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lambourngb · 3 years

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Why can’t I change

The irony is, you inspired this story. You posted a ficlet about Michael and Max going out to distract themselves from the pain of being separated from their soulmates... and this hit me hard:

Max is drinking too much tonight. This is a good bar – Michael’s actually been in here before. Twice. Both times over the last few months, since Alex and Forrest… yeah. He’s left with guys, both times. He’s… he’s trying to figure some stuff out, with himself. What he likes. What he wants, outside of Alex. Um, and hopefully, eventually, with Alex. It’s been… fine. Fun. Light. Uncomplicated. Pretty much everything the rest of his life isn’t right now.

So I started writing a fic where Michael is exploring things about himself, dating and figuring out what he wants, while he lingers in that “hopefully eventually” feeling in place. Of course, dating is hell, and especially it’s hell when there is so much about Michael that is hard to explain to someone- not just the alien parts, but his genius IQ, his “adopted” siblings, his past in social services, no parents, etc. Then the awkwardness of how he can’t stop from watching Alex whenever their paths cross.

SNIPPET :

It started innocently enough like most of Michael’s life-ruining decisions, during a beer break from his newly re-established lab bunker.

“Alright, worst date you’ve ever been on, and go!” Charlie started, taking a long pull of her IPA, before sending a look over to Michael. “You win on the most embarrassing sibling, Guerin, someone needs to teach your sister to knock, but I bet I have you beat on bad dates.”

So five minutes after she had decided to stay in Roswell, Charlie Cameron had ended up tracking down Michael at Sanders, and opened the conversation unceremoniously with, “So aliens are real and I’m guessing you’re one. Consider me the newest member of your Scooby Gang and tell me everything.” He had dropped a heavy wrench on his boot, pain stealing his voice for a moment. Perhaps there was a man out there that was able to resist the no-nonsense stare of a Cameron woman, but that wasn’t Michael, or even Max for that matter.

And that was that, one more person in on the second biggest secret Michael held (he was still in love with Alex being number one). It came with it’s own valuable reveals, finding out from Charlie that although Helena Ortecho had covered her tracks with the group as a red herring for Flint’s sake, Deep Sky was a very real paramilitary group and they were the source of the depowering serum that Helena had used on Michael to keep him compliant.

So ten minutes after catching her up on all things ridiculous and real in Roswell, New Mexico, Charlie had raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him and drawled lazily, “Any plans to combat that drug, or are you just going to hope that the next time it’s another benign manipulator? Because the way I see it, I’m a genius biochemist, and you’re a genius period, maybe we can do better than blind hope?”

Whether it was hubris at play to see if it was even possible, or a renewed determination to just fuck up whatever military sponsored plot that was in play, Charlie Cameron signed on to research an antidote to the depowering serum and in the process had become Michael’s newest, and surprisingly easiest, friend to have.

It was strange but Michael was starting to number his friends beyond just Max, Isobel and the currently absent Liz Ortecho. He could begrudgingly add Kyle Valenti to the list, now that Max had come clean with everyone over his heart condition. Although it was exceedingly awkward at times in the wake of their breakup, Maria was trying for friendship with him and it probably said something about them that they fell into that rhythm much easier than he had with Alex.

On paper he could consider Alex his friend. They shared beers together at neutral locations, there was always a conversation to linger over with coffee, and finally, Michael was the person Alex called now, every time he was scheduled to go out of town for work. That was less friendship, and more of a coping mechanism for them both after his abduction by Jesse then Helena.

It meant that Charlie Cameron had won the contest of easiest friend probably by default, but that didn’t make being the target of her knife-sharp sense of humor any easier to deflect when she smelled blood in the water. Thinking about his past, he knew that any conversation about dating was sure to leave him bleeding out.

Michael eyed the open hatch of the bunker lab, wondering if the spanse of time they had spent in the open air was enough for Charlie to nip this conversation to a close and return to the task of experimentation. Long periods of time in solitary confinement in a military prison had left her with a dislike of closed spaces, and it didn’t matter what sort of faux-Restoration Hardware light fixture he hung from the ceiling of his bunker; the walls would start closing in on her after two hours or so of work.

“You win this round, okay?”

“Come on, no bowing out. I told you about the ‘bring your child to work day’ my father suffered through with his conservative asshat co-workers, you can tell me about your worst date.”

“I haven’t dated enough to have a bad one, okay?” Michael admitted, looking away. There was no way he was going to talk about the drive in charity benefit with Alex, when he couldn’t be legitimately sure that it was even a date. Did sharing a six-pack on his tailgate even count? The way that night had ended was better off forgotten. Then there was Maria, where drinks at her bar had started as the natural postscript to an evening together. Did that count? He remembered bargaining with debts to arrange a dinner with Chinese food, that had been postponed almost indefinitely after her visions took center stage.

“Bullshit! Almost the second thing my sister told me about you was to be careful I didn’t end up in your bed.”

Michael ducked his head with an acknowledged wince. Well, Jenna Cameron did have a front-row seat during most of his questionable decisions regarding women and his poor restraint when it came to a certain brand of asshole at the Wild Pony. When he ran across men who reminded him of Foster Dad #5 who thought respect could be beaten into Michael, or men who were like Foster Dad 3 who kept his wife nervously popping pills for her nerves and caked in pancake makeup most Sunday mornings. Some people just needed punching. Michael was always happy to be the one doing it if someone gave him reason to and drunk assholes often did.

He tipped the bottle back to drain the last swallow of nearly flat beer to buy some time as he thought about what to say next. There was little hope of escape, Charlie had the mind of a scientist, sharp and inquisitive and ready to press for more answers. “I’m no virgin, that’s for sure. But that was mainly sex.” He shrugged, dropping the empty into his trash barrel. “From all the movies Izzy makes me watch with her, I gather going on a date is something of a higher tier than a one-off in my truck after last call.”

“What about with Mr. Complicated?” Charlie’s smile was closer to a smirk. Michael revised his assessment of her, from scientist to sadist.

“More than a one-off in my truck,” Michael agreed quietly. “Everything else was why it was complicated. And no, I don’t really want to talk about it, just to say, I have no stories about lost entrées at dinner or suddenly being a part of someone’s wedding reception with him.”

Instead of pressing the knife deeper into him with more questions about Alex, Charlie backed off with a mixed expression. Shit that was pity on her face, wasn’t it? God, it really was a sad story, his relationship with Alex and his life currently, Michael thought. Charlie, who had spent time in the last couple of years in a military prison and was actively evading a paramilitary group interested in her research, actually pitied his life.

“You’re trying to tell me you’re thirty years old, and you don’t have a single dating story to share?” She shook her head giving a sarcastic *bzzz* sound with her lips. “I don’t buy it. What about the hot bartender you were with last year?”

“You ever try to date someone who works in a bar? Her work hours were prime recreational hours. Who wants to go see a movie after last call and closing the till? You especially don’t want to go to another bar during off hours.” Michael pointed out. “Anyway, we kept it low-key. I cooked. Or we had drinks at the Pony. I dunno, life kept getting in the way of anything more.”

“That’s just sad.”

Michael placed his hand against his chest, “Ouch, don’t hold back!”

Charlie straightened up from where she was sitting, on the steps of the old school bus to get to her feet. “Okay you’ve basically described two relationships with feelings, but I’m talking about something different. You swipe right on someone, trade messages, ghost them when they are creepy, you’ve never done any of that? No one has ever slipped their number to you when you’ve gone out with friends?”

“I just told you, those were just one-offs in my truck.”

“Oh my god, give me your phone, we’re downloading some apps.”

#aewriting #michael guerin alien grief cactus #michael joins the dating world #online dating teaches you a lot #wip meme

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kessielrg · 3 years

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[Dragon Age] Oreos

Summary: In which Varric teaches his kid the proper way to dunk an Oreo. Hawke is there to be an as-…sistant. [oneshot][female humorous Hawke][modern AU]

Rating: K+

Word Count: 1,971 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

---

“Now where did I put them?” Varric mumbled to himself as he looked through the pantry. He cursed to himself when he tried to reach a bit higher up. Curse the Maker for making him vertically challenged. Had to use a stool in his own home and still couldn’t reach the top shelf. Go figure.

“Got it!” the dwarf exclaimed as his hand got a firm hold of the plastic packaging. After a very careful extraction, Varric held the Oreo package close as he then moved the stool to its rightful corner. He placed the Oreos on a serving tray he had arranged on the kitchen counter. Humming some Kidz Bop song he heard earlier, he then went into the fridge to pull out the milk.

As he poured the milk into three glasses, Varric kept an ear out for the living room. The sounds of a young voice were easy to make out, but was she talking to someone else or just herself again? As he put the milk back in the fridge, Varric really wished that Hawke kept her medicine in the kitchen instead of the bathroom. The last time he checked, her prescription needed to be filled again, and Hawke had yet to do so. It worried him. It worried him a lot more than he was willing to admit.

Varric let out a sigh before taking the tray and heading into the living room. Varric had his own kid to tend to, and it wasn’t Hawke. Still didn’t stop him from letting out a sigh of relief in seeing both Hawke and Hana sitting at the living room coffee table. He wouldn’t have to force her out of bed today. Good. Not that the promise of deliciously nasty cookies was anything to ignore. Hawke was a sucker for sweets whether she was aware of it or not.

Hana seemed rather chipper though. Actively serving as the only genuine energy in the room, Varric’s daughter had her straw yellow hair pulled into two low pigtails today. She was gladly going on about some topic that Hawke couldn’t feign actual interest in. Was she going on about how pretty Selena Gomez was again, or that game that her birth giver introduced her to a few weeks back? Oh well, it didn’t matter now. Now that Varric had gotten everything ready, it was time for the main event.

“We have gathered here today for a very momentous occasion.” Varric announced, striding over to the girls and effectively earning their attention. “Today is the day that we teach 7 year old Hana Tethras how to properly dunk, and eat, Oreos.”

Hana put on a wide smile. Hawke even gave a rather generous round of applause. She even peppered it with a few “That’s our girl!” and “She’s getting so big!” cheers for extra effect. It only helped the younger girl beam with pride. Even Varric gave a light smirk of appreciation.

“Now teenybopper,” he said as he took a place across from the girls, placing the tray right in the middle of the coffee table. “How do you feel? You nervous? Already got a preemptive tummy ache from all the sugar your old man is going to let you consume?”

“Nope!” Hana told him with a firm shake of her head. She then slammed her hands down with determination before saying, “Bring it, Papa!”

“Rein it back kid,” Varric laughed, “Don’t want to get the milk all over the coffee table, do we?”

“Sorry.” Hana sheepishly apologized. She carefully took her milk glass from her father and placed it to her left. She even gave it a good, hard stare, as if she was pressuring it into not falling over later. Varric snorted before handing Hawke her glass as well, then went about divvying up the cookies.

“Ah, Oreos,” Hawke thinly mused as Varric gave her share. “The only cure for my depression.”

He tried to hold it back, Varric scoffed. “They are not. That’s what your medication is for.”

“Well, you don’t have to act so sure about it,” Hawke frowned. “Give me my delusions and plausible deniability, Varric. It’s all I got in this world.”

“You have me Hawke!” Hana quickly chirped. “And Papa too!”

Hawke gave Hana a rather tired look, not quite intended for the child to see. The woman absently placed a hand on Hana’s head. She then gently stroked the top of Hana’s head as if it were a calming mechanism. Maybe it was; something about little Hana did give off a rather comforting aura. But Hawke would be damned if she knew just what it was.

“I do.” Hawke carefully agreed- although the sentence came out more as a question. Seeing Hana’s bright smile only made Hawke a bit more dazed. Varric looked on with a rather concerned expression on his face. He gently coughed into his hand, leading the ladies’ attention back to him.

“Now, for your first proper lesson, I’ve decided to go the easy route. I’m not training my young’in with the normal Oreos- that would be an exercise and a half not to break them. No, we’re going to use double stuffed Oreos. The best kind.”

“Naw, what about the triple stuffed Oreos, Varric?” Hawke whined. “Why can’t we use them instead?”

“Too much stuff.” came the rather firm answer. “I am a man of correcting my previous mistakes, and I’m not taking that road again.”

Hawke gave a badly exaggerated groan before telling him, “Having a kid really ruined your sense of fun.”

“No,” the man asserted. “Having a kid gave me a greater sense of avoiding 3 AM puke fests because someone decided to eat too much cookie cream.”

“It was one time!” Hawke argued, despite the rather amused look she had- Hana was stifling a cute little laughter beside her. “Everyone was black-out drunk anyway, and it was the perfect prank.”

“I don’t think Sebastian would say the same.”

“Since when were you ever one for accurate reaccountments, hmm?”

“You know he’s a dunker, Hawke. It gives him a sense of purpose.”

“Was he? Always seemed more like a licker.”

“Anyway…!” Varric then loudly proclaimed. “We’re getting off topic.”

Hawke and Hana exchanged a look before erupting into a set of bemused giggles. Varric rolled his eyes. Surround yourself with girls, they said. It would be a joy, they said. At least one of them was directly related to him- he wasn’t sure why he kept the other around.

“Now that I have your attention again,” Varric told them, “Let us first begin by picking up the Oreo itself…”

. . .

In a way, this whole thing was just so Varric could easily say seven year olds had the fine motor movement to carefully manipulate something as delicate as Oreo cookies. Always write what you know, yeah? It was a bit hard to believe that his own spawn actually stuck her tongue out when she was concentrating. She definitely didn’t get that from his side of the family. If anything, it was something he could see Hawke doing…

“I finally got it!” Hana suddenly exclaimed. Varric and Hawke both looked at her at the same time. The girl was proudly showing her two Oreo halves. One side had just the cream, the other was completely clean.

“Great job, teenybopper!” Varric approved. “Hawke, lean over and muss her hair for me. I can’t reach.”

Hawke nodded, but didn’t mess up Hana’s hair. Instead, she gave her a small elbow nudge and said, “Great job, teeny. Now we can audition you for all those Oreo commercials. You’d be a shoo-in.”

Hana’s smile grew even wider at the approval. Oh, to be young and easily proud of your (usually useless) accomplishments.

“Remember to only use your teeth to scrape the cream off if your tongue can’t find a good pocket beforehand.” Varric reminded his kid. Hana gave him a firm nod before returning to the cookie. He gave her a smile as he returned to his own lot as well.

Hawke had also returned to her Oreo dunking. After two cookies, she no longer felt like licking the cream off before dunking, so she just let the Oreo soak for a few moments. It was almost a routine that she zoned out for. Dip the Oreo, wait a bit, then eat it. Nothing to think about. It was a legitimate surprise when half the Oreo fell into the milk as she tried to pull it out. She blinked a few times before looking up at Varric.

“Varrrric,” Hawke whined, “Cookies got lost in milk!”

“That’s because you tried to dunk too much of the Oreo in the milk.” he replied without so much looking at her. “Then you pinched it as you pulled it up, and all your mushy cookie got lost.”

“But I didn’t pinch it!” she went on. A small edge in her voice made Varric look up. For a moment, he wondered if she was legitimately upset about it. “I only had half of it in the milk- you saw it! Tell ‘im, Hana.”

“You’re so funny, Hawke!” Hana laughed. The poor girl obviously not seeing that Hawke wasn’t quite being dramatic on purpose this time. Not that Varric could blame her- he’d bottle that innocence up and repackage it back into Hawke herself if he could.

“A real barrel of monkeys.” Varric mused. He gave a small click of his tongue before asking, “Hawke, did you take your meds today?”

Hawke proceeded to look at him like he was crazy. The dwarf was unrelenting, though. He had full plans of staring her down until Hana interrupted all of their thoughts with a musing;

“What do they make Oreo filling with anyway?”

A silence followed after this. Mostly because Varric didn’t want to stop nonverbally bullying Hawke into confessing she wasn’t taking care of herself again. He had to relent, letting out a defeated sigh before telling Hana, “Dunno, teenybopper. We can look it up later if you want.”

Hana gave a thoughtful hum and a little nod of her head, her attention too focused on staring at the Oreos now. Varric shook his head at her, before trying turning his attention back to Hawke. But Hawke had left the coffee table. She had slunk her way onto the couch, and was now actively trying to find the TV remote. That meant in a few minutes, Hawke would find something on TV that interested Hana, and the Oreo eating portion of their day officially over.

And Varric would be the one cleaning up the mess, because of course he would.

Varric let out a sigh before starting to get up. He made a trip to the kitchen to get a note off the fridge, then went back into the living room and straight to Hawke.

“The pharmacy closes in six hours,” he told her as he handed the note over, “Call them, or I’ll sit on you.”

Hawke looked at him, not sure whether to be amused or angered.

“Having a kid really ruined your sense of privacy.” she said, almost in a grumble

“No,” he told her. “Having a kid gave me a greater sense of caring for others. I’m not asking you twice, Hawke. Call them.”

The corners of Hawke’s mouth twitched as if she wanted to tell him off. He never gave her the chance. Instead, he sat back over with Hana, and quite purposely started to make conversation with her. The girl was rather ignorant of the friction between the two friends. In a way, Varric was grateful for it. She’d know and understand it better when she was older. But for now ignorance was bliss.

He just prayed that every force used to beat Hawke down never reached his own kid.

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treatian · 3 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 25: Highlights and Lowlights

Things were going…well…they were going. His night and day were peppered with small moments, moments that were good and moments that were bad, but all of them kept him moving forward, one foot in front of the other. Returning from his workshop to slip into bed beside Belle in the early hours of the morning, feeling her roll back into him and mutter his name sleepily, that was a good feeling. Leaving her only an hour later to get up and go to work, that was a bad feeling. Getting into the shop and seeing the shards of glass he's smashed up yesterday before leaving and hadn't cleaned, that was a low point, but using magic to repair the cabinets so that it looked as though nothing ever happened, made it better. Managing to go to the town line and cast a spell that allowed him to bottle samples of the magic at the Town Line, that was a positive piece of progress, not knowing where to begin with those bottles was a kink in his celebrations. Going home and having lunch with Belle was the same oasis it had been each and every day, but the call he'd gotten from her right before he'd left reminding him to bring home the art supplies he'd been purposefully forgetting was frustrating.

It was his own fault. When they'd stayed in bed talking over the weekend he'd let slip the news about the bulletin board he'd seen in town, the one where people where posting pictures and drawings of loved ones. Fortunately, he'd remembered himself enough not to mention that her father had done a very poor, very wrong drawing of her, one that he was still keeping at the shop, but ever since he'd told her about it, she'd been asking him to bring her back art supplies for her. She had asked about her father that day, he'd answered that he honestly didn't know where he was. It was the truth. He didn't have a tracker on the man, at that moment he legitimately didn't know where he was, he could be at home, or the shop, he could have been out at the Evil Queen's mansion protesting for all he cared. But he didn't know. So, it hadn't been a lie.

Still, after that conversation when she'd begun to ask for "art supplies", he'd known what she wanted them for. That was why he'd "forgotten" them. This time, when she'd finally appeared to master the telephone and asked for them herself before he left for lunch, there was no avoiding it. He told himself that it could have been worse. She could have chosen to ask him about his past and either forced him to lie or danced around not answering her at all.

But that night, when he saw what she'd actually drawn, he realized that simply drawing a picture of her father wasn't the worst thing that could come of it.

After she'd cooked dinner, he'd begun dishes and other clean-up tasks while she sat at the kitchen table and worked on her drawings. That was the first time he noticed that she was working on not one but two drawings. Two…one for her father and another for…he hadn't gotten a clear sight of it yet. Certainly not her mother, they both knew that she was dead, but perhaps there was another distant family member that she'd been close with. He practically swallowed his own tongue when he thought of the boy she'd once brought back to the Dark Castle. Samuel, that had been his name. He'd never quite found out about who they had been with each other, but he'd wanted to take Belle away with him and cared for her a great deal. He'd let him go and never seen him again at least not that he could remember. For the first time, he found himself wondering if that was a mistake, if he should have killed him or if he needed to look for him just to make sure-

He was being ridiculous, jealous. She was here with him, she shared his bed, his life, he didn't need to worry over silly things like that when he had a Curse to break.

"What do you think?"

His heart raced as he rung out the rag he'd been using on the counter tops then looked over his shoulder at the drawing she was holding up. A picture of her father, not the mysterious second individual, but not exactly a man that inspired great admiration in him either. Regina's story of the old man locking Belle up so that she killed herself might not have been true, but that didn't mean he wasn't responsible for a great number of other grievances. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he stared at the picture that was a little too accurate for comfort.

"I think it's surprisingly detailed," he managed to choke out before finishing his work at the sink. It was the only good thing he could think to say. He knew she loved to read, knew she loved to clean, but until she'd held that drawing up for him, he hadn't a clue that she was also an artist a far better one than her father. "I didn't know you could draw," he commented, changing the subject as he came to sit beside her. He hoped he might get a glimpse of the mysterious second portrait she'd been working on.

"I was a Princess," she shrugged. "It would have been improper not to learn how to draw. Besides…I didn't know you could clean."

He smiled at her jest, at the way she raised her eyebrows and managed to insult him while making him want to kiss her at the same time.

"There was a time long ago before you were born that I didn't have a caretake to rely upon. And good help is always hard to find, no matter what realm you're in.

She laughed as she shook her head and returned to her work. They'd done this sort of joking in the castle, when they were relaxed with each other, to see it return to her instead of anxiety and wonder at the world around her…that was a highlight of the day. Finally catching a glimpse at the other picture she was drawing, was not a highlight. He picked the finished drawing up and examined it closer in disbelief. Dark hair, chiseled chin, cold eyes, haughty expression; he recognized that face. Not her father or a family member or even Samuel. Her former fiancé…Gaston. He'd been prepared, in a way, for her pronouncement that she wanted to find her father. But he couldn't have been prepared for her saying she wanted to find him, not after the way she'd described him in the castle. "I never truly cared for Gaston." She'd said that. So why was she so preoccupied with finding him now?

"I still don't understand why you need to find him."

"Well…" she sighed casually before taking the drawing from him. The expression on her face as she looked it over was comforting in a way. It wasn't care or concern he saw there. Curiosity, perhaps, maybe even a bit of sadness. But it didn't help him to understand. "As vain as he was, I did know him. I didn't love him enough to want to be married to him, but he was part of my life for a long time and…I just want to know he's all right, Rumple. For me, not for him. I don't suppose you've seen either of them around town, have you?"

Honesty or nothing. Just because he wasn't bound by magic, just because he hadn't made a deal with her when she thought they had didn't mean that he wanted to lie to her. Yes, he had seen her father around town, not since the Curse had broken, but he could probably get a hold of him fairly easily. And as for Gaston…he'd never told her that he'd killed him already and he couldn't see himself doing it now. He couldn't be honest with her, so he chose to continue staring at the picture and give her no information at all and allow her to interpret the silence as she wanted to.

Suddenly she shifted beside him, put her pencil down and overturned the picture of Gaston so his face was out of sight. She took his hands in her own and looked up at him. "Love comes in different forms, Rumple. I love you differently than I love my father. Just like you don't love me the same way you loved your son."

"I know," he answered, feeling his hands tighten over her own.

Jealous. She thought he was jealous of Gaston or else scared that she was going to leave him for her father. She was only correct on one of those counts. He was scared she was going to leave him, in fact he was almost certain it was going to happen one day. One morning she'd wake up and notice the monster she went to bed with, and she'd want to leave him behind. He could accept that. He'd promised to keep her safe all the days of her life whether she was with him or not. If she went back to her father…that might be harder than he wanted it to be. Maurice had caged her, kept her closeted, used her as a bargaining chip more than once in a war against ogres…if she had to leave, he didn't want her going back there. The idea that these drawings, if ever hung on the bulletin board as intended, might reunite father and daughter, that they might grow closer, that they might figure out Gaston had died at his hands…it made him shiver. Was he staring at the catalyst to the end of what they had? Was their time together already coming to a close?

"Come on," her voice penetrated the silence, forced his eyes up away from where they'd drifted to the picture of her father. She was up and out of her seat and pulling on his hands to rise with her, taking him away from the table, away from the memories and the faces. "Let's sit out back."

"Sit out back." In all his years in Storybrooke he'd never sat out back on the patio. He'd never seen the purpose of it, certainly not in his good pants and since he owned nothing but good pants there was simply no reason. The sun was setting, it would be dark soon, it might be growing warmer during the day, but it was still chilly at night, and he couldn't fathom why she'd want to sit outside in a dress that barely covered her shoulders. But he followed. Because something about even the simplest of requests from her rendered him useless to fight back. She sat down on the steps, and he followed suit so that she could thread her hand over his arm and lean her head against his shoulder.

"Why, exactly, are we sitting here while it's freezing?" he asked, playing the role of Scrooge just so he could get his mind off her father. It wasn't a bad question, to be honest. She would catch cold if they spent too much longer here.

"We are enjoying each other's company like we always do, we're just doing it outside this time. Since you prefer me to stay in the house while you're out, this is the only time I have."

That was a fair and valid point. He figured he had to wait at least another five minutes before he could make the argument that it was too cold and insist she go back inside. In the meantime…he turned his head and kissed the top of her head. She sighed into him, and it was then that the wind blew a scent that was distinctly her own in his direction. Her own scent…he hadn't realized how he'd missed it. Since they'd been living together their scents had begun to twine together in a way that complimented each other's beautifully. He hadn't smelled her uniquely for days now. It was a welcome scent, but also a lovely realization. She'd begun to smell like him, and he'd begun to smell like her. He didn't ever want to lose that. If her father came back into her life and took her from him-

"I love you, Rumple," she insisted as if she'd read his mind. "Whether or not I find my father and Gaston won't change that fact."

"I know," he answered honestly. It wouldn't be finding her father that would change that fact, it would be listening to her father, to the rest of the world, learning what happened to Gaston. He hadn't ever thought that he'd have to answer for killing that man when he'd done it, he hadn't ever assumed she'd care enough to want answers for him. Why it was coming back to haunt him, of all his sins, all these years later was something he couldn't understand. "But you told me you didn't care for him. You said-"

"I don't care for him and never will. I just need to be sure he's all right in this world. It's like…this strange feeling I have that he's not."

Fuck.

"And your father-"

"Whether or not he approves of this isn't something I care about."

Whether he approved wasn't something that he cared about either. Whether or not he took this light from him, the light that he saw in Belle and snuffed it out again when it was just starting to burn bright…that was what he cared about. That was what he couldn't allow.

He felt her turn to look at him, his neck burned as she stared at him but he refused to yield. The answer was simple. Those drawings could not make it to the bulletin board. He couldn't allow it. For her sake, not just his own, he couldn't let her father get to her yet, not when she'd only come this far. She wasn't ready to be on her own in this world with neither of them. Of course, that begged the question, would he ever be able to admit when she was ready to live without him? Would he be able to let her go?

Suddenly the fingers he'd been tapping nervously together were frozen by the presence of her own fingers lacing with his. Her head fit perfectly against his shoulder, his mouth fit perfectly against the crook of her neck, and their hands matched beautifully…how was he supposed to let her go when the time came?

