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darlingpetao3 · 3 years

Text

House of W (Multiple!Wells x Reader, Chapter 5)

Rating: T

Summary: After having to deal with the deaths of an infinite number of Harrison Wells in the Multiverse, you, a magic-wielding meta, have a breakdown and unwittingly create a happy, fictitious sitcom life with some of your favourite men. In a world of comedy and cameos, can Team Flash and an out-of-town magician break through your powers to save you? And what if you don’t want to be saved...?

Tag List: @fandomdancer @bluesclues-1234 @crissymadlock @firstofficer-tilly @disneyoncerlover815 @marvel-lady10 @thecaptainsgingersnap @noctvrnalmoth @alexxlynn @dontbedumb3 @heyl0lwhatsup @ryou-cosmos @arianalilyblack @sonnensplitter @imagine-yourself-happy @stuckysdaughter

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4

“Honeyyyyyyys…?” you call out in the house. Naturally, four handsome men come running.

“What’s happening?” Nash, in his jean shorts and Hawaiian themed shirt, asks you urgently.

“What’s happening is I am the worst mother ever!” you yell. Cue four sweet and simultaneous denials of your belief. “But I am—I can’t find the twins!”

How can someone lose two tiny babies? You had only looked away for thirty seconds and poof—Liberty and Belle were gone! They couldn’t even so much as crawl yet!

“Everyone, spread out,” a suspenders-wearing H.R. conducts the family, “they can’t have gone far.”

Harry moves closer to you to rub your back with small circles. “It’s going to be okay. You’re a wonderful mother. We just have a couple of troublemakers on our hands, it seems.”

You give a slight nod and begin to scour every place you haven’t already checked in the house. Everything is going to be fine, everything is going to be fine…

A pair of foreign giggles come from the closet by the alcove. How strange. You follow the sounds, and sometimes you’ll hear a “Shhhhh!” followed by more snickering. When you open the door to the closet, you’re entirely shocked to find two little girls who look to be five years old—one in overalls and the other in a dress.

“Libby, Libby, Libby! I told you to be quiet!” Belle scolds her sister.

“But your hair was tickling my face!” Liberty tries to explain.

Meanwhile, you’re still stunned to see your babies have grown in such a short amount of time. It really should be such a surprise considering the shortness of the pregnancy, but still!

You try to find your voice by beckoning your husbands. “I-I found them!”

“Hi, mommyyyyy,” they say in such adorable unison. Their perfect little faces look up at you and you feel like you’re staring into a mirror-time-portal. You crouch down and open your arms.

“I was so worried,” you tell the girls. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Sherloque, H.R., Harry, and Nash soon appear behind you and gawk at their rapidly aged daughters.

“How are they five?” H.R. whispers his question to no one and anyone.

“A very good question…” Sherloque, in his white trousers and blazers with a sharp purple shirt underneath, strokes his chin.

You wipe a tear from your eye and clear your throat. “Why don’t you two hooligans help your Pops with something in the garage?”

“You got it, dude!” Belle shoots you adorable finger guns before grabbing her sister’s and Nash’s hand. And then, in a flash, they’re gone. Indeed so quick that your voluminous hair flies every which way—books and papers suddenly strewn all over the house.

“Did Belle just…?” Harry starts to ask but falters.

“Run Mach one in my house? Yeah, I think she did…” you reply, figuratively and almost literally blown away. “Oh!”

H.R. holds your hand in comfort at the sound of your weepy noise. “What is it, Honey Bear?”

“I can’t believe it. I missed their first steps, their first words. So many firsts. They’re five!”

“There will be plenty more firsts that we won’t miss,” Harry soothes, “together.”

“If ma Belle ‘as the ability to run vitement,” Sherloque wonders to the rest of you, “what does this mean pour ma Liberté?”

This makes you think—remember things that you’d rather not remember. But, what if…?

You take quick strides towards the garage through the kitchen, your remaining husbands following closely behind. Peering out the window, you spot Liberty using her glowing purple hands to float a socket wrench over to Nash from his toolbox. His eyes are wide, but happily so, at the magic presented by his daughter.

“Little chips off the old block, aren’t they?” H.R. notes, putting an arm around your shoulders and Harry’s (the latter picks up and drops his doppelganger’s arm off of him).

“Yes, I suppose they are.” You sigh in contentment. “What do you three say to a little quiet time on the couch?”

The men don’t even need to voice their approval of the idea, only follow you devotedly out of the kitchen. Sherloque pulls up the rear but stops short at the refrigerator. The appliance is strangely already covered in artwork, with barely any free space available on the appliance. And then… there’s something else that sticks out amongst the vibrantly coloured scribbles.

He leans in a little closer to inspect a piece of paper. Sherloque notes the hurried scrawl of the letters:

You’re on a TV show. This isn’t real. We’re trying to help you.

The puzzled detective continues to analyze the strange message. What does this mean? he wonders.

He tries his best to remember what his life was like before he married you. What was life like? It takes every ounce of brainpower to attempt the recollection, but Sherloque unfortunately comes up short with answers.

Something he is both not known for and hates.

He checks around the room to see if anyone is watching him, but no one is in sight. Regardless of his lack of findings, he waves in the direction of one of the kitchen walls as if someone was watching. Sherloque then marches into the living room where you’re snuggled up with Harry and H.R.

“What is this?” he demands of you, flashing the note in front of your face. You, of course, have no idea and voice as such.

Harry snatches the piece of paper and proceeds to study it. “This is a joke, right?”

“I think someone must be playing a prank on you, my love,” you tell your suspicious French husband.

“And I think you are lying to us, ma petite,” he replies. Sherloque turns his attention to the other men on the couch. “Dites-moi, what is your earliest memory?”

Harry and H.R.’s foreheads scrunch in thought.

“The first thing I ever remember is showing up here for dinner a few nights ago,” H.R. says slowly. “But it feels much quicker than only a couple of nights…”

“And you, (Y/N),” Harry adds, “I feel like I’ve known you my entire life, and yet my first memory was the same as this jackwagon.”

“Aww, Harry, I feel like I’ve known you my entire life too,” you say sweetly. “All of you!”

Sherloque squints at you. “Stop that. You are hiding something. Eet is the way you swallow with difficulty and perspire. Aussi the tapping of your foot.”

“I am not hiding any-”

“-You lie!” Sherloque raises his voice. H.R. and Harry stand up from the couch and face you with crossed arms, pulling his blue plaid shirt tighter against his chest.

“Is it true?” H.R. asks you, looking ever so much like a puppy dog. It pains you to see him look so hurt. They both seem to take Sherloque’s word for it. And over yours?

“Is any of this real?” Harry finishes his opposite-self’s question, then points in the direction of the garage. “Are they real?”

“Of course our daughters are real!” you find yourself shouting at the notion otherwise. “They’re parts of us!”

“Then what have you done to our memories? You’re keeping secrets!”

At this point, Nash enters the room with Liberty and Belle, clearly not expecting an argument from their idyllic family unit. His hands on their shoulders. They must have heard the fighting…

“Listen,” you try calmly, “I did this for us. You don’t want to know what happened before our lives together here. You just don’t.”

“You do not get to choose for us,” Sherloque counters sternly.

The tension can be cut with a knife, and the proverbial knife that does the cutting comes in the form of a sound—the doorbell.

“Who is that, (Y/N)?” Harry asks you.

“I don’t know. That’s not me, I swear it,” you tell him, very much confused yourself. Each of your husbands stands with their arms still crossed, waiting. It hurts you to see them so upset with you. This was supposed to be perfect. This was supposed to be easy.

Your feet that feel like lead somehow manage to carry you over to the door. Twisting the doorknob, you open the door to reveal another extremely familiar face…

“How’s it hangin’, Miss (Y/L/N).”

What? No… It can’t be him?

Looking the epitome of cool—dressed in stone washed jeans, a yellow button-down shirt with a black leather jacket thrown over top—stands the man you never thought you’d see again. Especially in your own safe little world.

Eobard Thawne.

The man walks right in the house like he owns the place with an incredible amount of swagger.

“So, what’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?”

#reader insert #harrison wells x reader #harrison wells imgaine #harrison wells fanfiction #harry wells x reader #harry wells imagine #nash wells x reader #nash wells imagine #sherloque wells x reader #sherloque wells imagine #hr wells x reader #hr wells imagine #the flash imagine #the flash fanfiction

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yespolkadotkitty · 3 years

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i think it’s fair to say that i’ve fallen far too in love with your zach one shots — not only do you capture his persona so well, it genuinely feels like i’m watching an episode of brothers & sisters

also, your ricky one shot was also so so so good!! you have no idea how grateful we all are that you pluck these characters from obscurity and portray their defining characteristics so accurately while also adding the loveliest fluffiest fluff of all time

i was wondering if you would consider writing a jealous!zach one shot? ngl, the (mutual) pining mixed with jealousy trope is my guilty pleasure and i feel like jealous zach would be 11/10

anyway, just wanted to say you’re fucking amazing and i adore your writing — i hope you’re having a great day!!

THANK YOU FOR THIS LOVELY ASK

(NB: Ok I know this is not Zach but it COULD be. It’s the right year. There are SO FEW pics of Zach so let’s just go with it).

Words: 1700 ~ Warnings: jealousy, pining, angst, fluff, one awesome kiss

Pairing: Zach Wellison x gn!reader

************

YOU: Is it wrong to be attracted to the super in my building?

BFF: Why would it be wrong? Use it to curry favour! Get stuff fixed faster! What is he/she like?

YOU: Tall. Tanned. Dark blond. Has a tattoo - military maybe? Sexiest voice ever.

BFF: If you don’t get him, I will.

You set your phone down and smiled.

Maybe I should say something.

Zach had been the building super of your apartment block for the last three months. He was a massive improvement on the last guy, who spent his days playing Zelda and smoking weed and very occasionally getting off his ass to fix stuff.

He’d been to your place - conveniently next door to his, he had a live-in type gig - four times. The garbage disposal, the leaky faucet, the faucet again, and then the window.

Notes could be left in his mailbox downstairs by tenants who needed assistance. He always responded the same day, the next day at the very latest, and he always tried to arrange a time with the occupant that suited them.

He’d gotten all greasy and wet fixing the faucet, his plaid button-down clinging to him, and eventually he’d stripped it off, revealing a tattoo you hadn’t been brave enough to try and examine properly, and some serious biceps.

Next time I see him, you promise yourself.

BFF: Btw, what’s happening with the dude at no 16?

YOU: Nothing.

You’d engaged in a mild flirtation with the well-built guy across the hall. Sometimes he got your mail in his box by mistake and he dropped it off, but lately he hadn’t engaged with you, and you began to think he was just being friendly.

The next day, before you could properly think of what to write down for Zach, the washing machine that came with your place started to leak. You noticed when trying to take your clothes out of it.

“Crap!”

Rather than put a note in his box, you knocked on Zach’s door.

He opened it after a minute, surprise sketched on his handsome face, hair ruffled, sweat beading at the neck of his t-shirt. Past him, you could see weight lifting equipment on the floor, along with a small speaker playing 70s rock.

“Fleetwood Mac?” You ask, smiling. “They’re my favourite.”

“No kidding?” A smile tipped up one corner of his mouth. “So... “ His brown eyes met yours, warm, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I hate to bother you directly, but my washer’s busted - leaking.”

“It’s no bother.” He glanced behind him. “Give me five, okay? I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks so much, Zach.”

He nods and closes the door. You’re about to turn back to your apartment when Well Built Guy - Damon, you think his name is - comes out of his own apartment.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Oh, hey. How are you?”

He pushes a hand through his short, black hair. His single earring glints in the daylight; gives him a pleasingly piratical look. “I’m good. How are you?”

“Yeah, good - thanks.” You move again.

“Wait.” He takes a step closer in the small hall. “I was wondering if you - if you wanted to get coffee sometime? This place two blocks over does an amazing dark roast.”

“Oh, well-”

You’re cut off when Zach’s door swings open. He’s changed into a clean shirt, a forest-green henley, and he carries a faded red toolbox. His gaze darts between you and Damon, wary, and for a second, his mouth turns down.

As quickly as you see it, it’s gone.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he mutters, to you. “Can I go in?”

“I’ll let you in, Zach.” You turn your attention to Damon.”Catch you later?”

“Sure, sweet thing.”

He’s called you the nickname before but it’s never chafed until today.

Zach doesn’t react as you come to the door and let him in.

“Thanks for coming by so quickly.”

He doesn’t look at you. “You didn’t have to cut your time with your boyfriend short.” He sets his toolbox down by the washer and kneels, unbothered by the pool of water that begins to leech into the pale denim of his jeans.

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Zach sets about exploring the washer. “Okay.”

“He isn’t.” You stuff your hands in your pockets. “You want some coffee?”

For the first time, he looks up at you, and the expression in his honey-brown eyes is scraped bare, and then he looks away and the connection is lost. “Sure. Thanks. Black, one sugar.”

You busy yourself, just a few feet away - your kitchen is not big by any stretch of the imagination.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He’s absorbed, only his waist and ass sticking out from the drum of the washer.

You potter off to do some work.

An half hour later, Zach knocks on the door of your tiny office - the only other “room” of your studio aside from the bathroom.

“All fixed.”

“Thank you so much, Zach.”

He swipes the back of his hand over his forehead, leaving a smear of grease. “No problem.”

“You’ve got a-” You reach up, every nerve on end, wanting to touch him.

A knock sounds at your door.

Dammit.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

You swing the door open and Damon is there with two coffees.

“I was on my way back from the office,” he says. “I thought you might like to - oh, the super’s still there. Not fixed yet, pal?”

Damon says it innocuously but you see Zach’s shoulders tense.

“Nope, all good.” He rubs the palms of his hands together in a “that’s done” gesture. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“... Place next door is this amazing Italian,” Damon is saying, oblivious. “It’s pretty pricey but I’d love to take you there.”

Zach pushes between you and out of the door, but you see the crestfallen set of his shoulders as he goes.

The door swings shut behind him and you turn back to Damon, resigned to see this conversation out, and to make it clear that he’s kind, but you aren’t interested.

*******

That evening, you take the stairs down to the communal gym in your building. Well. Gym is stretching it. There’s one ancient rowing machine, one treadmill, a barbell that has seen much better days, and a CRT TV that only shows Judge Judy. But, you don’t have to pay for it, so it beats a gym contract elsewhere in the city.

When you push through the door, Zach is on the treadmill, earphones in. He’s wearing a sleeveless vest and your gaze is drawn to his intricate tattoo - an eagle perched on a world, an anchor hugging the globe. Marines.

Wow, you think - wow.

Sweat trickles down the back of his neck, and his thick, dark gold hair curls around his nape.

Now or never.

You walk over to the treadmill and drop your gym bag to announce your presence.

Zach turns, does a double take, and then presses a button on the treadmill to slow it down. He pulls his earphones out.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Zach.”

Curiosity flits across his features. “Something you need?”

You swallow. He looks so good, his pale gold skin slick with clean sweat, his breath coming in soft pants, his chest rising and falling, lean muscles delineated by the clinging vest.

“No. I mean, yes.”

“And you can’t get the guy at 16 to help?” he snarks.

You step back.

“Sorry,” Zach says, immediately. “I just…”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you assure Zach.

Above his head, on the TV, Judge Judy silently reprimands a woman with six face piercings.

“He could be. Guy like him. Good job. He’d take you to fancy Italian places.”

You curl your hand around the arm of the treadmill. “Maybe I don’t want to go to fancy Italian places.”

Zach huffs out a breath, but you have his interest.

“Maybe I’d just like to hang out with you.”

Suspicion narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Maybe I like you? Did you consider that? Maybe, for some bizarre reason, I think you’re nice and attractive?” you wave your arms, frustrated.

Zach folds his arms across his chest, pursing his lips. “I used to be a Marine, but I had to resign my commission because I got hit hard with PTSD. I lived on the street for two years.”

You hold his gaze as he speaks.

“Why are you telling me this?”

But then you know. He’s telling you so you’ll turn tail and go back to Damon, with his suits and fancy haircut and ability to take you out for $100 dinners.

He expects you to turn him down.

Because that’s what happens. What has happened and what he thinks will happen now.

Zach firms his lips and shakes his head slightly.

“Just go,” he says, so softly, mistaking your silence for pity, rather than resolve.

“No.” Instead, you lean up on your toes and touch your lips to his.

He starts, and then holds perfectly still. You break the kiss, and look up into his face, and he’s gazing at you like you hung the moon and all the stars.

“I like you, Zach,” you whisper. “And I don’t care if our first date is a picnic in the park.”

He blinks, turning away from you for a second, and then he ducks under the arm of the treadmill, and he’s so close that you breath catches.

“I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs, and then he cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he means it, lips and teeth and tongue, and it’s everything.

You spear your fingers into his hair and breathe him in, press yourself against the hard wall of his chest, sigh his name against his lips.

“I gotta shower,” he says, with clear reluctance, his voice half an octave lower, unsteady from a kiss that has rocked both your worlds. “Then, let’s see about that picnic.”

**********

Zach Pit & permanent taglist: @mrschiltoncat @astroboots @songsformonkeys @biblioworm @aeryntheofficial @thirstworldproblemss @wheresarizona @pedropascalito @knittingqueen13 @alwaysbethewest @agirllovespancakes @f0rever15elf @heatherbel @frannyzooey @lannister-slings-and-arrows @sarahjkl82-blog @thedazeinmylife @holographic-carmen @idreamofboobear @fromthedeskoftheraven @disgruntledspacedad @chicken-nugget-puta @miulola @nelba @alienprincesspoop @tardisfangurl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @mylonelylittleappreciation @filthybookworm @absurdthirst @thestrawberry-thief @lilangeldevil006 @marydjarin @jedi-mando @havenforafrazzledmind @myoxisbroken @10-96dispatcher @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes @mrsparknuts @roxypeanut

#zach wellison x reader #zach wellison x gn reader #sfw fic #brothers and sisters fic

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ab1tofsp1ce · 3 years

Text

A Warmer Refuge

CHAPTER 2: For Both Our Sakes

Masterlist HERE

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.9K

Warnings: N/A

Description: The voyage to Kistern really hasn’t seemed to go according to plan...

He remained silent for a long while. We both did. It wasn’t until we jumped into hyperspace that I made the first sound between us. It was an involuntary yelp, and I caught my mouth with my hand as the universe melted around us into nothing but streaks of light. I’d never seen anything like it, only learning about what it was like from Reten’s descriptions. But those could’ve never prepared me for… The pilot’s seat spun around, and for the first time since the cantina, the Mandalorian was facing me, presumably looking me dead in the eyes. He was leaning forward on his knees slightly, and I wondered at that moment what I looked like. I caught a blurry outline of my reflection in his helmet. “Kistern is three or four days travel, even in hyperspace. The fresher is in the hold across from the ladder. Don’t go anywhere else in the ship. You’ll sleep in that seat,” he gestured to the passenger’s chair I was sitting in. “I’m assuming you brought food with you?” He looked at me expectantly, and I nodded quickly. He then stood up and made his way past me to the door of the cockpit. It was then that I realized I hadn’t even said a word to him yet. “Hey! Um, I just – thank you…” I stumbled over my words. He paused, looked back at me, and gave a curt nod of acknowledgment before the doors opened and he made his way down to the hold. I melted back into my seat, shivering slightly. This was going to be the longest three days I’d ever lived through.

I quickly grew sick of hyperspace travel, both physically and mentally. The Mandalorian had seemingly disappeared, but there was a room off the hold, directly under the cockpit, that I assumed he had gone into. It was for the best, in fact, because it meant he didn’t see how long I spent in the fresher vomiting. In all honesty, I didn’t really think it was the hyperspace travel that was making me sick. My heart was tight in my chest and I had to use what remaining energy I had to stop myself from crying. I would never return home. In fact, I no longer had a home. I had no people, no family, nothing tethering me to the ground. Hyperspace was quieter than anything I had ever experienced before. On Yak’ish Temeen, there was always noise – animals, plants, water, wind, people… anything to fill the silence. But out here (wherever here was), it was empty. I noticed this when I finally collapsed back into the passenger’s seat, drained of any energy I still had. It made me feel hollow, and I could’ve sworn I could hear my own heart in my chest. I felt my eyes droop, my body sinking into the seat. It had been days since I had slept properly. A whole year, if I were to be truly honest. But after that day Kalbier approached me with the proposition of leaving Yak’ish Temeen, I spent the next three nights tossing and turning under my tent, weighing up my options. The silence made these memories sound louder, echoing in my head. The door sliding open startled me out of my trance. He made his way to his seat, checking the navcom and a variety of other instruments. As always, he didn’t turn to me when he spoke. “Are you feeling better?” My cheeks flushed violently. He heard me. That entire time I was spewing up the contents of my stomach he could hear me. I looked down at my fumbling hands. “Um… yes. Sorry… about that.” “Nothing to be sorry about.” He turned his chair slightly to look at me over his shoulder. “But here’s to hoping it’s not a frequent occurrence.” He turned back, facing out to space. “For both our sakes.” I tried not to let that statement faze me. I was exhausted of embarrassing myself in front of him, so instead I lay back in the seat as nonchalantly as possible. The Mandalorian let the silence settle for a while, both of us watching the smashing light particles smear past the windscreen like rain. “I’m going to get some rest. Let me know if there are any problems.” That last bit concerned me a bit. I tried not to overthink about what sort of problems we could encounter in dead space. Instead, I distracted myself by watching him lean back in the pilot’s seat, and from where I sat I watched his helmet lean slightly to the right, resting on the back of the seat. I knew that most likely from this position, if he had his eyes open he would be able to see me staring at him. But, in all honesty, it was the only real chance I had to look at him without feeling threatened by being stared down in return. I began to wonder why he hadn’t removed his helmet. Surely, now that we were safely in hyperspace he could take it off; it must be uncomfortable sleeping in that thing. But I said nothing on it, not wanting to disturb him (or, honestly, even talk to him). Maybe I would ask him later. So here I was, less than three years after I first heard the word Mandalorian, now sitting in one’s ship. I smiled quietly to myself, because if you had told me that then I would’ve immediately questioned what kind of crime I could have possibly committed to end up being captured by a bounty hunter. Genuinely, I would’ve sooner believed I would end up a criminal than move to another planet. And there it was again. That pulling feeling around my heart. I had planned my whole life around the idea that I would live that one life forever. Leaving Yak’ish Temeen would’ve meant leaving behind my family, my people, my way of life… Wrapping my arms around myself, I looked down at the tattoo on my arm. I would never get to complete it. Never get my crest. Never get married… well, at least not traditionally. I sunk into myself, curling up in the chair. Sleep had never felt easier.

