children. That’s the long and short of it.”

The confession should have been shocking, but he found himself remarkably indifferent. He wanted to know more about it, but the act itself did not bother him in the slightest.

“Did you tell the father?” he wondered.

She shook her head. “No. I’d made up my mind and I didn’t want him to try and persuade me to change it.”

“So you went alone?” he asked.

“No, Billy took me,” she told him. “No questions asked. He was the only one who understood.”

“Understood?”

“I wasn’t ready for marriage or a child,” she explained. “I had so much more I wanted to do with my life.” She met his gaze. “And I’ve done it.”

“So, no regrets, then?” he questioned hesitantly.

She pondered that, glancing out the window before looking back at his face. “Not really, no. I’m not suited for motherhood, anyway.” She bit her lip. “Is that...is that a problem?”

Honestly, he had not thought much about the future, especially since the war started. It was dangerous to hope. Juliet had awakened some of that in him - some glimmer of faith that he could go to war and come back to her. But children? He had never thought that far ahead, so life without them didn’t feel like a disappointment. He just wanted her.

“No, not at all,” he replied.

She visibly relaxed at that, letting out a low breath before easing herself back into his side. Before she got there, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and made her look at him once more.

“And by the way, we’re more than just sleeping together,” he said, and he kissed her smile.

She settled against him and closed her eyes. He draped his arm around her shoulders. They were content.

#ron speirs #band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #juliet fletcher #roliet #you better you better you bet series #ron speirs x ofc #band of brothers fic #band of brothers ofc

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marueonmain · 3 years

Text

Sun Would Be Good ~ ImAllexx (1/2)

Summary: Y/N tries to help Alex out during a difficult time.

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Language. Themes of Self-Deprecation. Depression Talk.

Word Count: 1.5k

Y/N unlocked the front door to her boyfriend’s apartment using the one copy of the key Alex was ever given. He said he would not need it for himself as George was always in.

“Hello? Alex?” Y/N called out. She looked to the undisturbed sofa and glanced into the empty kitchen as she walked through the familiar space. Closing in on Alex’s bedroom, she thought she would have heard something like his presentation voice as he spoke to a camera or the electronic fanfare of a video game or dialogue from a Harry Potter film like he had her watch with him a hundred times before.

There was no such sound – none at all.

KNOCK. KNOCK. Y/N opened the door to Alex’s bedroom. It was about the same as it always was: trashed: wrinkled clothes sat in heaps on the floor and on his desk were plastic cups half-full with flat drinks and frappuccinos with just a few centimeters of whipped topping left at the bottom. His bed bore crumpled sheets and a balled-up duvet hiding every part of the young man save a socked foot dangling off the edge and his button nose poking out for fresh air.

Yes. It was about the same as it always was; still, there was one small yet stark difference. It was dark. Alex was never one to rise in the morning, and yank open his curtains to the bright sun outside. But he did usually have his ceiling light on during the day – however dim and horribly yellow-tinted it was.

Y/N crossed to Alex’s bed. On the low and narrow table near his headboard was his phone plugged into a short charger. Y/N turned it over in her hand. It read: 15:20. And under the time were all the notifications of her messages to him – unnoticed and unread. He had switched his phone to silent.

Y/N considered that maybe Alex had slept in that long because he needed to; he stayed up so late, so consistently. She debated the idea for another minute until she found she simply could not convince herself that it was just a normal lie in. Alex was not even asleep – or he was not anymore – as he retracted his foot, tucking it back under the duvet, and released a not-so-quiet groan of discontent.

Besides the rustling of sheets and their collective breathing, there was another sound – running water. Y/N put the phone back face-down on the table and left for the ensuite. It, too, was trashed. Y/N flicked on the light. All the stuff Alex kept out of sight – toothbrush, nail cutter, polish, unopened tin of hair balm – were strewn about. A thin line of water fell from the tap. Y/N turned it off, and when she did, she noticed a razor without its disposable blade lying in the sink. She took a step back. Looking around, her eyes landed first on the empty towel rail, then the disposable blade sat on the floor in a splat of shaving foam.

Y/N picked up the blade, ran it under water, reattached it, and left the razor on the counter round the sink. She returned to the bedroom and to Alex, who was still hiding under his duvet in the middle of an unkempt bed in a dark room.

Y/N spoke for the first time since seeing him. “Alex, love. Are you awake?” She knew the answer already.

The lump in the middle of the bed did not move; a voice came from within it. It was faint as if carried on a breath rather than pushed out with intent, “Yeah.”

“What’s happened in there?” She tipped her head in the direction of the ensuite despite knowing Alex could not see the gesture before sitting gingerly on the end of his bed.

“All I wanted, yeah?” Alex interrupted himself with an exasperated sigh then started again, this time sounding like he was speaking through clenched teeth, “All I wanted was to shave. I couldn’t— I thought I could shave, but no. I didn’t leave the shaving foam where I always leave it, and it took me forever to find it. Then the razor breaks the second it touches my skin. And I couldn’t find the blade to put it back together. And then it’s like, who cares at that point? I’m not going out anyway, nobody cares if I shave, nobody cares to see me. And now I’m saying it all out loud, and I sound so stupid, but I just wanted to be able to do one thing – that’s it – one fucking thing!”

Y/N made a closed fist and tapped it against where she figured her boyfriend’s legs were hidden under the duvet. She cleared her throat. “How about you get up, huh? We can go out for breakfast.”

“I can’t go out right now.”

“You don’t even have to brush your hair or anything,” she said as her eyes scanned the floor; she spotted his black TikTok bucket hat. “You can just throw on a hat. I look a mess anyway.”

Alex waited, then whispered a gentle plea, “Go away, Y/N.”

“I know, ok? I know it’s difficult.” Y/N’s throat tightened. “It’s difficult, but it isn’t helping you to sit in the dark with whatever is going on in your head right now.”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe breakfast is a lot to ask. I don’t mean to be pushy; I just—”

Underneath the lump, Alex shifted from lying on his side to his stomach, as evident when his voice became muffled like it was being filtered through a pillow. “Leave me alone.”

“I want to be able to help. Could you help me to understand what I can do?”

“I want to sleep.”

“Do you think you could sit up? Nothing else, no going anywhere, just sitting up.”

Alex ripped the duvet off himself, throwing his arm out with a hard and quick movement like he was trying to rid himself of the appendage; it was a wonder he did not dislocate his elbow. Y/N got her first good look at his face: messy hair weighed down with grease and eyes so bloodshot that she subconsciously scratched at her own to relieve some phantom irritation.

“Fuck off! Alright, Y/N? Is that clear enough for you?” As the last accusatory word left his mouth, the regret was already plain on his face. His features softened, and he pulled into himself.

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t mean that.” Y/N tried to keep her composure because she still understood despite how blindsided she was at the outburst. She understood the potholes in the road to recovery and management; she understood a depressive episode. And how Alex might not have recognized he was in one.

It must have been just as difficult for him as it was for her to realize when she had slipped. Her descent was always slow, gradual enough that she could normalize everything. Instead of thinking it odd she had not brushed her hair in three days, she would simply wake up on the fourth and ask herself: Why do it today? I haven’t the last three. Instead of reflecting on the unreasonableness of how one small thing going wrong caused her to scream out in unjust anger or caused tears to spring to her eyes, she reasoned with herself: I’m just sensitive, I know that.

Y/N empathized with how Alex’s episode was causing him to be disproportionately irritable and to respond inappropriately to not being able to shave, a little annoyance that he would otherwise brush off easily or not care about at all.

“Sorry.” Alex untangled himself from his sheets. It was slow going as he moved like it was not him controlling his body, like he was on strings. He dragged himself up into a seated position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Not meeting Y/N’s gaze, he said, with hesitation, “Sun would be good. I think. Would you want to go for a walk with me?”

Y/N smiled genuinely for the first time that afternoon. “Absolutely.”

“I need to change; would you mind grabbing my shoes? I kicked ‘em off last night near the sofa.”

Y/N nodded. She crossed the room and took two steps out of his bedroom – SLAM – she jumped at the sound of Alex throwing his door closed behind her. Y/N turned around and tried the handle – locked.

“You’re not serious,” Y/N muttered. She pulled harder on the handle as if her strength were the issue; she raised her voice, “Are you serious?! Alex!”

Surely not. Y/N let her hand drop limp from the door handle. Not Alex. Not my sweet boyfriend, the clingiest and softest man I’ve ever met. He hadn’t slammed a door in my face. No. Surely not. And if he had…? She stood there – at the door – not because she was waiting for Alex to open it. To laugh and call it a joke even though it was far from funny. No. She stood there because she just did not think to go anywhere else. Y/N was consumed in all her worst thoughts. It was just what she had tried to stop Alex from doing. And now I’ve failed twice.

#imallexx #imallexx imagine #imallexx x reader #alex elmslie #alex elmslie imagine #alex elmslie x reader

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pengychan · 3 years

Text

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 24

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: the problem with Ernesto’s murderous plans is that they tend to only have a 50% success rate. Art is by @lunaescribe and @swanpit

***

“... And you killed how many Villistas?”

“Ah, I lost count. At least thirty.”

“Five, more like!”

“Shut up! Maybe some were just wounded, but I killed no less than twenty of Villa’s bastards, at any rate.”

“Sí, sí, and then you wounded Pancho Villa himself. One would think that with such a warrior among us, getting through the Zapatistas on our way here would have been a child’s play. I didn’t see you hit a single one. Did you forget how to shoot in the meantime?”

“Ah, shut up. They fought better, is all. Everyone knows Zapata and his followers are twice the mad dogs as everybody else, and I did hit one!”