"I left them once for a reason, Rumple," she whispered. "Many reasons actually, but one of them was that they didn't understand me. They didn't see me and I doubt they ever will. Not like you do, no one sees me like you do. You were the better option once and you're not just the better option now, you're the only option, the best option."

He turned to meet her gaze and felt guilt twist in his belly the second he saw that she believed that. He was the best option for her now, but he knew it was only because this was what she knew. The second she left, the second she had other options and saw other ways of independence-

"I have no intention of returning to the life they planned for me," she assured him. "I just need to know they're all right, that their life here is good…like mine is wither you."

He forced a smile to his face. He believed that in part. She'd never let her father auction her off to the highest bidder again, she'd certainly never marry Gaston or be Queen and bear royal children, not so long as they stayed in Storybrooke and Gaston remained dead. But as for the rest…

"I believe you," he smiled just so that he could watch her smile and drag him down to kiss her. He squeezed her hand and kissed the top of her head before letting his smile safely falter as he stared into his own backyard. He believed her when she said that. But he also believed that just because someone believed something, that didn't make it true. Information could change opinions and beliefs-they could change people too. She was smart, her opinion could be changed with more information. He imagined her opinion would change with more information.

So, for now he was content to hold her close while he still could and watch the sun set in the distance until he moved a hand over her bare skin and felt the chill himself. "You're cold. Come on, let's go back inside."

"Rumple," she muttered as he moved to pick up his cane and get himself on his feet again. "Will you take those drawings into town for me tomorrow morning? Put them on that bulletin board?"

He sighed as he stared out at the lawn. Honesty or nothing. He couldn't let those drawings back it to the board. He wasn't ready for this to end. So he settled on a truth that was easily misinterpreted.

"I'll take care of it," he answered honestly. He'd take care of it by burning the pictures to ash so they never saw the light of day again.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Belle #Gaston #Maurice #Moe French #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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meganshinsou-tm · 5 years

Text

Crimson|Ink (m.)

↳ chapter three: lying from you

❧ genre: tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: none

❧ chapter song: Lying From You by Linkin Park

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles | artist credit

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

"Who?"

Denki grit his teeth as electricity sparked from his palms, "(Y/N), you asshole! What did you say to her to make her cry!"

Kirishima's face went from amused to blank. Even if making you hate him was his end goal, he never meant to make you cry.

Sighing, the red-head went back to cleaning up his mess from before, finally setting his tattoo machine and used utensils back on the tray. Kaminari wasn't happy with his lack of response and sent a bolt of electricity to the metal rolling tray. Kirishima was fast enough to remove his hands from the object and gave the yellow-haired male a look of disbelief.

"Dude what the fuck is your problem! You hardly even know the girl, now you want to fight for her?"

"Whether I know her or not, it's uncool to make a woman cry you moron. You've been a real dick to her ever since she stepped foot in here, for no reason! What the fuck is your problem!"

The two glared at each other and were at a stand-off. Sero and Bakugou had finally made their way to the room, both stopping at the doorway and staring at their friends who were in a fighting stance. Sero went to break everything up but the blonde held him back by the shoulder. He wanted to see how this played out, to confirm his suspicions.

Kirishima looked over Denki's shoulder to Bakugou.

"Are you gonna let him really just start some random fight with me over some dumb girl, right here?"

Kirishima’s words only added fuel to Denki's fire and the electric male lunged at him. Kiri was taken off guard and actually tackled to the ground. Immediately Denki was using his quirk to subdue his much stronger friend. Kirishima hissed and growled as he was legitimately shocked a few times before he could harden his skin and pushed Denki off of him.

"What did you say ass-wipe," Denki sneered as he threw a punch to Kirishima's jaw.

As if a strike of luck, Kirishima had let go of his quirk the second before the incoming fist made contact with his face. Shockingly the hit rocked him on his heels, his hand went up to rub his jaw as he moved it around. Rage finally settled in his veins when Denki smirked and chuckled at him. A “you fucker,” came from his lips before he lunged at his friends waist and drove him into the ground, causing them both to slide to Sero and Bakugou's feet. Quickly, Kiri had his foe turned over on his stomach and his arms pinned behind his back, holding his face to the ground.

"I said we didn't need her around here, and we don't! You all fucking know that! Why are you suddenly letting some pretty pair of eyes make you forget what we really are huh? When I said we need someone to work here, I meant someone like us, not some random girl that can be a liability," Kirishima growled looking up from Denki and to his other friends.

A booted foot came into contact with his forehead, forcefully pushing him off of Denki. Sero bent down and helped his friend up to his feet. Bakugou smirked and walked over to Kirishima, crouching before him, both sets of red eyes burning holes into the others soul.

"You don't think I thought about that dipshit? Sure taking this job will put her in danger, but who better to protect her then us huh, and I know you'd be the first fucking one to take a bullet for her if it came down to it, wouldn't you?"

The red-heads eyes widened and he gulped.

In the background Sero groaned at the sudden realization, Denki of course was still left behind. He quirked a yellow brow at his friend and questioned what that meant. Sero rolled his black eyes and flicked Denki's forehead.

"He's fucking in love with her you moron."

"What? If he likes her so much then why was he being a massive dick to her," Denki replied throwing his hands up.

"I don't fucking love that brat, far from it," Kirishima growled and pushed Bakugou away so he could stand to his feet.

"Not yet at least," Bakugou chuckled and stood up.

Kirishima ignored the blonde and went to discarding the used needles and equipment from your tattoo session. He couldn't believe what was happening to him right now. Of course Bakugou would be the one to see right through him, it's been that way for years.

The red-head may look and seem intimidating from the outside, but deep down he was a major teddy bear and believed in shit like love and finding the one. It only depressed him even more knowing that that life would probably never happen for him, not in his line of work. It was too dangerous for him to get attached and reciprocate feelings for another, to let them into his life. He already had five other people to worry about, he didn't need to add you to the list. Not after they all had failed one of their leaders already.

"Anyone have a way of getting in contact with her," Bakugou questioned, making Kirishima freeze and turn around.

Denki immediately spoke up and waved his phone in the air, "I got lil'mama's number right here!"

"Okay, how did you get her number before me or plain face over here," Bakugou questioned and snatched the phone from his hand.

Kaminari just smiled and ruffled his hair, "A good player never reveals his tricks of the trade gentlemen, I'm sorry."

Sero scoffed and slapped the back of the yellow-haired males head, causing him to yelp and glare.

"You're no player Kami, just a dumbass."

"Thems fighting words man, wanna go?"

Sero chuckled and quickly pulled Denki under his arm in a choke hold, ruffling his hair and teasing about how he just got his ass kicked by Kirishima. Denki struggled under Sero's wonky elbow and whined to be freed.

"That's enough idiots. Denki, get ahold of (Y/N), see if she wants to grab coffee or something with you and Sero and you two get her back here ready to work," Bakugou commanded tossing the phone back to Denki.

Kirishima growled and stormed towards Bakugou, fuming and steaming at the ears, "Are you fucking serious? Didn't I just say –"

"Yeah I heard ya shitty hair, but you don't make the decisions around here!"

"Neither do you asshole," Kirishima replied as he went to punch Bakugou.

The blonde deflected his attack by grabbing his wrist and bringing his knee up to Kirishima's torso with so much force he hunched over and gasped for air. Holding and twisting his arm back, Bakugou leaned in close to Kirishima's ear.

"No I don't, I didn't want that shitty title, but I do have his ear in all the final decisions. I'm also your elder and I think you need to remember your fucking place before I have to remind you."

Kirishima panted and side eyed the blonde who was grinning at him. Sero and Denki both whistled and looked everywhere but the altercation happening before them, swaying back and forth on their heels as they tried to keep from snickering.

"You and I both know we need some extra help up here if we want to find the fucker that killed Yagi. Having a plain normal girl will help to keep our own 'normal' image up, plus she's destined to bring in more business with that quirk of hers and maybe we can finally get out of this shitty role. You can have everything you want, including her, without any worries or fears. Until then you know we always protect our own, and no one will even think about touching a pretty little hair on her pretty little head. Do I make myself clear?"

Kirishima grunted and pulled, but Bakugou's grip only tightened.

The red-head didn't want to give in, he didn't want you around at all. He knew he'd go crazy having to see your face every day, smell your intoxicating scent and hear your sweet voice. He'd be forced to see that damned smile and those massive eyes. You'd become the death of him, and Bakugou was right, no matter how much he wanted you to hate him, he'd still take a bullet for you.

Kirishima didn't know why he was so head over heels for you already, maybe it really was love at first sight. Since seeing your unhealed scar, he felt the need to protect you, to know more and to go find the monster who did that to you. You'd be so much better off had you not walked into that shop, now you had everyone intrigued and gunning for your return and stay. Kirishima knew he'd be outnumbered and knew he should quit while he was ahead.

Sighing and finally relaxing, Kirishima nodded, "Crystal."

Bakugou immediately released his friend and helped him to stand straight again, nudging his shoulder with a grin before turning to Sero and Denki.

Raising his hand, Denki cleared his throat before speaking, "Not that I'm complaining or anything but why do we have to fix his fuck up?"

"Because you idiot, you really think she wants to talk to this asshole again? I expect you at least try to apologize to (Y/N) the next time you see her. We're a family here, we don't have to like each other but we respect each other, got it?"

All three of the men in the room nodded and agreed with their elder. Before leaving, Bakugou made sure to remind Denki of his task and that he'd be making his own phone call. Sero followed after the blonde, leaving Denki and Kirishima to their selves.

Kirishima turned and started to clean up his studio, grabbing disinfectant and spraying down the tattoo chair. Denki walked over and took the bottle and sprayed the empty tray and counter tops before taking some paper towels from the red-head. They worked together cleaning the room before Kirishima gathered his things and they headed out.

"Look I'm sorry bro. I didn't know your reasoning. I just lose it when I see someone crying. I just got this overwhelming big brother vibe and I wanted to defend her."

Kirishima smiled and placed a hand on his friends shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "It's no problem man, I needed my ass kicked. It wasn't manly of me to treat her that way, but it's all I can think to do."

"So does this mean you're still going to be an ass to her?"

Kiri nodded and frowned, "I can't let her think she has a chance, not if it means endangering her life. The less she knows about us the better. If me being a jerk to her will make it easier for her to leave when the time comes then I'll do it. I don't want another body to bury."

Denki sighed and shrugged his shoulders, "Bakugou is right though, we'll protect her, so why not change?"

"It's complicated dude, and I'm tired. Let's just drop it."

The two had finally made their way back to the front of the shop. Sero and Bakugou were talking among themselves before turning to look at them, who had obviously made up by now. Denki and Kirishima gave each other a firm fist bump and the yellow-haired male smiled and chuckled before crossing his arms behind his head and sauntering to his other friends.

"Well my dudes, until Rockhead over here stops acting so dumb, that little dime is free real-estate!"

You sighed and checked the time on your phone as you walked from the vehicle and towards a coffee shop. You looked at the name of the shop before re-reading the text Denki had sent you, just to make sure it was the right place.

A gust of chilly wind flew by, making your scarf almost fly away until a familiar cheerful voice sounded off.

"I got it cutie!"

Turning around a smile grew on your face upon seeing Denki jog your way with scarf in hand as his other clasped the collar of his coat close to his face. Sero trotted behind him pulling his beanie over his ears. You were happy to see both of their friendly faces and eagerly gave them both a hug, Denki went the extra mile and pecked your cheek, making you blush and playfully shove him.

"Let's get your cute butt inside before you freeze to death," he suggested and motioned you towards the door.

Sero ran to open it for you and nodded when you gave him a 'thank you'. Once inside the three of you ordered drinks, to which Sero insisted on paying for. There was no arguing since Denki pulled you away and to a table close by a window, leaving the black-haired male on his own. You gave him an apologetic smile and you could swear he blushed. Denki pulled your stool out and took your hand gently to help you up and onto it. He sat in a stool right next to you and rather close, making your knees brush and flashing you a literal heart stopping smile.

"Okay Denki, why am I here? I can just tell you have something up your sleeve."

"Aww, what if I genuinely wanted to spend time with you cutie, would that be so bad," he questioned and batted his lashes.

"No, it wouldn't but you're really laying on the charm right now, and if you wanted to spend time with me, I think you'd want to alone. Sero being here has me suspicious, like he's your wing-man for something."

Denki smirked and brushed back a strand of (h/c) hair that fell in your face. "Alright shorty, you got me. We're on a mission, to get you back into the shop and working for us."

If you had your drink you would've spit it out instantly from the laughter spewing from your mouth. At the right time Sero had popped up, drinks in hand and asked what was so funny.

"You two thinking that I'd even consider working at that shop, that's what's funny."

"Aww, come on (Y/N), hear us out please, if we don't return with good news Bakugou is bound to throttle us!"

You quirked a brow and sipped on your warm tea, Sero sat down on the opposite side of you and Denki.

Why Bakugou wanted you there so bad had you intrigued. He was the one to mention it and offer the spot to you but you didn't understand why he seemed so hellbent on getting you back there. Or why any of them did, except for that red-headed jerk. If he wasn't there you honestly wouldn't think twice about the job. Who wouldn't love to work in a shop full of drop dead gorgeous tattooed men, overbearingly flirty ones at that.

"What does Bakugou want with me?"

Denki chuckled and raised a brow, "Among many things, he mainly wants you to work for us. Be our image when people first walk into the door."

"Remember I told you, we don't get a lot of female clientele," Sero questioned before taking a sip of his coffee. "Our shop can be the nicest and most modern looking shop on the street, but when most chicks walk in and see Bakugou's mad face or Kirishima's soul crushing eyes they tuck tail and run in the opposite direction. We thought if we had someone cute, feminine, sweet looking then maybe it could bring in more business. Plus, we have some other things going on as well, and having an extra hand around to answer the phone, emails, make appointments and such would be a major help."

You looked at your cup, the tip of your fingers tracing the rim of it as you took in Sero's words. You wanted to help them out, really. Being new to the area, you could use the job, the money, the friends. Also working with a band of heavily tattooed and intimidating looking guys wouldn't be so bad for other reasons. You just couldn't get over the fact though that Kiri seemed to despise you so much, for no reason. He went as far as to say the job wasn't even real and –

"I thought you guys didn't need me," you coldly replied, remembering the way Kiri said it to you.

Denki placed his hand on your forearm and Sero placed his on yours that laid on the table. You didn't flinch or seem taken off guard, you felt comfortable around these guys. You looked up to see Sero softly smiling at you with a gentle squeeze of your hand.

"Look, I know Kirishima was a jackass to you and you don't deserve that at all."

"Damn straight you don't, in fact I defended your honor and opened up a can of whoop ass on him," Denki chimed in.

"You didn't," you replied with a snort.

"He tried, Kiri won though, but it was a valiant gesture," Sero nodded and smiled at Denki. "Even Bakugou chewed him out for you. You see (Y/N), one of us may be a total dick, but the rest of us have your back. We'll keep his hard-headed ass in line, I'll tape his mouth shut if I need to, Denki will attempt to shock the shit out of him and Bakugou will blast him into oblivion."

A smile spread across your face from Sero and Denki trying their hardest to butter you up and get you to say yes. They were completely at your mercy.

You turned to look at the golden eyed man next to you, he smiled and laid his head on your shoulder, whimping like a puppy, pouting his bottom lip. You and Sero both laughed and looked at each other, he gave you a flat lipped smile and pleading expression. Both the men were doing a damn good job at being cute and irresistible, no wonder Bakugou sent them together, it was a fool proof plan.

"I'll even bring you breakfast every morning," Sero added.

"And I'll bring you lunch!" Denki nearly shouted.

Biting on your lip you thought it over, mainly about how you'd deal with Kirishima. You couldn't just ignore and stoop down to his level of petty. You still wanted to try and make nice with him, maybe it was an off day and there was hope. Something about him made you want to try and try, even if it meant meeting rejection at each turn. He was a challenge no doubt and you sort of liked that. Plus the offerings of free food helped.

"Please, with a cherry on top," they both sung in unison.

You sighed and bit your lip, trying to hide the goofy smile that wanted to surface.

"Goddammit, okay fine! I'll do it!"

"SHE'S GONNA DO IT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! SHE'S DOING IT," Kaminari yelled and threw his hands up into the air, making you and everyone else in the quiet coffee shop jump.

You tugged on the hem of his shirt and yanked him back into his seat quickly, placing your hand over his mouth with wide eyes as you chuckled.

"Shut the fuck up you crazy person!"

Denki smiled and grabbed your wrist, pulling it off of his mouth and placing a kiss to the top of it. You blushed and pinched his cheek before leaning forward and placing a kiss to it. The male thought he died and went to heaven as he hummed and went all starry eyed.

"Thank you Denki, for defending me."

"I'll do it over and over again if it means I get more of those!"

"Hey, you already have her number and got a kiss, give the rest of us a shot man!"

You looked at Sero and smiled, brushing your thumb on his hand that still held yours. For the remainder of your get together, Sero went over what your duties at the shop would be.

Real simple stuff, keeping the place clean, answering the phone and replying to emails. Going out and getting supplies when they needed them, to which one of the guys would always tag along and help. He also asked if you'd be okay with using your quirk on their not so pleasant customers with low pain tolerances. You agreed, it was nothing to do really and made you feel needed even more. The shop was open pretty much every day but you were allowed to take any days off you wanted, it wouldn't really be an issue.

After the three of you finished your drinks you decided it was time to get back home. Denki got up and helped you down from your stool while Sero grabbed your coat and helped to put it on you. Both men hooked their arms through yours and walked you back out into the cold to your vehicle.

You hugged Denki and kissed his cheek again before he took the key from Sero and ran to their vehicle to get it warming up. Turning, you looked at Sero who smiled. A gasp came out of your mouth when a snowflake landed right on your eye lash and made you shudder. Quickly Sero held your face in one hand and gently removed the snow flake with his fingers. You both blushed at each other when you blinked and his thumbs brushed your cheeks.

"Now is your last chance to back out, I know we laid it on pretty thick in there but if you're really uncomfortable then you can say no. I know Kirishima really hurt you the other day and we're all terribly sorry for that. He shouldn't treat any one that way."

You smiled and placed a hand over Sero's and winked, "I'm fine now Sero, really. It means a lot to have you, Denki and Bakugou back me up on this and to seek me out. I can handle myself though, I won't let Kiri get to me."

"If he does, you just come and find one of us."

You nodded and hugged the sweet black eyed male, he hugged you back and made you feel extremely warm and wanted. Before pulling away he kissed the top of your head and opened your car door. You placed a kiss on his cheek before getting in and shutting the door behind you. A massive triangular smile was plastered on his face as you started the car and drove away. Sero knew that eventually, Kirishima would be one lucky guy.

Kirishima walked down the sidewalk, hands in his coat pockets and eyes looking at the ground. His fingers dug around briefly to grasp the shop keys in his pocket as he got closer to the door. The wind nipped at his face and he pulled this collar of the coat up to shield his cheeks while his other hand inserted the key into the lock. Behind him he could hear the sound of a car door opening and closing before the horn went off as it locked. Footsteps were heard closing in near him.

"We don't open for a couple more hours," he spoke without even looking.

"That's cool," a sweet and sarcastic voice replied.

The red-head stopped what he was doing and turned his face to glance next to him. There you stood, cheeks and nose already pink from the ice-cold air. Strands of your (h/c) hair flew around your face as your eyes squinted from the gust of wind and snow. You licked your cold and dry lips before peeking an eye open to him.

"It's really cold out here Kiri," you finally spoke in a strained tone.

His brain finally started to function again and his hand turned the key in the lock. Kirishima quickly opened the door and motioned for you to walk inside, you thanked him and did so with a sprint. Once inside you could feel your body instantly defrosting, rubbing your arms as you shook the snow from your body. A chuckle was heard behind you, making your ears perk and you looked to see Kirishima smirking.

"What - are you a dog or something?"

Instantly your smile turned upside down and you rolled your eyes and removed your coat. Kirishima rose a brow when you revealed a black caged suspender skirt with a white t-shirt underneath. The caged straps of the skirt rested right under your breasts only accentuating them more. The hem of it hit you just above the knees. You walked behind the counter to place your coat on the chair, red eyes watching as your hips swayed.

"Oh hey, of course you're early! I got you breakfast, just like I promised!"

Kirishima quickly awoke from his trance when Sero's voice filled the room along with the bell on the door. Sero patted his back as he passed him and went behind the counter. You still had snow in your hair and Sero placed your food on the counter-top and helped to flick it out of the way, your eyes and lips smiled up at him from the intimate gesture, making Kirishima green with envy already.

Sero brushed a lock of hair out of your eyes and you thanked him. When he pulled away and discarded his own coat, you rubbed the side of your neck and looked at Kirishima, standing there and staring. You offered him a smile to which he didn't return, making your heart shrink just a bit.

The bell on the door went off again and in walked Bakugou. Coffees in his hands and an orange folder in his mouth. Your heart grew again once his red eyes noticed you and smiled with the folder hanging from his teeth. He walked over to Kirishima and nodded for him to take the object, the red-head took it and looked at the front before tucking it under his arm. Bakugou offered Kirishima a coffee and walked towards you behind the counter. Sero took one for himself and went to plop down on one of the couches. You smiled when Bakugou placed himself before you and smirked devilishly down on you.

"Looks like you couldn't stay away after all huh princess?"

Blushing and biting your lip you smiled.

"Well when you send two of the cutest agents out to butter me up, I kind of didn't have a choice, plus they both offered me free food."

Sero yelled out a 'guilty' in the background and you giggled. Bakugou chuckled and handed you a coffee, when your hand reached out to take it he pulled it back and teased you, holding it out of your reach. Kirishima rolled his eyes, drinking his own coffee as he watched Bakugou blatantly flirting with you.

"Bakugou~", you whined and reached.

Both men had vastly different reactions to the sound of your needy whine, Kirishima felt his blood boiling and Bakugou was eating it up with a shit-eating grin.

Finally the blonde gave in and handed the coffee to you, along with a kiss to your cheek. You blushed immediately and shyly thanked him as he pinched your chin. Kirishima let out an exaggerated sigh and went to walk behind the counter to his studio, except you and Bakugou were blocking his way. The blonde grinned and threw an arm around your shoulders, walking you both to the side and out of the red-heads way as he motioned for him to walk by. Kirishima gave you a look and you couldn't decipher what it held. His hand shoved Bakugou's shoulder as he brushed past the two of you and around the corner disappearing from your sight.

Bakugou squeezed your shoulder and ruffled your hair, making a smile return to your face.

"You're one of us now princess. Ready to get your first day started?"

"Oh, I'm ready!"

#crimson ink #tattoo shop au #hitman au #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader x everyone #bakusquad #slow burn

196 notes · View notes

modreduscycle · 5 years

Text

Uther and Merlin Pt. 5

Aka Merlin’s Past Sucks and Aurelius is the Better Brother

Also, since I figured I might as well give some age context here, Merlin’s 21 at this point, Uther’s 19, and Aurelius is 22.

Aurelius rubbed his forehead in the tent. His eyes were baggy, sunken, tired. His armor seemed to drag him to the ground. Merlin thought it was a miracle he was still awake. With a sigh, Merlin brought over a bottle of mead and some bread and offered it to him. “Here, you look like you could use something in you.”

Aurelius managed a smile at him and took the food. “Thank you.” Merlin beamed at the praise and started to go back to his seat to read his book when Aurelius stopped him. “Merlin, where did you come from?”

“Hm?” Merlin looked down at the tired man, auburn dark brown hair falling into his gray eyes. Aurelius leaned back, pushing the dark hair out of his face.

“I would say something fantastical like heaven, but I know you’re not an angel despite what some of the men have been saying,” Aurelius lightly teased.

“Wait, what?” Merlin’s eyes widened and he could feel his face heat up while Aurelius laughed.

“You heal our soldiers and electrocute our enemies. People appreciate you, and that’s an understatement,” Aurelius replied. He patted a spot on the makeshift bench next to him. “Back to my original question, where did you come from?”

Merlin sat down, feeling a little confused. “I thought I told you, I never really had a home. I just wandered from place to place, scavenged, hunted—just rabbits and the like, no deer—did odd jobs in order to eat and drink.”

“Well, why?” Aurelius pressed.

“Because if I stayed anywhere, I’d be captured and made to do… things I don’t want to.” Merlin muttered the last part.

With a sympathetic wince and a look of disdain on his face, Aurelius spat, “Right, that magic breeding cult. Festering pit of scum.” After he had calmed himself down, he took a deep breath and seemed to think of how to phrase what he was going to say next. “What about your parents?”

“Oh, my mother left me when I was… around four or five, I think?”

Merlin didn’t entirely understand why Aurelius’s eyes widened. “Like in the care of a relative or in some village…?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, just in the woods.”

“What about your father?”

“I never met him,” Merlin replied. “Or at least I can’t remember if I did, so I’m also not altogether sure whether I’m legitimate or not.”

“So she just abandoned you? In the middle of nowhere?” Aurelius demanded.

Merlin shook his head. “No, it wasn’t like that— well, actually, it was exactly like that, but it was to keep both of us safe. You can’t exactly be on the run with a child in tow, it just makes it more dangerous.”

“Why was she— right, breeding cult.” Aurelius sighed and rubbed his forehead. “So you weren’t being overly literal to that question, you really aren’t from anywhere.”

Merlin nodded, glancing toward the ground. Aurelius stared at the wizard, then offered a smile. “You don’t have a surname then, do you?”

A blush spread across Merlin’s face. “Not really, I’m only mostly sure ‘Merlin’ is even what my mother named me.”

Aurelius reached out and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Then why don’t you have ours?”

“Huh?”

“Ambrosius. It’s the royal family’s name, and while I can’t give you any inheritance claim, I can essentially politically adopt you into the family,” Aurelius explained. “Uther’s fond of you and you have more than earned a reward for all you’ve done.”

Merlin’s eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed a few times, as if he was trying to talk but could not make a sound. Finally, he found his voice again. “Y- you mean it?”

“Wouldn’t offer if I didn’t,” Aurelius retorted, reaching out and grabbing Merlin’s hand, smiling as he did so. “I know you’ll do great things, like you have already. You deserve a prestigious name.”

“B- but what about your reputation—”

“Reputation?” Aurelius laughed, a hint of bitterness. “I remember Father used to be so concerned about that, and look at what we’re synonymous with now. A fallen dynasty, a betrayed family. Why does that matter? Reputation rises and falls like the tide. We’ll be praised when we take back the throne, then if I can’t rule up to expectations, we’ll be tyrants. We can only live for what we believe in, Merlin, and damn what people think about us.” He squeezed Merlin’s hands, staring straight into his eyes. Merlin found he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Light gray eyes, with just the slightest dark blue flecks, bore into green ones with sharp intensity. “Even barring all that, I know no matter what path you take, you’ll do our name well.”