I wasn’t sure how long I was asleep, but I presumed that what woke me up was what woke us both up; being suddenly thrown out of hyperspace. Unfortunately, I had not been wearing a seatbelt, but it seemed neither did the Mandalorian, as we were both abruptly thrown out of our seats. Whilst he caught himself on the console in front of him, I barely managed to stop myself falling to the floor. “Are you okay?” He turned back to me, still clutching onto the dash. “Yes. Yes, I’m – I’m fine.” My breath was shaky, and I could feel my heart thumping through my chest. “What was that?” He turned back towards the windshield. “I have no idea.” We both sat in our seats and, to avoid another disaster, I buckled my seatbelt. In front of us I could see a planet to our right, surprisingly closer than I would’ve thought. Apparently, he had seemed to make that same summation. “What are we doing here…” he murmured to himself, studying the dials and navcom in front of him. Then, I heard him curse something under his breath. “Something’s not right with… with the hyperdrive. Stay here.” He spun out of his seat and closed the distance to the ladder faster than I could blink, his cape whipping behind him. I was alone now, adrenaline still flushing in my ears. I didn’t like the sound of this… especially if he seemed concerned. For a few moments, there was only the distant sound of him rummaging around somewhere in the hold. But then he called out my name, which I didn’t even know he remembered. “Come down here! I need your help.” My help? I suppose I am a mechanic, but he didn’t know that, did he? Maybe Kalbier had told him… I undid my seatbelt and shuffled down the ladder to see he had disappeared down a vent in the center of the hold’s floor. “Over in the compartment on the left side of the ladder,” he said, not emerging, “there is a box of tools.” I quickly stumbled over to it and opened it, taking out the heavy metal toolbox and placing it on the floor. “Now, I want you to grab the hull cutter from in there,” he said, sticking his head from the vent and reaching his open gloved palm in my direction. “It’s the one with the –” I placed the tool in his hand. He froze for a second, clearly not expecting me to know which one it was. “Yeah, that one. Uh, one moment.” He ducked back under the vent. I frowned to myself, slowly shuffling over to the edge as he got to work. What could be doing down there that would require a hull cutter? I would’ve never used them in the centrifugal power boxes. That is, I couldn’t imagine what down there could have a hull cutter used on it. I peeked down into the vent, watching him work away at a power box. For a moment, I bit my tongue, but then came to the conclusion that it would be doing neither of us any good if I didn’t help where possible. “Um… I wouldn’t use the hull cutter for that… especially in such close proximity to –” I was thrown off by how he suddenly turned back to look at me from his crouched position in the vent. “… to those reactor wires…”. He straightened himself up, regarding me for a moment. “You think you can take a look at this?” His tone was genuine, even laced with a hint of surprise. “Uh… I mean… I can try?” Apparently, despite my clear apprehension, that was all he needed to hear. The Mandalorian hoisted himself out of the vent, stood up, and gestured for me to take a look. Awkwardly, I lowered myself into the vent, and I could immediately tell even from the smell that something wasn’t right; was that… smoke? I looked at the wires in front of me, then studied the fuse box to my left that had already been opened. There were some wires missing… oh goodness… there were more than just wires missing. Stabilizers, three different electromagnetic hinges, and countless other pieces were simply… gone. It was a wonder we were able to jump into hyperspace in the first place, and a miracle that we weren’t hurtled out of it and right into another planet or something. The speed we would’ve exited at before, with all those pieces missing – it explained why we were so close to that planet. “I need a…” I studied my surroundings. What did I need? What could I possibly do with a few tools that could solve a problem like this? “I need a hyperdrive attenuator if you have one. And a jumper bypass.” I stuck my hand up from the vent and felt leather brush it as he placed the two tools in my hand.

The more I worked, the more it dawned on me just how bad the problem was. This ship had almost definitely been ransacked, and the Mandalorian didn’t seem to be able to offer any explanation as to how or when this had happened. Whoever had done it was smart though… remove all the most valuable bits, ones that could easily be sold on their own, but could still allow the ship to get far enough away that the owner wouldn’t be able to come back and hunt you down. Someone on Yak’ish Temeen had clearly made quick work of this ship and, judging by the path they’d created in their robbery, they had managed to enter from the underbelly of the ship from where it had been parked. If the situation were any less dire, I would’ve marveled at our current dynamic. I was giving orders to a Mandalorian, asking him to go up and check something on the console or hand me a tool. But after a while I emerged with the bad news. “This ship is… it’s really not in good shape. We’re lucky we made it this far because –” and, as if right on cue, the ship shook violently, throwing me back down onto the floor of the vent. The hold flashed red, and beeping noises blared all around us. “Here, quick, we need to get into the cockpit.” I looked up to see the Mandalorian extending his hand down to me, and I wondered if there was an earnest expression under that helmet. I took his hand, and he hoisted me up and out of the vent with such ease that I almost fell back into it. Back in the cockpit, both strapped into our seats, I began to see just how bad it was. Those fragile pillars that had been unknowingly holding the ship together were now falling apart all at once like dominos. Fear had emboldened me now, so I said what I was thinking. “We need to land, now, or this’ll become impossible to solve.” “I – this thing is barely responding” grunted the Mandalorian, presumably referring to the navcom. “I don’t even know where we are, let alone the name of this planet.” “And if we don’t land this ship, we’ll never get the opportunity to find out.” I hadn’t intended that to sound so harsh, and I would’ve been scared of him turning back to confront me about it if he wasn’t so preoccupied wrestling to control the ship. He didn’t even reply, but seemingly agreed with my assertion, because he began landing procedures. “It’s going to be a bumpy one and we’re too high up for me to tell if there’s a safe place to land. This could end badly so strap in.” I certainly didn’t need the verbal confirmation of that, but I said nothing, only gripping onto the side of my seat.

The closer we got to the upper atmosphere of the planet, I felt the ship shake harder and get hotter. I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment, silently praying that this wouldn’t be the way I left this universe. For a few seconds it got hotter and hotter, and then when I opened my eyes I could see we were beginning to get low enough to see the ground beneath us. If we weren’t falling out of the sky I would’ve been enamored by the beauty of this planet. It was lush in its colors, with snaking rivers and distant lakes. The forests were dark and immense – I’d never seen anything like it before. I snapped out of my transfixion when I remembered we’d need somewhere to land, and I began scanning the ground that we were hurtling towards. “Over there!” I pointed to an open field on the edge of the forest, still holding onto my shaking seat. “Got it!” He said through gritted teeth. I watched as he wrestled with the steering, the ship jolting slowly but surely forward towards the clearing. I watched the ground loom under us – 300 feet, 200 feet, 100 feet… “Hold on – ” said the Mandalorian as he gripped onto the dash. “I’m going to slow us down for landing but there may be an impact.” I gripped tighter to my seat, closing my eyes desperately. I felt gravity push from beneath me as the ship began to slow, and then –

CRASH

A shock wave jolted through my body, accompanied by the sound of cracking metal. For a moment I sat there with my eyes still squeezed shut, listening to the sound of heat expanding and creaking the joints of the ship around us. “Not the worst landing I’ve experienced,” was all he said, laced with a tone of relief and humor. Humor? That was one word I had never thought I would use to describe the words of a bounty hunter. “Come on,” he said, rising from his seat with admittedly less composure than usual. “This ship won’t fix itself.” It was nice to see he was human in some ways, although he was far more level-headed than I was. In a far calmer hold I could now better assess the full damage we had taken, but it didn’t even take my skill to see what was wrong. I went back to the main vent in the hold, clambered in awkwardly and lay down so as to assess the damage more thoroughly. “We need to replace those missing parts if we wanna get off this planet,” I said, as if he needed my confirmation. He didn’t answer, and when I slide back out, I saw him standing over me at the edge of the vent looking down to where I lay in this dark and oily pit. I realized what I must look like to him right now. I almost certainly had soot and grime on my face, because it coated my hands. I was sweaty and hadn’t gotten my hair out of my face, so it was probably matted. I went pink at the thought. “Make a list of what we need, and what repairs you can do. I’ll try and use the navcom to find a civilization nearby… if there is one.” He lingered for a moment, and I wondered what he was looking at under that mask; the oil dribbling out near my feet, the wires hanging lose out the side of the vent, or my grubby face…

#the mandalorian#star wars#din djarin#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#mando x you#the mandalorian fanfiction#the mandalorian fanfic#the mandalorian fic#din djarin fanfic#din djarin fic#din djarin reader insert#din djarin x ofc#the mandalorian imagine#din djarin imagine

#the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #mando x you #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fic #din djarin reader insert #din djarin x ofc #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine

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hitsuackerman · 4 years

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Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.25

a/n: Eyo :) we’re now entering the Shie Hassaikai Arc :]

warnings: this cannot be read solo

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20, part 21, part 22, part 22, part 23, part 23.5, part 24

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased @infinite-universe-love @dirtypride @blackymomo03 @azzie @purple-rabanito @meximorrita @awesomeee19 @celestial-kanzakii @laure-lo @team-wang-puppy @aydience-world @choros-main-hoe @colorseeingchick @o-dragon05 @but-kairis-not-that-smart (i cant seem to tag again :( hope this lands in your timelines!)

“Please excuse us.” Deku and Mirio said as they took off their shoes and entered your apartment. The two boys had taken it upon themselves to hand over the document Sir Nighteye had been meaning to give you.

“Make yourselves at home.” You led them to the living room. Whatever remnants of Overhaul’s scent or belongings were long gone by now. True to his word, he left right after breakfast but not without burning toast and eggs for breakfast. He looked pissed as fuck but the picture on your phone was well worth the exploding sofa. “Also, no need to take off your shoes.”

“Thank you so much, (l/n)-san!” Deku said as they took a seat and took in the decoration. Taking note of how many rooms and how clean the place was, he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel like to support himself.

“I wasn’t able to restock my fridge.” You placed two cans of soda in front of them. Both their eyes sparkling at the free drink. “This is all I can offer for now~”

“This is more than enough, (l/n)-san!” Mirio cheered as he opened the can of soda and chugged it. “Oh! Here’s the files that Sir Nighteye wanted to give you. He also wishes you a speedy recovery. Oh, and he wants to know if you’re fit to attend the heroes meeting the day after tomorrow.”

Accepting the files, you placed the folder beside you and answered the other questions he had thrown. Satisfied with your answer, the boy laughed and tried to say a punchline.

“You sure do have a sense of humor, Lemillion.” Looking at your bedroom door, you couldn’t help but snicker at the thought of Overhaul’s jacket resting on his side of the bed. Hmm, his side of the bed was a strong word and one you were sure you wouldn’t be able to use again. “How’s school, you two?”

“It’s fine. We’re just focusing now on our internships but the others are still attending school.” Deku answered.

“Ah, by the way, are you feeling much better now?” Mirio chimed in. “You seem to be alone.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You shrugged and touched the spot of the closed bullet hole. “Things didn’t exactly turn out as planned but there’s still next time~”

“We received news that Overhaul ended up killing a suspect?”

“Hm? Well, yes he did.” You almost forgot about that. “We still caught one so I guess it isn’t all that bad.”

“How did you get used to your work, (l/n)-san?” Deku inquired.

“I can’t say I’m used to it. I still get chills every now and then but as long as things turn out for the better, it makes it worthwhile. Besides, the injuries we get are nothing compared to what heroes get. We’re merely support.” You smirked. “Pawns for the bigger pieces, if I may say so myself.”

“Hahaha! You say that like heroes aren’t all that, (l/n)-san!” Mirio laughed and held on to his stomach.

“I never implied that.” You looked at the view of your window and back at them. Not holding it back, you sighed. “Listen. Everyone wants to be a hero, I get it. But when life hits you, sometimes ya gotta do what you have to do. My field of work requires me to make a constant string of decisions. I’ve worked for heroes who have red marks on their files. Some even with questionable motives. But it’s also important to take note of those who were not seen in their times of need.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?”

“Barely. The glitz and glamour of being a hero are blinding to those aspiring one’s. Same goes for those who aren’t on the heroes side.” You stood up and the two boy’s followed. “Don’t take this the wrong way kids. Not everyone can be saved. Now, I’m not telling you guys to stop chasing your dreams or shit. I just want you to be aware that the world is unfair. Now go to do your patrols.”

The moment they bid farewell and your locks clicked, you went back to the living room and sat down. Fingers slowly touching the fabric. Every single crease, fold, and dip your sofa had. Finding nothing, you painstakingly began to check each room and vase your unit had to offer. Seeing as things were clear, you decided a small trip to the third floor was necessary.

Grabbing your phone, you went to your bedroom and opened the window. Dialing a number, you waited for the other person to pick up.

“Hurry. I don’t have much time.”

“Chrono. Did you destroy the tracker?”

“I did. 2 days ago.” He paused and lowered his voice. “Why?”

“Nothing. How did you dispose of it?”

“Used some equipment we have here.”

“Thanks. Go do your shit.” Hearing a chuckle, you ended the call and closed the windows.

It didn’t take too long but now you were inside the elevator. The faint sound of elevator music keeping you company as the buttons lit up. Once you arrived on the third floor, you walked down the hallway and took a detour to one of the off limit doors.

Knocking 5 times, the door opened.

“Why hello to you, (y/n)~”

“Same goes for you, Roshi-san~” You tilted your head and gave him a peace sign. “Busy?”

“Not at all. Come in, come in! Shall I prepare your throne, princess?”

“And rid you of yours? I just wanna check something.” Taking a Y1000 from your pocket, Roshi took it with a wink and stuffed it into his.

Watching his fingers tapping on the keyboard, a window popped up indicating that a bunch of videos were being transported into a folder. As that was happening, he took a flash drive and connected it. With a few more taps and clicks, he turned around and faced you.

“Paranoid, princess?”

“Not much. Just have to make sure, you know?”

“This about Overhaul?” The bluish twinkle in his eyes made you laugh. “Bingo~ Don’t worry boo, I’ve deleted and looped each and every footage that showed him he even entered within a 100m radius.”

“Remind me why you prefer to work here and not back at the house?”

Roshi Matsui. One of your father’s most trusted members. It had been a few years since he decided to leave the compound and take up a job that made use of his quirk. Though admittedly, he was also one of the reasons why your father chose the apartment building. He felt safe enough to entrust his only daughter to this member.

“I get bored easily.” Facing the screen once more, he tapped away and ejected the flash drive. “Everything you need is in here, princess. You’re in for a wild ride.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Shall I continue with your request?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright~ Have a great day~ OH send my kisses to Geiby-boo.” Right. You keep forgetting that these two were related. Cousins. Giving him the response he wanted, he stood up to open the doors for you. Just as you were about to step outside, Roshi grabbed your arm and smirked. “Not that I care what you do, (n/n)... be sure to check your doors. Aight?”

“I will~”

With hurried steps, you reached the elevator and clicked on your floor. Roshi usually kept an eye on your floor but it was never really needed before. That sudden warning was nothing but bad news as each button lit up. Using your quirk to calm yourself, you stepped out and made your way to your room.

Taking your keys from your pocket, it slipped and jingled its way to the floor. Kneeling to pick it up, you examined the corner pads, sweep, and sill. Seeing nothing, you grabbed your keys and stretched. Eyes scanning the header and the jam. It was still clear of any shiny objects.

Not satisfied with the results, you entered your room and locked your door. Inspecting it from within was much less confining. Yet, there were no indications that your place had been bugged.

“Unless…” Of all the things you barely checked, it would have to be the peephole. “Ah shit.”

True enough, the peephole was blocked and you were met with a tiny lens that seemed to be adjusting its aperture. Heading to where you kept your toolbox, you uttered a string of curses. The want to watch the CCTV footage grew stronger but first things first.

It took awhile but you got the job done. Careful that the small camera wasn’t damaged, you managed to pull it out. The tiny dot of green light indicated that it was still recording. Covering the new whole with some electrical tape, you went to the kitchen and reached for two bowls. Caging the device with the two bowls, you placed it in the fridge to ensure you were safe.

Now in your bedroom, you dialled his number.

“What is it, (y/n)?”

“I don’t like being bugged, Chisaki.”

“And why would I do that? You already pester me with phone AND video calls. I see no need to do that.” There was a pause in the line. “Though, I would be a hypocrite if I wouldn’t admit to the thought of actually doing it.”

“I don’t like liars.”

“Would I ever lie to you?” There was a teasing tone to his voice.

“You might~ I can never guess you right.” If it wasn’t him then who would? “That’s all for now, birdman. W-will you call me later?”

“If my schedule permits it, then I shall.”

“Such a tease…”

“I can do more than teasing, (y/n).”

“Oh shut it.” Ending the call, you resisted the urge to squeal.

Rubbing your face, you groaned and sunk into the sofa, your body feeling tired after all the moving you had done today. Perhaps you weren’t fully healed yet. Dialing another number, you waited for the other person to pick up.

“Nao?”

“Ah. (y/n). You okay now?”

“Not fully but I can head to work tomorrow. Are things alright there? How’s the report for the raid?”

“It’s still in the drafts but it shouldn’t be too hard for you to pick up.”

“Email it to me. I can start working on it now.”

“Sure.” He paused. “How’re things with Rusai?”

“Who?”

“Your caretaker?”

Oh. He was given an alias. Something you didn’t know. Then again, you didn’t bother as to how he even became your ‘legal guardian’ during those tiring times.

“Things were rather interesting to be honest. A bit of a rough 20 minutes when I woke up but other than that, things improved significantly~” You stared at the entryway and bit your tongue. “Deku and Mirio dropped by but he left earlier than planned.”

“Deku and Mirio? Isn’t that…”

“I know. I took care of it. Though, I have a feeling something’s about to happen again.”

“Be careful, (n/n).”

“I will~ Now go do your thing~”

Reaching for your laptop, you unlocked and connected the flash drive. Waiting a few seconds, you opened the folder and grabbed a pillow. Clicking on the first video, upped the speed and began to watch as to who could have possibly planted that bug on your door.

As the hours ticked by and your legs falling asleep alternatively, you took a glance at your windows and realized that the sun was now setting. Stretching your entire body, you could feel the tension being released. Pausing the current video, you groaned and layed down on the sofa. Hair splaying everywhere.

Roshi was right.

It really was indeed a wild ride.

- - - - -

if any of you guys want :) feel free to follow me on twitter for updates regarding this story or my thought process during the making :)

@vicart_ph

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha overhaul #mha overhaul #bnha chisaki kai #mha chisaki kai #shie hassaikai

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creativity-is-rebellion · 4 years

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Some Things are Not Dialectic

So much has happened to me since I last wrote on this blog. To sum it up in a nutshell: I changed therapists (something I have been meaning to do for a while now), I was hospitalised yet again for just a little over a week this time, voluntarily, for recurrent suicidal thoughts, where I was tentatively diagnosed (yet again) with BPD, and the new therapist I started seeing after coming out of the hospital diagnosed me with Asperger’s. I also started a DBT program, which I am now six weeks into. Previous therapists, if you have read any of my other posts, have diagnosed me with Bipolar I, but after only two sessions with the psychiatrist at the hospital, and in the wake of him talking, at length, with my husband about my history, I was informed that I probably have Bipolar II and BPD. My regular psychiatrist disagrees with this and stated that it is probably complex trauma (or C-PTSD) and Bipolar I. I am inclined to trust the diagnosis of the latter more, as I have been seeing her for two years now. And now I also have an Asperger’s diagnosis from my new psychologist. What a mess. After all these upheavals, I feel emotionally at sea.

I also decided to swap medications at the hospital (the Seroquel was not helping my insomnia and was making me gain a bit of weight) and finally gave Lithium, the supposed “gold standard” of Bipolar medication, a chance. And it made me terribly ill. I was so nauseous all the time that after 4 weeks of struggling along, I had to give it up. I even broke out in a rash, but no professionals, not even my GP, wanted to listen to my misgivings, so I just informed them all that I was coming off it. My psychiatrist respected my decision, but wants to put me on something else. I am reluctant, because I have tried all sorts of medication for extended periods of time, and there are always negative side-effects, or they don’t do what is intended. I was told in the hospital by the psychiatrist that Lithium would be ideal for someone like me who has ambitions, wants a career, and doesn’t want to sleep for 20 hours a day, so when I experienced intolerance, I felt so disappointed. I even spent some time blaming myself. I have found my overall experience with taking medications really draining and time-consuming. I feel as if I am trying, and even doing everything I should, but it’s just not paying off. One method that I have tried in the past on my hospital visit before this one was ECT, and I did find that somewhat effective, but the results were not long-lasting enough. And, after reading about the experiences of those who get regular sessions of ECT, I worry about the possible effects it would have on my long-term memory if I was to go down that route. If there were any negative side-effects within this vein, it would be incompatible with the way in which I want to live my life, including my career goals.

While I was in the hospital, I was referred to a centre that specialised in Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT). I have read about DBT previously, and wanted to try it out when I received a previous diagnosis of Borderline “tendencies” in Norway, however, as I lived in a small town, there were no DBT groups available nearby, and so my therapist gave me a booklet to read up on it on my own. I had also previously stumbled upon the therapist that founded DBT (Marsha Linehan) when I was studying my Bachelor of Psychology. She later admitted that she actually had been diagnosed with BPD herself, and so DBT was a hodge-podge of different therapies and western and eastern practices that had worked for her. I thought the refterral would take longer to process than it did, but it was processed more-or-less straight away after I came out of hospital. I attended the three commitment meetings and was successfully offered a place, and, after all that I had heard and read, was excited to begin. But six weeks in, I feel let down.

Let me preface what I am about to say by stating that I think there is a lot of good methods to help tackle negative feelings that DBT offers, but a lot of the skills surrounding self-care are competencies I already possess (and so nothing new). There are also some aspects of DBT that are just not really relevant to me specifically, but that’s alright. If I look at it as more tools I can fill my emotional toolbox with, not everything is going to fit. I enjoy and aim for self-improvement, and this is what attracted me to DBT in the first place. On the other hand, I am an analytical person who enjoys testing concepts and seeing if there are any potential flaws in what I am learning, and the method of delivery of the current program I am in doesn’t seem to leave room or space for that. I am finding aspects of DBT condescending, basic, and invalidating. I don’t feel that my prior knowledge or skills are being acknowledged as strengths I am bringing to the table that I can build upon. It is almost as I, along with the rest of the group, am being treated as if I am clueless, and that the therapists and coaches involved in the DBT group sessions are the autocratic, absolute experts on everything we should be doing and what we are doing “wrong,” something that I feel is quite harsh given that most who suffer from BPD also have C-PTSD, or, conversely, that those with C-PTSD can often be misdiagnosed with BPD. After researching some more, I have found that I am not alone in these misgivings.

