#i reckon i could focus things enough to stay under if i put my mind to it..

[angstyaches]

Hey! Here’s the headache request #2 lol

Charlie or shayne (this feels more like Charlie to me, but whatever you feel like!) with an awful headache that is absolutely killer, and it’s lay-on-the-floor-of-the-bathroom-with-the-lights-out-and-cool-washcloth-over-the-forehead-time, except the other one doesn’t know that quite yet until they find them in pain and puking their absolute guts up, which cues lots of gentle caretaking, soft comforting whispers, and maybe camping out on the floor together until the poor kid is able to get some sleep and wake up feeling a little better.

Again, I'm so sorry for losing your original request! I didn't quite make it to the sleep/feeling better, because I felt it come to a natural end.

Word Count: 1458

CW: headache, emeto, demon possession, character needs help moving.

___

He gasped deeply, swallowing back a howl of pain. His stomach was lurching under his ribs, unable to still itself under the amount of pressure that radiated from his left temple.

It hurt, it hurt, it hurt so much that he couldn’t believe this was real, he couldn’t believe he’d ever known a time when his head hadn’t felt like it was being drilled into.

With clammy hands, Charlie felt around on the floor for the wet cloth that he’d been holding against his head before the vomiting had set in. It’d been his second course of action, after downing some ibuprofen (which were now swimming in the toilet drain), and before killing the bathroom light. He finally found it and dragged it towards himself, pressing it to his head and holding it up with an elbow on the toilet seat. Usually, he’d have shuddered in dread at the thought of putting a cloth on his face if it had just been sitting on the bathroom floor, but there was no room for pickiness now.

Besides, he was sure the floor had been washed that week. Yeah. Maybe.

An unproductive retch made his throat clench and forced his jaw open. He was almost relieved to think that he was nearing empty; once the nausea passed, he could focus on becoming a reclining statue on the floor again. Most annoying was the fact that the puking was a result of the headache, but was also making it worse.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the demon CT mumbled, Human bodies make no sense.

“Charlie, you okay?” That was a voice from the real world, specifically from the other side of the bathroom door. “You’ve been gone ages.”

Before he could even entertain the idea of responding, thick chunks rolled up Charlie’s throat and into the water. He dreaded to even begin to think what those chunks once contained.

“Charlie…?”

Before Charlie could protest, CT’s telekinesis kicked it and unlocked the bathroom door. Shit, he thought, flinching at the sound of the door clicking open. He yanked the cloth down over his eyes, desperate to keep his eyes covered.

“Don’t turn on the light,” Charlie hissed, feeling the demon’s energy kicking in to replace that which he’d already lost from his own body. The effort of talking was so intense, like every word was a kick to the inside of his skull with a steel-toed boot. He barely mumbled out a groan as he pushed himself upwards, his whole body thrusting back and forth lightly with the repeated spasms that went through his tummy.

“You’re sick?” Shayne mumbled, clicking the door shut slowly and cutting off the light from the landing.

“Mmhmm…” Charlie reckoned Shayne had figured it out hours ago, despite his best efforts to appear cheerful during the evening. It wasn’t often that Elliott and Felix made the trip out to Mulberry, and the last thing Charlie had wanted was for anyone to be worried about him. “Headache… bad one.”

As expected, Shayne let out a sigh. “You should’ve said something…”

“Please don’t yell at me,” Charlie gasped, saliva running down his chin as he hovered about the toilet seat.

“This is literally as quiet as I can –” Shayne shut himself up with a soft grunt. He knelt beside Charlie. It was obvious that he intended on rubbing his back while he continued to heave over the toilet, but Charlie had other intentions now that his boyfriend was here.

And by boyfriend, he meant human pillow.

The tiles were freezing as he lowered himself to the ground again. He’d sweat so much more since he’d started throwing up, and his clothes were a little damp and felt disgusting against his skin.

He didn’t really care about the rest of his body, though, as long as he could lay his head in Shayne’s lap. Shivers ran down his back, direct waves of tension that trickled down from his skull.

Charlie whined, low in his throat, as Shayne brushed his hair back from his forehead and laid the cloth across it. His fingers moved slowly and gently as always. It was as though Shayne believed Charlie’s skull was made of eggshell, and that it might have cracked and collapsed inwards if it was put under any serious amount of pressure.

Whereas honestly, it felt more like his head might crack from the pressure coming from the inside.

Even as he was lying still, Charlie felt like his head was being wrenched to the side, as though he was nailed to a turntable that was set spinning slowly. Only the sensation of Shayne playing with his hair kept him somewhat grounded, and even that didn’t feel like nearly enough.

“Just cut it off.” His voice was getting higher as time went on, like he was an old tea kettle slowly coming to the boil. “I want it gone, just – just chop it off.”

Shayne frowned. “Your hair?”

“My fucking head!”

“Sssshhhh…” Shayne’s fingertips glided down the nape of Charlie’s neck. In contrast to the light touch, Charlie could feel his own muscles tensing up, hard as rocks. Every inch of his body was reacting to the pain which, in itself, only really took up about one inch of his skull. "It's okay."

“It's not! I hate this,” he whimpered.

“I know...”

A low groan from the pit of his stomach alerted him to the fact that the convulsions were traveling through his insides again, and he choked on a sob. His head was still in pain after laying it in Shayne’s lap, but it was the most comfortable he’d been in ages. He didn’t want to get on his knees again and lose even more of his dinner.

His chest tightened with a hiccup. Shayne cupped a hand around his shoulder, ready to help him back up.

Charlie tried to hum in protest, but squeezed his lips together upon tasting acid on his tongue. His spine jerked him forward, curling him up even tighter. The cloth dropped off of his forehead again, but this time Shayne grabbed it before it could sit on the tiles for too long.

“Charlie –”

“I c-can’t, I can’t sit up!” He clapped a hand over his lips as his stomach clenched again.

“I’m so sorry, Charlie, just remember I love you.”

“Wh-wha –?” The floor suddenly seemed to tilt in the opposite direction, or maybe it was entire fucking planet, because Charlie suddenly didn’t know which way was up or down. He felt Shayne pulling his arm up around the back of his neck, dragging him to his knees and draping him over the toilet seat. Charlie could barely see for the stars exploding in his vision, but when sickly liquid clawed its way up his throat, he heard it hit another body of liquid at the bottom of the bowl. “Fuck…”

“You’re okay,” Shayne whispered, right next to his face. Charlie’s chin was practically resting on his shoulder. His arm was draped over Shayne’s other shoulder, like he was injured and being dragged off the battlefield.

He felt another wave of nausea bubble up under his ribs, his stomach letting out an uneasy gurgle. Charlie shut his eyes as a mouthful of bile stung his throat before cascading out of him. Needles of white-hot pain shot through his head.

A gentle knock on the door sounded like an elephant being dropped on the landing.

“Fuck – what?” Shayne hissed, turning his head to project his voice away from Charlie’s delicate eardrums.

“Is everything okay?” a voice asked from the other side of the door. Sounded like Felix. “Do you… need anything?”

Part of Charlie wanted to beg for some more ibuprofen to kill the agony in his head, but another wrenching pain in his gut told him it wouldn’t stay down this time either. He heard Shayne hesitate, probably having the same realisation.

“Water might be good,” Shayne said back.

“Blanket,” Charlie choked out softly. He had a horrible feeling he wouldn’t be moving from the tiles for a long time yet.

Shayne sighed again, rubbing a hand along Charlie’s spine. “And the blanket from the sofa, Fee.”

After chucking up another sliver of whatever was still in his stomach, Charlie turned his head and nuzzled into the hollow between Shayne’s shoulder and neck. His body would have crumpled to the ground if it hadn’t been practically tangled up with Shayne’s.

“P-please don’leave me,” he mumbled, realising his was slurring his words.

“Love,” Shayne whispered, sighing in the way he did that let Charlie know he’d just said something mildly infuriating. He wrapped an arm around Charlie’s waist and pulled him even closer, taking even more of his weight now that the sporadic vomiting seemed to have stopped. For now. “I’d never dream of it.”

#StW Charlie #sick Charlie #emeto #emeto sickfic #headache #headache hump #headache sickfic #whump #whump fic #emeto fic #demon possession #demon OC

[ashesandhalefire]

progress report: i am missing you to death

alex, michael, and a lot of unsaid things.

-

inspired by an entirely out of context teaser shot of alex and a desperate need for interaction that has yet to be satisfied by season 3 canon.

-

Deep Sky provides the coordinates and the time, so Alex shows up and waits.

While he stands in the cool night air, he scans the flat terrain that stretches out to one side and the gully where the highway sits. Other than the whizzing traffic, oblivious to his insignificance, everything is quiet.

After about twenty minutes of the vibrating stillness, Michael slinks out of the shadows with his hat tucked low over his face and leans against the back of the car beside Alex’s SUV.

Blood rushing in his ears, Alex does a second quick sweep of the lot’s perimeter. Nothing obvious has changed in the shadows since he crept through the bushes to check potential sight lines, but Alex isn’t stupid. He was in over his head when Project Shepherd turned out to be just his father’s backroom hobby. Deep Sky outclasses his expertise in a way he isn’t ready to reckon with. They could be anywhere—somewhere in the lot, somewhere down the road, somewhere miles away—and Michael has sauntered directly into their crosshairs.

He left about five feet between them when he stopped to hook one ankle over the other and stare out at the traffic, and the distance is enough for deniability. Alex tightens his hands into anxious fists and forces a long, deep breath through his nose.

“Hey,” Michael says with a casual nod of his head. They stand listening to the roar of tires chewing their ways along the desert highway, and Alex waits for a sign. He checks Michael’s chest for the red point of a laser sight just in case. Nothing happens. They stand a little longer, and then Michael leans over and asks, “You got a light?”

“No. You got a cigarette?”

The corner of Michael’s mouth twitches. It stirs up a fondness that Alex has carefully and surgically distanced himself from for the last few months, and he glances around the parking lot again. Being in love with Michael is too easy. He falls into it without needing to think about it or to try, and the laziness of trusting things to fate is probably why they’ve never gotten it right. He should probably consider himself lucky. Sinking back into those feelings now, fruitlessly, after so much time has passed, will make him sloppy in a way he can’t afford.

“You shouldn’t be here. They could see you.”

Michael tucks his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugs, easy and unbothered. Or, almost unbothered. The muscles in his jaw are tight and tense. “You don’t even know what they do or if they’re looking for me. I haven’t exactly been hiding for the last year.”

“That doesn’t mean you should paint a bullseye on your chest.”

“But you should?”

Michael spits barbs like an old man working his way through seeded melon, careless and precise in equal measure. He always finds soft flesh.

“This isn’t a game,” Alex grits out, face growing hot with frustration. He watches a tractor trailer speed by on the road below and shoot a piece of trash out from beneath its tires.

“So tell me what it is, then,” Michael says, mouth turning down and voice suddenly going sharp as a knife’s edge, “because I didn’t really wait around to hear the rest of the story after Valenti said you were joining a cult.”

Alex looks over, and Michael’s brow is pinched to match the irritated wrinkle of his nose. Anger and tension leak off him like heat shimmers off the pavement at midday. He holds his casual posture, ankles crossed and hands tucked, but his eyes are furious.

“It’s complicated.”

Michael scoffs. “You know what, I shouldn’t bother. I should just drag your ass home, no questions.”

And now Alex’s temper flares: “Try it.”

“You think I wouldn’t? To save you?” He laughs meanly. “I’d have you over my shoulder so fucking fast—”

“I don’t need to be saved.”

“Obviously, you do.” Michael pushes off the car. The brim of his hat catches the light from the lamppost and casts half his face in shadows. “We have enough problems on our hands right now. We don’t need to poke the bear.”

“This bear poked first,” Alex says, equally furious. He checks behind Michael before hissing through his teeth, “They kidnapped Mimi. They drugged Jenna Cameron. Turnabout is fair play.”

“This isn’t turnabout! This isn’t even revenge. You’re joining their club. You are flinging yourself into a pit, Alex. A big, dark, deep pit, and when you get far enough in, none of us are going to be able to get you out. We’re gonna lose you. For good. And for no fucking reason.”

“Not for no reason,” Alex says. A tingle of shame trickles up the back of his neck. He knows he’s unprepared, going in without an exit strategy. But he can’t sit on his hands and do nothing. It makes him nervous and paranoid to be idle. “They know things.”

“Who gives a shit? Who gives one fucking iota of a shit about what they know?”

Alex frowns. “You have always wanted to know more—”

“Not like this! Not at the risk of—” Michael puts a fist to his forehead. Then he pulls off his hat and takes another step closer. His voice is softer when he speaks. “Why are you so hellbent on doing this, huh? This isn’t just your dad anymore. This is bigger than that.”

“I know.”

“They are gonna swallow you whole, and what’s the point if you’re just gone?”

Alex draws another long inhale through his nose. The weight of the thick, ugly ring on his finger feels like an anchor dragging him down. The memories of Caulfield crumbling to pieces in a cloud of fire are heavier. “If there’s even a chance that they know something, what choice do I have? I’m not getting caught off guard again. I owe you that much.”

“Bullshit,” Michael says with a jerk of his chin. “Doing it is one thing, but don’t pretend you’re doing it for me.” A pair of low-riding sports cars scream down the highway behind him, bobbing and weaving through the minimal traffic with their engines blaring. One falters behind a gas tanker and then chases its companion off towards the horizon with an roar. “If you had any interest in doing something for me, you would stay.”

Cold uncertainty creeps into Alex’s chest, and no number of layers can keep it out. He wants to ask: would I be welcome? Because he hasn’t felt like he would be in a long time. He had showed up, again and again. Sometimes, he had been wanted, and sometimes, he hadn’t been. The haze of open mic night had cleared for an instant, and the future had been visible, tangible, workable, and then, just as quickly, had vanished into the air. He had been left with Isobel’s obvious, humiliating pity, her mouth turned down as she stood to listen through the last note. That door had been closed. And yet, he wants to ask: would I be welcome? Dignity be damned.

“Are— are you asking me to stay?”

There must be something in his voice when he says it, no matter how hard he tries to control the pathetic wavering and the sunken surprise on his face, that means something to Michael. His whole body eases forward as if carried by an invisible current before he catches himself and says, “I’m done asking people for more than they’re willing to give me.”

“But you would ask? If you thought—?” Alex pushes. “You would want to ask?”

The corners of Michael’s mouth turn down and his gaze narrows almost imperceptibly, but Alex is watching for it. The more Michael closes off, the more Alex feels himself splitting open. Something bright and electric stirs in his chest.

“Because I thought you wouldn’t,” he says, waiting for the moment when Michael’s eyes widen, just slightly, just enough to understand. It comes, exactly as expected, and Michael sways closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d ask. I’m not about to beg, but I’d ask.”

He’s gotten Michael to beg before, but never for something as serious as love. On his back or on his knees or in the bed of his truck, Alex has heard him plead and bargain for things he wants in the neediest, most desperate whispers, but that had been all carnal, base pleasure, and he had known Alex wouldn’t tell him no. Here, he’s talking about a different type of submission, the kind that humiliates someone like Michael, someone who has never been given enough. Michael won’t beg, and Alex needs to be asked, and a lot of time has been wasted between them thinking that one is the same as the other.

He can’t say he’ll stay. He’s too far in to back out. And, even if he could do it, staying doesn’t mean riding off into the sunset. It means more of the same: the secrets, the conspiracies, the mysteries, the agonies, the scraping open of old wounds in last-ditch efforts to heal them. But it also means Michael, so everything else is white noise.

Michael sees it all play out on his face. He sets his hat on the roof of Alex’s car and then turns to lean against the hatchback. He sighs, and Alex can tell that more weight than usual is resting on his shoulders. It’s not just Max dragging him under. His whole body sags with it, and the sharp focus that’s been in his eyes begins to recede as he drifts away towards the call of whatever nightmare is lurking at the back of his mind.

“It’ll be okay,” Alex says because he lacks for anything else to say, and Michael  stares at his boots with a sad smile. His throat bobs as he swallows down whatever it is that’s too hard to talk about with so little time left to say it, and then he turns to look at Alex.

“Your dad was a piece of shit,” he says, like this is some sort of revelation, “and you’re you.”

The words, said like an accusation, should probably turn his stomach, but they’re also said with a reverence that pushes Alex’s heart up into his throat. Whatever is happening has rocked Michael to his core far beyond how Alex knows to help.

“Less of a piece of shit, I hope.”

Michael stares at him, flexing his hand, and then says, with a nod, “Significantly, yeah.”

“I guess that’s the best I can hope for.” Alex laughs, and then he tips his head back to look at the starless sky. “I’ll take being afraid of being like him over being proud of being like him any day. At least it means I’m going in the right direction.”

Jesse haunts Alex differently than he haunts Michael. To Michael, Jesse is another human face that did something terrible to him, just more proof that looking for another planet to run to is a good idea. Jesse is a more specific phantom for Alex, much harder to let blur into the background of the general awfulness of life. There are reminders of his father all around town: placards, photographs, the sign for the street they lived on, a six-foot statue in town square. Those can be faced much more easily than the hints of his father that Alex finds in the mirror: the deep-set wrinkles in his brows, the cut of his mouth when he frowns, the tone of his voice when he yells, the shape of his thumb. To be a little less like him every day is an exhausting but necessary struggle.

Michael smiles, and Alex, mystified, thinks maybe he managed to help after all.

“Your plan wasn’t really to drag me home over your shoulder, was it?” he asks to distract from how Michael carefully swipes a finger at the corner of one eye.

Michael huffs, and the car jostles. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just wasn’t about to let you go without—” He licks his lips and says, “I wasn’t about to let you just go.”

Alex scuffs his shoe against the loose gravel. “Couldn’t get Kyle’s hubcaps off this time?”

Guilt settles over him after he says it. Guilt and something else, something like the relief of setting down a heavy burden that’s been carried too long.

“I thought you were making a mistake back then, too.” Michael takes the comment in stride, accepts it, and reaches out to touch the ring on Alex’s hand. He pinches it carefully, Alex’s fingers curled into the heat of his palm, and rolls his thumb until the ring twists to expose the thinner underside of the band. He strokes, skin then metal then skin, over and over. “Flinging yourself into some dark pit that you’d never come out of again.”

Alex wants to tell him that this is different. He can’t.

“Do me a favor, okay?”

Hand slipping up over Alex’s wrist and into the soft corner of his elbow, Michael crosses the final inches of space between them and pulls Alex close. In the dim light of the parking lot, they might be mistaken for the sort of strangers who meet in shadowy corners for quick exchanges of misery with rough words and rougher touch. But then Michael, trembling, touches the lapel of Alex’s jacket and presses a long kiss to his cheek.

He keeps his mouth there, breath hot and soft, and, before he gathers himself enough to continue, Alex says, “I’ll come back.”

Michael laughs, but it sounds like a gasp for air. “Not even gonna let me ask?”

Alex hums. “I’ll come back.”

“Yeah, you’ll come back,” Michael warns, “or I’ll come get you. And it won’t be fucking subtle.”

It sends a shiver down his spine to think of Michael storming a place as infinitely large as Deep Sky feels. If it comes to that, he’d be better off left behind. But as the thought comes, Michael’s grip shifts and the tentative press of their sides becomes a full-bodied hug that envelopes him like a warm breeze. His nose turns into the side of Michael’s neck: rain, crisp and fresh; gasoline, but faint; smoke, from his fire pit.

“I’m not really going anywhere. It’ll be fine.”

Michael squeezes, and Alex squeezes back. Everything else he wants to say is too big for this moment. And, selfishly, he wants to know that Michael will wait to hear it. He scolds himself for the thought, because they’ve each done their share of waiting miserably at the wayside, but then he lets it stand. Michael squeezes again, fingertips digging into separate points as he clings.

Alex cups a hand to the back of his head and touches his curls. He thinks about what it would mean to kiss Michael now, to kiss someone that he loves, who loves him, and imagines a tower of precariously stacked dominoes. Michael laughs wetly, and Alex lets go first, fingers lingering reluctantly.

#malex fic #malex #roswell new mexico #michael x alex #my fic #i read the jungle; the grapes of wrath; and another country in less than two weeks. idt my writing style even knows which way is up rn #but i had to Produce Something or i was going to go crazy so :/

[unabashegirl]

Pax Romana; Part I

Author’s note: Hey everyone, here is the first part of this mini-series. I hope you like it! Let me know if you want to be on the tag list. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN only for H. 

DISCLAIMER; I DONT KNOW ITALIAN! (only English, French and Spanish) I clearly used a translator. I am aware their translations are SHIT sometimes. Therefore I am sorry if I butcher it! I didn’t mean to!

masterlist 

----

Harry Styles, can still recall the first day he was enthralled by her conspicuous beauty. At first, he reckoned he had done the unavoidable. He had moved to Italy for the summer, and he had managed to fall in love with an Italian girl; that he had never spoken to. He had only observed her from afar — too shy to ever think of approaching her. Nonetheless, the young woman was a sight to behold.  He promised himself that he would only watch from afar. It felt forbidden and somewhat illegal. The feeling that bubbled within him was enough reason to continue his study of her.

After his first visit to Italy, he had fallen in love with the country. Hence, why he had rented out a house in a coastal town. The country’s natural and effortless beauty inspired him to write new music for his upcoming album. The beautiful sunsets, the sunny mornings, the art, and the food brought peace and tranquility to him. It was the perfect place for him to hide — for a while.  It was on one of his morning runs; he first noticed her. 

She wore a bright yellow bikini that exposed most of her olive skin to the sun rays. She sat on a striped towel that she had laid out on the hot sand.  Her hair was slicked back and wet after she had dipped in the ocean to refresh her body. 

Of course, she never caught sight of his dilated pupils or the way he had leaned forward — lured by her beauty.  Her attention was preoccupied with a hardcover of Pride and Prejudice; that she had brought along as a source of entertainment for the day.  The young woman appeared too indulged in the printed words to notice his existence. 

He watched her for a few hours. Now and then he would remind himself of the hundred reasons why he shouldn’t approach. He had even managed to take a few steps towards her. Harry eventually removed himself as soon as it became too much. He had beaten the temptation. 

The first time he spoke to her was at a local restaurant. Harry had taken himself out on a late lunch date. He had dressed up nicely and had walked to the bistro. He noticed her presence after taking his first sip out of his freshly served Chardonnay. She sat on the table across from him. This time she wasn't submerged in a book. He could finally admire her natural beauty up close. The fullness of the apples of her cheeks, her long dark eyelashes, her red-tinted lips, and of course light sunburn on her upper cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. 

A few minutes later, her order had arrived. It was ricotta and mushroom stuffed ravioli in a black truffle sauce. She was stuffing her face when they made eye contact. Harry’s lips curved upwards creating a lopsided smile as she scrambled to clean the creamy sauce off her face. He hadn't said anything to her, but she already felt embarrassed. 

”Sono deliziosa?” He had done it. He couldn’t just watch her and pray she’d take the first step. It was time to put his Italian to the test. He had been practicing his Italian and even though he already had a few weeks on the Amalfi coast; he still struggled to comprehend. Harry only hoped she would be able to understand him.

”E molto deliziosa” She smiled at him for the first time. She beamed, radiating an intoxicating wave of warmth and happiness towards him. Her lips parted open for a split second but before she could utter a word the waiter approached. 

“Hai bisogno di qualcos’ altro?”  He was asking her if she needed anything else. She understood what he was asking, but she couldn’t remember how to say cheese.

“Fuck” she said under her breath. “Queso. Fromage. Cheese” She had forgotten how to speak. All her languages had mixed in one and the wires had crossed. “How do you say it?” She whispered under her breath, her cheeks warmed in embarrassment as the waiter tried to comprehend. 

“Formaggio. Ha bisogno di formaggio parmigiano, per favore” Harry interrupted, noticing her uneasiness and her inevitable embarrassment. He knew that it wasn’t his business and he shouldn’t have been listening to the conversation, but he had to help her. 

The waiter turned his attention to the young celebrity. He was also a bit surprised that Harry had spoken for her. He had seen that Harry kept to himself. He usually attended dinner on his own and hardly even bothered to use his phone. “Inmediatamente”. 

“Thank you” She thanked Harry as soon as the waiter had left in search of the parmesan cheese that she so craved. Harry’s excessive focus on watching the server carrying out her request had prevented him from realizing that she spoke perfect English. He had to stop himself from gasping when processed her delicate voice. She had an accent. Slight. Gentle. Barely-there and it wasn’t Italian. He would later learn that her R’s made it more prominent. 

“It’s alright. It happens” She instantly recognized who he was. Her heart raced for a minute or two, but she restrained herself from making a huge scene. After all, it was Harry Styles. Whom she considered, the most stylish man of her generation. The man could wear a curtain and still pull it off. “I am Harry” He rises a bit from his seat, extending his right hand. 

“Catalina” She shakes his hand with a smile. “So, what brings you here?” Even her name was attractive — he wondered. 

“Is’not obvious?” 

“Not really. Enlighten me” The stranger gives him a small smirk while placing her napkin over her lap after crossing her legs under the table. Harry purges his lips as he uses his index finger and thumb to slightly tug on his bottom lip. 

His whole plan to stay away from her had failed. Did he regret it?. Hell no! He just hoped he had chosen wisely. 

“The art” He reveals as he watches her cut one of her ravioli before putting it in her mouth. She responds by only nodding; too indulged in the explosion of flavors within her mouth. 

“Music?” She hums as she brings the glass of wine up to her mouth. “ I thought you were more of a  dolce far niente type of man” her mouth curved into a smile. Dolce far niente means pleasant relaxation in carefree idleness. Harry instantly identified the phrase from Julia Roberts's famous movie — Eat, Pray, Love. She remembered reading somewhere that he was a rom-com fan. 

“Are you?” He shot back. There was no doubt that he was intrigued by her. 

“Si” She shrugged as she pushed around some ravioli. 

“Then we have more in common than I thought, Catalina” Her name rolled off his tongue without any strain. It was as if he had been practicing for months. She had never heard her name sound so attractively. Sure, he had an accent, but it was still beautifully pronounced. 

Harry’s order arrived moments later. He had ordered the classic spaghetti bolognese. He grabbed his fork and knife and right before digging into the plate, he looked up at her. Catalina had been watching him since silence had fallen upon them. His smirk grew into a soft chuckle as their eyes met. She giggled at him and first noticed his dimples. She now understood everyone's obsession with his smile. 

“Would you join me?” Catalina spluttered after a few minutes of mentally debating with herself. She felt her heart beating in her throat and her hands dripping with sweat as other parts of her body. It was all very hot. 

Catalina wasn’t the type of woman to initiate conversation. She rarely even texts first!. Her excuse is usually that she doesn’t want to bother or interrupt. In reality, she is scared shitless to make a fool out of herself. Therefore, she was quite surprised by herself to have asked him to have dinner together. 

Harry cocked his head with his lips pursed. To her, he looked very pensive as if he was making a big decision. She didn’t blame him. He was on vacation and the last thing he wanted was to be photographed with a random girl and for questions to be asked. Although, he had already agreed in his mind. He just couldn’t come across as desperate. Even though he was. Harry wanted to know more. 

His fingers tucked his clothed napkin into the collar of his shirt. A chuckle left his lips as he pushed his seat back and raised on his feet. He held his plate and utensils with one hand while his glass of wine with the other. 

“So, where are you from?” Harry was first to ask, as he twisted his spaghetti around his folk. Catalina leaned back on her seat, her fingers clenching around her wine glass as she finished swallowing. “I am English” he laughs as if his accent didn’t give it away. 

“Really? Bet my life you were Italian” Catalina bantered 

“What gave it away?” 

“The facial hair and the good head of locks” Harry grinned covering his face with his hands, feeling his cheeks heating up. He felt ridiculous for blushing at such a minuscule compliment. “But anyway, I was born in South America, but raised in Spain by my aunt”. She revealed playing with the small droplets around the cup of ice water that had been forgotten. 

“And what are you doing here?” 

“I study here” She had just finished her first semester. “Well not here, but in Rome. I am majoring in art history”.

The not so strangers sat for hours and indulged in one more bottle of wine. Harry encouraged her to pick but she politely refused. She said that she hadn’t spent enough time in Italy to know what was best. 

She told him about her parents. Her father had walked out on her mother after she had told him that she was expecting. Catalina also shared with him how she felt after losing her mother to cancer when she was only ten. She was quite surprised at herself. She had never shared so much with anyone. Let alone, someone she had met that same night. Harry brought her some kind of comfort that she had no idea she needed. 

Harry listened to her. She hadn’t finished speaking and answering his previous question and he already had another one formulated. He liked hearing her speak. She allowed him to pick at her brain and he liked what he saw. She was driven, independent, somewhat lonely, but incredibly smart. Catalina was also unbelievably wise for her age. 