Merlin’s voice left him again. Unable to speak, he nodded, then collapsed on Aurelius in a hug. The prince noticeably stiffened, then returned the hug, rubbing Merlin’s back. Unseen by Merlin, a smile made its way across his face.

#Uther and Merlin #arthuriana #Arthurian #Arthurian Mythology #Arthurian legend #arthurian literature #merlin #aurelius ambrosius #mordredus cycle

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realityhelixcreates · 5 years

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 34: Breaking News

Chapters: 34/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Mentions of nudity. death, internet misogyny Relationships: Loki x Reader (Someday) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Reader, Thor, Brunnhilde, Heimdall Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Loki Has Some Telling Dreams, Loki Has Some Legitimate Fears, This Is Why People Have A Low Opinion Of Journalists These Days, Clickbait More Like Clickhate Amirite Summary: Fame can be particularly unpleasant

You stormed into the bathtub, naked as the day you were born, and the fury of you pushed him back against the wall. It was hard now to remember that you were mortal. Small. Helpless. It was hard to remember when you approached, wrapped in burning rage, like a force of nature. Thor could not help, for he too, was weak in the face of mortal women. Brunnhilde would not help, for she knew, as Loki now did, that he had made a terrible mistake. He looked to them for support anyway.

They were not there. There was only you and him, in a bath that seemed increasingly too small. The water lapped at your breasts as you splashed towards him. He had tried not to look, he had really tried. But you had demanded it. “Look at me!” You had snarled, and he had, and he remembered every inch of skin he had seen before your little fist had connected...

Not again. It wasn't that the strike had hurt exactly, he hadn't minded that. It was the anger, and the hurt underneath it. It was knowing that it was all because of how callous and thoughtless he had been, when he was supposed to be better than that.

“Look at me!” You demanded, and he did, resigned to what was to come. Your hand shot out and grasped the back of his head, fingers curling in his hair.

What?

In a single, smooth movement, you closed the last of the distance between you and him, sliding up against his body and capturing his mouth in a searing kiss.

His entire mind blanked, and he just stood, dumbfounded for a few moments, until everything caught up with him. Then he flung his arms around you, crushing you to his chest and returning the kiss with equal fervor.

Oh, this...this was so much better than being punched...

He poured passion into you, wanting more, more, more. It had been so long since he'd had this, and even then, it was with suspicion and apprehension hanging over him. But this felt so pure, so true. He didn't want to ever stop.

He kissed you ceaselessly until the water went cold around him, and even then, he didn't want to stop. But the cold was creeping up his body, so, so cold. Cold and...hard...

He drew back suddenly, to stare into your unblinking, rime-covered eyes. Your face, your body, rigid like a perfectly detailed statue.

Loki tried to leap away, shouting in horror, but the bathwater was solid, trapping him from the hips down. He flailed, the blue of his skin catching his eye.

Odin was there, perched on the tiles on the other side of the tub. He was saying something, but Loki could not hear over his own screaming.

He opened his eyes to the false night created by the hotels blackout curtains, immediately rushing to your bedside. You were breathing softly, slowly, and he almost thew his arms around you in relief, only drawing back at the last moment, for fear that you would freeze at his touch.

What was getting into him? First, out on the island, he had almost...done something before that bird had interrupted. Had he almost kissed you? Why? Why was he dreaming about it now, why was he craving something like that? Such things were not for him, surely he was still too busy, surely he was not meant for trivialities like romance. That must be what the dream was about. He was still too broken, too untrustworthy, too dangerous. It would only end in disaster.

At least it was now obvious that you didn't share all of his dreams. You slept peacefully, unaware of the warnings his mind was providing him. A warning. He should heed it. Banish all thoughts of soft affections and closeness. It was just a warning to keep his hands to himself.

He had been getting too comfortable by far. Holding your hand out in public, putting his arms around you, dancing with you. Crawling right into bed with you, the instant you allowed it of him! He even tried running to you for comfort after this nightmare, even though he was the one who was supposed to be protecting you! Even though he was the one who was a danger to you.

That dream was incredibly unfair. He had never once lost control over his form, not ever. Only the touch of another frost giant, or their magic, could force him to revert, otherwise, he had perfect control. He had kissed others, and not frozen them.

None of them had been mortal though. Or rather, none of them had been as weak and lowly as a human. So soft, so delicate. So fragile. So brief.

He paused a moment to regain control of his breathing. There was something so appealing about your vulnerability, especially since you lived your life as if mostly unaware of it. All humans did, despite being the most frail of the peoples in the Eight Realms.

Retreating to his bed, he settled down, but did not sleep, visions of forbidden intimacy swimming just behind his eyelids.

******

You awoke, well rested and fresh. What lovely dreams you'd had. Traveling the universe, bathed in blue light, like a fading star. Something was attempting to communicate with you, not in words, but in impressions. It showed you dozens of worlds, peoples, stars, and other wonders. You could visit all these places, it promised, you could see all these things and more. All you had to do was learn how.

Bolstered by that potential future, you greeted the morning, barely noticing how quickly Loki switched places with Saldis, neglecting to tease you at all. At least you now knew you didn't share all of your dreams with him, not that you would have minded sharing this one.

You went out for breakfast with Saldis and Borgliot, and showed off your new puffin charm, and the seeds you had bought at the botanical gardens. Both women cooed over the puffin, just as charmed by the silly birds as you were. Saldis showed you a patterned, wool sweater she had bought to bring back to Andsvarr and a box of salted licorice for herself, and Borgliot had a bottle of Brennivin and a pair of very nice hiking boots for her brother, whom she told you was trapped on Vanaheim. There were a lot of families that had been scattered that way, with family members offworld at the time of Ragnarok, who had no way now to return without the Bifrost.

“We two shall meet again, I am certain.” Borgliot said. “In time, the Bifrost shall be repaired, and restored to its former power. We hast only to wait.”

Borgliot had time. She was maybe a little younger than the king, just young enough to have missed being discovered by the Valkyries before their last flight. Plenty of time left to see the Bifrost returned to full strength. You might not though.

Shame that. You did want to explore space, just like in your dream, but unless there was some breakthrough in building it, the Bifrost would be no help.

Saldis and Borgliot were going home today, since the trial was over, and they were no longer needed. Thor was swamped with press, and meetings with the local authorities, but he and Brunnhilde planned on leaving tomorrow, if they could conclude all their business by the end of the day. That would leave you and Loki alone in the city for two days after that, if you wanted to stay.

There was still a waterfall to visit, and more whale watching to do. Plenty of museums to visit, plenty of history to learn. Surely you could fill two days with education.

You saw the girls off on their horses with many well-wishes on their return, then rejoined Loki and Thor before the latter had to run off to another meeting. Brunnhilde, however, had other plans for you, dragging you away with her to input numbers into your new phone.

******

Loki watched you go with some apprehension. The Valkyrie could be unpredictable as he was, and Loki was disinclined to fully trust anyone who reminded him of himself. Still, he was certain that she would not allow you to get yourself into any real trouble, and said nothing as the two of you left.

“So...” Thor said, a jovial tone in his voice that Loki recognized as meaning some kind of brotherly teasing was on its way.

“Yes?” He said testily, not really in the mood.

“You have been somewhat...indiscreet this week, don't you think?”

“I'm sure I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh, well then, allow me to show you!”

Thor held out his phone with a majestic flourish. His newsfeed was clogged with article after article full of pictures; you and himself walking together, holding hands, eating meals, hugging, leaning on each other, just being together. Headlines speculated every possible thought, though most of them were centered on whether or not you were dating. There was one that showcased a picture taken of him carrying you in his arms, and leaping from the courthouse stairs. He looked terribly dashing to his own eyes. The headline shouted in bold text:

DEMON OR DISNEY PRINCE: Could the Controversial Prince of Asgard Have Rethought His Stance on Human Inferiority?

He snorted. Possibly. But it wasn't anybody's business but his.

Directly beneath that article was yet another-there were stacks and stacks of them-that featured you clinging to his arm with an unpleasant, clearly photoshopped expression.

HUSSIE OF THE MONTH: Supposed Victim Actually Shameless Social Climber? Pictured Here Brazenly Clutching The World's Most Eligible Villain!

“My, that one is unfriendly, isn't it?” Thor said, disapprovingly.

“I am not that eligible.” Loki protested.

“That's the part you're concerned about?”

“There's so many of them. They just go on and on; why are there so many? Look at this: 'Fantastic Frenemies? The Lady Doth Not Protest Too Much?' Ugh, 'Loki's Live-In Lady'? Look, this one calls her a doxie! How dare they publish that! Is there no oversight? I hope she hasn't seen these yet.”

“Uh, well...I'm pretty sure Brunnhilde was going to show her...”

“Oh no.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” You bellowed from where the Valkyrie had led you.

“Oh no.”

You stormed back up to him pointing at your new phone.

“Is this what you mean by PR?” You snapped. “I don't even recognize some of the words they're calling me!”

“I know, and I share your fury.” Loki assured. “I will find the addresses of these publishing houses, and I will utterly destroy them. No stone left atop another, I will raze them to the ground! I shall-”

“Loki!” Thor scolded.

“I shall write them a stern letter, detailing my disapproval!” Loki amended.

“It won't stop them.” You grumbled. “It's all clickbait, and it's all already out there. Once something's on the net, it's there forever. This is never going away.”

Loki placed his hands on your shoulders, leaning down to look you right in the face.

“Then we will do what those of us who are higher than they always do: ignore them. They are as ants to such as us, inconsequential and petty.”

You brushed his hands away. “That's easy for you to say, you aren't the one getting slut-shamed for no reason! Ugh! I need to take a walk or something.”

“Very well.” Loki said. “We can go-”

“I mean by myself.” You cut him off.

“My dear, I'm not sure that would be safe...”

“I just want some time to myself, is that too much? This shit is gonna spread like wildfire. By the end of the week, everyone's gonna see it. You get to be a prince, and I get to be a floozy. Great. I need to go stomp around a little. Meet me at the whale watching pier in a couple hours?”

“What? No, _____, I cannot advise-”

“See ya in a couple hours!” You stalked off, leaving him spluttering behind you. It was rude, and you knew it, but anger and distress burned through you, and you didn't want to take it out on him. Yeah, okay, Loki definitely had a bad reputation, but people weren't lambasting him sexually with no proof! You didn't need the added nonsense of dozens of news outlets accusing you of the same thing that murderer had!

So maybe you weren't a pure, untarnished virgin. But then again, as far as any of them knew, maybe you were! The point was, that it wasn't anybody's business but yours.

But they'd published it anyway, and were going to make a bunch of money off of it, and your dad, and Tara, and everyone you had ever known was going to see it, and so was everyone you hadn't even met yet. And it would inform their opinions of you, even if they didn't realize it, even if they tried not to let it.

And what would the people of Asgard make of it? You knew there were people there who already had a low opinion of you; you didn't want the general populace to get the impression that you were merely gold-digging trash.

“_____!” Someone called. “_____! You're _____, aren't you?”

You turned to face a small group of strangers, a few of whom you recognized from the courthouse steps. You drew back away from them. What did they want? Surely you couldn't have gotten yourself into danger so soon after blowing Loki off. That would just be embarrassing.

“Are you okay?” One of them, a young woman, asked. “Are you alone? Have you finally escaped the bastard? We can sneak you out, we think. Come with us, and we can get you home!”

Oh, they still thought Loki was some great, looming villain that you needed to be saved from. Well, it was several steps up from being threatened.

“It's...not that easy, you guys.” You said. It had been so long since you had spoken with someone who sounded like you, and these people at least seemed sympathetic.

“Has he threatened you? I'm sure there's somewhere you could go into hiding-”

“No, no, no, nothing like that. It's just that there's a lot going on, and I can't leave, I live here now-”

“And despite what you may have heard, I take very good care of her.” Loki said from directly behind you. He slid one hand smoothly over your shoulder, almost clutching, as the group of supportive protesters shrank away from him in fear.

“You wouldn't happen to have been following me while invisible, would you, your Highness?” You asked sourly.

You could practically feel his smugness falter, through the pressure of his hand.

“I might have.”

You tapped his fingers sharply, and he withdrew his hand.

“Just give me some time.” You entreated. He didn't say anything else, just walked back up the street with a barely perceptible hangdog expression.

“You can just...talk to him like that?” One of the terrified protesters whispered.

“Yeah, sometimes. He'll probably play some trick on me later, but it won't be so bad. Listen, you guys, there's been a lot of misunderstandings surrounding all this. C'mon, let's go talk about it...”

*****

Sofie put her phone away in disgust.

“Ugh! If I didn't need to ferry supplies back and forth, I might not ever go back to civilization!” She exclaimed.

“The pictures looked nice.” Frodi said. “They seem happy.”

“That only makes this disrespect worse.” Fritjof grumbled as Savane stirred their stew.

“Poor _____. She's really getting the worst of it.”

“She's an easier target.” Frodi pointed out. “She's not a god, and she's not threatening. There's nothing she can really do to get them to stop. Not that they've exactly spared Loki, but they can get really nasty at her expense.”

“Actually, I would like to speak with you about that.”

All four heads whipped around to face the unfamiliar voice, as Heimdall approached from behind the tents, the fire reflected in his eyes.

All four worshipers wordlessly moved aside to make room. With an appreciative nod, he took a seat.

“These gatherings are inevitable, and they are not unwelcome.” He began. “Truthfully, I find it flattering that any of you remember us at all, unreliable storytelling not withstanding. But even in the times of your distant ancestors, not everyone was welcoming of us. This hostility and confusion is nothing new.

The span of it, however, is. News traveled much more slowly in those days; there was more time to plan and prepare, to fortify ones position and allies. Now, there is less time for preparation, and people, including enemies, can move much more quickly from place to place. Your people could not fly, the last time I walked these lands. Now, you can traverse the whole of Midgard in mere days.

And now, entire camps of potential enemies have set up outside my city, motivated by hostility for one man, and confusion over one woman. I cannot look everywhere at once, and there are many things that currently require my attention.”

Frodi nodded. “And you want us to keep an eye out for potential trouble.”

“I want you to be wary of potential trouble.” Heimdall corrected. “I cannot advise that you enter into any kind of conflict. I do not believe that the majority of these people came here seeking violence, but that the minority who did might spread their influence if you are perceived as a threat. Eventually, there will be mingling. That too is inevitable. Welcome those who come to you, learn what you can. Many of these people do not truly understand the situation, and I cannot go explain to them myself without being seen as dangerous. It seems my presence stirs unease in much of humankind.”

This last was said with a pointed glance at Fritjof, who dropped his gaze.

“It might have to do with people having secrets, and you being able to see everything.” Savane pointed out bluntly. Fritjof and Sofie shot her quick glances.

“Probably.” Heimdall said, unperturbed. “Now, I am not conscripting you, and there is no reward I have the authority to offer, however, if these new people prove to be dangerous to your camp, I can move guards out here to patrol the borders.”

“That is very gracious. I'll inform the others. You too, Sofie.” Frodi stood, brushed himself off, and motioned for Sofie to follow. The two of them walked off into the camp, to visit the fires of others.

“Savane, I feel the soup could use some of your special spice blend.” Heimdall said.

“Yes, you see, that is exactly what I was speaking of earlier.” She said, but went back to her tent anyway.

“Fritjof, son of Jor, will you tell me why you set that tent on fire? You knew there was no one inside.”

“You saw.” Fritjof said apprehensively. “Of course you did. I believed its owner was the man who attacked Loki's seidkona, and I wanted him to have no shelter among us.”

“Decisive, but dangerous, don't you think?”

“If you saw me do it then you should know I had it completely under control.”

“And no one else knows? No one ever notices that your fire never goes out?”

“No. Will you tell them?”

“I will not. It is not mine to tell. But if you value your friends, you should inform them of what you are capable of. I do not believe that they will shun you for your difference. But then again, I was born to a people who value those with such special abilities.”

“I will think about it.” Fritjof said, but would not promise anything further. The thing that drove him out here in the first place, the thing that made him obsessed with blood and heritage, that thing was his own, and he did not trust it with anyone else.

*****

“-And she was so shy that it took her weeks just to hold my hand.” Todd was saying. A group of newcomers had gathered around his tent to hear his stories about the woman who was rapidly becoming legend.

“She's so sweet and innocent. I really worry about what that alien has been putting her through.”

“Why didn't you follow her to the city?” Someone asked.

“Oh, I'm no match for a horse's speed.” Todd admitted. “And she's doing something important there, that shouldn't be interrupted. Did you know someone actually tried to kill her? It's terrible! That never happened back home. She's gotta go witness at his trial, and I hope they put him away for good.”

“I wonder if it was one of those fanatic at the other camp?” Someone else mused. “They're creepy. You know they actually think these people are real, literal gods?”

“Yeah, it's a little weird. Don't know why you'd wanna worship someone like Loki. Thor, maybe, he seems like a decent dude, but he's definitely flesh and blood, not a god. Just an alien. This is like some Fifties pulp novel: Aliens Stole My Girl! Poor _____. She's got to be so confused.”

“Hey dude.” Said another camper, who had heard Todd's lament more than a few times. “If she's your girl, then what's all this?” She handed Todd her phone, and he scrolled down through all the articles that had made you so distressed, outrage plain on his face.

“This is bullshit.” He declared. “Whoever those reporters are, they sure don't know _____! She isn't like that at all. But him-oh, we all know what a liar and manipulator he is! He's definitely deceiving her; she's just kind and naive enough to be twisted around by him.”

“I bet he's using her just to make himself look good.” One of them said.

“Well, don't fall for it.” The other camper answered, taking her phone back. “He's still the same bastard he's always been. You don't just stop being a power hungry lunatic overnight. No matter how harmless or friendly he might seem right now, it's all part of a plan. If he was really serious about not being Earth's enemy, he'd have turned himself in to justice, or make reparations to the cities he terrorized, or even issued some kind of apology! He hasn't done any of that, and he doesn't intend to! He thinks if he just waits long enough, it'll all go away, and he can just do whatever he wants with impunity! He kidnapped a woman from her workplace and put her in harms way. No amount of cute pictures can change that. Never forget what he's done! Never forget! Never forget!”

The cry went up, a chorus audible from the gates of the city.

#loki x reader #loki (marvel)#thor (marvel)#brunnhilde (marvel)#valkyrie (marvel)#Heimdall (Marvel)#marvel fanfiction

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womanoflettersinthebunker · 5 years

Text

It was another run of the mill hunt that ended with them getting hurt. Usually they’d manage on their own but their first aid kits were empty, it had been used during the time of the leviathans and Sam hadn't refilled it.

Dean had brought that up when they were in the emergency room, saying that maybe Sam had been too busy with his dog and vet to fill it up since he wasn't hunting either. Sam hadn't said anything but his jaw moved in that way that he was either annoyed or holding back whatever he wanted to really say.

If anything that made Dean just a touch angrier but he pushed it down once a nurse came to them, eyeing their bruises and how they were holding themselves to put the pressure off of their broken ribs.

They spoke to a doctor, a resident doing their residency from the young look on their face, and then another nurse before they were finally given some medications and the wounds were looked at.

“Bar fight.” Dean told them shortly as an answer to where they had gotten hurt. Sam didn't say anything but asked where the bathroom was that he could use.

It was standard procedure for them whenever they went to an emergency room, they’d try to find more supplies and medicine that they could take. They both knew it was wrong but at the same time, they needed the extra help.

Sam was gone longer than before and Dean was glancing at his watch impatiently, inching slowly towards the doors without bringing too much attention onto him.

After what felt like an eternity Sam finally came back to him, two bags instead of the usual one in his hands, using his body to try to hide them. Wordlessly they went back to the impala and got onto the road, wanting to put as much distance as possible between them and the emergency room.

Sam was quiet in the passenger's seat, keeping his second bag in between his legs as close as he could keep it. He shifted and pushed the bag a bit more under his seat almost subconsciously.

They drove until they reached two towns over and Dean checked into a motel room. Together they moved their things into the room and Sam fell into the second bed away from the door without changing. Curling a bit more into the bed Sam closed his eyes and fell asleep, still filled with tension despite being asleep.

Glancing at his brother who was dead asleep in his bed Dean snatched his bag from the chair and opened it, his brother has had enough secrets and it was time for Sam to come clean, one way or another.

Dean's hand curled around a bottle and he pulled it out, blinking when he saw the medical label on it. It was from the hospital they had just ransacked for medications but he didn’t recognize the name on it, risperidone. He mentally went through his knowledge of painkillers and came up short.

He looked into the bag and spotted more pill bottles. He shot another glance at his brother to make sure that he was still asleep and pulled out a second bottle, aripiprazole, and couldn't figure out what it was for either.

Pain killers were one thing, they needed them at times when whiskey wasn't enough, but that still didn't help anything make sense to why Sam was hiding these.

And it didn't make his anger get any smaller. His brother had problems with addiction in the past, the demon blood was a prime example and he still fought the urge to curse Ruby for being the one to bring it to him, and now this, an addiction to medications.

When the hell did this even happen? It wasn't during the time Dean was in purgatory, Sam was off living a normal life with a dog and a vet and therefore had no reason to turn to any addictions.

Which meant that this had been happening before. During his time with Dean and hunting Sam had been popping pills behind Deans back with no regard on how it would affect his hunting abilities and now that he was back hunting he was back to taking them.

Dean tried to think back to all those times they had run low on medical supplies, remembering those moments of empty painkillers with a new eye as he tried to remember how Sam would react, whether or not it was obvious that he was hiding the fact that he was behind it.

Breathing out Dean glanced into the bag once more, seeing more bottles. He set the two he was holding onto the table and started to bring the others out, glancing at their names as well and not recognizing any of them.

Olanzapine, ziprasidone, quetiapine, pimavanserin.

They weren't any painkillers that he recognized and he was sure that he knew them all, or at the least the ones they could semi easily get from the emergency rooms. Which meant either that hospitals had changed regulations or Sam had been so desperate for his next hit he had gone straight to the storage's, putting the both of them in danger of being found out, and stolen them from there.

Which meant that these were the stronger ones, the ones that the hospitals converted to keep for their bigger cases.

Dean fought the urge to throw them all down the drain and the only thing keeping him from doing that was the knowledge that maybe they’d legitimately need them after a hunt.

Dean shot a glare at his still sleeping brother, wondering where it had all gone to hell and where Sam had turned so badly. When had he turned on a path that wasn't the right one? Why had he done all of this?

They didn't even have the panic room anymore for Dean to put Sam into for withdrawal, Bobby was dead and therefore his house was no longer a welcoming place for them, they couldn't go back there anymore, so Dean was severely limited in what he could actually do.

Instead he just lined up all the bottles in a row on the table and sat down, opening their laptop and trying to figure out what to do and where he could take Sam to deal with this.

He loved his brother unconditionally, had sold his soul for him and would do so again, but damn if Sam didn't make it hard at times.

A little bit later Sam stirred in his bed and moved, yawning and sitting up, rubbing at his eyes. “I miss anything?” he mumbled.

“Don't know, you tell me.” Dean said shortly, not looking up from his emails.

Sam seemed to frown at the tone of Deans voice and turned towards him, about to say something when he saw the pill bottles on the table. He pulled slightly and straightened up a bit more. “I can explain.” he said, completely awake.

“Yeah I’m sure.” Dean said snapping the laptop shut harder than he should have. He looked up at his brother and narrowed his eyes. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Sam chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I didn't want to.” he finally said, seeming to fight the urge to either stand or keep sitting on the bed. He turned so that he was facing his brother. “I didn't want to keep this a secret from you but I also didn't want to tell you.”

“Well now I found out and it's worse than you not telling me, cause now, now I’m going to take charge of this.” Dean told him, pressing his hands into the table to keep them from shaking too much in anger.

Sam looked away from him. “Dean, you weren't here, you were in purgatory, I didn't have that many options.”

“So this started when I was in purgatory?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow and then snorted. “Thought you had your perfect and normal life, what happened that made you need them?”

“I’ve been dealing with it for a while before then, just during that time I was alone I was finally able to try to see and think things a bit more clearly.” Sam said slowly, a touch of anger in his voice and if anything, that pissed Dean off even more. Sam had no right to be angry about this, not when Dean was facing another betrayal from him.

“My god Sam, what the hell is it with you and addiction?” Dean asked shaking his head. “First the demon blood, now this? What the hell?” when he looked up at his brother Sam looked confused. “What?”

“I think that's my line.” Sam said. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you’re poppin’ pills.” Dean snapped at him. “I’m talking about that you're facing another addiction and we need to get rid of this as soon as possible.”

Sam just stared at him for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. “That's not what it is Dean.”

“Oh yeah? Its not?” Dean asked with a snort. He got up and snatched one of the bottles. “Then what the hell do you call this Sam? You’re stealing pills from the hospitals to feed your addiction. How long of a stash you got here?” he cast a disgusted look at the other bottles. “‘About a month's worth? Or do you take them all at once and hope you don't overdose?”

Sam adopted an expressionless look on his face as he stared up at his brother. “Dean, they’re not addictive. I’m not an addict.”

“Spin another one Sam, cause I don't believe you anymore.” Dean shot at him. “I don't think I can ever believe you again after this.”

“They’re not addictive and I’m not an addict.” Sam repeated. “Dean...they’re not opiates or pain killers.”

“Then what the hell are they Same? And you better have a good excuse cause I’m two seconds away from handcuffing you to that bed.” Dean told him, tightening his grip on the bottle.

Sam sighed and stood up, picking up one of the bottles and staring down at them. His eyes for a moment went to the side but then he looked back at the bottle.

“They’re medications to help with hallucinations.” Sam said putting the bottle back onto the table. “I still see Lucifer Dean.”

Dean felt his blood turn cold for a moment and he felt something inside of him crack. “Cas took those from you.”

Sam shook his head. “Cas took the power of the hallucinations from me, he took their biggest effect on me, but he didn’t take it all away from me.” he said. “It's not like before, I can ignore it a bit more easier than last time, but,” he shrugged. “I still see him and he still talks to me. Sometimes I just,” he opened the bottle and took one of the pills dry, swallowing it down. “Sometimes I need the extra help.”

“The extra help?” Dean repeated, not sure of how to deal or name the emotions that were slowly running inside of him.

Sam nodded, staring at the ground. “The hallucinations are manageable but when I was alone I got hurt and I was checked into a hospital again, the doctors read my files and knew about the hallucinations from before and so they prescribed me the medication. It didn't work last time but this time it did and well,” he shrugged. “So I try to keep up with it, I try to get more and I try to ration it but sometimes, I run out.”

“I get that we’re not on the best track right now, and I get that you’re mad at me.” Sam said quietly, grabbing his bag and slowly putting the bottles back into it. He hoisted in onto his back and grabbed his jacket as well. “But I thought that at the very least you’d talk to me and not jump to these kind of conclusions.”

“Sammy.” Dean started to say, taking a step towards his brother. Sam moved away from him, putting his boots back on. Wordlessly he left the motel room, hoisting his bag up a bit more onto his shoulder. The door closed behind him, leaving Dean alone in the room.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #SPN #spn fanfiction #Sam Winchester #dean winchester #365 #365 Days Of Writing #143/365 #season 8 #hallucinating sam

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letterfromtrenwith · 6 years

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A Feast for the Senses

A George/Elizabeth AU fic.