“Your own shoe doesn’t count, pendejo.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“You’re so full of--”

As an argument broke out, Héctor watched Gustavo sigh and fall back a few paces with his horse. His attempts at buttering up the soldiers to get any sort of useful information had amounted to nothing, when they hadn’t straight-up started an argument like that one. The only question he was able to get a real answer to was why Commander Hernández hadn't allowed them to spend the evening and night in Santa Cecilia before setting off.

“Ay, he won’t hear of it,” a soldier had replied. “He heard of a battalion that was decimated like that - they stayed in a village overnight, but turns out it was chock-full of traitors and they called their friends in during the night, and the men were slaughtered before they could grab a gun. So he’s paranoid about that.”

The expression that crossed Gustavo’s face for a moment, that of a man who just sucked on a lemon, had been enough to tell Héctor that was very much something he had hoped to pull off in Santa Cecilia. Unaware of that, the man - “call me Chucho”, he had said - had added: “It’s a myth if you ask me, more likely all of them just got sick of this shit and deserted.”

“Can’t blame them,” someone had muttered only a couple of paces behind Héctor, only to be immediately shushed by no less than ten of his comrades.

“Shut up, idiota!”

“You want the commander to nail you to a telegraph pole or what!”

“He’s off ahead scouting anyway,” the man had muttered, and promptly fallen in a sullen silence. Morale was low, Héctor had quickly realized; he had been aware of the fact the war was not going all that well for the Federal Army, but this was the first time he saw its effects on the troops. All things considered, he got the distinct feeling most of those men didn’t want to be there a hell of a lot more than Ernesto had.

Only that Ernesto had seized his moment to escape, and they were still stuck.

“-- shoot that cigarette off your mouth from a hundred paces, and if you don't believe--”

“Amazing, think you can hit the men attached to the cigarettes every once in a while, too?”

“If what you're asking is a bullet through your brain--!”

“Brain might be a big word there…”

“Shut your mouth, Nachito!”

As the argument continued, Héctor did his best to tune it out and reached into his saddle bag for the water. They had been warned the water rations were scarce and he had been trying not to drink too much, but they had been riding under the sun for hours, he’d been sweating half his body weight, and there seemed to be no moisture left in his mouth. At least the sun was starting to get lower at the horizon, evening not too far away.

Héctor wondered how they’d spend the night. Would they make camp? Just sit around fires, rifle in hand, and try to shut their eyes for a few hours before they kept marching on? Surely someone would stand guard, were the revolutionaries really going to catch up as Gustavo seemed to think they would? Would there be a battle? How many would come? Or would they decided a few men off Santa Cecilia was not a big enough loss to bother--

“Water?”

“Huh?”

Héctor looked up to see a man riding next to him, holding out a flask of water. He seemed about his age, maybe a little younger, an attempt at a mustache on his upper lip and an uniform almost as ill-fitting as his own. He tried to smile, grimaced at the heat, and awkwardly avoided his gaze at the same time.

“You, uh. If you want water.”

“Ah. I’m getting mine, don’t worry. I don’t want to take your ration.”

“... Right,” the young man muttered, and kept riding by his side. Héctor took a couple of sips from his flask, just enough to make his mouth feel a little less like an entire desert had moved in, and glanced back towards the man. He seemed to hesitate, but as Héctor rather expected he finally spoke again. “So you are, uh, a novice?”

“I… I was, I suppose. I suspect leaving the parish to join the Federal Army means that’s going to lapse,” he said, trying to smile like the idea was funny. The man didn’t seem amused, and Héctor cleared his throat. “... My name’s Héctor, by the way.”

A nod. “Alejandro,” the man replied. “Look, me and the others - several of the others, we… I mean, back there, when the commander shot the gringo-- I mean, the priest, I would have never,” he finally blurted out, holding onto the reins so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Ah.

Héctor had barely looked at Father John’s body on the cobblestones, focused as he was on the fact that man had Miguel, but the mental image had still been lingering in the back of his mind ever since they left. The pool of blood, the way it got into every crack, the sticky warmth of it through his robes when his knees hit the ground.

Some men had taken him away to get him help, he knew, and the Federales had allowed it, but Héctor had no idea if any help would even be possible. He was probably dead, for trying to reason with someone utterly unreasonable, for trying to save Miguel.

He found his martyrdom, at last.

Something in Héctor’s chest ached; the gringo was not a simple man to get along with, easy to despise and quick to judge, but he had tried to do the right thing and he did not deserve a bullet for it. Perhaps taking note of his pained expression, the young man fidgeted.

“Maybe God will save him,” he murmured, and swallowed. “I… we wanted to ask… do you think God will curse us for this? For shooting down one of His servants?”

Why ask me, Héctor almost replied, but then again it was the sort of question one would ask to a priest and he was the closest thing to one those men had at hand. Part of him wanted to believe God would indeed curse them, all of them, Huerta’s damn Federales - but as he looked around himself now, those men who’d seemed to terrifying looked so tired, dirty from days of travel, many of them young and probably wearing their uniforms no more willingly than he did.

How many had been taken the way they were in the first place?

“There is no mercy in war,” he remembered Ernesto saying when he was found out and they confronted him. “They die or you do. On and on, day after day, until you forget you’re looking at humans because it gets easier if you get that detail out of your mind.”

“... The Church says that as long as there is regret, all can be forgiven,” he found himself saying instead. Alejandro nodded, but he looked far from reassured and just fell silent as they rode on towards the top of a hill they were never going to get past.

***

“Those bastards were supposed to come through San Luz!”

Arms still aching and palms burning from the friction with the rope, Sofía made it down the belltower and to the churchyard just on time to hear the frustrated shout. Right before the church were maybe twenty men and women on horses, all of them armed, being filled in on what had happened by a few very confused bystanders who likely had no idea what was going on but were relieved that these new visitors were not Federales at least.

As Sofía approached with quick steps, the man turned his horse to face her. “Gustavo--” he began, and trailed off. He blinked. “... You’re not Gustavo.”

Sharp as a knife, this one. Nice to see we’re in good hands.

“Gustavo went with them. He told me to call for you,” she added, pointing up to the belltower, where the bell still swung slowly. “He said I should tell you to follow the trail.”

The man seemed taken aback, then he nodded. “Very well. What direction did they--”

“They took the road west, through the hills.”

Imelda’s voice rang out suddenly, causing several heads to turn. She was riding an aging horse that had belonged to her family for years, but that was not what made Sofía raise an eyebrow.

The robes were gone, replaced by a gown and a blouse, a belt at her waist with ammunition and the pistol they had taken from Ernesto’s room. Her head was uncovered, her jaw set; the man stared at her a few moments before he tilted his head in recognition.

“... Sister. I was hoping to meet you again in better circumstances than this.”

“José. You probably already gathered as much, but the Federales that took our men outnumber you, at least three to one. I assume you could use an extra pair of hands.”

“We could,” one of the women spoke up. She spurred her own horse closer to Imelda, a rifle slung over her shoulder. Her hair was braided back, showing a still healing cut on the side of her head. “How much practice did you get with that pistol?”

Imelda met her gaze. “Not much. I’ll have to hope what practice I could get will be enough.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then I die. Not the first or last.”

The woman smiled. “Very well. We’ll need someone to tell us what men not to shoot, after all, in case Gustavo can’t,” she added, and turned to look back at the man she’d called José. At this point, Sofía suspected she may have been mistaken in her assumption he was the leader there. “They can’t have gone very far, with the supplies and carts they took. We can catch up with them. Gabriel, you and I go ahead to dispatch anyone guarding the back of the column. If we don’t take them by surprise we’re fucked.”

“Well, you heard her, everyone. Let’s get going!”

As they kicked the flanks of their horses to get moving, Imelda looked back, and her gaze met Sofía’s. “... Sister,” she said, “I should mention this marks the end of my novitiate.”

Something gripping her throat - don’t die out there, she wanted to say - Sofía managed a smile. Trying to talk Imelda out of her plan, she knew, would be absolutely fruitless. “About time,” she said instead. “Go take back your stupid fiancé.”

The smile Imelda gave was sharp, telling her clearly that she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Not that Sofía had doubted that even for a moment.

“You can be certain I will,” she said, and kicked the flanks of her horse, riding off.

“Ay, a novio,” one of the men muttered as he rode past. “And my heart breaks already.”

We had enough heartbreak as is for the day, Sofía thought, but said nothing. Instead she turned away from the galloping horses and let her gaze wander across the parish grounds. A few men were running off to grab what horses and hunting rifles they had and join the rescue party, but no trace of Ernesto. He’d returned, she knew, but no one had seen him since.

Where in the world is that idiota hiding now?

***

Following the trail left behind by the column of Federales - the imprint of hooves, the wheels of carts, the cigarette butts they left in their wake - was easier than finding gonorrhea in a brothel.

Well, at least Ernesto supposed it was; he wouldn’t really know, as he had never in his life had gonorrhea or needed to resort to a brothel for pleasurable company in the first place. His good looks and charm had served him well enough with men and women alike, as Juan could testify.

Except that Juan was dead, shot like a dog in the middle of the plaza, what little color he had on his face draining away along with the blood; Ernesto had not seen it happen, but he could imagine it all too well each time he closed his eyes against the merciless July sun.

Juan could never testify anything anymore, nor roll his eyes or start a lecture whenever Ernesto said something outrageous. He was far enough from Santa Cecilia that he could barely hear the bell anymore, but its toll was still ringing in his head, in every thudding beat of his heart.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

I want them dead.