“What about you? Is fame all you thought it would be?” Catalina asked moments after they had been kicked out of the restaurant. They eventually had to close. Harry held what was left of the bottle as they walked down the isolated streets. 

“That’s a heavily loaded question” He chuckled, “It’s way more complicated and difficult. I think I expected to never feel lonely by the continuous abundance of people around me. But in reality, sometimes it feels lonelier than when I was just Harry” Harry shrugged, masking the pain that the vulnerability that he suddenly felt.

“I get it. The screams and faces don’t match the number of people close to you” Catalina was not famous but she could understand where he was coming from. Sure, her aunt had raised her, but she had felt lonely for most of her life. Her mother's death had felt a gaping hole in her life that no one has ever been able to fulfill. 

“M’not ungrateful for my friends but I do feel lonely. I guess I haven't found what I am looking for” Harry flashed her a reassuring smile as they walked down to the main road. “Let me help yeh” He had seen her struggling to walk over the cobblestone streets. She wore low heel sandals that complemented the white satin dress that she has opted for. Unfortunately, the heels were thin enough to slip through the stones making her overly cautious where she stepped. 

Harry switched the bottle to his other hand and offered his hand for her to take. She stopped momentarily and stared at his massive hands. They were bare. His famous rings were missing as if they had gone on a vacation too. She took his hand and was slightly surprised at their softness. She had expected them to be rough but they were quite the opposite. 

“Thank you” 

“No problem” He wanted to spend more time with her. He wished that the night wasn’t ending. “I would invite you for some gelato, but it’s quite late. I doubt there is any place opened” 

“How long are you staying?” Catalina asked as she noticed them approaching the entrance of her hotel. 

“A few more weeks” the splendor of the lights of the entrance of the hotel illuminated her features. Harry couldn’t help thinking how lovely she looked. 

“I’ve had a lovely time. Will I see you tomorrow?” 

“M’not planning on goin anywhere” Catalina reached up, resting a delicate hand on his shoulder, she kissed his cheek. 

“I’ll see you around then” She gave him a little wave as she walked her way through the doors. She would later realize that she hadn’t only kissed him because it was part of her culture and tradition but because he managed to ignite a flame within her — that one had ever done before. 

#harry styls #harry styles #harry #harry imagine #harry imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry fanfic #harry fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry angst #harry blurb #harry fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry smutt #harry styles smutt #harry preference #harry styles preferences #harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you

[dwaynepride]

how was i to know?

summary: reader has a weird dream about gibbs.

have you ever done anything for the ‘ya know what kind of wood this is’ Gibbs dream that both Quinn and Palmer had?

words: 1700

warnings: slight nsfw

tags: @fairytale07​ @jrenn10​ @f4nboi​ @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove​ @littlemiss3ma @minikate--24-05​ @consultingdoctorwholock​ @kittenlittle24​ @24601error-prisonernotfound @andreasworlsboring101​ @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​ @ms-allenbrown​ @ikbenplant​ @dylpickles1267​ @diaryofafan17​ @specialagentlokitty​ @pageofultron​ @stanathanxoox​

a/n: it’s been a while since i’ve posted. this isn’t beta-read so ignore the typos. be free, my thots.

Your eyes just weren’t focusing anymore.

It’s been hours (don’t ask how many) since you’ve sat down at your desk to read over case files. The bane of a federal agent - chained to their desk and forced to go over every scrap of evidence and testimonies to find anything useful and it’s the burden placed squarely on your shoulders for today.

Usually, you have tricks to help when the words start blending together. Getting some coffee, going for a walk, visiting Abby because she’s the physical embodiment of caffeine and normally wakes you up.

But nothing helped. And the words kept swimming over the screen.

You’re not learning anything new from sitting here. But with the team hitting a roadblock in the case, what else is there to do? 

Again, you start reading the paragraph that you’ve been trudging through for the past twenty minutes. But this time, as your focus wavers, it’s not because of the headache or the tension in your eyes. The sudden presence on your right is what stops your reading. It’s warm. All-encompassing. Brings over the soft smell of sawdust and aftershave and as soothing at the presence is, it’s a shock to you.

Because you could have sworn you were alone in the bullpen - staying behind while the others went off to find new leads.

Your eyes move off the computer screen, meaning to glance over to the presence. But you never see their face because they’re suddenly leaning in. Hovering over your shoulder, shrouding you from the harsh office lights, and you reckon if you take in a big enough breath, you’d be able to feel the warm presence pressing against your shoulder.

Their face was a mystery, and yet, you can feel a pair of eyes watching you - hard, steely, freezing you in your chair.

And without warning, a hand comes to rest on the surface of your desk, next to the keyboard. A worn, scarred hand that you recognize with a jolt. The named of its owner lies on the tip of your tongue, but it never comes out - like a secret you’ve sworn to keep.

His fingers curl a bit, knocking lightly against the top of your desk. The sound could’ve easily been mistaken as the pounding of your heart, if one listened close enough.

“You know what kinda wood that is?”

The voice mumbled against your ear is low and deep. Sounding like a bass drum and its sound reverberates through your body and you’re pretty sure it’s the reason why your hands are suddenly a little shaky. 

“W-wood?” You manage to echo back. A single word, hoping for clarification because your brain is moving at a snail’s pace. You’re simply too preoccupied on the warm, wet breathing that wafts over your neck.

His fingers start tapping against the desk in some unknown rhythm. And your eyes watch them move, entranced, and you keep telling yourself to look away and focus on something else but it’s much too easy to just keep staring. “Yeah. You outta know.” His voice is closer. More hushed. And that’s because his lips are right against the shell of your ear and his breath is blazing hot.

And through it all, you can catch the faint scent of bitter coffee and it only makes your skin tingle even more.

You suppress a shudder, if only to deny him the satisfaction of feeling it.

His presence somehow keeps growing larger - more encompassing, like a storm cloud rolling over the city. The words on the monitor; they don’t exist. There’s no more Naval Yard or team of federal agents or a whole case to solve. 

It’s just you, him, and the hard, cold press of the wooden desk keeping you here. 

Finally, you turn your head towards him. Words form on the edge of your tongue - stern words of annulment and to tell him you’re too busy for his games.

But then you meet his eyes. Head on - and they give you pause. Frozen in place, as if the icy blues really could chill you to the bone. So close, you could catch faint flecks of gray and gold floating around in the ocean of light blue and this time, it’s impossible to push down the shudder.

Now, his breath wafts over your lips slowly in his careful exhale, sounding almost disappointed and you’re shocked at how much that thought troubles you.

“Want to get a closer look?” He mumbles, eyes falling blatantly to your lips before coming back to meet your gaze.

A closer look? Damn him. 

This must be some kind of sick game for him - to see how far he can push you before you bend to him. He knows the implications of his question. You’ll start imagining yourself bent over the desk, looking closely to study the wood and its rings and texture. Everything he wants you to look for. Your mind will wonder, and suddenly, the image of him fucking you, hard and purposeful, over the desk pops up and you’ll never be able to get it out of your head.

And it works like a god damn charm.

His head tilts to the side, eyes softening to look amused. Probably because he notices you’re panting lighting and can feel it against his lips. “I can show you, if you want,” he murmurs. Still acting innocent. Still keeping with this game.

You breathe in because your head starts getting dizzy from lack of oxygen, but that proves a fatal mistake. 

Because the air itself smells like him - like coffee and smoke and old cologne and it goes straight between your thighs and you find yourself craving the feel of his scarred, worn-out hands on your skin. “Gibbs…”

His name comes out weak, like a shiver. And when he hums in response to it, you can nearly feel the vibration through the air and pulsing against your body. And slowly, carefully, his hand comes up to touch your shoulder. The first real, raw physical contact and you wait for it with baited breath. Suddenly craving it more than the air itself.

As it connects, you expect a soft sort of seering feel. Like a branding iron. Instead, it’s a hard and sudden shove that seems to rock the entire world.

It’s so hard, your eyes snap open instantly, sucking in a gasp of air like you’d just been held underwater. Those cold blue eyes that had so easily frozen you solid were gone, replaced with the familiar scene of the office doused in the light of a sunset. 

The stifling presence of Leroy Jethro Gibbs was also gone - in a way, you were grateful for the freedom. It was much easier to breathe now, that’s for certain. But the second thing you notice upon sitting up in your chair isn’t as appreciated.

Your body is humming. Heart pounding a million miles a second. And your skin...it’s almost painfully sensitive. So much so, even your clothes rubbing against it is almost too much to bear. For a moment, you can still feel Gibbs and his warm breath and the remains of his touch. 

But the worst realization is the deep throb between your legs. Aching and pulsing for something - or someone - that will never come. Your thighs shift together, hoping to ease the feel but the friction only seems to make it worse.

“You fell asleep.”

That’s his voice. 

Your head whips up to find Gibbs standing by your desk - watching you, his eyebrows pinched together and standing in nearly the same exact spot as in your dream and it’s a shock that you even realize that.

Immediately, you let your gaze fall - everything is throbbing just a little too much to meet his eyes. “And you were making some noises,” he continues. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you answer immediately. Too quick, you realize. Gibbs may not believe the dream was simply nothing, and it’s proven when he takes a small step closer to you. His shoes nearly nudge against yours, and you can’t stop yourself from tucking your feet under the chair away from him. 

His eyes are still on you. It takes an enormous amount of effort to keep your breathing steady and to stop the light shake of your hands to even pretend everything was normal. “You sure?” He asks. And this time, his tone is different. Just slightly - it wouldn’t even had been noticeable if dream-Gibbs hadn’t spoken so softly right in your fucking ear.

You need to get a fucking grip.

It was just a dream. A vivid, extremely hot dream. But a dream nonetheless. Not real.

“Very sure,” you reply, forcing your tone to sound more confident that you feel. It’s still impossible to meet his eyes - you know they’d be every bit as frosty blue and cool as in your dream, so you just spin your chair to face the desk. “You just woke me up from an intense dream.”

Gibbs hums a bit at the explanation. “Gonna tell me about it?”

“Definitely not.”

Out the corner of your eye, Gibbs just shrugs before turning back to his own desk and sitting down. Now that his whole focus isn’t on you, the rest of the world start to filter back in. The golden light of a setting sun coming in through the windows. The ambience of the office, winding down from a long day. Gibbs sipping his coffee. 

It gets easier to slow your beating heart. To ignore the slow, steady throb between your thighs. 

And carefully, you glance up across the bullpen to Gibbs. His eyes are on the monitor, paying you no attention.

“Gibbs.” That is, until you say his name carefully. Like an experiment. 

And when the shock of his eyes hits you once again, it’s nearly as powerful and earth-shaking as it was in the dream. But this time, you hold his gaze. Because there’s something you need to know before you can put this dream behind you and get back to work.

Your hand comes up, knuckles rapping lightly against the wooden surface of the desk. It sounds louder than it should. 

“Do you know what kind of wood this is?”

#ncis imagine #ncis x reader #ncis reader insert #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs imagine

[anna-justice]

Crash My Party - Upstead

Summary: Hailey receives some terrible news and suffers a severe panic attack, and like always, Jay is there for her. (Pre-Established Upstead/8x03 never happened)

Warnings: fluff, swearing, maybe mentions of violence

Requested: Yes! #66, “I can’t do this alone anymore.”

…

The walk up the stairs to his apartment building seemed longer than normal. Her hands shook as she fiddled with her keys, the clinking creating white noise that echoed through the stairwell. She pushed the door at the top open and made her way down the hall, subconsciously reading the numbers on every door as she passed.

When she reached his door, she took a deep breath, running her hand through her blonde hair that - for once - was falling over her shoulders. She raised her hand to knock, but held it there for a second. Something about this didn’t seem right, her showing up unannounced with a million things to drop on him. Even though they had both done it a thousand times, there was always a voice in the back of her head that told her that it wasn’t his problem.

She fought the feelings and knocked on the door, shifting on her heels as she waited. She stared at the ground and squinted hard, pushing the possible tears back down. The door swung open a few seconds later, revealing a smiley and very shocked Jay. Hailey watched as his face contorted from a big grin to confused, and then to concern. She wished the floor would just swallow her up. “Hailey?”

“Hey.” She said quietly. She knew she should have called or texted, or maybe even stayed home to face it alone, but she always felt better after a drink with him. After the day she had, she just needed to be close to him.

Jay stepped slightly in front of the door, closing it partly behind him. It was then Hailey realized he probably wasn’t alone. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He asked, genuinely.

Hailey blinked back tears for the upteenth time that day, the thought of Jay spending his Friday night with any other girl but her cut deep. She knew she was jumping to conclusions, but right now, he heart couldn’t take it.“Yeah, yeah, I-”

“Jay!” Someone called from inside the apartment, “What’s taking you so long to get a pizza?” Jay’s cheeks heated up and Hailey let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Kevin.

“Oh, sorry.” Hailey said, fighting the urge to smile (an action that hadn’t crossed her mind in hours). He had company, and she didn’t want to interrupt, but every part of her was extremely relieved that it was just their friends hiding behind the door. “I didn’t realize you were busy. I’ll just go.” She turned to walk away, but Jay placed a hand on her shoulder, stepping out of the doorway.

He shook his head, “I’m not. It’s just the guys. What’s up?”

Hailey was opening her mouth to protest when she was interrupted again. “Jay, quit flirting with the delivery guy and get back in here. You’re missing the game.” Another voice yelled, which Hailey assumed was Severide.

Jay held up his hand, motioning for her to give him a second. He leaned his head back in the apartment, “Give me a second.” He shouted.

“Jay, really, it’s fine. I’ll see you later.” She said, trying (and failing) to give him a reassuring smile.

Jay cocked an eyebrow at her, “You sure?” Hailey nodded, even though she wasn’t. Even though hers was long gone, she didn’t want to ruin his night.

She was about to leave again when they heard footsteps behind them, “Okay, I need to see what this girl looks like-” The door swung open to reveal Will, who stopped dead in his tracks. “Hailey, hi.” He said, a lot louder than he needed too. Hailey blushed and Jay rolled his eyes. Will glanced between the two of them, a tiny smirk showing on his face. He looked at Jay, “Take your time.” Before either of them could say a thing, he shut the door.

Jay chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, sorry about him. They thought you were the delivery guy.”

Hailey nodded, “Yeah, I got that.”

He took her in, noticing the fading tear marks on her cheeks and the half smile on her face. She wasn’t okay, and he knew that. “You wanna come in? We have beer and a hockey game.” He asked, gesturing at the door.

Hailey shook her head, glancing at the ground. “That’s okay. You guys have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.” They both retreated to where they came from, Jay shutting the door and leaning against it. He couldn’t shake the sad look in her eyes. He made his way back to his couch, surprised to see the three grown men already there watching him expectantly. “What?”

“How’s Hailey?” Will asked, smirking again.

Jay sighed, “I don’t really know, she looked upset.” He glanced between the three of them. “I think I need to…” He said, looking back at the door.

“Of course, man, we get it.” Kevin said, taking a swig of his beer.

“Yeah,” Kelly agreed, “We’ll just sit here, drink your beer and eat your food.”

“And miss you.” Will added and Jay rolled his eyes, “Seriously, it’s Hailey, go.”

Jay smiled at his friends, “Thanks guys.” He grabs his coat and his keys and was out the door in a matter of seconds.

They heard the door close behind him and Kelly shook his head, taking a sip of his drink. He nodded his head in the direction that Jay left. “He’s so whipped.”

Kevin and Will both laughed, nodding in agreement. “So…” Will said.

“It’s honestly kind of sad.”

…

By the time Hailey made it inside of her apartment, she was pulling hard on her fingers. She could feel her pulse picking up, and the pain of squeezing her anxious hands was keeping her grounded. It felt like it was a hundred degrees inside and she aggressively pushed off her coat, throwing it over a chair. She crossed the room, gripping the edge of her counter while trying to focus on her breathing.

Her chest felt tight and her knuckles were white from her tight grip. She clamped her eyes shut, pushing herself away from the counter and squeezing her hands in a fist at her sides. She stood in the center of the room, looking up at the ceiling as she blinked back tears. She wouldn’t cry again, no, she couldn’t cry again. That didn't stop her though, the salty liquid began to trickle down her face.

Hailey let out a frustrated groan - the distraught noise coming out very un-Hailey-like - and gasped for air, finding her way back to the counter. She refused to give in, it had been so long since this had happened, and she was going to fight like hell to make sure it didn’t follow through. She thought she was past it, she thought she was old enough to deal with things correctly.

However, her mind and her body had a different idea. Her chest burned and her throat felt like sandpaper, she almost didn’t even notice her phone buzzing on the counter. She absently reached out and picked it up, letting out a sob as she read the caller ID. A second later, her phone hit the wall next to her, shattering and falling to the floor along with any sense of calm she had left.

She heaved, she felt almost like she was floating. The only thing keeping in place was the counter in front of her. She finally let herself slip, she stopped fighting the pain and let it consume her.

Jay was almost to her door when he heard the crash inside, “Hailey!” He yelled, immediately kicking the door in (not even bothering to see if it was open).

Everything happened so fast. The commotion behind her caused Hailey to look up from her fixed gaze on the granite and the sudden movement sent her head spinning. Jay watched it all happen, catching her just before she hit the floor. “Hailey, Hailey.” He said, panicking. She slumped against her chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Jay held her to him on instinct, noticing her trembling body. “Hailey breathe, please.” He said, trying to sit her up as she heaved.

“I can’t, I can’t,” She choked out, clutching her chest. Her crying continued as Jay wracked his brain for what to do. He was sure she was having a panic attack, he had had quite a few of his own, but he was in shock. His calm - put together - force to be reckoned with - Hailey was nowhere to be found.

He shifted so that he was in front of her, hands braced on her upper arms to keep her upright. “Look at me Hailey, deep breaths. It’s okay, everything is going to be okay.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Make it stop,” She gasped, “Please Jay, make it stop. It hurts.”

Jay felt his heart clench in his chest, he absolutely hated seeing her like this. And it was probably good that he had no idea what was going on, because otherwise he would be planning a murder in his mind. “Hailey,” He said, but she was lost somewhere. “Hailey, look at me.” His words were gentle, but firm, and it grabbed her attention. Her head snapped up and her teary blue eyes met his. He cracked a smile, letting his hand slide up to her shoulder. “Good, now try to match my breathing.” She nodded, fixing her eyes on his chest and watching it rise and fall.

They sat on the floor together for at least fifteen minutes. Hailey watching Jay breath steadily and trying to match it. She was hyper focused, she didn’t dare let her mind wander. It had proven to be dangerous territory. Jay though, he felt like his brain was going to explode.

When Hailey finally felt like she could control herself, she slid onto her bottom, leaning her back against the kitchen counter. She ran her hands on her eyes and pulled her knees to her chest, partly to collect herself, partly because she was absolutely mortified. She sniffled, taking a few deep breaths on her own.

Jay relaxed as well, sitting back on his heels and keeping his distance. His eyes never left her, like if he looked away she would fall apart again. She looked so sad, so scared and it made him feel physically ill. “I think I broke your door.”

Hailey laughed out loud at his bad excuse for lightening the mood, “It’s okay.” She said quietly, running a hand under her nose. They sat there for a moment, just looking at each other. Hailey felt a strange sense of calm, one that she only felt around him, and it was a nice contrast to the past hour of pure panic.

“Are you okay?” He asked, giving her a pointed look.

It felt like such a loaded question, and honestly it was one. Jay had asked her that a million times, but there was no doubt that this time was different, she couldn’t backtrack this, not after what just happened. And as easy and safe to brush it off her shoulder and tell him that she was fine, she couldn’t, and she didn’t want to. Hailey’s gaze shifted down and she shook her head slowly.

Jay sat in front of her, legs crossed and a somber expression on his face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Hailey sniffled again, shaking her head. She rested it in her hand and took him in, something about him sitting on her kitchen floor felt so right. So right that she didn’t want to ruin it with how wrong everything in her life was. She didn’t want to tell him that her mom called her for the first time in years to tell her that her father was dying - and not only that - but that she wanted Hailey to come see him and possibly donate a piece of her major organ to him. She didn’t want to admit that she couldn’t do it, that she couldn’t bring herself to save him. She didn’t want to tell him that despite all the terrible things her father had done, she still felt sadness over his possible passing. She didn’t want him to know that a mere phone call had sent her into such a tailspin. She didn’t want him to know anything.

But here he was, looking at her the way no one else ever had, caring in a way no one else ever had. What was she supposed to do with that? “I can’t do this alone anymore.” It came out quiet, and neither of them were sure that she was actually talking to him. It felt more like a realization than anything.

“Hailey,” Jay said, taking the hand that was resting on her knee on her own. “You don’t have to, you never had to.”

The look on her face when he said those words was something Jay would never forget, the utter shock that showed so clearly. It pained him at how surprised she looked to hear something that had never been a second thought to him. She was his rock, his compass, at this point, maybe his entire life. How did she not see it?

“I thought it would be easier, to ignore it all.” She said, eyes glassing over again. She leaned her head against the wall, sighing. “I just can’t run fast enough to escape it.” Jay gave her a soft, but pointed look, urging her to continue. “My dad, um, he’s sick. Really sick, and, my mom, she called me to tell me. And she asked if I would come see him and if I would -” She laughed cynically “- if I would consider giving him a piece of my liver.”

“What?” Jay said, the word sort of just tumbling out of his mouth.

Hailey nodded her head, giving him a fake, tight lipped smile, “Yep.” She took a breath, “I don’t know, it was like years and years of suppressed pain just all came flooding back at once. So I went to your place, but you were busy and…” She gestured to them, implying that that is why they ended up where they were. “I’m sorry, that you had to see me like that.”

“Don’t apologize, I’m glad I was here.” Jay said, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand that was still in his. “I always want to be here, you just have to let me in.”

The genuine and vulnerable look in his eye was too much for Hailey to handle, so she avoided his gaze. “I don’t know, you seem to be pretty good at getting in on your own. You did break my door.”

Jay laughed, knowing that the joke was meant to offset the realness of the moment. He didn’t blame her, he was scared too. “I’m serious Hailey, this is where I want to be. All the time, with you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Here he was: her beautiful, emotionally stunted, action first partner laying his heart on the floor in front of her. “I want you here.”

“Good,” He said, “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each of them lost in their own thoughts. There was so much more that needed to be said, so much more that needed to be clarified, but at that moment it didn't matter. They were just them. “Is it bad that I don’t want to help him, does that make me a terrible person?” Hailey asked, breaking the silence.

“No,” Jay said immediately, “Not at all. It means you are strong.” She nodded, but Jay could tell that she didn't really believe him. “Hailey you are the strongest person I know, you make me stronger, you make me better. He doesn’t deserve your help, especially if you don’t want to give it.” He stood up, holding out a hand to her and pulling her up off the floor. “He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to forgive him.” She confessed.

Jay shrugged, “That’s okay.”

Hailey looked up at him, complete adoration in her eyes. He smiled down at her and even though she had doubted it before, she didn’t now. Something was different, something had shifted, he felt the same way she did and it was dulling the ache inside her. “Jay-” She started.

“I know.” He said, his grin growing a bit. “Me too. But we don’t have to talk about any of that right now. Let’s just get some sleep.”

Hailey hesitated, the thought of being alone terrifying her. “Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, fixing her gaze on the floor in between them.

“Hailey,” Jay said, taking a step forward and cupping her cheek with his hand, “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

…

A/N: This was so fun to write, also, I’m alive haha. Sorry I haven’t posted in forever, I am so ridiculously busy, but I’m hoping that within the next month I can start posting regularly again. Thanks for reading! <3

#jay halstead #hailey upton #upstead #hailey upton x jay halstead #chicago pd #one chicago #will halstead #kelly severide #kevin atwater

[sweet-by-and-by]

Baptized In Your Name - Arthur Morgan x Charlotte Balfour

summary: The rugged stranger who found her at her lowest turns back up on Charlotte Balfour’s doorstep, offering help as she navigates her new life in the remote wilderness. Determined as hell, she lets him teach her a thing or two about guns, and finds herself offering her own help in turn. But as questions of his past bubble to the surface, will she find the man she believes him to be, or will she learn of a darker side? word count: 3819 pairing: Arthur Morgan x Charlotte Balfour

AO3

The Northern air had always been healing. Arthur took a deep breath in, the fresh air from the Northern Kamasana River calming and crisp.

He had travelled across the Eastern Grizzlies after his ride with Rains Falls. He decided to take the long way back to camp, needing some time away after all his talk of ghosts. Away from Dutch, from John, from everyone who reminded him of everything he had lost.

The painful memories played in his mind as he rode through the mountains. He rode down into Roanoake Ridge, stopping as he approached the fork in the road at Doverhill. He chuckled at the memory of the mad scientist there, a frown settling across his face as he recalled another life lost. He wondered if he was cursed, if to meet him was to meet the angel of death itself.

It had been a few days since he found the widow of Willard’s Rest, Arthur thought to himself as he hesitated at the crossing of pathways. He eyed the road to his right, the one that would take him back to camp. His frown deepened at the thought of seeing Dutch just yet, and he spurred his horse Eastward.

It didn’t take long before he was turning off the main path towards Charlotte’s cabin. He savoured the beautiful scenery, idly watching a buck stand guard over his family as they sipped from the river’s edge.

He startled at the sound of gunfire, his attention drawing towards the sound. He reached for his holster, ice running through his veins as he realized the gunshots were coming from Willard’s Rest.

He dug his heels into his horse’s side, the loyal beast sensing his panic and darting off towards the cabin. Visions of robbers and bandits danced across his mind, fearing what he would see when he rounded the bend up towards the cabin.

He pulled his horse to a stop as he crossed through the gate, eyes scanning the homestead to assess the situation. His brows furrowed in confusion when he saw that Charlotte was alone, and he quickly holstered his weapon before she could take notice.

“Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed as he swung out of the saddle. His worries drained away at the tone in her voice and the beaming smile she wore as she turned to greet him.

He took in the state of her, his confusion only deepening at the rifle in her hands. He tried to focus as she thanked him again for the rabbit, doing his best to keep his concern off of his face. He had only just met the woman, but he found himself worrying for her already.

He listened as she told him of her plan to shoot at some bottles, his heart lifting at the excitement in her eyes.

He offered his tips, his heart racing as he leaned in close to her. He shuffled slightly as he adjusted her stance, begging his hands to stay steady as he pointed down the barrel to guide her aim.

They worked together to improve her shooting, and by the end of their session Arthur was impressed. She may not be taking on Annie Oakley anytime soon, but he could see she took pride in her gained skills and her determination was infectious.

“Thank you for everything,” she smiled, her melodic voice drowning out his thoughts. “Would you join me for a meal? It’s the least I can do.”

Arthur nodded, not daring to speak as his chest tightened. His heart hammered at the invitation, hammering against his ribs. He followed her into the cabin and glanced around her home. The solid wood logs were familiar to him, but the decorative touches screamed of rich inhabitants. Arthur felt starkly out of place against the backdrop of luxury. He awkwardly took a seat in the ornate dining chair at Charlotte’s prompting.

He looked around and took in the rest of the cabin, and could practically hear Hosea scolding him for his gawking. Her home was full of beautiful items, the likes of which Arthur had never seen in a cabin in the woods.

He whipped his head around at the sound of the stew pot slamming down on the table, Charlotte’s hiss at the heat drawing his eyes to her. He smiled politely as she dished up his dinner, passing it to him with a “bon appetit”.

“Huh?” he slipped out before he could stop himself, and he quickly cursed his muddled response. Charlotte spoke of Aristotle with grace that would have Dutch draped at her feet, and here Arthur was sounding like some back country hick in Murfree territory.

“Please, enjoy,” she said, her eyes casting downwards in embarrassment. Arthur felt himself flush at the realization he thought it was cute, casting his own gaze down to a spoonful of stew. “And thank you again, for everything. I really am grateful.”

“Ah, it was nothing,” he dismissed, scraping his spoon against the porcelain bowl to keep himself busy.

“You’re a good man,” Charlotte said decidedly, turning away before she could see him react. He was taken aback by her conviction.

“Oh, you don’t really know me,” he murmured, his conscience heavy with the weight of misleading a poor widow. He thought of his deeds, of the list he could give her to prove his case.

“I know enough,” she retorted, busying herself around the kitchen.”There’s always more to find in ourselves, you helped me to see that.”

“My husband Cal was such an optimist,” she said fondly as she took her seat across the table from him, “I found that to be quite contagious. We were both born with the silver spoon...banquets, butlers, valets,” she trailed off.

“Sounds awful,” Arthur chuckled, a cough working its way through his chest. His ears rang and his vision wavered as he tried to suppress it. He blinked to clear his eyes, listening pointedly as Charlotte told him of her father and her fear of being crushed by the wilderness.

“Well, I reckon you’re gonna be just fine,” he coughed, struggling against his labouring breath.

“Are you alright?” Charlotte asked, her worry evident. His coughing worsened but he waved her off, rising to his feet.