I decided to share some of my criticisms just this morning with my individual coach. We met at a cafe near where I live, after I dropped the kids off at school. Towards the end of the session, she asked me directly if I ever felt she had invalidated me in our individual sessions. I decided to be honest and tell her that I had felt that. I have only just started acknowledging past trauma, some of which occurred years ago, to both myself and my therapists. It’s mostly because I feel that it is time to do so, because the thoughts and feelings were coming up more and more regularly, intrusively and involuntarily, to the point where I feel like I can’t ignore them anymore. Three weeks ago, I disclosed to my coach in an individual session about the trauma and sexual abuse I had experienced via school bullying. I told her that she had laughed briefly after I had told her about a boy who had pinched my bottom in front of the whole grade on a dare when I was was 13, and said I didn’t blame her, maybe she laughed out of surprise, but when I also told her that she had, in the same conversation, told me not to worry about “stupid school” (her exact words), she denied having said that to me at all, and got quite defensive.

She even said that perhaps I had just “experienced it that way,” and just refused to acknowledge that she had said that at all. I felt so gaslighted,so triggered (my mother tried to gaslight me all the time) and am now unsure whether I will continue with DBT. I left really shaken up, which was tough as I had had a really rough week and had actually woken up in a good mood, and had to then work really hard to turn my thoughts back around again. Upon reflection, I think the coaches are badly trained and unprofessional. This might be what is making the delivery sub-par. Maybe it’s just yet another case of “you get what you pay for.” Now, the question is, do I continue, and just try to focus on implementing the skills, instead of worrying about my obvious personality clash with the therapists and coaches involved? Sigh.

Now, to address the Asperger’s diagnosis: I actually feel it is a good fit. She got in an expert who took me through the diagnostic criteria before giving me the diagnosis, and, for the first time in a long time, I felt validated. I have been doing a lot of reading since receiving my diagnosis, and have found a number of interesting facts about females with Asperger’s, such as they are more likely to be overlooked for diagnosis compared to that of boys, as they do not present with the same symptoms, and are often misdiagnosed with (interestingly) Bipolar, BPD, or even OCD, because it was (until recently) considered a diagnosis exclusively reserved for boys. They are overlooked because they tend to be great social mimics (as females generally are more socialised than men), which masks the symptoms and difficulties females with ASD face. I believe that one of the reasons for my life-long fascination with human behaviour (to the point that I decided to study it), is due to my desire to fit in, when I have always felt different. I have, as my husband has also observed, a number of special interests that I enjoy talking about at length in social settings, and often fail to pick up on the social cues of boredom in the individuals I am talking to. But, that’s alright. It is part of the diagnosis. I am working on it. I might not ever get there, but that is alright too. In my research on the subject, I found a delightful blog from Tania Marshall, as well as her book, entitled “I am Aspien Woman,” which discusses the unique struggles of females with Asperger’s. The blurb to the book states: “Have you ever wondered about a friend, a partner, a mother, sister or daughter? Wondered why she says she feels 'different'? Out of step with her peers, she may struggle keeping friends and a job, yet she has multiple degrees. Bright from early on, she may have singleminded focus, sprinkles of anxiety, sensory and social issues, be gifted in art, writing, science, research or singing. Maybe she is a woman on the Autism spectrum, with a unique constellation of super-abilities, strengths and challenges?” I relate to all of this. I was a precocious reader with an eidetic memory from an early age. I have multiple degrees, and am creative, but struggle in social situations. It’s who I am, and I accept it. When I told my GP, who also closely follows my mental health progress, that my current psychologist has diagnosed me with Asperger’s, she dismissively stated that “everybody is different - we are all on the spectrum” - to which I have to say - what a load of crap. There is different, and there is different. I have always been a person that marches to the beat of her own drum, sometimes to my detriment. But it’s just how I am.

So, what if I don’t have BPD, or Bipolar, but rather “just” Asperger’s? I am high-functioning, so I can understand that it took a long time to identify it, but, on the other hand, it feels as if going through all of the struggles I have been through could have been prevented if only I had had a therapist that was skilled enough to really listen to me, to pick up the signs, and to validate me. I am hoping I have that now with my current psychologist, and am looking forward to working together with her toward a brighter future where I can accept myself and also work on my issues in a safe space.

After years of not sharing my thoughts or being as assertive as I want to be, I have found that recently I have been coming out of my shell in this respect, and those around me aren’t liking it. Apart from the example above, on the day I was leaving the hospital, there were a series of delays concerning my release, that, when they all added up, frustrated me so much, I had to say something. I sometimes think that those in the so-called “caring” professions abuse their power. Whether it’s bad training, an authoritative personality, or other traits that are, in my opinion, not suited to these professions that are the cause, it is a dilemma which is vital to address. Of course, #notalltherapists. But, in my long-standing experience with mental health services, and as a psychology graduate myself, it is enough to cause concern. Too often, patients are discounted because of what’s wrong with them, dismissed because the health professional believes themselves to know better, or put into the “too hard” basket for so-called “difficult” behaviour. But what needs to be acknowledged is that the person that is standing in front of them is there because they are seeking help, and should be looked at as an individual, and not necessarily by the box the therapist wants to fit them into. More duty of care, more empathy, and more acknowledgement, is needed.

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etlunainmorte · 5 years

Text

✒ P.S. I Love You ✒

***

"Okay, so, listen up!" Nico announced later that afternoon as she faced all the occupants in the dining room, including herself ( who was at the head of the table ), V ( who was standing next to the fireplace away from the others, arms crossed over his chest, and Shadow lying on the floor next to his feet ), Avery ( who was sitting next to Nico on her right ), Roman ( who was sitting very close to his fiancée, feeling nervous and frightened ), and Griffon ( who was perched on Roman's chair and making the man much more nervous ). "The wedding is in five days, and we need everyone to participate in this. Ya don't want any frickin' ghosts photobombin' on yer wedding pictures and worse, yeah?"

"We'll gladly help." Avery asked as she took Roman's hand in hers and began squeezing it.

Roman, who bravely nodded and placed a hand on top of hers, spoke, his voice sounding admirably resolute. "How can we help you?"

Nico looked at V's direction and nodded at him, gesturing for him to come forward, and a few seconds later, (Y/N)'s journal, the old wooden box of photographs, and the radio containing all the voice recordings were scattered on the table for everyone to see.

"During our investigation, we managed to find these items that, we think, are vital clues to what's really happenin' here." Nico explained, then opened the wooden box to let the couple see the various photographs in it, especially the ones where (Y/N) and Victor were involved.

With furrowed eyebrows, Avery took some photographs and stared at them in disbelief. "Hey, this is great gran! I didn't know I still have these!"

"This man looks like V!" Roman added as he pointed at Victor in the pictures. "Why is he with her? I thought she's married to Doctor Lancaster in 1898!"

"That's exactly what we have to find out." V answered as he opened the journal and showed them the writings in it, which baffled the couple. "Apparently, Ms. Avery, your great grandmother was in love with someone else. She's in love with a man by the name of Victor Blake."

"Shut the fucking door up!" Avery exclaimed as she took the journal and read (Y/N)'s entries in it, herself. She, then, looked up at V and gave him a scrutinizing gaze as if he was telling them lies. "So, you're telling me that this man, this Victor Blake, is a third wheel, or something?"

"We're not yet sure. That's why we have to investigate further into this matter. Because," V said as he pointed at the strange image in one of the photographs showing (Y/N) and Victor's wedding. " ... something else was at play there."

"And because of that, we believe that we finally have a suspect." Nico added as she threw another photograph at the table. It wasn't an old photo, though. It was a printed screenshot of the strange man in white who materialized last night. And when Avery and Roman looked at it, the two felt shivers run up and down their spine.

"Oh, my God!" Avery exclaimed.

"It's the same man from the pictures!" Roman observed.

"And we're not done!" Nico said as she took her radio and played the recording in it, which made Roman's skin go pale. She turned it off before it could make the poor man faint.

"That strange man, these hauntings, and great gran's connection to this Victor." Avery hummed as she pondered for a while with all the available clues in front of them. "Something doesn't connect! It doesn't make any sense, at all!"

"We have our own,... suspicions. However, it would stay as that - suspicion. Unless we do something to uncover the truth. Only then,... can we put an end to these,... hauntings." V replied.

"So, here's what we need to do." Nico relayed, her tone as gravely serious as it can possibly be. "We need to split up into three teams. V, of course, would investigate on his own. Each team would have a radio and a spy cam, just like that one that the little chicken is wearing. The plan is simple, we just need to find more clues such as these. Along the way, we should also record every single thing with these gadgets. We might find the recordings useful later on."

"Saying that we need to split into groups, do you mean to say that we also have to check what's on the upper floors?" Avery questioned as she took one radio for herself.

"Exactly."

"Okay. I would go upstairs with V, then. I have access to the other rooms, after all." Avery offered as she stood up, determined to help with the investigation.

"No."

All the occupants in the room stared at Roman as he held his fiancée’s arm. He stood up and took one radio for himself. And with a brief nod and a sigh, he said, "I'll do it. I'll investigate the upper floors."

"But, sweetie!" Avery complained.

"Sshh, sshh. It's okay. It's time for me to prove I'm not always this poor scaredy - cat man you knew. I'll do it. You investigate here."

"Oh, sweetie!"

Nico and V awkwardly looked away as the lovers began smooching in front of them. And if it weren't for the tattooed woman clearing her throat, the two won't stop showering each other with kisses.

"I'll go with you, then - " Nico began but, she was interrupted as Roman's hand went up. Really showing off now, aren't we?

"I'll take the bird with me." The man announced, which made Griffon's eyes widen in shock and his beak drop in awe. "If you would allow me, Mr. V?"

The poet saw the horrified look on his familiar's face as the poor bird shook his head over and over again, probably in a gesture to not allow Roman to take him along.

Unfortunately for Griffon, though, V was moved by Roman's decision to finally man up and actually face his own fears.

"Of course." V answered, making Griffon almost fall off Roman's chair.

"Alright then. You go with me, Ms. Avery." Nico decided as she also stood up.

"Umm,..." Avery began. "Can we take the big black cat, V?"

V looked down at Shadow and nodded at her. The familiar understood this and went over to the ladies.

"So, good luck to all of us, then." Avery said as she took her own camera.

Nico turned to V as she playfully punched him on the arm, just like that one time before all the hauntings messed up their life. And with a sweet smile that V hasn't seen from her in a while, she said, "See ya later, V."

Strangely enough, Nico's words seemed to leave behind an impression on V. Over the last two days, he realized how reliable she was and how friendly she actually was compared to Dante, who just bossed him around. While he did survive the Qliphoth incident, he's still learning to live as a free man without having to worry about dying, or being judged by others due to his physical appearance and his unique personality. And Nico was actually the first person who welcomed him as a new member of the Devil May Cry squad. Not Dante, and not even Nero. It was her. She even went to such lengths to help with this mission of his, albeit with personal agenda of delving more into something paranormal and not demonic for a change.

But, still. Nico extending some extra effort with this,...

She deserved a token of appreciation. After all, they're kind of like friends now. When they see each other in the morning again, he would tell her that he agreed on splitting the pay in half. And maybe surprise her with a little gift after the mission. A new toolbox, maybe? Or a new hammer? Would she like that?

These things were still in V's mind as he made his way to (Y/N)'s room, and as he was about to enter the room ( there's no door now since Griffon destroyed it last night ), he heard a very pleasant noise that was coming from the first floor.

It was,... a piano? And a trumpet?

V turned and noticed that he was, once again, plunged into the past with the sudden change in the atmosphere. And as he searched for the source of the music, he noticed that there were few people in the place unlike the last time he went for a visit. He made his way to the library / music room and found a small group of people gathered there as they listened to some musicians performing some sweet and soothing music.

He turned to his right and actually noticed Victor Blake standing alone in one corner of the room, leaning on his cane, and looking intently at something in the distance. V followed his gaze and saw (Y/N) sitting in one of the plush maroon sofas. The beautiful evening gown she's wearing and the way her hair was styled suited her perfectly, and she was holding a fan just like the rest of the distinguished females in the room.

Yes, everyone else looked beautiful. But, to V, (Y/N) simply stood out among others. And Victor seemed to think of the same, as well, as he slowly made his way towards her. The girl noticed this and looked shyly away as she covered her blushing cheeks with her fan. And when the poet arrived and kneeled before her once more, she finally gave in and held out a gloved hand, which he proudly took and kissed. It was the actual scene from the first photograph of them he ever saw.

Then, the music slowly changed as the atmosphere around him seemed to morph, as well. And a few moments later, V found the two sitting in front of the piano. Victor played the instrument as (Y/N)'s angelic voice filled the room.

The atmosphere morphed once more and V saw them sitting together in one of the maroon sofas. Victor was now reading something to her, and as she listened with a look of wonder in those beautiful eyes, the poet looked at her with much more. It was deep, and, in a way, possessive. Like his eyes refused to leave her for even a second. Again, this was one of the scenes from those old photographs.

The surroundings around V changed and morphed several more times, showing him how Victor and (Y/N) grew close with each other, until it led him to the part where they were surrounded by other people, by very close and loving friends, who were trying to push them together to stand on a makeshift platform made of pillows. Daniella placed a veil on (Y/N)'s head and her maidservant gave her a single stem of a deep red rose. A man, who was standing in front of them, cleared his throat and began reading something from what looked like an encyclopedia. He fished out something from his pocket, making the others laugh, and produced two rings. He gave one to each lover and went on reading his book.

V smiled to himself as he watched the couple speak their vows and how they slid the ring on the other's finger. And when the people began cheering for them, Victor cupped (Y/N)'s cheeks and gave her a very sweet and gentle kiss that lasted for at least a minute.

The atmosphere changed once more and V saw (Y/N) dragging Victor upstairs towards her bedroom. He followed closely behind them and noticed the girl taking a folded stationery from her pocket and giving it to Victor. She, then, pressed a kiss against two of her fingers and pressed them on the note on Victor's hand. She smiled, stood on her toes, and gave the man a chaste peck on the cheek. She waved good night and opened her door, went in, and gave him another smile before finally closing it.

Victor didn't wait a moment longer and unfolded the note, and what he read there made his eyes widen. He abruptly knocked on the door, and when (Y/N) opened it, he hastily engulfed her in a tight embrace.

V felt his heart swell as the lovers shared a very passionate kiss.

Hands caressing and exploring. Lips moving in a rhythmic pattern. For a moment, V saw himself as Victor.

For a brief moment, he saw himself passionately kissing and caressing (Y/N).

The girl stepped backwards, leading Victor inside but never breaking the sweet kiss. After a while, V's eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he saw Victor's, his, metal cane flying from the room to the hallway, along with his cravat and one of (Y/N)'s shoes. Victor came out a few seconds later, looking so in love and excited, to retrieve the items. Then, he entered the room and closed the door.

Then, everything went quiet. V was about to turn and leave when he saw (Y/N) dragging Victor once more to her room. They kissed. They embraced. The cane flew once more. Victor retrieved the cane. They laughed.

Then, the same thing happened for several more times. Of them kissing. Of them embracing. Of the cane flying.

And after a few moments, everything went silent.

However, V didn't see the two of them again.

All of a sudden, a hand swiftly went down to V's shoulders. He turned around to see Maria, Avery's old housekeeper, looking worriedly at him.

"Young master, you've stayed too long! We must go!" She told him, took his arm, and dragged him away from the room. "Your friend needs you! You must hurry!"

"My friend?!" V felt like he was suddenly punched in the stomach upon hearing the words from Maria and immediately went down to see for himself.

No, no, no,...

This can't be! It can't happen! It can't -

V's shoulders dropped as he saw Avery, Roman, and Griffon looking down at something on the floor with pained looks on their faces.

"She was attacked, V." Avery told him. "I'm sorry, I couldn't do anything,..."

V ran to where they were and saw, in his utter shock, Nico's unconscious form on the floor. There were slashes all over her body but, what stood out the most was the wound on her right palm, looking as though it was intentionally put there. He took a closer look at it, and finally saw what it was.

The wound,...

... was in the form of three digits.

749

***

✒ @la-vita , @micaelagua , @v-vic , and @birdgirl69 .✒

***

✒✒✒

***

#devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #p.s. i love you #v x reader #v x you #chapter 11 #(Y/N) and victor

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three-drink-amy · 5 years

Text

If After All These Years, You’d Like to Meet

master list - AO3

Chapter Fifteen

Jamie stared at Frank, waiting for an answer from him. It was clear that he didn’t expect someone else to be in Claire’s home. Jamie was wishing at the moment that he was still out getting groceries. Frank eyed him suspiciously before he offered up an answer. “I’m here to see Claire.”

Jamie nodded, thinking through what to say next. Frank looked past him to the rest of her flat. “Well I’m afraid she’s not here at the moment. She got called into the hospital.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m uh,” Jamie looked back into the flat. He spotted the open cabinet under the sink and it sparked an idea. “I’m fixing her sink for her.”

“When she’s not here?” He narrowed his eyes at Jamie.

“Well she was here earlier and let me in,” Jamie said. Frank didn’t need to know that he’d actually spent the night there. Or the fact that he’d spent most nights in the last two months with her. In a flash, Jamie had decided to hide his true relationship with Claire. That could be Claire’s choice to divulge to him if the time came.

“When will she return?”

“Not sure,” Jamie answered evasively. Frank huffed before he walked past Jamie into Claire’s flat, bumping his shoulder as he passed him. Jamie stood and stared at him for a moment, taken aback by his brazenness. “So you’ll be waiting then?”

Frank sat down in a chair at her kitchen table. “Clearly,” he replied in a biting tone.

Jamie swallowed harshly as he turned to close the door. He stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what he would do. One option was leave and go to the hospital and tell Claire. Another option was sit down at the table with him to see if Jamie could make Frank feel as uncomfortable as he felt. A third option was pretending to actually fix Claire’s sink. Ultimately, the latter won out. The last thing he wanted was to actually talk to Frank, so Jamie knelt down in front of the open cupboard and wondered how he could pretend to fix a sink.

He was only kneeling there for a minute before he stood up to go find Claire’s toolbox. She kept it in her bedroom closet. There was a part of him that hoped Frank was scandalized by the thought of Jamie in there. If he could only know the full truth of what they’d done in there. He shook his head. That was no way to think. If anything he felt bad for Frank for being idiotic enough to take Claire for granted.

Jamie walked back out of Claire’s bedroom with a few tools in his hands. Frank watched him as he moved about her kitchen. “And does Claire know that you just make yourself at home in her flat? Wandering about in her room?”

Jamie looked over at him, choking back the rising anger within him. “Yes.” He smiled slightly, mostly to himself, before kneeling back on the floor. In the next few minutes, he moved the tools against the pipes so it would sound like he was working. Occasionally, he’d stand and turn on the water to “test” it. Then he’d duck back down. He was glad the island sheltered him from Frank’s gaze.

But the whole time, he was imagining what he’d say to Frank if he thought it was his place. How does it feel to have lost the perfect woman? Do you know how truly stupid you are to have not followed her here? What could possibly be worth staying in Boston over being with Claire? How did it not kill you to not spend each night beside her? Why would a selfish man like you have ever gotten to be with her in the first place? I suppose I should thank you for being such a terrible boyfriend that she left you and allowed me a chance.

Jamie never said any of it though. Instead, he kept to himself and feigned handiwork. Hopefully Claire had seen the several texts he’d sent her in warning. If nothing else, he could give her a heads up to the situation waiting for her. Jamie sighed, wishing he could be working on the dinner he’d promised Claire. He was just wasting time. But surely if Frank saw him preparing a meal for her, he’d have more questions and Jamie wasn’t quite sure he had the strength not to punch him in the face. Somehow he wasn’t sure Claire would appreciate him beating up Frank.

It had been an hour of loaded silence before Jamie heard a key unlocking the door. He jumped up and bolted to the door, hoping to catch Claire before Frank did. Her eyes lit up as she saw him. “Hi. You know I don’t smell anything and I distinctly recall -” She cut off at his expression. “What’s wrong?”

Jamie looked over his shoulder to Frank. Claire peered around Jamie and released a small gasp. “Frank?” she asked. He stood from his chair with a smile. She tugged on Jamie’s arm, pulling him closer to her as she backed toward the door. “What is he doing here?” she whispered.

“I dinna ken. He just said he was looking for ye,” Jamie replied with a shrug.

Claire looked mildly horrified as she risked a glance back over Jamie’s shoulder. She took a deep breath and walked past Jamie. He felt a knot in his stomach as he watched her walk towards the other man. What had been his purpose in coming here?

“Frank,” Claire said in a polite voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.” He reached for her hand but she put both her hands behind her back. “I think we need to talk.”

Claire shrugged. “So then talk.”

Frank looked past her to Jamie. He narrowed his eyes at him. “I was thinking we need to talk alone.”

Claire looked back at Jamie before turning to Frank. “No. You’re not going to come here and kick people out of my home. You’re not my boyfriend anymore, Frank.”

“It’s alright, Sassenach,” Jamie replied. He didn’t really want to be there to hear whatever Frank might say to Claire. “I have to go get some better tools for the sink anyway.”

Claire looked incredibly confused as he turned to go out the door. She walked over to him and stopped him from leaving. “Jamie, you don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Nah, ye need yer privacy,” he offered. She shook her head but Jamie had made up his mind. “I’ll, uh...yeah,” he sputtered before walking out the door.

He didn’t know what it was about Frank that got under his skin. Perhaps it was the way he’d treated Claire. All of their friends had detested the way he either acted like she didn’t matter or like she was his property. There was something else, though, that made Jamie uncomfortable around Frank. It probably had to do with the fact that by the time Jamie met the man, he’d already realized he had feelings for Claire.

Jamie planted himself on the steps outside Claire’s flat, putting his face in his hands. What could they have to talk about? Maybe he should have taken Claire’s offer to stay. He wasn’t sitting there long before a familiar face popped up. “Louise? What are you doing here?”

“I came to borrow some shoes from Claire,” she informed him. “What are you doing? Why are you just sitting out here?” She sat down next to him on the step. “Did you guys have a fight?”

Jamie breathed out a laugh. “No. Claire is up in her flat talking to Frank.”

“Dear God, why? Why is that insufferable man back in our lives?” Louise cried.

“I dinna ken. He got here an hour ago and Claire wasna home. Just me,” Jamie told her.

“Wait, so he stayed?” Jamie nodded. “You sat there for an hour in her home with her ex-boyfriend? Did you tell him that you and Claire were together?” she interrogated.

“Nope.”