Sweat dripped into his eyes and down his cheeks, or so he told himself. Ernesto kicked the donkey’s flanks to make the stupid animal go faster, the reins of the other clutched tight in his hand, and wiped his forehead, teeth clenched hard. He clung to his fury, allowed himself to bare his teeth in something resembling a smile as his gaze fell on the caskets of wine. Holy wine, plus a special ingredient courtesy of the parish’s old rat problem.

He would see them dead. He would see them writhe and suffer, and he’d let them know it was by his hand; Juan would probably disapprove, that stupid stuck-up gringo, but he was no longer there to talk him out of it. He was no longer there to disapprove of him, and someone had to pay for it. How gracious of God’s church to provide the means to make it happen. Perhaps it was his will, after all, and who was he not to help along divine will?

Todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina, Juan had said.

Todo modo. Todo modo. Todo modo.

Ernesto let the words echo in his head until they drowned out all noise from the bell, or perhaps it had stopped ringing, or he simply got too far for its sound to reach him anymore. He pressed on through the dusty path and up yet another hill until finally, finally, he saw it just below: a long column of men who were not long for that world. A few men at the back were looking up towards him, surely there to guard against rear attacks. But they saw no rebels there: only a priest, far more charming than the one they’d shot dead in Santa Cecilia.

Ernesto stared for a few moments, and finally let out a long breath, relaxing his frame. He wiped sweat off his face, opened his eyes, and smiled. A real smile, not a grimace; the easy, charming expression that got him in the good graces of men and women alike oh so quickly.

Who would refuse a blessing in those difficult times? Who’d turn away a friendly face? Who wouldn’t accept some holy wine to wash down the dust and dirt? With some luck, it would be the last thing they’d do before they got to confess their sins to San Pedro himself.

Good luck explaining away the murder of a man of the Church, Ernesto thought, and got the donkeys moving down the hill as quickly as he could. No turning back now, not anymore.

The thought did cross his mind for the briefest moment - what if they see through me, what if they recognize me - but it hardly even registered. At that point he was one deserter among thousands and he’d left his battalion as it headed north, with no plans to go back down towards Oaxaca. Chances any of those men came from his battalion were vanishingly thin, he thought, and to be fair he was almost entirely correct in that assumption. Just almost.

Ernesto de la Cruz kept clambering down the hill on top of his donkey, with the smile of a friendly priest eager to deliver a very special blessing to the heroes of Mexico.

***

He wasn’t there, either. The slippery bastard wasn’t anywhere.

Santiago kicked his horse’s sides again, hands clenching on the reins. He had gone off ahead, ostensibly to scout for any sort of possible ambush, but truth be told it was only an excuse to be alone with his storming thoughts for a time.

He already knew there would be no ambush: the idiots were still waiting for them in San Luz, or had given up waiting and were drinking themselves into a stupor, which was just as likely. A few more miles, and then they could circle back to take them by surprise in the middle of the night.He’d toyed with the idea before, but it was not the current plan: he and his men were expected in Yucatan within days, which left them short on time.

But it was… tempting, nonetheless.

We could get some scum out of the way. And maybe de la Cruz is hiding there, or passed by. Someone might know something. Someone might talk.

Santiago closed his eyes and lifted his head, letting the sun beat down on his face. It had been a scorching hot day when he had found Alberto’s body, too, shot in the back of the head and left to feed carrion birds by the monster who’d greeted them that morning with a smile before they went off on patrol together.

It should have been Santiago out on patrol with Ernesto de la Cruz that day. It was his turn; it should have been him to fall face down in the sand with his brains blown out. But he’d pulled a muscle in his back the previous evening, riding felt like having hot rods pushed into his spine, and Beto had offered to take my place.

Said I owed him a drink. What wouldn’t I give to pay back that debt.

Monster, the gringo had called him. What sort of beast, he had said, but the idiota knew nothing of monsters and beasts that must be put down for everybody’s safety. He, at least, didn’t feign friendliness. He didn’t hide behind a smile. He warned before he shot, stated his terms and delivered on his promises.

If it made him a beast himself, very well; perhaps he was. Perhaps trying to take the child had been a step too far - but he’d sooner be a lion than a snake hiding in the sand.

I cannot turn back anymore. No way to go but forward.

But first, San Luz. If he’s there, I’ll smoke him out.

Santiago Hernández stopped his horse on a rocky outcrop and reached into the saddle bag to pull out his map, so he could work out the best route back for a quick attack. He opened it and studied it under the merciless sun, waiting for his men to catch up

It took him a while to realize it was taking them much too long.

***

“Oye! Come here!”

“There’s a priest!”

“We’re getting blessed, muchachos!”

“And we’re getting wine!”

“... Huh?”

As word travelled fast up the column, causing men to halt their horses and turn, Héctor glanced around in confusion. He looked over at Gustavo, but he seemed about as lost as he was at the notion of a random priest walking into marching Federales to offer blessings and wine. Where did he even--

“He says he’s the parish priest of the hole we just left,” someone added, and Héctor’s blood ran cold, something clenching in his stomach.

No, no, no, no. What is he doing here? They were looking for him. They’ll kill him.

“Padre Ernesto?” Francisco, a young cobbler who’d been taken with him that day, blurted out. Sidling up to Héctor, Gustavo elbowed him in the ribs.

“What’s going on?” he growled under his breath. “Why is he here, and why did you get almost as pale as the gringo just now?”

“I…” Héctor swallowed, unable to force words out. Gustavo didn’t know, and this really was not the time to explain him everything. He needed to get to Ernesto immediately, warn him to get away while he still could, so he ignored Gustavo’s questions and spurred his horse to go back, towards the end of the column. The men there were already starting to gather, dismounting their horses… and passing around caskets of wine.

Héctor braced himself for the moment someone would cry out in recognition and every man present would turn against Ernesto, but there was no such cry; the men were none the wiser as they talked and laughed, took the wine and kept gathering, all semblance of order gone.

Above all, Héctor heard a familiar voice.

“... And once I realized I had entirely missed your arrival, well, I had to catch up with you,” Ernesto was saying, all charm and smiles as he helped unload the caskets of wine. “I couldn’t let my parishioners leave to serve this country without giving them my blessing, you understand. And you, of course, it is the least I could do - careful there, it’s heavy…”

It was like an impromptu party, but it was soon clear not everyone was simply in the mood to celebrate. Héctor did his best to approach, but he got knocked back by several men gathering around Ernesto.

“Padre!”

“Can we have your blessing, Padre?”

“I have not had confession in months--”

“Haven’t heard from my family since March, I don’t know if they are well, pray for them--”

“What happened to that other priest-- the gringo, we did not--”

“Our commander lost his temper, a man of God, I would have never--”

“We would never--”

Ernesto turned to the men, and his smile wavered for only a moment. But then it was back, full of understanding. “... Padre Juan was a man of principle who did not always know when to hold his tongue, but he is with God now,” he said, and Héctor’s stomach sank. So he hadn’t made it. He was dead, and Ernesto showed no sign whatsoever of being affected.

“His soul is safe, and I know he would want me to take care of yours,” Ernesto was going on, and he lifted his hand to impart a blessing, speaking loudly to be heard by all. He spoke in near-perfect Latin John Johnson would have been proud of, giving everyone present absolution before crossing himself. Many of the men mirrored the gesture, relief plain on their faces. Alejandro was among them, looking close to tears.

The blessing done, absolution given, Ernesto smiled and spread out his arms. “Now, let us all drink the blood of Christ and--”

“Padre!” Héctor finally cried out, pushing his way to the front, and Ernesto’s gaze turned on him. His smile grew even wider.

“My child!” he cried out, and pulled him into an embrace. “Ah, what a relief, having reached you on time to absolve your sins and give you the Lord’s blessing!”

Face smashed against Ernesto’s shoulder, Héctor barely managed to whisper. “What are you doing--” he began, only for Ernesto to turn his head and almost snarl into his ear, his voice so full of seething fury it made Héctor’s heart skip a beat in his chest.

“Saving your scrawny ass so I can kick it myself. Don’t drink the wine, none of you. Tell the others.”

“Wha-- Ernesto, wait, they’re--”

“Not a drop,” Ernesto hissed, and pushed him off before anyone realized they had spoken to one another, patting his shoulder with a laugh. “Go to the others, tell them they have my blessing and that the parish will look after their families,” he added, and before he could add another word Héctor was almost ejected from the small crowd, reeling.

What does it mean? What has he done to the wine?

He looked around to see Alejandro taking one of the opened caskets, saw the wine flowing and men drinking. Héctor wanted to stop him, tell him not to - he was not a bad person, he could tell; many of them were not bad people - but he knew he couldn’t do so without alerting them all, and in the end he had to back away.

Guilt twisted in his gut, but he knew he had to ignore it and move quickly. The wine was being passed around so fast, and he had to warn Gustavo and the others not to drink it before it got to them. Regardless how tempting it was not to tell Gustavo, of course.

No one has recognized him. Maybe it will be all right. Maybe whatever plan he has is going to work. Maybe it will make them pass out, no one needs to die, Héctor thought, and with one last glance towards Ernesto - he was positively holding court now, men around him laughing at something he said or crossing themselves and asking for a prayer - he ran back to where he left the others from Santa Cecilia, trying to reach them before the wine could.

Whatever Ernesto had done with it, he knew none of them wanted to find out the hard way.

***

What got Santiago to lift his gaze from the map and realize his men really should have caught up by now was a very distant sound, one he did not recognize at first. He put away the map with a frown, focusing, and for a moment he thought what he heard were distant screams. It made his blood run cold and his hands clench on the reins.

Had his men been attacked? Could it be? Was there an ambush - had he walked right past the enemy without realizing as much? Heart hammering in his throat, Santiago spurred his horse to trot back, straining to listen… and finally he realized what he was hearing were not screams.