“I’m fine,” he stammered, rising to his feet. The spell he was under broke, and he realized the risk he was putting her at by having come in for dinner. He rushed to get himself out the door, out of her home and away from her with his disease. The angel of death had forgotten his place, let himself enjoy Charlotte’s company and foolishly put her in danger.

“Thank you for this,” he struggled, staggering forward as the room spun around him. He forced himself to keep going, splatters of blood peppering his fist as he coughed even harder. “I think,” he wheezed, “it’s best if I just-”

And he was down on his knees.

He heard Charlotte rush towards him as he collapsed to the floor, trying to keep her back as his body shook. His lungs burned and his abdomen ached, rendering him helpless as he curled into himself.

“Stay right there,” he faintly heard, “it’s going to be okay.”

The melodic promise carried him away as darkness swallowed him.

--

He startled awake, another cough bringing him back to life. This one was less debilitating, just the usual tickle through his chest and throat.

He propped himself onto his elbows, looking around to register his surroundings. He forced himself to roll onto his side, pushing himself to a seat with a groan. He shook his head and ran his hand down his face, stopping to wipe blood from the corner of his mouth. He glanced around again and noticed a note at his bedside, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he leaned forward to reach for it.

“My Dear Arthur,” he read, blinking at the words before him. His face sunk as he recalled his letter from Mary just a few days before, the same greeting pulling at his heartstrings.

He smiled as he read the rest of the letter, fought through the confusion from the sleep-addled fog that still clouded his mind. He admired her penmanship, her decorative sprawl surely a result of her higher education.

He scowled at her words about the money in the jewelry box. He knew she had plenty, but his stomach turned at the idea she thought his visits were for some kind of payout. He tucked the letter away, reaching around the jewelry box for his hat. He stood, glaring at the box that stashed the bills as he pushed past the door and into the main room.

True to her letter, Charlotte was out hunting. He took another chance to gaze around the room, no memory of Hosea’s reprimanding stopping him this time. A fire roared in the great stone hearth, warming the cabin from the slight chill in the morning air. This far North the chill lingered late into Summer, and Arthur was grateful as a shiver crept down his spine.

Though he wasn’t sure the cold was to blame for that.

He looked at the fine furniture, wondering to himself how much they had brought from Chicago. He was sure it wasn’t purchased around here, though he supposed it could have been shipped up through Annesburg.

He looked at the pictures in their frames, photographs and paintings decorating the dark wooden walls. He was struck with a longing to stay, to hang his own photos alongside her relatives.

His heart ached as he continued to look around the cabin. He imagined a life here, of coffee brewed on cold mornings and conversation shared over breakfasts. The fancy furniture would take some getting used to, but he could easily see himself settling into it. Could even imagine the patter of small feet running across the floors, the chime of a child’s laugh bouncing off the walls.

He shook his head to clear that thought, the echo of ghosts rattling in his skull. He turned to the door, walking towards it as he left those images behind. There was no point in pining for something so intangible. All just hopelessly romantic dreams of a life he stopped deserving long ago.

He pushed the front door open and stepped out onto the porch. His eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun, and he faintly wondered how long he’d been out for. A misty fog hung low in the air, the weather seeming to reflect his somber thoughts.

Arthur sighed and stepped down from the porch, greeting his horse from across the homestead. He strolled down the path at a leisurely pace, trying to savour the last few moments before mounting up and heading back to camp. He approached his steed with a pat on the neck, wiping away some dirt from their journey. Arthur noticed the horse’s trepidation to his touch, his own hair rising on the back of his neck. He was suddenly overwhelmed by an encroaching feeling of being watched.

He reached into his saddle compartment and pulled out his rifle, gripping it tightly as he checked the chamber. He looked for cover, but found nothing useful in sight.

“Well look who decided to make an appearance!” a voice cried out from the woods. Two men on horseback emerged from the thicket, guns already drawn and aimed.

Bounty hunters.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Arthur warned, “payday ain’t worth the risk you’re about to take.”

“I dunno,” the other one snickered, “they really seem to want you. I reckon we could get ‘em to ten thousand if we brought in that lovely lady of yours too, I bet she’s got all kinds of things to say.”

The first man hummed, his eyes darkening, “If we even hand her over,” he smirked devilishly.

Arthur growled, his fists clenching around the cool metal of the rifle. His lips cured up in a snarl as rage rushed through his veins. Before he could think, his barrel was pointed between the man’s eyes and a bullet ripped through the air. Arthur quickly dispatched the other one, whose bolt was still half-cocked in loading when his body slumped down the side of his horse.

Arthur heaved as his rage coursed through him, snorting furiously and spitting at his feet. He fought back another cough, not willing to let his victory be spoiled by another fit.

He watched as their horses took off, throwing their heads back and whinnying as they galloped away. He sighed and shook his head, slinging his rifle across his back as he went to get rid of the bodies.

He whistled for his horse, who met him dutifully as he hoisted the first bounty hunter up. He slung the body over the horse’s rear, the man’s arms and legs dangling morbidly as he hung from the beast. He reached down to lift the other hunter over his shoulder, and he whistled again for his horse to follow him.

They walked the bodies down to the water, stashing them behind a rocky coverhang at the base of the waterfall. He quickly washed the blood from his coat in the pool of the river, hoping it wouldn’t stain. He wasn’t sure how much laundry the girls were doing anymore, not that he would be in camp long enough to have it washed anyway. His stops there were getting shorter and shorter between Dutch’s errands, the state of the camp only adding to his souring temperament.

Once he was satisfied with his cleaning, deciding it wouldn't get much better than this, he walked back up the hill to Willard's Rest. He wanted to make sure there was no trace of the bounty hunters left, get their horses good and gone before Charlotte returned from hunting. He held back another cough, frustrated by the ache in his lungs. He had barely done any heavy lifting, nothing that would even have him breaking a sweat a few months ago, but now he could feel himself on the edge of exhaustion.

He passed under the wooden arch and paled when he spotted Charlotte standing on the front porch. She held a hat and a pistol in her hands, remnants he had missed from the bounty hunter’s corpse. He sighed and cast his gaze down to his feet, keeping his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat as he approached her.

She turned to look up at him, her confusion evident as he drew nearer. Her mouth opened as if she was going to speak, but no words came.

"Mrs. Balfour," Arthur murmured, stopping when he reached the steps of the porch. He kept his head dipped, resting his hands on his gunbelt and waited for her to speak.

"Please, it’s Charlotte" she said, looking between him and the hat in her hand, "is everything alright? I found this by the gate, a-and there was blood in the dirt…"

Arthur said nothing, just refused to meet her gaze.

"Did something happen? Are you alright?" she asked, her tone more insistent. Arthur heard worry in her voice, foolishly hoping she was afraid for him, not of him.

"I'm fine," he muttered, "some...some men came lookin up here, tryin' to find somethin'."

"Oh my," she gasped, "did you chase them away? What on earth would they be looking for up here? Perhaps it was Cal's relatives, I wrote to them regarding his...incident."

Arthur almost smiled at the innocence in her eyes, but the weight of the situation kept him serious.

“No,” he drawled, shifting uncomfortably where he stood, “they-uh. They were lookin’ for me. Bounty hunters,” he admitted after a long pause.

He watched Charlotte’s expression shift as she realized what he was saying. He waited for the moment she kicked him off of her porch, shooed him away like the mangy dog he was.

“You’re a criminal,” Charlotte said simply. Her tone was dangerously even.

“I told you, you don’t really know me,” he warned, “I’m not a good man.”

He cringed as Charlotte unconsciously took a step away from him. The action cut through him, made his shame swell and his chest ache. He knew he deserved it and so much more..

The two of them stood there for a moment, tension hanging thick in the morning air. Arthur turned away, clenching his hands into fists at his side and hung his head as he walked away from the cabin. “You don’t want me,” he said forcibly. “I’ll leave. You won’t have to worry about seein’ me no more.”

“What kind of outlaw would just leave?” Charlotte called out, and Arthur froze at her words.

“What?” he gaped. He turned to face her, finally looking up.

“Should I expect to go in and find that you’ve robbed me blind?” she asked.

“No,” Arthur said slowly.

“And will you turn your gun on me and force me to lie with you?”

“No!” Arthur sputtered, appalled that she would even suggest it.

“Well, I’m not sure you’re quite the bad man you seem to think yourself,” she said, her face set with that same determination that he admired so much. She stepped down from the porch and walked slowly towards him. “In the city, everything is painted so black and white. But out here,” she gestured to the forest that surrounded them, “I see clearly now that there are so many shades of grey.”

She closed the last of the distance between them and reached out to rest her hand on his arm. He felt himself relax at her touch, noticing the sweet scent of her perfume that mingled with sweat from her hunt.

She placed her other hand under his chin, dragging his gaze up to meet hers. “You’re a good man,” she said, the steadiness of her voice and the fire in her eyes almost too convincing, “I can feel it in you.”

Arthur didn’t dare to move, barely dared to breathe. Worried that at any moment he would wake to see the waxed canvas of his tent and find that all of this was just some far-fetched dream. His eyes searched Charlotte’s, looking for some kind of trickery or deceit. All he could see was kindness, and he found himself leaning forward against his better judgment.

He startled when his lips pressed against hers, surprised by their softness. It had been some time, but he didn’t remember it feeling this easy in the past. Not even Mary, whose secret, stolen kisses always gave him such a rush.

He was shocked to feel Charlotte return his affections; kept waiting for her to push him away. Instead, she met him with a soft passion that entranced him, made him unable to stop himself from running his tongue along her bottom lip and deepening the kiss.

She opened to him willingly, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in close. Their tongues danced, the taste of coffee on her lips swirling around the cigarette smoke that lingered on his. Nothing else existed in that moment; not bounty hunters or wolves or even Dutch and his plans. Nothing mattered but the taste of her on his tongue, the soft fabric of her shirt beneath his fingertips.

She pulled away after what felt like eternity, leaning her forehead against his. He ducked his head to steal one more chaste kiss in case this was the last chance he had.

He drew back when he felt a teardrop against his cheek. He opened his eyes to see Charlotte’s brimming with tears, silently crying as she squeezed her lids tightly. Arthur reached up to cup her cheek, wiping away the falling teardrops gently with his thumb.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said lowly, his voice all whisky and honey, “I shouldn’t’a- I mean I-” he stammered, returning to his senses. He stepped back and pulled his hand away like it had been burned.

“No,” she choked, “it’s not that. I wanted it- I do want it. I just...,” she hesitated, hiding her face in her hands as more tears flowed, “it’s Cal.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped, a wave of guilt and shame washing over him at the reminder. Widow or not, Charlotte was a married woman. And here he was, stepping right over her husband’s grave to make his move.

His mouth tasted bitter, no longer of coffee and cigarette smoke or the underlying hint of her. He stepped back farther, putting even more distance between them.

Not knowing what to say, he stood aside as Charlotte cried. He forced himself not to reach out to comfort her. He didn’t trust himself not to take, not to hold her in his arms and will everything else to fade away again.

“I make a terrible widow,” she laughed humourlessly, “my husband is barely ten minutes into the grave and I’ve already fallen for the first handsome stranger that crosses my threshold,” she shook her head, her voice catching in her throat.

She smoothed her skirts and wiped away her tears, straightening herself to try and regain composure. She looked to the sky and smiled sadly.

“I think it’s best if I go,” Arthur said, adjusting his hat.

“I wish I could say that I didn’t agree,” Charlotte replied, “but just for now. I’d like to see you back soon, though perhaps without the bounty hunters next time.”

Arthur frowned as the guilt returned. Charlotte stepped forward to place a kiss on his cheek, resting her hand on the other side of his face to draw him in.

“I don’t care what you are,” she whispered against his skin.

“I ain’t got long,” he replied, his head swimming with thoughts of bounty posters and doctors and Pinkertons.

“Once a widow, always a widow,” she joked, “at least now I come with some experience on the matter.”

Arthur laughed, wondering how such a fine society lady could have such humour. Before he could think on it for too long, she was backing away to return to her porch.

“Goodbye, Arthur,” she said, “Arthur Whoever-You-Are.”

“Morgan,” he said, “but, uh, don’t go lookin’ it up. Please.”

She nodded in understanding. He took in the sight of her one last time, trying to memorize each detail of her for his journal. He stared as she reached for the door handle, opening the heavy wooden door and disappearing into the cabin.

Arthur sighed and whistled for his horse, swinging himself into the saddle as he prepared to ride away. He turned back to look at the cabin, his mind racing. He tried not to let himself hope, but he felt lighter than he had in years. So maybe, just for now, he could let himself believe that things would work out. That he could find something he needed at Willard’s Rest, and he could be something in return to the widow that lived there.

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #charlotte balfour #arthur morgan x charlotte balfour #arthur morgan/charlotte balfour #fanfic #fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #my goal was to make this read like a paperback novel with a shirtless werewolf on the front of it #so i hope you enjoy 😅 #my fic

[mighty-ragnarssons]

Knocked Up | Modern Vikings AU | Chapter II

Relationships | Modern Ivar x OC Warnings | some smut, a little angst, violence, harassement, teenage pregnancy

Keep up with the previous chapter here [chapter 1]

First of all let me thank you for the amazing support. You guys are the best! I hope you enjoy this one as well :)

You can read in AO3 as well (click here).

Chapter 2

Days passed and still no text. Ivar was tempted to drive by the apartment he’d left them at, but that would be crazy, right?  He should’ve never told her to use his number in case of emergency. What if that was why she didn’t contact him? Instead he tried to let it go although it wasn’t easy. He’d go to class in university, he’d party with his brothers, he’d smoke some things to keep his mind away, but nothing really worked. Once he was obsessed with something, that was it. 

It didn’t help at all when Hvitserk came home one day saying he’d seen Ivar’s girl.  

“What do you mean?”

“That girl from the other night. The one you’re so hung up on. The pretty blonde” Ivar had to stop himself from growling. Why couldn’t his brother just tell him already? Hvitserk was clearly amused at the whole situation. “I left the gym and went to try that new coffee shop downtown, know which one? Well, she’s an attendant there. And you know what, she looks really cute in an apron” Hvisterk teased, seeing how Ivar’s teeth clenched slightly. “Cute and nice. She offered me a coffee and a muffin, saying it was to thank me for the help. Damn fine muffins. I might have to go there again for one of those sweet things.” 

While Hvitserk daydreamed of muffins, Ivar was thinking about having them as an excuse to pass by the coffee shop. He couldn’t stay away and this was the perfect excuse.

“Did she tell you to visit again?” Ivar asked, taken aback for a moment. His older brother, much like the others, was the town’s heart breakers. Hvitserk’s pretty looks and dazzling smile could get him anyone he wanted. Perhaps he’d already bewitched the girl. 

“I guess so. She works there, isn’t she supposed to say that? ‘Have a nice day. Come again!’ I’m pretty sure she says it to everyone. But if what you are asking me is that I got her number or anything, the answer is no. I actually asked her out again but she didn’t take me seriously” Pretending to be hurt, he put his hand over his heart. “Perhaps she is not into Ragnarssons. Interesting, uh? There’s always a first”

Stupid Hvits, Ivar wanted to say. How could his brother go after the girl he clearly had staked a claim on? 

“Did she tell you her name?” This little detail was something he couldn’t stop wondering about.

“Now that I think about it, no, I don’t think so. I was too distracted by her pretty smile to ask about that” Well, now Hvisterk was really just trying to mess with his brothers “Tell me, little brother, will you crawl into that coffee shop right now?” he joked “Take my advice: lose the puppy face before going.”

“So funny I forgot I to laugh”

Hvitserk was wrong. Ivar didn’t crawl to the coffee shop right away that day, although he wanted to. Instead, trying to be rational, he waited a couple of days and decided to drop by after his classes in university. He could always pretend he went there to study, although that was something he rarely did. He just really wanted to see the girl again. She hadn’t left his thoughts since that night.

However, to his dismay, she wasn’t there. There were only two attendants and none were his  nameless girl. His heart sunk a little,  but disappointment was something he was used to. It no longer left a bitter taste to this mouth. He stayed, nevertheless. After a couple of hours working in his computer in the company of a whipped cream coffee and one of the famous muffins - his brother was right, they were a delicacy, he was finally willing to admit defeat. It’s not like he could even ask about her, not really given how her name was something he didn’t know yet. so, the afternoon definitely didn’t go as he had expected. 

Frustrated, he put his computer back in the bag and left the payment on the table. With the help of his crutches, Ivar stood and was on the way out, almost making it past the door but stopped seconds before the door opened, almost hitting him.

He would’ve been mad, but it was her coming in. 

“It’s like we can’t stop meeting like this” he chuckled. 

The blonde girl looked surprised. “I’m sorry. It seems I have a bad habit of bumping into you” 

Because there were clients trying to go through said door as well, both Ivar and the girl stepped outside. 

“You’re leaving?”

“And you’re just getting here  now?”

“I guess your brother told you I worked here”

“Well, yes. But I was just passing by. My university is just a couple of blocks away. I’ve been meaning to try out this since it opened and I needed to study” 

He regretted saying this almost immediately. Would she get the idea that he  was not interested in seeing her again? 

“I only work here after classes” she informed, while  mindlessly flipping her hair away from the side of her face, tucking it behind her ear. Ivar didn’t miss a single movement of hers, wishing he’d been the one doing that for her. 

What the fuck, Ivar? Focus, he was trying to tell himself. 

“It was nice to see you, Ivar. I don’t think I thank you enough the other night. You really helped us out. Not many would have done that” She smiled a little “I gotta go in or else I’ll be late for my shift” She moved closer to the coffee shop’s door. 

He didn’t want to see her go, though “Maybe we can meet one of these days?”

Looking conflicted, she bit her lip “Perhaps we'd better not" she said “It’s like I told your brother… I have a lot going on, with school and work and.. well, I’m sure you’re busy too” 

Ivar was shocked. Was she really dismissing him that quickly? He wasn’t one to take ‘no’ for an answer. “There’s always time if the company is good”

“You’re Ivar Lothbrok. One of the Ragnarssons”

That settled it. The first time he heard her saying his name, it sounded so good. This time? She was not as impressed, it seemed.  

“And so what? What stories have you heard that led you to believe I won’t be any good company?” his voice was raised and succeeded in making her feel uncomfortable. 

She shot him an apologetic look. “It doesn’t matter, Ivar. I’m sorry, I really have to go inside. Please, do know that I’m grateful for your help and I wished things were different”

“You just don’t want to hang out with a Ragnarsson, I get it” his accusatory tone made her flinch. Although his expression was carefully controlled, she saw in his eyes that her rejection stung. “Before you go, allow me at least to say a proper goodbye. I don’t know your name yet”

For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to tell him anyways. All of this was going terribly. But then she surprised him “My name is Eva.  Eva Jørgensen”

Bitterly, and before walking away, he proceeded  “Then I guess this is goodbye,  Eva Jørgensen. Have a nice life.” 

“Goodbye, Ivar Lothbrok”

Her rejection stung far more than he wanted to admit. It felt worse than his previous rejections, not just because of the blow to his ego, but more because he cared a little for her, had since the night he helped her in the club, and somewhat he’d been expecting things to go differently. How stupid he was feeling. 

It didn’t take long for his ill temper to grow as he drove back home. Finding out that a party was taking place in the Lothbrok home didn't improve much of his mood, either. Moving through the crowd of people into the living room, he saw Sigurd playing DJ in a corner, looking high as fuck by the looks of his attempted dance moves. Not far from him was Hvitserk surrounded by a bunch of ladies. Ivar recognised many of the faces among the more than a hundred people. 

“Brother” Ubbe showed up behind him. He was still in his business attire, looking completely out of place from the rave “Sigurd claimed we need to make use of the house before our father comes back. Texted everyone we knew.” he explained, opening a beer can. Only then he noticed his little brother’s somber expression. “What’s eating you? You look like you could use a drink”

“I sure do. Actually… You wouldn’t happen to have any pills with you? In your personal stash”

“Ivar… I’m not sure that’s a good idea”

“C’mon, don’t be a killjoy” 

“Is it for the pain?” Ubbe asked, but reckoning it wouldn’t be. Ivar’s eyes were not the strongest shade of blue like they used to be when he’s suffering more than usual. 

“Ubbe, will you fucking give me some or not?” he snarled.

“Look, I don’t have any at the moment. Maybe Hvitty does, but he looks like he’s already under the influence of them. Why don’t you just come out to the terrace, drink something and chill? I’m sure your shitty day will get better if you stop being so grumpy” 

“Spare me the bullshit. I’m out of here” 

Holding tight to his crutches, Ivar went to his room. It was the only room on the ground floor so the blasting music could still be heard from it. In need of releasing some steam, he took the matters to the gym they had on the basement floor, also known as the man cave. Getting one beer from the bar they kept down there, he decided to throw punches on the boxing bag, which he could only do from a seating position. When beers were no longer satisfying him, he took it to the bottle of vodka. Ivar just wanted to have his mind distracted from the beautiful Eva.

At some point, when his sight was already blurry and he had collapsed on a red couch, he thought he was imagining things for he’d swear there was a girl who was making her way to him. He tried to blink but his vision wouldn't get any better (no doubt too much alcohol and physical pain had taken over him). The world slightly dark around him, Ivar felt a set of hands pulling his t-shirt, then pressing onto his sweaty torso first, then down towards his pants.  The next thing he feels is his lower lip being bitten. At the metallic taste of blood, he regained consciousness just a bit, but enough to discern the blonde girl who now had her hand inside his pants. 

“Margrethe, don’t fucking play games with me” he said dangerously. 

Margrethe only continued to look mockingly into his blue eyes. “So vulnerable and at my mercy, Ivar. Still, you don’t get it up, do you? Why do I even bother?” A mean laugh rose from her throat “Ubbe said you need some cheering. I guess I felt sorry for the poor little Boneless”

Something snapped in him.  His ungovernable temper got the best of him. With the accumulated irritation of the day upon him, he suddenly grabbed her arm and forced it off of him. Muttering between his teeth, he warned “We 'll see about who’s at mercy here”. He could be a crippled, but he was not weak by any means. His hand was not on her neck so hard that Margrethe fell back against the couch, and stayed there with her hands spread out against him, trying to get off his grip. 

“IVAR! What the fuck are you doing?” 

Suddenly Hvitserk was pulling him away, making Ivar collapse on the floor. Margrethe jumped to the blonde brother’s arms in no time. 

"He's crazy. He’s absolutely mad!”  She whined, burying her face in Hvitserk’s chest. “Take me out of here” 

To complete the party, the rest of the brothers showed up as well, all of them taking Hvitserk’s side and looking down on their cripledl brother. Their looks were one that Ivar had spent his whole life loathing: one of pity and superiority. 

“You’re drunk, man. Crawl back to your room, cripple” 

It was Sigurd speaking, of course. Margrethe was his favorite. Ubbe simply shot him a disappointed stare before the four of them returned to the party.  

Ivar stood on the floor laughing hysterically until he realized what he had done. It didn’t matter that Margrethe was not a saint. She loved to miserly tease him just so she could humiliate him next. It still didn’t give him the right to go against a woman, though.  Shame poured over him.

Alone on the cold floor of the basement, a single tear ran down his cheek. What a fucking miserable day.

The following days were no better. His brothers were giving him a silent treatment since the party. Sigurd could barely look at him without snorting. And without his brothers Ivar really didn’t have anyone close, not really caring for his colleagues at university. 

There was one person. Floki, the oldest friend of his father Ragnar and Ivar’s mentor. 

Ivar dropped by the bay where Floki had his workshop, where he worked on the sailing boats that had coined him the best boat builder in all of Norway. He now ran a successful company called North Sails. Usually Ivar would go spend his afternoons there and would even help a bit, but his mind wasn’t in the right place at the time and Floki kindly dismissed him after Ivar almost ruined a custom-made pine wood deck by spraying the wrong product. 

For the most part of the week he had been lonely, which wasn’t something new, but it still bothered him. To pass the time, he worked out more and even went to all his classes and not skip some as usual, but none of that really helped. So that late October afternoon he had resigned to spend it indoors, playing playstation, which was something he usually delighted in beating his brother at, but not this time as he was by himself.

Until his phone beeped. At first, Ivar didn’t pay much attention, but then another text message flashed his screen and a word caught his eyes. Eva. 

He immediately grabbed the phone, sliding into the messages from the unknown number which read: 

‘Sorry to bother, but I don’t know who else to ask for help. Can you come to the coffee shop? Asap’

‘It’s Eva’

Less than fifteen minutes and many crossed red lights later, Ivar parked his SUV right in front of the coffee shop, not minding it was a forbidden parking area. Although it was past the normal closing time, the lights were on, yet the door was closed. On a normal week night, the street wasn’t as busy as during the day, and but a couple of guys in a corner, it was all empty. 

Ivar first tried to look inside, then knocked. He was worried, wondering what help Eva needed. Was she in trouble? Was she hurt? Ivar surprised himself by figuring out that all the grudge he was holding against her was gone, completely replaced with worry.

He let out a  sigh of relief when she came up from behind the counter and came to open the door, allowing him inside. The look of relief in her face did not escape him. “Thank you for coming, especially after the last time we..uh...met”

“What’s going on? What’s the matter?”

“This might be silly, and I’m sorry for making you come all the way here, you did tell me to contact in case of an emergency and this might not be one and I’m sorry  -” 

He cut off her nervous rambling “Eva, just tell me” 

“My stupid boss went to watch a football game and left me the keys to close up the space, even if it was not on my schedule. Some guys dropped by. It was really difficult to get them to pay and leave. But they're not gone. When I tried to step outside and wait at the bus stop, they started coming my way and calling out. I rushed back here and locked myself. I was so nervous I texted you. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking”

“Don’t apologize.” His jaw clenched. His face hardened, and he started to rise with a hint of violence “Stay here” He commanded before turning his back on her and walking out of the coffee shop.

“Ivar, what are you going to do!”

“Damn, Eva, stay inside”

But she wouldn’t and followed him into the alley. Ivar actually recognised the four guys propped against the wall, acting all tough. The Ragarnasson stood his ground, not feeling nor looking the least intimidated for being outnumbered. 

“Nothing to do tonight, boys? You can always go home and catch up with the last episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians instead of creeping out here” he gritted through his teeth.

“Who do you think you are?” one of them stood to face Ivar. 

“Oh, the brave one of the group, no? Get your asses out of here before I make you regret coming” Ivar warned seriously. 

“You think I’m afraid of you, cripple?”

Don’t say I didn’t tell you so, Ivar thought before head-butting the guy in the nose. The scumbag immediately fell to the ground, dazed. Ivar stomped his crutch over his chest.

“If you ever come near her or the coffee shop again, I'm going to break the rest of your face. And after I do that, I promise I'll break every bone in your body, one by one. Trust me, I know how much it hurts to have your bones broken. You don’t want that happening” He lifted his foot a fraction and the guy whimpered “You know who I am. I am Ivar Lothbrok. I might break a bone, but I can never break a promise. Do you follow me?” 

After Ivar let him, the guy rolled over. He seemed scared enough, his hands covering the bloody nose. The guys were looking at Ivar like he was mad and that scared them enough to leave as soon as they helped their friend get up. 

When they were finally alone, Ivar turned back to face Eva, thinking he probably scared her off as well. Yet there she was and the next second he knew, Eva launched herself at him, giving him an unexpected firm hug. He definitely hadn't seen that coming. 

“Thank you” As she stepped back, she looked a little embarrassed as if realising a boundary had been crossed “I’m sorry.”

“You apologize a lot” She blushed. “I’m glad you texted me”

“I didn't know who else to text… I don’t know many people in this city yet.”

“Do these guys hang around here much?”

“Sometimes” she bit her lip nervously. “Tonight was the first time they tried  to come for me. I usually don’t do night shifts alone” 

For a moment he wondered what could’ve happened. Anger build up within him, making him wish he’d beat the crap out of those stupid guys. 

“I don’t think they’ll try again. If they do, they’ll have to do deal with me”

“Again,  I really do not know how to thank you enough, Ivar”

“It was no trouble” he replied, with a smile that made him look more handsome than ever, or so she thought. 

“It was trouble. Are you hurt?” Again, without thinking, she came closer to him inspecting concernedly “Are you hurt? You head butted that guy strong” 

“I’m fine, don’t worry”

“Well, I am worried. Let me at least give you some ice”

He followed her inside and sat waiting for her to return with a bag of ice. The inside of the coffee shop was welcomingly warm in sharp contrast to how cold he didn’t realize was outside. “Lean back” she instructed and he followed suit, putting his head back. Eva had to stand so close to him that her body touched his as she placed the ice bag gently on the swelling of his chin. She bent over him, her lips puckered in serious concentration as she tried not to hurt him. Other than his mother, no one had ever been so gentle with him before. Gradually as he takes in her closeness, he smells her perfume, surprised that it is  something spicy, sweet and lovely altogether. 