“Why not? That probably would have shoved him out the door,” Louise insisted.

“Ye’re right. It likely would have. But for some reason when I saw the man I decided it had to be Claire to tell him that. It was probably a poor choice.”

“It definitely was,” Louise agreed. “Although, there’s always the chance he’d have punched you. So why do you look so miserable?”

“I just told ye what’s happening up in Claire’s flat, did I no’?”

“Well sure, but why do you look like the world is ending?” Louise asked, pointing at his face. “You look sad and concerned. Do you actually think Claire’s going to get back with him?”

Jamie shrugged. “Well no. But then there’s this small voice in the back of my mind that says otherwise. I mean, I only saw the end of their relationship. Maybe it was wonderful until Claire moved.”

“It wasn’t,” Louise quickly countered. “I saw lots of it. Do you think Claire would have moved if her relationship was wonderful?” Jamie shook his head. “What, are you worried Frank is going to convince Claire to move back to Boston with him?”

Jamie looked over at her in a panic. “Well now I am.”

Louise laughed shrilly. “Good God, man. I didn’t realize you were so insecure.”

“I’m not. Or I guess I’m not usually. I canna say what it is but something about Frank just puts me on edge.” Jamie sighed. “Perhaps it’s because I canna see why she’d ever have been with him. I canna say what it is that draws her to him. Is it doing so now?”

“Wow,” Louise said with a shake of her head. “This is bad. We need to get you a drink.”

“No, I dinna need a drink,” Jamie whined as Louise pulled on his arm.

“Yes, you do. Come on. There’s one right across the street. If we get a table by the window, maybe you can watch the door to see when Frank leaves,” Louise bribed.

Both with beers in hand, they found a table by the window. “You know you’re being really stupid, right?”

“Aye, I ken. But no amount of rational thought is helping. For whatever reason, I’m still jealous of the man,” Jamie said, marveling at his own stupidity.

“Even though you have his girlfriend?” Louise asked.

“Like I said, no amount of rational thought is helping. It’s all because I dinna ken what he’s saying,” Jamie insisted. He took a long drink, looking out the window and praying to see Frank leaving.

~~~

Claire stood at the door for a moment after Jamie had swiftly walked out. She didn’t know why he left. This could have gone a lot faster if he’d been there. Why did he think she needed privacy? Anything Frank told her she was surely going to just tell him later. Rolling her eyes at her boyfriend, she turned back to look at her ex. “What is it, Frank?”

He smiled at her and walked closer to her. “God, it’s good to see you.”

Claire just nodded. She truly couldn’t return the sentiment. “Why are you here?”

Frank sat on her couch and encouraged Claire to sit with him. For whatever reason, Claire wanted to tell him that she’d had sex with Jamie on that very couch. She held her tongue though. Sitting a distance away from him, Claire nodded for him to talk. He scooched closer to where she was. “It’s been four months since you broke my heart with that call,” he started.

Claire scoffed. “Well then it’s been seven months since you broke my heart when you wouldn’t even consider moving with me.”

“Claire, I didn’t come to fight. Please allow me to say what I need to,” Frank pleaded. She sighed before pressing her mouth into a tight line and waving for him to continue. “We were really good together. And so I was hurt when you wanted to leave. I thought it was about me. I thought maybe if I didn’t go with you, I could show you how much I meant to you. I thought maybe you’d come back. But that didn’t happen. You seemed genuinely happy here. You had friends, however rude they were.”

Claire fought back all the retorts coming to her mind. She’d told Frank he could have the space to say what he needed to. What that would be, though, she still couldn’t tell. Her mind strayed from his speech a bit and she wondered where Jamie had gone.

“So I took the job,” Frank told her. “And I moved here this summer. Like you advised, I moved for me, not for you. I’ve gotten settled and I have a life here now. But something is still missing and I know what that is. It’s you. Surely, you must feel it too.”

Claire opened and shut her mouth a few times before speaking. She needed to tell him the truth. “Frank -”

“No, please, just wait. I have more to say,” he interrupted, placing a hand on hers. “What we had in Boston was so good, Claire. We were good together, a good pair. And I know the distance made it hard for both of us. But that’s not a problem anymore. I’m back in England. And you’re here. We could start again and recapture our good relationship. I want you back, Claire.”

Claire sat there stunned. She felt him squeeze her hand. More than anything, she wanted to wrench her hand out of his. With a small sigh, she started to reply. “Look, Frank, I ended things for a reason.”

“I know. Because the distance was making our relationship too strained. But there’s not distance anymore. I’m not five hours behind you. I’m right here,” Frank insisted, clearly not reading Claire’s tense body language. “Claire, I regret the way I acted but you have to know that I was hurt by you leaving.”

“I left because Uncle Lamb was sick. I was spending so much time here that it didn’t make sense for me to have a job I wasn’t working back in Boston when I could have one here in London,” Claire reminded him. “But that’s not what really got you, was it? You were upset that I had a life outside of our relationship. I didn’t have many friends in Boston. I had Joe and I had a handful of friends at the hospital. But I didn’t go out with them and spend a lot of my time with them. You were scared by the fact that when I came here, I found a group, a little family that took me in. And you were scared that I’d forget about you. I didn’t. Every bloody time you called, I answered, even when it annoyed me or my friends. And every bloody time, you decided to pick apart my life and be as condescending as possible.”

Frank closed his eyes, his head tilted down. “Claire, I said I regret the way I acted.” He looked up at her pleadingly. “Please, I just want a second chance. I miss you and I miss what we had. You can’t deny that it was good. There’s a chance we’ll never find something like it again. Please, Claire, I love you. Give me another chance.”

Claire took a deep breath and sat up a bit straighter. “Frank, I know it must have taken a lot of courage to come here and say all this. But the fact is, I don’t feel the same way. I still stand by all the reasons I had for ending our relationship. It wasn’t working. And no, I don’t think it was just the distance. I’m sorry, but my answer is no.”

“But why?” he asked, taking both her hands in his. “You know we could be good again. You’re just scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Claire maintained. “The biggest reason I can’t take you back,” she paused, biting her lip before her confession, “is because I’m seeing someone.”

Frank dropped her hands, glaring at her. “Who?”

“What makes you think you know them?” Claire asked.

“Oh I think I very well know them,” Frank said accusingly. “It’s the Scot, isn’t it?”

“Which one? You met five the night you were here,” Claire reminded. “Although, I’ll admit, it’s not Geillis.”

“It’s Jamie, isn’t it? The very man I knew you’d immediately fuck once you were free of your ties to me,” Frank asked, his voice dripping with bitterness.

Claire took a deep breath. “Fine. Yes, it’s Jamie. That’s why he was here. But I didn’t start seeing him immediately after I left you. In fact I didn’t see any of my friends for nearly a month after I broke up with you. But really, it doesn’t matter if you had been right or not because what I do now is none of your business. I’m sorry that something is missing from your life, but I don’t think it’s me. I wish you the best, Frank, I really do. But I won’t be a part of it. I’m sorry if this hurts you, but I’m quite happy with my life right now.”

Frank shook his head as he stood up off the couch. “Whatever. Can you at least admit that you cheated on me while you were here?’

Claire stood up and got in his face. “No. I can’t. Because I didn’t. I’ve never once been unfaithful. I’m sorry if you were too insecure to believe that I could have friends and not sleep with them. Makes me wonder what you got up to in Boston.”

He rolled his eyes and walked past her towards her door. “You’re making the wrong choice,” he said in a low voice.

“Actually, I’m not,” she replied, standing with her arms crossed. “Thank you for coming and reinforcing all the good choices that I’d made. Goodbye, Frank.”

She walked forward and urged him out the door, ignoring his grumblings as he left. Claire turned around and leaned against the closed door, wondering why that all had to happen. Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she realized she’d never checked it when she left the hospital. There were several texts from Jamie warning her of Frank’s arrival. If only she’d seen them ahead of time.

Shaking her head, she closed out of her messages and called Jamie. She cursed when she heard a vibration on the kitchen counter. Her laughing face was staring up at her from his phone. Claire couldn’t help but smile at the picture. It wasn’t a particularly good picture of her, but Jamie had said it was his favorite. He’d snapped it when she was snorting laughing at something stupid Rupert had said. Claire sighed, holding his phone to her. After the awkwardness with Frank, all she wanted was Jamie.

Claire left her flat, hoping Jamie hadn’t gone far. She stopped on her steps outside and looked both ways on the street. Which way would Jamie go? Where would he go? Did he just go home? She groaned, hoping that he hadn’t actually gone all the way home. As she tried to make up her mind, she spied a familiar head of red hair in the window of the pub across the street. Claire smiled to herself as she walked over to find him.

“Louise?” Claire asked, surprised to see her with Jamie. “What are you doing here?” She placed her hand on Jamie’s shoulder as she stood next to him. He looked up at her before taking another sip of his beer.

“Well I was coming by to borrow those shoes from you when I found your boyfriend sitting on your stairs looking glum. So we’ve been drinking,” Louise informed her, raising her glass.

“Oh, fun,” Claire remarked.

“So I hear Frank’s in town,” Louise asked, pinning Claire with a look.

“Yes. Apparently he’s moved back to England.”

“He moved here?” Jamie asked, a strange look on his face.

Louise shook her head at him before she looked back at Claire. “You mean I have to share a country with him? It might be time to move back to France.”

Claire laughed. “Why don’t you come on up and get those shoes?” Louise nodded and downed her beer. The two of them started to walk away and Jamie was still sitting. Claire turned back and looked at him. “Are you coming?” she asked with an amused expression.

He nodded. “Aye, just let me finish this and I’ll meet you up there.”

Claire had given Louise the shoes she wanted and had sent her friend on her way. Jamie still hadn’t returned though. How long would it take for him to finish a beer? A knock at her door moved her from where she stood waiting in the kitchen. She opened the door to see Jamie standing there wearing a sad expression. “Why did you knock?” He just shrugged and walked in. She could tell he was acting oddly and she didn’t know why. Could it have been Frank? Had Frank said something to him when they’d been there alone? Claire decided it was time to get back to their original plans for the day. “So if I recall correctly, I was promised dinner this evening.”

Jamie smiled halfheartedly. “Aye, ye still want that?”

“Of course, I’ve barely eaten today.”

He nodded and walked over to the kitchen. Claire realized he’d barely made eye contact with her since he’d left her flat. Something was bothering him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He got out the vegetables he’d purchased and began chopping them.

“Well something is,” she insisted. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

With a sigh, Jamie put down the knife and looked at her. “What happened?”

“When?”

“With Frank,” he said, strained.

Suddenly his sullen demeanor made more sense. He was jealous. Did he truly think she’d pick Frank? A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Jamie’s eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth. She raised a hand in apology before she explained what had happened. Climbing up on the island next to where he stood, she started to tell him.

“Frank wanted to get back together,” she started.

“And?” he asked, cutting her off while not looking at her.

She shook her head at him. “And you’re a fool if you think I’d take him back.” He turned his head to look at her, so many emotions crossing his face. Claire reached over and grabbed his arm, pulling him to stand in front of her. “Do you actually think I’d get back together with Frank?”

“No. But for whatever reason when I was sitting on the outside, I was terrified it would happen,” he admitted.

Claire reached up and cupped his face in her hands. “You realize I told you to stay and you were the one who insisted on leaving?”

He nodded. “Aye, I ken that. I wanted to give you some space but then the moment the door closed, I regretted it. I didna think I could just walk back in. So I sat and stewed. Until Louise came along and then I sat and drank.”

“You know you have no reason to be jealous of Frank, right?” Claire asked, making sure he held her gaze.

“Logically, yes, I ken that,” Jamie agreed. “But I used to be jealous of the man.” Claire couldn’t help but smile. “Ye ken when ye run into someone from yer past and the way ye used to feel around them comes screaming back?” Claire nodded. All the anger she’d felt for Frank had come back to her as he sat on her couch. “It was like that. Even though I kent that I should be fine, I wasna.” He shook his head at himself.

Claire leaned forward and kissed him slowly. She pulled back and looked at him. “You know he was going on and on about how we were good together and how we could get that back and everything. And it hit me that I actually used to think that. I truly used to think Frank and I were good together. But do you know when that stopped?” He shook his head. “When I met you again. When you treated me better than my boyfriend did.” She stared at him with a meaningful look, running a hand through his hair. “So he sat there, talking about how good we were and I knew from this,” she motioned between them, “that what I already have is better than I had with him.”

Jamie smiled as he reached up to wrap his arms around her waist. “I’m sorry for being foolish.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” she said, leaning into him. “I would just like to remind you though, that literally last night, I told you I love you. Did you think that would change just because Frank appeared on my doorstep?”

“Technically you said it yesterday afternoon,” Jamie reminded her with a grin.

“Hey! Don’t try to distract me from your stupid behavior by bringing up my stupid behavior,” Claire said, smacking him on the arm.

“I admitted I was being foolish,” Jamie insisted. “What can I say? When it comes to ye I go a bit mad. All logic flies out the window.”

Claire smiled, leaning in to kiss him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing him closer to her. They kissed slowly, pushing away the events of the day. Claire was the first to break the kiss, leaning her forehead against his. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I am quite hungry,” she whispered.

Jamie chuckled, tilting his head to give her a quick kiss before he started cooking again. Claire remained where she sat on the island. She liked watching Jamie cook. He had a look of determination about him. Grinning to herself, she just stared at him while he moved around her kitchen. “Did I ever tell you what Frank said to me when I was breaking up with him?” she asked.

Jamie looked up at her from the cutting board. “No. I dinna believe so.”

“He asked me if I was breaking up with him so that I could fuck you.” Jamie gaped at her, though she could see some amusement there. “Yep, that was real.”

“So it was probably not the best then that I was the only one here today, then was it?” Jamie asked with a smirk.

“No, probably not. But it’s kind of funny to me,” she confessed. “I really wish I had checked my phone before I left the hospital.” Jamie nodded in agreement. “Okay, I think it’s time.”

Jamie looked over at her in confusion. “Time for what?”

“Time for you to once and for all tell me your true feelings about Frank,” Claire pressed. “I broke up with him four, almost five months ago. I’ve now had the choice between him and you without any pressure of persuasion. I think it’s time you air it out.”

Jamie laughed. “Why does it matter what I think?”

“Because literally everyone else has told me what they think of Frank. You’re the last hold out. You kept your promise to yourself. When it mattered, you didn’t meddle. But now there’s nothing to meddle in, so go ahead and tell me what you think of him,” Claire urged.

Jamie paused his work and stared at her. “Ye really want me to tell ye?” She nodded with a grin. He looked back down at his cutting board. “I hated him.”

“Yes!” Claire cried with a laugh. “Go on.”

“I thought he was an ass. I spent the hour he was here mentally berating him for his childish behavior towards you.”

“You’re right, it was childish. What else did you hate?” Claire felt giddy finally getting the truth out of Jamie. He’d always been rather diplomatic to her about the man, even after she broke up with him.

“I hated the way he clearly looked down on us,” Jamie continued. “What made him better than us? If anything, we treated ye better than he did. Ye seemed happier when ye were with us. And what was so wrong with ye spending time wi’ yer friends? Why did he feel the need to yell at ye about that? Are ye no’ allowed to have friends?”

Claire couldn’t help but laugh. She could tell she had him riled up now. Apparently he had months of feelings to get out.

“No wonder Louise was mad when ye said ye hadna left him. He’s a damn fool. I think part of what put me on edge today is that I canna for the life of me figure out why someone as amazing as ye are would choose to be with a man like him,” he admitted.

“Well being 24 and more or less alone in a new country will do some weird things to your self-esteem,” Claire offered. “And until you know there’s something better for you, you think you’re happy.”

Jamie looked over at her and offered her a sad smile. Claire jumped down off the island and walked toward him. She wrapped her arms around his torso, her head against his back. “You know, I don’t think there’s been a single moment in the last seven months that I’ve regretted moving back here.” He laid a hand on top of hers. “And you’re a big part of that.”

Jamie turned around in her arms and held her. He leaned down gave her a heated kiss. She reached up to lace her arms around his neck. They remained in a passionate embrace, momentarily ignoring the food Jamie was preparing. Claire’s hands were under Jamie’s shirt when she felt her stomach growling. She pulled back from their kiss, looking at him appreciatively. “Mmm, I’m ravenous.”

Jamie grinned, leaning in to kiss a trail down her neck. “Me too.” Claire cleared her throat. He pulled back, still wearing a grin. “Och, you meant food.”

She nodded with a laugh. He gave her a quick kiss before he went back to his work. Claire settled herself back on the island, this time with a glass of wine in hand. As she sat there talking with Jamie and watching him cook for them, the feeling from this morning of relentless happiness finally returned to her.

Next chapter

#how are we 15 chapters in???#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #my writing #if after all these years you'd like to meet

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lovehugsandcandy · 5 years

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Eight Days a Week, Eight Seconds a Kiss (Part 3) (Colt x MC)

A/N: Sorry, y’all. I was writing other things and having a rough week and I definitely didn’t forget about the series, but it was on the back burner (thanks for those who asked about it, it makes me feel so touched!). But now we back! With wingman Colt, oblivious Ellie, and day three of JUST KISS DAMMIT!

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: 2320 words

Rating: PG-13 (Swearing, probably, because I swear a lot.)

Summary: Ellie wants to live her life to the fullest, starting with her first kiss. She just needs a little encouragement.

Monday: I Was Young and I was Selfish

Ellie pulled into the shop, driving her very own freaking car, through the bay doors, carrying her very own license, smiling ear-to-ear. This was amazing! Her time on the bus was over!

She jumped out, spring in her step, and made it five steps before almost walking straight into Logan. “Oof.”

He caught her, strong hands wrapped around her forearms. “Hi, troublemaker.”

She looked up and flushed. He really was impossibly handsome; she definitely wouldn’t mind if he was her first kiss. Maybe Colt was right and she was really getting in her own way. She had just started daydreaming about how soft his lips would be and what it would actually be like to kiss someone when he interrupted her.

“Uhhh...Ellie?”

She snapped to attention. “Yeah?”

“Your car is rolling away.”

She turned and froze. Her car was, indeed, moving, rolling down the slight incline of the shop, headed towards a giant toolbox and the lanky figure digging through shelves in. She started to sprint but knew she wasn’t going to make it in time.

“Toby, MOVE!”

Toby looked up just in time to dive out of the way and her car rolled right into a toolbox. Luckily, it wasn’t going fast, but still; the boom of the collision made her wince, as did the three wrenches that rained down onto her hood.

“Oops....”

Toby stood up, brushing himself off dramatically. “I’m ok! I’m ok!” His grin turned to a frown as he looked at her car. “It’s ok! I can fix that! Just the bumper. And a few dents here. And here.” He caressed the paint with a frown.

“I am so sorry! I could have hurt you.”

“No worries!” He squatted to look over her bumper. “It actually doesn’t look bad at all.”

Logan walked up behind her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Did you put the e-brake on?”

“Apparently not.” She put her head in her hands.

Logan laughed. “Hey, troublemaker, don’t worry about it. No harm, no foul.” Ellie could feel the eyes of the entire crew on her and her face burned. He pulled her into a hug, squeezing her tight before letting go. It made her feel marginally better, though her cheeks were still hot. “Give me your keys. I’ll move it and start fixing it up with Toby.”

“You’re the best.” With a wan smile, she turned to head into the shop.

I am such an idiot.

Head down, she didn’t notice where she was going until she felt someone grab her wrist. She looked up and groaned, holding up a hand. “Stop. Don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear whatever insult you have up your sleeve.” Colt studied her silently, so she continued. “I know, I obviously don’t belong here, I am shooting myself in the foot, blah blah, I don’t need to hear it from you.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Yes, you were.” She rubbed her temple, headache already starting to form. I can’t believe I crashed my car already.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“What?” Ellie sighed, rubbing her hands over her face. “What, I can’t stay here and embarrass myself anymore?��

“As great as that is for my personal amusement, no.” Colt stood, clutching a spare helmet, unsnapping it and handing it over. “Come on.”

“Are you sure?”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if that look is because you don’t think I can refrain from kicking you when you’re down or because you don’t trust me to get you there safely, but I don’t care. Come on.”

She sighed and took the helmet, looking up at him as he tightened the strap and then brushed her hair away from her neck. “If you kill me....”

“You can haunt the garage all you want. Let’s go.”

~~~~~

Once they stopped, she realized that she could definitely see the appeal. On a motorcycle, everything was more real, the pavement racing by, the air whipping around, the roar of the engine underneath her. She didn’t think she could be converted away from her car, but she could see why Colt liked it as much as he did.

They were outside some bar and Ellie looked around, anxiously, trying to smooth down her hair as much as she could. “Where are we?”

Colt took her helmet from her and put it under his arm. “Just a dive. I was going to head up to the cliff but then I realized that the cliff was not conducive to meeting our two objectives.”

“What do you mean, two objectives?”

“Stop your moping and get you your kiss. Duh.” He held the door open for her and followed her into the dark. The dingy hallway opened up into a bar, exactly as dark and forbidding as it looked from the outside.

There were only a few other patrons here; Ellie would have guessed it was a quiet night but, judging by the exterior of the building and the dinginess of the room, all nights were quiet nights here. At least they could spread out. “Colt, why are we at a bar?”

He shrugged, sitting at a bar stool, putting their helmets on the bar next to him. “I figured a drink would loosen you up.” He laughed when he caught the look on her face. “Relax, relax. It has really good fries and no ones asks any questions.”

“Apparently....” She couldn’t help but look around again. Was it still legal to smoke in bars? She didn’t think so. “How do you know about this place?”

He laughed, bitterly. “What, did you think my parents would ever step foot in a Chuck E. Cheese’s?”

She watched him as he turned to order to a soda and loaded fries from the bartender; what must it have been like, growing up with Kaneko as a father? And Colt never mentioned his mother.

“What do you want to drink?”

“Huh?” Ellie looked up to see both Colt and the bartender staring at her. “Sorry, a soda, please.”

She flushed as Colt raised an eyebrow at her. “You still thinking about your car? Toby will make it just like new, you know.”

“I just feel stupid.”

“You think that’s the worst thing to happen in that shop? Ha.” He tilted his head, thinking. “Once, we were doing electrical work on the lifts and something shorted, dropping two cars straight down, 8 feet to the pavement. I was sweeping glass out of the corners for weeks!”

Ellie chuckled despite herself.

“This other time, Toby had it in his head that he could rig up a NOS system to work both in drive and reverse. If you look closely at my dad’s office, there are still burn marks from when that exploded.”

“Oh crap.”