Well, they kind of were, but those were no cries of distress; there was a rhythm to it, all voices rising up together and then falling, then rising again, like… singing? Was that bunch of idiots singing at the top of their lungs?

Have they all gone mad?

Stunned and furious at the same time, Santiago kicked his horse’s flanks to spur it into a gallop back the way he had come. He knew those men’s discipline was almost non-existent, but that was ridiculous. He would see them punished for it, he’d make them march through the night, he--!

Insortaron a Cortez Por toditito el estado: "Vivo o muerto que se aprehenda Porque a varios ha matado!"

Soon he was close enough to hear the words and, after turning a bend, he could see that the sorry excuses of soldiers he’d been leading were off their horses and standing around or sitting in the dirt, drinking and singing like they were off duty in a damn cantina.

He opened his mouth to shout at them, demand to know what was going on in their empty heads, but another voice rose up loud and clear and Santiago’s own voice died in his throat.

Decía Gregorio Cortez Con su pistola en la mano: "No siento haberlo matado Al que siento es a mi hermano..."

He knew that voice; he heard it before in the barracks, at campfires, whenever a comrade picked up a guitar. He never missed a chance to sing, turning each break in a performance.

Alberto had found it endearing; he’d found it annoying. Now it made him feel as though the sweat on his skin had turned into frost.

Still atop his horse Santiago turned slowly, very slowly, towards the source of that voice. He had not expected the priestly robes, and he’d had a beard when he’d last seen him, but he would recognize that despicable face anywhere; he’d dreamed of it almost every night, grinning down at him as he kneeled over Beto’s body.

And now he was there.

How or why he had come to be there, let alone in a cassock and singing along with his men as they guzzled down wine, Santiago had no idea nor he cared to know. All that he knew, all that mattered, was that he was there within his grasp, and that he would never escape again.

Santiago Hernández bared his teeth, and reached for the pistol at his hip.

***

BANG.

The gunshot was distant, reverberating through the hills, impossible to mistake for anything else. It made Imelda’s blood run cold, but she didn’t slow down; her horse was in full gallop, right at the heels of José’s own - which, come to think of it, looked an awful lot like Ernesto’s own missing horse - and she spurred it to go a bit faster, just enough to sidle with him.

“Was that one of yours? Did you prepare an ambush?” she yelled to be heard through the rushing wind and beating hooves, knowing full well what the answer was but still hoping against hope to get at least some explanation for the gunshot.

José shook his head, his expression grim. “No such thing. There may be insubordination among them.”

“Does it happen often?”

“All the time. But we’ll only know when we catch up,” he added, and spurred his horse again. Imelda could only follow, and hope for the best.

If he gets himself killed, she thought, I’ll have to kill him again.

***

The gunshot was deafeningly loud, and close enough to make Héctor cry out - him, and several other men - and the singing to stop abruptly. There were confused cries, men jumping on their feet and dropping their cups of wine to reach for their own guns, turning around wildly to find out who’d shot.

They didn’t have to look far.

“Ernesto de la Cruz.”

Still on top of his horse, pistol raised in the air, Commander Hernández stared at Ernesto with enough hatred to make Héctor tremble. He was vaguely aware of Gustavo and another couple of men from Santa Cecilia talking to him under their breath, asking what the hell was going on, but Héctor was unable to speak, dread gripping his throat.

He found him. It’s over.

He wanted to cry out for Ernesto to run, to do something, but there was nothing for him to do and he could only stand there, staring in horror. Ernesto had stilled, realization beginning to dawn on him that he’d been recognized, and that he was trapped.

The soldiers around him were not quite as quick to grasp the situation. “What--”

“Commander, we, uh, can explain--”

“Shut up, all of you, and seize that traitor!”

“... Sir, that is Padre--”

“That’s no more a priest than I am, idiots! It’s the deserter we’ve been looking for!” the man screamed, and leaped off his horse, pistol still in his hand. “ SEIZE HIM, I SAID!”

“Qué?” Gustavo blurted out somewhere on Héctor’s right, and it seemed that sentiment was prevalent among the Federales as well, most of whom kept staring at their commander as though he’d suddenly started speaking Portuguese.

Then Ernesto tried to run, and all hell broke loose.

Héctor had gone hare hunting once, out of sheer curiosity, watching from the sidelines and not really doing much. The pack of dogs, all of them friendly mutts, had seemed comically clumsy, wagging their tails and snuffling about, seemingly more interested in playing than hunting… until a hare had burst out of its hiding spot to run away, and suddenly the entire pack had pounced. The chase had been brief, the screams unbearably loud, the outcome bloody, and Héctor had felt queasy as the owner of the dogs lifted the prey, grinning from ear to ear while his dogs went back to goofing off.

“This,” he had said, “is why you never try running before even the dumbest dog pack.”

Now Héctor watched Ernesto make the same mistake, and again the dogs pounced as one. The hare had no chance of escape that day, and neither did he now.

“STOP HIM!”

“Got him, I got him!”

“Get your hands of me, hijos de--”

“Agh! He bit me!”

“Get him over here!”

If any of the soldiers had doubted Commander Hernández’s words and still believed him a priest, Ernesto thrashing and screaming insults to their entire lineage - through the flea-ridden Spaniards who’d forced their way between their great-great-great-great grandmothers’ thighs and all the way down to the Garden of Eden - probably took care of it.

As Héctor stared, petrified and not knowing what to do, he was dragged in front of the commander and forced on his knees, arms behind his back. Hernández put the pistol back in its holster, walked up to Ernesto, and grabbed a fistful of his hair to force his head back.

He gave a cold, too-wide smile that still did not reach his eyes and said something Héctor could not hear. Ernesto’s scowl turned to shock for a moment, and then his features twisted in fury. He screamed and tried to rise up to throw himself at Hernández, almost made it, but too many men were holding him down and he was pushed back in the dirt. Orders were barked and they began dragging Ernesto away from the rest of the still confused soldiers, off the path and towards a small grove of trees and shrubs. One of the men carried a long rope.

They'll see me hang, Ernesto had told them after being unmasked, and God, he'd been right. “No, wait!” Héctor cried out and tried to run, but something gripped his arm, pulled him back.

“Stay here, idiota,” Gustavo hissed, his grasp on Héctor’s wrist tight enough to cut off the blood flow. He glared. “Won’t let you become a martyr on my watch, you’re insufferable enough as is. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t do it. Did you know about him?”

“I can’t let them kill--”

“Did you know!” Gustavo barked, and Héctor fell silent, his expression probably speaking volumes. Gustavo groaned, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “A Federale right under my nose and I never knew. Por Dios, José is never going to let me hear the end of it...”

“Gustavo, let me go, we have to help him--”

“Help is coming, idiota. Stay here.”

“But--”

“Help is coming,” Gustavo repeated in the forceful way of a man trying to will something into reality. “At least that damn liar delayed their march. Any moment now--” he trailed off when a sudden noise reached their ears amidst the confusion and exclamations, harsh and unmistakable - retching. Soon followed by another such sound, and another. And another.

One by one, the men around them began looking very, very sick.

***

“Let me go! Let me go, you bastards--!”

Ernesto’s insults got him precisely nowhere, and his attempt at fighting off the men dragging him away was about as useless. Too many of them, too strong, his wrists already tied behind his back before they shoved him on his knees in the dirt before the cabrón who had somehow recognized his face.

When said cabrón stepped forward and grabbed his hair to yank his head back, Ernesto clenched his teeth to hold back a cry and glared up at him. Who was he? Dimly he knew he must know him, he looked vaguely familiar - something about the mustache, the unusually thin bridge of his nose - but he still could not put a name to the face the way that bastard had somehow put a name to his.

Unaware of his thoughts, the man sneered. “Ernesto de la Cruz - so the rat comes out in the open at last. What’s the reason for this masquerade? Did you think these robes would save you? They will not. I shot down a true priest today. Or was the gringo an impostor, too?”

Our commander lost his temper, one of them had said.

That beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!

YOU TOOK HIM AWAY!

With a wordless scream, Ernesto strained against the men holding him down, against his bounds, wanting nothing more than putting his hands around the man’s neck and choke the life out of him. He almost managed to stand, but the weight of several men was too much and he was thrown back down in the dirt.

“You, take him and follow me. Rojas, get enough rope to hang this bastard. Quick.”

“Yes sir.”

No no no no no!

Ernesto struggled, but to no avail. Bound and overpowered, he was easily dragged away from the path by the small group of men - towards shrubs and trees, where they could hang him by the neck and leave him to feed carrion birds. They would not give him a clean death, he knew. No fall, no broken neck. They’d string him up and… and…

“Let me go!”

“Oh, as you wish.”

The men threw him down on the ground, and with his hands tied there was nothing sparing his face a painful impact. Ernesto ground his teeth to stifle a cry, only for that cry to be forced out of him when a kick in his side threw him onto his back. A knee pressed on his chest and the man leaned down, all his weight on Ernesto’s sternum.

When is the damn poison going to work?

Maybe the parish got scammed and that wasn’t poison at all. Wouldn’t that be a laugh, a fake priest dead thanks to fake poison.

As he struggled to breathe, Ernesto blinked a few times to clear his vision and looked up. Seen up close there was something startling in the sheer hatred in the man’s gaze, and it caused Ernesto to still a moment. The soldier, John’s murderer, sneered once again.

“Tell me, traitor,” he all but snarled. “Do you even know who I am?”

Don’t make him mad, part of Ernesto’s brain said, but the rest clung to the hope the poison would start working soon. Make him waste time.