While hunting for a last minute gift, George Warleggan is drawn to the Cusgarne Chocolate Company, where he meets the chocolaterie's lovely owner, Elizabeth Chynoweth, and finds himself unable to resist returning...

George mentally cursed himself as he hurried down the street, turning up the collar of his coat against the chilly autumn wind. How could he have been so stupid? He could blame the chaos of the move and setting up the new office. Except part of the reason he had been so keen to move back to Cornwall was to be nearer his Aunt Joan, and now he had gone and forgotten her birthday!

For once in his life – and completely unintentionally – Uncle Cary had actually managed to be helpful, in that he had been the one to remind George, during the course of an otherwise all-business call.

“I suppose you’ll be out at your godmother’s tonight…I’ll tell you what, finding out she was born on Halloween wasn’t much of a surprise.” Cary had probably kept talking, considering he rarely let an opportunity to complain about Joan pass him by, but George had zoned out, staring in seasonally-appropriate horror at the date on his desk-top calendar.

He’d essentially just hung up on Cary, pulled his coat on and hurried out passed a bemused Margaret and Emma, saying he had an appointment and would see them in the morning. It was already just after 4pm, so he didn’t have long before the shops closed. The supermarkets would be open later, of course, but he didn’t want a cheap bunch of flowers and a bottle of Asti. Joan had been his mum’s best friend, and George had been close to her his whole life. She deserved something special.

Although he’d visited her several times while he’d been living in London, he hadn’t actually been into Truro proper for years, not even in the time since he’d moved back. He’d been too busy opening up the new branch. Almost all of the shops had changed from what he vaguely remembered, which did nothing to help him. How he could possibly have failed to remember the date became more bewildering as he went, considering almost every building he passed, and not just the shops, was covered in orange and black decorations. Now he thought about it, at least two of the other flats in his new building had had pumpkin lanterns outside their doors when he left this morning.

Even the little art shop he came to had delicate strips of black crepe trailing down its windows, framing several suitably gothic paintings. Knowing his aunt’s fondness for art, he went inside. Despite some difficulty extracting himself from the overly chatty owner, he considered it a successful visit, coming away with a very nice watercolour of Mousehole and a birthday card featuring a charming illustration of two foxes frolicking in awoodland.

George was just deciding whether to finish off with flowers or chocolates when the scent of the latter decided it for him. Warm and rich, the scent was fleeting but incredibly enticing. He managed to follow it to the entrance of a small courtyard, which was made up of half a dozen traditional shop fronts gathered around a paved square and big stone fountain, its water covered in the orange and yellow leaves which fell from two trees growing up between the stones. Directly in front of him was the obvious source of the aroma. Gold lettering flowing beautifully over midnight blue paint proclaimed the establishment to be The Cusgarne Chocolate Company.

Their window was also decorated for Halloween, but far more uniquely than the plastic skeletons and furry spiders in the other shops. Across the glass, delicate white cursive quoted Shakespeare: “Double, double, toil and trouble, Fire burn and cauldron bubble…” The display itself centred on a witch’s cauldron, which George realised was actually skilfully crafted out of dark chocolate. Green goo oozed over the side and orange flames burned underneath, both likely made out of sugar.

To the left was an odd assortment of chocolate creatures: bats, snakes, and what looked like lizards. He recalled the Macbeth reference – the ingredients of the witches’ brew. It also made sense of the little tableaux on the right hand side: trees made of chocolate and sugar, with tiny human-like figures hidden amongst them; the woods advancing on Dunsinane. The artistry and creativity of the display was truly amazing. Now, he wanted to go in as much out of curiosity as to buy something for Joan.

A traditional shop-bell tinkled over his head as he pushed open the door. Inside, the smell was incredible, and his stomach chose that moment to remind him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. At that same moment, a woman appeared behind the counter. He was about to say hello but then she smiled at him and he found he couldn’t say anything. She was tall with dark hair and soft features, and her smile took his breath away. The colour of her apron matched the décor outside, and the colour suited her.

“Can I help?” At her raised eyebrows, he realised he was probably staring at her like an idiot. He cleared his throat, gripping his parcel tightly. “Were you looking for something in particular?”

“Oh, er – “ George finally shook some sense into himself. “I want to get a present for someone.”

“Wife? Girlfriend?”

“No! Er, no – I don’t have – That is, it’s for my Aunt. It’s her birthday. Today.”

“Oh, last minute, hmm?” She smiled again, gently teasing and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Well, I’ve just moved and – “ Why was he telling her that? “Never mind.”

“Let’s see what we have for her.” She indicated a display of chocolate in a cabinet in front of her and George finally left where he’d been standing awkwardly in the doorway. “I can make you up a selection box of a few different flavours.”

“That sounds nice.” He propped his bag from the art shop up against the counter. “I was just, er, admiring your window display. It’s very original.”

“Oh, thank you.” There was that flooring smile again. “But that’s Morwenna’s work, really. My cousin – and business partner. She’s the real artist, I just make the chocolates.”

“Well, they look lovely, as well.” They really did. The cabinet held an extraordinary variety – milk, dark and white chocolate in many different shapes.

“What does she like? Your Aunt?”

“Er – “ George had never said ‘er’ as many times in his life as he had in these last few minutes. “She likes liquors, and nuts, and dark chocolate.”

“Oh, a woman of taste! I can do her a box of 16, with four different flavours?”

“That would be great, thank you.” She fished in the pocket of her apron, coming out with a pair of glasses. Putting them on only made her more attractive and George had to glance away, pretending to examine a display on the other side of the small shop floor, although he barely actually took it.

“So, where did you move from?”

“Hmm?” He looked back to see her peering intently into the cabinet, considering the selection in front of her.

“You said you moved.”

“Oh, yes. From London. Although, I’m from Cornwall, originally, actually. But, I’ve been working for the family company, and we’ve opened an office here.”

“What sort of work do you do?...Would she like a gin truffle, do you think?”

“Er, yes, she would, and we do investment banking.”

“Oh, that sounds interesting! Dark chocolate salted caramel?”

“Yes, please, and not really. It’s just lots of numbers. I imagine it’s not as interesting as making chocolate.”

“Maybe not.” She flashed him another smile; she really was stunning. “Does she like marzipan?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then what about….pistachio squares and marzipan cherry deluxe?”

“Sounds delicious.” She finished packing the chocolates, neatly folding the lid of the elegantly embossed gold box closed then sealing it with an imitation wax seal bearing what George assumed was the company logo.

“I hope she likes them.”

“I’m sure she will.” After he had paid, she passed him the box, their fingertips touching as he took it. With her leaning forward, he finally got a good look at the name sewn into her apron. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

“It was my pleasure.”

About a week later, George found himself loitering on the street outside the entrance to the courtyard, debating whether or not to go in. He did have a legitimate reason to go back to the shop, but still felt like a silly teenager, manufacturing an excuse to see a pretty girl again.

Pretending it was just out of interest, he’d taken the invitation on the little business card clipped to his receipt, which suggested a visit to the shop’s website. He’d learned that they’d been in business just a little over three years, and it was a family company, owned by Elizabeth and the cousin she’d mentioned, Morwenna, as well as a third girl with the same surname, Rowella. He’d heard of the Chynoweth family before; they’d been landowners a few hundred years ago, same as the Warleggans.

From a professional point of view, the business seemed very impressive. Aside from a small selection of unusual products sourced from around the world, everything they sold was handmade on site, using local ingredients wherever possible. All of their honey and edible flowers were sourced from the big Trenwith estate, which had its own organic farm shop now, according to Joan. They offered special ordering for occasions and even had a small online business, delivering to the local area. From their website, he found their Instagram profile, which included pictures of some of the window displays Elizabeth had credited to her cousin. They really were stunning. According to a post from a few months ago, the shop had won a Cornish Business Award, the three women posing proudly in evening dresses.

Macbeth had disappeared from the window today, replaced by a sugar bonfire and a chocolate Guy, flanked by brightly coloured candy Catherine wheels. At the sound of the bell, Elizabeth looked up from where she was adjusting a display next to the till.

“Oh, hello again! Did your Aunt like her present?” He had to admit to a slight suffusion of pleasure at the fact she remembered him, even though it had only been a few days.

“Yes, she loved them. I actually came back to get her some more of those marzipan cherry things.”

“Oh…” Her face softened, the corners of her lovely mouth turning slightly downward. “I’m afraid we don’t have any. We sold out but one of our suppliers has been having problems, so we don’t have the ingredients to make any more at the minute.”

“Oh. Well, that’s all right.”

“Is there anything else you’d like?”

“Yes, as it happens.” Just then, George realised they weren’t alone. A girl George recognised as Morwenna was talking to two women at the far end of the counter, in front of several copper pots warming on burners, something he somehow had managed not to notice the last time he was here, although they were clearly creating the wonderful smell that had brought him here in the first place. “One of my colleagues is going on maternity leave this week, and I’d like to get her something.”

“How lovely! When is she due?”

“In about six weeks.” Margaret finding out she was pregnant just after she’d agreed to re-locate to join the new office hadn’t been the best timing, but it was hardly her fault. Besides, part of the reason she’d agreed was that her and her husband wanted to get out of the City. Unfortunately, it meant that he and Emma had to take on her clients themselves at the same time as getting the new branch on an even keel. At least until they could find someone to cover her.

“Wonderful! What do you think she would like? Rose and violet creams might be nice for a new mum?”

“I think she would like those, actually. Thank you.”

“How are you settling in? To your new house? And job? If – er – if you don’t mind me asking.”

“No, er. It’s a bit hectic, but it’s going okay. I still haven’t unpacked at the flat, though.” There he went, talking too much at her again. God, it really had been too long since he’d had any kind of normal social interaction with anyone. Let alone a beautiful woman. Her laugh was wonderful. Suddenly, he became aware they were being watched. While they’d been talking, Morwenna had been pouring hot chocolate into paper cups for the other customers, and now she was finished she was looking over at him and her cousin with a quirked eyebrow. She probably saw men making utter fools of themselves in front of Elizabeth every day.

“Here you are. Um – I could, er, I could call you when we get more of those chocolates made, that your Aunt likes. If you’d like to leave your details, that is.”

“Oh, well, er, yes, that would be very good of you. Here.” Rummaging in his jacket pocket, he produced a business card. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She read the card with a hint of a smile. “George.”

“There’s a woman on the phone for you.” Emma waylaid George as he returned to the office from a meeting with some potential new clients. “Says she’s from some chocolate company?”

“Oh, put her through.” George tried not to sound too excited, even though he’d felt a little thrill knowing Elizabeth had called him, even if it was only to tell him that she had some chocolates in stock that his Aunt liked. God, he was pathetic.

“George? Hello, it’s Elizabeth Chynoweth here, from Cusgarne. I’m sorry it’s been so long, but we ended up having to find a new supplier. I think the new recipe is just as nice as the old one, but maybe your Aunt can be our official tester!” Even over the phone, her laugh was musical. “I’ve put a box aside for you.”

“Oh, thank you very much. I’m a little busy at work at the moment, but I’ll try to drop in – “

“I was going to say, we’re having a special evening at the beginning of next week – the 2nd - for the Christmas light switch on. When they do the late night shopping, you know? Well, I suppose you don’t – Anyway, would you like to come? We’re open until 8.”

“Oh, that would be nice. I’ll – I’ll see you then.”

George spent the next week in a state of eager anticipation, as if he were going out on a date, instead of dropping into a Christmas sale at a chocolate shop. He even found himself considering what he should wear, looking at his wardrobe on the morning of the 2nd and trying to decide which was his nicest suit. Crossly, he told himself not to be so pathetic, but still pulled out a dark blue one which Margaret had once told him complemented his eyes.

The shop was busy when he arrived just before half past 6, people milling about with glasses in their hands, some already carrying bags emblazoned with the shop’s logo. Clearly, the event was doing well for them. Christmas music was playing quietly and thankfully unobtrusively in the background, and the usual delicious aroma was even more so, layered with other flavours George couldn’t place.

“George! You came!” Elizabeth slipped between two chatting couples. Tonight, her apron was worn over simple black dress, which made her look even more stunning. Her smile was wide and welcoming and she seemed almost excited to see him. Considering the obvious success of the evening, she couldn’t be that keen to get one sale, could she? “Would you like a drink?”

“Er…”

“There’s mulled wine, or not mulled wine, or – “

“Or a chocolate martini. Here.” George took the glass, because it was presented to him so firmly he didn’t feel like he could refuse. He recognised the young woman who handed it to him as the third partner in the business, Rowella Chynoweth. Unlike Morwenna, who resembled Elizabeth quite strongly, she was more petite, with fair hair, but she was still unmistakably a Chynoweth. “I may not know much about chocolate, but I do know how to make a killer martini.”

Killer was right. It was very tasty, but also incredibly strong. One sip and George had to blink several times to feel like he could see straight again. Then again, he hadn’t had more than a single glass of wine to be polite at business dinners in he didn’t know how long.

“Rowella helps out in the shop sometimes, but she mostly deals with the business side of things for us.” Elizabeth explained, giving her cousin a look George was unable to interpret.

“I’m the brains, and they’re the beauty.” Rowella grinned. “So, you’re the famous George.”

“Er – “ He doubted that, somehow.

“Rowella – “ Before Elizabeth could say anymore, she was interrupted by a cry from across the room.

“George?! George Warleggan, is that you?” A petite brunette politely elbowed her way through the crowd towards him. It took a couple of moments to place her, although he didn’t know if that was because he hadn’t seen her in years or the effects of the martini.

“Verity? Wow!” George had gone to school with Verity’s brother Francis Poldark a long time ago, but they’d mostly lost touch after going off to university. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you! And you? I saw the new office, but I didn’t know you’d come with it!”

“Well, I have.” Wanting to get the conversation away from himself – especially as Rowella was still looking at him speculatively – George looked between Verity and Elizabeth. “Do you two know each other?”

“Verity’s one of our suppliers – Trenwith Organics.”

“Oh, of course!” He had forgotten that the estate belonged to the Poldarks. When they’d been at school, Francis’ father had been having some financial troubles with it, troubles which it seemed his children had managed to solve. “You’ve got the big farm shop now, haven’t you? I saw the signs for it when I drove down. How’s that doing?”

“Oh, great!” This thankfully led into a business related discussion, a topic George was much more comfortable with. It turned out the Poldarks were looking to expand their business even further by opening a full restaurant at the farm shop, and George was able to refer Verity to some financial people in that line. “You know, the Cusgarne range is one of our best-sellers in the shop. We can’t replace the stock fast enough!”

“Oh, well, you know – “ Elizabeth looked charmingly embarrassed at Verity’s praise, a wonderful soft pink blush creeping over her cheeks.

“And Morwenna made us a chocolate Trenwith for our birthday celebrations! It was amazing! She’s a true artist.”

“She is.” George couldn’t argue there. Tonight’s window was back to Shakespeare again – a Winter’s Tale complete with intricately painted chocolate bear.

This led onto talk of Cusgarne’s own expansion plans, Rowella explaining that they hoped to increase their online business, as well create some new product lines.

“Once we can afford the R&D, of course. I’ve made a contact with a local distillery, and we’d love to make a chocolate gin with them. We’ve done some small test batches, but we really need to put some more substantial time into it, which we just don’t have at the moment. We’ve been focusing on the beauty side.”

“Beauty?” George wasn’t sure he’d heard that correctly.

“Yes. Verity’s sister-in-law, Demelza, she makes her own line of soaps and hand creams and things.” It took him a moment to process the news that Francis had managed to get himself married. “She uses ingredients from the Trenwith estate, usually, but her and Elizabeth came up with the idea to do some cacao-flavoured products. We’re just testing the waters with them at the moment, but – Hang on.” Rowella hurried away to the other side of the room, Elizabeth watching her go with a smile.

“I’m sorry, she’s very enthusiastic.”

“That’s okay. It’s very impressive, actually. I meet a lot of business people, and not many have the kind of focus and vision you all seem to.”

“Oh, that’s so kind of you to say.” There was that blush again, and George feared a far less attractive version might be appearing on his own face.

“While she’s off, let me get you those chocolates for your Aunt, and I want to ask your opinion on a new recipe.” Verity excused herself to talk to someone else, and George followed Elizabeth over to the counter, on which sat several little platters of different chocolates, over which was a beautifully handwritten sign saying ‘Eat me’. Evidently Shakespeare wasn’t Morwenna’s only literary inspiration. “These are my new Christmas flavours.”

He saw White Chocolate Coconut Snowball, Christmas Pudding Truffle, and Milk Chocolate & Roast Chestnut, but Elizabeth picked up the tray marked Mulled Wine Truffle.

“I’m not completely certain about this one, so I’m canvassing for opinions tonight. Would you try one for me?” George shifted his now empty martini glass to the other hand so he could pick up a chocolate but, to his surprise, Elizabeth lifted one and held it out to him, close enough to his mouth to make her intention clear. Imagining she could probably hear his heart pounding, George leant forward and took the sweet, his lips just touching her fingertips. Since she wanted his opinion on the flavour, he tried to focus on that rather than the way his blood was doing its level best to rush away from his head. “What do you think?”

“I think – “ He coughed slightly. “I think that Morwenna isn’t the only artist in your family.”

“Oh, my – “ Just then, Rowella appeared again, brandishing a tube of cacao & burnt orange hand cream, which she insisted George try.

Later that night, the charming scent still on his hands and boxes of chocolates on the coffee table, George sat down at his laptop and pulled up a search engine. He needed to do some research.

Christmas shopping was his next excuse to visit the shop, which was almost as busy as it had been on their party night. Clearly it was a popular place to buy gifts, and the wintery weather which had settled over Cornwall made their hot chocolates especially appealing. Morwenna poured him an orange flavoured one, having failed to persuade him to accept a shot of brandy in it instead.

“I have to go back to work after this.”

“I’m at work,” she replied, adding a measure of Irish cream to the cup she had behind the counter. He assumed she didn’t drink on the job when she was doing her windows – today was a chocolate Santa’s sleigh filled with brightly-coloured sugar gifts, soaring over a white chocolate and powdered sugar snow scene.

“Yes, but you’re the boss.”

“So are you.” This was an excellent point, but he was saved from having to refute it by Elizabeth appearing with a welcoming smile. She was more than happy to help him pick out his gifts, most of which were either corporate ones, or for his employees. Cary got a bottle of whisky every year, and besides him there was only Joan to buy for on the personal side.

“So, what are your plans for Christmas?” Elizabeth asked as she made up a box of their different flavoured chocolate squares for a private trust the firm handled investments for.

“Oh, er, not much. Dinner with my Aunt here, but back to London for the day itself.” He’d probably end up working. Cary wasn’t the festive type, but for some reason he got grumpy if George didn’t come home for Christmas, despite the fact he usually spent most of the day drinking in his study. “Although I’m actually going to be there for a while.”

“Oh. Really? How long?” She made an odd expression as she closed and sealed the box, placing it with the others.

“Maybe a month. Just some things that need finished off back there.” With Margaret still off, Emma had been displeased to find George was going away for a month, as well. They had maternity cover for Margaret now, as well as support staff in place and a graduate trainee, so he was entirely confident Emma could manage.

“Oh, well. You won’t be away too long, then.”

“No.”

“Shall I gift wrap all of these for you?”

“Oh, I don’t know – “ He glanced at his watch, and then back at the door as two new customers jangled their way in. “I’ve got to get back, and you’re getting busy.”

“I’ll do them this afternoon. You can come back and collect them later.”

“Oh, thank you.” He paused. “Er – When I come back – from London, that is, there’s something I’d like to talk about, with you.”

“Oh?”

“About your business.”

“Oh.” Was it just him, or did she sound slightly disappointed? “Well, I look forward to that. I’ll see you later.”

It was oddly dismissive, and George spent the rest of the afternoon wondering if he’d offended her somehow. Maybe she didn’t want some corporate type interfering in her family business? He hadn’t considered that. How arrogant of him. Perhaps he should apologise to her. However, when he got back to the shop later on, he found Morwenna alone. Apparently, Elizabeth had gone out to see a supplier. George did his best to hide his disappointment.

“But she did leave you all these.” She handed him a pile of beautifully wrapped boxes, before placing a final one on the top which he didn’t recognise.

“Oh, that’s not.”

“It’s on the house, for being such a good customer.” She winked at him, and he wondered how many of those ‘special’ hot chocolates she’d had.

At home, he opened the package, finding inside a selection of poinsettia shaped chocolates flavoured with caramel, and a little note in soft, flowing hand which he knew instinctively was Elizabeth’s.

Merry Christmas. Good luck in London, and make sure to come and see us when you get back.

Underneath that was a phone number.

It ended up being closer to six weeks in London, and they were the longest of George’s life. He spent several days debating whether to call Elizabeth – she had given him her number after all. But why had she? Just because he’d said he wanted to talk business? He wanted to do that face-to-face. In the end, a few days after the New Year, Elizabeth settled it for him.

Hi. Hope you had a good new year. Your aunt came in for some more marzipan cherry. She’s found some new flavours she likes, too! :D

This led into them texting occasionally throughout his stay, George feeling a little blip of excitement every time his phone trilled a text alert, and then immediately scolding himself for acting like a love-struck teenager. A little while after the first message, he received an email from his aunt, mostly just her usual general chat, but with a small PS tacked onto the bottom:

You never told me that Elizabeth girl from the chocolate shop was so lovely – although I suppose I should have guessed by how much you were talking about her. Although, I’m sure she only keeps inviting me back so she can talk to me about you.

That couldn’t be true, could it? Surely Elizabeth just liked Joan – he could see why they would get on well. From Elizabeth’s messages, Joan had quickly become something of a regular at the shop. George imagined she would appreciate Morwenna’s ‘enhanced’ hot chocolates.

Meanwhile, in his spare moments , he worked on the proposal he wanted to make to Elizabeth – the business proposal. He was going to offer to secure investment in the business: to fund their research & development, maybe expansion to larger premises if they wanted, to take on extra staff so Rowella could devote herself full time to the management – and so they could increase production. George generally didn’t deal with a lot of small businesses, but the model wasn’t actually that different to larger companies in some ways. He did know about the failure rate of small businesses, especially food related ones, and they’d already beaten the odds on that.

He kept telling himself he was doing this solely because he was impressed with their work – and he was – but would he really be offering to find funding for some other nicely run little shop he might have accidentally wandered into, one where a beautiful woman hadn’t stepped out behind the counter and floored him with a single smile?

Well, it didn’t matter what his underlying motives were, he honestly did think the Cusgarne Chocolate Company deserved a boost, and a boost was really all they needed. He’d have to have a proper look at their accounts, but considering their current expansion plans they seemed to be operating on a steady financial basis.

A few days before he was due to arrive back in Cornwall, George sent Elizabeth a message:

Hi Elizabeth. I’m going to be back in Truro next week, and I was wondering if we could meet up? I’d like to discuss that business matter with you. If you’re interested, that is.

Every second until she replied felt like an age.

I’d love to. Friday, okay? You can drop by shop after closing. Any time after 6.

He gave the window a quick look – a sort of sculpture that looked like a mineral, painted purple. It was very pretty, and executed with Morwenna’s usual skill, but he couldn’t quite make out what it was.

The door was locked, and there was no sign of anyone inside, although the lights were still on. Perhaps they’d forgotten? Or maybe they were running late. He’d assumed Elizabeth would bring in her cousins – his aunt had managed to clarify the exact relationship between the three women, George not having liked to ask – since they were her co-owners in the business, and Rowella was the manager.

At his knock, Elizabeth hurried out from the back and came to let him in. Although it was not as strong as during opening hours, the warm scent of chocolate still lingered. It was such a comforting aroma, and George hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it while he’d been away. He knew how much he’d missed Elizabeth’s smile, however.

“Come in! It’s freezing out there.”

“It is.” He followed her through into the back. The kitchen was, as he’d suspected, rather compact; these old buildings usually didn’t have much space. It was actually impressive that they produced so much here. To his left, he saw a tiny office with a safe. Rowella’s domain, presumably. She was not there now, though. In fact, she wasn’t in evidence at all, and neither was Morwenna. “Are the others on their way?”

“Oh, they’re not coming.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know what to say to that. Was Elizabeth just here to let him down gently? It was kind of her, but she could have just told him they weren’t interested in whatever he had to say. He attempted to counteract his slight disappointment with a moment of levity. “I was hoping to ask Morwenna what her window is!”

“Oh, it’s amethyst. February birthstone.”

“Oh. Well, it’s very pretty.”

“Yes. I don’t know how she comes up with them all. She’s being very secretive about her Valentine’s Day one.” There was a slightly awkward pause as they stood facing each other next to a spotlessly clean metal bench. George decided to make one last ditch attempt at persuading her.

“Look, about my proposition – proposal.” Quickly – and far more nervously than he’d ever spoken even when addressing a conference hall full of hard-nosed hedge fund managers – he outlined what he wanted them to consider, and the potential for their business it could bring. “You could increase your beauty line, or even move into other foodstuffs, different merchandise, maybe even a recipe book…But, maybe you don’t want some bloke you hardly know interfering in your business and you’ve just kindly let me waste your time.”

“No!” Elizabeth had been listening in what seemed to him to be politely tolerant silence, but suddenly she became a lot more animated. “No, I’m – we’re – immensely grateful for your offer, and I know Morwenna and Rowella want me to snatch your hand off.”

“You’ve discussed it with them already?”

“Well, after you put Verity onto those restaurant venture people, I guessed what you might be going to offer us when you said you had something…and your Aunt tipped us off a bit.” George bit back a sigh. He loved Aunt Joan, but sometimes she could be as frustrating as Uncle Cary. By all rights, they should get along better, considering how much they loved to interfere in his life.

“But you have reservations?”

“Yes…” She stepped back slightly, glancing down as she trailed her hand over the surface of the bench. “Not because I don’t think it’s a wonderful plan, and not because I don’t think it’s incredibly kind of you to offer, but because – Well, you know what they say about mixing business with pleasure.”

“Wh – what?” George had to put his slightly rude response down to complete confusion at what she’d said. Having gone to the back of the room, Elizabeth returned with one of the shop’s golden boxes in her hands; a long, thin one. Standing in front of him again, she bit her lip – a gesture George struggled to tear his eyes away from – and flipped open the lid. Spelled out with individual letters on two rows of chocolates was a message: Be My Valentine.

“I mean – I don’t know how much more obvious I can be. The first day you walked in the shop, I asked if you were married; the next time, I asked for your number. Then, I invited you to a party, and gave you a present, and my number. I did my best to impress your Aunt, and I texted you for weeks, and now I’ve invited you here to see me, alone, at night and….Oh. You were expecting the girls to be here as well, weren’t you?” She pressed the box shut, suddenly looking distraught. “You’ve just been being polite this whole time, haven’t you? And now I’ve gone and made a complete fool of myself and I’m sure you’ll never want to give us the investment now – “

George leant forward and stopped up her tirade with a kiss, not caring that he crushed the box of chocolates between them. Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before wrapping her free hand around his neck and kissing him back. When they broke apart, they were both breathing heavily.