“But the worst. The WORST.” Colt leaned over the bar, edging closer, eyes sparkling. “Mona was hooking up with this psycho, this absolute nutcase, and, when she finally smartened up and called it off, this girl spray painted the entire exterior of the garage, all f-bomb this and c-word that, with the evil eye thrown in for good measure, all hot pink like your car. My dad flipped his shit.”

Ellie started giggling and could only laugh harder when Colt threw a napkin at her.

“Not funny! Who do you think had to clean it all up?”

She laughed, playing with her straw; when she looked up again, he was watching her. “Colt? Thank you.”

“Yeah, whatever, don’t-”

“Seriously. Thank you.” She caught his eye, holding it, as the bartender worked behind the bar and as the crappy music filled the room and as she wondered why on earth he was actually being so nice to her.

He coughed, breaking the spell, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t thank me yet. Still working on that kiss. Hmmm....slim pickings.” He looked around the bar until his eyes lit up. “How about six o’clock, by the jukebox?”

She groaned. “Are you seriously picking the worst people in the world?” She watched the man stuff another dip of tobacco into this mouth.

“I got the demographic right this time, at least.” He looked around halfheartedly, sipping his soda before focusing on her again. “You know, why are you so hung up on this? It’s like eight seconds out of your life! Why are you so desperate for it to happen?”

Ellie rested her chin on a hand. She never should have said anything to Colt, of all people. “I guess it’s what it represents. I never did anything except what my dad wanted me to do and I think I missed out, on a lot, you know?”

“Your dad sounds like he’s trying to protect you. I mean, you’re sitting at a dive bar, on a school night, trying to kiss someone you don’t even know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Out of all the trouble you and the crew get into, this is what you’re worried about?”

Colt’s eyes flashed, trailing down her face. “If I were your old man, I would be very worried about it.”

Ellie swallowed, grateful for the fries that arrived between them. She wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but she didn’t think she was brave enough to ask. “I don’t know...Maybe he’s going about it the wrong way.”

“He’s doing it out of love, you know.” Colt caught her eye meaningfully. “It sounds like he thinks you’re God’s gift to earth. But it also sounds like he needs to respect who you really are.”

“Yeah.” She studied his face, thinking. “Colt, you know your dad-”

“Stop.” He rubbed his temples. “You don’t even know him.”

“He seems protective of you too.”

Colt looked at her, hands gripping the bar, teeth gnawing his lower lip. “My pop’s never been protective of anyone or anything. Ever.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, watching him eat. “You know, I didn’t think you would care so much about what someone thought of you.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why do you let your dad’s opinion of you rule your life?”

He stopped chewing, mid bite, to gape at her. “Are you seriously giving me family advice? You?!?”

“You know I’m right. You may hate the source, but you know I’m right.”

“Easier said than done.” He looked down at the bar.

“What isn’t?”

He looked over at her, considering her for so long she started to feel uneasy, fidgeting in her seat. He shook his head as the bartender walked over to take their plates, glancing between the two of them. “You know, I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard you were looking for someone willing to kiss you.” He looked meaningfully at Ellie. “I’m single.”

Ellie froze, caught in his gaze. He was cute, surprisingly, for the bar, a little more clean-cut than she was typically attracted to but definitely handsome, especially with the smile he was throwing her way.

Next to her, Colt choked on his drink, sputtering as both she and the bartender gawked. Once he could breathe again, before she could even think of a response, Colt jumped in, voice rough, bar stool dragging across the floor as he stood. “No. We’re actually leaving.”

Ellie stared at him in surprise, watching as he threw some money on the bar, grabbed the helmets, and turned on his heel. Ellie smiled apologetically at the bartender, shrugging, before following, heading out into the warm night.

“The hell, Colt?”

He shrugged. “I thought you wanted them to think you were tolerable.”

“Yeah?”

“Pretty boy didn’t even know you.”

“He would tolerate me enough to kiss me! And neither did chewing tobacco guy!”

Colt stopped next to the bike, leaning over it with a dramatic sigh. “Fine! Just go back in there!”

Ellie stared at him, the crease between his eyebrows, his eyes fixed past her, staring into the distance, avoiding her eyes. She sighed. “You know, you’re right.”

“No shit.”

She rolled her eyes but continued. “You are. I want it to be real, not just some rando you find for me.” She took a deep breath. “So I have a request, an addition to the deal. I want them to think I’m attractive.”

“Wait, what?” Colt did a double take. “What?”

Ellie stared him down, hands on her hips. “I want them to think I’m attractive. Do you think that will be a problem?”

Colt wisely paused before saying anything. Ellie waited, eyes sharp, waiting for the insult. However, she was surprised when he opened his mouth to speak. “I am just commenting, with no ulterior motive, not insinuating anything so stop looking so exasperated, Christ...it seems like you are adding caveats after the fact. I thought they only had to think you were tolerable?”

“Someone said it was a low bar. Maybe I am trying to raise my standards a little.”

He looked at her and she was taken aback; instead of the usual insolent smirk or fixed glare, he was considering her, eyes almost soft, voice even softer. “Maybe you should.” He looked like he wanted to say more, to continue, but he paused, just looking at her. “Fine. Fine. They will think you are tolerable and attractive. Anything else?”

“Nope. That’s it.” She smiled. She didn’t know why he agreed to help her but at least he wasn’t being a total ass about it. “Thanks for taking me out tonight. I needed it.”

Colt looked away. “Don’t mention it.”

“No, that was really-”

“Stop.” He put up his hand. “Seriously. I told you. I don’t want you to mention it. To anyone. Including me.”

She blinked, watching him turn and put his helmet on, bathed in the streetlight, before he turned and handed her the spare helmet. Their fingers brushed as she took it, yet another thing from tonight that she resolutely was not going to think about.

Tags: @deimosensblog @alegria1580 @choicesarehard @thefarrari @client-327 @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @hazah@flowerpowell@poeticscolt@brightpinkpeppercorn @zaira-oh-zaira @umiumichan @akrenich @sibella-plays-choices @leelee10898 @maxwellsquidsuit @desiree-0816

#playchoices fanfic #colt kaneko #colt x mc #colt rod #choices rod #amy writes

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bevioletskies · 5 years

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bring it on home to me [1/5]

summary: The fight of everyone’s lives may be over, but for Nebula, Peter, and the rest of the Guardians, the search for the person they love most has just begun.

a/n: MAJOR spoiler warning for Avengers: Endgame, though I am a little vague about the events of what happened. Regardless, please don't let me spoil it for you!

Fic title is, of course, from the song Bring It On Home To Me by Sam Cooke.

word count: 2.6k | ao3 | tag

Peter woke to a cold bed, his teeth chattering and his feet numb, and promptly rolled over to blindly pull his tablet off his bedside table - if one could call it that, given that it was an old crate he’d found in a junkyard on Knowhere - and attempt to remotely adjust the Benatar’s temperature controls. To his utter lack of surprise, it didn’t work. He wasn’t sure Rocket’s recent rewiring of the ship was to blame, but he was sure he was going to say so at the next team meeting, anyway.

He stumbled out of bed, got dressed, considered for a total of thirty seconds as to whether he wanted to shave the slow-growing beard he’d been developing with little success over the last few months or so, and then waved it off, making his way out of his tiny little bunk and into the ship’s communal area. There, sat at the console table, was Nebula, her feet propped up on its surface and her inky black eyes fixated on him like she knew he was coming (she probably did).

“You eat yet?” Peter asked, yawning loudly. She recoiled at the sound.

“No,” she said shortly. “Our rations are lacking. We need to make another stop before we unnecessarily starve ourselves to death.”

Peter grinned. “I like that you said ‘our’. Gives me the warm fuzzies.” Nebula glared, her eyes following him all the way around the room as he tapped into the ship’s operating system on the main holoscreen. She didn’t miss the way his face fell the slightest bit, the way he took a sharp inhale to prepare himself for his next line of questioning. “Find anything yesterday?”

“Nothing. The same as the day before that, and the day before that, and the weeks and months before that,” Nebula said. She turned away, suddenly finding it too hard to look at him, to know that every emotion written on his face was on par with every emotion that stirred in her chest. “We know that. You know that.”

He swallowed, his hand hovering over the screen. Subconsciously, or instinctively, really, he’d taken himself to the criminal records that the Nova Corps had written up on them what felt like decades ago. The picture that stared back at him looked familiar but not quite close enough, the detailed write-up that sounded like someone he knew but not the someone he knew now. Or maybe had known.

“Don’t mean we have to accept it,” he finally said, turning to look at her. “I’m done being passive. Passive is gettin’ us nowhere. We don’t have the right to call ourselves the Guardians if all we do is sit around like a bunch of a-holes.”

“Then it’s good that I’m not one,” Nebula retorted. Peter shoved the screen aside and stomped right up to her, face-to-face, slamming his palms down on the table. He almost detected a twitch in her otherwise stone-cold expression, a betrayal that revealed how affected she truly was.

“You’re a Guardian, Nebula, okay?” His voice was dangerously low, the kind of pitch and tone he usually reserved for when he wore his mask, but there was no finger on the trigger of his quad blasters, just the wetness of his eyes and the intensity of his gaze. “No matter what anyone says. Including yourself.”

She stared back, standing up slowly; he followed her inch by inch. “I’m far beyond letting anyone tell me who or what I am. So you take your self-hatred for what you’ve done and what you didn’t do, and keep it to yourself, Quill. When you stop by the nearest planet to pick up supplies, I suggest you drop me off. This is no longer a ride I want to be on.”

The closest planet they came across was like many others they’d been on before - nondescript in every shape and form, lacking distinguishing features or unique characteristics that would make it any more memorable than the last. For Rocket, all he wanted whenever they touched down somewhere new was a junkyard and a bar, preferably within spitting distance of one another so he could walk in sober and stumble out drunk.

Upon returning to their landing site an hour after they’d first arrived, he apparently came back just in time to see Nebula stomp her way down the Benatar’s ramp and out the loading bay, snarling at the nearest attendant who had gingerly approached, wondering if Peter needed any help with the engine. Peter was stood by the nose of the ship, running his fingers through his hair agitatedly, but made no move to follow her. “She’ll be back,” he was saying to a concerned-looking Drax and Mantis by the time Rocket joined them. “Look, Rocket came back and he talks about leavin’ all the time!”

Rocket fixed him with a long, haunted stare. “Don’t even joke about that, Quill.” Peter’s face crumpled. Rocket turned and made his way up the stepladder and directly into the ship’s engine, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. It was hard for anyone to look anyone else in the face these days, but Peter was especially difficult to take, Nebula even more so for how numb she seemed to be.

He poked around aimlessly for a few minutes, trying to find the cause of their latest ship-related issue. If it wasn’t the computer system, it was the pipes, or it was the engine, or it was the fact that the Benatar was a piece of crap when they got it and was still a piece of crap now. Rocket huffed impatiently, nudging the casing with his foot. “C’mon,” he grumbled. “What kinda engineer would I be if I can’t fix the damn engine?” Another swift kick, harder this time, but all it resulted in was a stubbed toe and a bruised ego. It was a testament to how distracted Peter was that he didn’t even bother chastising Rocket for it, instead disappearing back inside the ship with the others in tow.

Another low growl, and Rocket sat back on his haunches defeatedly, pushing his toolbox aside for the time being. He leaned forward, resting his head in his paws, pulling at the bits of fur that seemed to be falling out of his temples in worryingly large patches, the grooves where his claws had dug near-permanent welts into his cheeks. “I am Groot?”

Rocket lifted his head to see Groot approaching him apprehensively, still clutching his beloved handheld Defender in one hand, the other outstretched in Rocket’s direction. “What d’ya think? We shoulda gotten rid of this rustbucket a long time ago.”

“I am Groot,” he protested, climbing up to sit beside him, his legs swinging over the edge of the ship’s hood. “I am Groot.”

“Yeah, well, nothing’s ever gone right for us, why should it start now?” Rocket let out a hysterical laugh. “Out of the last five jobs we had, two were a complete and utter failure, and one shorted us on units. All ‘cos Quill’s too busy dragging us around the galaxy to find her. ‘Cept that wasn’t her. That wasn’t...that wasn’t our Gamora. That was a Gamora. And I dunno if she wants to be ours, or if she can be in the first place. But he’s done it, Groot. He’s gone and lost his mind, and now we’re the ones who gotta pay for it.” The engine sparked pathetically. “More like not get paid for it.”

“I am Groot.” They both fell silent, Groot politely ignoring the loud, shaky breath Rocket took that certainly wasn’t related to the engine issue. Then, Groot began to hum. It sounded a little thin and reedy in his voice - “tree puberty”, as Peter had so delicately once put it, looked and sounded a lot like human puberty - but it was instantly recognizable.

“Don’t - don’t do that, man,” Rocket said half-heartedly. “We haven’t heard that since you were no bigger than a boot.”

“I am Groot,” he shrugged. He still remembered every note, let it linger in his head sometimes when he needed it most; only he remembered it in her voice, heard the joy when she first remembered the lullaby her parents had sung to her as a baby, how she sang it to him when he was fussy or scared or just wanted to keep her by his bedside for a few more minutes. He’d grown out of it eventually, scoffing at everything and everyone around him like a typical stubborn adolescent, but now he longed for it again, even if just for one more time. “I am Groot?”

“Nah, I don’t think she would’ve known how to fix this.” Rocket twisted a series of wires around his finger, nearly slicing through them with his claw in his absentmindedness. He quickly withdrew his paw before it could happen. “Hell, I’d ask Nebula if she wasn’t in such a...Nebula mood.”

He glanced around the hangar where they’d parked, how very average it all seemed - sky-high ceiling heights, long stretches of metal and concrete as far as the eye could see, and people of all kinds milling about, fawning over a cool ship someone had brought in or arguing over how to best fix the reason they’d landed here in the first place. They had been in a place very similar to this the first time she asked him if she could help, mere weeks after the Guardians had officially formed, with everyone still cautious and nervous and new to existing alongside other people.

“I spent years helping Nebula with her implants,” she had said with her arms folded across her chest, watching him yank at the wires fruitlessly. “Let me take a look.”

“Ship mechanics and implants ain’t the same thing,” Rocket had retorted without sparing her a glance. “Look, I’m sure you were a big ol’ help to your wacko sister, but leave the engineering to me. You go...swing your sword at somethin’ or whatever.”

“You insult me by insinuating I’m only useful in a fight.” The cadence of her voice had been even, measured, but there was a hint of danger to it that gave Rocket the impression he wasn’t going to win this one. “I’ve also shadowed some of the best engineers in the galaxy and made countless minor repairs before. At least let me watch so I can learn. No one ever gets anything done just standing by.”

Rocket had sighed, moving aside so she had room to hover over him, her gaze intensely focused on the meticulousness of his work. “Is that what you told yourself when you first went after the Orb?”

“Yes.” The quickness, the sureness, even, of her reply had surprised him. “I spent years watching Thanos destroy homes, destroy families. Knowing his plans for the Stone, I couldn’t watch any longer.”

“But your sister could? She’s a real piece of work.”

“Watch yourself, Rocket.” She had reached out, gripped his tiny wrist with her long, battle-calloused fingers far too tightly. “My sister and I, we’re like you. Built for someone else��s purpose. Taken apart to fulfill another’s desires. Her lack of morality may disappoint me, but I can’t deny that not too long ago, I still felt the same way.”

He had yanked his arm out of her grasp, shaking it, mulling over her words. “So what changed? Why did you turn your back on the big purple man, and not her?”

“It could be anything that kept her from doing so - disposition, personality, personal traumas…” She had trailed off, tapping one fingernail gently on the glint of silver in her cheekbone, a particular piece that outlined the sharp planes of her bone structure a bit too well. “...repeated body mutilation and a craving for validation that will never come would break anyone’s spirits. You know that as well as we do.”

Rocket had cleared his throat, turned his attention back to the work at hand. “Alright, honesty hour’s over. You gonna pick up a wrench of your own or what?”

“I am Groot.” Groot’s voice brought Rocket back to the present, his chest aching with something he could identify, but wanted to deny. Melancholic longing had always been part of his life, but never his vocabulary, and he wasn’t about to start now. He didn’t want to sound like one of the morose love songs Peter had taken to playing on the ship through to the early hours in the morning. He didn’t want to wake up crying, chest heaving, gasping for air, the way Peter did sometimes, the way they all pretended he didn’t do, for the sake of what was left of his dignity. “I am Groot?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Stop starin’ at me, you’re making me nervous,” Rocket spat, his tone harsher than intended. His ears drooped when Groot’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. Groot hopped back down onto the stepladder and started walking back to head inside the ship, his footsteps heavier than they had been when he first came out. “Wait, Groot...look, we’re all on edge, I don’t mean to be a dick about it. C’mere, let me show you how this junkpile works.”

Groot sighed, his shoulders heaving, and he went back into the ship without another backward glance. Rocket stared after him, his chin dropping to his chest as he hung his head. He could vaguely hear Peter and Drax arguing inside, with Mantis trying her best to moderate without using her powers, something Peter had sorely been against as of late, something about not wanting to numb himself to how much everything hurt (Rocket hadn’t really been paying attention, mostly because it hit too close to home).

“I am Groot.” Rocket lifted his head to see Groot walking back up to join him. Instead of carrying his video game, he was carrying a familiar-looking book, one that was dusty from lack of use, its spine still in perfect condition. He held it up to Rocket in a sort of peace offering, smiling tentatively. Rocket’s breath shook as he accepted it, brushing away the residue so the title could be read: Engineering Basics, Volume XI: Spacecraft.

“I can’t tell this is a gift or an insult,” she had said dubiously when Rocket first gave it to her. It had been two months since their encounter with Ego, and everyone was finally starting to feel more settled, more at peace with who they were and who they were with.

“You said you wanted to learn,” Rocket had protested. “Look, I spent a whole fifteen units on this!” She had fixed him with a look. “Okay, so I found it at yesterday’s trading post, the attendant said it was a gift from his parents, never used, wanted to get it off his hands. Isn’t it the thought that counts or some crap?”

She had laughed, an unexpectedly soft, musical sound that made Rocket’s ears perk up. “If you say so, Rocket. And thank you. I’m not sure when I’ll have the time with everything that’s going on right now, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I am Groot,” he said gently, now placing a hand on Rocket’s.

Rocket inhaled. “Guess she never got around to it. Thing’s never even been opened!”

“I am Groot,” he said, looking pensive. Groot looked younger then, a little bit more like his toddler self, his eyes round and liquid and perpetually in a state of nervous, uncertain energy. The lullaby continued to play in his head; he felt the ghost of a slightly calloused hand cup his cheek as if to say hello, goodnight, goodbye.

Nodding slowly, Rocket opened the book, running his paws over the glossy pages that were otherwise untouched. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I miss her, too.”

a/n: I just watched the movie yesterday and I have to get on a plane tomorrow but I just really, really needed to get some feelings out! This is more of a character relationship study than a strict "The Search For Gamora" fic, mostly because I needed a place to explore all the little headcanons I have about her relationships with each Guardian. And I know Thor was there with them at the end, but as much as I adore him, I wanted to strictly keep the focus on the team, so let's just say he left for a hot minute to check in with Valkyrie in New Asgard or something.

This fic probably exists in a dozen other forms already but regardless, this was oddly therapeutic to write and I hope you enjoyed it all the same! Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and see you next time :)

#starmora #starmora fic #peter x gamora #gamora x peter #endgame spoilers #spoilers #myfic #myfic: bring it home #marvel #i'm leaving for vacation tomorrow but i really needed to get my feelings out lmao

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dontshootmespence · 6 years

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Supernatural AU: Episode 3 - Home

Part 3

“You don’t believe in God?” Sam asked. For some reason it hurt him to know that.

Bobbie shook her head, lip quivering as the reality of that settled in again. She believed in something – in destiny – but the God her parents had told her about, the one that would always keep her family safe – no. That belief was long gone. It always put on the verge of tears. She wanted to believe so badly. That childhood desire was so hard to shake. “I don’t know how to anymore. Not after what we’ve seen. What we’ve been through.”

“And Dad never had any theories about what it was that killed Mom?” Dean asked, removing the gas nozzle from the tank of the Impala and placing it back at the pump.

For all John Winchester new about the supernatural, he could never figure out what came after their family that night. He never even had an inkling about what it was that had changed their lives forever. “No. Not that he ever said aloud. And I think he would’ve if he’d had any clue.”

“Before we do anything else, we should probably go grab a motel room and do a little research,” Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

Bobbie and Sam went into the convenience store to grab some food and energy drinks that were undoubtedly taking years off their lives, but it didn’t matter. There were pressing matters at hand.

Alone outside, Dean inhaled a shaky breath and walked around the corner of the convenience store, where he was blocked by rickety metal walls, some wooden debris, a payphone and a dumpster. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed his father’s number for the umpteenth time. Why wouldn’t he pick up the phone? Something had to be wrong. “Dad, it’s me. It’s Dean.” His voice wavered with each word. Being home scared him more than he wanted to admit. “Dad, I’m in Lawrence with Bobbie and Sam. There’s something in our old house.” He felt the nervousness rattle in his chest. “I don’t know what to do. None of us do. Please…I need your help.”

Bobbie and Sam would probably prefer not having his help. Both held grudges they had trouble looking passed, but he wasn’t afraid to admit – at least to himself – that he needed his father now more than ever.

Being the mother of two active children, trying to unpack and keeping track of every repair person that needed to come into the house had to be the equivalent of two full-time jobs – and in a couple of days she had to go back to work. Yay.

As Jenny invited the plumber inside, she held her hand to the cellphone so the man that would be coming in to fix the stove wouldn’t get caught between conversations. “Thank you so much for coming,” she said, shaking the man’s hand. She pointed toward the living room. “If you need anything, I’ll be in here.”

“No problem, Ma’am.”

“And please excuse the boxes,” she said sheepishly. She hated clutter. It made her feel like she was out of control. “Still haven’t unpacked everything yet.”

He gave her a warm smile, his toolbox feeling weighty in his hand and waved it off. “It’s nothing. I’ve seen it all.” He really had. And heard it all too. It was crazy what people would say and do in front of someone they didn’t know and would porbably never see again.

In all likelihood, this was going to be an easy fix. From what she’d said on the phone, it sounded like he would be able to be in and out of this house fairly quickly with a job well done. It was a nice little house. Once the clutter was taken care of and the house looked lived in, it would be even more inviting than it already was.

Kneeling down in front of the sink, he searched around the piping to see if anything of import stood out, but there was nothing. As a matter of fact, the pipes had next to no wear, like they were new. If he was sticking his hand in the sink, he needed to unplug the garbage disposal, so he tugged on the wire and stood up to do the necessary dirty work.