“I’m sorry you got hurt. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen” 

“This is nothing. I grew up the youngest of many brothers. Can you imagine how many times we wrestled while growing up?” 

She smiled, causing him to do so as well. After how he treated her the last time they met, he thought she wouldn’t feel comfortable with him again, but it didn’t feel that way. He felt...at ease with her. Just like he did when they had first met. 

Eventually, as Eva released the ice bag, their distance grew a bit. Ivar had to keep himself from growling in disappointment. 

“Oh shit!” she exclaimed after looking at the time and jumping to grab her things “The last bus just went by. Fuck!” 

“Let me drive you home. There’s no way I was going to let you wait for another bus anyways”

“I don’t want to cause you trouble anymore. You already had quite a share”

“Don’t be silly. I won’t take no for an answer”

Driving her home took longer than he imagined. She lived almost out of town, which made him figure it would be around forty minutes by bus. Driving took a little less time. Time which they did mostly in silence, although it looked as both wanted to start a conversation without really knowing how. 

“You can drop me off here”

“Are you sure?”  There didn't seem to be many houses there, mostly warehouses and shops. 

“Yes, I live nearby.”

“I can drop you off at your doorstep”  She seemed troubled which made him guess “You don’t want to be seen with me”

“It’s complicated, Ivar”

“You said that last time” he snorted, disappointed once again.

“You’re right. I did.”

“You have a look on your face that tells me you’re about to say sorry again”

“Well, I was. I am.” How had he read her so easily? “I wish I could explain it better. I can get in trouble if my family realizes something happened and that I took your ride. That is all. Ivar, I really owe you thanks for your help” her hand reached his instinctively. Eva looked up at him with a thankful gaze before getting out of the car. 

He watched as she disappeared in the distance and drove off afterwards, not knowing how to feel about all of this. He had wanted to talk to her, learn more about her, ask her what was going on and on what terms they were on. He wanted to ask her if she’d text him again. 

He wanted to tell her he wanted her to.

To his amazement, she did. Text him, that is. He was already in bed when his phone bipped. 

‘I really thank you, especially for helping me out twice already. I promise trouble doesn’t usually follow me so often… I also want to apologize for the way I approached you at the beginning. I'm sorry about that. Let me know how I can make it up to you. Good dreams, Ivar.’

That night he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Tags: @adrille88 @istorkyou @heavenly1927 @youbloodymadgenius​

 If you’d like to be addded or removed from the tag list at any given time, please, message me to let me know*

#knocked up fic #my fiction #vikings #vikings fanfic #vikings fic #modern vikings #modern vikings au #modern ivar #modern ivar au #ivar #ivar the boneless #ragnarssons #ivar lothbrok #ivar x oc #ivar x original female character #fanfic #fic #fanfiction

[vasiktomis]

Pomegranate, Chapter 17: Quiet Earth, Part I.

John Seed x Female Deputy

Rating: Explicit.

Read it on Ao3 here!

Notes: Thanks all who have been keeping up with this! I'm so consistently floored by the amount of content creators we have in this fandom corner and the sheer level of workmanship that exists here. This is the first chapter of Pom that I'll be posting to tumblr, and I'm hoping to draw up a little sketch with each update. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them! Big thank you to @shallow-gravy and @consumedkings as always for dealing with my stupidity and being a pair of top-notch angels, and also just like, everybody who takes time out of their day to engage with this? Y'all really sticking with ultra slow burn and I swear after some wicked angst in the next couple of chapters I'll finally be able to throw some well-deserved smut at you. WARNINGS: Forced conversion, descriptions of dissociation and derealisation, explicit language, sexual content, depictions of violence, guns, blood and gore. Canon-typical debauchery.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Don’t touch him!”

Mary May lunged with enough force for John to feel the wake of air sweep through him, even with how quickly she was snatched up and yanked back to her place. The soles of her tennis shoes squeaked against the floor as she was dragged to the far side of the room, unable to be trusted with providing audience to Nick’s Atonement.

A shame, really. It was nicer as a shared experience.

The Baptist rolled his jaw, off-setting some of the tension arising from the shrieks that the blonde flung at the back of his head. He righted himself, taking the tattoo gun from one of his faithful with a gracious nod, and turned his attention down to the pilot currently pinned to the floor. Without a word, he sank to his knees, straddling the man, keeping silent as he could just to listen out for any change in his demeanour. Fear. Grief. Defeat. Acceptance. A sign to prove his readiness.

Nick didn't flinch, breathing hard through his nose and watching with hateful eyes. John hovered an indicating hand over the man’s bare chest, bruised from the fight he’d put up against his capture, mentally mapping out placement. Then, he came in with the needle, beginning with the stem of an ’E’, right in the centre of Nick's sternum.

The pilot snorted, masking discomfort with indifference, turning a wince into a scoff. “Figures you don’t use stencils. I ain’t got a hope in hell of this turning out good, do I.”

That casual old Nick attitude. He missed it.

If only he’d let him do this 5 years ago. He wouldn’t have had to miss it.

John feigned offense. “Oh I’m sorry, Nick. Did you want me to do the rest in cursive? Add a feather? Infinity symbol?”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Talk about tonal dissonance. It’s not meant to be pretty.” He grumbled. “Might’ve gotten a little more practice if you’d-”

A yell from the rear entryway pulled John’s hand away from his canvas. More squeaking. More interruption. Jerome Jeffries getting hauled into the church, held under each arm by the pair of Chosen that John had sent looking for him.

The Baptist cast a look over his shoulder at them, content with the sight of Jerome adequately beaten and bloodied. “Ahh. Pastor. Try to run and hide? It’s no wonder your flock ran astray with a shepherd so quick to leave them to the wolves.”

Jerome ignored him. No reply. No eye contact. A crime John noted to make worthy of capital punishment in the New Eden. The Pastor was set down beside Mary May, who immediately began seeing to his injuries. Murmuring bubbled between them.

“Did you reach them?” The bartender asked. Must’ve been a negative, because the next thing she did was curse.

“The Deputy was calling when they caught me.”

And if she had half the spine to come and broker an agreement for her friends, she’d be inbound.

“Could you at least gag them? I’m trying to concentrate.” John ordered no one in particular, earning another scoff from Nick. “The faster we work, the less we’ll have to get through once she arrives. The quicker we can be out of this heinous town.”

“Stay away from her, shitbag.” The pilot ground out, this time unable to save face when John retaliated, pressing the gun just a little too hard, digging down through an extra few layers of skin.

“Nick Rye, you’re a married man.” John tutted playfully, resuming his work. “That sin of yours again. Take, take, take. Didn’t think the Deputy to be your type. Wouldn’t say you’re hers, either.”

Nick looked downright disgusted at the prospect. Less concerned for the state of his wife - which meant she'd been a likely getaway. “Always been so fuckin’ jealous.”

“Come again?”

“Think folks are stupid? Think I don’t know you?”

“You don't know me, period.” John bit back, skin on the back of his neck flushing between boiling and freezing.

“Anyone else givin’ you this much trouble’d be long dead by now. That shit on the radio? Reckon you’d be talkin’ like that if your family could hear you across the river?” Nick continued, averting his gaze when John shot him a particularly poisonous look. He didn’t, however, find it necessary to respond to such a veiled accusation.

At least until -

“Everybody knows you wanna stick it to her, John-”

As if he’d been awaiting the chance, John’s free hand shot to Nick’s jaw, aching in protest when he squeezed, not stopping until he could feel the man’s molars beneath his flesh. “That’s about enough from you.” He crooned.

John had his desires, yes. He’d accepted that much. Had he not been sworn to celibacy, he might have jumped at the opportunity to respond to Cora’s advances last night. That said, she was still an outsider, and while her Atonement made the prospect less dicey, he couldn’t consciously consider laying with the woman in real life.

No matter how torturous it had become to gear his thoughts toward anything else.

He could be content with just her company, without making any further advances on her. Last night had simply been a moment of weakness, and he’d prevailed by stepping away.

“If you’ll excuse me.” John switched off the little machine once he’d completed his piece and promptly stood to beckon for replacement parts. Mary May might have gotten away with an allergic reaction last time he’d attempted this, but considering he’d be slicing it out of her within the hour, he couldn’t see any reason for her to be complaining. The bartender had been a thorn in his side from the start. While Nick and his wife had once lent John their...whatever a sinner’s closest equivalent was to friendship, Mary May had always been trouble. Wore her heart on her sleeve and trusted no one she hadn’t grown up around. Bolshie. Almost fucking killed him, once.

John busied himself with needle transfers and a pleasant expression. He could feel the woman’s eyes on him.

Did she think what Nick proclaimed? That complete and utter lie?

How fucking crass. No, he did not want to ’stick it’ to Cora. At least, as far as anyone else was concerned. He was fond of her, and - while yes, he had encountered temptation - if one disregarded the cum-stained, stolen panties in his pocket, and the conjured fantasies, and the purely incidental erection he’d maintained after the Deputy stuck her tongue down his throat last night - there was simply no evidence to suggest to anyone else that he was even remotely tempted to break the rules.

Sex was the furthest thing from his mind. It was mere coincidence that today had just so happened to fall on a morning in which he’d needed to trim.

…

If, however, she were to decide that she wanted to continue what she’d attempted last night, then surely he couldn’t be to blame if he only failed to stop her. It wasn’t technically fornication if he didn’t initiate it. Nor was it considered intercourse if -

“Brother John.”

John jumped, heart stopping, whipping his head around to the Chosen standing at the door of the church.

“What?" He asked thickly.

“The Deputy’s arrived.”

Right on cue, the crackling of gunshots drifted in alongside the Chosen’s announcement.

“Tell everyone to hold their fire.” John ordered. “We have them outnumbered tenfold. The Deputy can’t be stupid enough to create a hostage situation. Direct her here, and peacefully.”

The Chosen’s throat bobbed, swallowing back outrage, and John squinted hard at him, trying to dispel the flicker of green light in the mist outside as it settled against the man’s temple.

“John, I don’t think-”

He never got a chance to act on that incoming insubordination.

Instead, he jerked, cut off by a sickening crack as a section of his skull blew out of his head. Red mist and liquified brain matter followed, splattering against the doorframe, and the Chosen slumped lifeless onto the front step.

John wasn’t so much shaken by the killing as he was irritated by everyone else’s apparent refusal to let today go according to plan. Maybe also the pile of brains and hair now sitting on his once-pristine red carpet. He’d made this easy for the woman: kill everyone he could round up, leave her with no one to claim duty to, and get this all over and done with. Have her home by mid-afternoon. Embark on a new chapter and achieve salvation. It was that simple.

Woe to him for trusting in her common sense.

“Fuck’s sake. Wrath begets more wrath.” He muttered, smoothing a hand over his chin. He didn’t have the patience for this any longer. “Fine. Sister -”

A woman stood from the pews as soon as John made eye contact, equally as unshaken by the scene mere feet away.

“Send out word: the Deputy wants to sacrifice her friends for the sake of a fight.” John punctuated the end of his sentence with a click as he returned his focus to jamming the needles into his tattoo gun. “Give her what she wants. Take her by force.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The smokescreen was beginning to clear, but despite the weight it was taking off her lungs, Cora would’ve preferred it remain just a little longer. At least until they’d cleared out the town. Had they been quicker, it might have lasted longer. Covered their approach to Fall’s End. Given them more cover to sneak about unseen.

The streets, while still hazy, were visible now. It wasn’t a difficult task watching Peggie silhouettes run from building to building in search of her team. Resistance members and civilians were either in the process of being rounded up, or littered the road and pavement, dead. The Ryes, Mary May, and Pastor Jerome were yet to be seen amongst either group.

Same went for Boomer.

Aside from the barking of orders from Chosen and faithful, there was little sound. Knowing how much of a fuss her dog had put up the last time he’d been caught by the Project struck Cora’s nerves. He was his own alarm, and he would not go peacefully.

Not hearing him was an indication of the worst.

Some part of her brain argued against the idea. Vouching that John wouldn’t have hurt the creature. That was her dog. He had to be an exception to the massacre, no matter how vicious he behaved.

She had to find him, and creeping through the rear entry of the Spread Eagle was the first point of call.

Luckily enough, the back door had yet to be boarded up. Peggies who rushed past covered windows hardly stopped to peek inside the place for fear of being tainted by the presence of alcohol. Sneaking in was simple enough, too, at least once Jess had picked the lock.

“I’m going to pretend that door was open.” The Deputy murmured her equivalent to praise, passing into the building.

Grace headed straight in after her, taking a left to search for any sign of Mary May while she took a right toward the stairs.

“You pretend the Cook’s head was already gone when we found him?” Jess whispered.

“Freak accident. You all saw it.”

“First floor’s clear.” Grace announced from the serving hatch in the kitchen, clearly unhappy about it.

“Right.” Cora acknowledged, “I’ll check up top.”

The second story was as dead-quiet as the first. Furniture had been knocked over in the hallway and bedrooms had been raided. None of it indicated anything good, but she still had to know.

Cora pushed open the door to her room, and while she held no expectation of what she’d find, her heart sank anyway.

It was empty.

Boomer was gone.

Only his makeshift collar and a tattered bandana remained atop the rug he’d been snoozing on that morning.

Her dog.

John had either taken him or killed him, just like the rest. He’d do the same to the rest of her team. She should’ve taken the Baptist’s offer before the latter had even become a possibility.

“No sign?” Grace affirmed once the Deputy slipped back down to the first floor. “My guess is either they’re in hiding, or John’s giving them special treatment. If they were dead he’d be parading them.”

Sharky and Hurk exchanged a frown when Cora offered only a nod, notably more meek than usual.

“Was he in there, darlin’?” Adelaide asked, a little too gently not to invite a sting to her eyes.

Cora felt her jaw clench. It was a different breed of nausea, trying to keep her composure under the scrutiny of the rest of the team. She managed to shake her head, and Adelaide’s hand found her shoulder.

“Could still be with the others, yet.” The woman offered.

“So how do we find them?” Jess asked.

Find John Seed, of course.

“Finding them’s one thing. Getting to them might be the harder part.” Cora began. “The smokescreen’s only getting thinner and there’s Peggies everywhere. It's grasslands from here to the hills. No way we can herd everyone across a field on-foot, safely. We’ve got to make sure they stay freed, first.”

“And?” Jess huffed. “We’re gonna kill some Peggies, right?”

The blonde considered that.

“We split up. Search the buildings for anyone who hasn’t been caught yet. Round them up and plant explosives as we go. With enough chaos, maybe we can have a shot at turning the tide in the short term.”

Sharky was practically trembling. “Explosives, like, everywhere?”

“Everywhere. The more damage, the better.” Cora replied. “Adelaide, Xander, pair up. Sharky and Hurk, same with you.”

“And us on range?” Jess grinned, trading a look with Grace who maintained absolute stoicism. “I’m so into that.”

“No.”

…

“Say what?”

“No more ranged attacks. I need you and Grace to head back to the van -”

Jess was advancing on her before she’d even finished her sentence.

“You’re pulling me outta the fight? The fuck gives?” The huntress loomed over the Deputy, incredulous. Cora made an effort to stay put, but Jess’s insistence managed to outweigh her stubbornness, forcing the blonde to compromise by leaning as far back as she could without falling.

“We can’t keep running on short-term wins.” Cora insisted. “We have to put our foot down. No more small assaults. No more hoping John gets demoralised enough that he hands himself over.”

Sharky frowned. “What’re you saying?”

She met his gaze, puffing out her chest, retaking her space. “I’m saying the Henbane Bridge is unmanned right now. If we get word to the County Jail, there’s no roadblock to stop them from helping us win this. John Seed’s throwing everything he can at us. I say we try for the same. I say we end it for good. We’re gonna take back Holland Valley. Today.”

“...You really like that dog, huh.”

“That too.”

Jess looked unconvinced. “So the two of us are running errands while the rest of you are holding the fort? Fucking bullshit.”

“I told you. No more range.” Cora bit back, jabbing a thumb toward Hurk and Sharky. “You’d rather send Boshaws and Drubmans to convince Tracey to send us her best people? No offence.”

“None taken, bitch.” Adelaide grumbled.

Grace exhaled, throwing away momentary hesitation. “We’ll be fast.”

Cora traded a nod with the sniper before looking to Jess once more.

Still unconvinced.

“They have cars with guns on them, remember?”

The corner of Jess’s mouth ticked. Temptation.

Mission accomplished.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The tacky fucking carpet was the first thing she noticed, creeping along Main Street. Bliss petals had been sprinkled all over the road leading up to the church.

The carpet ended at the door. An invitation if she ever saw one. Boastful. Arrogant.

A pang of dread ached through Cora's bones, holding her in place while she drew her revolver. It could be an ambush. It probably was an ambush, but there was nothing she could feasibly do to avoid it. If the others were in there, then she couldn't wait around any longer.

She had to do this. At least hold out until Jess and Grace returned, with or without help.

She'd been running for long enough. All other options had been exhausted. At least John offered the least awful defeat.

Drawing close to the entrance, the Deputy pointedly avoided examining a dead crow that had been impaled upon the wall. She inhaled, holding the breath in her lungs, steadying her heart rate.

It was only freedom.

She opened the door, immediately training the gun out before her, following its guide into the room.

About a dozen Peggies dotted the space, leaning against walls, lining the pews - all angled at the pulpit, observing Nick on the floor. He stifled a cry while John sliced through the final remaining layers of skin binding the tattoo to his chest, peeling the word 'GREED' out of his flesh. Blood pooled on the floor around them, and the moment John had stepped away, the pilot was descended on with antiseptic and bandages.

The Deputy waited for nausea at the sight to take its course. It never did. She was all but numbed to the sight.

"Deputy, run!"

Mary May's voice cut through the silence, and the bartender lurched from her own spot on the ground. Guns raised all around the room, swinging around to aim for Cora.

”Hold!” John barked immediately, unconcerned when the Deputy shifted her aim to him. Instead, he busied himself with washing his sullied hands. “Hold your fire.”

His followers obeyed.

Cora, meanwhile, cocked the revolver in her grip. One foot edged into the room, and she glanced around for the Project’s captives before returning her gaze to John. All on the other side of the room. Pinned. Fuck.

“Hope County Sheriff’s Department.” She announced, staring the Baptist down, ignoring the grin that crept onto his face - like he found it fucking funny. “Weapons on the ground. Step away from the hostages.”

“Hostages?” John snorted. He gestured Pastor Jerome, Mary May, and Nick. “These are guests! This is their Atonement. This is your Atonement.”

“Drop the fucking weapons.”

John’s patience thinned. Quickly. “I’m not doing this with you.” He replied simply. “Not today.”

With his own look around the room, John inclined his head. An unspoken order to which everyone carrying a gun turned them on her allies.

“We both know you don’t have enough bullets for everyone. Nor do you have the time. So why don’t you put down my gun and surrender.”

“Don’t-” Mary May was cut off with the tap of steel against her temple. Warning.

John was right. She was outnumbered. There was no chance of getting any of them out with force alone.

She inhaled. Exhaled. Watched the fondness slip back onto John’s face like it had never left, and set the gun on the floor.

“That’s my girl.” John murmured. Then, he motioned. “Get her ready.”

Cora’s stomach dropped as two sets of arms coiled around hers, each pulling and pushing, prickling at her skin with unfamiliar, sickening touch. Biology told her to resist. Escape the sensation. The downward pulling.

“No, stop it.” Escaped her while she squirmed. “Get off. Stop touching me-”

“Her friends can’t be far. Find them.” The Baptist ordered, turning away toward the pulpit.

Cora’s knees hit the floor. There was no holding the repetition of protests, but even as she consciously elevated the volume of her voice, it grew quieter in her ears. Calculated attempts to jerk away and make an escape became automatic twitches.

One of John’s followers - a female - crept into view, fingers tugging at the top button on her uniform collar. John readied a tattoo gun over the woman’s shoulder, and the Deputy’s mind screamed alarm bells. Get out. Escape. Fight back. Regain control.

“I won’t hurt you, sister.”

This time, she sank, curling forward, angling herself away from the woman. Another attempt, and she wrenched away again, snarling. Then, the Peggies around her must have gotten tired of all the fuss, because the tear of cotton clawed at her ears. Ringing through her brain.

Her back felt cold all of a sudden.

Green material slipped down her arms, and at the sight of her own uniform pooling in shreds in her own lap, Cora ceased her thrashing. The shredded shirt was yanked from her belt and tossed aside, and she watched with growing resignation while John turned back around.

His gaze found hers. Then flickered downward, first to the compression bra, then a margin to the right. “Here I thought you’d be unmarked.” He commented, inspecting what was visible of the old ink on her lower ribs while he approached.

Hands pressed against Cora’s shoulders, and she drifted back until her shoulder blades hit the floor.

John continued to loom until he stood directly over her. He sank to his knees, expression softening with his descent until he was on all fours on top of her. He looked almost adoring, and she hated how it comforted her, just slightly. She hated how the hands had disappeared from her limbs, and yet she still made no further attempt to escape. He had every ounce of power now.

She didn’t know she’d started trembling until his free hand swept over her collarbones, mapping out her chest, calming the gooseflesh beading on her from the chill, or the fright, or perhaps just that this whole thing felt so humiliatingly exposing.

A blush swelled over John’s throat, maybe indicating some straying line of thought. He snapped out of it and settled to sit on her hips. “This looks familiar, doesn’t it?” He teased, hovering the tattoo gun right over the centre of her sternum.

“Dont.” Was all she could manage. Weak. Pleading. “I don’t want you to.”

“You have no idea how good you’re going to feel after this.” John cooed.

One of his fingers drifted along her jaw. An attempt at comforting her, but to no avail. He looked equal parts gentle and feral with excitement.

The machine buzzed, lowering pitch when the needles finally pressed into her flesh.

This was it.

She’d lost. There was no going back, anymore. No more normal, no more ridding herself of this family. They’d taken everything, and now they were claiming ownership over her, too.

The others were being hunted. It was only a matter of time. John was working too quickly. They’d be gone before the Cougars even crossed the river.

Cora’s nerves muted. Sound closed to just the rumble of blood in her ears. She receded into herself. Found a backseat in her mind, away from the sensory overload and the humiliation and her own failure while her body quietly continued: ”Dont, don’t, stop.”

She’d lost, and John wouldn’t stop. Not while he was branding the evidence of his victory into her flesh.

Defeat tasted worse than anticipated.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bullets whizzed overhead while Sharky and Hurk took cover beneath the window, watching helplessly as the aisle of potato chips and bar nuts was torn to shreds by the onslaught. Dorito dust filled the shop like mustard gas.

“Cuz, I think they found us!” Hurk barked, snapping an arm over his head in defence when a stray round ricocheted off the front counter.

“What gives you that impression?” Sharky hit back, hurriedly setting down his shotgun and shrugging his backpack to the floor.

“How many are there?”

“How about you check?”

“How about you check?”

A moment of quiet occurred while the cousins glared at each other, leaving their standoff to a battle of no blinking. Then the Peggies outside must’ve finished re-loading, because the back wall of the shop was suddenly being shot into swiss cheese.

They were okay. Everything was cool. Addie and Xander had taken their share of explosives and gone the quiet route. Grace and Jess were gone. Shorty had disappeared into the church, and while he couldn't count the best, Sharky was pretty confident that John had caught her.

Could they have kept on looking for survivors and breaking out captives? Sure - but why do that when they could kill, like 40 birds with one stone and beeline for the gas station? It was conveniently across the road from the church, empty of any and all life barring the dormant tanks underground. An explosion that big was sure to fuck up like a good portion of Main Street. Not even the Chosen would be able to resist checking it out.

Disconnecting the safety switches had been easy. He’d been arrested for doing it like 5 times already. Cops, Peggies; it didn’t matter - Sharky knew what he was doing, and without the giant swinging dick of the law hanging over him, the man was on a mission. Cultists shooting at him was fine. He was used to that.

Threat of death or no, he wasn’t giving up the chance to see this place blow sky high.

“We’ll be outta here any second, Hurky.” Sharky assured. “Just gotta sprinkle a little C-4 around the place and we’ll be gone before it even goes off.”

Hurk was sweating. A lot. He was accustomed to being shot at, but normally, he had more than just Sharky to get him out of a tight spot. “Alright, bro. Gimme some. Many hands and what have you.”

“Fuck yeah. First step, toss some at the tanker outside. We wanna get the place as fiery as possible up here to wake up the big boys underground, and-”

Sharky stopped in his tracks, eyeing the backpack he’d just been in the process of unzipping.

“-uhh.”

“Uhh?”

“Hurky, can I be real with you?”

“Is now the best time for a deep and meaningful?” Hurk hissed, crawling toward him nonetheless.

The arsonist stuck his hand down the pack, rifling through fluff and mesh. “I, uh, I think I brought the wrong bag. And by think I mean know without a shadow of a doubt.”

Hurk watched as his cousin tugged the green, furry headpiece of a dragon out into the open.

“You brought-...”

“I brought my fursuit.”

“Not the C-4?”

“Not the C-4.”

“Okay, bro. That's fine. I'm not mad. Human error. Not even a little bit?”

Sharky checked again, just for good measure. “Nope...so, uhm...you got a match?”

Hurk ran a hank through his hair. “Not to poo poo your ideas, but that probably ain’t the best move.”

So just like that, they were fucked.

Jess and Grace still hadn’t come back. The others were nowhere to be seen. Shorty was holed up in that church, and he and Hurk were about to be rounded up by born-again virgins.

Shit, if that were the case -

“Well, if this is gonna be the last opportunity.” Sharky grunted, tugging the suit out and unzipping the back. “May as well enjoy our last minutes of freedom, huh?”

Hurk took the cue, creeping across the destroyed shop floor and reaching for a popped bag of pretzels. He sat back against the wall, leaning against the rocket launcher he’d propped up against the corner.

“Man.” The brunette sighed, staring at the floor. “If only we had some other kind of ranged, explosive device.”

“No shit.” Sharky agreed. “Some high velocity shit would fix this.”

They exchanged a sympathetic look once the arsonist had zipped himself up and crept over and sit beside his cousin, both leaning on either side of the RPG.

Hurk held out the bag.

“Pretzel?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Was that so bad?” John asked, placing the tattoo gun aside and framing the Deputy’s marked chest. ’WRATH', in true black, beading with blood. The skin surrounding the text was mottled and inflamed. Excess ink covered the area in patches, gathering in the dip of her cleavage, disappearing beneath her sports bra.

All that sin, already leaking out through the exit he’d made for her.

Gorgeous.

Cora didn’t respond. That was fine. Shock was normal. She’d thank him once this was all over. For now, she just trembled, lock jawed, dissociated gaze searching what John had thought was him until he sat up. No, instead she was watching the ceiling.

John flashed a smile, blocking out a tiny streak of dread at the sight of the woman so vacant. Sweeping a lock of stained hair over her shoulder, he smoothed his fingers past her neck, attempting to gently angle her focus back to him. “Hey. You can come back now. We’re all done.”

You're finally on the other side. React to it. React to me. Look at me-

The boom came first, hollow and deep, and John felt the floor beneath him rumble. Chandeliers and decorations wobbled from the disturbance. Several of his followers shot from their seats, immediately abandoning the Resistance leaders they’d guarded in favour of pacing back and forth, trying to get a look at whatever was happening outside.

“Is this it?”

“Is it the Collapse?”

“It’s time?”

“John, is it the Collapse?”

The panic escalated quickly, forcing the Baptist to break his attention away from the empty woman below him and rein in the flock.

“Calm down.” He exclaimed, “It’s not the Collapse. It’s probably just-”

Another boom. Almost deafeningly loud.

This time, the whole church shook. Windows shattered in their creaking panes and smashed to the floor while pews squealed heavily in protest.

Contrary to his assertion, John dove down, covering the Deputy with his body. Holy shit, was it the Collapse?

The tremor must have been enough to snap Cora out of her trance, because a muffled “Get your tits out of my face.” buzzed against John’s chest.

Tragically, however, the Baptist never got the opportunity to reply to her. Had it not been for the fucking tennis shoe colliding with the side of his skull, he imagined he’d have something very clever to say. Alas, pain shot through his head and he jerked to the side, fighting against the blow to stay put. A snarl from Mary May, his apparent attacker, sounded in retaliation. She dove into him, knee driving into his ribs, throwing him off of the Deputy.

His thoughts left him for the briefest moment, overtaken by ensuing gunshots and shouts and the shrieks of the bartender as she was clawed away from him. Her hand shot forward right as she was yanked up, intended as a punch. It didn’t land, and John couldn’t help but shoot her a smirk for her failure.

“Deputy, gun!”

Nevermind. It wasn’t a punch after all. Mary May had been pointing over his shoulder at the revolver that had been surrendered on the floor. His revolver. The same one Cora was now scrambling toward.

No.

John lurched, heart leaping into his throat.

Not now. Not after he’d won. Not when they were so close.