“What you said before – about business and pleasure – “

“Oh,” Elizabeth shook her head. “Whoever said that was an idiot. Besides, no matter how much I fancy you, Rowella would kill me if I turned you down. And Morwenna would help.”

Before he could reply, she threw the now hopelessly squashed box aside and wrapped both her arms around his neck, kissing him again.

She tasted like chocolate.

#poldark #george warleggan #elizabeth warleggan #elizabeth chynoweth #george x elizabeth #f: ge #f: au #au #fic #m: fic

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kassandra-lorelei · 6 years

Note

I know you're on holiday (so, whenever you get back and can get to it), but wondered if you could write a N/CC fic where they get married by accident? Like, maybe after spending the night hanging out together on one of the sheffield family vacations or something. Whatever you decide. Ha ha Just thought it sounded like it could be hysterical and don't remember reading one like it before. Have you? Thanks! Love your stories!

Hey there, Anon! I apologise that this took so long. I have actually written another story like this before (I adore the premise), that’s probably been lost somewhere in my tags, but I felt like writing another one in a similar vein, so here we are. :-) Enjoy!

@missbabcocks1 @holomoriarty

“God, what does a woman have to do to get a drink aroundhere?!”

“You mean you’ve run out of your usual methods?”

She should’ve known it’d be him she was carping off aboutthe lack of a bartender to – the biggest carp of them all. But in the dim lightof the place C.C. hadn’t noticed who she was sitting next to, and quite franklyshe hadn’t cared. Why Nanny Fine had insisted on a long weekend break in Vegasshe’d never know, and why Maxwell had agreed was an even bigger mystery – thekids were too young for anything in the city, so they were practically confinedto the hotel room at night, and somehow that only increased their capacity tobe annoying during the day.

Luckily the whole family going meant that Niles had had togo along as well, so she’d been able to get that one over on him. That was,until he’d reminded her that it was his job to be there, and she’d come alongof her own free will.

Remembering that little titbit of information only made herwant a drink more, which it seemed she was, ironically, about to get from thebutler, as he waved his hand and immediately caught the attention of thebartender.

But, whatever; it was strong, and it came in a glass. Andshe had time to get her own back as the barman poured it.

“At least my methods are legitimate,” she countered. “Idon’t go filling up from Maxwell’s liquor cabinet when I think no one’slooking.”

Niles’ eyebrows raised as he picked up his drink to take asip, “No need – we could wring you out and fill up all the bottles.”

C.C. had been frowning deeper in preparation to retort thathe knew something about filling up the bottles (with water), when the butlersuddenly spoke again.

“Truth be told, after this week so far, I can understandyour need for a little release.”

It caught her off-guard – both the sudden change fromzingers when he could’ve had her on the ropes, and the claim that he understoodhow she was feeling.

Well, maybe not that last one entirely. She at least had herown home to go to, he had to be around the Sheffields all the time. They wereprobably getting on his last nerve as well.

And for some reason, that made C.C. want to share more.

“That’s putting it mildly,” she told him, getting irritablejust thinking about it. “If I have to hear one more time about how the boytried to sneak into the casino with a fake ID, I think I might drown myself inthe pool.”

Niles joined in, “Or about how Mr Sheffield is bored ofhaving to sit around the pool all the time because there’s “nothing going on”during the day.”

The producer groaned and nodded in agreement.

“Unless you want to gamble,” Niles then added bitterly,before taking another sip of his drink.

C.C. could tell what that tone meant. She’d heard it before,when they’d been in Atlanta that time.

Of course, she wasn’t going to make the same mistake she hadthe last time.

She took a gulp of her drink, “They took your wallet again,didn’t they?”

The butler turned a low scowl towards the bar, “They’ve beengiving me an allowance for drinks and the buffet.”

It was funny, but something about that made it hard for C.C.to want to laugh at him. She eventually managed a half-assed one, but it onlyhelped to fuel his next insult when he accused her of getting soft.

Then they were back in familiar territory, and theyrefreshed their drinks to keep on talking and laughing (together and at eachother) well into the evening.

That was, until Niles downed the rest of one last drink, andtossed the last note he had down onto the bar.

“Well, that’s all my money spent for one evening,” hedeclared, slipping out of his seat. “I think I should probably go up.Goodnight, Miss Babcock.”

He turned away, and something struck C.C.. She knew whyshe’d found it hard to laugh at Niles just then – whether it was the alcohol,or the heat, or something else entirely, she didn’t know.

But she felt sorry for him. And they’d been having such agood time without the Sheffields, she didn’t want to call it a night just yet. Theyalways ended up having fun when they were out like this, and just because hedidn’t have money didn’t mean he had to go.

She slipped off her stool after him, “Niles, wait.”

Luckily, the butler turned around. He seemed to wonder whatshe could possibly be wanting to say to him.

C.C. undid her purse, and took out her credit card to showhim with a smile.

“Next ones are on me.”

………………………………………………………

“Oh, God…”

Between the blinding headache, the overall sense of weightedfuzziness going on all over her body, and a dryness in her mouth that could putDeath Valley to shame, C.C. thought that hangovers could kiss her ass.

Shifting a little in the bed but without opening her eyes,she tried to reach up and wipe at her face. But she found it…difficult. Therewas a warm, heavy something pinning it down. And she couldn’t move it.

It felt…like another arm?

She opened her eyes, and even without being able to seeherself, she knew that all the colour had drained from her face.

The other arm (as indeed it was) belonged to Niles, and itwas…holding her naked body against his naked body! Her leg was snugly securedover his hip, and…well, there was certainly now an explanation for why she feltso strangely warm down there…

It was all coming back to her.

The smatterings of laughter echoed down the corridor as theymade their way towards her room – hers was safer, it was further away from the family’sthan Niles’. And they couldn’t keep their hands off each other the whole way.

They barely made it through the door before her dress wasunzipped and pooled at her feet. She kicked it away somewhere and got straightback to business ripping open his shirt.

She’d already decided that night was going to be special,and it was going to be fun…

C.C. tried to swallow, “Oh, God…!”

Her words, as short and quiet as they were, were stillenough to rouse the butler. He shifted, as much as he was able to, and startedto wipe his own face.

“Hm?” he wiped his eyes, blinking them open. And that wasthen he saw C.C. staring back at him. “Oh, God.”

C.C. had a feeling that those words had been said a lot overthe course of the last eight or so hours.

But she didn’t stop to think about it for too long, beforethey both simultaneously sprang apart and flew out of opposite sides of the bed,each trying to grab a sheet to cover themselves.

“We slept together?!” C.C. scrambled to pull her bedsheetaround herself.

Niles had nearly given up trying to cover himself with hisown grabbed sheet – he was busy staring at his hand.

“I’ve got news for you,” he eventually said, apparently inshock. “I think we did a bit more than just that.”

Shakily, he lifted his left hand to show her.

A gold band encircled his ring finger, and C.C. felt herheart leap into her mouth.

They…they couldn’t have gotten…

But it had to be true. When she looked down at her own lefthand, an identical ring glittered in the light coming through the window.

The producer nearly dropped her sheet, “M-Married?!”

Niles could only stare at his ring, “It would appear so…”

It was so. The longer C.C. looked at her own ring, the moreit all came back…

The chapel was small, and ridiculously tacky. But to them,it felt just perfect. Just the two of them, finally about to get hitched afterhaving convinced the registrar that they were sober enough to know what theywere doing.

They might have put on a little bit of a show during theceremony – all beaming smiles and giggles, cuddles and holding hands.

It had clearly been enough, and had probably made theregistrar want to get them the hell out of there as soon as possible…

Niles certainly was a great actor when it came to feelings. C.C.felt that she was better at it when she was sober.

She’d been thinking about him far too much in that light inthe past few years. Her fearing for his life after his heart attack, and therelief at him waking up. Attending his friend’s wedding together, and dancingthe night away as they talked smack about the other guests. Even the kiss inthe Sheffields’ living room, which had sent her back home with a vague smirk onher lips and a more than pleasant shiver creeping up and down her spine.

Her resolve was weakening, and she couldn’t let it. She wasa Babcock, for crying out loud! Her family had never mixed with servants!

Especially not servants who had always been their enemy, andhad hated them for the past twenty years that they’d known each other.

Not that part of her particularly blamed him, though. Sheknew how she was – a moody, selfish, stuck-up rich girl who didn’t know how toappreciate a good thing when she saw it. Of course, that didn’t mean she alwaysdeserved the things that he did, but the self-deprecating side to herpersonality could see where he was coming from.

Of course, to preserve her dignity and retain her pride, shehad to get angry about it.

“I can’t believe this!” she started to snatch her clothes upfrom the floor, hastily trying to slip them back onto whichever body partthey’d been slipped off. “As soon as we get back to New York, we’re going to mylawyer and we’re getting this thing annulled.”

Niles, who had been grabbing his things as well, stopped andlooked at her.

“As…soon as we go back?”

He’d looked so happy at the wedding. His eyes had shone, andthat lopsided grin had never once left his face as she’d stumbled and giggled herway through the pre-set vows the chapel had let them pick out just before.

It was a very different picture now. When he knew what hewas doing, the resentment was back.

“Well, yeah!” she told him, knowing it was the better option.“We can’t stay married!”

There was a deathly silence, and the butler glowered.

“I see,” he said sharply, throwing on his shirt and roughlystraightening it out. He couldn’t button it up. “Of course we can’t. That wouldbe ridiculous.”

Why did he sound so angry? He of all people knew that thiswas the way things had to be! They might’ve thought they’d known what they weredoing (agreeing to get married because screw it, they were there and lookingfor fun, so why not, her brain oh-so helpfully reminded her), but it wasobvious they hadn’t!

“Jeez, what’s got your panties in a knot?” she asked. “Ithought you’d’ve been the first out of the two of us to suggest a get outclause!”

“And why the hell would you think that?!” Niles snapped.

That astounded C.C. to the point where she dropped theclothes she’d still been carrying.

“It’s me, Niles! C.C. Babcock, your archnemesis, remember?!”she gestured to herself. “You don’t want to be attached to that for the rest ofyour life!”

“Who says that I don’t?!”

What was he saying?!

C.C. could feel her pulse and breathing speeding up, but shekept them under control enough to continue the argument, “Now just what thehell is that supposed to mean?!”

Niles threw down his gathered clothes, and stepped towardsher, “It means that I love you, God damn it!”

He dropped his bedsheet in the process, and so did she. Butneither one of them noticed.

The producer stepped backwards, stunned, “Woah, I’m sorry –you what now?!”

Niles glared, “You heard me.”

C.C. let out one single, humourless laugh.

“Heard, but didn’t understand!” she cried.

“What’s there to understand about the phrase “I love you?””Niles shouted. “It can’t be put in any simpler terms than that!”

“Try, because I’m failing to see how you can claim to loveme!” C.C. folded her arms over her chest. “You haven’t acted like it, or even saida word about it, in the last two decades of us knowing each other!”

Niles marched towards her, a stormy look on his face.

“Would you haveaccepted it if I’d just opened up and told you, rather than played those pranksto get your attention?!” he asked. “Would you have even spoken to me if I hadn’tinsulted you first?! Would you have given me a chance if I hadn’t?! And behonest with yourself when you answer that last one.”

She was brutally honest with herself as she thought. Andwhat she found was so sobering, it cured the rest of the hangover she’d beendistracted from.

She would have laughed in his face if he’d told her. Shewouldn’t have spoken to him before, or after, and would’ve expected him to geton with his job, no matter what had been said. She wouldn’t have considered hisfeelings, or what he was like as a person…

But because of their pranks and insults, she’d had to payattention. And when she did…well, that had started off something ratherspecial, if she really thought about it. Far more special than anything she’dever tried to have with Maxwell. With Niles, it wasn’t all just about wit and fun,even though they had those by the bucketload. There was also a sense of quiet camaraderiewhen they weren’t arguing, and they shared more than a few interests.

And he was a good man. Talented, and polite (when he wantedto be), and he cared about people deeply.

She would’ve let go of all that, all of the good things about him, because she was rich, andhe wasn’t.

Struck by the thought, C.C. sank back down onto the bed.

“No. I wouldn’t have given you a chance,” she said, shakingher head sadly. A few tears were starting to mist up her eyes.

“So it’s just as I thought, then,” Niles grumbled irritably.“I’m a servant, and I’m not good enough for you.”

She wanted to yell at him that that was a lie, but she suddenly didn’thave the strength. So instead, when he tried to turn away from her (and possiblyleave the room entirely) she grabbed him by the wrist.

She still had enough energy to speak.

“All my life, my mother told me never to mix with servants. Shetold me all I had to do was find a rich man and bring him home, and then livemy life however it played out after that,” she started to explain. “And theworst part of all that is that I believed her! But…she was wrong. I was wrong. What’sthe point of going after money and power if you already have it? What’s thepoint of looking for someone your parents accept if they don’t make you happy?What’s the point of going out somewhere to look for someone who is wealthy,good looking, and has superficial charm when you already know a kind, witty,genuine man right where you are?”

She looked up at him, holding his gaze when he blinked downat her. Was he shocked? In awe? She didn’t know, but she had to finish what shewas saying, no matter how much pain it was causing in her chest.

“It’s not you who’s not good enough for me, Niles. I’m the onewho’s not good enough for you,” her lip began to wobble, and she started tocry. “I’m sorry I treated you how I did, and I know it’s all too late! But Iwas born a snob! I was raised a snob! And now…now, I’ll die a lonely snob!”

The very words broke her own heart, because she knew how truethey were. Who’d want an old, bad tempered witch like her?

She buried her face in her hands, imagining going throughthe rest of her life alone. Getting up to live only for her work (somewhereelse, there was no way she could work at the mansion after this!), going throughher day not letting her mind wander to what she couldn’t have, and coming home toan empty penthouse. No dinner waiting on the table, already prepared. Nofriendly conversation to while away the hours. Just a frozen microwavable meal,a television, and a bed that she’d later have to warm up by herself.

She was wallowing so deeply in her misery that she didn’t noticeNiles moving to kneel on the floor in front of her. The first she realised ofit was when she felt her hands being taken away from her eyes, and her (watery)sapphire ones met his bright blue pair.

“Not if I have anything to say on the matter,” he saidgently. “You know, it would take the both of us to sign those papers, Babs. AndI’m not planning on putting my name to anything that says you’re not goodenough for me, when I still believe exactly the opposite.”

That caused C.C.’s heart to lift, and she sniffed as sheblinked away some of the tears.

“You…you really mean that?” she asked hopefully.

She didn’t understand how she could still have a chanceafter all this, but Niles was starting to grin at her.

It was that special lopsided grin, too.

“For better or worse,” he told her, bringing a hand up totenderly cup her cheek. “And I’m sorry I insulted you for so long, and that I playedso many childish pranks on you.”

C.C. managed to choke out a small laugh.

“Some of them were funny. Some of the time,” she told him,hesitating only a little before reaching her own hand up to take his. “Sorry Itried to get a divorce as soon as I found out we were married.”

Niles let out a chuckle at that.

“As long as it doesn’t happen again, I think I can forgive,”he told her, stroking her cheek with his thumb, which made C.C. relax into his palm.“Besides, I’d quite like to see about taking you out on our first proper date.”

A proper date. He’d probably do all the little things tomake it special, too – flowers, maybe candlelight and a romantic walk…

It was so much like something out of a storybook, C.C. couldalmost feel her eyes shining.

But for once, she didn’t care. This was the end of the story– the time when dragons and monsters had all been beaten or banished orwhatever, and the prince and the princess got married and lived happily everafter in their castle.

And who cared that her prince wasn’t rich? He made up for itin love, and companionship, and all the witty zingers that they could now teamup and use against other people.

She nodded, “I’d like that very much, Butler Boy.”

They both sat there for a moment, just relishing in thehappiness that was blooming between them, before they both ended up leaning in.

C.C. couldn’t currently remember their first kiss as husbandand wife, but the one they shared then had the same meaning. It was a promiseof love and togetherness, and it came with the added benefit of them both beingsober.

She knew they’d definitely have more like it in the future.

When the need for air eventually took over, she ran one handthrough his hair, ruffling it.

“Breakfast is probably being served by now,” she said. “Maybewe should go down?”

Smirking, her husband raised a cheeky eyebrow, “Hm. Well, ifyou lie back, I can-”

She shoved him playfully in the chest, “Niles!”

But after a moment of playful laughter shared between them, shedid end up lying back.

And before she could suggest that they renewed their hasty,accidental vows somewhere more tasteful, she was lost in a blissful haze.

#anon asks #the nanny #niles and cc #niles the butler #cc babcock #otp: always been bitter together #otp: butler bitch

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tsuki-chibi · 7 years

Note

I love how you rub Tony in Steve's face. literally nothing makes me happier than reading how bitter things end up for him. give me any and all the Steve realising what a jerk-ward he is and having tony being happy shoved into him and his 'team's' smug little faces.

"Thanks for cooking dinner. It was -"

"You should go. To him, I mean. No hard feelings. We're still a team. Nothing will change even though we're over."

"...."

"Seriously. It's fine. I know you want him. You should find him and then have what you want."

"... Thank you."

Tony's throat ached. Taking a shot of vodka didn't help. If anything, it just made him feel even more maudlin. He didn't know why he kept doing this. Re-watching the precise moment that his and Steve's relationship had officially ended was like the worst kind of torture. It brought that awful feeling of suffocation roaring back, especially since he could see details now that he couldn't see at the time, when he'd been too busy drawing on every ounce of strength to hold himself together until Steve hurried out of the room.

Things like the wariness on Steve's face when Tony first spoke, which all too quickly changed to shock and then - like a knife to the heart - relief. That relief confirmed everything Tony needed to know: if he ever started thinking that maybe he'd made a mistake, watching this minute-long video would set him straight. Steve had never really wanted him. Tony was a convenient stand-in. Second best, if that. And as soon as Steve had found out that Bucky was alive, it was like Tony ceased to matter. They'd barely hard a relationship in the end, as Steve's time away searching had grown longer and his greetings to Tony colder.

"Play it again, FRI," he said hoarsely, grabbing the bottle. In spite of how easily that shot had gone down, that was only his first. He watched it again, hand shaking a little as Steve turned and rushed out of the room. Didn't even give a second look to the man who'd funded Steve's life in the future and loved Steve with everything he had, just ran away like an imprisoned man offered freedom.

And now here it was two years later. The civil war that had torn the team apart was done and over. Tony had a new team now, and a new life. Even a new lover. Peter Quill, leader of the Guardians, was as different from Steve as anyone could be. He was funny and sarcastic and he loved to dance; that was actually how they'd kissed for the first time, after Peter had grabbed Tony's hands and hauled him up to dance to some music. When a slower song came on, Peter hadn't let go. He'd just leaned in and given Tony the perfect first kiss. It was straight out of an 80's romcom and it made Tony blush a little just remembering it.

(Read more under the cut, or read the rest on AO3)

"You sure attract winners, Stark," he muttered, tossing back a second shot. Yet it was hard to be too angry. He couldn't blame Steve or Peter for wanting someone better than Tony Stark. He was hardly the cream of the crop. If anything, he should be grateful that he'd gotten a year with Steve and eight months with Peter. It was foolish to be disappointed that here was another failed relationship. Three for three. Clearly it was time to give up.

He contemplated taking a third shot just for luck, but decided against it. Instead, he stored the bottle and wiped his hands on his hands. "Can you let Peter know I'd like to see him?" he asked FRIDAY.

"Sure thing, Boss."

Less than five minutes later, Peter walked into the workshop. "Stardust!" he cried, spreading his arms wide when he saw Tony, as though they hadn't seen each other in days instead of two hours.

Tony smiled in spite of himself. "My lord," he said playfully.

"I love it when you call me that." Peter grinned, walking over to him quickly. "It gets me all fired up. Wanna roleplay? You can be the servant and I'll be your master. Or..." He wiggled his eyebrows. "We can both be servants, running away from our evil master. I personally feel we should cast Rocket as the evil master." He reached for Tony's hands.

"I don't think Rocket would appreciate that," Tony said, looking down at their joined hands. It had to be now or he would never say it. "You can go to her, Peter. Nothing will change with the team. I understand."

"... What?"

"I don't want to stand in the way of your happiness. I know you want her and that's okay with me." His voice broke just once on the second syllable of the word "okay", but Tony wasn't crying yet so he considered it a win. Somehow, this was harder than it had ever been with Steve. Maybe because he'd allowed himself to dream about a future with Peter, whereas he'd never dared with Steve.

"No, seriously, what?"

"You can go," Tony finished, still staring at their hands. Waiting for Peter to rip his hands away and run out the door.

But Peter didn't. He did let go with one hand, which caused Tony's heart to skip a couple of beats in dread, but all he did was lift Tony's chin so their eyes met. "I think we're having two different conversations here," he said very seriously. "Or at least, you're having a conversation without me. What are you talking about?"

Now Tony had to spell it out? Fuck. It was like they wanted to stomp all over his heart. "You and Gamora. I can tell that you love her. It's okay. I get it." He squeezed Peter's hand and started to pull away. He couldn't do this.

"Hey, no. Tony." Peter's grip tightened. "I'm not in love with Gamora."

Tony stopped. He hadn't expected that. "But... the way you look at her... and the way you flirt..."

"I flirt with everyone," Peter pointed out. "You do the same thing."

"But..." Tony didn't know how to process this. He'd been so sure...

Gently, Peter reeled him in. He lifted his arms in silent query and waited for Tony's nod before pulling him into a hug. "Gamora and I dated for about a month a year ago," he said, breath tickling the hair at the back of Tony's neck. "I had a huge crush on her. I think she was just humoring me more than anything. Either way, we decided that we were better off as friends and teammates. I still love her, but it's nothing compared to what I feel for you. I'm in love with you, Tony."

Tony blinked rapidly, finally lifting his arms and hugging Peter back as hard as he could. "You mean that?"

"Yeah, Angel, I do." Peter kissed the top of his head. They stood there for a long time, just hugging, until Peter was supporting most of Tony's weight. When he grew tired, he eased Tony down onto the couch and sat beside him, wrapping an arm around Tony's shoulders and pulling him close.

Tony's thoughts were in turmoil. He was half-tempted to think that maybe Gamora and Peter were screwing around behind his back, but he knew better. Gamora was not that kind of woman, and Peter was not that kind of man. Besides, why would they need to sneak around when Tony had just offered Peter the perfect opportunity to break it off? It wasn't like the Guardians were benefitting from Tony's presence - they all insisted on paying rent and he was re-paid for any repairs he did to their ship, just to name a couple of (weird) things. There was no valid reason he could come up with for Peter to lie.

"Tony," Peter said, breaking the silence. "Would you really... I mean, do you want to break up? Is that why you would've let me go to Gamora?" He sounded baffled, and maybe just a little hurt.

"No!" Tony said, head shooting up. He clutched at Peter desperately, suddenly terrified he might've fucked up the best thing that ever happened to him.

"Then why?"

"Because... I thought..." Tony couldn't voice it. He couldn't explain that he'd tried to find a place in the greatest love story ever told, and that this was the only way he'd been able to save himself with a little dignity. He hid his face against Peter's shoulder.

"Tony?"

"FRIDAY, roll the video," Tony mumbled. Somehow, FRIDAY heard him. He cringed as he heard his own voice and Steve's again. He'd watched it so many times that he didn't need to see the video; it was playing in his brain.

Peter swore in a language Tony didn't recognize when the video was over. "Was that... I knew you dated him, but please tell me that wasn't how you got dumped."

"Well, no," Tony said, still hiding his face. "I broke up with him. If anything, I dumped him." And wasn't that a laugh. Tony Stark dumping Captain America.

"That's not what I saw. From the sound of it, you might have been the one with the balls to say it out loud. But wasn't it over long before that?"

Tony lifted his head, looking into Peter's face. Embarrassingly, the room went blurry as he nodded, and his voice quivered when he said, "For weeks... he was off searching for Barnes. He was distant, but I thought that was normal. I even tried to help in any way that I could, but eventually I realized that I was being stupid. The writing was on the wall from day one. Steve didn't really want me; as soon as he realized that Barnes was alive and kicking, he lost all interest in our relationship. If he even had any in the first place." He couldn't keep the bitterness from seeping in, because sometimes he legitimately wondered whether Steve had ever loved him at all.

How could someone who had loved him leave him for dead?

"I'm sorry," Peter whispered, cupping his cheek.

"No, I'm sorry. When I saw the way you and Gamora were acting, I thought -"

"It's okay. I see how you came to that conclusion." Peter threw a look of disgust at the blank screen. "Did he ever tell you? About him and Barnes?"

"The one time I asked, he said that there was nothing between them," Tony replied. He'd been a fool to believe that, but Steve had never lied to him before that. Or maybe it was just that Tony had never caught Steve in his lies before. Sometimes that was one of the hardest points, thinking about the sweet things Steve had said and wondering if they were true.

"You could have asked me about Gamora. I would've been honest."

"I know," Tony said, because he did know that. Peter was honest to a fault. It was refreshing.

"And did he..." Peter hesitated. "Am I asking too many questions?"

"It's fine."

Peter looked a little worried, but asked anyway. "Did he ever apologize?"

Tony laughed at that. "Steve Rogers does not apologize. Not really. You saw that letter he left me. He did come talk to me about it once, after Natasha found out. She was pissed, which is ironic considering she took his side when push came to shove." Tony sighed and rubbed his face, wishing he had another shot. "He just said that he'd tried to put what was between him and Barnes behind him, but that he felt the need to salvage this one thing from his past." He glared at the screen, feeling a fresh surge of hurt. "I guess everything else in the future was good enough but me."

"You are more than good enough," Peter hissed, practically pulling Tony into his lap. "Rogers is a fool. You should turn them away."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. Alternatively, I can tell this story to Gamora and let her be the welcoming committee."

Tony smiled. Gamora was very protective of him, and she wasn't shy about hiding it. She'd once punched Stephen Strange in the stomach for scaring Tony by appearing out of nowhere. It was one of the reasons that Tony had planned to break up with Peter. Unlike Barnes, who went from being a complete stranger to the murderer who'd killed his parents, Tony actually liked Gamora. No matter how much it hurt, he would've gladly stood aside for her and Peter to be together if that's what they wanted, and this time he would've done it with no hatred in his heart.

"Don't do that. We might need their help against Thanos."

"I don't care. What he did to you, Tony... What they did... you shouldn't forgive them. I know I won't." Peter's eyes were burning with determination, flecked with the beginnings of stars. It only happened when he was truly angry. Tony was torn between awe and surprise.

"I'm not worth it," he whispered.

There was complete conviction in Peter's voice when he answered, "You're worth everything to me."