He rubbed his hands together and the friction created a warm, tingly feeling that he needed in the sudden chill of the house before he got back up and checked out the sink. He was going to have to stick his hand in there to figure things out. Gross, but someone had to do it.

Just as he was about to put his hand into the drain, he was startled by a kids’ toy. It was one of those creepy monkeys with the cymbals and it was clicking and clacking all on its own. Brushing it off, he returned to his duties, the rhythmic sound of the toy floating into the background, so much so that he never even noticed it stopped.

His hand slunk down into the drain as it had so many times before and he thought he felt something, but when he pulled his hand out there was nothing there. “Oh well,” he muttered. Back down he went.

When he felt around again, he found nothing. What could possibly be wrong with this thing? The monkey toy turned on again and startled him just as the garbage disposal turned on, crushing bone and slicing skin until there was little left of the fingers that had gone in, the remnants falling out of the bottom of the open pipe while blood-curdling screams filled the house.

Something felt especially wrong about approaching their father’s old friends under false pretenses, but they needed answers about John and not the sanitized ones they’d get if they came forward as his children. Despite what they did, Bobbie really did hate lying, but sometimes bad things were done with good intention so she held on to that.

Just two minutes down the road from their old place was one of John’s mechanic friends. Apparently, they’d been friends since they were kids. Astonishing what a lifelong vendetta could do to a friendship. “Hi, Jim Gibson?” Bobbie asked, approaching the older, seasoned gentlemen with an outstretched hand and a perkier-than-usual smile. “My name is Officer Perry. These are my partners, Officers Smith and Springs. We were wondering if you might have a couple moments to answer some questions about John and Mary Winchester.

Confusion stained his face. He hadn’t been asked about John in years and Mary even longer. “About what?”

According to police reports, Mary died in a fire due to an electrical short, so Sam thought on his feet. “Well, a couple months ago John came into the station claiming that it wasn’t an electrical fire that killed his wife. We decided to look into it to placate him, but now we can’t find him either.”

Mr. Gibson shook his head, defeated that his friend has slipped so far into such a dangerous delusion. “I don’t what I’ll be able to help you with, but sure, shoot.”

“What do you remember about John?” Dean asked.

Gibson’s answers were just as Bobbie would’ve expected. “John was a stubborn bastard.” If that wasn’t the understatement of the century, she wasn’t sure what was. But he loved their mother more than anything. “And those kids,” he said with a faint trace of a smile. “Those kids were his entire world. After Mary died, he didn’t smile much, but when he talked about his daughter and sons his face lit up.”

Bobbie held back a quivering lip and glanced to the side, seeing the look of shock on Sam’s face. “Did he ever talk about that night?” Sam wondered. There were so many times that he wished their father had been upfront with him about what happened – how he felt.

“John wasn’t thinkin’ straight,” he said, elaborating a bit when he met Dean’s expression. “He kept claiming that it was something, not someone, but something that killed her. It was an electrical short. A tragic accident. I begged him to get help but he spiraled so much that he even went to see a psychic, Moseley-something.”

After a few more questions that basically got them nowhere, the Winchesters left and immediately Dean’s hands slipped into Baby’s glove compartment to grab their father’s journal. “What’s up, Dean?” Bobbie quickly caught the journal and flipped toward one of the pages her brother described. When he pointed at the line she finally realized what had caught his attention. “Moseley. Missouri Moseley. I always thought this meant the state.” He said he’d ‘gone to Missouri and learned the truth.’

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. “We’re finally getting somewhere.”

As soon as they walked into the warmth of Missouri’s home, which doubled as her place of work, Bobbie felt a welcoming vibe. She didn’t remember a lot about Missouri except that she was a legit psychic and not a dime-store sellout. Sitting down in the corridor, they waited for her to finish up with a client. It sounded like he wanted answers to marriage problems and honestly Bobbie wasn’t sure which problem she’d rather have. The supernatural or the real world. Somehow placing your faith in another human being only to have them betray your trust seemed worse than a vampire or a werewolf.

About 10 minutes later, she finished up and walked him to the door, mumbling something about ‘poor bastard’ as she closed the door behind him. “Sam, Dean, Bobbie,” she said, her voice smooth like whiskey. “You’ve all grown up so much. So handsome. So beautiful. Let me look at you.” She pinched Bobbie’s cheeks and she didn’t actually want to kill her. That said a lot for Missouri’s effect on people. “Which is really saying something because you were a weird looking child,” she continued, pointing to Dean. All the ladies threw themselves in his direction now, but before he hit the age of 10, Dean was a little string bean.

Reaching out, she grabbed Sam’s hands in her own and sighed. “I’m so sorry about your girlfriend…and your father.”

“How did you-?” Sam started. He’d met some psychics that could pass for real, but Missouri was the real deal and Sam wasn’t exactly sure how to feel.

With a reassuring squeeze, she let go. “I can sense it.”

“Do you know where he is?” Bobbie asked hopefully.

“I’m not a magician,” she sassed. “I sense energies and emotions.”

Frustration plagued Dean’s entire being. Every time they got close to an answer it seemed they took five steps back. “Then what good are you?”

“I’m not a compass, boy. Now sit. And don’t even thinking about putting your foot on the coffee table.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open. “I didn’t even-“

“You were thinking it.”

Sam and Bobbie suppressed a laugh before the mood changed. “What do you remember about first meeting our father?” Sam asked.

She started wearily and almost guiltily. “He was desperate for answers and insisted that something other than an electrical fire took your mother. I told him about what was out there. What was truly out in the world.”

Dean spoke softly. “Do you know what killed our mother?”

She shook her head and Bobbie felt that small inkling of hope slip away. “No, but I had a bad feeling. You think something is back there?”

All three of them nodded. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the place and it seems like something is there again. Some kind of bad energy, but I can’t place it.”

“Why is it acting up now?” Sam wondered. His dreams about the house sprung to mind, but he didn’t want to bring them up. Now that they were here with Missouri he had a feeling he might know what these dreams actually were, but he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough for the answer just yet.

@remember-me-forever-silent-angel @gaylemonshark @marveldivergentouatdctvfangirl @lalirang @averagekansan @addsomesalt @stusbunker @sebba-hiddles @fanfictionrecommendations-com @hoppy519 @thatwrestlingfan91 @extremeobsessions101 @spence-imagines @bettercallsabs @whaaatthefuuuuck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @your-imagination-runs-wild @cryinglots @steggy01 @gigilame @sedulous-mind @a-unique-girls-heaven @just-antiyou @rmmalta @original-criminal-fanfics @ties-n-suits @veroinnumera @eurusholmmes @fanficienjoyedreading @astridstark13 @ties-n-suits @demonlover87 @kennybud @shittyafblogwnopoint @pleasantlyfadingpeace @bulldozed88 @a-gir1-has-n0-name

#supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction series #dean winchester #sam winchester #bobbie deanna winchester #bobby singer #dontshootmespence #born to fire #home #s1ep3

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adamgeorgiou · 5 years

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Eulogy for Pappou

Adamos Georgiou has passed away. Finally, he is allowed to rest.

The obvious and uncomfortable irony of trying to memorialize him now is that he's been gone, in truth, for a long time. The mind of the man who passed away was not that of the man who created his legacy, my family's legacy. It is a harsh thing to point out in such a sensitive setting, but my pappou's late condition is necessary to note in order to properly prioritize the simple, tragic, and relatively short-lived character of his later years; against the bold, sturdy, remarkable stroke of his long past. It's too easy to think that his more recent life was the more relevant, and therefore that it should be what I talk about now. But his dementia stands insignificant and unnoticeable next to the massiveness of his past.

Another irony of this eulogy is that I'm likely not the right person to make it. I mention this not as false humility, but as a proper acknowledgement of the fact that I did not know Adamos Georgiou for the majority of his lucid life, and even when I did, I was just a dumb kid intimidated by this grizzly bear of a man who spoke in foreign poems with a straight back and wise eyes that could just as easily be iron as clay.

I look back and I remember silly but vibrant moments.

Him sitting at his kitchen table, from his reserved corner seat, telling me the old stories of Aesop and Socrates and Plato. I can still see and hear him describing Icarus flying too close to the sun, how the beeswax that held his wings together melted, his pride becoming his downfall. Or how Socrates willingly drank the poison he was sentenced to die by, rather than flee, in order to prove his belief in the righteousness of the justice system that convicted him.

I remember Pappou not liking it when I preferred pizza and hot dogs to his gourmet curries, but always passing a well cut slice of an apple or orange to the backseat during long road trips upstate.

I remember him fiercely giving my sister and me his famous single syllable roar when we were being too rowdy in the car on the way home from church, and us instantly cowering away silent and terrified.

I remember him waking up before dawn with my dad and me to go fishing out in Greenport, him ready with a meticulously packed tackle box full of lures, lines, and savory snacks for both us and the fish.

I remember his gardens, before he gave them up. Me, useless and happy with dirty knees and a spade, always impressed with how he managed dozens of vegetables and herbs, when at our house we only ever had tomatoes and cucumbers.

And I remember his shed, in it a small, red, trapezoid toolbox made out of steel, full of rusted tools; and shelves with a half dozen spools of different types of string, one type, waxy and thin, he would use to make elaborate grips to knives and fishing poles, and another, nylon and white, he would use to hold tomato vines to their supports.

Everything he did was a detailed project that he was consciously steering towards success.

That's why they called him the Captain.

Adamos Georgiou was a man who took life seriously. He didn't let life happen to him, instead he grabbed it in both fists and bent it to his liking as best as he could. When it was time to make a decision for himself and his family, he didn't wait, he acted.

Moving from Cyprus, to The States, back to Cyprus, and then back to The States -- chasing opportunity, avoiding war and risk, and refusing to be disheartened by material injustice -- he never gave up, he never stopped working, and he never compromised his principles. You couldn't break the guy. He wasn't the type that would let his own animal impulses distract him from his higher goals. He believed in the potential for people to create meaning, to create good works; and he knew he was responsible for realizing that potential in his time on Earth.

He took responsibility. That's what I see as the overwhelming theme of his life. He took responsibility. Consciously, and with intent instead of dogma, he took responsibility. And in so many cases, he won the games that he played.

He raised and supported a beautiful, healthy family. He was hospitable to the communities he operated within. And he imparted so many wonderful, significant traditions with such a hearty charisma.

When I was younger, I used to hate going to Greek School. In theory, Greek School was an extracurricular class where you were taught the Greek language through a strict, proven method in a focused, formalized environment. In practice, Greek School was a bunch of Church ladies cycling between filing their nails, picking students to read from single-ply textbooks sold by the Greek Scouts of America, and propagandizing you to be more patriotic through the door-to-door selling of cement and sawdust chocolate bars. I still have flashbacks to one of those teachers spitting on me as she howled, "YOU MUST BE PROUD, ΠΑΙΔΙΑ! Be PROUD THAT YOU ARE GREEK!" And I still have some of those chocolate bars in the back of my freezer. All I ever wanted back then was to get out of that repurposed house-turned-classroom and to go to Taco Bell.

One of the yearly chores of those classes was to memorize a Greek poem and recite it in the church basement for Greek Independence day. This was simultaneously one of the more interesting and nerve racking assignments, because it involved memorization, which I viewed as a kind of game; but also you had demonstrate this skill in front of the entire parish. Year after year, I would do this. I would get on stage, and recite the sounds and syllables I had committed to memory over the weeks, no idea what I was actually saying, and then I'd pass the microphone to the next kid in line, and breath easy until after the ceremony when it was time for bagels and glasses of milk. (Meanwhile you’d get yelled at by the church custodian, Marco, for taking glasses of milk, because as everyone knows milk is for coffee not for children.) None of this ever meant anything to me beyond the moment's anxiety. But then one year something different happened.

I remember our class got off the stage and they invited my pappou up to say a few words. This had never happened any of the years before, to my pappou or any other adult, as far as I can remember. Usually, it was 5 to 6 classes of kids, each a year older than the last, each shuffling through monotone and rote read poems of imperceptible difference, each poem a test of patience and self-control and maddening boredom for those sitting around waiting for the others to finish.

But now my pappou is on stage. I know that guy. He's alone. Why is he up there? What is he doing? And in the brief instant during which all these questions were popping into my mind, he boomed into a multiple paragraph poem, energy overwhelming his posture, and exiting through both his voice and an outstretched finger, which would come down to mark the significance of a specific stanza or piece of punctuation. His greatness in that moment was undeniable and the church-goers sitting in that basement hall stayed silent the entire time, and then when he finished, many minutes later, they crashed at him with reverence and applause.

My pappou had faith in the power and beauty of words and ideas, and he knew it was his responsibility to pass them on and keep them alive, for if he didn't who would? I knew then that many of the adults in that room didn’t have the courage to be onstage, let alone the talent to deliver the words with such confidence or even the knowledge of knowing the words in the first place. And that meant that my pappou likely didn’t start with that talent or knowledge either. At some point in his life, he made the choice to develop and to learn. Someone once said, ‘Courage isn’t an absence of fear. Courage is the willingness to act despite fear.” In that moment, watching my grandfather, I began to understand what it was to be a man. I was proud to be Greek and proud to be his grandson.

My own love of books; of telling stories; of the balance between hospitality and gratitude; of nature, the mountains, the sea, the animals. Every backyard BBQ, every early morning adventure, every household project. The focus, the finesse, and the brute force, at times. The desire to achieve and to persevere and to preserve.

All of the things that together add up to being a good man. All of the things I hold as ideals.

They are rooted in him. In Adamos Georgiou.

When I think now about his death, I truly don't feel sad, as in the heartache of lost love. That grief has already been paid slowly over the years.

Instead, I am overwhelmed with a combined sense of respect and inspiration and thanks.

And if I am sad, it is the sadness of a disappointment that he couldn't be around longer so that I could've thanked him as a man, and so that I could of continued to have learned from him directly, instead of simply through his legacy.

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tonicandjins · 6 years

Text

an ode to a stranger

characters: kim mingyu/reader (au)

genre: angst

warnings: none

word count: 2280

you see mingyu after a long time

Why you used to love Kim Mingyu so much, you didn't quite understand.

Your friendship ended the same way it started: soft and gentle like nothing could ever hurt, but deafening and heart-wrenching once it hit the floor. When thinking about it, your heart still hurts a little, like a small pinch on your forearm. Perhaps not the same way it did before, but it's there sometimes.

The beginning of the end was the worst. God, you wish to never feel that kind of desolation and emptiness for the rest of your life again.

Mornings were unbearable. It was all too much for you and it literally took a physical toll on you. You unluckily finally understood what depression felt like. You couldn't get up on most days and even when there were a handful of mornings when you woke up feeling slightly less heavy compared to the day before, it only took five minutes for your sadness to creep back in. Some mornings you would forget that you and Mingyu had stopped talking and you'd start thinking about your exams and groceries rather than missing him, but then you roll over and find the framed picture of you from your senior prom on your bedside table facing down. And it always felt like a switch, like the lights or something, because your heart would stop at the realization that he ended your friendship. And the sadness comes back in, like it's shaking its head and sighing, telling you that it's not that easy to get back up after being broken.

You found remnants of Mingyu everywhere. Your old, tiny apartment was nothing special; you used to hate it on your freshman year in college. It's small and cramped and you feel like you could always use some more space even if you've organized everything the best way you can. You had a lot of things needed to be repaired, like leaking pipes, broken windows, dysfunctional locks and jammed garbage disposals, but the landlord never sent someone to fix them for you—which is why you hated it even more. But Mingyu had to come and change the way you saw the apartment. The promise of leaving the place and moving to a better one was forgotten the day he came over with his father's toolbox in his hand, a bag of Chinese takeout on the other. Movie nights happened once a week, but when college was too hectic and had become suffocating, twice. He used to crash at your place half of the week and his roommate Minghao used to tell you that you should just let him stay with you since he basically lived in your place. And if given the chance, you would have still wanted to move but you kept telling yourself that until you eventually graduated. Because the pipes were always leaking and the garbage disposal was shit, but Mingyu always came to fix them for you. When it was over, you wish you had left when you had the chance. Because every corner of your place had reminded you of him, and it could have been a bit easier if you didn't smell his cologne on the couch.

Going out was just as difficult. Walking past the lamppost on the corner of the street you lived in made your legs tremble and you would almost immediately run back to your house but you would keep walking. Your heart used to beg you to go back home and lock yourself in because the biggest risk was having to see any of your friends—his friends as well. And you remember trying your best to muster up a small smile and wave at them but you would always try to escape their questions by walking faster. They usually asked how you were and your heart would break a little, if that was even be possible at that time, because you had wished that you knew as well.

And it sucked because you thought you could keep your precious friendship if you concealed your unrequited feelings enough. You would be lying to yourself if you deny that you wished it worked out like the movies—that he swept you off your feet and kissed you passionately and realized that he felt the same way— but it didn't. Instead, he asked you to stay away and told you about how disappointed and betrayed he felt when he heard from his girlfriend at that time that you loved him more than you should. You also wished you had given him a good slap on the face during that time because all you could do was cry pathetically and nod and agree to everything he said.

But that was three years ago.

Things are different now. You are different now.

You no longer wish you could turn back time and change things. Gone were the days when you would cry at the thought of Mingyu angry and disappointed at you. The anger that once consumed you after everything was all gone now. When you think of Mingyu now, you only think about how different you were then.

(But you would never deny the fact that sometimes, only sometimes, you missed his smile and the way he clung unto you.)

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

“What would you tell him?” your boyfriend asks, his hand wrapped around yours, eyes on you. “If you see him again, I mean.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, a look of surprise washing over your face. “Is this jealousy I’m smelling, Joshua Hong?”

“It’s just your narcissism,” he sarcastically replies, earning him a soft slap on his shoulder. You held his hand tighter as you walked down the busy street of Myeongdong.

“I wouldn’t say anything,” you answer after a minute.

“Why?” he asks, leading you to stop at a small stall. “I mean, it’s been three, four years, right? And you were friends your entire lives prior to that. It wouldn’t hurt to say hi.”

You shrug. “There’s really nothing to say.”

“Your parents must have been upset,” he adds, his left hand still gripping yours tightly while he looked through a rack of shirts from the stall. “You were neighbors, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer with a nod, letting your eyes wander around the small stall. “Holidays were difficult. It was hell. Thank God our mothers did not force us to be in the same room.”

“How did you avoid him?”

“Easy,” you reply, chuckling a little. “He avoided me.”

“Must have been painful,” he mumbles.

You look at your boyfriend. He’s scanning through clothes, but you could see that he wasn’t really focused on looking for a shirt. Reaching to grab the collar of his jacket with your free hand, you made him look at you. You smile, leaning quickly to give him a small kiss on the lips.

“But that was three years ago,” you softly say. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Look at me now, shamelessly kissing you in public.”

He lets out a laugh, shaking his head and leaning down to give you a peck.

The night goes on like how it usually does when you’re with Joshua: light and heart fluttering. His hand is clasped on yours the entire walk down the street. He knows that you liked holding hands a lot and how it gives you comfort and the feeling of security. And you wonder why the universe didn’t let you meet Joshua Hong earlier in your life.

When the two of you stop by the end of the street to buy yourselves snacks, your eyes unexpectedly meet a pair of familiar ones. Mingyu’s.

It had been long since you’ve seen him, since your eyes met his. The last time, you think, was when you briefly caught a glimpse of each other when you drove your parents home with Joshua after your vacation a year ago. He was outside, at his mother’s garden, watering her plants the same way he did when you were kids. His tall figure towered over the flowers, skin still tan, eyes still mesmerizing even from meters away.

“You sure you’re not coming inside for some snacks? Perhaps a nap? The drive back to Seoul is a bit long, sweetheart,” your mother had asked you when you slowed down in front of your house. You looked over, staring at Mingyu for a couple of seconds in hopes of seeing the difference a year had made him before shaking your head and giving your parents a tired smile.

“It’s fine,” you politely answered. “My accountant here needs to be back at work first thing in the morning tomorrow. We can’t be home late.” Joshua followed, agreeing with you and promising your parents that you’d stay the night next time.

While Joshua helped your father haul their luggage from the trunk of your car to the porch and after your mother kissed you goodbye, your eyes met Mingyu. He was still holding the hose over his mother’s plants, water still sprinkling, but his eyes were on you.

There was a small and reluctant smile on his lips, eyes scanning you quickly before returning to yours. You wished you had smiled back so he knew that you were all right and you held no grudge because you were almost completely sure that Mingyu was beating himself up for whatever happened to your friendship. Although he did nothing to reach out to you and apologize properly, you knew how his mind worked and it must have been bothering him whenever he thought of what had happened. You wished you had smiled, but Joshua had entered the car, making you break your eye contact with Mingyu, so when you looked at him again, he was already walking back inside their home. And so you had driven away, passing their home, thinking that nostalgia wasn’t always bad.

It might have been a year since that day, but you’re sure his eyes are still the same. They were always beautiful and you used to always let yourself get lost in them. He is standing a few feet from you with a man almost as tall as he is and it seemed like he was waiting for a snack he bought, perhaps a rice cake because he had always loved them. He’s wearing a coat, one that looks expensive, and you wonder if he ended up getting a job that doesn’t feel like work because he always told you that. Art was something that he’s passionate about and he is really, immensely talented and strong-willed when it comes to his craft. You wished him well inside your head, unconsciously and unintentionally losing your grip on Joshua’s hand, because… what would you tell him if he walked towards you right now and said hi?

What would you tell a stranger?

“It’s you,” you would perhaps say. “It’s been so long, Mingyu, how are you?”

And he would smile brightly like he used to. “Y/N,” would be the first thing you’d hear from him after over three years. “You have long hair!”

As expected of Mingyu, he would tell you the first thing he noticed and it would be your hair because you never liked having long hair. When it started to grow past your breasts, you used to immediately get it cut short. It’s a nuisance, you would say. And Mingyu always wondered what you’d look like with long hair; here you were, right in front of his eyes with long hair and you wonder what he thought.

“I do,” you would say. “And you have grown taller. Still selfish?”

He’d laugh, showing off his canines and you’d realize that he never got them fixed and wonder if he didn’t because you always told him you liked his teeth.

“It’s great to see you, Mingyu,” you’d say.

“You, too, Y/N,” he’d reply.

And you would ask him how he’s been after all these years and tell him how happy you are when he tells you about his achievements and the milestones he’s reached. Then you’d tell him about yours and how he had been right all along when you were kids; you are, after all, deserving of all love and happiness in the world. You’d tease him about his expensive-looking coat and praise him for everything he’s done and tell him you always knew he’d succeed on his endeavors and become beyond amazing and admirable. And you’d wish him well, tell him that—

You wake up from your trance when Joshua grips your hand tighter and asks if you’d like anything more. You look at your boyfriend and give him a reply, before quickly looking back to where Mingyu stood, but he has already turned his back from you, conversing with his companion. And you laugh a little because you were about to create an ode to a stranger, with an entire scenario on how it would go when he comes and talks to you.