His hand found the leg of Cora’s pants, wrenching, pulling her away from the weapon, and she kicked against him. Her finger tips slid against the barrel of the revolver, tugging it into her palm.

God wouldn’t fucking undo his victory.

John snarled, catching the Deputy’s wrist when she tried to aim - at him no less. Without her own recovery time achieved, he was able to wrestle the weapon from her easily enough, flattening her struggling body beneath his just long enough to hook an arm around her waist. He twisted around, holding the woman’s back against his belly. Her squirming ceased with the press of the muzzle against her head, and the moment her allies had taken notice of the change, everything went still.

Finally.

A little civility.

Several of John’s followers lay on the floor, either dead or close to it. Only a half-dozen remained, though the pair of Chosen had survived and placed themselves closest to their leader.

Pastor Jerome had procured a handgun from within his own bible - something that pulled a breathless laugh out of John as he surveyed the others. Nick hadn’t been able to arm himself, but he’d still tackled one of the faithful to the ground. His knuckles were bloodied. A familiar sight. Mary May had wrestled a gun of her own away from the woman who’d seized her. She aimed it shakily at John.

Armed but outnumbered, outgunned, and now, they were in check.

They never learned, did they?

“The way you people behave, you’d think salvation was a bad thing.” John tittered. “Right. Now, let’s try this again. Atonement, or damnation.” To punctuate his meaning, he tapped the muzzle against Cora’s head. She grunted in protest, and he ignored her. Of course it was a bluff. No one else knew that but him, though. It was too risky a move for the Resistance to let him do away with the one person that banded their factions.

She was their leader. They couldn’t lose her.

John looked around the room once more, locking eyes with Jerome first - then Mary May. “Are we going to behave?”

The answer was immediate and clear: a gunshot cracking through the Baptist’s ears and the flash of a blast spilling from Mary May’s weapon. Cora’s elbow driving into his stomach and the reaction time of his Chosen snapping to attention, covering him, already hauling John out of the church and onto the street.

Fuck no, he wasn't leaving without his prize.

"GRAB HER!" John howled, struggling against the attempts to get him to safety. "Leave the rest!"

It was a reluctant effort, but the Deputy was yanked along as well, shoved into Johns arms on his repeated orders, with me, with me.

“Mary May, what the fuck!” The Deputy roared over her shoulder.

“Sorry Deputy! I missed!”

Missed?

“You sure about that? Jesus fucking Christ!”

More shots sounded, but only the noise pursued them from the building. It wasn’t until John had shoved Cora into the back of the waiting truck that he realised how warm his hand had gotten. Wet, too.

“Get to the ranch!” One of the Chosen snarled up front, casting a look back at the Baptist while the vehicle took off, watching as he peeled away from the blonde to inspect himself.

Blood.

He was bleeding. But where from? Barring the sting of his scabs and that kick to the head, nothing hurt. There were no wounds hiding under his sleeves or -

A hiss sounded from the Deputy beside him, curling in on herself.

Shit.

She hadn’t elbowed him.

“Cora-” John scrambled for her. "Cora, let me see."

“Told you not to call me that.” The Deputy grit out, kicking at him until she’d well and truly jammed herself into the corner of the seat and the car door. Her left hand gripped her right forearm, just below the elbow and to no avail. Crimson coated the skin on her side, encasing her arm completely and seeping through her fingertips.

She was bleeding. Not heavily, but steadily.

”Deputy.” John bit back, advancing. “You’re hurt. Let me help-”

Just like that, the kicking resumed. “Don’t touch me-DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME-”

“For once in your fucking life, just relax!”

Only incomprehensible snarling came in response.

John rolled his jaw, brimming with as much irritation as he was adrenaline. The Resistance had made their choice. Regretful, but final. He’d gotten what he came for, and he wasn’t intending on losing her just because she was too stubborn to accept help.

He glanced at the revolver still in his grip. Then back at Cora, rotating the grip toward her. A threat. “Are you going to let me help, or am I going to have to calm you down?”

“Don’t you dare.” Her words came hoarse. She gave scowling a red hot go, but without the rationale to deny him, the Deputy lacked conviction. She exhaled. “Fuck it. We've done this enough already. You get ten minutes. Then you’re under arrest.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her cheek twitched. A weak chuckle. The slightest flash of acknowledgement as she let him press his weight over her forearm. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t pulsing; nor was there a puncture wound. A gouged strip had been carved into her flesh where the bullet had grazed, but nothing vital seemed to have been struck.

“That - you can keep saying.”

"You're a flirt when you're in shock, Deputy." Had John not been too busy regulating about a dozen other emotions, he might have flushed at her words. For a moment, he just sat there, basking in the borderline friendliness on her face. Then, it occurred to him that they were among watchful company, and he cleared his throat, returning to his task.

Minutes passed. No more words were exchanged. Not until they’d passed the Rye and Son’s sign.

The Chosen in the front passenger’s seat looked over his shoulder, dismissing another over the radio before regarding the Baptist. “The Resistance isn’t making ground. The faithful are still rounding up stragglers, and we’ve taken casualties, but numbers are looking strong. Medic will meet you at the ranch, John. We can deliver our newest sister to the Gate while you recover.”

John inclined his head. “Much obliged. We need this one to stay with us until she’s completed her vows. She can’t be trusted unsupervised, but I won’t put the responsibility of containing her back on our people again.” He looked to Cora, then. Her face had run pale and she’d gone clammy, but she remained upright. Just...woozy. Pacified, for now.

He’d got what he came for. Fuck the rest.

“I have something to say.” The blonde announced, swaying against John’s arm. “I know why Mary May shot me.”

“This another one of your jokes?” John deadpanned.

“This one’s funny, I swear.”

“...go on, then.”

“It’s because I never tip.”

For a moment, Cora looked very satisfied with herself. Then, she retched, slumping forward into the Baptist’s lap when he instinctually jolted out of the potential line of fire. He hurried to steady her, keeping tight hold over her wound, and grimaced while the noise escaped her a second time.

Thank God nothing came out; his shoes would’ve been the first to know about it.

The Deputy didn’t sit back up.

That was fine. So long as she wasn’t dead. So long as she wasn’t fighting back.

“It’s all the sin escaping you.” John explained, off-handed, when a complaining grunt sounded below. “Evil being expelled from your body. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Pretty sure it’s my blood pressure, actually. Soon as I’m good again, you’re history.”

When one disregarded the fact that she’d had a gun trained on him earlier - and the blood drying uncomfortably on his clothes - and the persistent pounding of a headache from Mary May’s heel, this was almost pleasant. The quiet roads. The Deputy, all but atoned with her head on his thigh. Not fighting back. Conceding defeat. Peaceful.

He got what he came for.

He’d won.

He was saved.

Passing his thumb over Cora’s ribs, John’s attention was pulled back to the old ink peeking out from beneath the band of her top. Text, blurred and flattened enough to be years old, and too obscured to decipher.

“Thought I’d be your first.” The brunette murmured.

“Jealous?”

Yes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. What’s it say?”

“‘The Mountains Are Calling’.”

A sickening wave of dread passed over the Baptist. The rock forming in his throat, icy and bitter and seizing him against any reply.

The mountains are calling.

Jacob. Joseph. The Trials. Atonement wasn’t the final step. Handing her over to his brothers was the final step.

He got what he came for, but the woman in his arms wasn’t the trophy intended for him.

He was saved. He’d redeemed himself. He’d completed his task and Joseph would permit him beyond the gates. That was all he was supposed to do. That was enough.

That had to be enough.

“‘And I Must Go’.” John completed quietly.

Cora tilted her head a little, not quite looking at him - almost like she was trying not to. “You know John Muir.”

“Not enough to warrant a photo on the bedside table.”

“Shut up.”

There was nothing convincing about the chuckle he offered. He was too busy observing her, studying the side of her face. Committing her to memory as if he hadn’t spent years acquainting himself with every spot and micro-expression.

“Maybe working for you will be bearable.” She murmured, and John’s heart only sank further. "If I don't manage to arrest you."

The mountains are calling.

She still had no idea that all the promises he’d made her had been fabricated. That she wouldn’t be staying. That he’d lied to her.

The mountains were calling. In a few days time, she’d know it. She’d despise him. She’d be taken off his hands and he’d assume his regular duties once again.

He’d saved both of them.

Cora’s thumb absently grazed back and forth on his knee. Ignorant. “Can I ask something?”

It took everything in him not to mirror the action against her skin.

“Of course.”

“Can I start next Monday?”

"What happened to you being such a workaholic?"

"To be honest with you, I'm really fucking tired."

She’d be incredible. Jacob would love her. Joseph would be proud. John had accomplished something near-impossible for his family, and even if the Deputy hated him - even if she forgot him entirely, he was content with the knowledge that he’d have brought her to salvation.

Even if they never saw each other again, he’d know that she’d passed through the gates. That she’d climb to the surface once the world had been scorched clean. She’d rebuild, and marry, and have children, and he’d do the same.

Hopeful anticipation and the agony of longing had never felt so similar before.

“Fine.” John smiled, giving in, sliding his fingers up her arm and coaxing a stray lock of hair out of her face. There were no promises he’d be able to do it again after this. “But on one condition.”

“What?”

“Spend those days with me.”

Cora stirred, angling to peer up at him out of the corner of her eye. She smiled crookedly.

“Deal.”

#far cry 5 #john seed #cora stammos #far cry 5 fanfic #far cry 5 oc #john seed x female deputy #all hail cora's big fucking muscles #no beta we die like men

[p-artsypants]

I’ll Handle This (12)

In Which Lila Learns about Skyrim

Ao3 | FF.net

Sorry for taking a bit with this chapter. It isn’t even very long. But I was in the hospital recovering from surgery. We’re coming up close to the end of the story, but there’s maybe two more chapters after this. 

(Psst this chapter has hints to the next story I’ll publish after this one...as long as my ideas don’t change lol)

--

Lila was fired. It was immediate when they found out. Everyone sat in class, the lecture normal and lulling everyone into a soft state of sedation. 

Then Lila screamed. The scream was the worst thing Marinette had ever heard. Immediately, everyone turned to look at her in horror. 

She started bawling. Huge gasping sobs of someone who’d been shot. 

“Lila?!” Miss Bustier gasped in shock and concern. “Are you okay?!” 

“I’m so sorry, Miss Bustier!” She wailed. “I just wanted to peek at my email and—and—Mr. Agreste fired me!” 

Plagg had to bite his tongue. He knew she was going to twist this somehow, but her sobbing was so beautiful to see. 

“Oh Lila, I’m so sorry. It hurts a lot to lose a job. Especially when they don’t tell you to your face. That’s no fair.” 

“He-he-he said that Marinette told him that I was making Adrien uncomfortable! She got me fired!” 

Gasps, all around. 

“What?!” Barked Marinette. “I had nothing to do with this!” Not exactly the truth...

“But that’s what Mr. Agreste said!” 

Plagg stood, placing his foot on the seat, the spurs on his cowboy boots ringing with the motion. He put his cowboy hat back on (since Mrs. Bustier had asked him to remove it for violating dress code...again.) “well now. Sounds like we got ourselves in a gosh darn pickle.” 

Nino snorted. 

“Adrien! You never said I made you uncomfortable! Marinette must have lied to your father!” 

He flicked the rim of his hat. “Now slow your roll there, Buckeroo. I know my old man, and even if Marinette was mentioned in his email, it’s likely that he just wanted to place the blame on someone else.” 

Yes, throw the old man under the bus. He still deserves it, even with whole hearted apologies. 

“But you know, I do feel awfully bad for you, Lila. Losing yer job and all. How’s about I make it up to ya? I’ll come sit by you for a while. Keep ya company and cheer you up. Cain’t have gettin’ all akumatized up in here, you reckon?” 

Not that Lila getting akumatized was even a concern anymore. But the world wouldn’t know about Hawkmoth’s surrender until Emilie’s fate was resolved. Adrien’s family deserved that much at least. 

“Oh Adrien!” Lila cried. “You really are such a wonderful friend. But I couldn’t bear to make you move on my behalf. You need to focus on your work.” 

“A cowboy needs to be exceptional at multitasking. That is, as long as Mrs. Brassiere is okay with it.” 

Miss Bustier pinched the bridge of her nose. Usually, she was a very calm and level-headed teacher, compassionate and understanding. But Adrien’s antics were stressing her out massively. “Yes, Adrien, I suppose it’s fine if you move to—what did you call me?”

“Much obliged, Madam. If’en you’ll excuse me...” 

Marinette watched with fascination as Plagg gathered up his materials and moved to the back of the class to sit next to Lila. Then she glanced in her purse, where Tikki and Adrien were hanging out. They both shrugged. 

Due to the retirement of Hawkmoth, Adrien was now allowed to spend time away from the Miraculous without consequence. Plagg assured him that once the final condition was met, no matter where he was, his soul would return to his body. 

So he spent the school day with Tikki, and the evenings with Marinette. It was a sweet deal, and it really gave Adrien the time to bond with her without school or akumas in the way. 

He had even spent the night with her the night before, curled up next to her on her pillow, and purring every time Marinette’s hand glanced his fur. 

Nino leaned back in his seat. “Do you know what he’s up to this time?” 

“No idea...but I am eager to see where this goes.” 

Nino shook his head with a shrug. Two nights ago, when Plagg was arrested, Nino gathered all the money in his savings and went down to the jail to bail him out. 

Only to find out he was already let go. 

So he went back home, and called Adrien’s phone relentlessly, hoping for an answer. 

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Chat Noir returned and explained that he was going home now, thanks for having him, he had to watch the mansion because his sort of repentant father was going to Tibet to resurrect his dead wife. 

Nino gave up on logic and understanding, and just made sure Plagg had everything he had brought. 

Now he would wait until the whole situation blew over, and hopefully Adrien himself, in his own body, would explain it all to him. Plagg seemed to oversimplify everything to the point it became vague. 

Marinette, on the other hand, was very curious to see where this was all going. After all, Adrien’s previous tactic of being nice to Lila hadn’t worked. So what was Plagg hoping to gain from the same approach?

Wrassle her with his randomly appointed cowboy charm? 

In science, two classes later, Plagg had elected to sit next to Lila still, despite her protests. 

Marinette was close enough now to hear what Plagg’s master plan was. 

“So there’s like several types of Mer, right? But not like mermaids. This has nothing to do with mermaids. These are mostly elves, but not all. So there’s Dunmer, right? Those are dark elves. And Bosmer, wood elves, and Altmer, high elves. The Falmer are snow elves, but they’re all twisted and savage, because of the Dwemer, which are dwarves!” 

Marinette snorted a bit too loudly, drawing attention from the teacher. 

“Miss Dupain-Cheng, is something funny?” 

“No ma’am, I had a tickle in my sinuses.” 

“Ah, I see. Anyways, as I was saying...” 

Lila always sat in the back of the class, despite her many alleged disabilities. This was probably to get away with the fact that she rarely paid attention during class. 

It was the ideal place for Plagg to harass her and not get caught. 

Poetry in motion. 

“So you get to pick what race you want to be, but you’re always the Dragonborn. Despite the description, you don’t look any different. So a Dragonborn is someone that can devour the souls of dragons so they don’t get resurrected by Alduin. Let me back up, Alduin is an evil dragon that used to rule the world, and he’s resurrecting dragons so he can take over. There’s another dragon though, named Paarthanax, and he’s a good guy. He helps out the Tongues on the Throat of the World. Or the greybeards. Some call them Tongues, but in the game they’re called Graybeards. And the tongues are the monks that teach you to shout. And different shouts teach you different things, right? The dragonborn and the tongues are the only ones that are supposed to know how to shout, but there’s this other dude named Ulfric Stormcloak, and he knows Unrelenting Force, that’s the Fus Ro Da shout I was talking about earlier? He used it to kill high king Torygg to start a war. Oh yeah, so there’s nine holds with Jarls, right—“ 

The day ended, and Lila stood quickly. “Well Adrien, thank you so much for keeping me company today. I’m feeling a lot better. You can move back up to your old spot tomorrow.” 

“Well, you shore are welcome, Pardner. But sittin here in the back has been mighty nice. I think I’ll stay! You don’t mind, do ya? It’s awfully fun to have you as company!” 

Lila’s eye twitched, but she was aware that most of the class was watching them. “Yeah. That’d be...great.” 

“Darn tootin’! Well, you look like you’re in a rush, don’t want to hold you up!” 

“See you tomorrow!” She chirped, before hurrying from the room. As she passed Marinette, a dark look came over her face. The look of someone seething with rage and hatred, but trying to hide it. 

Marinette would have been scared, if Lila hadn’t been dealing with Plagg instead. 

Marinette went home, Tikki and Adrien talking to her from her collar. 

“I don’t know. Plagg was successful with the first two tasks, but I don’t know how he’s going to turn Lila over to the good side.” Marinette mused. 

“I don’t know if he has to. The condition is to just get her to leave me alone. He said he was doing some Pavlovian Jedi mind trick on her.” 

“Well, I sure hope it works. Speaking of, where is Plagg?” 

Adrien’s ears flicked. “He left pretty suddenly after class. I didn’t see him go. Hopefully, he went back to the mansion.” 

“Do you want me to call him?” 

“No, I trust him. He’s got things under control.” 

“Glad to hear it! Ready for snack time?” 

“Oh heck yes!” 

—

Lila had to actively stop herself from stomping all the way home. Frustration rolled off of her in waves, and she mildly wondered why she hadn’t been akumatized yet. 

Adrien Agreste was the most annoying person she had ever met. And oblivious too! He never picked up on any of her subtle hints to get him to shut up! She really didn’t want to be rude, because his friendship looked great on her, but wow. No wonder he didn’t have any friends. No wonder Gabriel was so protective of him. If he wasn’t cute...his personality was like a wet sock. 

And he was weird. Weird mannerisms, weird speech pattern, just weird. Hopefully she could either get used to it, or Adrien would get a clue to stop being so obnoxious. 

Finally, she reached her apartment. 

“Home mom!” She called. 

There was laughter in the kitchen. Her mother had a guest. While not uncommon, there was just a hint of dread that hung in the air. 

Lila walked to the kitchen, only to see Adrien sitting at the table, talking to her mother! How?! How did he beat her here?! How did he know where she lived?! What the hell was he doing?!

“Adrien?” Lila gawked. 

He rubbed his head awkwardly. “Sorry for popping in uninvited. I just...I was worried about you! You’ve been akumatized twice, and I didn’t want it to happen again since you were fired.” 

Lila’s face paled as her mother gave her a stern look. 

“I think you’ve got some explaining to do, Missy. I didn’t know you were modeling. And you never told me about being akumatized!” 

Adrien gasped. “Oh no! She didn’t tell you? I’m so sorry! I didn’t know that was a secret! I won’t say anymore!” 

“Any more?” Mrs. Rossi asked. “There’s more?” 

“Adrien.” Lila bit, in warning. 

“Well...I mean, you knew she was meeting with my father right? Something about being his muse?” 

Mrs. Rossi looked horrified. “What! You were talking to a grown adult man?! Were these visits supervised?!” 

Lila opened her mouth to answer, but Plagg beat her to it. “I don’t think so. Father is a very private person.” 

“Lila Giselle Rossi! You are sooo grounded! No offense to your father, Adrien, but meeting up with an adult man, unsupervised? And to what, be his muse? What does that even mean? It sounds gross!” 

“I swear nothing happened! He just wanted my opinion-”

“On what? What reason would he have to ask a 14 year old’s opinion?”

Plagg winced and looked at Lila. “I’m so sorry, Lila. I came here to help, but...” 

Lila shook with rage. Her mother was a complete pushover and believed everything she said. Now Adrien had sewn the seeds of distrust in her and she wouldn’t get away with any white lies ever again. 

“You’re dead,” She mouthed at Plagg. 

“Adrien, thank you for coming here and telling me all of this. I’m very grateful. But I think it’s best if you head home now. Lila has some chores to do.” 

“I understand, Madam Rossi. Again, I’m really sorry...I just wanted to help.” 

“Oh don’t worry, you did. This is for Lila’s own good.” 

He sheepishly looked to her. “See you tomorrow?” 

Her eye twitched. “Yeah.” 

And Plagg swiftly walked from the apartment, concealing his evil laughter until he got to the door. 

—

The next day at school, Marinette, along with Tikki and Adrien in her bag, arrived at school just a few minutes before the bell rang. 

Plagg was sitting at the front of the room, wearing a Pikachu onesie, and looking absolutely devastated. Nino sat next to him and had a hand over his face, doing his best to conceal whatever emotion he had. 

Everyone else in the room was avoiding them like they had the plague. 

Alya spotted her and came quickly, looping an arm through hers and escorting them out into the hall. “Girl, big news. I know you love Adrien, so this is going to be a blow. But here’s the thing...Lila told us this morning that Adrien came to her house yesterday and told her mom about her modeling job. Apparently, her mom didn’t want her working, and got upset that Lila lied. Adrien’s been insisting that it wasn’t on purpose, but everyone is kind of pissed at him anyway.” 

Marinette said nothing, but bit her lip. She knew that this absolutely was on purpose. 

“I’ll leave your actions up to you, but people are pretty mad at Adrien. Just letting you know.” 

“Who’s side are you taking?” 

Alya scoffed. “None. I’m staying out of this. Both people are in the right. Obviously Sunshine just wanted to prevent her from being akumatized. He was with her all day yesterday. It’s admirable, really.” 

“It is.” Marinette said with a smile. Though she was smiling for a completely different reason. There were no akumatizations anymore. Everyone was safe now. 

“We better get back in there, class will start soon.” 

So they returned. Miss Bustier was in, and ready to begin the lesson. 

Then Plagg raised his hand. 

“Yes Adrien?” 

“Before we start class, I want to say something.” 

“Go ahead, Adrien. The floor is yours.” 

He stood, and looked to Lila in the back of the room. “Lila, I know I apologized yesterday, but I’m really really sorry about outing you to your mom. I had no idea she didn’t know about your rendezvous with my father. I was just really scared that you were going to become akumatized, and I didn’t want that to happen. My friends are all important to me, and losing you would be like ripping out a piece of my heart. Could you ever forgive me?” 

Marinette glanced Nino’s face, which twitched to hide a smile. Then she looked at Lila, who looked calm, but her hands were balled into fists. 

After many breathless minutes, Lila smiled slightly. “I understand, Adrien. Of course you’re still my friend. I treasure you too! I’m sorry I got so mad.” 

“Hugs?” Plagg raised his arms. 

Lila could pretend to be happy and calm, but the paling of her skin could not be hidden. “Hugs!” 

Plagg brought her in for a squeeze, and the class ‘aww’ed at their make up. 

Except Nino, who let out the tiniest snort. 

Marinette flicked open her purse to look at Adrien. He mimed a gagging gesture back. 

And then Plagg took those last couple steps and joined Lila on her bench. No one tried to stop him. No one spoke up and said, “hey, maybe you should give her some space anyway.” 

They just all let poor, socially awkward Adrien push boundaries and take his seat. Because he had apologized so earnestly for trying to help. And she had forgiven him. So everything was fine now. 

Right?

As the lesson started, Marinette paid attention to the teacher. But occasionally, she’d hear the faintest whispers of Adrien’s voice (Plagg’s voice now). 

“...so it’s commonly believed that the Nord’s came from Atmora with Ysgramor, but they believe that they settled Skyrim, so they’re kind of racist to everyone else. But also, the Empire came in out of nowhere and tried to upheave their way of life, and even told them which Gods they were allowed to worship. High King Torygg was playing cordial with the Aldmeri Dominion, and some of the other Jarl’s didn’t like that. So Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Whiterun shouted him to death. Just like the Dragonborn can. Though it’s never explained why he knows how to do this. So this started a whole civil war…” 

Marinette chanced a glance behind her, and noticed that Lila had her head in her hands, and she looked absolutely miserable.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #adrienette #adrien and plagg #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #identity reveal #chat noir #ladybug #fanfiction #I'll Handle This

[carewyncromwell]

“We were dreamers not so long ago, But one by one, we all had to grow up. When it seems the magic’s slipped away, We find it all again on Christmas Day...”

~“Believe,” by Josh Groban

x~x~x~x

The Ravenclaw VS Hufflepuff match was one for the ages. With a final score of 320-10, it was one of the most decisive matches in Hogwarts history, let alone one of Ravenclaw house’s greatest triumphs -- and all of it was because of the combined efforts of Seeker Cho Chang and Ravenclaw’s Chasers, led by their Star Player Robert Bellamy. It put Ravenclaw well on its way to winning the Quidditch Cup for a second time, and it also made Robert once again the talk of Ravenclaw house. People latched onto the idea of him using echolocation to signal to his fellow Chasers where he was on the pitch and began to say he could fly faster than any bat, whether a real one or one from Ballycastle. 

And yet, despite all of the praise and fawning he received, just as Cecelia said, Robert shrugged all of it off. 

“All of us train more than just our eyes,” he said with a shrug. “And besides, signaling would’ve meant nothing if Roger and Randolph hadn’t been good enough Chasers to toss the Quaffle to me blindly -- and if Roger hadn’t been a good enough Captain to lead our team, to begin with. Not to mention Cho catching the Snitch in the middle of that fog -- that’s infinitely harder than anything we did...”

Atticus @cursebreakerfarrier​​​​ couldn’t quite understand how Robert could be so determined not to accept praise for his abilities when it was so clearly warranted...but even so, he found himself smiling every time he heard him respond with such modesty. For as flippant, rebellious, and devil-may-care as Robert was, he wasn’t full of himself. It was a rather endearing quality. 

When December arrived, the student body got into a predictable tizzy about the upcoming holidays. Atticus, as always, found himself grumpier than usual due to the noise. He’d never really liked Christmas even as a kid, and at Hogwarts the season only served to make him more surly. Atticus recalled, however, that Robert was one of those people who got obnoxious around Christmas -- it had always irritated him before, whenever Robert would sing Christmas carols loudly at the top of his lungs while helping decorate the Ravenclaw common room. And this year was no exception. The Star Chaser helped smuggle a tree up to Ravenclaw Tower, hung garlands and clusters of holly all over the Ravenclaw commonroom, and greeted and said goodbye to absolutely everybody with “Happy Christmas,” and on the morning of December 8th, the very day he no longer had to dress all neatly like Atticus, he pulled out his old red-felt Santa hat and wore it every single day for the rest of term.

Atticus was frankly done, and the holiday break hadn’t even started yet. 

“Aw, come on, Lestrange!” said Robert one day after Potions, giving the other boy a light punch to the shoulder. “Lighten up -- it’s Christmas!”

“So you keep reminding me,” Atticus said dully. He tried to bury his nose in his copy of Moste Potente Potions, but Robert wouldn’t drop the line of conversation. 

“Well, I wouldn’t keep reminding you if you cheered up a little,” he said with a grin. “Do you always have to be such a Scrooge around this time of year?”

“Do you always have to be so happy about it?” Atticus shot back. “...What’s a ‘Scrooge’ anyway?”

“A character from A Christmas Carol,” Ceci explained with a small, amused smile. “It’s a Muggle book -- it’s a lovely one too: you’d like it, Atticus...”

“Better have Rob read it aloud for you, though,” said Barty with a big grin. “No one reads it like Rob.”

“A Christmas Carol is a masterpiece of literature -- all I do is treat it accordingly,” Robert said offhandedly. He shot Atticus a wry smile over his shoulder. “Though I suppose if it’d help you actually get to sleep at a reasonable hour for once, I could always read it to you as a bedtime story, Lestrange -- ”

“No thank you,” Atticus cut him off crisply. 

Her face appearing rather sympathetic, Ceci lightly bumped her arm against Atticus’s as they walked.

“Are you staying here for the holidays again, Atticus?”

Atticus nodded. “The library’s always nice and quiet, over break. It’s a good time to get some extra work done...”

Robert’s light-hearted expression faded -- something almost guilty passed over his face. 

“...Mm...”

His black eyes drifted away, off toward the far wall. Barty offered both his best friend and Atticus a smile. 

“Well, uh...maybe we can do some work over break together, then, Atticus,” Barty offered.

Atticus stiffened like a startled cat. “Huh?”

“My parents are taking a trip to visit my aunt and cousins in Normandy,” Barty explained sheepishly, “so I was thinking of staying at Hogwarts over break too! Don’t reckon much of anyone else in our year will be, so maybe we can hang out a bit over break, if you’d like...”

Atticus truly couldn’t think of anything he’d want to do less. Knowing it’d be incredibly rude to say so, however, he forced an uncomfortable smile. Ceci, however, jumped on it.

“That’s perfect!” she said. “Maybe you and Atticus can do some extra research, Barty.”

Atticus blinked in confusion. “Research?”

“About our dreams,” said Ceci eagerly.

Barty nodded. “One thing all of our visions have in common is that we all look older, right? You said that the guy in your dreams kind of looks like me, but older -- and Ceci, Rob, and I all see each other looking older too. But when we looked into Divination, all we really got was a lot of vague preaching -- ”

“You mean utter rubbish,” Robert inserted with a smirk. 