That was it. Tony hadn't cried in two years. Not even when he thought he was dying in Siberia. But he couldn't stop the tears from welling over at that moment. He ducked his head, embarrassed, and covered his face. Peter just hugged him again and stayed right there with him until Tony's tears had stopped. Tony was exhausted by that point, and he was more than willing to let Peter bundle him into the elevator and up to their floor to bed. He fell asleep in Peter's arms, at peace for the first time in weeks.

The lingering unease over the rogue Avenger's return had settled to the point where Tony was able to greet them when they arrived at the compound. Peter stood at his side, their hands clasped, as Steve, Barnes, Sam, Wanda and Clint trooped down the loading dock. Natasha, Tony knew, was still in Wakanda with T'Challa, and Hope Pym had swooped Scott up the instant that he was back in the country. Remembering the fury on Hope's face when she talked about the Ant Man suit, Tony almost felt sorry for Scott. Almost.

"Hi Tony," Steve said, breaking the silence.

"Hello," Tony said stiffly. Looking Steve in the face stung more than he'd expected. He couldn't decide what hurt more: the first time Steve had thrown him aside like a piece of trash, or the second time Steve had done it. The first time had broken his heart, but the second time had nearly killed him. Thank god for Tony's new team. He squeezed Peter's hand and breathed easier when Peter squeezed back.

Steve's eyes dropped to their connected hands and he frowned a bit, but didn't comment. "We're ready to get to work."

"Good for you," Tony said, unable to keep the bite out of his voice. It was kind of fun watching Clint stiffen like a pup with its hackles up. "You can tell your liaison all about it. Carol will tell you everything you need to know about the way the new team runs."

All five of them looked in the direction that Tony had indicated. Tony was pleased to see that they all seemed shocked to see Carol waiting for them. She did cut a bit of a misleading figure: most people wouldn't be afraid of a 5'3 blonde woman. He literally could not wait to see what happened the first time Clint (because it would be Clint) put a toe out of line. Carol would kick his ass without a moment of hesitation. And then she'd probably kick Steve's ass just for good measure, because since coming to stay at the compound she'd had a lot to say about the actions of Captain America.

"Wait, why can't you do it?" Steve asked.

Tony threw him a look of disbelief. "Are you kidding me?"

"What, too good for us, Stark?" Clint demanded.

"Well, yes," Tony said. "Frankly, I have more important things to do with my time."

"Tony!" Steve's voice was filled with disapproval. "We're here to work together. The least you could do is show us around the compound."

"Show you around?" Peter spoke up. "You lived here. You hardly need a tour."

Steve glared at him. "And who are you?"

"This is Peter Quill, a.k.a. Starlord," Tony said calmly, placing his free hand on Peter's chest. Was it his imagination, or did Steve's glare darken at the intimate touch? No, that had to be Tony's imagination speaking.

But then he glanced at the rest of the team, and he saw the way that Barnes was leaning into Sam. Tony's eyes widened slightly as he took in the arm that Sam had casually looped around Barnes's waist. It was possible that Tony was reading too much into an innocent situation, but it would certainly explain Steve's aggressive attitude. It was terrible of him but suddenly, he was hard-pressed to fight a smug grin. So much for Steve's great love story. It looked like Barnes hadn't been as eager to rekindle the relationship as Steve was. It was poetically fitting.

"Tony's boyfriend," Peter added, just to rub it in like the little shit he was.

Steve visibly startled. "Boyfriend? I thought -"

"We haven't announced it yet. We had bigger things to worry about," Tony said. "Besides, I don't care who knows. What matters is us." He smiled at Peter, aware that it was probably an embarrassingly soppy expression, but he didn't care.

"Tony..." Steve said again. He didn't seem to know what else to say.

Clint, on the other hand, said, "So that's it. You're just gonna leave us here?"

"I owe you nothing. So yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do. Carol will show you to your rooms and give you the rundown. I suggest you listen to her. She doesn't take anyone's shit." Tony beckoned to Carol, who started walking towards them. He delighted in the disbelieving looks as she got closer. He'd purposely asked FRIDAY to make sure that everything got recorded when Carol got fed up.

"I wanted to talk," Steve tried.

"You can't afford my time," Tony said with a sunny smile. After months of dreading this moment, he was finding that it wasn't as bad as he'd thought. Yes he was still terrified of Steve (and of Barnes, to some degree), and yes there were probably some panic attacks and nightmares in his near future, and yes it still hurt like hell. But the twinge in his heart that he used to feel every time he looked at a picture of Steve, never mind the real-life man, was gone. He didn't feel anything even remotely close to love when it came to Steve Rogers.

Not now that he understood what real love was like. He looked at Peter, who understood and fell into step beside him as Tony walked away. Steve called after him, but Tony didn't bother to acknowledge him. Peter's hand was warm in his and he was looking forward to spending the night with someone who actually loved him. That was all Tony cared about.

#starkquill #tony stark #peter quill #steve rogers #not team cap friendly #i am bitter @ steve rogers ok #tony stark moves on #description of past break-up #anon

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peaky-yamyam · 7 years

Text

Neighbours: Part Six - Tommy Shelby

The Party - Part Two

Part One | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven |

Charlie is somewhere in the crowd Tommy assures me and eventually we find him, jumping from the merry-go-round.

“Miss Crawford!” he cries, running towards me and throwing himself at my leg.

“Hello Charles, are you enjoying your party?” I ask, running my hand over the back of his head.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles, jamming his finger into a paper bag before sucking it.

“What have you got there?” I ask him, crouching down as he offers me a look in the bag.

“Kali, you want some?”

Tommy places a hand on his shoulder to stop him shoving the bag further into my face. “If Lady Crawford wants some she'll have her own bag that you've not spat in, Charles,” he warns and Charlie grins up at me, mouth and finger stained red by the sugar.

“You want to go on the merry-go-round Miss Crawford?” Charlie asks, already grabbing my hand and guiding me towards the ride. “This is the horse I sit on because it looks like Toby,” he explains pointing to a horse that does look remarkably like the foal. “You can sit on the one next to it Miss Crawford.”

I'm thankful now, as I mount the wooden horse, that I wore a short dress with enough freedom to allow me movement, and once I’m settled I turn to Charlie.

“You know, you don't have to call me Miss Crawford all the time.”

“Daddy said that you have lots of money and land and that you have to be polite to people like that and use their proper title or they get angry, and you're a girl who isn't married so you're a Miss and your family are the Crawfords so I have to call you Miss Crawford,” he babbles confidently.

“Well I actually have two last names because I used to be married and I’m not really a Miss because my father is an Earl, so my real name is Lady Crawford-Sorensen,” I explain.

Charlie’s face drops as he tries to comprehend what I'm saying.

“Are you angry?” he asks quietly after a few seconds.

“Why on earth would I be angry?”

“Because daddy said you have to get it right and I've got it wrong.”

“Oh Charlie, I'm not angry at all, not even a little bit,” I lean across to him so I can whisper, “shall I tell you a secret?” He nods. “Sometimes even I forget all my names.”

“You don't!” he giggles.

“I do! I have two last names and two middle names, there's so many sometimes I forget them all,” I joke.

“You're silly Miss-” he catches himself before he says it and I see him trying to remember what I've just told him.

“Charlie, just call me Georgie, how about that?”

He grins and nods, and as the ride begins I hear him mumble it to himself a few times, trying to develop a feel for it on his tongue. Once the ride gets going he giggles the whole way round, pointing his father out to me every time we circle past him. Tommy smiles and waves each time, and there's something about the look of pride and adoration on Charlie’s face that makes me want to lean across and squeeze him so tightly.

Eventually the ride slows and I hop off the horse, careful to avoid any weight on my twisted ankle. Again, Charlie takes my hand as we walk to Tommy who points behind him to a gaggle of children.

“Charlie, your cousins want you to go play with them,” he says. Charlie squeezes my hand and looks up at me. I’m not sure whether his expression is that of an apology because he’s about to run off or disappointment that he’s wanted elsewhere. His father knows however. “You’ll be seeing Georgiana again soon I promise.”

“Definitely Charlie, you’ll have to come and see Toby soon, else he’ll start missing you,” I add with a smile.

The assurances seem to sway him and he runs off with a quick “bye” shouted over his shoulder, into the crowd of children who embrace him eagerly.

“So... We’ve dropped all the formalities now have we Tommy?” I add once Charles is out of earshot.

“We have,” Tommy replies, lighting up another cigarette before he offers his arm again. “If you’re comfortable with it.”

I nod with a smile and settle myself back on Tommy’s arm as we begin to walk around the fair again.

“How was the merry-go-round?”

“A lot of fun actually. I’ve never been on one before.”

“I did have my suspicions,” he mumbles through a smirk as we head towards the stand that’s giving out paper bags full of sweets. “And i’ll bet from that little conversation earlier, you’ve never tried kali before either.”

“Well Tommy, my diet growing up did consist purely of quails eggs, truffles and caviar,” I reply, my tone laced with the same sarcasm Tommy’s used on me before.

He smiles, a genuine smile that almost stops my heart, and waves his hand towards the stand. I walk past him, if only to allow myself a smidgen of privacy as I try to normalise my breathing again, and select a bag of red sugar, similar to that which Charlie was eating earlier.

“You got a spoon back there?” Tommy jokes, leaning casually against the stall as I stare into the bag, confused. “Silver preferably.”

“Oh be quiet… I don’t need a fucking spoon,” I mutter to myself, making an exaggerated show of licking my finger and dipping it into the bag, taking a long slow drag as I suck off the sugar. My face contorts almost immediately though, the sourness of the sweet shocking me.

“Everything alright?”

“It’s sour!”

“Yeah…” Tommy replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well… you could have warned me. That was not at all pleasant.”

Tommy smiles again and I hastily jam my kali covered fingering back into my mouth, just to stop myself grinning back like a fool. Despite my initial apprehension I soon find myself enjoying the sweet, making my way through the bag as we walk more laps around the fair.

As we walk, we talk, easily and relaxed, about everything; why I moved home, the war, my horses, Tommy’s legitimate work, Charlie, Grace, and Albert, all of it flowing so seamlessly that I only realise how late it must be when I look over the fair to find half of the people gone, the excited squeals and shouts of the children silenced by the late hour. Tommy’s lead me away from it all, up a slight hill so that we can overlook the grounds.

“So you can see my house from here, I often wondered because we have can’t see yours at all,” I muse.

“Good to know,” Tommy replies and I can see out the corner of my eye that he’s watching me.

“Funny how we call each other neighbours, yet there’s so much between us.”

It’s not until I say it that I realise the symbolism, it’s a visual reminder that we’re both from two entirely different worlds and even now, despite living close by, our lives follow completely different paths. Yet somehow, those paths have crossed. I try not to dwell on the thought too much and instead enjoy the moment for what it is; Tommy Shelby looking more handsome than I thought possible, turning my hand over gently in his.

He nods to my now bright red finger. “Your tongue’ll be the same colour,” he says, so matter of factly, like this closeness and the mounting flirtation has no effect on him.

It’s frustrating.

“Is it?” I ask, opening my mouth and sliding my tongue all the way out. There’s no class to my action and I’m sure my grandmother is spinning in her grave screaming at me to “be a lady”, but I get my desired effect. Tommy’s throat bobs and his eyes blink closed for just a moment too long before he straightens up in front of me.

I realised Tommy was taller than me - with my stature most men are - but it’s only now that we’re face-to-face that I realise just how much taller he is, and for the first time in my life there’s a flutter of intimidation in my stomach, softened by complete trust, but enough to excite me as to the possibilities.

Tommy still has my hand and he uses it to pull me a little closer to him, catching my cheek with his other hand and pressing his lips gently to mine.

It’s so tender, so cautious like he’s asking for permission, I decide to take control. Pressing our bodies close to each other, I prop myself onto tiptoes, as well as I can with my sprained ankle, and snake my hands up his chest and behind his neck, pulling him closer to me and parting my lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He accepts, teasing his tongue across my bottom lip as he wraps his arm around my waist, igniting something in my stomach that has lay dormant for a long time. Just as I’m about to mimic his action a distant crack into night snaps Tommy away from me. Another one follows in quick succession, this one unmistakably a gunshot and I see Tommy’s face drain of all colour.

“Can you drive?” he asks, dipping low so he can look me dead in the eye.

“Yes,” I reply nodding frantically as points out a car back near the house.

“Take that one, get home. Now.” And with that, he takes off running back towards the fair where everyone has scattered. “ Now Georgiana!” he shouts when I haven’t moved.

The panic and adrenaline swamp the pain in my ankle and I manage to make it to the car quickly. Despite it taking me a few attempts to start the crank and get the car moving, I’m home in what feels like seconds.

As I pull into the safety of my drive and turn off the engine I listen for any signs that something unsavoury is occurring next door, but nothing breaks the silence - not that it would. I debate for a moment phoning to police, however I’m confident no matter what is happening Tommy would be less than appreciative of the old bill turning up at his door, so I placate myself with the knowledge that with all the Shelby’s and an army of Peaky Blinders there, any trouble won’t last long.

The house is quiet when I enter, all the staff long in bed, and I retire to bed myself, bottle of wine swiped from the cellar in tow and the taste of Tommy Shelby still on my lips.

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfic #neighbours

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imgonnabeyourbubblegumwitch · 7 years

Text

I Love You, You Pay My Rent: Chapter Five

First Chapter (Prologue)

Previous Chapter (Chapter Four)

Nico had been living with Will for one month. Strangely living with Will as Will’s pretend boyfriend was no different from living with Will as random acquaintances thrown together because they both knew Percy. Will still spent most of the time out, Nico still got a dull ache in his chest whenever he saw him, and they still spent the rare times they were in the apartment together watching films, playing video games and occasionally engaging in a mythomagic duel.

Still despite the fact that not much had changed, Nico still began to think he was stupid to agree to the situation. He tried to dampen it down but knowing he was Will’s fake boyfriend gave him false hope, like fake boyfriend would translate into real boyfriend and they’d fall in love and live happily ever after. He felt light, his chest all a flutter whenever he thought about the possibility and he knew sooner or later he was going to get hurt.

But he couldn’t call off the pretending or fake break up without giving Will an explanation, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that either. There wasn’t anything he could conceivably say that would explain his sudden change of heart other than the truth. And he’d rather anything - walking over hot coals, seeing his dad again, hell even telling Percy the truth about how he had once felt - than admit he might have anything resembling feelings for Will.

He came home from a stupidly long shift and with the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach he got whenever he thought of Percy and his engagement, or about how alone he was. Reyna had noticed and offered to come back with him but Nico had declined. It wasn't that he was the kind of person who liked to wallow in his own misery, but he did kind of want to wallow in his own misery for a bit.

There was a stack of books on the table. The orange post it stuck to the top of the stack blended in with the front cover but Nico eventually noticed and plucked it off.

Don't give up. I didn't.

He frowned, then realised that the stack were history textbooks. One very generic others more specific. He picked one up and flicked through it in a shocked daze. Each book was new. He shuddered to think how much they must have cost altogether.

When Will got back, Nico was curled up on the sofa with a cup of coffee, reading about the fall of the Roman Empire.

The more cynical side of Nico, the side that wasn't used to people presenting him with thoughtful gifts wanted to berate Will for spending all the money on him. The side that was crushing heavily on Will freaking Solace overruled.

"Thanks for the books," he said instead.

Will shrugged it off like it was nothing, but then Nico supposed the probably insane amount of money they had cost probably was insignificant to Will.

"I was in the store anyway and I saw them. They're on the reading list for one of the history classes Lou-Ellen takes. She likes History. She's weird like that."

"Will-" Nico began but whatever he was going to say died in his throat. To his horror his eyes felt hot.

"You go to college?" he said instead.

Will laughed at the obvious disbelief in Nico's voice.

"Obviously," Will said. "What did you think I do?"

"I don't know? Spent money? Invented new cocktails? Let your friends punch you in the face at parties?"

"That's how I know Percy? We go to the same place?" Will sounded incredibly confused.

"Oh shut up," Nico said, but he was smiling.

Since Nico spent most of his time at work, or trying deseperately not to fall too deeply in love with Will, the moments when he actually had time to relax all he wanted to do was watch whatever channel Will had left the tv on (since the remote had a habit of vanishing into thin air). What he didn't want to do was party-plan an engagement thing for his first love and his first love's fiance. Percy had been so excited Nico couldn't exactly say no to helping, but he had kind of hoped his complete lack of enthusiasm and interest would have cued Percy into realising that Nico really didn't want to take part. Percy was completely oblivious and it only took three phone calls about fancy finger food, two different shades of aquamarine and whether it was skinny ties or fat ties that were in at the moment for Nico to want to throw his phone into the nearest body of water.

If it wasn't Percy calling then it was Jason who of course knew about Percy's engagement but also knew about Nico having a slight thing for Percy and so not only did Jason call with stag do questions, information and chat, but he also called to make sure Nico was okay. And Nico would insist he was okay, however untrue that was, because insisting he was okay was a better option than telling Jason that actually he had somehow agreed to being the fake boyfriend of his sort-of land lord who was beautiful and funny and might make Nico's heart feel funny.

All in all Nico, was really beginning to dread the sound of a ringtone.

Will had spent more time out in the last week and Nico had deduced from Will's stress levels and the number of books that had suddenly appeared on many of the surfaces around the apartment, that Will was studying for some kind of test. The last he'd seen of Will he'd been sleep walking towards a textbook, mumbling about proteins. Nico had steered him back towards his bed and forced him to sleep. It was a strange divergence from Will's usual laid-back nature and apparent lack of interest in studying to the point where Nico had been unaware Will even attended college, and Nico kind of had to wonder what prompted the change.

He was surprised when Will came through the door looking more cheerful than he'd been in a little while, and surmised whatever Will had been prepping for must be over.

"I'm ordering food," Nico said. "You want?"

Will took a moment to process the question.

"Let's go out," he replied.

Nico stared at him, heart thudding, and wondered if too much studying had somehow made Will lose his mind.

"We are," he pointed out a little shakily. “Right?”

Will blinked at him.

"To eat. Let's go out to eat. There's this place I want to try."

That made more sense but it didn't stop the heavy feeling in his chest. Still maybe it would do him good to get out. And being on a legitimate fake-date/food-quest/dinner-with-the-guys thing with Will was a valid excuse to ignore his phone.

"Sure," Nico said, trying not to sigh too much.

Taking a taxi was a strange novelty, but Will didn't seem to think too much of it. He was oddly quiet and distant as they moved through the city, curiously detached from the crowds of people on the pavements. Nico was starting to worry in a general nonspecific way about the not-date and more specifically about the fact Will looked reasonably presentably in a dress shirt and Nico looked nothing of the sort in an old tshirt. What if Nico didn't like the food? He'd have to remember not to order spaghetti because although reasonably confident in his ability to twirl it round his fork in private, it was the very last thing he wanted to attempt doing in front of Will Solace. He'd have to -

He'd have to remember it wasn't actually a date. He wasn't entirely sure what it was: he was pretty sure Will hadn't thought about it at all and that he himself was now completely overthinking it but -

But Will was reasonably famous. He wasn't Kim Kardashian, or that singer guy or anyone of the other famous people that were very much in the public conscious, but he was recognisable enough that in a crowded restaurant at least one person was going to recognise him. And then they'd seen him with Nico and -

And the fact he was fake dating Will suddenly seemed real in a way it really hadn't seemed real when they'd only ever interacted in the apartment. He glanced over at Will but he was still distracted, lips moving soundlessly. He suddenly became away Nico was watching him and gave a self-deprecating smile.

"I think I messed up question six," he said by way of explanation and then sighed.

"Sorry. I'll stop thinking about it. I know I must have been pretty annoying this last week."

Nico shrugged.

"I didn't really see a difference between that and your usual level of annoyingness," he said.

Will smiled and it was a real smile this time and it made Nico's tummy do the thing, and his heart feel all funny, and his head scream at him that he was a moron who was in completely over his head.

"Do you mind if we walk the rest of the way?" Will asked. "I think I need some fresh air."

He did look pale and wan. Nico assumed it was all the late nights studying and/or partying (there had briefly been a bottle of Jack Daniels in the fridge which had then disappeared by the next day) that had taken their toll.

He nodded and vowed not to make Will's unhealthy habits his business because Will wasn't really his boyfriend and he didn't need to get involved.

Will yawned as he paid, apologising to Nico and the driver.

"We could have stayed in," Nico pointed out, as Will stifled a second yawn.

"You looked like you needed a break," Will answered with a shrug. "You kept staring at your phone like it was an unexploded weapon of mass destruction and I thought maybe you'd like the distraction."

"And the reason we've driven halfway across the city, instead of just ordering take out and watching one of those films like we always do?"

"Vitamin D?"

"It's dark."

"You can actually get vitamin D through streetlamps it's this new science thing, latest research-"

"You're an idiot Solace."

"You love me," Will said, obviously very automatically but it didn't stop Nico's heart stopping, restarting at tens times it's normal rate and then juddering to a stop again.

"I don't," he lied. "Not in the slightest."

"Well as your fake boyfriend I'm kind of offended," Will replied easily. "And as your friend I'm also kind of offended. As the person who is letting you stay in my house rent free, whatever I guess."

"We're friends?" Nico asked with some surprise, realising half a second too late that it was a potentially offensive and generally quite clueless thing to say.

"Aren't we?" Will asked, suddenly looking worried in that kicked puppy dog way he sometimes had.

"Yeah," Nico said hurriedly. "Yeah I guess we are."

Will still looked a little taken aback by Nico's response and Nico was too busy trying to play catch up with the conversation because the painful spot in his heart was still caught up on the careless use of the word love.

Luckily, they'd reached the restaurant which forced a change in subject. Will's good humour seemed to have returned, even if he still looked more like Nico's sun-deprived, sleep-deprived self, than his usual glowing model-like picture of health.

The waitress showed them to a table. There was a candle and a single rose in a vase. It brought back the nerves and when he took a menu he hand was shaking. He was sure the waitress noticed, though luckily Will was checking his phone and so was oblivious. The waitress gave Nico a smile and a secret thumbs up and then disappeared leaving the two of them alone.

"Cecil asked after you," Will commented.

"And you told him -"

"I told him it was none of his business, yeah. He's still angling to meet you again but I've been making excuses. You've had two family emergencies and a dental appointment this week alone."

"Wow my life sure does suck."

"My sincerest sympathies in this troubled time."

"Your support is truly appreciated, I don't know what I'd do without -"

"Wine menu?" the waitress asked, having magically appeared back at their table.

"Please," Will said.

"No that's alright," Nico said.

Their waitress looked between them, proffering the menu with an uncertain expression like she thought their date might be about to collapse. Will noticed and sent Nico a quick smirk. Nico had to try and stop himself giggling. He gestured that Will take the menu.

"You're not drinking?" Will asked as he flicked it open.

"I'm not drinking wine."

"Can I order for you?"

Nico thought that on balance getting drunk on a pretend date with someone who he was majorly crushing on might not be the best of ideas. He also wasn't sure he liked the way Will's eyes were shining. Well actually that was a lie, he really did like the way Will's eyes were shining and that was probably the reason he ended up saying yes.

He was pretty sure Will ordered him some kind of incredibly potent cocktail, but the name wasn't familiar which, since he worked in a bar, was kind of worrying.

"If you have to carry me home it will be entirely your fault," he warned.

"I won't carry you home," Will answered. "I'll leave you here."

"I don't think there's a universe that exists in which you'd be able to bring yourself to do that. You're too much of a mom."

"A mom?"

"Yeah. I bet you're the mom friend. You're totally the mom friend."

"I'm friends with Cecil. Anyone would end up the mom friend. It's a survival tactic."

"Sure thing Solace."

Will was a paragon of maturity and so absolutely didn't stick his tongue out over the top of the menu as their drinks arrived. Nico's was, as he'd suspected, huge and brightly coloured and had several straws, a ridiculous paper umbrella, lots of fruit and a plastic pirate sword and pretend parrot.

"What is this?" Nico asked with some suspicion as it was handed to him. Will, who was on half a glass of wine like a civilised person completely cracked up and tried to steal a strawberry. Nico slapped his hand away.

"You don't eat fruit," Will protested.

"I do when it's imbued with alcohol."

"Remind me to address your eating habits."

"I will definitely not."

Will smirked but he suddenly seemed distracted. Nico followed his line of sight and saw a reasonably attractive guy with dark hair, and a pretty girl who was uncomfortably reminiscent of Annabeth sitting down at a table nearby. It was uncomfortable in a vague way as he was reminded of the fact Percy was engaged, but he couldn't quite work out what was bothering Will.

"An ex?" he asked.

Will laughed quietly. "No."

"Ex-one night stand."

"No, shut up."

"Well if you feel threatened we are a million times cuter than they are, and we're not even really a thing."

Will really did laugh then.

"The girl kind of reminded me of my sister. A blonde version. I guess she's not actually that similar but - never mind. You're right. We're cuter."

"Exactly. And the waitress is pretty into us. I bet we could score free desert."

Will finally looked away from the other couple with a grin.

"Alright," he said. "Honey."

Nico sometimes wondered why he didn't seem to have a working filter that could block ideas like trying to score free desert by taking his already stressful not-date to a whole new level. He blamed the cocktail.

"You really don't have to drink all that," Will said watching him with some amusement but also traces of concern. "You don't have anything to prove, I just wanted to see if it really would come with a parrot."

"It did," Nico said flicking at the plastic thing. "And besides this is surprisingly good. You want?"

Will raised an eyebrow but he leant forward to catch the spare straw. He was close enough for Nico to count every freckle, see distinctly every golden eyelash, see the flecks of darker blue in his irises. His breath caught.

"You're right actually," Will said, grinning around the straw. Nico smiled back automatically. It made his cheek muscles hurt.

"If you ordered my drink, I get to order your meal."

Will shrugged, eyes dancing.

"Sure thing love."

"You're not allergic to anything are you?" Nico asked, as he picked up a menu.

"I'm allergic to you being a douche with my meal options."

"I'm not sure I believe you. You'll have to show me a doctor’s note."

"Surprisingly I don't carry one around with me."

"Pity," Nico said. "Guess I'll take my chances and hope I don't kill you.

"If I collapse you could try mouth to mouth," Will suggested with a way too mischievous grin. Nico nearly choked on his drink.

Nico ordered Will some kind of rice three with five little drawings of peppers by it in revenge, and himself a carbonara because he panicked and forgot the spaghetti rule. The waitress twinkled as Nico spoke both of them, and promised it wouldn't be long as though she was prepared to personally threaten the chef to make it happen.

"She's totally in love with us," Will said.

"We're acing it," Nico said. "Look at your not-sister and not-Percy. They're way behind."

Will's grin was like a thousand candles.

If Nico's heart hadn't been racing so hard he could almost have forgotten that they were faking a date. Being with Will was so easy. The conversation never faltered and even the silences were comfortable as long as Nico didn't forget himself and start getting lost in the cerulean colour of Will's eyes. Even then he could just pretend he thought they were losing sight of their free desert and that he was upping their game, so it wasn't as concerning as it could have been.