“Should I?” he spat. A fist connected with his face as soon as the words were out, causing his vision to swim. Blood ran down his face from a split lip, went down his throat. Somewhere above him he saw the rope being thrown up over a branch, one end already tied in a noose.

And then, before his eyes, the blade of a knife caught the sunlight.

***

He didn’t even recognize him.

Of all the ways Ernesto de la Cruz had wronged him, that somehow was the final straw, the worst possible slap to the face. He’d murdered his best friend since childhood and ran off, leaving him to obsess over revenge for months on end - unable to sleep without seeing his face or Beto’s body in the sand, or both - and now he dared say he didn’t even know who he was.

Ah, but he’d know. Before he died, when he allowed him to die, he would know.

“I know who you are well enough,” Santiago snarled, and pulled out his hunting knife. “A coward, a traitor, and a murderer. You’re a Judas, and you’ll die as Judas did - and everyone will know why!”

De la Cruz tried to squirm beneath him, still dazed by the blow but all too aware of the blade of his knife. Santiago sneered, held the knife to his throat, and watched him grow still. There was terror in his eyes, unmistakable, and he savored it like a sip from a bottle of fine wine.

“Ay, you’ll wish I made it this easy for you.” The blade slipped beneath his collar and ripped down through the cassock, baring his chest.

De la Cruz tried to squirm again, this time with more urgency, eyes wide. “Stop!” he rasped.

Santiago smiled. “Why? Have you recalled my name?”

“I have done nothing to you. I--”

“Liar. I should take an eye for that,” he snapped, and brought the tip of the knife’s blade to rest right beneath a widened eye, drawing the tiniest drop of blood from his skin. “Think again, you Judas. Think of the day you deserted. Someone was with you.”

“What…” Ernesto de la Cruz paused and finally, finally, Santiago saw his expression change - from terror and confusion to realization. Of course, that must have jogged his memory: the two of them had barely shared a few words, but he must remember Alberto. And wherever Alberto went, Santiago followed.

Until, of course, de la Cruz had sent Beto someplace where Santiago could not follow.

You took him away.

Something ached in his chest, and all of a sudden Santiago felt ridiculously close to tears. But he had him now. He would see him die, Alberto would be avenged, and he would finally feel better. He had to feel better. He could not contemplate feeling the way he did forever.

“Thiago,” de la Cruz choked out, and he scoffed. Of course, even now, the self-absorbed bastard couldn’t be bothered to remember anyone’s name.

“Santiago,” he snapped, and leaned in so close their faces almost touched, pressing the blade a little harder on Ernesto’s skin and causing another pinprick of blood to well up. “But it matters not. You know whose name I want you to remember, sí? That of the man you killed.”

De la Cruz swallowed. “Alberto,” he managed. “I-- I didn’t want to kill him. I swear. I only wanted to get away, I couldn’t stand it anymore, I... he would have stopped me, he--”

“And so you shot him like a dog!” Santiago screamed, causing that disgusting coward to wince. He pulled back, knees still pressed against his sternum, keeping him pinned down. The grip on the handle of his knife was so tight it ached. And he even had the galls, this bastard, to lecture him for shooting a gringo!

“You left him dead to feed scavengers, and you really thought I would let it stand! You really thought I wouldn’t hunt you down like the beast you are! Tell me, did you kiss him the way Judas kissed Christ when he betrayed him?”

A shudder beneath him that may have been a sob. “P-por favor--”

“Oh, you’re begging now?” Santiago gave a loud, ugly laugh, and pressed the blade against Ernesto de la Cruz’s chest. “Very well, traitor. Go on and beg,” he said, and began to cut.

He did beg, but only for a few moments. For a good while, all he could do was scream.

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco #fake priest au

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queenofspades20 · 3 years

Text

My Hero

Synopsis: Reader gets stood up, Sam saves the day.

Pairings: Sam Wilson x Reader

Word count: 1,700

Warnings: Slight angst, mostly fluff

Just wanted to give Sam Wilson some love. And yes, I've actually gotten the excuse used as a reason when stood up before. (I can laugh about it now). Hope you enjoy!

The clinking of cups could be heard throughout the coffee shop. There was a warm smell of coffee and sugar that filled the air. Y/n was at her favorite spot, waiting for her date. They had met through her friend, Wanda, and made plans for coffee and then maybe a walk in the park. Y/n had been hesitant to make a date as she had been stood up for all her prior attempted dates for the past few years, but Jonathan had seemed like a nice guy.

“Y/n, you have to put yourself out there. Eventually, you’ll meet the right guy. But you won’t meet him if you don’t try.”

“Wan, I want to put myself out there, but I’ve been stood up so many times already. I can’t take another one.”

“Jonathan is nice. He’s joined me and Nat a few times during lunch break. You seemed to get along with him when we all went out for trivia night last week.”

Y/n felt a pressure on her chest, her anxiety making itself prevalent. “Yeah,” she said hesitantly.

“Y/n, if he pulls anything, Nat and I will kill him and no one will find the body. He knows that.” Wanda smiled.

Y/n felt her lips pull into a small smile. “You two can be quite scary when you want.”

“See? Tell him yes.”

Y/n sighed and texted Jonathan that she would meet him Saturday afternoon at her favorite coffee shop, which was close to both their places. “Okay. It’s done. But if he stands me up, I’m done. I’ll just die alone, with at least 5 dogs and I’ll be the fun vodka-aunt to your kids.”

“It won’t happen. I promise.”

Jonathan was meant to be there about 15 minutes prior. Y/n felt the pressure building on her chest. She had ordered a [your favorite drink] and sat at a table where she could see the door. She quickly checked her phone and didn’t see any notification from Jonathan. Her leg started bouncing and she looked again at the door.

She fired off a text to Jonathan. “Hey. I have a table in the corner when you get here.”

Y/n didn’t want to come off too strong as this was technically a first date and figured that would get the point across. After another 15 minutes and no response, Y/n decided to call Wanda. As she dialed the number, she felt tears gather in her eyes. While she didn’t think anyone was watching her closely to see that she had just been stood up, she still felt miserable at being stood up yet again.

“Y/n? Aren’t you supposed to be…”

“Thirty minutes and he’s a no show. No texts or calls from him either. I should’ve just said no. I’m done, Wanda.”

“Y/n, maybe something happened to him.”

“Yeah, he decided I wasn’t worth it, like every other guy.” Y/n was in full self-depreciation mode. She was trying to not cry, but it was getting harder and harder. She pulled her phone away from her ear and pulled up the texts. She saw that Jonathan had read her text, but no response. So she decided to fire off one more text.

She could hear Wanda’s voice from the earpiece. “Y/n, let me try to find out what happened. Don’t do anything rash.”

“Seriously, Wan? Even if something came up, at least have the courtesy of shooting off a quick text. Being treated with courtesy is not an unreasonable thing to ask for.”

“No, but he may not be able to respond.”

As Y/n was about to respond to Wanda, a text came through from Jonathan. Y/n saw red.

“Wanna hear his excuse, Wanda? It just came in.”

Wanda hesitated. She could hear the anger in Y/n’s voice and knew it couldn’t be good. “What did he say?”

“’Hey, sorry. I fell asleep. I just woke up.’ That’s it. That’s the text. No, Wanda.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I’m gonna kick his ass on Monday. I’m sure Nat will help me. I can’t believe he did that to you.”

Y/n sighed and quickly wiped away a tear that had fallen, hoping no one had seen it. “It’s par the course for me. I told you. I give up. I’m gonna head home. I’ll call you later. I’m not really up for talking right now,” she said miserably. As she was gathering her things, someone approached the table.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Y/n shook her head, not looking up. “No, actually, you can have the table. I’m leaving.”

“Oh, I was hoping to join you.”

At that, Y/n looked up and saw an extremely handsome man in front of her. He was tall, wearing jeans and a leather jacket, and had the kindest brown eyes she had ever seen. “Me?” she asked incredulously.

The man seemed a bit nervous. “I saw you sitting here alone and you’re really beautiful and I was hoping to get to know you.”

Y/n blinked a few times. “Is this some kind of prank? Cuz it isn’t funny if it is.”

The man seemed taken aback. “No! I wouldn’t do that. I really am interested.”

Y/n stared at him for a moment. He really seemed sincere. She sighed. “Sorry. I just got stood up. I’m a little…yeah. I’m sorry.”

The man sat down in the chair across from her. He had a kind smile. “No worries. I’m Sam.”

Y/n smiled and gave her name.

“So, what idiot would stand up a beautiful woman like you?”

Y/n shrugged. “Coworker of my friends.”

“Well, his loss.”

“Agreed. Still hurts though, not gonna lie.”

Sam leaned forward on the table, resting his weight on his elbows. “So, Y/n, what do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer. And I’d ask what you do, but, correct if I’m wrong, you’re Sam Wilson, one of the Avengers, right?”

Sam let out a little laugh. “Yeah.”

“Thank you for keeping the world safe.”

“Well, I’m not always successful,” Sam said, thinking of Lagos. Thankfully, the PR team had prevented a major disaster, though there was some tension on the team for a while.

“But you try and you do more than most people,” Y/n countered. “You’re a hero to me.”

Sam smiled. They continued to talk for about an hour when Y/n got an idea.

“So, there’s this really good ice cream stand in the park. Would you maybe want to walk over and get some? Something tells me you have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

“That sounds perfect.” Sam stood up and held out his hand. Y/n slid her hand into his, feeling electricity run up her arm. She shyly bit her lip and stood up. Sam intertwined their hands and they made their way to the park.