“So Robert was thinking,” Barty pressed on, “if this is some kind of future sight we’re having, maybe we can find out what’s causing it by studying Time-centric magic.”

“And what better person to help us with researching something in the library than Atticus Lestrange?” Ceci said with satisfaction, taking both of Atticus’s shoulders from behind and giving them a light squeeze.

Atticus, however, didn’t look so sure. “Well, thank you, but...I’ve already read every book in the library about Time Turners -- and I don’t think there’s anything in there that might explain what’s going on...”

“Every book?” prompted Ceci, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes,” said Atticus. “Well, except for the Restricted Section, but...”

He trailed off, noticing the wicked look that Ceci and Robert exchanged before they both glanced at Barty.

“Except for the Restricted Section,” repeated Robert, his lips spread in a broad white smirk.

Barty grinned -- his expression was perfectly angelic compared to his cohorts, and yet it was determined.

“Atticus,” he said in a very soft, but perfectly fearless voice, “mind if I join you on your evening Prefect rounds, over break?”

And that was how Atticus Lestrange got roped into sneaking into the Restricted Section of the Library after dark on Christmas Eve with Barty Gilbert. 

Atticus had been very wary when he lingered in the hall outside Ravenclaw Tower as planned, waiting for Barty. He knew his father most assuredly wouldn’t approve of this, and even despite that, he dreaded the thought of willingly spending time with his school rival. It didn’t matter how pleasantly the Gryffindor acted around him, or even how fond Atticus was becoming of his best friend -- Atticus didn’t like Barty, and that was that. And he absolutely hated the thought of getting into trouble just because he was roped into working with him. 

Unfortunately Atticus was so uptight and stiff while waiting around that he nearly had a heart attack when Barty’s disembodied voice whispered in his ear. 

“Sorry!” Barty whispered quickly. “I’m sorry -- I was really trying not to sneak up on you, but Filch is around that next corner...ack! Here he comes!”

He threw some sort of translucent cloth over Atticus’s head, prompting the other boy to crouch down so it covered both of them. 

The crabby Hogwarts caretaker, Argus Filch, rounded the corner, raising his lantern and looking around. His beady eyes glided over where Atticus and Barty were standing, narrowing suspiciously, before he trudged away.

“Andskotans djöful,” Atticus swore under his breath. 

He was clutching at his chest and breathing very heavily as he turned to gawk at Barty over his shoulder. 

“You have an Invisibility Cloak?”

Barty grinned sheepishly. “My parents own several robe shops. I figured one of their stock going missing wouldn’t be the absolute end of the world...”

He adjusted somewhat so that the fabric wouldn’t drag on the floor.

“Come on -- let’s get to the library.”

Fortunately the two managed to get into the Restricted Section without incident. Once they were positive no one was in the Library to catch them, Barty stood watch under his Cloak by the door, his wand over his chest, while Atticus combed through the shelves of books, his own wand lit and held aloft so he could scan the titles. The two didn’t talk much -- the discomfort congealed between them as Atticus tried to keep his eyes on what he was doing. 

“Anything promising?” asked Barty.

“Not yet,” said Atticus shortly. 

Silence returned. After another moment, Barty spoke again.

“Atticus...may I ask you something?”

“What?”

“In your dreams...do you see bad things happening?”

Atticus paused. Then he slid another book from the shelf and opened it, flipping through the pages. 

“Not really. I don’t see much of anything, I think -- at least, not that I can remember. It’s...feelings, mostly.”

“Feelings like you know something’s wrong? Like, even if you can’t see what happened, you feel so much pain and sorrow that you know it’s bad?”

“Sometimes.”

Barty nodded, turning his focus back out into the blackness of the Library. 

“As far back as I can remember,” he said very softly, “I’ve had this dream where I was trying to reach someone. I couldn’t ever see their face clearly, but I just knew, somehow, that the person was in trouble, and that I had to help them. But no matter how fast I tried to run to try to get to that person...my vision would black out and I’d feel like I was frozen still, unable to move at all.”

He bowed his head, his eyes cast into shadow. 

“...I would wake up screaming and crying at night, when I was little...all because I couldn’t reach that person in time. Because I knew that, because I didn’t move fast enough...that person was dead.”

Atticus’s hand had stilled on the book he was flipping through. His eyes were wide upon the page, but clearly weren’t taking in any of the words printed there. The memory of his own mother trying to comfort him after he woke up crying about a pair of red eyes and warm arms rippled over his mind. 

“When I got to Hogwarts,” Barty said lowly, “my dreams became a little clearer. I still didn’t know where I was or what I was doing...but this person who I’d been running to try to save, my whole life, suddenly had a face. A man with black eyes and curly hair...just like my best friend.”

He looked up at Atticus, his face incredibly serious. 

“I don’t know why you’ve seen someone like me in your dreams, Atticus,” said Barty, “and I know you don’t like me...but I could really use your help, in getting to the bottom of all this. Robert is my best friend in the whole world. He’s the first person who became my friend solely because of who I am, rather than who my family is. If I lost him...if anything bad happened to him...”

A dark, miserable shadow passed over his face. 

“...I don’t know what I’d do,” he whispered.

Atticus looked up at last. His blue eyes were rather uncertain. 

“What about Cecelia?” he asked. “Didn’t she become your friend for who you are?”

Barty’s eyes softened as his face flushed lightly. 

“...Ceci means everything to me. We’ve known each other forever. But her family only engaged with mine because we had money...and my parents only let us play together because her parents would bring her over. Our parents encouraged her to play with me because my parents reckoned she’d be a ‘good influence’ on me...might help me come out of my shell some...”

“Well, I suppose they were right,” muttered Atticus. “Now you’re the hot-shot Dueling Champion and Dragon Tamer...Hogwarts’s Golden Boy...”

The last words came out before he could stop himself and he immediately looked away, his insides prickling with discomfort. 

Barty, amazingly, only smiled weakly.

“It’s easy to be brave when you know you’re doing the right thing,” he said, “when you’re standing up for somebody or trying to calm an animal that doesn’t know any better. When you’re fighting, or protecting, there isn’t any thought -- you just do. Because it’s the right thing to do.”

He looked down again, his shoulders falling slightly.

“...But when you’re around people...trying to figure out just what to say, to tell people what you mean...or even just how much to say, when you know not everyone means you well...well, that’s not so easy. You feel like the whole world is watching you, and judging you, no matter what you say...even if you say nothing at all. But at least when you’re quiet...people can kind of just see what they want to see...”

Atticus frowned. Barty had always been rather soft-spoken compared to witty, sassy Robert and sociable, amiable Ceci, but he’d never really taken the time to conclude that Barty was actually shy. 

“I’ve always envied Robert that way,” admitted Barty, offering Atticus a small smile. “He’s never at a loss of what to say. When you and he go at it, bantering like you do...I can tell you like each other, but there’s just such a charge there -- like the eclectic lamps Professor Burbage has in her Muggle Studies class!” He beamed a bit more broadly. “It’s so cool.”

Atticus stared at Barty for a moment, unsure of what to say. Then, after a moment, he looked back down at the book in his hands.

“...Thanks,” he said at last. He could feel his ears burning again.

Barty, however, only smiled, his blue eyes very understanding and patient as he returned his focus to the dark Library again. 

Atticus glanced up at Barty without raising his head, considering him for a moment. Then, with a swallow, he spoke again.

“...I...used to wake up crying too. When I was little.”

Barty looked up, taken aback.

“I used to dream about this person with red eyes,” said Atticus. “He’d be squeezing my shoulders -- almost as if he was afraid to touch me at first, but then gently, purposefully. Then, as he held my shoulders, he would start to laugh...but even though he was laughing, I would hear the sobs. I could tell he was crying...crying in grief and joy and something else altogether...but so much pain. A kind of pain I don’t think I could ever know...”

Just remembering the heartbreaking sound made Atticus’s throat clench and his eyes well up with traces of tears. He wiped them quickly from his eyes with one hand. 

“My mother used to comfort me, telling me that it was just a dream, that nothing in it could hurt me,” he said lowly. “But she never needed to say that -- I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. He was the one hurting.”

He swallowed. The lump in his throat was painful. 

“...I didn’t have the dream as much, as I got older -- just time to time, around some of the other weird ones. Maybe I just don’t sleep long enough stretches to dream as much anymore,” he added as an afterthought. “But when Bellamy and I got paired for Binns’s oral report...well, that feeling came back, out of nowhere...and again, when you, Ceci, and I were watching the match against Hufflepuff.”

Atticus forced himself to meet Barty’s eyes at last.

“I don’t understand this whole thing at all...but I want to know why I’m feeling these things, and I want to know why you, Ceci, and Bellamy see what you’re seeing, too. If that’s what you want too...well, then it’s only practical that we work together.”

He offered a weak smile of his own. Barty was definitely taken aback, but within seconds, his face had lit up with a warmer, more determined smile and he nodded.

“Mm-hmm.”

From that day on, Barty Gilbert and Atticus Lestrange had made peace. 

Unfortunately their night in the Library proved fruitless, research-wise. Not even Dark or restricted magic could explain the kinds of bizarre, fragmented visions the four students were experiencing. And so Atticus returned to his dorm that night feeling very disheartened. He was less so, however, when he awoke out of a restless doze in the Ravenclaw armchair Christmas morning to the feeling of someone holding his shoulder and lightly shaking it.

“Atticus. Atticus.”

Atticus blinked sleepily up at who’d woken him, to see a familiar, shyly smiling face framed by auburn hair.

“Happy Christmas,” Barty greeted gently.

Atticus shook his head rapidly, trying to orient himself. 

“W-what? Gilbert, what -- what are you doing in -- ?”

Just behind Barty, Atticus could see both Ceci and Robert grinning from ear to ear. 

“Surprise!” said Ceci brightly. 

“Happy Christmas, Lestrange,” said Robert, his black eyes dancing with mischief.

Atticus looked around at all three of them, perfectly bewildered. “But -- but you -- you two went home for Christmas -- how did -- ?”

“Rob and I took the Floo back!” Ceci explained. 

“It was Rob’s idea,” said Barty. “I thought I’d keep the whole thing quiet, until they got here.”

“I couldn’t change my plans and stay for my whole break, since I have to be at home for Christmas Eve church service,” said Robert, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably, “but well, the thought of you being stuck here all alone...”

His eyes drifted up to the ceiling. 

“‘The school is not quite deserted,’ said the Ghost,” he recited from memory, “‘A solitary child, neglected by his friends, is left there still.’”

He returned his gaze to Atticus seriously. 

“A Christmas Carol,” he added as explanation. “It’s part of why Scrooge ends up hating Christmas so much -- he wasn’t allowed to go home for the holidays to see his family, so instead he stayed at school all alone, with nothing but his books for company. I know this whole season isn’t your thing and all, but...it just seemed rotten, to leave you and Barty alone.” 

Barty beamed at Atticus. Atticus, on the other hand, was too overwhelmed to respond. He felt like his throat had gone very dry, all of the moisture instead moving up toward his eyes. 

Robert and Ceci had put their holidays with their families on hold for him. Yes, Robert said it was for him and Barty, but he’d been thinking of Atticus and how lonely he’d be. No one had ever done anything quite so kind for him before, and it made Atticus feel like his heart was flooding. 

“...You...” he murmured, “...but...why?”

Ceci laughed. “Why do you think? You’re our friend, Atticus! We wanted to spend Christmas with you!”

Atticus’s heart swelled. 

Friend. He was their friend?

He looked from Ceci to Barty to Robert -- his black-haired dormmate smiled, his black eyes sparkling as he nodded in agreement. 

The tears that had been prickling at the sides of Atticus’s eyes actually leaked through, escaping down his cheeks, as he smiled back. He quickly wiped them away, his smile gleaming as he looked up at the three of them.

“...Thank you,” he said at last breathily. “I...I don’t know what to say...”

Ceci brought her arms around Atticus in a sideways hug. “Then don’t say anything! We have presents to unwrap! Come on, come on -- Barty, Rob and I put ours under the tree before we woke you...”

Atticus felt a bit guilty that he hadn’t thought to buy any presents for Robert, Barty, and Cecelia, but he honestly hadn’t expected that they’d want to get him anything. But sure enough, all three of them gave marvelous presents -- Barty gave Atticus a book on Dark creatures; Ceci gave him his own leather-bound copy of A Christmas Carol; and Robert gave him a beautiful bookmark carved out of wood into the shape of a Phoenix and painted brilliant shades of red and orange. The card enclosed said,

Ceci helped me paint this for you. Hope this little turkey can keep you company in the Library. 

Happy Christmas!

Robert

Atticus was amazed when he learned that Robert had actually carved the bookmark himself by hand. Apparently Robert had used some of the leftover wood from the trunk of the tree he’d smuggled into Ravenclaw Tower to make Atticus’s bookmark -- he’d also used some of the branches he’d had to trim off to make Barty a carved picture frame and Ceci a pretty wooden heart pendant she could wear as a necklace. They were all a little rough around the edges, but the effort showed through, and it warmed Atticus’s heart to think of the amount of work Robert must’ve put in to make his presents. 

The whole day put Atticus in such a good mood that he even encouraged Robert to read aloud from his new leather-bound copy of A Christmas Carol, so he could hear it. The request made Robert’s dark eyes light up more brightly than Atticus had ever seen them before...and indeed, when Robert finished reading the beautifully written, emotional novel with such warm sincerity and articulated poetry that evening, Atticus had to admit -- it was a very, very good book. 

#golden era #hphl #hogwarts legacy #reincarnation!au #my art #my writing #bartholomew varney #atticus grimsley #cecelia crouch varney #hahaha you've heard of christmas in july?? well now it's only may #but christmas is bat's favorite time of year hands-down #grim's canon relationship with christmas is harder because he initially thought it was 'eh' #then he met bat and he started really enjoying it #but then bat died right before christmas so toward the end of grim's life it only brought back bad memories #and admittedly atticus as his modern self didn't have much fun at home during christmas when he was a young'un #I'm so glad to see barty and grim finally finding some common ground!! :') #also yay for sneaking into the restricted section around christmas LOL

[heylittlehollywood]

Whiling Away

This has been hanging in my drafts for a while. 

Merry Christmas, MMFD fam x

He watches as she checks her watch for the fourth time in about twenty minutes. She looks more put out every time she sees the answer on her wrist, her nose wrinkling up like she’s just realized she’s got dog shite on the bottom of her trainers. 

She brushes her long raven hair out of her face, throwing it behind her right shoulder as she glances around her. Finn quickly diverts his eyes and looks down at his boots with an amused snort. He doesn’t need her noticing him noticing her...not that it’s bloody likely; she hasn’t so much as smiled his way in the last four hours that they’ve been sat here in the terminal. 

He looks up and to his left, finding Chop and Archie curled up in their seats and facing each other. Chop’s girlfriend Izzy is tucked under his arm, her head tilted at an odd angle resting atop his chest. Finn doesn’t know how the lot of ‘em managed to fall asleep, not with all of the people milling about and the constant stream of announcements over the intercom. 

He chances another look at the beauty sitting across from them and finds her mate staring at him. His shoulders jump in surprise at the direct eye contact. He chuckles to himself and shrugs at the mate before his eyes dart to the dark haired woman again. 

The woman’s shoulder shakes from the nudge from her mate and pretty soon the beauty’s eyes connect with his. Her startled expression and slight curve to her mouth has him shifting forward in his seat. 

“She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she Finny?” Chop announces from next to him, sitting up in his chair and lifting his hands up to cup his chest. Poor Iz grumbles as she sits up next to him, moving her neck to the side with a wince.

Finn’s head falls forward into his hands. “Make it a bit more obvious, will ya?” he groans, shaking his head from side to side. 

Chop’s laughter reverberates around the terminal, waking any passenger that might be getting a wink or two of sleep. “She’s just a bird, Finn,” he explains, clapping Finn on the back, “it’s not like you’ve got the bollocks to say hello, mate.”

Finn turns his head until his cheek rests flat against his palm. “Iz, please promise me he’s not going to be like tha’ during the entire trip home?” 

Izzy wipes the sleep from her eyes, frowning at Finn. “You’ve known him since primary, Finn. Of course he’s going to be.”

Archie stretches his arms over his head, sitting up in his seat beside Chop. “Go say hello, Finn.”

“I liked you all better when you were sleeping.” Finn crosses his arms over his chest and sinks down in his seat.

Archie reaches out to touch Finn’s forearm. “I’m serious, Finn. She looks a bit sad at the moment and could probably do with some cheering up.” 

“Don’t be daft, Arch.”

Archie looks over at the two women and shrugs. “Reckon she might be sad that ol’ Finn panty-dropping Nelson isn’t staring anymore.” He turns back to Finn with a smirk. 

Finn looks to the ceiling. “What have I done to deserve such pricks for mates?” 

“Just lucky I guess,” Chop says close to his ear, causing Finn to jump in his seat. When and why his friend got out of his seat and sidled up right next to Finn, he’s got no idea. 

Finn reaches up to scrub his hand at the side of his neck. “Don’t breathe on me neck like that, ya nutter.” 

Chop grins big and sits back into his own seat. “Bet you wouldn’t mind if your love interest over yonder was doing it, eh Finny?”

Finn has to grab at Chop’s hand and force them onto his lap before the lovely woman notices his mate waving wildly in her direction. “Would you PLEASE not embarrass me?” He looks to his other mates, eyes large and pleading as he gets up from his seat. “I’ve got to use the loo. Could you two please keep him out of trouble?”

“You can count on me, Finn,” Izzy tells him from her new perch on her boyfriend’s lap, giggling when Chop blows a raspberry against her neck. 

Finns just flushed the toilet when the intercom sounds with an important update on flight 1508 from Palma to Heathrow, but Finn doesn’t quite catch it over the noise. He washes his hands quickly before finding his friends back in the terminal, the three of them looking quite distraught. “What is it? I didn’t hear the whole thing.”

Archie looks up as Finn approaches, shakes his head. “Delayed 3 hours, something about the plane needing a repair.” 

Izzy wipes at her eyes as Chop holds her close. “My mum is going to be so upset if we aren’t home tonight.”

“3 hours. That’ll put us in around midnight, yeah? I should call my da,” Finn states as he wrestles with the tie on his bag and searches the largest pocket for money to call his father. 

****

“I don’t know about the rest of ya but I’m ready to get sloshed. My poor mum were gutted that we won’t be home tonight,” Chop tells them, tossing his wallet onto the seat next to him. “Anyone else want to find a place for a pint?” He gets up and slings his bag over his shoulder, pockets the discarded wallet and starts down the hall towards the pub. 

The rest of the group is quick to grab their things and follow behind 

him, Finn at the rear. He chances a glance back over his shoulder to see if the pretty woman with the dark hair is still there, but doesn’t see her or her friend. He tugs the strap of his bag over with a sigh and jogs to catch up with his friends. 

Archie finds them a table towards the back of a pub a terminal down while Chop goes to the bar to get the first round. “This music is shit, Finn. Why don’t you pick something else?” Archie asks, sliding several coins across the table towards Finn. 

Finn shrugs, picks up the coins and heads in the direction Archie points him in. He’s happy to find nobody else around and is free to select whatever music he likes, selecting several from The Smiths, The Stone Roses, Primal Scream, and a song or two from Blur. With a self-satisfied smirk he makes his way back to his table for his pint and maybe a bit of praise.

He takes the pint from in front of his empty seat and takes a swig. His first selection comes over the speakers and Finn looks up from his beer to his friends expectantly. He nearly spits out his first sip when he finds an unfamiliar pair of dark brown eyes looking back at him, but in a rush not to do so he ends up inhaling the liquid and has to turn away so he doesn’t cough in her face. 

Finn rubs at his chest as he finally turns back to the table, his cheeks heating with embarrassment. He can see both Archie and Chop looking away, their hands covering their mouths as their shoulders shake. Both Izzy and this woman’s mate are staring intently at Finn and the dark haired beauty. 

“Are you alright?” the woman asks, touching his forearm with her hand. 

He nods and takes another sip of his drink, hoping that it will calm his nerves enough to speak. “Sorry about tha’, think I took it down a bit too fast or summat.” 

She smiles at him. “I’m just glad that you’re OK.”

Izzy clears her throat from across the table, but Finn’s eyes are otherwise occupied. “Finn, this is Chloe,” she explains, pointing to the lighter haired woman next to her, “and this is Rae,” she tells him, motioning to the woman in front of him. 

Rae smiles at him and points to the ceiling. “This your doing, Finn?” 

“The music?” 

She nods and shuffles her feet a bit, drawing his attention down. “Yeah, I reckon it is. Who doesn’t want some Stone Roses on Christmas Eve?” he asks, perusing her body from her feet up. 

Chloe laughs from her seat next to Izzy. “Don’t see much use trying to interject ourselves into this conversation.”

Finn puffs out his cheeks, blowing out a deep breath before taking another sip from his pint. Guess he hadn’t been very sly in his quest to get a good look at her. He doesn’t regret it. He likes what he saw, likes that her bulky jumper ends right below her bum, but is still just tight enough that it doesn’t hide the curve of her hips. 

Rae looks over at her mate, her eyes opening wide and her lips pursing. This only causes Chloe to laugh harder, waving her mate away with the flick of her wrist and turning her attention to Izzy. 

Finn catches sight of the glass in Rae’s hand, which just so happens to be resting against her hip and can tell that it’s nearly empty. “Do you need another drink?”

Rae takes her last sip of the beverage and shakes the glass between them. “I’d love one, Finn.”

She follows him up to the bar and places her drink on the bartop. “Snakebite please,” she tells the worker before turning her attention back to Finn. 

“So Finn, where are you lot flying to?” she asks, resting her elbow on the bartop and turning her body towards him. The man behind her keeps bumping into her back, forcing her closer to Finn. He’d tell the bloke off if she looked the least bit bothered and to be honest he’s liking her closer. But really he can practically feel the heat of her body she’s so close and he’s really struggling to focus on much else, not when with each breath she takes her tits are brushing up against his chest. 

He clears his throat and meets her eyes. “London, but only to pick up our car and drive home. We have another 2 hours to go or so from there.” He reaches into his pocket and slides the money to the barkeep when he drops off the snakebite. “Where are you and Chloe headed?”

She takes a sip of her new drink before answering, “about 2.5 hours north of London, unless one of us needs a bit of a break of course. We’ve got another week before we have to go back to Uni, so we’ll spend it in Boston.”

“You’re joking?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Joking?”

“I’m from Stamford. How’s it possible we’re all from Lincolnshire?” he asks, motioning between the two of them and to their group at the table. 

Rae laughs and shrugs. “It really is a small world.” 

She picks up her pint and moves to make her way back to their friends, but he stops her with a hand at her elbow. “Do you want to stay over here - with me for a bit?” He’s got no idea what he’s doing, but he knows he doesn’t want to share her time with the rest of the group. 

She looks back at their friends and then to Finn before she pulls a stool out and takes a seat. “I’d like that.”

He takes another stool from under the bartop and positions it next to Rae, far enough away to not crowd her, but close enough to tell the rest of the patrons that she’s here with him. “So Uni? Where’s that?”

Rae’s knee brushes against his as she shifts in her seat. “Both Chlo and I are at Bristol, our last year actually.” She looks down at their knees, biting at the side of her bottom lip. “Are you at Uni, Finn?”

“I finished up last year. I’m back in Stamford working.”

Rae rests her elbow against the bartop, chin tucked into her palm as she looks at him. “And what do you do for work?” 

His eyes haven’t left her mouth in the last several minutes, but luckily he still hears her question. “I uh - I run the local radio station actually, “ he tells her, eyes tracking the tiny droplet of cider on her bottom lip and the tip of her tongue when she licks it off. “I’ve got a show with my mate Craig in the evening as well.”

“Well you’ve got decent taste in music from what I can tell,” she says with a smile, her grin growing as she leans forward to whisper, “ but, I bet you slip in a dodgy tune every now and then, yeah? A little ‘Babylon Zoo’ for the drive home.”

He chuckles, his head tilted forward as he drags his hand through the back of his hair. He lifts his eyes to look at her. “Can ya really classify Spaceman as dodgy?” 

Her laughter lights up her entire face and he’s grinning at the way she tips her head back and groans. “Bloody Spaceman. I had so much hope for your show until that bomb.” 

Finn lets his hand drop from his hair and onto his lap, sitting up in his seat. He decides to shoot his shot while she’s distracted and lightly touches the pads of his fingers against her legging clad knee. “Don’t judge me too harshly, yeah?” He can see and feel her leg jump at his touch, but he’s happy when she doesn’t move her knee out from under his fingers. 

He withdraws his fingers from her knee and asks, “will your family be disappointed that you won’t be home until real early in the morning?”

Rae takes a sip of her snakebite and shakes her head. “My mum and sister are in Tunisia with my step dad for another two weeks. I’ll be staying at Chloe’s.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before placing her hands in her lap. “What about your family?”

“My da’ were a bit sad, yeah. I don’t like that he’ll be alone, but not much to be done.” 

He watches with a little smile as her thumb brushes against the side of his hand in gentle sweeps. “I’m sorry that you won’t be with him tonight.”

“What are you two lovebirds talking about?” Chop asks from next to him, throwing his arm over Finn’s shoulders. 

Finn groans and shakes his shoulders to get Chop’s arm off him. “We were talking about you, ya knobhead.”

Chop pushes his face between the pair, looks down at their hands and then up at Finn. “Only good things I hope.” He bats his eyelashes before pushing back on his heels. 

“I thought Iz was keeping you in line. What are you doing over here?” Finn asks, pushing at his friend to watch him rock backwards. 

Chop waves his hand over his shoulder. “Iz and that other woman Chlo are about 5 Hooches in each. I don’t think they’ll be controllin’ anyone, mate”

That’s all it takes for Rae to push her stool back and excuse herself to go find her friend. 

Chop is too far gone to notice Finn’s annoyance. “Do you want to go get something to eat? Arch and I are starving.”

“Sure,” Finn grumps. He finishes his pint and gets up from his seat. “Should we go see what the girls want to do?” He grabs onto Chop’s sleeve and pulls him behind him as he walks to the table. 

When they reach the table they find Izzy and Chloe grinning, their heads pressed together and facing Rae. Rae’s cheeks are pink and she’s shaking her head in response to a question Chloe has just asked her. 

Finn decides to leave them to chat, seeking out his other best mate Archie with Chop it tow. He finds Archie chatting up some bloke at the back of the pub. Archie is laughing and touching the man’s shoulder. He looks happy, so Finn decides to leave him to it.

“Let’s see if anyone else wants something, yeah?” Finn directs Chop to the table of women. 

Chop presses a wet and loud kiss against his girlfriend’s cheek and whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle like mad. 

Finn rolls his eyes at the pair and steps forwards to lean across the table. “You lot want anything to eat? Chopper over here is starvin’.”

“Some chips would be lovely, Finn,” Izzy says, her cheeks pink and eyes wide. 

Finn smiles at her before turning to Chloe. “Me too,” she tells him quickly, pushing Rae at the hip towards him, “why doesn’t Rae go with you, yeah?”

“Round of chips, I think we’ve got it.” He turns to Rae, motioning for her to step in front of him. He looks back at his mates. “I expect a beer when I get back here.”

The two make their way down the hall in search of a fast food restaurant where they can load up on chips for their friends. 

“Chlo alright?” Finn asks, bumping his shoulder against Rae’s. 

She laughs and shakes her head. “Yeah, a bit pissed but mostly she wanted to give me grief.”

He looks over at her, eyebrow raised. 

She groans and throws her head back, her pretty hair tumbling down her back. “She wanted to know what was going on with us. Fit bloke like you...with me?” She waves her hands over the front of her body. 

 Finn steers them off course and to the side of the hallway with his hand against her lower back until she’s pressed between him and the wall. He’s not pressed against her, no - doesn’t want to seem too forward, too eager to press his body to hers. 

She’s looking down at the floor, a blush coloring the apples of her cheeks and stretching to her hairline. He tips her face up with his forefinger and thumb pinched at her chin. “What do ya mean, Rae?”

Her hand wraps around his forearm, but she doesn’t tug his hand away. She looks up at him through heavy lidded eyes - he can’t tell if it’s lust or the snakebites, but he likes it. “Ignore me.”

He studies her, his front teeth dragging over his bottom lip. He wants to push it, but thinks maybe this isn’t the time or place to do it. Instead, he drops his face closer to hers, looks down at her mouth. He smiles at her little intake of air. 

“Finn.” He can smell the cider on her breath as she speaks, the faint fragrance of vanilla coming from her - he suspects her hair. 

He presses his thumb against her chin, making her bottom lip jut out. “Rae,” he says before he places a feather light kiss against that bottom lip. 