Will was doing surprisingly well with the spicy rice and insisted it wasn't hot at all. Nico was convinced that was just because he didn't want to give Nico the satisfaction, because his cheeks were beginning to redden. He looked impossibly beautiful in the flickering light and Nico found himself smiling more than he had in a long time.

"So," the waitress said as took Nico's plate.

"How long have you two been going out?"

"Oh, not long," Will said.

"This is our first official date," Nico confirmed.

"Aww," the waitress said. "That's so cute. You two are so brave."

"I don't need to be brave. Will gives me all the strength I need."

Will was out of the waitress’s line of sight which was lucky because he was trying not to crack up and was indicating with his eyebrows that Nico might be laying it on a bit thick.

"I'm so lucky to have met Nico," Will said smoothly as the waitress turned to collect his plate. He was impressively straight faced.

"I don't believe in love at first sight but he just kind of captured me you know?"

"We met on the street, just kind of bumped into each other. Will was a moron in face paint. But he was an endearing moron."

"Aww babe, you're too kind."

"You two are just the sweetest. Tell you what, since it's a special occasion how about desert? On the house."

Will gushed his thanks and made eyes at Nico. Nico didn't have to act like he was a) thrilled about free desert or b) melting under Will's gaze and the waitress, obviously believing their lie that the attraction was two sided wandered off to fetch a desert menu.

Nico chose a chocolate gateau and Will opted for some fancy tart thing. Nico insisted his free desert was way better and Will told him he was incredibly wrong so they ended up sharing in an attempt to try and find an ultimate winner. Nico was half convinced their accidental cuteness during desert would be enough to get their whole meal for free, but Will insisted on paying anyway.

Out in the cold air, Nico found he couldn’t walk in a straight line, and kept bumping into Will. Eventually Will looped his arm through Nico’s. Nico turned to him in surprise.

“I’m slightly concerned you’re going to wander into traffic,” Will said in explanation.

Nico thought about protesting that he was just fine and not drunk at all, thank you very much, he only had one and if he was drunk (which he wasn’t) it would be Will’s fault for ordering such a huge cocktail. But he didn’t, because he liked being close to Will.

“Let’s go dancing,” Nico said.

Will burst out laughing.

“You really are drunk!” he said.

“And you really are the mom friend,” Nico told him accusingly.

“I thought you’d hate dancing,” Will said musingly.

“Oh I absolutely do,” Nico said, managing to suppress but I don’t really want this fake night to end which just proved he wasn’t too drunk after all.

Will was still laughing.

“Then maybe we should go home,” he said.

“You’re boring.”

“We can try and figure out how to make that cocktail that’s got you feeling like you want groove.”

“Less boring.”

“I bet you have fancy drink making skills you can show off.”

“I don’t work at some five star restaurant, Will,” he said. But cocktails sounded nice so he allowed Will to take them home.

As he was stumbling walking through the front door, he saw a blue envelope thing on the matt under his feet. He picked it up, squinting at the writing but the words were blurring so he shoved it in Will’s direction.

“That cocktail must have been really lethal,” Will commented but he took the proffered note.

“It’s from Percy. He says he wanted to give it to you in person but guesses you weren’t in or were avoiding him in revenge for all the calls. I think it’s an invitation to the engagement party.”

Nico’s mouth suddenly turned sour and the pleasant, floaty, tipsy feeling vanished leaving behind the feeling he was being pulled down by the weight of the world. Suddenly he was unreasonably angry, at Percy for ruining his perfect not-date, at Percy for getting engaged, at himself for not being able to just move on. Will was looking at him with concern in his eyes and Nico felt a rush of affection nearly choking him.

“If I’m your fake boyfriend then you have to be mine.”

“I mean yeah – I think that’s how it works?”

“No, I mean you have to be mine. Come to Percy’s engagement with me.”

Will raised an eyebrow. He still looked concerned but he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. "Okay, sure.”

Next Chapter

#I got through this!#It was so fun in the end #not sure on my ability to proof read today because my head is killing me #but oh well #Nico Di Angelo #Will Solace #will solace/nico di angelo #solangelo #writing #percy jackson and the olympians #fandom

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spnsimpleman · 7 years

Text

The Unknowns: Fourteen

This is a continuation for The Unknowns. Which was a one shot and is now a long ass Prologue. Part One. Part Two. Part Three. Part Four. Part Five. Part Six. Part Seven. Part Eight.Part Nine. Part Ten. Part Eleven. Part Twelve. Part Thirteen

Dean x Psychic!reader

Teaser/Summary: An AU sparked from a songfic challenge, The Unknowns is based on Season One Episode Nine, Dean met reader in Lawrence as a child and they created an unbreakable bond. At the end of The Unknowns, reader decided to stick with her boys because she felt something coming but she holds secrets; one she holds close to her heart and a few that she doesn’t even really know yet.

Word count: 6740

Lines borrowed from season one episode twenty, “Dead Man’s Blood” in Bold.

A strip of light slicing through the curtains blinded me as I turned, expecting to find Dean but the bed was empty. I was alone. I bolted up and spotted his note on the pillow beside me.

Didn't want to leave but I couldn't wake you. We’ll probably be back before you wake up but if not, don't worry, I’ll text when we’re out of the nest. There’s juice in the mini fridge and a poor excuse for breakfast on top. Relax, sweetheart. Please.

My phone was charging on the night stand beside the bed with zero new messages. I couldn't remember what time we got in last night but I was still tired and drained. I decided to take Dean’s advice but I didn't really have a choice.

I turned the water on in the shower then grabbed the juice from the fridge and chuckled at the small bag of store bought bagels on top. I opened the juice and drank half the bottle then stripped and stepped under the warm spray. What I wouldn't give to be under the fancy shower head my mother had or really what wouldn't I put up with to be under that massager spray.

I woke to the smell of bacon and coffee and for a second, I thought of Miss Mary until I remembered where I was and where she was. I threw the sheet off and shuffled into my bathroom slowly waking a little more with each part of my morning routine.

I jogged down the stairs and strolled into the kitchen. The table was set for two and my mother was just turning off the stove. “Pancakes and bacon,” she chirped as she brought the two plates over to the table.

“Thanks. What are you up so early on a Saturday for?”

“I've got work today. I was hoping to have breakfast with you before I head in.”

“How is ye ol’ nine to five?”

“I enjoy helping people and it's safe.”

I rolled my eyes at her emphasis on that last word. I picked up two pancakes and two pieces of bacon then dropped them on my plate, “not this early. Please.”

“I got a letter from your school about the fall semester. Tell me you've picked your classes already, your third year is important. You get to really branch out into the areas that you enjoy. You really liked archeology, didn't you?”

“I was good at it.” I stuffed a piece of bacon in my mouth and she frowned as I continued, “there's a difference.”

“You did really well in your psychology classes. You've always been good with people.”

“And you know how I've always enjoyed helping people that get shoved out of their comfort zone and lost.”

She smiled, “I think you'd make a great therapist.”

I focused on cutting the pancakes into small squares. “I was thinking more along the weirder lines… like people who feel lost because of things that happen to them that they can't explain. The victims that truly need help because anyone else would call them crazy.”

Her fork snapped against the table with a sharp clack. “We've talked about this.”

“No, you talked and I had to listen.”

She stared at the table, her emotions guarded. “I am not going to pay for you to waste your life.”

“Because you were so gung ho for me to help people from behind a fancy desk.”

“Yes, a legitimate business, a legitimate position for you to make a life for yourself!”

“How am I making a life for myself when it's what YOU want! That's not MY LIFE!”

She reeled herself in, her calm overriding the irritation and disappointment. “You don't even know what it's like. You might actually enjoy it if you gave it a chance.”

“I just spent two years giving it a chance and all I saw were the deaths in the newspapers. Spent all day wondering if they had a chance if only a hunter had seen the signs, had stepped in and gave them a chance at life.”

“Y/n, there are plenty of hunters…”

“Yes, and I’m one of them! Just like dad! That’s what I want!”

“With Dean!” Her calm broke and she shot up from her seat. Her whole body vibrated with anger.

“Yes. I want to spend my life with him on the road…” she turned her back and walked to the sink, her hands gripped the edge. “Or anywhere, I don't care. I love him, mom. You've known it for years.” Her disappointment swirled with anger and sadness. I felt the lump swelling in my throat but shoved it down. “We’re good together.”

“And if you're lucky, you'll die together.”

“I can't live my life like that. I know you're scared because of how that werewolf could sense dad…”

“Stop!” She snapped, “just stop.” She turned around, her face as hard as her steeled determination, “please just give the real life a chance. Maybe Dean would settle down with…”

I slammed my hands on the table, “that's your real life, not mine! I don't want to fight with you but I know what I want! You’d know that if only you just listened! I don't want to be stuck behind a desk for the rest of my life. That may work for you but it doesn't work for me!”

The tears welled in her eyes, “your father and I worked hard to save that money for you to go to school…”

“And dad would've told me to follow my heart!”

“Not if it led down the same path that killed him! He wanted you to be safe! Losing you was his biggest fear!”

“And there are thousands more parents like him that could lose their children if not for us!”

A single tear sliced down her cheek and she scrubbed it away as her back straightened. “I need to get to work. I will not fight about this anymore. We obviously see things very differently and won't come to an understanding today. Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll see you after work.”

I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair and hung my head so the water could massage my back. There wasn't enough pressure so I just imagined the extra to work out the tension. I felt like I had just run a marathon and then got hit by a truck at the finish line. The image of my mother stalking out of the kitchen flashed in my mind and I shoved it away harder.

I knew when she left that I wouldn't see her after work. I had plans to meet up with Dean but she never gave me the chance to tell her. She refused to speak with me for a month or so after she knew I hadn't gone back to school or maybe I refused her calls, I couldn't remember that part so well.

The memory usually tended to bring up the fights I overheard as a child, sometimes Dean was there and the other times I wished with everything in me that he was. It was always about hunting whether I heard the words or not, I knew. My father wouldn't turn his back on the job he knew he was made for and the people he would leave to the wolves. Sometimes literally.

I wonder if she had anything to do with John’s plan to separate us, I'm sure she would've fully approved.

The water cooled and I got out. I dried off and looked in the mirror showing its age around the discolored edges. Sure, there were no nice mirrors, countertops, and fancy shower heads but I was fulfilled. I felt good every time I helped someone who would otherwise be lost, scared, and possible dead meat or find their loved ones torn to shreds.

I understood her wanting me to stay far away from that, from a grisly end like my father’s, but he was a hero. He had taken out six wolves with John before they were ambushed not knowing about the other half of the pack. It wasn't John’s fault, they both had made an error in judgment. My dad just happened to smell stronger because of his ability or maybe John was wrong and he was just in the wrong place when the wolves busted in.

My text alert chimed and I rushed to it. A message from Dean, Wanna check out a funeral parlor with me?

I tapped out a quick reply, you sure know how to show a girl a good time.

I’d jump into anything that would get my mind off the past, my stubborn body, and fuzzy mind.

I turned on the little coffee maker. I was going to need more than a shower to brush this exhaustion away.

The closer Dean got to the motel, the more his stomach twisted. He pictured her face from last night, the agony that had ripped through her, the pain that wrapped around his head and squeezed.

He fumbled for his phone on the seat next to him then held down the number four. He didn't miss the little flicker of a light bulb although there was no mass conspiracy that got him to program her number there.

He was looking for signs everywhere now.

Pamela answered on the third ring, “what's up?”

She tried to sound calm and cool, maybe it was just him and recent events, but he felt like she was trying to hide the shake in her voice. “I know.”

“Honey, there's a whole lot you probably do and don't.”

“I know about Jessica but that's not what this is about.” He was getting distracted by a stupid number. “Something’s wrong.”

“Spit it out.”

“Ever since this case two weeks back, she’s been… drained. She sleeps a lot but doesn’t rest well and she… she just lost it last night while Sam and Dad were fighting.”

“You’re with your father?”

“Yeah, we found Danny Elkins. A vamp killed him and took the Colt.” He paused, “I’m guessing you know about the colt?”

“Of course, I do. What does she feel like to you? I’m guessing this isn't garden variety symptoms?”

“No, she’s not sick but it’s… it’s tied to Sam somehow I know it. The pain I get sometimes, the grief, it doesn’t make sense…” he had to focus on keeping his eyes on the road as it smacked him over the head. “Fuck.”

“She’s taking on his pain, isn't she? If she… of course, she did.” There was some rustling and then she was back, “there are stones in her bag, she probably still keeps them in one of the side pockets. She told me she was using them but if she’s punishing herself, she hasn’t. Two small stones that can fit in the palm of your hand, one that’s mostly blue, you called it the Galaxy stone when you were little and one that’s brown with four white bands.”

“When I was little?”

“She needs to hold them, one in each hand. Remember the meditation we did with her? Those stones will help separate and clear what’s not hers. She needs to carry them on her at all times for at least two weeks but I'd make her do it longer to help strengthen that separation. They have always had a connection but she broke a wall that needs to be replaced or she will never recover. Do you remember how I helped her?”

“She knows not to take on other’s emotions like that. She perfected that when we were in first grade.”

“You’ve seen her. You called me because something wasn’t right.” She paused just enough to reinforce who called who before continuing, “she’s wearing herself out because she’s taking on his pain, but she's probably taking on more without even realizing it. I was worried about her after our chat at the airport but I didn’t think she’d go this far.”

“It was the case, she said she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if Sam did something he’d regret later when he found out.”

“Of course, she would. Take care of her. She’ll listen to you.”

“I’ve been trying.”

“You’re doing great. Just keep it up and tell her she doesn’t want me to come along to keep an eye on her.”

“There's something else…”

“You gonna tell me or do I have to guess? Because let me tell ya, that game is only fun when there's stripping involved.”

“How could that be any fun for you when you know the answers?”

“Because I get them naked. Come on, you're smarter than that.” She chuckled but it felt forced, “what is it?

“Sam and dad were fighting, she got in between them and she threw them away from her without even budging. She was trying to push them away, a hand on their chests and she let out this horrible shriek… and they were literally propelled away from her at least five feet. Sam says it was more.”

She was quiet so long he thought he'd have to repeat himself but then her voice was back, calm and cool but once again, it felt controlled. “It's okay, it’s just energy. If she was trying to block them when she was weak she was probably still taking in their energy but not letting any out. Essentially instead of blocking them, she was blocking herself causing a buildup that can only be held to a certain extent. It's rare but not unlikely. It's nothing to worry about as long as she takes care of herself. She needs to get her strength and control back.”

He didn't know why he felt she was only telling him so much or maybe giving him a sugar coated version. “You’re sure?”

“Who are you talking to? You probably don't remember but she moved things when she was younger. It may have been before you met though.”

He sighed, he needed to get out of his head and trust the people he respected. “Thanks, Pamela.”

“Until next time, Chachi. If you need any help with anything, you know how to find me.”

Dean dropped the phone on the passenger seat and smacked the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. He should've seen it, should've put two and two together sooner. He knew her, he knew something was wrong. He shouldn't have just chalked it up to stress. It had been decades but that was a shit excuse.

Mr. Kowalski was droning on through the alphabet and Dean was bored out of his mind. He glanced over at y/n and noticed her head bobbing. He grinned and picked up his pencil scribbling a note, Stoopid letters.

He folded the paper then watched Mr. Kowalski for the perfect moment to toss it. It landed on her desk almost where he planned. She stared down at it but didn't move. She finally glanced up at their teacher and opened it but instead of throwing him an annoyed look, she just stared at his writing like she didn't understand.

He knew instantly something was wrong. She lowered her head to the paper and pressed her hands over her ears. He moved his chair closer to her, “hey, you okay?”

Her whimper jolted something inside and he jumped from his seat, the chair clattering to the floor.

“Dean, what are you… y/n?”

He touched her arm and she blindly turned and latched onto him, another whimper cutting him to the bone. “I'm right here. It's okay.”

Mr. Kowalski knelt beside them and tried to get her attention. “Y/n, what is it?”

“She's hurt. She's… she needs her dad.” Dean tried getting the words out but they wouldn't understand. No one understood. Her dad told him how scared people can be of things they don't understand and they'd try to take her away. They couldn't take her away!

Mr. Kowalski tried to pull her away from him, “miss Kelly will take you to the nurse. She’ll call your dad.” She tightened her grip on him and Mr. Kowalski pulled harder, “Dean has to stay in class, y/n.”

He froze, he didn't know what to do. She needed him but he was supposed to listen to his teachers, but Mr. Kowalski wanted to take her away.

She shrieked as Mr. Kowalski pried her fingers from his shirt and pulled her away. “No! Dean!”

Panic kicked through his system and he jabbed his fist into Mr. Kowalski’s wrist. “You're hurting her!”

Miss Kelly knelt down next to them, “it's okay, let's calm down.” She squeezed his shoulder as he opened his arms and y/n latched onto him again, “it's okay, Dean. Y/n, we’re just going to take you to the nurse.”

“No, she's scared and you’re hurting her!” He hugged her, tightening his arms so they couldn’t pull him away, “it’s okay. I won't let them take you.” She buried her face into his neck as Miss Kelly and Mr. Kowalski shared a look then whispered to each other. Dean whispered in her ear, “I've got you. Don't worry, I won't let anyone take you away from me.”

“It hurts… so bad. So bad.”

He rubbed her back, “I'm sorry. Your dad will fix it.”

Miss Kelly held out her hand, “come on, Dean. Let's take y/n to the nurse together.” She smiled but he knew Mr. Kowalski wasn't happy about it. Stupid dickhead.

Dean parked in front of their room next to John’s truck where Sam was leaning against the vehicle waiting. Sam walked around the front of the Impala as Dean shoved his chaotic thoughts away and got out. “What took you so… what happened?”

Dean shook his head, “I talked to Pamela, figured out what's wrong.”

“What is it?”

“She’s…” He looked at Sam and knew exactly how he'd take it but he had to tell him. He sighed, “she's done this before.” Sam's eyes widened and he waved him off, “not the throwing thing… well, little things but the…” he glanced at the room and rubbed the back of his neck before leaning back against the impala.

“When we first started school, she had a really hard time because she didn’t know how to keep the other kids separate from her. She got overwhelmed because she felt every emotion of those around her as if it was her own and her body couldn't keep up. It got really bad one day. We ended up in the nurse’s office and they called our parents. The nurse said she probably had the flu but they couldn’t really find anything but a high temperature. Pamela came and got us because Dad and her dad had left for a hunt that morning. She taught her how to keep other people separate.”

He anticipated Sam’s question, “think of it like the veil but in her head. The other emotions need to be kept on the other side of the veil so they can’t affect things on this side except the strong ones but that’s what her blocks and filters are for. There has to be a wall that makes the difference between feeling them and experiencing them.”

“Why didn’t you affect her? Or our parents?”

“Pamela said something about family links or something, I think it was something her dad did but I don’t remember I wasn’t really listening to that part. I just wanted her to get better.”

“So, she’s taking on our emotions now? I thought that was part of your bond?”

Dean nodded, “with me, yes. I guess the bond helps manage it with me.” He met his brother’s worried gaze, “but she dropped those blocks with you, she’s been feeling every pain and scrap of grief you’ve been going through since New York, maybe longer. Pamela thinks she could be taking on more than that too. I just…” Sam shoved his hands into hair and turned away. “Dude, you need to calm down.”

“I’ve been hurting her.”

“Sammy, that’s the very reason she’s been taking it on because she feels… she didn’t want you handling the burden alone but even with our bond and leaning on me… it’s not enough. It taxes her body too much. Pamela reminded me about these stones that help her get that block back on your connection.”

“My connection?”

“Of course. She's been connected with us since we were kids but there's always been that wall. Just let me do this and then I’ll go to the funeral parlor and you and dad can resolve the shit from last night. I can help her put the block back up but she’ll still be weak.”

Sam nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, “okay. Tell her I’m sorry.”

“I was terrified last night and I was pissed that you two screaming at each other hurt her but… you have every right to be upset. You and dad have shit you need to work out. That you needed to fix years ago but you’re both too damn proud. Do it for yourself, okay? That will help her.”

Y/n opened the door and glanced between them, her smile fading and the bags under her eyes glaring and more apparent. Sam waved, “hey. I’m gonna help dad. I’ll see you later?”

She nodded, her brow scrunching together, “okay.”

Sam smiled then walked toward the other room with a slight shake of his head before spinning around and rushing over to her, crushing her in a hug. “I love you.”

She patted his back as her eyes closed. Dean could feel the swell of mixing emotions; happiness, grief, guilt, but the one that topped them all was... calm blue waves with a rush of her… it was love.

He was shocked but finally understood what she meant by love feeling different for everyone and different situations.

“I love you too, Sammy.”

Sam backed away then headed to John’s door. Dean took Sam’s place but kissed her instead. He walked her backward into the room and kicked the door shut.

When he broke the kiss, she looked up at him in question. He still couldn't hide anything from her. “What is it? I thought we were going...”

“You broke the cardinal rule, sweetheart.”

“What are you..?” She took two steps back and he shook his head. Her eyes widened and she looked down, her arms crossing over her chest. She took another step back, guilt swirled in his chest as her legs hit the bed. She sat on the edge, “I guess it makes sense. I deserve it.”

“You never deserve pain.” He moved over to her bag and rummaged through the compartments as she began to ramble.

“Every time he hurts it’s because of me. I can’t help him but it’s my burden too. I should share… I should help him even if it's just a little.”

Handling the burden alone. His own words echoed in his head but he wasn’t surprised. She felt too deeply for those she loved, he should've seen it.

His fear from last night, his desperation for her to show any sign of life, the thought of losing her licked at his chest like a wildfire. “Do you hear yourself? You didn't put her in danger, the demon did that! You saved her. She doesn't blame you!”

He pulled his hand from her bag and turned to her. “You've got to stop. You've got to. I've been feeling the crazy stuff and I couldn't figure it out until I talked to Pamela.” Her eyes widened again then she dropped her head into her hands. He walked over, knelt in front of her, and lowered his voice, “you know this can't go on.” He pulled her hands away from her face and held them in his own, gazing into her eyes, begging her to listen. “Pamela warned you, we don't even know exactly what it could do. Last night could be the best case scenario.”

“You mean throwing them?”

“I mean you shutting down. You scared the shit out of me because I couldn't feel you. If you hadn't said anything I would’ve lost my damn mind in that street.” He pulled her off the bed and hugged her to his chest, “how many times through the years have you told me I'm not to blame? That it's not my fault?”

“But I am...”

“Damnit, woman,” he pulled back and cradled her face in his hands, “you saved her. You continue to save her every day you don't give that demon an inch. Look at it from my eyes. If only I could see me through your eyes, right? Well, I see a woman who knew the consequences but stuck with it because even though it was hard, it was the right thing because it kept Jess safe, it keeps her alive.”

He gazed into her eyes and felt the struggle waging inside her. “We rarely get to set the terms but in the end, he’ll have the woman he loves. That makes it worth it and I can say that with a lot of damn confidence because it's my endgame. If I go through all of this shit and I get to spend my days with you then it's all worth it. But if you tear yourself apart, not only is he going to be devastated but I… I’ll be nothing without you.” He pressed his forehead against hers, “please, stop. Please y/n, you've got to take care of yourself first or you'll be no help to anyone and neither will I.”

She let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes, “he's going to hate me.”

“Sammy could never hate you.”

She shook her her head and choked, “I'm sorry.”

He pressed his lips to hers and she leaned into it. He felt the moment her filter dropped and realized just how much she had been hiding from him. Everything she had been feeling from Sam and the consequences slammed into him with a force that knocked the air from his lungs but he held on, he wouldn't let go.

That familiar wave of love washed over him soothing the worst of the heavy emotions. He felt his own surge of hope and relief bounce back at him with hers enhancing it, strengthening it somehow as their energies spun together dancing in a way that felt new and yet had a rush of nostalgia.

I’m so sorry. Her voice was a caress in his head.

Please don't block me.

She nestled into his chest and gripped his shirt in her hands. I promise.

He kissed the top of her head, “Pamela told me about two stones that will help you and that meditation.”

She nodded, “in the back pocket on the left.”

He walked back to her bag and pulled the two rocks out. The galaxy stone and the four stone. How did he forget that one? “We need to get that block back in place before we go anywhere.” He rubbed his sternum as he turned and headed for the bed she was climbing onto, “if you can.”

She looked up at him as she crossed her legs in front of her and rested the backs of her hands on her knees, “thank you.”

He grinned as he placed the two final pieces in her palms then kissed her forehead, “I’m mainly helping myself here. I can't lose you.”

“Still. Thanks for taking care of yourself,” she gave him that brilliant smile lighting up her tired eyes before she closed them.

He watched her chest rise from a deep breath then slowly fall. He stood there for a few moments then felt compelled to sit behind her. He took his jacket, boots, and jeans off as quietly as he could and then climbed onto the bed carefully. He moved behind her until his chest pressed against her back as much as it could. He slipped his arms around her and rested his hands over the stones encasing them in their palms.

Her pulse thumped against him, thrummed inside him, and his began to slow and match it. Her concentration remained elsewhere but he was right there with her, their energy still moving back and forth.

He closed his eyes, felt their chests rise and fall together, their heart beat out the same rhythm and suddenly, he was eighteen again and she was dancing her fingers on his chest as their bodies synchronized on a level he hadn't understood.

Does it ever feel like… this charges your batteries? More than anything else?

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, he felt light, and good, and right.

Dean held his breath and threw John’s vamp-away crap on the fire listening to him talk about the vamp they had tied to a tree exactly like he had warned of creatures doing to him and y/n.

He glanced at the woman and almost saw Y/n. The itch to get back to her flared again. He shouldn't have left her at the motel but dad said it was safer for her because they didn't get her scent and if they found out who she was, who her father was, it would be worse.

She was so exhausted after repairing the block she couldn't even make it to the funeral parlor. That was the only reason he went through with it and now he was questioning whether that was the right move.

Dean tore his gaze from the fire and turned to the conversation behind him.

“You can't treat us like this.” The edge in Sam’s voice told him he missed something.

“Like what?”

Fuck. Maybe it was good she stayed behind.

“Like children.”

“You are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe.”

Dean’s frustration rose. “Dad, all due respect but that's a bunch of bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know what we've been hunting. Hell, you sent us on a few trips yourself. You can't be that worried.”

“It's not the same thing. You know this demon is more than the normal hunt and y/n knows it too. I don't expect to make it out of this in one piece. Your mother's death almost killed me. I can't watch my children die too. I can't watch you lose someone like her, either of you, or her lose you.”

Dean stared at his dad, “you know. You know about the bond.”

“Yeah, I know. You two have been like that for a long time, at least now I know what it is. Missouri saw a deep tether between you two when you were as young as six or seven. I thought she was just talking about you being so close not anything more but I saw it when you were older. It scared the shit out of me that it would get you both killed.” He stared into Dean’s eyes, “that’s why I pulled you out of her room that night the way I did. I thought I could stop it for a while until things were safer. If I could keep you two apart long enough...”