But the moment never arrived that night. Your subtle glances at the boy your world used to revolve around didn’t make a difference. Being there, few feet away from him, didn’t change the fact that you were strangers now. So when you stole another glance and realized his eyes were on you for a second, you smiled softly, hoping he still had traces of memories of you and know what the smile meant: you still wish him well.

You turn away from Mingyu’s eyes and hold your boyfriend’s hand tighter.

Some poetry are meant to be caged. This ode to a stranger isn’t meant to be heard.

#sfwseventeen #kmgnet #write-svt #kim mingyu #seventeen #mingyu scenario #mingyu scenarios #mingyu angst #seventeen fic #mingyu fic #seventeen scenarios #seventeen scenario #svt #svt fic #svt angst

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coffee-obsessed-writer · 6 years

Text

Pride and Joy

A/N: Part 7 in the “Hunting for Home” Series.

Dean Winchester x Reader; Sam x Charlie x OFC (friendly)

Song: Pride and Joy by Stevie Ray Vaughn

Each chapter includes a song and dialogue prompt when requested.

Summary: The wait is on to see if her forgetful nature will prove Iris’ Prophecy to come true. In the meantime, Dean and Sam get a call for help from Charlie on a case that leaves her stumped. Deciding to take Iris on her first hunt, the whole lot heads out for what was supposed to be a routine job, but ultimately has serious consequences. Could an old friend be behind some of the goings on?

Warnings: Canon Divergence, mild violence, fluff,

Words: 6403

Everything Tags: @his-paradox @sorenmarie87 @lefthologramdeer @grace-for-sale @redm81 @becs-bunker @docharleythegeekqueen

SPN Tags: @soythedemonqueen @kazosa @lucifer-in-leather @perseusandmedusa @tiquismiquis @mrsbarnes-rogers @yorkeylover @through-thesilver-lining @illysamorgan @fictionalabyss @gettinjoyful @auntsalgal @stuckupstucky @miss-spnm0mma

“It’s been more than three weeks,” Iris paused, looked around to be sure no one was eavesdropping, “are you ever going to find out?”

You looked up from the book in front of you and gave her an exasperated expression. “Iris, three weeks isn’t nearly enough time. It’s usually a good month before you can take a test and get an accurate response.”

Iris sat back in a huff and crossed her arms over her chest. “This is torture, you know?”

“Then don’t think about it,” you said, not taking your eyes off the book. “I’m not.”

“Then you’re insane. Because it’s all I can think about and it’s not even my baby.”

“Will you please keep your voice down!?” you reprimanded. Now it was your turn to scan the bunker for any curious ears. Luckily the boys were off doing their own thing while you and Iris were taking on the task of research.

“Maybe I should just go home, I only seem to be irritating you lately,” she whined and sat back in her chair, hands clasped worriedly in her lap.

You closed the book and leaned on it, giving her an apologetic half smile.

“Iris, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been snippy lately. I am nervous, ok? I am petrified of being pregnant. Not only because of what you saw but the whole idea of pregnancy and a family was never really on my to-do list. Please, stay. We still have a lot to figure out and I really do need your help.”

“But you love him, don’t you?” she continued, ignoring the last part of what you said. “Why wouldn’t you want to start a family?”

“Yes,” you smiled wistfully, “I love Dean, very much. But our lives are not fit to raise children. No hunters I know, who have kids, wind up with their happy ending.”

“You could stop hunting,” Iris shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like the world will stop rotating if you stop hunting.”

“It’s not that simple. Hunting isn’t just something you do. It’s who you are. Being a hunter is a calling… a way of life. It's accepting that your life comes second to others most of the time. That your path is to monitor the things that go bump in the night. Parents who are also hunters will leave their kids behind well before they should. It’s happened to all of us.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, though her tone was less than sympathetic. “I guess I just don’t understand. I mean, you were raised in the life, I assume… why follow in their footsteps. Why not go to school, get a degree? Make a new path?”

“Because you will always end up getting sucked back in,” Sam said from behind you as he entered the room. “Trust me. I speak from experience.”

Iris looked concerned but didn’t continue to press the issue. “I’m gonna go grab something to eat.” She quietly got up and walked slowly from the room lost somewhere deep in thought. Sam watched her go and turned to you before heading to the archives.

“What’s up with her?” he asked, “She trying to convince you to quit hunting?”

“No, just curious as to why we do it and don’t stop. You know, considering the price of it all.”

It was Sam’s turn to be quiet now. He rifled through a few of the drawers, found what he was looking for, but didn’t close it right away. Instead, he leaned against the cabinet and asked, “Why do you keep doing it?”

“Same reason you do, Sam. Because we aren’t fit to do anything else.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he considered your answer. Closing the drawer, he continued down into the library to retrieve the books he needed. You assumed the conversation was over and went back to the book that sat before you. But your mind couldn’t concentrate on research. You felt the need to be proactive; to go and hunt… something.

“Hey, Sam, any idea where that big brother of yours got off to?” you asked, sliding the large text away from you.

“Garage I think. Probably doing something to the car.”

“As long as it’s his car and not mine… Blanche is a very finicky girl. Doesn’t like just anyone touching her.”

Sam just shook his head. His attention was diverted by his cell phone buzzing in his pocket, and you noticed his eyes light up when he saw the caller.

“Charlie! Yeah, good. How’s it going?” he answered, his voice drifting off to nothing as he headed away to take the call.

You took this chance to leave quietly and go find Dean.

You found him in the garage, his legs sticking out from beneath the Impala. The music was playing loud, and even obscured by the car, you could hear him singing along. Leaning against the door, you just watched him for a minute or two. Your hand absently floated down to your abdomen and wondered, if you were really growing a body snatcher. You tried to imagine co-parenting with Dean, and you kept coming back to the same conclusion, there’s just no way it could work…

Your train of thought was interrupted by Dean sliding out from beneath the car. He didn’t see you right away; nor did he stop singing. His voice mixed with that of Stevie Ray Vaughn’s made you smile. Bopping his head along and sliding across the garage floor to where his tools were, Dean kept on grooving, completely unaware of your presence.

“Yeah I love my baby, heart and soul Love like ours won't never grow old…

She's my sweet little thang, she's my pride and joy She's my sweet little baby, I'm her little lover boy”

“Are you singing about me or are you singing about your car?” you asked, unable to help yourself.

Dean whirled around on one boot heel, smiling, but completely embarrassed that he was caught mid-concert.

“Heyyyy… babe. What, uh, whatcha doing in here? Thought you and Iris were hitting the books.” He walked over and kissed you sweetly, most likely hoping you would forget what you saw when you had come in.

“We were. She needed a break, and I needed… something else.”

Dean raised his brows suggestively and gave you a knowing wink. “Gimme five minutes to get cleaned up and—”

“Ugh, no, perv. Well, at least night right now,” you laughed and playfully hit his chest. “But hold that thought for later.”

Frustrated, Dean sighed. You, trying not to bust out laughing at the pout now apparent on his face, tried to ignore it. “Actually, I need to kill something. Let’s find a hunt, or, I don’t know—there’s gotta be something that needs killing, right?”

“I got nothing right now. Sorry, sweetheart. What’s going on? Why the need to kill something?”

“Because we’ve been sitting around this place for a few weeks. We promised Iris a hunt before she headed home, and I think she’s ready to go. Besides, I miss being on the road. I love it here, you know that, but sometimes—”

“Its fine, I get it. I’ve been there, trust me. But do you think she’s really ready? It’s only been a few weeks.”

“Were you ready for your first hunt?” you asked, as Dean leaned against the other side of the door frame facing you.

“I guess not. Not really. But I certainly had more than three weeks experience and plenty of knowledge drilled into my head by the old man before I picked up a machete and went after something.”

“Well, Winchester, I say she’s ready. I’ll take responsibility for her. I think it’s time we give that girl a machete and point her in the right direction. It’s why she stayed, after all. She wanted to be prepared if something should come after her again.”

Dean scowled and pushed off the frame. Wiping the grease from his hands, he slowly made his way back to the Impala. Sliding the dolly out of the way, he closed up the toolbox and went about cleaning up the garage. You knew he was mulling it over and gave him the time to consider what you said. Not to mention that simply watching Dean walk around a room was a sight you could never tire of.

“I mean, I guess—”

“Hey,” Sam called out from just outside the entrance. “Charlie called. She’s got a case for us.”

You looked over at Dean and shrugged. “Guess that solves it, huh?”

You and Iris rode in Blanche, while Sam and Dean led the way in the Impala. On the four-hour drive to meet Charlie, you broke down the case and tried to give her as many tips, and valuable information as you could.

“Iron is your friend here. Salt, too. Ghosts aren’t exactly hard to dispel,” you said, “but they can be a real pain in the ass if you can’t find their bones or the objects they’re attached too.”

“To burn? Right?”

“Yup, to burn.”

Iris nodded and took out the small notebook she’d been carrying around. You glanced over at her, scribbling away in the dimly lit interior; a hint of a smile touching your lips.

“You know, Sam and Dean’s dad kept a journal. Dean told me about it a while back. They grew up in the life, but their dad didn’t. Even though he was a Men of Letters Legacy, he didn’t know anything about this world ‘til after their mom died. Then he started the journal to track everything he learned.”

“And she was a hunter…” Iris mumbled more than asked.

“She was, yeah.”

“And how did she die, again?”

“Painfully,” you said and turned the wheel to follow the Impala into the parking lot of a small diner. “A demon, Azazel, he killed her. John made it his mission to kill Azazel.”

“Did he?”

You tilted your head and gave her a knowing look. “What do you think?”

“I think their dad is dead.”

“Right. He died, saving Dean. Dean was the one who killed the demon in the end.”

You turned off the engine and turned to face Iris who was again scribbling in her notebook. “Iris, I need to be sure this is what you want. This life is no joke, and while I doubt you’ll be digging for cases, I want to be sure that you want to do this before we involve you any further.”

“Y/N, I appreciate that, but I am ready. I need to do this before I try and go back home. I want to know how to protect myself and my family.”

You touched her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Alright then, here we go.”

No one else picked up on it, but you saw Iris’ face light up when she saw Charlie. You had only met Charlie twice before this, both times were brief, but you liked her a lot and could easily see why the boys loved when she came around.

Iris looked as if she’d seen an angel; a good one, not the dicks you were used to dealing with. Her dark eyes sparkled like you hadn’t seen before and it finally made sense as to why Iris never mentioned a boyfriend or showed any interest in Sam (even though you may have suggested it a few times).

Dean made the formal introductions, Iris simply nodding in the redhead’s direction with a goofy smile as she shook her hand. Sam watched it unfold, too, and you could tell he was just as amused at Iris’ instant crush.

“Let’s eat, I’m starving,” Charlie said after hugging you hello. “I got the corner booth, so we could talk. Oh, Dean, the pie here… you have to—”

“Already on it,” he said starring dreamily into the dessert case, lightly biting his bottom lip. “I see a slice of blueberry with my name all over it.”

Once you were sat in the booth, food and coffee ordered, Charlie broke down the specifics of the case. A newly renovated house in town had gone through five buyers in the span of two years. At least one family member from each group that had bought it died on the premises. The local paper did a small blurb on the 100-year-old restored estate and that’s where Charlie caught the case.

“Honestly, I can’t find any reason for the haunting. If, that’s what it is,” Charlie explained and passed Sam the newspaper clipping.

“If?” Dean asked before shoveling a piece of pie in his mouth.

“I’m open to possibilities Dean. I have no solid proof it’s a haunting. But I don’t know what else it could be. Either way, there is something that keeps killing the people that move into that house. That’s why I called Sam. Thought you guys might have a different take on it.”

“Well, first things first. Let’s finish our pie, then head on over. Place empty?”

Charlie nodded.

“Alright then, we start at the empty house.”

You and Iris were once again following the Impala. From the corner of your eye you could see her stealing glances at you, wanting to say something but kept stopping herself. Even though you had a feeling what it was, you let her debate on it a bit longer before finally just saying it for her.

“You like Charlie, huh?”

“How did—I mean. Damn. That obvious?”

“A little. At least to me.”

“She’s so pretty. Honestly the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Iris mused wistfully as she watched the darkened streets and scenery go by. “I’ve never had a boyfriend or girlfriend. My parents wouldn’t let me date. Especially not a girl.”

“Why?”

“They’re from the old country. Dating didn’t happen until it was a marriage arrangement, and they are tolerable, but wouldn’t stand for their daughter to date or marry a woman.”

You wanted to say something, offer her a bit of comfort, but you saw Dean pulling off on the side of the road and followed.

“I’m sorry, Iris. I can’t imagine having to contend with that. But just know this… you are safe with us, there’s zero judgment here. Plus, Charlie likes girls better too. You absolutely have a chance. But, more on that later.”

You winked at her and a giant grin spread across her face. “Now, it’s time to go to work.”

With your entire entourage out of the cars, you grabbed the necessary equipment from the trunks and made your way to the back of the house. Sam picked the backdoor lock, while Dean stood watch. Not that there was any harm of being spotted, the closest neighbor was more than a mile away. The slightest wave of dizziness hit you, making you lean on Iris for support.

She looked at you curiously, “You alright?” she whispered.

You nodded and steadied yourself. Just as you did, Sam got the door open and you all went inside. Dean paused as he entered the house and lightly grabbed your shoulder.

“You look green. You ok?”

“Yeah. Maybe bad chow at the diner. I’m fine.”

He cradled the back of your hair and left a kiss on the top of your head. “Just be careful.”

You nodded and gave him a wan smile before continuing to investigate.

The main foyer was grandiose in size and décor. Even for it being remodeled recently, there were ornate gold fixtures that were more akin to something from the Victorian era, than modern day. A mix of pinks and soft greens were splashed through the paintings and curtains giving the room a pastel effect that seemed out of place.

A large, sweeping staircase led to at least two more levels that you could see, with a two-tier balcony overlooking the foyer. The air was heavy and ominous, and you were clearly not the only one to feel it. Iris stood close to you, shaking, but not shying away from whatever lay ahead. In the side of the staircase was a small door; the kind that would open to a closet or storage area.

Sam opened it cautiously and saw that it led to another set of stairs that descended to the basement.

Dean and Sam shared a silent exchange. They did a quick round of rock, paper, scissors; Dean lost, then hung his head in defeat.

“Alright. Sam, you and Charlie head up to the second floor. Y/N, why don’t you take Iris to the third floor and start there. I’ll take the demonic door to Narnia. Let’s see what we can find and then report back.”

Everyone split off to their assigned locations and started looking around for what could be causing the trouble. An hour passed, because of the house’s size, you and Iris had only made it through half of the third story rooms. In the middle of the hallway, there was another smaller, oddly shaped door.

Giving it a tug, you realized it was locked. “A locked room always has something to tell you,” you said to Iris before taking a step back. Raising your foot, you gave it a good kick, but it didn’t budge.

“Let me try,” Iris said and approached the door. From her back pocket, she pulled out a lockpick set. Despite her shaky hands, she managed to get it open within several minutes time, leaving you more than a little impressed.

“Damn, Iris. You do learn fast,” you chuckled; a feeling of pride washing over you.

You drew your gun from your rear pocket and held it, along with your flashlight up to both see and prepare to defend yourself.

“Please tell me that gun is loaded with something other than bullets. You can’t really kill what is already dead.”

You stopped, turned to look at her and rolled your eyes. “Seriously? Give me a little credit. Bullets made with rock salt. It won’t get rid of a ghost, but it will get them off your ass for a bit.”

Carefully climbing the stairs, you could feel the temperature drop considerably. Enough that both you and Iris could see the breath expelling from your mouths.

“Stay close,” you whispered as you reached the landing and surveyed the attic.

The room was large, but sparse in what contained. A few pieces of furniture covered with dusty linens, an assortment of boxes in one corner and the broken remnants of a carousel horse.

Movement from the shadows behind the horse caught your eye and you motioned for Iris to stop. There was no noise, and it felt like no air in the room. Though you could still feel the chill, it was hard to breathe, like something was sucking the air from the atmosphere. All the hair on your arms and neck began to stand at attention, and a light buzzing began in your ears.

“Iris,” you said as calmly as possible, though it was a struggle, “go… go get the others, now.”

Dean was emerging from the basement when he first heard Iris’ frantic call. He rushed into the foyer as she was bounding down the steps two-by-two and falling into him.

“What? What is it?!” he asked, holding her up by both shoulders. “Where’s Y/N?!”

Iris was breathless, trying to explain through gasps of much-needed air. “She’s… up… stairs… attic… door…”

“Dammit,” Dean cursed under his breath. “Here, sit. I gotta go up –”

“What happened?” Sam called down from the second-floor balcony. “She alright?”

“Sam, Y/N is in the attic, go see—”

A sound of wood breaking caused all the conversation to stop. Everyone looked up at the same time to see your body falling from the third-floor landing. Splintered pieces of wood from the railing reigned down beside you. Your back was racing towards the floor, but for Dean, everything moved in slow motion.

His body was paralyzed as he saw your arms flailing, feet scrambling to try and turn, to land face down so maybe you could brace yourself. But you couldn’t. Your body hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Dean was at your side within a second, checking for any signs of life he could find. Anything that would tell him you were alright.

“No... no, no, baby, come on…” he pleaded, tears filling his eyes while he lifted your head to try and stop the blood that was now all over his hands.

He felt for a pulse. It was there, weak, but there. Sam and Charlie were standing over you, Iris crouched on the ground, praying for a miracle. Time was of the essence, but still, everything was moving in a slowed down state.

“We need to get her to a hospital. NOW!” he barked, which seemed to kick everything back into motion.

Charlie hurriedly took off the button-down flannel she wore over her GamerGirl t-shirt and thrust it at Dean to use for pressure against the back of your head. He scooped you up as Sam rushed to get the front door open. Once back at the cars, Dean carefully laid you in the back seat of the Impala and motioned for Sam to drive. Iris and Charlie hopped in your car and followed close behind as Sam rushed you to the nearest hospital.

There was a severe ache in your lower back. Anytime you tried to move, a ripple of searing pain tore through your head and down your neck. You were trying to wake up; you could feel your eyelids fluttering, doing their best to open.

Voices were muffled as if there were a thick layer of plastic or foam between you and the source. No idea how long you’d been struggling to wake up, you were tired but more than determined to open your eyes. You needed to see Dean, to be sure he was alright; you needed to tell him that you were alright.

The next time you tried to open them, they relented. You were drowsy, but you could see your surroundings after a minute or two adjusting to the room’s illumination. It wasn’t bright, just enough for you to make out the figure near your bed to be Dean.

The hospital room, and you knew it was that from the various beeping machines and horribly colored walls, was otherwise empty. Dean was asleep, his head fell to one side, hands clasped on his chest and lightly snoring.

You tried to speak, but your throat felt like you’d swallowed a bucket of sand. You moaned slightly as you tried to move, but it was enough to wake Dean from his nap.

The sight of you awake both elated and terrified him. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and leaned his elbows on your bed. Taking your hand that wasn’t stuck with an IV or attached to a wire, he raised it to his lips and kissed it before pressing it to his cheek.

“Welcome back,” he said roughly, his own voice still thick and full of exhaustion. “You gave me a hell of a scare, woman.”

You furrowed your brow and remembered how scratchy your throat felt. Looking at the pitcher of water, Dean took your cue and poured some into a cup, stuck in a straw and helped you take a sip. The water was blissfully cool on your tongue and helped clear up the dense taste of cotton laden throughout your mouth.

“Dean,” managed to rasp from your lips, but he just shushed you.

“Don’t try to talk. Just relax. I’m gonna get the doc, ok? She’s gonna want to know you’re awake.”

No, you wanted to scream, don’t go! But nothing came out. Instead, you shook your head slightly, despite the pain that it caused.

“I’ll be right back, promise,” he kissed your hand again and stepped out of the room.

Barely two minutes later he was back with your doctor, who was a very tall, leggy blonde and not at all what you expected. She introduced herself as Dr. Shari and curtly asked Dean to leave the room so she could give you an exam. He reluctantly complied but didn’t miss the opportunity to give her a dirty look as he left.

Once she performed her initial exam, which consisted of turning you on your side and hovering her hands over your back, she helped you get comfortable again and started asking questions.

“You took quite a fall,” she said, pulling up the chair beside your bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” you managed through the grit still lodged in your throat. “Tired.”

She leaned in closer to you, her amber eyes sparkling with mischief and an odd familiarity that you couldn’t quite place. “Makes sense. Do you remember anything about that day?”

You shook your head no.

“Do you know what today is?” she asked, making a little checkmark in her notes.

Again, you shook your head.

“To be expected. You hit your head severely when you landed, I assumed there would be some memory loss. You’ve been here for six days, Y/N. We were beginning to worry you wouldn’t wake up at all.”

“Six days?”

“Mhm. You also fracture some of your ribs, and an ankle, plus had bleeding on the brain. Thankfully they were able to stop it and there was no permanent damage. Of course, we’ll have to do some assessments, but right now, you and your baby’s prognosis—”

You felt your heart pounding and a lump form in your throat. Did she just say, “Baby?”

“You didn’t know? Best I could tell you’re about six weeks along. Honestly, I’m surprised it survived the fall. That must be a pretty strong little peanut M&M you got growing in there.”

There was something odd about her and her bedside manner, but the revelation of the pregnancy far outweighed the feeling gnawing at your gut.

“I’m six weeks pregnant?” you whispered more to yourself than to her. But how was that possible? That meant you were pregnant before Crowley took you before Iris was even in your lives. The more you tried to wrap your mind around it, the more the pain radiated through your body.

“About that, yes. Would you like me to run the test again?” she asked with an air of indignance. “I will, but I assure you, you are pregnant.”

You shook your head in sheer disbelief and sighed shakily. The door to your room opened and Dean came back in loaded with an armful of snacks and drinks from the vending machine.

“Sorry to interrupt, thought you’d be done by now,” he said, grinning from ear to ear staring at you. “But, since you’re here, can she have this stuff? I mean, it can’t be any worse then what I saw wheeled by before.”

“We’re done. She’s going to be fine. Just needs to take it easy, heal those bones and take care of every…thing.”

Dean furrowed his brow and looked confusedly between you and Dr. Shari. “Uh, what does that mean?”

“I’ll explain later,” you said, now eyeing the bottles of juice he’d brought you.