She sighs and flexes her fingers against his arm. “Do ya think we should go get the food before our mates pass out?” Her hand drops from his forearm and she blinks her eyes a couple of times, as if she’s waking up from a nap. 

His hand joins hers at their sides. “‘Spose we should.” Finn steps back, giving her space to slide by him. He grabs hold of her hand, watching her as she straightens her jumper. “To be continued?”

Rae takes his hand, pulling him towards their destination. She looks over her shoulder at him with a little grin. “To be continued.”

*****

Their friends cheer when they arrive with their food, causing quite a scene. Finn has barely put the bags of food on the table before Chop is grabbing containers and passing them around the table and shoving chips in his gob. 

Iz is looking quite green as she watches her boyfriend, her hand covering her mouth before she forces herself to look down at the table. “You OK Iz?” Finn asks, pushing some of the food in her direction. 

She gives a quick nod before she darts towards the toilet.

Rae touches the top of his hand. “Should I go check on her?”

“Would you mind?”

She gets up from the seat she’s just sat in, her fingers skimming up his forearm before she makes her way to Izzy. 

He watches her go, completely mesmerized by the sway of her hips as she walks that he barely hears Chloe say his name. He turns to her. “Yeah?”

“You can take my seat on the way back to London.”

“Wha? Your seat on the plane?” 

Chloe rolls her eyes and laughs. “Yes, of course I mean my seat on the plane. You know….the one next to Rae?”

“That’s reall--” 

“On one condition!” Chloe holds her hand up to stop him before adding, “I’m not sitting next to Chop.”

Chop, who has finally stopped eating, places both of his hands over his heart. “I’m wounded, Chlo.” 

Finn agrees to Chloe’s offer with a nod and a smile, which she returns. 

“Oi Arch, I know you’re a bit distracted, but if you don’t get your arse over here I’m going to eat the rest of ya chips,” Chop shouts over his shoulder before he opens up the last bag. 

Archie is standing next to the table in a moment, slapping Chop’s hand away from his food. “Oh no you don’t.”

Chop grins up at Archie. “I weren’t really going to eat them, ya numpty. Just wanted to give those lips of yours a break.” Chop chuckles and ducks his head out of the way of Archie’s hand.

Finn shakes his head at his friends’ antics and swipes a chip out of Archie’s hand, laughing at Archie’s answering scowl. “Sorry mate,” he says, shoving it into his mouth. 

“Prick,” Archie mutters under his breath, shoving at Finn’s shoulder.

Finn can feel her behind him as she walks back to join the group. He turns his entire body to greet her. “All right?” 

“I think she’ll be fine after she gets a bit of sleep on the plane,” Rae tells him, her pinky skimming his at his side. 

He leans in close to her, his mouth near her ear. “Chloe said that I can have her seat on the plane.” He rocks back on his heels, his head still bent and his lower lip tucked behind his teeth. “What do ya think?”

“Yes. I think yes.” 

“Flight 1508, Palma to Heathrow will be boarding in thirty minutes,” the intercom announces, drawing the group’s attention. 

“That’s it, that’s us Iz,” Chop tells Izzy, who is now tucked up against his side with her face pressed against his chest. She groans in response, shaking her head against him. 

Chloe assists Chop with getting Iz out of the seat and places the strap for her bag over one shoulder. The three of them lead the rest of the group from the pub and towards their gate with Archie running behind - as he had to say goodbye to the bloke that he was chatting up. 

The gang make it to their gate with plenty of time to spare. Finn and Rae rest their backs against the wall facing the other four who take seats near the back of the seating area, poor Iz slumping over on her boyfriend. 

Finn turns to rest his side against the wall to face Rae, not quite looking at her. “So uh - Rae, do you have any plans for New Years?”

She tucks her hair behind her ear, which quickly falls in front of her face again when she turns to look at him. “Don’t think so. Probably get some takeaway and have a drink or two with Chlo.”

He’s looking at his shoes and chewing at the frayed cuticle of his thumb and he knows he probably looks like a nervous twat when he asks, “I was hoping you might like to go out...with me?”

“Yeah, YES, yes I would.” 

#mmfd fanfic #mmfd fanfiction #my mad fat diary fanfiction #my mad fat diary

[blu-joons]

BTS Reaction: When You Pout At Them

Jin:

The two of you scrolled through the endless list of movies on the channel, whilst a comedy caught Jin’s eye, you couldn’t help but smile as you spotted your favourite classic romcom.

“I reckon we watch this one,” Jin smiled, hovering over the play button of the movie. As he looked down to you, he spotted your eyes roll. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just I’ve been wanting to watch the other film, I’ve not watched it in so long, and it’s so good.” You tried to assure him, but he shrugged his shoulders.

You weren’t having the best luck, so instead opted for a new tactic, pouting sweetly, fluttering your lashes, watching the corner of his mouth turn up into a smile.

“Please don’t do this to me.”

“Do what? I’m doing absolutely nothing Seokjin.”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” he smiled, knowing there was no way he was going to win this time, he reluctantly pressed play on the movie you had chosen.

“Nice of you to put my choice on, I promise you won’t regret it,” you teased, pressing a delicate kiss to his cheek. “Maybe we can watch your one after.”

“Sure, you’re not going to pout again, how do you always know what to do to get your own way?” He chuckled, settling down on the sofa beside me.

“I have my skills, it’s easy to persuade you.”

Yoongi:

All day you’d sat at the studio watching Yoongi hard at work, as it neared dinner, you were convinced he had forgotten you were even there with him.

“Can you get some food please?” You asked of him, the sound of your voice making him jump. “You can’t stay here forever; you need food to get your brain working.”

“I’ll be done in just a few moments, don’t worry,” he assured you, staring at his computer as he began to lay a new track that he had been working on.

You stood up, walking up behind him, wrapping your arms around him. His eyes fell on your pout, silently pleading with him to hurry so the two of you could get some food.

“I guess all of this will still be here when I get back.”

“Exactly, and you’ve worked hard, you deserve a break from it all.”

“You’re a bad influence on me,” he smiled, taking your hand in his, standing up, whilst grabbing his wallet from one of the drawers in his desk.

“Put your money away, tea is on me tonight, let me treat you and look after you for a while,” you spoke, silencing him before he even had a chance to protest.

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, if this is how things are, maybe you should come to the studio more often,” he teased, peppering several kisses along your neck.

“That’s an invitation I would never turn down.”

Hoseok:

The morning was by now over, as Hobi still slept peacefully beside you, tucked into the white sheets of the duvet, small snores escaping as he was lost in his dreams.

“Love, you need to wake up at some point,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “It’s almost twelve, the day is nearly over by now.”

“It’s barely begun,” he protested, reluctantly opening his eyes to be met with your wide smile, silently encouraging him to get from the bed.

A slow pout began to form when he didn’t move, running your hand along his arm, staring out at the bright blue sky that shone through the gap in the curtains.

“Fine, give me five minutes and I’ll get up.”

“It’s unlike you to sleep in anyway, you’re normally an early bird.”

“I thought we could spend a day together doing absolutely nothing,” he giggled, snaking his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you close.

“And we can, soon, but I’ve got a little something planned for today, for the two of us, it’s been too long since we’ve done anything properly.”

“I guess that’s true, I can sleep in with you any day,” he whispered, kissing the side of your face. “Especially now that I’m back home with you.”

“Exactly, right where you belong.”

Namjoon:

The airport always broke your heart, the word goodbye was the hardest word in the world, yet, as Namjoon’s flight was called, it seemed all words failed you.

“I hate having to leave you here,” Namjoon whispered, his lips lingering against your forehead as he made the most of the last few minutes with you.

“Do you really have to go?” You asked, but the answer was one you already knew, he had far too much in his schedule to be able to forget it all.

What made things worse was the pout of disapproval on your face, the hurt expression broke his heart too, knowing he wouldn’t be able to spend every second with you.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know you will, it’s just sucks that I have to let you go.”

“As much as I’d love to stay, I really should get going, the gates will close soon,” he huffed, tightening the grip around you that he had.

“I’ll see you soon,” you whispered, fighting back the tears that threatened with every last bit of courage that you had, “have a safe flight.”

“You don’t need to pretend for me,” he replied, his own voice faltering. “I love you, and I promise I will see you soon.”

“I love you too Joon, I’ll see you soon.”

Jimin:

His eyes stared down at his phone, stretching an arm across for you to tuck into his chest, ignoring the stares you sent up at him.

“Jimin,” you whispered, desperate for his eyes to meet yours. “Why won’t you just look at me?” You asked, pecking his cheek sweetly.

“I’m busy,” he argued, but you refused to listen, poking lightly into his hips making him squirm, watching him wriggle around.

He was strong for a few moments, but soon found himself glancing down at you, giggling at the soft pout that had formed on your face, craving his attention.

“How do you always manage to look so cute?”

“It’s the only way to get you to give me attention.”

“Why do you need me anyway? What’s going on with you?” He asked, finally willing to put his phone down and draw his eyes onto you for the first time.

“Not much, I just wanted to be your focus for a little while,” you blushed, feeling his lips press to the top of your head. “I’ve missed having you around recently.”

“I’ve missed being around you, and that adorable face,” he teased, “but I think I owe you a couple of tickle attacks for all of this teasing.”

“No! Wait, I’m sorry, please don’t!”

Taehyung:

His mind was elsewhere, lost in the documentary he watched on his phone, propped up with your shoulder as he laid facing inwards towards you.

“Taehyung,” you breathed, waving your hand over his face, “do you think we could have an actual conversation with each other tonight?”

“Yeah, the episode is nearly done,” he replied, taking one of his headphones out to respond to you before quickly turning his attention away again.

You still weren’t happy, waving your hand once again, only this time your lips pouted, softening until they wracked him with enough guilt to start paying attention.

“Do you really want me that much?”

“Of course. You’re my boyfriend, I’ll always want you.”

“I guess the rest of it can wait for another day,” he sighed, placing his phone under his pillow, discarding his headphone to the floor beside him.

“Tell me about your day, like you usually do, I want to hear about all the fun things you got up to,” you smiled, cuddling closer into his side.

“Well, I think we’ve got the choreography down for tour, we had our first proper run through today which went well,” he informed you, kissing the top of your head.

“That’s amazing, I can’t wait to see it!”

Jungkook:

You were exhausted as the two of you walked into the hotel suite, you threw yourself down onto the bed whilst Jungkook carried your bags, dropping them at the table.

“Please can we sleep now,” you pleaded, barely bothering to get under the duvet before you reached for his hand. “I don’t think I can stay awake any longer.”

“I just need to get a few things done,” he replied. He’d been left with a heavy workload after the concert, which he knew he had to get through.

Whilst usually you understood, tonight, all you wanted to do was grab Jungkook and fall asleep, the whole evening had been tiresome for the two of you.

“Please don’t pout, I hate pouts.”

“Then please come lay with me, don’t worry about work tonight.”

“You’re impossible.” Your bottom lip began to protrude, leaving him little choice but to strip himself down and join you on the big king size bed.

“I knew I’d get my way eventually,” you giggled, rolling straight across so you laid by his side, your exhausted bodies moulded perfectly into each other.

“It’s a good job you always manage to look cute,” he chuckled, reaching across to turn the light switch of the room off, creating pristine darkness. “Get some rest.”

“I will, sleep well Jungkook.”

---

Masterlist

#bts #bts imagine #bts reaction #bts reactions #bts scenario #bts scenarios #jin imagine #yoongi imagine #hoseok imagine #namjoon imagine #jimin imagine #taheyung imagine #jungkook imagine #jin #yoongi #hoseok #namjoon #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan

[spiral-ingoutofcontrol]

Where the Ocean is the Sky Part Three: Bones

It felt nice to breathe fresh air again after being inside of Merle’s office. The small circular room had been homey, but it smelled distinctly of parchment paper, old wood, and peppermint, oddly enough. The light summer breeze filled her lungs and washed her clean of the previous moment. Andy had always loved bright days like this, the sun hanging lazily in the sky. She’d grown up in Marleybone, where daylight didn’t last long and the smog was swaddled around the closely knit buildings of the city like an unwelcome blanket. New possibilities seemed to twist up through the roots of the grass here, green stretching out across the worn down cobblestones. Andy liked it. The colors almost reminded her of Avery’s Court, although the large lake taking up the center of everything looked nowhere near as inviting as the crystal clear waters of Skull Island.

Ambrose was right about Nora hanging around. Her savior had taken up residence under the shade of a tree near the lakeside, shuffling through a deck of cards. Andy wondered how Nora could possibly sit on the lawn while wearing stark white pants, but she wouldn’t put it past the wizards to put anti dirt spells on their clothes or something. The redhead paused on the sidewalk, taking the opportunity to observe Nora before moving to speak to her. Nora’s thick dark hair was pulled over one of her tanned shoulders, allowing Andy to see the golden band that Nora wore around her right bicep. Andy couldn’t help but wonder if it was real gold. If it was, it’d certainly be worth a pretty penny.

Andy huffed at herself. She needed to focus. Steal one thing at a time. And maybe stop admiring Nora’s muscle tone. Yeah, she definitely needed to stop doing that one.

After taking a moment to compose herself, Andy made her move, boots scuffing against the pavement with a purposeful beat. Nora didn’t seem to notice her approach, too focused on the deck of cards that Andy had seen her playing with from across the way. Now that she was up close, Andy could see that it was some kind of spell deck. The majority of the cards had white edges, but there seemed to be a few hints of green and black mixed throughout it. She wondered what the different colors could mean. She’d have to find an opportunity to ask before she cut and ran.

“The old man said that you’d be skulking around out here.” Andy gave a broad smile as she drew attention to herself, hands that usually rested confidently on her sword and pistol folded across her chest.

Nora squinted up at her, hints of offense hidden in the way her eyebrows creased. “I’m not skulking.”

“Call it what you want-” she dropped down next to Nora unceremoniously, legs stretching out in front of her“-but you’re here and you’re the only person I know besides Ambrose.”

Nora frowned with sympathy at Andy’s comment, eyes drifting away from Andy’s face back to the spell cards in her hands, lost in thought. She shuffled a few more of the cards mindlessly, rings glinting in the sunlight. Those were definitely real gold. The shade complimented Nora’s warm skin tone and the set of rings served to make her look even more put together than her stylish clothes did. Andy hoped that jewelry wasn’t just a big thing with Nora, not with the entire wizard population because she had never been one for wearing her wealth on her body. It was like walking around screaming “rob me!” to the hungry dock kids looking to make a quick buck. Not that any dock kid with half a brain would try stealing from her now, but she hadn’t always been Ruthless Miranda West and the old habits didn’t disappear as she gained notoriety.

“You know anything about memory magic?” Andy asked, eager to move past the silence. Pulled from whatever thoughts were running around her head, Nora shook her head no, moving to put her spell deck away as Andy continued on. “Ambrose says that whoever stole my memories put them into some kind of mystical object and evidently I’m not getting them back without it.”

Nora looked back at her with those big brown eyes, leaning her face on one of her hands. “What’re you going to do?”

“He said that he would let me stay in the school dorms. It’s sort of a figure-it-out-as-we-go situation.” Andy shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance. At least she didn’t have to lie about that. She had no clue what her plan to steal the staff was, she definitely wasn’t wasting mental space trying to come up with a fake plan to get her fake lost memories back. “I picked out a name though! The old guy thought I might need one.”

“That’s great! I-uh, I’m Nora. By the way. Sunheart.” Andy’s mouth twitched up into a smirk at Nora’s awkwardness. She didn’t blame her for it. The girl was clearly having a strange day.

“Em,” Andy reached her arm toward her and Nora took it gingerly. Andy could just barely make out the lingering taste of oranges under her tongue as their hands touched, but it faded away the moment that they broke contact. “So, my afternoon looks kind of free, I don’t reckon you know any good tour guides with nothing to do, do you?”

“Oh! I could-” she cut herself off, hand running through her hair nervously. “Well, I have an appointment at three, but it won’t take long. If you’re willing to wait.”

Andy’s smirk broke into a grin at Nora’s offer. Her clunky speech and stiltedness was entirely endearing and so unlike what Andy had expected from her composed appearance. She’d seemed so put together when Andy was lying half dead on the sidewalk. Or maybe Andy was just remembering her that way. Ambrose did say that people are constantly rewriting their own memories.

“I don’t mind waiting around for a little while.” Nora smiled at Andy’s reassurance before pushing herself up to stand, wide leg pants still miraculously clean. She reached down to help Andy stand. Two for two on wizard folk trending toward being ridiculously polite. Andy swatted Nora’s hand away, standing up on her own. She didn’t want to get too used to the attitude of this place. It might’ve felt nice now, but new worlds always did. It never lasted. The spiral had been around for a long time. There were too many secrets now. Everyone had a body to bury. Even poor old Ambrose and sweet little Nora. It was better to keep it in mind now than to get mad at herself later when she started to dig up their skeletons.

Andy tried to cover her deep sigh with a shiver down her spine. Now wasn’t the time to get philosophical, she had an entire city to case. “Well, what’s first? Lead the way, captain.”

#watch as i loosely follow the prompt list all month #wiztober #wiztober2021 #wiztober 2021 #wizard101 #pirate101 #p101 #w101 #wiz101 #wizzy101 #wizzy #pitty #pitty101 #pitty fandom #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #wizard101 fanfiction #wizard101 fanfic #wizard101 fic #Miranda West #Nora Sunheart #oc #wizard101 oc #pirate101 oc #wtoits

[padfootagain]

Girl Crush (I)

Chapter One : Gardenias In Crisis

 And here I go again with a new story. Am I desperate case? Absolutely. For my defence, I have around ten chapters written for this story already, so might as well post it on here…

Am I writing for someone new again? Yep… can't you see me walking around dressed as a clown? Blame the quarantine for my helpless fall for Harry (yes, I was lost before that, but shush!).

Anyway, I hope you like this story, which is gonna be wildly cute and wildly angsty, the perfect recipe for a romantic series worthy of a good old rom com!

No warnings for this chapter except for outrageous cuteness and a tiny mention of blood (but in nothing dramatic, it's just a scratch).

I really hope you like this! First chapter of a new series AND first time writing for Harry Styles, so please, tell me what you think about it!

Word Count : 3110

You were running.

Literally running around the whole place.

These gardenias in your hands were delicate plants, but you had so much practice in carrying them while hurrying to and fro that you had no worries about breaking them. You had found the perfect stance to protect them while running by now. And it was very efficient.

Which was how you were now running down a flight of stairs with your arms full of these white flowers.

You still had three tables to decorate before the whole venue would be filled with the guests of the wedding. Someone famous was apparently getting married. Who? You had forgotten that detail, and didn't exactly care. Your boss was the one in charge of the clients, you were only there as their apprentice, and for now, it meant making bouquets and carrying plants around. Considering that it was your first job in the business, you didn't complain and on the contrary, you reckoned that you were lucky to be under Mary's wing. She was strict, too much to your liking sometimes, but at the end of the day she didn't have a bad heart and was more than talented. She was right when she told you that flowers were a tough business. You needed to learn as much as you could by her side, and you intended to do just that, even if it meant that for now you weren't allowed to take decisions, just to carry things around and reproduce the bouquets Mary had created.

You put down the gardenias at the centre of one of the tables, arranging the plant to make it a little prettier and display all the blooming flowers. You checked the rest of the table, but everything was in order.

Only two trips left to go to fill up these two tables at the back that for now remained empty, and you would be done. Then, you had to find Mary to check with her that everything was to her liking, and correct whatever details she thought could be improved.

You swept away the sweat that had gathered on your forehead, and took a couple of seconds to breathe deeply, calming your racing heart. You threw a glance at this staircase you would have to climb up and down again, and found a new burst of hate for stairs growing through your veins that, without a doubt, would follow you even after this job was done.

But you had to go back to work, so you toddled off to the truck once more, picked up more gardenias and headed to the venue for what felt like the thousandth time.

You were out of breath by now, but it didn't stop you from hurrying. You didn't have much time left, and everything had to be perfect for when the guests would be moving in the large mansion. For now, they were in the garden, but you didn't have much time left, and you didn't dare to imagine what Mary would shout at you if you fucked up at a celebrity's wedding, surely she would…

BANG!

Your train of thoughts was stopped as a vivid pain crossed your side, then your lower back, then the palm of your left hand and finally the back of your head.

What on earth had just happened?

"Ouch! Are you alright?"

A strong English accent rose from what seemed to be thin air. That was when you realized that you weren't standing anymore. Instead, you were lying on the marble floor, the cold from the stones now flooding through your frame.

"Hey, are you okay?" the voice asked again, but you couldn't focus enough to answer, nor even to truly analyse the words that were spoken to you.

You felt dizzy, and the sharp pain that broke through your skull when you tried to move your skull indicated that you had probably hit your head quite forcefully against the ground, which explained why your head was spinning.

You blinked a few times, but there was someone bending above you all of sudden…

Bright green eyes, brown curly hair falling down across his shoulder, a strong jawline, and an expression full of worry that made a little crease appear between his eyebrows.

He seemed nice…

"Are you okay? Can you hear me?" he asked once more.

"Huh… yeah, I think I'm okay," you answered, finally forcing the words past your lips.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there. Was just looking for the bathroom. Can you sit up?"

His voice was very deep and reassuring.

"Yeah, I think so."

He helped you up to a sitting position, your head spinning a little too much for you to go too fast. A flash of pain crossed your temples, and you shut your eyes tight in an attempt to soothe it down.

"Did you hit your head?" he asked with concern oozing from his voice.

"Yeah… it hurts."

"Do you mind if I take a look?"

"Sure, go ahead."

He moved to inspect the back of your head, and gently pushed your hair out of the way.

"I don't see any blood," he reassured you.

"I guess I'll get a big bump and a headache. I'm fine."

"Your hand doesn't look so good though."

It's only then that you realized that you were bleeding quite profusely. There was a large cut across your palm… you closed your eyes again.

"Are you okay?" the stranger asked and worry seemed back on his features and in his tone.

"Umm… I'm not a big fan of blood. It makes me… sick."

"Oh, okay. Not a big fan of it myself if it can reassure you."

"I would be more reassured if you turned out to be a doctor?"

"I'm afraid I'm not a doctor at all. Hang on a sec."

You heard him walk away towards the large hall where the dinner would be served and that you were decorating a moment earlier, and then come closer to you again.

He pressed a napkin against your palm, making you jump in pain and let out a sharp shriek.

"Sorry. It's gonna help with the bleeding though."

"Okay," you nodded, feeling panic rising inside of you, with tears stinging your closed eyes.

You seemed to grow dizzier, and his worry deepened. He reached for his phone as no one seemed to be around.

"I'm Harry, by the way," he tried to pull your thoughts away from your pain and your bleeding hand. "What's your name?"

"Y/N."

"Lovely name."

"I hope you're not flirting with me while I'm bleeding to death…"

He chuckled.

"I'm not flirting, just trying to keep your mind busy. And you're not bleeding to death."

"Okay."

"You're gonna be fine."

"Okay."

"Can you say anything else than 'okay'?"

"Not right now."

"Liar, you've just done it."

Despite the odds, you actually chuckled at his silly answer.

He unwrapped the napkin, that had turned from beige to crimson in a matter of seconds, and he couldn't help but wince.

"It looks a little deep though. You're gonna need to have someone take a look at it, I reckon."

"Okay."

"But it doesn't look too bad. It's a clean cut. Okay? Nothing serious."

"Okay, not serious. Okay."

But the next thought had you open your eyes wide in terror.

"The gardenias!"

"Huh?" Harry raised an eyebrow, not following your train of thought at all.

You seemed even more panicked now. You looked down at the pots, and indeed, one of them was broken, the porcelain shattered and freeing some of the earth it held before. The plant itself seemed pretty damaged. The other though seemed alright.

Your breathing was more laboured now, and tears threatened to escape your eyes even more.

"Hey, it's okay. It's nothing," Harry tried to reassure you.

"I need to clean this up, and get more gardenias. We have a few to spare."

"Not a chance. You're panicking, you're staying right here, I…"

"Y/N?"

Mary's voice startled both you and Harry.

"What happened?!" she shrieked, rushing to check the damage.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Harry was faster.

"Hi. I'm Harry. I wasn't looking at where I was going, and we bumped into each other. She has a pretty bad cut on her hand."

"You said it was nothing!" you protested, turning to him again, with fear sparkling in your eyes.

"Hmm… no, it's not too bad. Just… huh…"

"The gardenias!" Mary exclaimed.

"One of them is ruined, but the other is fine," you informed her, nodding towards the mess of earth, porcelain and branches.

"How many tables left to do?"

"Only two. The rest is done."

She heaved a deep sigh, and her voice sounded frustrated as she spoke again.

"Okay, I'll get the plants, and finish up. You get your arse in a hospital, you're bleeding a lot."

"I can help clean up."

"You've done everything else, I'll handle it. You call for a cab or whatever and go to get that hand fixed. Call me when it's done, we'll see if you can come back or not."

"Okay."

But Mary was already grabbing the unbroken plant pot and carrying it away.

"Do you feel better?" Harry asked, focusing his attention back on you.

"Yeah… I'm okay. As long as I don't look at the blood, I'll be fine."

"I'm gonna get you to a hospital."

"I'll be fine, I can go there…"

"It's my fault if you're in this mess. I'll drive you there."

"You should stay at the wedding."

"Don't worry, I'm not family or anything. They'll survive without me. And you look like you're about to faint, so I'm most definitely not going to let you go anywhere on your own."

Mary walked past the two of you again, hurrying back towards the truck, and cursing under her breath.

"Your boss?" Harry asked, looking at her with a frown.

"Yeah."

"She seems to be lovely to work with, a bit stressed out, perhaps," he joked, and it made you smile.

"She's nice enough. A bit rough sometimes, but not a tyrant either."

"I'm gonna get my keys, and warn my girlfriend I'm leaving, okay? You stay here, I'll be back in a minute."

"Okay."

As promised, he was back a moment later, a very beautiful yet angry woman on his heels. He seemed annoyed and to be ignoring her on purpose.

"I can't believe you're about to leave me here alone to go with a perfect stranger…"

"To the hospital. I'm going to the hospital, because it's my fault if she has a deep cut across her hand that might need stitches. I reckon that's nothing extraordinary, simply what any decent human being would do," he snapped back at her.

"What about me?"

"You're with your family and your friends, I reckon you'll do just fine without me. Besides, are you bleeding right now? Do you need to go to the hospital too?"

"Why can't you be normal and call for a cab for her, instead of going there yourself?"

"She was looking like she was about to faint."

"You're unbelievable."

Harry heaved a deep, angry sigh, and you pretended like you couldn't hear anything of the interaction, but there was no way you could miss any of their words.

"I don't want to fight with you right now. I'm gonna drop her to the hospital and then come back. I'll be back soon."

She huffed in frustration, but turned on her heels and walked away.

Harry crossed the distance between you and kneeled back by your side, you noticed that he was wearing a black jacket now upon his black shirt.

"You don't have to drive me," you argued. "Your girlfriend seemed pretty pissed off."

"She'll get over it," he dismissed your objection with a tired wave of his hand. "I'm gonna help you get up, is that okay?"

You nodded, and he held you by the elbow to help you back to your feet. Your head was spinning for a moment, and Harry waited for you to look a little less drowsy to guide you to the exit.

"I'm okay. It's nothing, it's just… I don't like blood," you said again.

"We'll get you checked up," he replied, his tone decisive. "I'm really sorry for getting you in trouble."

"It's okay. You didn't mean to, I'm sure. Otherwise, I officially hate you."

He let out a laugh.

"I'm not a psychopath or anything, don't worry."

He guided you to what looked like a very expensive car, but you were too busy trying not to look at the blood that was dripping from the napkin held against your left hand to notice any detail about anything.

He opened the car door for you, and took his own seat behind the wheel. It's only then that you saw him rubbing his wrist.

"Are you hurt too? I'm sorry, I didn't even ask you if you were okay. I'm terrible…"

"I'm alright. I fell on my wrist though, it's a little painful."

"You should get it checked out too. It could be sprained."

"I'm sure it's nothing."

But as he drove through the crowdy streets of L.A. he realized that it was not 'nothing', the pain most definitely intensifying as he used his wrist more and more to guide the car through the busy traffic.

"It looks like it's swollen," you insisted.

"Yeah, you may be right."

"Camphor is very efficient to stop the swelling."

"Thanks for the tip," he smiled.

"An old trick from my grandma."

"How's your hand?"

"I don't want to look at it."

"Okay, don't then. Just… please, don't faint in my car."

You laughed.

"I'm not kidding," he chuckled as well, shaking his head. "With a bad wrist, I don't think I could carry you to the hospital."

"Thank you for taking me there."

"Well, I think I'll end up checking in too, so…"

Once at the hospital, you were asked to wait for quite a while. None of your injuries were serious, your hand had stopped bleeding, and so you waited together in the emergency room, sitting next to each other in a pair of old and uncomfortable chairs.