They walked hand in hand, enjoying the late afternoon sun. After getting their ice cream, they walked until they found a bench in a quiet area of the park and sat down. Sam leaned back and had one arm along the back of the bench. Y/n could feel the heat from his arm along her shoulders. She wanted nothing more than to lean into his arm, but she didn’t want to be presumptuous.

As if he read her mind, Sam moved his arm and put his hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “Is this okay?”

Y/n smiled up at him and moved a little closer to him, so she could cuddle into his side. “As long as this is okay.”

Sam pulled her close and smiled down at her. “It will never not be okay. I know we haven’t said goodbye yet, but, would you maybe want to go on a planned date with me?”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Why do you keep questioning me like that?” Sam was genuinely curious why Y/n didn’t seem to think much of herself. From his time spent with her, he thought she was smart, funny, sweet, and beautiful.

Y/n looked down at her lap, contemplating how much detail she wanted to give away. “I’ve never exactly had good luck with men and someone as amazing as yourself? It seems too good to be true. You’re gorgeous, I can get lost in your eyes and smile very easily, you’re kind, and definitely smart. I don’t understand what you see in me.”

Sam hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her face up to look at him. “You’re pretty amazing yourself. You’re smart, funny, sweet. Please go on another date with me?”

Y/n bit her lip. She nodded, smiling. “Okay. I’d really like that.”

“So, tonight? I take you out to dinner?”

Y/n laughed. “Wouldn’t that just be a continuation of this date?”

“Nope. And before you ask why not, Counselor, it’s because I said so.” He booped the tip of her nose, already knowing what she would have asked.

“Okay then.” She looked at her watch. “So, at what point does this date end and the next one begin?”

Sam seemed to contemplate his answer. “Right now.” He took her hand and kissed it softly. “I had a really great time today. I look forward to our next date.”

“I had a really great time, too, Sam,” Y/n said, playing along.

They stood up and Sam gave Y/n’s hand one more kiss. “Until our next date.” Sam took five steps away from Y/n and then quickly turned around and walked back.

“Y/n, you look even more lovelier than the last time I saw you.” He pulled her into a hug and kissed her cheek.

Y/n couldn’t contain her smile. “Laying it on kinda thick, aren’t ya?”

“Well, I can’t help myself.”

Y/n linked her arm through Sam’s. “So, where are we going to dinner?”

“There’s a good pizza place down the street if you’re game.”

“For pizza? Always.”

As they made their way down the street, Sam suddenly stopped and looked at Y/n. “Even though it’s not something I would normally say, I’m glad that jerk stood you up. Because I might not have met you and I can already tell that his loss is definitely my gain.”

Y/n smiled. “I never thought I would say it either, but I’m glad I got stood up, too. I wouldn’t have met my hero.”

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson #the falcon #My Hero #anthony mackie #sam wilson x y/n

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omni-scient-pan-da · 3 years

Text

And They Were Oarmates

The Third Part of My Fic About The Oars by omni-scient-pan-da (One, Two, All)

For @i-have-all-these-freaking-uwus @burntuakrisp @wh33z @reaping-mae @jo-the-nerd @emo-bi-mess @taurianskies7 @the-dumbass-multishipper @pictures-that-are-kinda-cool @iprefertheterminsane @inkytrinket-irii

About six weeks had passed since Rowan set out on his journey to find his husband, and word was starting to get around that he was looking for a warlock with green magic.

Unfortuntely, he was no closer to finding Killian than he had been when he first started. Anytime he thought he’d found someone that could take him to the warlock, it turned out to be the wrong person. Every lead he had had led him to a dead end, but Rowan refused to give up hope. He’d do whatever it took to find his husband, even if it killed him.

Right now though, things weren’t looking the greatest. Even if he hadn’t been worried about what was happening to Killian he had more pressing matters to focus on at the moment.

Like the angry dragon that he’d accidentally stumbled upon.

Bright green fire shot past Rowan as he darted to the side of the cave. Holy shit, Rowan thought to himself. I didn’t realize dragons were so sensitive about being called warlocks.

It hadn’t seemed like an unreasonable assumption at the time, but if nothing else, this dragon really seemed to hate being confused for a warlock.

Rowan peaked around the corner, trying to gauge how far away the exit was. If he could just get past the dragon without being burned to a crisp, he could try and make a break for it. But of course, that would require him to actually be able to make it past the dragon.

“Look, I’m sorry I confused you for a warlock!” Rowan yelled, trying to reason with the dragon. “It won’t happen again!”

Green fire shot down the corridor once more and Rowan sighed. This was going to be difficult.

Killian fell to the ground, breathing heavily.

“Again,” the warlock commanded, glaring at him.

“How many times is it going to take for you to realize I just can’t do magic?” Killian asked, wiping sweat from his brow as he pushed himself up off the ground into a sitting position. “It’s just not possible for me.”

The warlock smiled at him and suddenly Killian felt very very uneasy. The warlock never smiled, not unless he was about to do something Killian would absolutely despise.

“Everyone can do magic Killian,” the warlock sneered. “Maybe it’s just that you need a little more motivation.”

Green light sizzled through the air and all of a sudden the warlock was holding Killian’s ring in his hand. His wedding ring. The one thing that he had left to remind him of home, the one thing that still connected him to his husband, the one thing that gave him hope that he might actually find his way home.

“Isn’t it funny how something so small can give a person so much motivation?” the warlock asked, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk.

“Give it back you son of a bitch,” Killian ordered, trying to put all the force he could muster into his words, but even to his own ears his voice sounded hollow, shaky, and a little broken. He couldn’t take the ring, the ring was the one thing he had left.

“This little old thing?” the warlock asked innocently, twirling it in his hand. “Maybe having the metal on your person is what’s interfering with your magic.” He grinned sadistically and the palm holding the ring lit up in green flames.

Moving without thinking, Killian roared, lunging at the warlock. “YOU BASTARD!” he wound his arm up to punch the geezer in the gut, his own fist now alight with burning red angry magic as he swung. The only thing on his mind was how badly he needed to get that ring back, he had to have it, the warlock couldn’t take it from him, he needed it, he needed Rowan, he needed-

All of a sudden Killian flew back in the air before landing on the cold hard ground once more, his stomach on fire as if he had been the one to get hit and not the warlock.

In front of him the warlock laughed as green protection sigils flashed around him. “Reflection spells Killian, remember?”

Killian took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the searing pain in his abdomen. “Give me the ring back or I’ll kill you.”

The warlock snorted. “As fun as it’d be to see you try, I think there are more important things at hand here, such as the fact that you can do magic.” he held up the ring, that sadistic grin of his plastered across his face once more. “And now I know exactly how to trigger it.”

After nearly getting burned to death by a dragon and numerous other failed attempts at finding his husband, Rowan was starting to get really fucking tired. He wasn’t giving up hope just yet, he couldn’t give up hope. Rowan couldn’t even begin to fathom how he was supposed to carry on without even the smallest slimmer of hope of finding Killian again.

But he was getting really really tired of all the traveling and time and energy it took for him to even find the smallest whisper of Killian, only for his plans to completely blow up in his face.

All he wanted was to find his husband, was that so terrible? Was he truly destined to endure a life of suffering without him? Constantly searching for a man that might not even want him anymore?

That was the worst part about this whole ordeal, the way Killian had acted in those last few precious moments before he had been stolen from Rowan. The warlock had to have done something to mess with Killian’s mind, right? There was no way Killian would’ve said or done those things of his own violition...

Rowan shook his head as he walked, heading back into the inn where he had been staying for the past few nights, hoping he could get in quickly without the owner noticing that half his shirt had been scorched off. Luckily for him, Rowan had always been able to pull of a crop top.

Rowan pushed open the door to the inn, peaking his head inside to see if there was anyone in the lobby. Upon finding no one, he darted inside, thankful his room key had managed to survive his little skirmish with the dragon as he unlocked the door to his rented room and steped inside, sagging against the door as soon as it closed behind him.

“Just... Keep moving Rowan, keep moving and you’ll be fine,” he muttered to himself under his breath. “As long as you keep moving, you’ll find Killian eventually and then... And then...”

And then he really didn’t know what would happen next. He’d find some way to free Killian from that horrible warlock that had taken him? He didn’t know the first thing about magic, how was he supposed to defeat an all powerful warlock? And then of course came that nagging little voice in the back of his mind as he started to question whether or not Killian would even want him to come to his rescue...

Rowan sighed, pushing his doubts aside as he dug through his clothes to find a new shirt. He’d have to buy a new one to replace the one he’d ruined, but that could wait for another day. Right now he needed a drink and a long night’s rest before he decided which town to jump to next in search of his husband.

After changing clothes, Rowan headed out of his room once more, this time to the small tavern across the street from the inn. After taking a seat at the bar and ordering a drink he glanced around the room, looking for anyone that might have any clue where his husband could be.

“This is pointless... I’m never going to find him this way. I need to change strategies or... Or something or else I’m going to go insane.”

“They say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, so I’d say you’re on the right track,” a voice perked up from behind him said.

Rowan jumped a little in his seat, turning around to find a cloaked woman standing behind him. “I um... I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were standing there.”

The woman smiled slightly. “Don’t worry about it,” she replied. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time... You’re the one trying to find the Le Sorcier Vert, aren’t you?”

Rowan’s eye’s widened. “Do you know how to find him?” His heart was pounding in his chest and he didn’t dare to hope any more than he already was. He didn’t know if he could handle losing hope the way he’d lost Killian.

“I can do you one better,” the woman replied. “I know how to defeat him.