Sam scoffed, “Jesus, Dad.”

“Don’t.” Dean placed his hand in front of Sam but it didn’t stop him.

“How could you…”

“Because I know what it feels like to lose someone I love that much but… it was nothing like what you two have and I owed her father. I promised to keep you three safe.”

Dean’s temper flared, “it's never been just you! We’ve been trying to keep her safe, she and I have been trying to keep Sam safe and they’ve always looked out for me even when I didn't want them too! Don’t you get it? It’s not just you. It never was.”

A sad smile softened John Winchester's face. Dean wouldn't believe it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes for the second time in close to twenty-four hours. “I’ve been learning that recently. But I still have a part to play and that demon is on to me. I’m not letting it know about you three until you need to make a move.” He turned toward his truck, “you do your job and get her out of here.”

I sat on the end of the bed beside our bag as Dean and I both rolled the last few clothes we had out. They had told me what happened when they went to help John get the colt and I was glad I hadn’t gone, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“What is it?” Dean asked, stuffing his jeans into the bag.

“It’s good I didn’t go. I mean they mate for life and their connection was probably like ours. Being around her while she watched him die…” I looked down at the shirt in my hands. “It would’ve been hard. I know they’re monsters and they were killing innocent people but… I know what that feels like. To watch someone you love dying, just because they are… it wouldn’t make that feeling different, you know?”

The door opened and I was grateful for the distraction. John strolled into the room glancing between the three of us and something was different. He seemed lighter somehow and I had to wonder if the difference was just me but then he spoke something that didn’t add up with the emotions definitely coming from him. “You ignored a direct order back there.”

“Yeah, but we saved your ass.” Dean practically growled and I grabbed his hand.

John smirked then nodded. “You’re right. It scares the hell out of me. You three, you’re all I’ve got. But I guess we are stronger as a family. So, we go after this damn thing. Together.”

“Dad.” It slipped out of my mouth and all three men looked at me, “John.” I frowned looking down at my hand in Dean’s before taking a breath and meeting John’s gaze.

I could feel the way the word hit him, felt it swirling in my chest alongside my own conflicting emotions of confusion but understanding. He was pleasantly surprised and yet felt guilty, of course. The one thing I’d felt from the eldest Winchester since I was six years old. “You told me…” I glanced at Dean, “he told me you knew… about our bond. Back in Arizona, you told me that Dean and I were like a spotlight. Were you talking about the bond?”

He glanced between Dean and I then nodded. “Yes. He told you what I said about Missouri?”

I nodded. “So, she really saw it?”

“She said, and I quote, those two will be a force to be reckoned with but forces like that, they shine brighter. They are gonna need all the protection they can get.”

“Why didn’t she tell us that?” Dean barked.

John shook his head, “she placed protection blankets or something over you and she said that Pamela would’ve taught you enough and probably placed a few protections on you. I saw a few of them over the years so I knew she wasn’t off.”

“Like what?” Dean was still burned by the revelation but his tone had softened.

“That bracelet you’re wearing right now, it was a gift from Pamela, right?”

“Yeah, african tribal bracelet.”

“And she told you it was for good luck?”

“And protection.”

John grinned, “that one is genuine, probably at least thirteen hundred years old or more. Protection not only against misfortunes, illness, and disease but darkness with evil intent. The Momento Mori I’ve seen you wear, used by monks for meditation helps you two stay balanced but it also has a few demon repelling qualities to it.” He glanced over to Sam, “you’ve got some too.”

He pushed his watch to the side just an inch and pulled a black bracelet a lot like Dean’s closer to his hand. He stared at it as he rubbed it with his thumb. “Those around you that knew protected you in every way they could without adding more fear to your lives.”

A memory surfaced and I touched my necklace.

The aroma of bacon and pancakes filled the air and Mary turned around with two big heaping plates. She set them on the table with a smile, “want to be my little helper again?” Her blonde hair was loose and curly. Her bright blue eyes smiled.

“Can I?”

She placed her fists on her hips, “I never refuse help from a strong young lady besides…” she leaned down and glanced around then whispered, “we’ve got to stick together especially with how outnumbered we are in this house.”

I giggled into my hands and she waved me over then handed me silverware to place. I was leaning over the table setting the last fork down when my necklace fell out from under my nightgown.

Mary put the orange juice container on the table and leaned down to look at my necklace. “This is really pretty. Do you ever take it off?” She looked me in the eye for permission and I nodded.

I watched her examine the charms in her hand and glanced at the black bracelet on her wrist. “My daddy told me not to. It's very special.”

“Yes, it is. Just like you, huh?” Her smile was warm and genuine but there was a sadness I couldn't understand.

“Thank you, miss Mary.” Her strong, warm arms wrapped around me and I felt so much more than special.

“You’re so very welcome, sweetheart.”

I swam up from the memory and stared at John, “when did you find out that Mary was a hunter?”

His gaze shot up to mine and a small smile flickered along with a confusion or panic I couldn't grasp before it was whisked away. I could feel Sam’s eyes on me too, felt the connection clawing at the wall wanting with such desperation to be full again. I slipped my free hand in my pocket squeezing the stones as I did the same with Dean’s hand and I focused everything on John.

I was shocked when the needy connection was no longer distracting me but damn near knocked out when I realized John Winchester was blocking something. He learned how to hide things.

“Not long after. Her family was well known in the community.”

I nodded picturing Missouri’s sweet smile as she hid things and told me it was for my own good. From her, it was commonplace, Pamela too, but John? I wanted to ask who taught him but Sam cleared his throat.

“Mom was a hunter?”

John looked at him, “yeah. She quit when she decided she wanted to start a family with me.” His gaze dropped to his wrist and he chuckled, “mostly quit. Something that’s been in your family for generations like that, I guess it’d be hard to put behind you.”

“Wow.” The neighboring bed creaked as Sam dropped onto it. I wished to reach for him but Dean squeezed my hand and I could almost picture him shaking his head in my mind.

I watched John, “who taught you to block?” His head shot up as Sam and Dean had trouble deciding who to look at.

“You know already.”

“Missouri or Pamela?”

“Missouri. I couldn't risk the demon getting in there but I can't block everything. Just the important stuff.”

Hope bubbled up at the idea. If we could teach Sam to hide things, to lock them away like I had learned to do with difficult memories, Sam could hide Jess. How had I not thought of that before? But then I remembered how long it took me to learn, how difficult it was to lock away a single difficult memory. I shoved it away as Dean’s concern flickered along my senses.

“Are you kids ready?”

I met Dean’s gaze then we both looked at Sam. We nodded then stood up with a brightness in the air that was more than just camaraderie or a shared goal. It was like we could finally see that finish line we’d been pushing ourselves toward all our lives. It wasn’t just invigorating, it was a fucking amazing miracle drug.

“Let’s go.” We said it in perfect sync and it gave me an extra kick of excitement.

John glanced between the three of us and turned for the door, “that was creepy when you were kids, now it’s just plain scary.”

Fifteen

@duchessofwinchester , @jodyri , @jencharlan , @deanssweetheart23 @torn-and-frayed , @chrisatplay , @mogaruke , @captainemwinchester , @ashrod98 , @mrswhozeewhatsis , @caitsymichelle13 , @escabell , @thealyana

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ongpinned-blog · 5 years

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Binondo in 90 Minutes

by Julia Mae M. Catungal

What do you do when you are tasked with exploring an exotic place with a loaded schedule and the afternoon sun glaring down at you? Why, you ditch the Google searches and Trip Advisors and just go wherever the heck your eager feet and famished guts take you. You’ll be delighted at how there are more than a few surprises along the way, and at the wonder of finding something unexpected and terrific on a whim, with one haphazard turn, or with a very fickle mind.

It was all very in the moment, when our Binondo expedition group was formed (and dispersed). Being a country bumpkin, I wasn’t quite sure of our travel path. Luckily, our group consisted of Manila locals. There are probably a number of ways on how to reach Binondo, some readily accessible to the public, and some opening its pathways to you which are unknown to many and only a few. Fortunately, for you and for me, we took the most convenient and cheapest route! If your starting point happens to be at Taft Avenue as well, then just catch a jeep going to Quiapo or Divisoria (if I am not mistaken…) and get off at Binondo church for just twelve pesos! Another budget-friendly and easy way is to go to Quirino LRT station and get off at Carriedo. From there, you can navigate your way to Binondo with your trusty guts and moody mobile data in case you get lost!

Arriving at the Binondo church, in front of a quaint grey and red building right in the middle of it all, my traveling companion and I parted from our initial Binondo expedition group and went our separate ways. Actually, I had been to Binondo before with my two lovely cousins who were astounded by the fact that I had never been to Binondo and so treated me to a sumptuous and fulfilling meal in the sketchy, lively Binondo streets at night. Unfortunately, I could not remember any of the restaurants we ate in except one. It was an easy recall as one of the restaurants happened to be located beside the Binondo church. Determined not to rely on my mobile phone and Internet connection, I took us there to a packed eatery with the yellow signage… Yes, my faulty memory is to blame, and unfortunately, I cannot remember the name of the place. But! It is easy to spot as it is situated along the column of shops and restaurants (facing the Binondo church) at the left side of the Binondo church.

My traveling companion and I were both too hungry and sweaty enough to just go with my guts, and enter the restaurant from my previous Binondo experience. Also, I had remembered what our cousins and I ate and drank. The place was air-conditioned and its meals affordable, not to mention there is a wall dedicated to celebrity photographs with the owner, telltale signs of a good place. For refreshments, I recommend their soya milk (Php45) or their Winter Melon Iced Tea (Php60). Originally, my cousins and I planned to eat at the best dumplings place in Binondo but found it closed that night, so my cousins settled for this restaurant. Their steamed vegetable dumplings are worth giving a try for just Php60. It tasted like the first legitimate dumplings I’ve had in my life then. My cousin said that it wasn’t as juicy and flavorful as the best dumplings in town, but it’s still a delicacy. The restaurant is also known for their rice meals, with the cheapest and best-seller Pork Chop rice meal priced at Php160. Almost everyone in that restaurant was having that, and being the gluttonous, impulsive buyer that I am, I had decided to get one for myself and boy, no regrets. It may have been the biggest slice of pork chop I had ever eaten in my life. Its batter was fried to crisp perfection, creating a yummy blend with the savory soy sauce (?) and of course, a generous serving of rice.

I think it’s fair to say you can find virtually everything you need in Binondo. In the same row of stores where the restaurant we ate in belonged to, we had already passed by a jewelry store, a novelty gift shop, and even a pet store. Not too far off from where we started, we had randomly entered a district of the same running theme: food and fruit stalls here, a Chinese pharmacy there, ooh, a mall over there, and even a condominium! In this tiny town, you’d never have to leave!

It was to a spark of wonder that my companion and I then stumbled upon a shrine. I'm not certain whether a shrine or altar is the appropriate term, but it would seem as if it was a hybrid of Christian and Buddhist beliefs. Encased within an alcove near the entrance of a street, an imposing golden cross sat with an elaborate necklace made of small white flowers and red ribbons laid over it. Ornamental flowers lay as offerings, and on the walls hung prayer guidelines. At the far-right corner, a candle burned beside a cylindrical container brimming with red incense sticks. And right at the center rested a golden pot for filled with burning red incense sticks. But perhaps it was the solemn mood created by the devout people gathered there that drew our attention the most. Considering that the Philippines' primary religion is Roman Catholicism, this wasn't so bizarre to see at the oldest Chinatown in the world. Not to mention Manila could also be considered a melting pot of rich culture, diverse religions (near Quiapo church is the Golden Mosque), and deeply-rooted traditions from the Chinese, Indian, Korean immigrants we have welcomed today.

After pausing and observing the people in front of the shrine/altar, we moved on to a narrow, crowded street with the auspicious color of red evident at every turn: red Chinese lanterns, red signages, red painted walls, red roofs. Early on, I had considered walking the alleys of Binondo to be a sensory overload as well. Aside from seeing red, the various tongues spoken there streamed through our ears, too––from Chinese folk music to passers-by speaking in Chinese (whether Cantonese, Mandarin, or Hokkien, I, of course, couldn't really tell). Our noses couldn't escape as well, particularly when we'd pass by a busy restaurant or the ornate bridges atop polluted rivers.

Any change of course we took, it would seem that business and commerce thrive, whether it be a populated avenue or sketchy alleyway. On that note, we returned to our ever-recurring theme of all-in-one alleys of Binondo. There was this particular alley we took that I was truly captivated by. It stretched for quite a length, with every step of the way an eye-opening experience. At first, I was struck with panic for a split-second or two as I had observed how sketchy-looking it seemed. Thank goodness my curiosity got the better of me, and we trudged on. We first passed by auto supply shops, auto repair and maintenance shops, and craft stores. It reminded me of Pandan street back in my hometown in Pampanga which specialized in wood works and auto supply shops as well. But, boy, was I mistaken. Imagine our wide stares as we stopped in our tracks in front of a dingy eatery selling exotic cuisine. Just outside lay their fresh (?) ingredients and rows of bite-size of god-knows-what in sticks. There were also both spacious and cramped tanks holding fish and crustaceans alike. Imagine our dismay when in addition to having a limited time of only two hours, we also only had a budget of three-hundred pesos, which we had prematurely spent on the first and only restaurant we went in.

After this all-in-one alley, we turned to another random street. I recall the name of the street: Escolta for the fact that at first, I had thought it was deserted compared to the previous streets we’ve walked. It provided the same auto supply and auto repair shops, but with a surprise snacks and milk tea restaurant at the other far end, and a KTV on the next street! That’s when I had confirmed that map or no, you’re guaranteed to find something new and exciting in Binondo wherever your feet and wanderlust take you. If I am not mistaken, I think we also passed by what I assume is the first branch of David’s Teahouse? I thought it was super cool that we did.

Our last stop was what I also assume as the jewelry district of Binondo. Gold and silver all around inside glass boxes where prospective and beady-eyed customers lean over and attentive storekeepers stand behind. It was at this particular area that I tightened my grip on my bag while my eyes flitted about caught by all the bling-bling. Unfortunately for us, time was ticking and we took our leave as quick as all the gold and silver would glimmer and catch your fancy.

It was probably luck and circumstance, but we eventually set ourselves on the way home. We had ended up in another shopping district situated on the flanks what I guessed as the main highway of Carriedo. We passed under the front facade of these buildings supported by aged pillars. Even then we gawked at antique and surplus shops, a movie house which shows… bold films, ukay-ukay and music stores, local obscure bakeries, and even a Puregold grocery. From the familiar hustle of the highway, historic malls, and the overlapping train tracks above, I soon confirmed it as Carriedo and figured if we continued walking, we’d eventually reach the LRT station. It was kind of funny because we were actually nearer to Doroteo Jose station, and once we got there, we figured that we’d take the jeep again as my companion was in possession of a water bottle. We took the chance and swiftly got on the next jeep we saw, right on schedule as we had about fifteen minutes to spare for the ride back to campus. So, in actuality, we had spent roughly seventy-five enchanting minutes in Binondo.

#english #binondo #travelogue #officially best tour guide #10/10 suggestions #rip water bottle friend #i am water bottle friend - reg #ganda naman ng likod na yan

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foursprout-blog · 6 years

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On Avicii, Top Shelf Vodka, And The Summer Love That Never Was

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/on-avicii-top-shelf-vodka-and-the-summer-love-that-never-was/

On Avicii, Top Shelf Vodka, And The Summer Love That Never Was

louis amal / Unsplash

I was sitting at the red concrete table in front of El Michoacano on the corner of Lankershim Blvd. and Sherman Way when my Grindr notification went off. Repetitive ranchero music was blaring from behind the counter, where they were taking longer than usual to make my burrito. I didn’t remember messaging him, but apparently, I did two weeks prior to no response. Two weeks prior, he saw my what’s up message and decided I wasn’t what he was looking for and passed on me for a more attractive profile. But now, he was horny and kept refreshing the app and it was pulling up too many familiar countenances and he decided to look through his messages to see if there was somebody new and appeasing he hadn’t fucked yet and I guess he figured he couldn’t do any worse than me tonight. I wanted to respond to his late nothin much text with disdain and snark, but I had nothing better to do aside from deepthroating a carne asada burrito while rewatching OZ, so I just replied, what are you gettin into? He was taking so long responding to my message that I was walking through my front door when the Grinder alert went off again.

Hopefully you , masctop9.5 finally replied.

I forfeited on satiating my hunger and just sat the burrito in the microwave when I got inside. He only sent me a close-up dick pic with nothing typical to compare it in scale with, like a remote or can of Red Bull. Most likely nine and a half porn star inches (works for me regardless). I douched until the toilet water ran clear and drove my lemon towards Studio City. Approaching his apartment, I was filled with the same excited energy I always have when I’m walking up to a hookup’s house. The nervousness of not really knowing who or what awaited behind the door as you check your phone to make sure it’s the right address.

At least he wasn’t a catfish. He was just as tall and skinny as his profile indicated. His eyes were a deep grey they went past seductive and leaned more into demonic, and outside of them, he wasn’t that good looking of a guy. Endearingly ugly is a term a friend would later use to describe him and it always stuck with me (even though I wouldn’t necessarily consider him ugly-ugly; he just had odd features. Regardless, he was trading with, a legitimate, nine and a half inches worth of currency). When I came in, he must’ve sensed the nervousness because he asked if I wanted to take a shot and I obliged. The apartment reeked of Cool Water cologne, off-brand laundry detergent, and marijuana. Interchangeable euro techno pulsed from the hallway leading to the bedroom. Making small talk as he pulled out a bottle of Ciroc and two shot glasses, I asked if that was a Russian accent spilling out of his mouth. He replied Ukrainian and we threw back the two shots of something that wasn’t Ciroc (I wasn’t going to complain) and he offered up a pull from his bong after he hit it, but I declined because my cottonmouth can get so severe at times, it makes cunninglingus dry, sticky, and useless. Without another word, his dick was out and it was even more freakishly large than I expected (those Chernobyl genetics work both ways).

The sex started out with a bang but got increasingly annoying. Like most guys who are that hung, he could never get fully hard and ended up utilizing the porn trick of stiffening up and applying a vice grip around the base of his dick while sliding it in and out. Still, the sensation was good enough that I came too soon, and as always, the feeling of something inside of me after an orgasm becomes more tortuous than pleasurable, but I wasn’t going to be selfish. He finished off with one of the weirdest set of accented grunts and foreign swear words I’ve ever heard and collapsed on top of me with all his sticky weight, dripping sweat on the back of my head as his hard pants turned into a slight snore. When he came to, he got up and disappeared behind a bathroom door and I could only hear the muffled sound of a faucet running, water splashing and a succession of hard snorts, followed by a loud hawk and a spit. I was unsure of whether or not I should get up and get dressed or just lay there. There was a point when we were doing missionary that he stared at me with those possessed irises and we both cracked a smile and I kind of wanted to see what that would lead to. If he’d wanted me to stay the night, I wouldn’t want to disinvite myself by being dressed by the time he came out of the bathroom. I decided to gauge his reaction and go from there. If he looked quizzical in any type of way, I’d fake like I was waiting for a washcloth even though I was thoroughly dry by then. But when he came out, his expression was blank and he just asked me if I wanted to hear some of the music he made. He pulled up an Ableton session, colored lines stretching out across his MacBook Pro screen as the shitty techno (that was playing every since I arrived) was replaced by an even shittier amateur, douchebro EDM. He listened to the music intensely, eyes closed as he’s vibing. I feigned amazement because I was laying in his bed naked, taking another shot of whatever this was that wasn’t Ciroc and the bong appeared from somewhere and I’m clearing the chamber because his dick barely fit in my mouth regardless. I wanted to ask him to delete the picture I sent him on Grindr (front facing camera raised slightly above head towards bathroom mirror — no face shown, black Andrew Christian jockstrap, back slightly but not noticeably arched) because I was still planning on becoming famous in those days, but decided not to be a nuisance about it. He tells me about Beatport and that he’s bisexual and that Mila Kunis is also Ukrainian and I try to put him onto Gesaffelstein but he doesn’t seem impressed, so he maneuvered into a Kylie Minogue playlist he created full of dance remixes and we had sex again, both of us wet and sticky again as we passed out before midnight struck.

The next morning was a Saturday, but he had to work. He cleaned the plaque off his teeth with the inside of whatever shirt he wore the night before and threw it towards, not inside of, the hamper. He disappeared behind the bathroom door again, this time to the muffled sound of a stream of piss followed by an asshole fluttering fart and a chuckle. This was never meant to last forever, but I was still interested in seeing how far we could take it.

The summer commenced and Avicii’s “Wake Me Up” dropped, and Vlad, being the connoisseur of great taste, listened to it religiously. Yeezus dropped and I didn’t care for it initially but forced myself to like it. We seemingly survived on a diet of cold pizza, Dollar Tree burritos, and Arnold Palmer Half & Halfs. Gesaffelstein’s ”Pursuit” video dropped. Vlad marveled at it for a few days and I felt a sense of hipster validation for putting him onto it. I’d lay in his bed reading his dog-eared copy of The Master and Margarita while he watched YouTube tutorials and illegally downloaded the VST’s his favorite producers used. I was forced to listen to various strains of house, trance and trap EDM. He’d scrunch up his face and tell me the music I liked sounded like ghosts committing suicide (KID A!!!). My thumb became calloused because I kept burning it while lighting the big, blue bong full of Girl Scout Cookies, and when that ran out, we’d head up to Van Nuys to donate blood plasma to buy another eighth to last us until payday. “Wake Me Up” would still be leaking out of his headphones as he squeezed the blue foam ball and passively flipped through the copy of Complex magazine I bought with The Weeknd on the cover while I’d be nursing a copy of Glamorama (which I kept in my book bag the entire two years I was in LA and have yet to finish) and feeling lightheaded. Sex consisted of the same routine positions (I’d blow him, he’d rim me, cowgirl, squatting cowgirl until my leg gave out, reverse cowgirl, spoon, doggystyle, in front of bathroom mirror, on the bathroom counter, doggystyle again followed by the money shot).

Elisa Lam’s mysterious death was still haunting the city and he wanted to stay at The Cecil for a night. People on the elevator said there was somebody knocking on their door the previous night, but this is Los Angeles and I can never be sure if people are actually serious or just playing it up. We fucked around ghost and an incessant knocking on the walls that wasn’t coming from our headboard. Somebody on our floor was loudly playing Top 40 radio (Top 10 is more accurate) to drown out all the cacophony but only succeeded in adding to it. “We Can’t Stop” and “Blurred Lines” and “Can’t Hold Us” and “Get Lucky” played in a loop and the knocking kept getting louder, so we decided to just check out and go back to his apartment.

He was an attention-seeking Leo and for his birthday, I bought him a pair of Audio-Technica ATH-M50x headphones. We did molly at a warehouse party and I wanted to hug and kiss him all night but he didn’t want to have any type of physical contact since there were straight men around. Instead, he danced around with a bottle blonde, Slovenian chick with a retroussé nose (bitch looked like an elf) and gave her bumps of the molly that I paid for. When the night was ending, he told her he was going to the bathroom and we snuck out the back. We went back to his place and he fucked me through the mattress, but he wasn’t able to cum.

The relationship gave off the air of what I assume is teenage love even though I was in my early 20s and he had just landed in his 30s. Like most non-cis men, we had to forfeit these type of relationships early on due to societal pressures and fear during our formative years. One night, under the influence of Ace of Spades (which in actuality was a $20 bottle of champagne called Veuve Clicquot Brut that he’d pour in the gold bottle. The aforementioned “Ciroc” was New Amsterdam. Appearance is everything, I guess) and Super Rush, while performing formulaic missionary and staring into those dubious greys again, I told him I loved him even though I didn’t really mean it. He hesitated, then told me the same thing back with an ambiguous smirk. The same tone as telling your boyfriend you’ll be together forever before walking across the graduation stage and into your first taste of the freedom that college brings. We never repeated those three words again.

I caught him wearing a gold wedding band I’d never seen previously and he just shrugged and told me he bought it because it made him more marketable to gay guys. He began inconspicuously checking his phone during the night, so I opened up Grindr for the first time during the summer and saw that he was still active. The next morning, he acted aloof towards me. I knew he was fucking somebody else, and although I couldn’t get mad because we weren’t a couple-couple, I became extremely jealous. I spent nights wondering if whoever he was fucking would knock me out of my spot. The come thru texts were coming less frequently. He just told me he became real busy lately.

Nothing Was The Same leaked just as the summer was coming to a halt. I got fired from my job and moved from North Hollywood to Valley Village, maybe thinking that being closer could mend whatever had broken, but mostly because rent was cheaper. I hadn’t watched porn or masturbated all summer and forgot my password, so I had to “Forgot My Password” it and create a new one. It took a week before he came to my new place. We tried to fuck on the air mattress, but it made too much noise, so we just did it standing up. It was the first time our routine had altered.

A change in location meant a change in Grindr and Scruff profiles. I replaced him with a barrage of random dick coming in and out of my life. He didn’t text much and stopped calling completely, but I already knew I was months away from going back home, so it didn’t matter much anyway. Sometimes men just go cold like that. I’ve been ignored in social situations immediately after having sex with a guy—it’s whatever. Our last meeting happened the following spring, the day before I left Los Angeles to return home as another sad statistic. It consisted of us reminiscing about the previous summer. Our summer. The barrage of music that would always be associated with that time period (All those mindless effects, pitch-shifting, buildups and drops now having significant meaning to me). The cheap GMOs we digested and shat out. The sphincter-stretching, sometimes painful, but mostly great sex. There was only the veneer of keeping in touch. There was never any explanation or real reconciliation about our distance. There was no need. We already knew. It was fun for what it was.

When Avicii died, my social media feeds were inundated with embeds of “Wake Me Up.” I hadn’t heard that song since that summer when it annoyed the living piss out of me. I hadn’t thought of masctop9.5 much since then either. Curiosity took hold and I went to Google to see if I could track him down. After a few unsuccessfully tries of remembering (followed by remembering how to spell) his extensive last name, I finally found those haunting greys. The Ciroc and Ace of Spades aged him and he was now a rough mid-30s. Vladyslav never became the big time push play and fist pump DJ that he wanted to be. His stint in Los Angeles didn’t seem to pan out much better than mine either, as he’d moved back east. The prophecy became true. Like a lot of bisexual men, he used his sexuality to be openly intimate with men while knowing he’d always end up settling down with a wife and having kids to satisfy his religious family. He’d get into these mini-relationships but leave quickly to minimize the hurt he was causing to the men he strung along. His timeline was flooded with pictures of him cradling newborns and hugging the bride and smiling a coffee-stained smile as he lurked over everybody in family photos. Any life before that was erased. I wondered if his wife knew that he probably fucked more men than she had. I wondered if the kids knew that he was probably switching out the breast milk for Similac. I wondered if he would be thinking about our summer together for the rest of his life every time that shitty song comes on.

RIP Avicii.

#Happiness

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