"You're a florist, then?" Harry asked after a while to make some conversation.

"Yes, have been for six months."

"You're just beginning! That's great! Do you like it so far?"

"I love it. I've always wanted to work with plants."

"Do you only do weddings?"

"No, Mary… my boss, she has a shop too."

"Would you like to have your own shop one day?"

"That's the goal. The dream, actually. But to do that you need to have some experience, and a lot of money. And for now, I have none of the above, so… I'm just the assistant for now."

"You're just getting started. But I'm sure you'll make it."

"How do you know?" you mocked, but he was more serious than you had expected.

"I just know. You seem like you deserve to achieve whatever you long for."

"And what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a musician. Singer," he answered casually, giving you a shy smile.

"Oh, that's awesome! Do you have like… a band or something? Sorry, I don't know much about music."

"I was in a band, we decided to take a break a few months ago though. So, I'm gonna try to do it on my own now."

"Wow, that's brave!"

"Or absolutely foolish, I haven't decided which one it is so far," he laughed.

"I'm sure you'll be fine. Were you successful with your band? I mean… there are so many amazing artists out there who struggle to pay a rent."

He nodded in agreement, taking a few seconds to choose his words carefully.

"Yeah, I know. But huh… we were pretty… successful, I guess. I can pay my rent, most definitely."

"That's nice!"

He nodded, giving you a kind smile.

"What was the name of the band?"

"One Direction."

"Never heard of it," you shook your head. "Or maybe I have… I don't remember. I have to admit that I don't follow music very much, sorry."

"That's alright. I don't follow the last trending tendencies in floral arrangements either, so I guess we're even."

You both laughed at that. And you decided that you quite liked Harry. He was nice, he seemed to be genuinely worried about you. You would have been lying if you claimed that you didn't find him attractive, but what truly defined him to you so far was just that he seemed to be a good guy.

And God knew that these were rare these days…

Meanwhile, Harry decided that he quite liked you as well. Besides the fact that he found you lovely, you seemed kind and gentle. And if you had not been about to faint for most of your exchange with him, he was sure that he would have found an hilarious sense of humour too.

A doctor finally came to take a look at your hand, and Harry was soon treated as well. His wrist suffered only of a small sprain, and he was soon released with a simple bandage and the recommendation to apply some ice on his articulation regularly for a few days. He still waited until you were free to go as well, and he welcomed you with a warm smile as you walked out.

"How's your hand?" he asked with a nod towards the white bandage wrapped across your palm.

"Fine. No stitches, but I got these… weird… things to keep the skin together, I have no idea how they call that. But I should be fine in a few weeks. And your wrist?"

"A little sprain, nothing to worry about. Do you need a ride?"

"I won't be going back to work, I'm not supposed to use my hand for a few days. I'll just call a cab and go home."

"I can drive you home if you want."

"It's very kind of you, but I don't want to bother you…"

"It's the least I can do. I'm the one who caused all this mess in the first place. Come on, I'll get you home."

Considering your cautious nature, you should have politely declined the offer again. But there was just something about Harry that made you trust him, at least enough for him to drive you across the city.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

You followed him back to his car, exchanging a shy smile, and as he opened the door of his car for you again, you reckoned that you didn't mind so much the bandage around your hand anymore.

********************************

Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10 @emyyjemyy @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony @madamrogers​

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #imagine

[enithinggoes]

The witch’s teachings, lesson 0: admission

This is a documentation of the education I’ve received from the witch Morgana, whose wisdom and proficiency I’ve come to admire greatly since it began. To contextualise this, though, I must first explain how my apprenticeship at her hand began.

I was  a young lad of 23, and never had been out of the village where I had lived, whose only medic, doctor Jones, had taught me how to deal with sewing and cleaning wounds, as well as a few remedies that could supress pain and infection in the body, and I had been serving as assistant in his practices for a few months, however, we’d been recently dealing with injuries I found myself unable to treat, farmhands would appear with deep gashes into their arms and legs which, even after our usual practices, were said to radiate an intense burning sensation, and kept reopening for days on end.

After just a week of these happenings. Doctor Jones and me were both exhausted, caring for the 10 men and 2 women affected by the strange injuries had been intensely taxing, they would feverishly ramble about a dark creature with yellow eyes moving quickly through the night, slaughtering livestock and attacking any who attempted to scare it off or kill it. Me and my senior had been taking shifts of sleeping inside our clinic so at least one of us was constantly able to respond to new cases and monitor the existing victim’s condition. At the afternoon’s end, the neighbourhood suddenly fell silent, there should still be people moving through the street and conversing at the neaby bar at this time, the deafening silence made me shiver, I felt truly alone, being the only one awake at the clinic.

Suddenly the clicking of boots pierced the silence, followed by a door opening and I understood the reason behind the quiet. A woman entered the clinic wearing a short black dress with purple details, black pants, boots and gloves and a large brimmed, pointy hat. She was tall and lanky, with short raven hair. But what struck me the most was her eyes, they were dark like the ocean’s depths, giving the impression that any light that hit them could never escape, and they had a focus to them unlike those of anyone I’d met, the same focus of a falcon in the moment before it dove down for it’s prey, there was no mistaking it, this woman was a witch. I’d heard of them before, in fables and legends, how they were powerful and conniving and vicious and you should never cross them lest you be cursed to die or meet a fate even more terrible.

I stood reflexively to attention, stammering as I spoke a hurried greeting, “Hello ma’m, what brings you here?”

She brought out a small pouch and spoke with elegance and clarity “Heard your town was having a little werewolf trouble, so I’ve been brought on for a little help and consultation, you’re gonna want to spread that over their wounds twice, about half a day apart if you want the stinging to stop, has anyone been bitten?”

“No ma’m, we’ve only seen claw marks so far, did you say werewolf? I didn’t think those were real! What can we do? Should we organize a search party? What is this stuff?”, I asked, taking a small cilinder  filled with some kind of cream out of her pouch,  which she’d handed to me.

“Take a breath laddy, you don’t have to do anything about the werewolf, let momma here deal with that, it’s what I’m here to do anyway, just warn everyone to stay inside for a few days, alright? As for the paste, it’s silver powder, mashed together with rosemary, you can ask your mayor for the ingredients and make it here yourself.”

As the witch instructed, I spread the paste over my patients’ injuries, she insisted on checking them for bite marks, although considering the size of this creature’s claws, I imagine it would be near impossible to miss a bite. Whenever I finished the treatment on a pacient, their cries of pain would quickly lower in volume and frequency, to the point I stopped a few times to check if their heart and breathing were stopping, but their heartbeat was only going down from the speed it had accelerated to due to the pain back to a stable beat.

As she prepared to leave the clinic, the witch turned to me and asked “Have any human bones or half eaten carcasses appeared? Anybody disappear recently?”

“No ma’m, no dead yet, only injured” I responded

“Great, must be a recent transformation then, one last thing,” she said, “And I need you to answer this honestly, I promise it’s gonna be better for everyone, including you. Have you, or anyone you know been experiencing frequent night terrors, sleepwalking or finding destroyed furniture inside their homes?”

I must admit I was a bit afraid when I responded “not that I know of, ma’m.”

She put her hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “Easy there chap, you can call me Morgana ok? I’ll take you at your word, it’ll all be alright soon, now get some rest, you look spent.”

After she went away I was left to muse upon what that encounter had meant, the first witch I’d met seemed a lot kinder than the ones in the stories. Sure, she a cleverness to her indicative of someone who knew of things I didn’t, and a professional stance in the face of those grievous wounds that showed she was rather habituated to violence. But seemed ultimately benign and even kind, furthermore, I reckoned there was no way these people would recover in less than a month without her knowledge and assistance.

As I thought about it, my mind wandered to her pouch and the cylinder for the healing substance, still on the table, had she forgotten it? She’d probably want it back right? In what I’ve come to regard as a stupid move I left to look for her and give her what she’d left behind.

I only came to my senses when I realized it was already quite dark out, I thought I heard something moving behind me, but it could have been a mixture of exhaustion and paranoia, I started moving faster, trying to find my way home or back to the clinic, But the streets seemed to wind in ways unfamiliar to me. After a while I turned a corner only to  find a furred creature starring back at me, it looked like a bear, but taller and skinnier and it’s eyes seemed to glow slightly in the dark. I ran, and heard it bounding towards me, coming closer and closer every second, I turned town an alley, trying to lose it but realized my mistake when I saw the wall at its end, I turned to face the creature, preparing to scare it off or maybe die trying.

Its jaws opened wide as it jumped towards me, moving its arms as if to grab me and hold me in place, I closed my eyes out of fear. *BANG*, a noise rung out through the alley, the creature’s weight knocked me down with it’s momentum, but no bite or swipe came, it was already dead, at the other end of the alley stood Morgana, smoke coming out of her flintlock pistol. I hastily pushed the creature’s body to the side, spotting a hole in the back of its skull

“I thought I told you to stay inside, kid. What  in god’s name are you doing here, trying to get yourself killed?” She scolded while coming towards me.

I stood up as fast as I could, then did my best to answer her, “Y-You forgot your pouch.”

“Boy, you’re either very selfless or very stupid.” She took the pouch from my hand, then added under her breath “thank you.”

Suddenly, something came to mind, the real reason I was here, why I’d gone out in the middle of the night and risked my life, “I… I think I wanted to see you work. I was awestruck by your knowledge of a world that was in the edge of my very reality until now, you seem to wield a comprehension over it that seems impossible for anyone I know.” I bowed down my head. “Please, take me on as your apprentice! I’ll serve you however you like, just give me a morsel of that wisdom you wield so effortlessly!”

For the first time so far, she seemed stunned, she put her hand to her chin, thinking for a moment. “so your thirst for wisdom is such that it overpowers your fear of the dark…Very well, I could use a familiar, but be warned, I expect you to carry my things and do the menial labour I cannot waste my time doing. This will be hard, and very often tiring, you must let go of your old life and your old name if you are to proceed. Until you are powerful enough to be a witch yourself and choose your new denomination you shall be known only as my familiar. do you understand that?” She extended her hand towards me, stern but welcoming.

“Yes ma’m… Morgana.” I shook her hand.

“Then the pact is sealed.” A blue light engulfed me as I felt myself shrinking and transforming, I had quickly transformed into the form of a medium black cat, I’d heard about witch’s familiars before, so I did nothing but walk into my master’s leg, following her out of the alley.

   As we left in the first rays of dawn, the first thing I learned was how the witch was able to kill the werewolf in one shot when it had bested many men, only silver weapons can wound a werewolf, so her silver bullet was an easy fix. The second was why she chose to leave so soon, instructing the village doctor like she’d done with me before and passing by a sea of judgemental eyes,  angry and fearful. Witches are not well liked, they are seen as bad omens and dangerous beings, but they are tolerated as long as they are needed by the community. With the monster gone, and the body of a known baker of the village found in an alley with a hole in the back of the skull, that bottled up resentment was soon to turn into more dangerous action, hitting the road before that happened was vital to a witch’s survival. Thus began my education under the wise witch Morgana.

#original work #story #the witch's teachings #howdy y'all #enni #amateur writing #writing #fantasy #magic

[flintwoodandco]

Of Masks, Magic, & Falling In Love

Summary: Marcus Flint is Spectre, a reluctant protector of the world.

Amongst the chaos of being a superhero, hiding his identity while being a rugby player, Marcus also has to deal with his rival, Oliver Wood, and not strangling the man every chance he gets. 

As if his life couldn’t get any more off-balance, there’s Marcus’ predicament with Illusion, another superhero he finds himself liking a little too much. 

What’s a hero to do?

Rating: T

Genre: Superhero AU, Enemies to Lovers, Banter, Minor Violence, Falling in Love

Words: 3480

A/N: a gift for @acespacejay !!! thank you so much for this prompt!! it was a fun challenge!!

-

AO3

or

When the call for heroes echoed around the world, Marcus ran.

For years he only had to worry about himself, managing his powers on his own. The weight of the world was terrifying and Marcus wasn’t ready to let everyone down. It was easy to hide really. With his questionable past, nobody sought him out. Nobody but Illusion. 

Marcus didn’t know where to start with him. Illusion was a loud, excitable hero, ready to help at a moment’s notice, jumping headfirst into danger. It had been an accident that they met. Marcus had stumbled onto a villain’s lair and, well, he couldn’t just let them get away with their nefarious plot. Identity be damned, Marcus jumped into the fire and managed to catch the villain by surprise. Of course, with invisibility powers, Marcus could catch an attentive watch dog off-guard. The situation was under control, but then Illusion and his many clones popped up, almost sending everything into chaos. 

By the end, Marcus simply fled. It was the only option, it seemed, and Marcus didn’t want to be dragged into the league of superheroes. Especially not by one such as Illusion. 

Eventually time caught up with him and Marcus reluctantly joined the battalion though not without his conditions. He worked alone, took on missions he knew he could handle.

When he wasn’t working, Marcus found his solace in rugby. Out in the field, he didn’t need his powers. His strength, wit and skill, led him to victory without fail. Well, almost without fail.

The thorn in his side, Oliver Wood, was forever a challenge to be reckoned with. None of Marcus’ tricks worked against him and as soon as Marcus tried something new, there was Oliver blocking him.

“How about you try playing like your life depends on it?” Oliver called from the opposite side of the field. 

It was rich words coming from an ordinary human like him. Marcus had risked life and limb, always sleeping with one eye open for the sake of humanity. 

Gritting his teeth, Marcus grabbed his passes, found his opening. He would show Oliver once and for all who owned the rugby field. Oliver came closer and closer as Marcus charged towards him. He was almost there before all went white.

Marcus didn’t make the winning score.

Oliver’s team had one-upped his own yet again, leaving Marcus in a state of loathing. If only he could give Oliver a taste of his own medicine. Semi-finals were coming up and no doubt Marcus’ team would have to face Oliver’s again. Redemption was so close, yet ages away, driving Marcus to practice harder and longer every minute he could. 

It was only when his teammates worried about him that Marcus scaled back, giving in to an invitation of drinks at a local pub. 

The evening went on well enough until familiar faces appeared and the tension in the air grew thick. With two rivalry rugby teams staring each other down, the pub owner was quick to threaten banning both teams unless they agreed to get along on the premise. 

At this, Oliver beamed, wrapping an arm around Marcus’ shoulder. “We’ll get along fine, won’t we, Flint?”

Marcus grit his teeth and weakly attempted to throw Oliver off. “Like hell we will.”

Oliver’s smile did not falter and he remained by Marcus’ side as the two teams accepted their fates with grumbles and snarky remarks. 

“Come now,” Oliver shook his head as he took a sip from his drink. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been dying to talk to someone about the game between Westchester and Fairmeadow.”

Marcus’ face gave him away and Oliver dove in, pointing out certain plays, the end result of the game. 

“Well, Charles really should have dodged Blythe’s tackle,” Marcus slurred, now more than a few drinks in. 

Oliver’s laugh filled his ears, a strange fuzzy warmth overcoming Marcus. “You on a first name basis with ol’ Charley?”

“You’ve got the nickname for him,” Marcus retorted, jabbing a finger at Oliver. 

Oliver hummed in return, his body swaying dangerously close to Marcus’. “And perhaps more than that.”

It didn’t take long for Marcus to put two and two together and he smirked, looking Oliver dead in the eye. “You looking to sleep around with all the rugby captains then?”

“Mm, perhaps,” Oliver grinned with a coy sip from his drink. 

Marcus blamed the alcohol, but what happened next was a memory that was never far from his daily thoughts from then on. 

He leaned in, grabbing Oliver by the back of the head and planting a sloppy kiss on his lips. Oliver was quick to reciprocate and before Marcus knew it, he was being dragged out of the pub and into the quiet streets. 

“Thought you didn’t like me,” Oliver teased, his mouth brushing over Marcus’.

“You’re right. I don’t like you,” Marcus shot back before meeting Oliver in another heated kiss. 

When they finally reached Marcus’ flat, tangled limbs and lost clothing led the two men into a night of whirlwind fantasies before having to wake up to the harsh reality of morning. 

Marcus woke alone, 

A hastily written note on his bedside table was all that was left of Oliver, along with memories of questionable choices. This wasn’t what he wanted. It couldn’t be. 

Marcus tried to forget about it, but all he could see was Oliver. All he could think about was the next time they would see each other. 

It was agony not knowing where Oliver was, what he was doing. So many nights, Marcus would find himself far from sleep, staring at the ceiling with the man on his mind. It was as if nothing else existed. 

The buzz of his phone pulled Marcus from his thoughts and he picked it up with a sigh. In an instant, he perked up. It was Illusion. Though it took Marcus a while to come around, he found he enjoyed Illusion’s company. He couldn’t put a finger on why however, let alone how he ended up with his number. 

An invitation to fly was all Marcus needed to dress and head out into the breezy night. Fastening his mask on, Marcus breathed in the night air deeply, almost giddy with excitement for what the night would bring. Diving head first out of his window, Marcus closed his eyes as everything faded away. 

The wind whistled past his ears, the ground growing ever closer, yet a smirk remained on his face. There was no fear, no tightness in his stomach. With a contented sigh, Marcus summoned the strength within himself and his body snapped upwards, suspended in the air. 

The citizens on the ground didn’t notice his presence or perhaps they didn’t care as Marcus weaved between buildings, zooming around the bustling city. 

Landing on the domed roof of the library, Marcus stared out at the lights, reminding him of his responsibility, his gift. 

“Fancy meeting you here, Spectre.”

Marcus turned to the voice, unable to stop his smile as he was greeted by a familiar masked face. “You’re the one who invited me out, Illusion.”

“Ah, so you do like me!” he beamed, joining Marcus alongside the rooftop edge. 

“Just because I remember your name, doesn’t mean I like you,” Marcus scowled. 

Undeterred, Illusion leaned against the railing, focused on Marcus and nothing else. “Well, when I first showed up in the city, I was sure you were going to have my head.”

“That’s because this is my city to protect,” Marcus butted in. “I was doing just fine before you came along.”

“But isn’t this fun?” Illusion grinned. “You, me, the threat of the end of the world?”

Marcus pursed his lips. He wouldn’t admit it outright, but he did admire the other man. They were both reckless in their own manner, utilizing their powers in unorthodox ways. It kept their rivalry, or perhaps friendship, strong and Marcus found himself looking forward to the next encounter with Illusionist. 

“I suppose,” is all Marcus offered, but it was enough for Illusion. 

He gave Marcus a friendly nudge before turning about to look at the city as well. The two fell into a contented silence, a warm breeze passing between them. This was nice. The calm moments in between saving the world were cherished. Here, with Illusion, he didn’t have to put on a show. He could even take off his mask if he wanted. 

The thought had struck Marcus time and time again. Here he was, in a tangled web with Illusion, yet this was the one person he trusted, the one that understood the world as he did. 

“You’ve got that look in your eyes again,” Illusion teased, breaking Marcus from his trance. 

Marcus turned his face away with a huff. “What look?”

The hand on his cheek sent a jolt up Marcus’ spine and he didn’t dare look at Illusion. Despite his inner protests, Marcus allowed the other man’s hand to guide him until they were facing each other directly. 

“That one of longing. Wondering what our lives would be like had we not been given our powers.” 

Illusion read him like a book and Marcus caved easily. As he stared at Illusion, Marcus watched his face inch closer, anticipation rising in his chest. His mind screamed at him to run, his heart told him to stay, so Marcus froze, letting Illusion do as he wished. 

That was, before a siren shook the air, breaking the spell between them. 

“Fuck,” Marcus swore, staring at the beacons. “Guess that’s us.”

Illusion replied with a heavy sigh, jumping off the roof first and flying into the night. Marcus was quick to follow, but his thoughts were a flurry, jumping from one thing to the next. He had to focus on the mission–whatever it was–but all he could see was Illusion. Illusion’s touch, his strength, his gentle demeanor, it was all rolled up into one frustrating man that Marcus couldn’t be without. 

“Spectre!” Illusion shouted past the wind. “The metal factory!”

Marcus furrowed his brows, ticking off villains in his head. The factory had been abandoned for years, but it was not without its valuables, left behind as its doors shut for good. 

“Of course,” Marcus muttered to himself as he veered off to the right. 

With Illusion a few buildings away from him, the two shot off, following the cacophonous booms and shakes. Police were circling the building, but none could make their way in, not with the entrance blocked by a massive sheet of ice. Diving in through a large shattered window, Marcus crouched down on the steel walkway, watching the sparks that flew as the villains cut through metal with mechanical saws.

“Looks like Helix is back in town,” Illusion whispered right next to Marcus’ ear and nearly caused Marcus to scream.

He shot a glare at Illusion before turning back to the scene, eyeing the workers that moved quickly from the cut metal to the moving trucks. 

Steadying his breath, Marcus embraced the shiver in his body as he became invisible. He let his fingers graze along Illusion’s hand, a small laugh bubbling up as the man tensed. Then with a nod, Illusion followed Marcus’ lead forming several images of himself that then scampered off in different directions.

“On three?” Illusion checked.

“On three,” Marcus replied and climbed over the railing. 

The countdown began and Marcus rushed at the closest workers, taking a few down with precise kicks and punches. The chaos began, yells echoing in Marcus’ ears as the enemy helplessly tried to hit him. Teasing them, Marcus appeared for a moment before vanishing again, sprinting toward the main target. Once Helix was taken out, the rest would be a piece of cake.

“Twenty!” illusion boasted as another one of his mirror images sent someone flying.

“Rich, considering I’ve got thirty five!” Marcus retorted.

He hadn’t been counting but he wasn’t going to let Illusion get the best of him. Smashing another face into the wall next to him, Marcus spotted his opening.

With Helix distracted, Marcus shot off, landing a blow across his face. The masked man stumbled back, shooting out a beam in Marcus’ direction. It grazed past Marcus’ ear, a ringing shaking his eardrums as he stumbled to the side. Just as he was ready to grab at Helix, one of Illision’s clones slammed into the villain, sending him to the ground. 

It was time to breathe a sigh of relief, even when the clone was blasted away. Then, Marcus saw the blood, the gaping wound on Illusion’s shoulder. All clones dissolved away, leaving the true Illusion bleeding out. Face contorting into anger, Marcus grabbed hold of Helix, his emotions letting his camouflage fall. The two struggled, punches and kicks thrown along a steel walkway. Blind rage fueled every one of Marcus’ moves yet no matter how hard he fought, Helix wasn’t going down. The mocking laughter from Helix cut Marcus down to his core, tearing down his morals one by one. Justice be damned, Marcus summoned a deep power within himself, stealing the very breath from Helix. As the villain struggled to breathe, Marcus held him up until Helix passed out before throwing him to the side. 

Chest heaving, Marcus thought to do more, but remembering Illusion shook him from his onslaught and he rushed over to the other hero. His body lay crumpled on the ground, blood painting the ground around him and he was still. Holding a hand to the wound on Illusion’s shoulder, Marcus lifted up his head, panic rising in his chest.

“Don’t fall asleep, back up is almost here,” Marcus tried to reassure, a lump forming in his throat. 

At this, Illusion’s eyes cracked open and he smiled weakly. “Worried about me?” Blood dribbled from the corner of his lip and he hacked up another clot, sending more red streams down his chin. 

“Of course I am!” Marcus exclaimed. Biting down on his lip, Marcus ignored the sting in his eyes, the ache in his chest. “I can’t lose you too.”

Confusion and heartbreak swarmed in Illusion’s eyes before he let out another grave laugh. “Never thought I’d hear that from you. Well, just in case I don’t make it…”

With all of his strength, Illusion dragged a hand up to his face and pulled his mask down. When familiarity hit Marcus square in the gut, he reached for his own mask, only to find his face bare, his identity lost between fighting Helix and rushing over to Illusion. There was no going back now. All Marcus could do was squeeze his eyes shut, pull Oliver close until their foreheads were touching. 

“Should’ve known it was you,” Marcus bit, his voice breaking on the last word. 

“Keep my secret?” Oliver rasped and Marcus nodded, fastening his mask back on for him. 

Sirens rang in his ears, lights flashed all around, and Marcus was numb as Oliver was taken from his arms, rushed away to the hospital. All he could focus on was the beat of his own heart, his struggle to understand all that had happened. 

He didn’t know how he had missed it. From the taunts on the field to their teasing as they saved the world again and again, it should’ve been obvious that Oliver had always been at his side, yet Marcus almost didn’t want to believe it. They were rivals, different as could be. Or maybe that was the lie Marcus tried to tell himself. He thought back to their night together, the attraction shared between them. Surely that wasn’t made out of hatred at all. 

When a violent shove to his shoulder snapped him to attention, Marcus glared at a medic fussing over him, mistaking his presence as an innocent bystander than one who had helped with the fight.

Marcus blinked and in a second all his senses came back full force. He tried to get to his feet only to find strong arms helping him up. 

“Easy there,” the medic warned, her face wrought with worry. “What were you doing here anyway?”

“I...homeless. Was going to stay the night here until all this happened,” Marcus stuttered through his lie. “Is Illusion…?”

“Not too sure, but he’s not one to go down easily. Do you need help finding a place to stay tonight?” The medic’s grip was still tight on Marcus and he gave a quick shake of his head.

He had to get to the hospital. Pretending he needed some water, Marcus then made his get-away. He shot off into the night, all but crashing into the hospital lobby when he finally got there. Several secret codes and barred doors later, Marcus finally made it to the room that held Oliver, several robotic machines crowded around the bed and fussing over him. 

Brown hair edged into his peripheral and Marcus waited for the doctor to speak first. 

Dr. Granger had set up this facility all on her own, specializing in healing those with powers, protecting their identities while under medical care. 

“Illusion had overused his powers, made too many clones,” Dr. Granger spoke, gentle but straightforward. As usual, her mind-reading took care of Marcus having to speak. “His body is finally catching up, but he will need to recover here for a few days.”

Nodding his understanding, Marcus then found himself with a decision he never had to make before. He could stay overnight, be there when Oliver awoke the next morning. Then again, they weren’t anything more than acquaintances. He didn’t owe anything to this man. 

Except, he did. 

Accepting himself, his powers, had been a nightmare for Marcus. He was ready to throw it all away when he first ran into Illusion. The man had been an annoyance, bugging Marcus with incessant questions. It was only with reluctance that Marcus allowed Illusion to see him for nights after that. 

Then, like a switch, everything changed. Marcus was happy, smiling, amongst all the competitions between himself and Illusion. Life was turning for the better and Marcus had fallen for the hero and the man behind the mask.

With a nod to Dr. Granger, Marcus edged into Oliver’s room, careful to not get in any robot’s way as he sat in the corner. Minutes passed by like an eternity and when the final robot left the room, Marcus dragged his chair over to the bedside and stared at Oliver’s sleeping figure. 

Had he not seen the wound, it would appear that Oliver was just resting after a hard fight. If only it was just so. Marcus sank, his worry tiring him as he replayed everything in his mind. Yes, Oliver would be okay, but how soon that would be was uncertain, eating away at Marcus’ heart. Surely there was something he could have done. He had almost taken care of Helix before everything went to hell. 

Exhaustion eventually took over and Marcus was woken suddenly by the clearing of a throat. Sitting up straight, Marcus hastily rubbed his eyes, wincing a little at the sunlight that poured into the room. When his vision focused, he was met by Oliver staring at him, the corner of his mouth quirked. The man didn’t look much better from the night before, pale face, tired eyes, but at least he was alive. 

“Sleep well?” Oliver rasped out. 

“No,” Marcus couldn’t help retort and then readjusted in his seat. “How are you?”

Oliver sighed, a slight hitch in his breath. “Could be worse. Been worse.”

Marcus could only imagine, nodding his understanding. An awkward silence filled the air causing Marcus to look away. Where to go from here was a mystery and Marcus was too tired to solve it. 

Both men wore matching frowns, trailing into their own thoughts. Marcus shot back to the one night stand, his muddled feelings hitting him like a truck. He liked Illusion. He didn’t hate Oliver. There was no need to keep him at arm’s length. Not anymore. 

“Alright,” Oliver spoke with conviction, shaking Marcus from his trailing mind. “What if after I’m all healed up, we meet up for drinks? One drink. You as Marcus, me as Oliver.”

“No masks, no secrets,” Marcus muttered to himself. 

“Exactly.”

Biting his tongue, Marcus summoned the courage to look at Oliver. His eyes were gentle, shining, and through everything, the past, the present, Marcus’ chest ached, his stomach churned. 

It wouldn’t hurt to try. 

Maybe, in this world of unknowns, Marcus could finally be okay. He could have a friend, something more, who truly understood the complex workings of a superhero’s life.

As Oliver’s hand reached out to him, Marcus met him halfway, their fingers lacing together. They didn’t have to solve everything now. 

For the moment, they could just linger and let their minds wander into the what-if’s that would soon await them outside of this little room. 

#flintwood #marcus flint #oliver wood #indigo writes shit #acespacejay