Author's Note: Okay alright it's been 3 months since I updated this but I have no concept of time, so once again, special thanks to @i-have-all-these-freaking-uwus for sending me an ask and motivating me to finish this thing! There WILL be a part 4 and when I post it you can find the link HERE and I'm thinking part four will be the finale? Who knows, but there should be an updated list with all available parts HERE that includes links to the whole series, and I promise, the story will definitely have a happy ending. As before, if you wanna be tagged when part 4 comes out, leave a comment below or reblog this because seriously, I will not work on this for ages unless I have external motivation. Thanks so much for reading this far, I'm glad you're all enjoying the story so far!

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lov3nerdstuff · 3 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.15}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

When the door fell closed again and Robin was left standing in the hallway by herself, in her pajamas, she sighed to herself. What a way to start a birthday… But then again, a part of her (an unsurprisingly large one) was also quite excited to have a very good reason to go find Snape once more. Not that she planned on staying longer than necessary, but the prospect of seeing him at all brought a smile to her lips and thus she started making her way towards the office. Still in her pajamas, much to her discontent. Not that she minded Snape seeing her in flannels and her Queen shirt at this point, he'd had that pleasure far too often already to pay mind to it by now, and it was rather the act of walking through the castle in her pajamas that she wasn't too fond of. But it was in the middle of the night, which made it unlikely that anyone would even see her at all. Thus she made her way out of the common room and through the dark hallways until she arrived in front of the office, where she unlocked the door only to find the room behind it dark and empty. Odd… didn't he still have those essays to grade for Monday? After checking the classroom as well and finding it in the same state, she went to the lab next, but it also proved to be vacant. He can't seriously have chosen this one instance to actually listen to her suggestion of going to bed early, can he? Insufferable idiot… but it wasn't his fault that she was trying to save his arse from some pathetic prank.

Robin groaned under her breath, putting her head into her neck for a moment before she made her way back down the hallway and towards where she believed his private chambers to be. It honestly wasn't too difficult a task to find the right place once she actually tried to, and before long she found herself in a hallway she had never been in before. It literally only had one single door going off to the side, and that made matters rather easy for her. As she stood there, trying to decide if she should knock or speak, she couldn't help wondering what the professors' rooms looked like in the castle in general, and Snape's room in particular. Certainly it was more spacious, and probably a lot more comfortable than the dorms as well. Would it have the same dusty and gloomy aesthetic as his house back in England? But then again, he spent way more time up here, he had said so himself… so his rooms here might just as well look entirely different.

Shaking her head to herself to put an end to her useless string of thoughts, she finally decided to knock. Three times, certain, and firmly as always. Generic as it could be. It took a few seconds but then she could hear movement, and finally the door was ripped open with a force that had her taking a step backwards instinctively. As soon as his dark eyes fell onto Robin however, the scowl on his face was gone in an instant and his entire demeanour changed from sheer furor and annoyance to question and concern.

"Robin! What-..." He started in mild surprise, but cut himself off after a second as he took in her appearance, then glimpsed down either side of the hallway, and finally just pulled her into the room before shutting the door behind them again.

Of course Robin's heart wouldn't miss the opportunity to start racing again, and for a moment she allowed herself to inspect the room she now found herself in. It was similar to his house, and yet entirely different in a way. First her eyes were drawn to a fireplace with a sofa in front of it, as it was the brightest spot in the room, lit up and tinted in a faint orange glow. The walls around it were lined with shelves, filled with books and quite a few other things actually, which she didn't have the time to inspect right now. But there was a small table with two chairs along one of those walls, hiding some of the books and objects from her vision, and she allowed her eyes to linger there for a moment only, before the next curiosity caught her attention. On two walls there were surprisingly large windows for a room in the dungeons, which could only mean that they must be in one of the corners of the castle that were facing the cliffside instead of the black lake… There was no water behind the glass, after all, unlike the common room on the other side of the dungeons. Robin frowned for a second as she thought; she didn't know a single other room down here with a windowed corner. Obviously being the only professor who lived in the dungeons had its perks; he got the very best room of them all. Honestly, she wouldn't even be surprised if he had the nicest room of all the professors. So her eyes wandered on, over the large desk which was even more meticulously organised than the one in the office, and over the wall of ceiling-high shelves that separated the room and shielded off the far right corner. Her gaze fell onto a four-poster bed that looked much like the students' ones, but about double the size, with the softest looking duvet she had ever seen, and dark green sheets that seemed almost black in the candlelight… she quickly looked away before she had the time to blush. Geez, it was just a bloody piece of furniture; get a grip, idiot! As she averted her eyes, she also saw a closed door other than the one to the hallway, and she simply assumed that it would lead to a private bathroom. Finally when she had roughly taken everything in, her eyes returned to Snape only to find him observing her in obvious amusement already.

"Are you done with the inspection?" He asked with one raised eyebrow, and now Robin did feel the heat creeping up her neck after all. Thank god it was quite dimly lit in here.

"Not nearly. But that will have to wait until a later point in time." She replied honestly, despite being called out for her undeniable curiosity.

"What brings you here then? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm perfectly fine… I thought you would still be in the office, to be honest. I didn't think you would actually take my advice about getting some sleep."

"I do take advice, occasionally, but only when nobody can tell that I do." He replied almost easily, and Robin had to smile in return. "But I would still feel a lot better if I knew what brings you here."

"It's nothing of any gravity, really… But it couldn't wait until morning."

"Building suspense as always, are we?" He quipped, and motioned to the sofa, before sitting down himself. Robin followed the example, and crossed her legs beneath her like she always did. For some reason, she felt no less comfortable being here now than she was in the lab or the office. All three rooms were very much Snape, in their neatness and calm and familiarity, and perhaps that was the reason why she loved either of them so much.

"Yes, no suspense, I'm sorry." She said as she shook her head to herself again, and finally started explaining. "I'm here because tomorrow morning some kids want to put salt into your coffee."

For a moment, there was silence. Then Snape started laughing, actually laughing, and Robin didn't know if she should laugh too, feel offended, or stare in awe. Either would have been an appropriate reaction, and since her brain couldn't settle for one, she did all three at once, which must've looked odd enough for him to stop laughing at last. Instead, he looked at her with a small smile now, which Robin still couldn't really put much meaning to. Why was this so amusing to him? He hated these things, all those imbeciles and their childish jokes… usually, at least.

"I don't understand what's funny about it." She decided to voice her thoughts at last. "I spent an hour being mad about it and trying to find a way to prevent it from happening, and you just… laugh?"

"I can see how that seems unreasonable, yes." He replied, and his amusement now toned down a bit. "Believe me, I wasn't laughing at you. Neither about the issue itself."

"Then what's so funny?"

"For one, I'm simply relieved that you are only here about a practical joke, and not about another situation that might end with you being hurt. Then of course there is the absurdity of the entire situation… I hadn't imagined that it would be salt in my coffee that would bring you to my room for the first time."

"But you did imagine what exactly would?" She quirked an eyebrow at him with a smirk, deciding that humour would be a better way to deal with his words than turning into a flustered mess again would be. He probably hadn't meant anything by it in the first place. But still, for a moment, she was sure to see an actual blush on his cheeks for once, a faintest tint of crimson, but it might as well have been the light of the candles, a mere shadow. It made her heart skip a beat nonetheless.

"Tell me more about that practical joke." He said a moment later, not even trying to hide the fact that he wasn't answering her question. "How did you come to know of it?"

Robin sighed, and did them both the favour of ignoring the previous conversation indeed. "I don't know much… Some sixth year by the name of Parker planned it with his friends. They're going to put salt into all the drinks for the head table in general, and obviously everyone finds it hilarious. Cas heard from Simon, and she told Jorien and me about it just an hour ago. But no matter how stupid of a predicament that puts me into, I couldn't let it happen without telling you. To save your morning, at least."

"I imagine you wouldn't want me to put an end to it then, before the disaster ensues… That would certainly reveal your involvement."

"I would appreciate it if you didn't. I know it's probably a stupid situation for you too, to know and not tell your-..."

"I don't particularly care, actually." He shrugged, with an almost humoured expression once again. "I will certainly undo the damage before enjoying my own coffee, but my colleagues' fates are their own. And I wouldn't put your relationship with your roommates at risk over something as imbecile as this."

"Thank you! Really, I appreciate it. But I have another favor to ask of you, one that's not entirely my own." Robin replied with an apologetic expression. "Can you please tell McGonagall about it too, before breakfast? And ask her not to spoil it either? I know, that's going to be incredibly hard, but it is really important to me."

"I certainly will tell her if you'd like me to. However I am curious to know why your mixed sentiments for her seem to have changed enough to warrant such concern about her now."

"They haven't changed at all… It's about Jorien. She wants McGonagall spared, but can't reveal it as her own intention for various reasons, so I told her I would do what I can."

"And why don't you simply tell her yourself like you are telling me now?"

"Well, I don't think McGonagall would've been happy to find me in front of her door at this time of night." Robin said with a humoured smile, then had to snort. "Especially not in my pajamas."

"Indeed, I don't think she's particularly fond of Queen." He mused, and Robin had to laugh even more at his tone. "If your apparel is the problem, you could have warned both her and me in the morning. Not that I would dare to complain, but why did you choose to do it now instead?"

"Finding you in the morning was my plan, originally, but I was made aware that I won't be able to. I was just about to go to sleep actually, hence the pajamas, when Jorien told me that I wouldn't get a minute to myself before breakfast because of some plans they have made for my birthday, and-..."

"What time is it?" He asked and his voice was suddenly rid of every humour at all, as was his face.

"Eh… around one thirty at night, I think? Perhaps two already?" Robin frowned at him, in confusion about the sudden question and abrupt change in his demeanor. "Why? Is something wrong? I mean, I know I probably shouldn't be here at this time of night and all that, but-..."

"Then it is your birthday already…" The edge was gone from his tone immediately, leaving only a quiet statement with a tinge of sadness.

"Yeah, it is. What's wrong with that?" She asked in return, her expression a mirror of his own right until he got up from the couch and made for the other side of the room without a word. Robin's heart squeezed together for a second, then she jumped up as well, out of sheer nervousness, but stayed standing between the sofa and the fireplace, feeling lost as her eyes followed him through the room. Had she done something wrong? Or said the wrong thing, perhaps?

Snape merely picked what looked like a piece of paper out of a stack of documents on his desk, then returned to Robin without any ado. Her eyes didn't leave him once, but only met his at last when he stood in front of her again. All the small tells of emotion on his face showed guilt, a hint of annoyance perhaps, both directed entirely at himself as it seemed.

"I tend to forget about time and such trifles when I am in your company. I apologise for the delay." He said after a few seconds, then held out the paper to Robin, an envelope that once again had his own name written on it. "Happy birthday, Robin."

The nervousness that had churned her guts seconds before was replaced by a soaring wave of warm adoration with a start, at both his words and the fact that all he had been upset about was forgetting to congratulate her. If he wanted it true or not, that was incredibly sweet. In Robin's eyes at least. With a smile she yet again had to tone down a little, she took the envelope from him, but instead of opening it right away, she merely held his gaze.

"Thank you. And don't worry, time is entirely irrelevant to me; I am happy that you remembered at all." She said sincerely, still in a fight with herself to not reveal too much of her own adoration. "If it wasn't for the entire 'celebrating into the day' thing, I probably would've only remembered that it's my birthday tomorrow morning."

"You will have to tell me more about what your roommates have put you through, but first I would like you to open that envelope. I meant to give it to you at the end of the day, but seeing as you are here right now, the beginning of the day will be just fine as well."

"Alright…" Robin said, and she couldn't help her curiosity for much longer anyway. Thus she turned the letter in her hands, inspecting the already broken seal with a smile, a frown and a huff. "The letter is from the ministry…"

"Obviously."

She rolled her eyes with a smile, but then finally tugged out the two sheets of paper from the envelope, and unfolded the first. For a minute, she read over the letter that was indeed addressed to Snape, and almost as expected, she didn't understand a word of it. It was signed with a name she had never heard before, but the subtitle said that he was representing the department of admissions. A title as generic as the name itself. Other than that, the letter mainly stated that Snape's request had been accepted and processed thanks to the aforementioned reasons (which unfortunately weren't stated, but surely would've given Robin a hint about what this entire thing was about), and that the ministry would keep an eye on the issue nonetheless. After reading it twice and being left no wiser, Robin took a look at the second page.

To her great surprise, this one had her own name on it, and it looked a lot more like the official document she had received from the ministry after successfully completing the apparition class last term. Her frown deepened as she scanned every word and number on the form that looked more like a license almost, if the standardised look of it was anything to go by… it certainly would explain why the letter came from the department of admissions. But other than her name, a few numbers and the current date, the twentieth, she didn't get too much information from it either. Entirely confused now, she looked back up at Snape who had carefully observed her while she had been reading.

"I would love to tell you I'm happy about the gift, but I have absolutely no idea what any of this is about. I don't even know if it's a gift or a warning or a death sentence." She started with a helpless chuckle, sounding almost as lost as she felt. "Perhaps we could skip the part where you roll your eyes and make me guess for once, for the sake or my birthday. Please?"

"It's not precisely a gift in common terms." He explained, and thereby complied with her request without mention. Robin didn't fail to notice though how mildly uncomfortable he looked, and she wondered if it was about the subject itself, or the mere fact that he was finally admitting to giving her something like a gift at least. "It is a solution to a problem you have. Or rather one that you had, until now."

"Who's the one building suspense now?" Robin smirked at him, to which he merely let out a huff that was supposed to cover up his own not-smirk. It didn't work, and he probably knew, so he went on to explain.

"I do realise that I had no right to solve this problem for you, and I also know that you never made a problem of it in the first place." He said, which made matters no less mysterious at all. "But I know that it has been burdening you for a while now, and I had to put an end to it. Try to, at least. So what I did was to write to the ministry and request for you to be given a certain and admittedly quite rare professional authorisation that allows you to handle certain substances that are subject to permission."

"I… which… what?"

"Perhaps we should approach the matter from a different perspective that is less… political. You obviously are aware that the objects we have gathered over the summer, the subjects of the theories in your handbook, all share one essential attribute: they are rare, some even extremely rare, and therefore very valuable. Yes?"

"Yes."

"And you see how that correlates to the horrendously high prices one has to pay for them in any shop that sells ingredients for potions."

"...yes?"

"Now, the reason why these objects are more often sold on the black market than in any reputable establishment is quite simple. The vast majority of rare objects and ingredients, and thereby almost all of the ones in your handbook, are subject to permission, which means that without a permit from the ministry, you aren't allowed to sell them. This leads to the problem that most shops are generally short of these ingredients, seeing as the ministry rarely gives out such a permit, which in return makes the ingredients even more expensive. These issues can be evaded by selling on the black market, which however almost always results in selling under value to sell at all."

"I understand. But why doesn't the ministry want to give more people such a permit? Wouldn't that make things a lot easier?" Robin frowned, and she felt like the biggest idiot ever, with a large knot in her brain. She knew she was missing something very obvious, but she just couldn't tell what it was.

"Imagine what would happen if every idiot was going after these ingredients for the mere sake of selling them. Not only would most of them die before they even reach their goal, but there would be thousands of people roaming through both worlds and destroying everything in their wake for the mere sake of making money off these objects. The ministry can't risk that, and therefore they are very selective about those who they grant this permit to. They wouldn't give it to me when I tried a few years ago." Snape said, then motioned to the papers still clutched in Robin's hands. "But they gave it to you. People have known your name ever since the first conference you attended; important people who have enough influence to see to it that my request was accepted."

"But… what… I…" Her brain was completely out of it for a moment, until she gave herself a mental slap. "I only research rare ingredients because I love doing it, and I gather them for you and me to work with… But I've never thought about selling them before."

"I know. Your passion for the work we do, the work you do, will always be your highest priority, but that doesn't contradict selling what you don't need for yourself." He stated, then sighed while the subtle discomfort returned to his expression. "Even a mere handful of the wraiths' moss from last year's excursion would suffice to make a small fortune. I know you have been concerned about how to make a living without your parents' support for a while now. This is the solution. A possible one, at least."

For a moment then, the weirdest thing happened; Robin's mind was entirely blank. A mere white noise of too much to process, too many thoughts tumbling over one another while each was too briefly existent to be grasped. So she just stood there, papers still clutched in her hands, and stared at Snape with wide eyes and parted lips. Frozen in space and time.

"Breathe." He reminded her then, with an expression so uncertain it seemed almost uncharacteristic, and Robin did breathe indeed. Once, twice, thrice… then her mind exploded into a colourful variety of emotions, and she finally snapped out of her freeze only to throw her arms around Snape an instant later, hugging him as tightly as if her life depended on it. If he wanted it or not. He didn't have a say in this, not right now.

"Thank you…" Robin breathed as soon as she wasn't entirely choked up anymore, and she couldn't even bring herself to care that the tears that were running down her cheeks now were drenching his linen shirt. "Thank you thank you thank you."

His arms wound around her in return almost instinctively, pulling her closer and keeping her steady as she stood on her tiptoes. But when he spoke up, his voice was quiet, sad almost. "What did I do wrong this time?"

"What? You did nothing wrong!"

"But you are crying, which usually is a direct result of whatever matter I have screwed up this time."

"I'm happy, you dunderhead!" Robin couldn't help laughing through her tears, and her arms around him tightened even more. He really was no better at closer human interactions than she was, and it was relieving to see sometimes. "Happy, and overwhelmed. Positively! This is so much more than just a birthday present to me… You really did save my butt yet again."

"Nonsense… I did nothing more than to write a letter to the right person, asking the right questions. It hardly is a gift at all. I didn't even have to pay for it." He replied in tangible defensiveness to being thanked, but Robin wouldn't let him get away with it this time.

"Didn't you tell me two or three years ago that caring for someone extends beyond the material?" She asked while the tears slowly dried out, leaving her voice muffled by his shoulder rather than emotion, and finally the overwhelmed feeling made way for sheer happiness. "This is the best possible example of it. It might only look like a piece of paper, but it's so much more to me. It shows that you know me, know me so well that you don't even have to ask to know what's on my mind. It means that you willingly dealt with people you despise, because I know just how much you hate ministry officials, and writing to them in a nice enough way to get them to do something for you can't have been easy. And foremost, the fact that you didn't just give me a gift, but actually thought of a bloody brilliant solution to an incredibly important problem for me tells me just how much you actually care. If you want to admit it or not."

"You haven't the slightest idea just how much I actually care." He replied under his breath, and it sent a deep shiver through Robin, one which obviously was noticeable enough for him to follow it up by lightly tracing up and down her spine with his fingers. Bloody hell, she could've died right on the spot from the sheer emotional intensity of this alone.

"You're getting better at showing me." She finally made herself reply, in a voice way too breathy to be anywhere near appropriate, but it didn't matter in that moment. Not when her mind had enough trouble keeping her from doing something incredibly stupid.

"May I ask you something you might find rather odd?" He spoke up a few seconds later, and his hand stilled on her back, splayed out so that his fingertips brushed her sides.

"Don't you always?" Robin chuckled softly. "You can ask and say anything at all, you know that. Odd isn't a thing between us anymore." The question he did ask then, however, she had not seen coming at all.

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