“Alright, I’ll leave you two to it. I’ll have them update your chart as far as your meals go and get you up and moving around in no time. We’ll try and get you out of here in the next day or so.”

When she was gone, Dean dumped all the snacks into his chair, leaving the cans of soda and juice on the nightstand. He sat beside you on the bed and caressed your cheek with his thumb.

Dean chuckled darkly; his face turned serious and pensive. “I really thought I lost you there for a minute. You can’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry, I wish I could tell you what happened… we were on a case, right?”

“Yeah. Turned out to be a poltergeist. Must have come after you once you sent Iris down to get us.”

“Iris… oh God, that’s right, she was with me! Is she alright? Did she get hurt?”

Dean smiled and tutted, “Shh, she’s fine, I promise. Sam took her and Charlie back to the house a couple of days ago and took care of it. Shouldn’t be hurting anyone anymore.”

Relief washed over you at knowing both Iris and Charlie were safe, and that no one else would die at the hands of that vengeful spirit.

“Dean, I need to tell you something,” you started, but a fit of dry coughs prevented you from talking. He got you the water and once you were done and dealing with the shards of pain it caused throughout your body, you drank it, much more greedily this time.

“Whatever it is, it can wait. Sam, Charlie, and Iris are here, they want to see you.”

“It can’t wait,” you said, feebly grabbing at his shirt before he could get up. “Dean, I--uh, I’m pregnant. From what the doc said, probably happened that night of our first date.”

Dean stared at you processing the information you just gave him. You didn’t know what to expect from him, but it certainly wasn’t laughing. He snorted a laugh or two through his nose at first, shaking his head in near disbelief. That soon turned to a full-on belly laugh where he couldn’t quite get out what he wanted to say.

“So, that night, Cas was right after all,” he tried to control his breathing and rubbed a hand over his stubbled cheek with a sigh of disbelief. “Pregnant? We’re--we’re gonna have a baby?” he had finally stopped laughing, but the grin remained on his face. It was hopeful and happy, making those cute little crinkles at the corner of his eyes appear.

“You’re not freaked out? I mean, with everything…”

Dean shook his head. “No, not anymore. After you got hurt, and I sat here watching you fight for your life, I prayed. I prayed harder than I ever had before, Y/N. I prayed for you to be alright, for us to have everything we ever wanted. If that meant throwing a kid into the mix, I told God I was ready. Cause, darlin’, if I do it with you, I can do anything.”

“Dean, this is going to be hard. Like, the hardest thing ever.”

“Eh, I don’t know. I think there have been a few things that were a bit harder… trying to put Lucifer in his cage. That was tough. Leviathans… yikes. Then there was the time—”

“Alright, I get it, smart ass.”

“No matter what it is, we can handle it. We got a team out there, you know. Sam, Charlie… hell, even Iris. They’re on our team. Cas, too. Whatever comes, we got this.”

Dean was confident in what he was promising you; it was written all over his face that he really believed what he was saying. You could also feel it; in his gaze, in his touch. If he could have faith in your ability to be parents, maybe you could too.

“You remember when you found me in the garage? Before we left?”

You nodded and smiled at the memory.

“I never did answer you…”

You furrowed your brow but couldn’t recall what you’d asked him.

“The song,” he said and moved closer to you. “You asked me if I was singing about you or the car.”

“Ohhh, right,” you snickered and remembered how cute he’d looked singing when he didn’t know anyone was watching.

“I was thinking about you. You really are my pride and joy. I’d do anything—” he paused and cleared his throat of the building emotion; smiling to cover up the intense feelings that were overwhelming him, “—anything for you.”

“Would you… sing it for me now?” you couldn’t help but ask and tease him a little in the process.”

“No,” he smiled and wagged a finger at you. “That’s where I draw the line. But, I can tell you that, I do love you, heart and soul. And, that a love like ours, will never grow old. You’re my sweet little baby, and I’m your—”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” you laughed, unable to bear to hear him speak any more of the lyrics with the face he was making. “Just for the record, I love you too.”

You could feel yourself healing just from him being there. The tension in your body began to lessen; even the pain that was present when you moved seemed to be diminishing as well. With Dean’s help, you sat up straighter in bed and felt your stomach rumble. Looking at the stash of snacks on the chair, you asked for him to open some of what he’d brought.

“I better get more, since there’s two of you now,” he teased as he handed you the bag of animal crackers. “Speaking of, do we tell everyone? I mean, is it too early?”

“I have no idea,” you said snatching the cookies from his hand. Your appetite was immediate and slightly ravenous. Trying to remember the doctor’s words, you ate them slowly, but you really wanted to just scarf the whole bag.

“I guess your exam went well?” he asked curiously, as he watched you tear into the bag of children’s cookies.

“Mhm, she said I’m healing well. A few broken bones, but otherwise great. Baby is strong and healthy.”

“Just never saw someone so hungry after being unconscious for almost a week.”

“I don’t know, I just know that after the exam she did on my back, I am feeling a lot better. Sore, and still tired, but I can move with minimal pain and I am hungry as hell.”

“Guess she’s got the magic touch, huh?” he said with a smile, but it wasn’t his real smile.

“Guess so. Hey, did you say the others were here? Grab them and let’s tell them the absolute insane news.”

“Yeah, alright,” Dean said, bending down to kiss you on the head. “I’ll be back.”

Dean entered the hallway and found Sam, Iris, and Charlie talking lowly near the small waiting area. He raised his chin in a greeting and looked around for any people that may be within earshot.

“Hey,” he started and paused as a doctor passed by. “She’s up, and apparently very hungry. Good news, just a few fractured bones. Doc seems to think she could be out in a day or two.”

“What? That’s—that’s amazing,” Sam exclaimed looking between them. “A bit shocking, but amazing.”

Charlie examined Dean’s expression closely. “Something is up… what’s up?”

“I don’t know, but… she could barely move when she woke up. Couldn’t really talk. Pain was written all over her face. Doc comes in, kicks me out, and suddenly, she’s ready to walk on out of here and hit the nearest fast food joint.”

“Could you just be paranoid?” Iris asked. “I mean no offense, and it was a rough fall, but the human body can do some amazing things.”

“I appreciate your perspective, Iris, but in our world, when something seems fishy, its usually for good reason. There’s something very off about this, and that doctor. When we brought her in, they told us to expect the worse. Now, she’s ready to be discharged?”

“What could it be?” Sam asked, his mind racing through a million random facts on lore and monsters but coming up empty. “Who would want to secretly heal someone? I mean, other than angels—”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled and hung his head.

Charlie and Iris exchanged a confused glance, while Sam tried to understand what Dean could have realized. A thought struck him, even though it seemed impossible, but it was all his mind could keep coming back to.

“Dean… you think?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“But, he’s dead. We saw him die.”

“Did we?” Dean asked and immediately felt ridiculous for assuming that the death they witnessed had been real at all.

“It has been years, how would—why would—”

Dean shrugged and shook his head. “Listen, let’s keep this to us for now, alright? She’s got enough going on and doesn’t need to know.”

“Know what? Enough with the brospeak, guys. Wanna share with the rest of us who don’t speak Winchester?” Charlie asked, not without a bit of sarcasm.

“Gabriel,” Dean said with a sigh.

“The Trickster? But you saw him die?” Charlie mused, eliciting an eye roll from Dean.

“Did we?” he asked again, returning her sarcastic tone.

Iris shook her head softly. “I’m so lost.”

“Forget it for now,” Dean waved her off. “Just drop it for now and we’ll figure it out. Besides, there’s something you guys need to know.”

“She’s pregnant,” Iris said with a shrug. “I tried to tell her…”

“What?!” Sam and Charlie sang in unison, while Dean couldn’t hide the enormous grin that engulfed his face.

“Dude!” Sam grabbed and embraced his brother roughly.

Charlie punched Dean’s should and silently squealed with excitement.

From behind them, the door to your hospital room opened and they saw you hobbling out in your cast, rolling your IV pole with one hand and shaking the second bag of snacks into your mouth with the other.

“I thought you were coming back… heard the commotion out here and thought I’d come to you guys instead. Besides, I am starving. I wanted to try and catch you to see if there’s a pizza place around here or something.”

You watched as Dean, Sam, Charlie, and Iris all exchanged a knowing glance and then collectively looked back at you in amazement. It didn’t dawn on you that you shouldn’t be able to be walking around or be feeling as hungry as you did.

Assuming it was due to Dean not being able to stay quiet about the baby, you scowled at him. “I guess you couldn’t wait to tell them, huh?”

“Uh, no. Iris guessed it,” he said and slipped an arm around your lower back. He kissed your cheek and tried not to worry about your “speedy” recovery. “Let’s get you back in bed, and you can visit with the girls. Sam and I will go and grab some grub. Deal?”

You nodded enthusiastically and went back into your room. It was once your back was turned to the group, did they all get a communal appearance of concern across their faces.

“When we get her home,” Sam whispered to Dean, as Dean nodded in approval.

“When we get home,” Dean repeated and followed you into your hospital room.

TAGS ARE OPEN! Drop me a message if you want to be included!

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester #spn fan fics #spn fan fiction #spn series #supernatural fan fics #supernatural fan fiction #hunting for home series #Dragongirl Writes

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ask-pulligan-blog · 6 years

Note

“This is going to sound controversial, but I think that went well.”

I actually have no idea what I wrote, it is all over the place but I sort of love it? Anyway requests are open! Hope you enjoy this short!

“Wait, that was today?!” asked a frantic Peggy who was on the phone and packing a pair of jeans into an almost full suitcase.

“What was today?” Hercules asks popping his head into the room.

Covering the phone to block out noise she does one of her famous loud whispers, “Remember when we promised Eliza to help set up toys for our soon to be nephew?”

“Oh no, that was supposed to be,” he says softly color draining from his face when he checks his phone for events. “That is scheduled for today, Sunshine, how did this happen? We’re double booked.”

“Well, we can quickly build the toys and then hit the road, how hard can it be?” shrugging she talks to Eliza again, “We’ll be there in 20 love ya sister!” after hanging up she lets her shoulder slump down, “Are you upset?” not turning back to see his expression.

Seeing her disappointed he couldn’t put more blame on her so instead walked behind her and hugged her, gently placing kisses on her shoulder. “Not at all, it just means that alone time is pushed back. So let’s build them quickly because I really need that Peggy time.” chuckling as he started walking away. “I’ll go start the car.”

She stood there flustered mumbling about him being a tease before finally moving.

After about fifteen minutes of Herc driving as fast as he could trying to rush this, they knocked on the door of the light blue house that just gave waves of welcomes. Greeted by a noticeably pregnant Eliza who opened the door. “Hey, guys! Sorry to make you do this but we need the help, Alex is at work most days and me,” she puts her hand on the large baby bump, “due in two weeks so it was not recommended.”

“It’s no problem at all.” reassures Herc, “We are more than happy to help, and well I have a soft spot for Schuyler sister.” rubbing his neck as Peggy blushed looking anywhere but at him.

“Aww,” exclaimed Eliza, “That is too cute, well upstairs is the nursery and where we left all the items that need to be put together. I’ll give Peggy the screwdrivers if you want to go check out what you have to do.”

Hercules nods before going up the stairs, once he was out of earshot Eliza whispered, “Peggy if you don’t put a ring on this man soon someone else will. I want Hercules to officially be an uncle to our son soon.”

“I know, but just, I have no idea what he would say. What if I ask and it turns out he secretly love another woman!” trying to play off why she hasn’t asked but not even doing a good job fooling herself.

“No man would waste his afternoon helping his girlfriend’s sister build baby items if he wasn’t in love. Or maybe he’s trying to get into your pants but lord knows with you two living together that happen often.” being as sarcastic and obvious that she could muster. Leaving her sister like a fish out of water trying to form a defense as she grabbed the tools from the closet.

Giggling to return to a still speechless Peggy, “Just take these up, and no baby making in my house especially from my baby sister.” using every opportunity to tease her handing off a small toolbox. Not wanting to continue the talk Peggy bolted up the stairs looking for the nursery.

“Hey baby girl, can you come and help out?” echoed Herc’s voice as she shudders following his voice.

“Normally I love your nicknames but today, not that one.” Shuddering again remembering the previous conversation.

He turned from the arrangement of pieces on the floor to show her the raised eyebrow. “Are you okay? What did I miss downstairs?”

“Did you know Eliza knows we have um, well done the do?” Covering her face at the end of the sentence not wanting to acknowledge that statement.

“Done the do- oh! You mean made love?” he lets out a soft chuckle, “yeah, everyone knows, each summer you show off your hickeys when we go the pool. I leave you covered in them but for some reason, you think a two piece would keep anyone from noticing. It’s not a big deal like everyone knows Eliza and Hamilton do it too, that’s how a baby is made.”

“Noo! Gross! Don’t ever say that again!” stomping her foot frustrated she mumbles, “And from now on I’m wearing a swimsuit that covers up everything!” huffing as she crosses her arms.

“So a scuba diver outfit? If that’s what you want princess.” unconcerned as he tries reading the instruction from a playhouse sitting there getting more confused each moment.

“What?!” she asks absolutely flabbergasted at the chill reaction. “This is the part where you beg me not to, and say how that is the worst crime ever!” pouting as she finally goes to him and tries to start helping.

“It wouldn’t, then everyone would stop staring at my beautiful partner.” putting the instructions down for a moment to take her hand. “I think they would still stare but in question not in checking you out. At least with the two-piece, they know you’re taken and especially when I show off my love bites caused by a certain small bean everyone knows.” Hercules places a kiss on her hand before handing her the instructions. “Now instead of worrying who knows we make love to each other help me put this together, it’s in Chinese and that is a language I do not know.”

“This isn’t Chinese, I study that language this looks more Mandarin which is out of my ballpark,.”

“Wait, that instructions aren’t even in Chinese? What is this company thinking? Who bought your sister a playhouse with mandarin instructions?!” taking a deep breath to recollect himself.

“It comes with pictures so we just follow that and we’ll be fine!” giving him a heartwarming smile to make him feel better. To show it’s no big deal she starts trying to put the pieces together just but eyeing it.

Still hesitant he follows her lead and in about half an hour they finish making the house. “Okay, I should try it out, once we know it’s safe we can work on the fake kitchen next.” Herc nods at her watching as Peggy opens the small door. Just as she is about to crawl into the house collapses leaving her gasping holding the door which was all that was still standing.

“This is going to sound controversial, but I think that went well.” slowly putting the door down ready to try again.

“Peggy, I don’t think you know any of those words in that sentence for that did not go well nor was it controversial.”

“Hahaha, I beg to differ.”

“Peggy, you just said hahaha out loud, you weren’t even laughing?” laughing at his girlfriend as he calls her out. “What are you doing dear?”

“Doing my best!” determined to change the topic Peggy starts trying to rebuild the house. “Huh you know, I guess that bag of ‘extra’ screws were not extras.”

“No darling, no they were not.” Sighing as he gazed love struck at his clueless lover. “Did you want to try and work on the kitchen, it seems easier.”

“That sounds like a plan, I guess we’re going to be late to check in time.” looking at him she blushes, “Why is your face like that?”

“Hmm? Like what? I’m just thinking about how much I love you.” is as sappy as he could be he blows Peggy a kiss.

Catching it she blows one back, “Really, I’m thinking about how I’m going to make Eliza and Alex do this for our kids.” distracted by the new pieces she doesn’t process the words that came out of her mouth.

“Our kids?” Herc catches and peps up. “You want kids with me? As in more than one?” He bolts up getting excited.

“I- what, when did I what,” internally screaming because she didn’t realize what she said. “Oh look, this piece goes there.” not wanting to talk about the future she tries to put two parts that clearly don’t go together as one.

“Okay, I’ll drop it for now, but I think you’d be a wonderful mother to our children.” humming gleefully the rest of the afternoon as they continued building.

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poeticandvaguelysweet · 6 years

Text

after the storm has passed (a Jacques Snicket x Olivia Caliban fanfic)

Ok. Ok. Okay. I have so many assignments due next week it’s not funny but I cannot stop thinking about these two.

I shouldn’t be doing this but -- if you have any prompts for this ship feel free to send them through and I’ll add them (when I have time) to ��all our enemies have been defeated’.

I just ask that you state it’s for ASOUE because I do take prompts for a different fandom and will get confused.

AO3

‘Would you hurry up?’ Olivia huffed, stopping in the middle of the sitting room, her arms filled with heavy books. The house was new and quickly filling with furniture but it wouldn’t be a home until books were on the shelves. She saw to that task herself but Jacques had insisted on helping … or rather, was spending his time watching her lift heavy stacks with unimaginable ease. ‘We cannot bring the children home until the house is complete and I am getting quite anxious without them.’ It had been a mix of maternal instinct and a good heart that left her worried. The children were safe. She knew it, Jacques had reassured it, they had all seen the fall of terrible evil with their own eyes and the paperwork was ready to be signed.

Mr Poe was handing over The Baudelaires and The Quagmires to Jacques Snicket and Olivia Caliban’s shared custody. The banker had warned with a cough and a wheeze that the children were trouble, misery and woe following their every step. He did not believe — or know — like they did that Olaf’s reign was over. Jacques didn’t expect much from the man who constantly misidentified the wrong man and had come days away from doing the same to Jac, sending him off to an unfortunate end.

It was going to be good to be rid of that man. Like breathing easy once a cold had finally fled one's sinuses.

‘Relax.’ Jacques offered, his hand slipping over the small of her back. ‘They’re with Jacquelyn.’ She seemed to settle. Not that it was new information. Olivia knew where the children were and why they were there. She and Jacques were due at the bank any time now to sign the appropriate paperwork that made the children their responsibility until each one turned eighteen and claimed what was rightfully theirs. For some, it was only a few more years. For Sunny, it would be a large portion of her life, if her siblings allowed her to stay in Olivia and Jacques care … which they were hoping Violet and Klaus would have no opposition to.

‘We’ll go pick them up as soon as you’re done here.’ Jacques reminded her, a kiss pressed to her cheek as she grinned, corner of her lip curling, unspoken challenge rising in the back of her mind.

Olivia hummed, giving him a curt nod and a wink as she threw a book over her shoulder, the title landing exactly where she wanted it to on the appropriate shelf. She did it to a second and a third, before tossing three books over her shoulder at once each one landing with a heavy thunk before settling perfectly in its new home. Jacques could only watch in admiration, something tingling across his skin as an absent-minded smile eased its way across his cheeks. It was a feeling he had only ever witnessed in his brother. A feeling he had often heard described but had never felt himself. It was contentment, admiration, devotion and love all at once setting his nerve endings on fire and fizzing out across his system.

‘I’m done.’ She told him, dusting off her hands before extending them beyond her body as if to tell the man to admire her handiwork. He already had been and wasn’t about to be the one to tell her there were several more boxes of books just begging to be unpacked before five children (soon to be six, but that was a different matter he was assured his brother was sorting out) slipped into the halls and buried themselves amongst the books already available for perusal. For it was only fair to give one a wider range of options before expecting them to settle on a single story.

He didn’t stop her. Didn’t remind her of the other boxes. Only prattled off a small list of things they thought absolutely necessary for the children in their new home. New clothes. New notebooks and pencils. New toolboxes and magnifying glasses. New things to chew and chomp and warm blankets ready for the best nights sleep they had all had in a long time. Olivia nodded at each item, knowing they were presented at the end of each bed or tucked into brand new closets and writing desks.

She climbed into his cab, taking the place at the driver's wheel before she noted the nervous shake in her fingers, excitement and worry all rolled into one. Olivia was ready to bring the children home, ready to take on the responsibility of being guardian to six remarkable children all at once. It scared her. But what difference was being a librarian excited to encourage and engage than being a pseudo-parent? She was anxious too, worried that they would arrive at Mulctuary Money Management only to find the building gone or the children who were supposed to be inside of it, vanished. Terrible things were still likely to happen. She and Jacques had ended only one terrible plot master, but it didn’t feel likely that a second would arrive so quickly. She slipped across the seat, sliding into the passenger side as Jacques rounded the car and took the wheel.

The children were there, waiting as they should have been all five sets of eyes turning towards her and Jacques as they entered Mr Poe’s office. Each small face lit up with glee, thankful and warmed that their new caretakers had arrived unharmed. She saw their bodies sigh with relief as Violet got up from her chair to give Olivia a one-armed hug, Sunny on her other hip.

‘We have a lot of things to explain to you.’ Jacques told them, paperwork signed and Mr Poe bid farewell for the final time. They had four children sitting in the back of his cab while Olivia in the front held onto Sunny during their ride through the city. He watched them through the rearview mirror, catching their eager and impatient eyes. ‘And I promise, we’ll explain it all … tonight, when you’re settled. There’s no use rushing into things immediately.’ Jacques saw them deflate and wondered how many times the children had heard those words before their guardian was killed and their questions were left unanswered. ‘I promise’ He met eyes with each child in the mirror before he felt Olivia’s reassuring hand on his arm.

They looked disappointed and impatient, Klaus’ mouth poised open and ready to ask a question. It was Duncan who held him off, catching them all on a different train of thought with a quiet. ‘I almost thought we’d never see the city again.’

Olivia’s heart clenched, her whole body aching for the children who had seen too much pain since losing their parents. ‘Do you feel comfortable staying here?’ She asked. It had been their home, the place where they grew up, the libraries their parents took them to, the parks, Briony Beach. Violet and Isadora gave small nods while the boys sighed quiet acceptance. ‘We have a house just outside the city limits and within the zones for your old schools … if you would like to attend again.’ It was understandable if they didn’t. For The Baudelaire’s, in particular, their names had been flushed through The Daily Punctilio more times than they could count. It was unquestionable that all their peers would know their story by now. Regardless, Olivia had applied for a position in both the private libraries locked behind the school gates or the public one only few trolley stops away.

They were looking at her wide-eyed and teary when she turned her head towards their silence. Normalcy had been so long forgotten in the past several months that the children had completely forgotten about school and their friends. It was too much. She could see it written explicitly across their faces, their hearts scrunching down to crushed pieces of paper. How on earth could they return to that? Would it be safe? Had the world tilted its axis and would everything be marred by their time at Prufrock Preparatory School?

‘We can think about that another day!’ Olivia’s voice picked up, trying for cheery as she flashed the children with a big grin. ‘The schools are closed anyhow, it’s mid-year break. Probably better to homeschool you all until the new year. Might make it easier to start off with a fresh slate.’ They all nodded slowly, small smiles responding to Olivia’s warmth despite their shaking hearts.

They spoiled the children with takeout for supper. Wherein, neither Olivia or Jacques saw themselves as good cooks and rather were saving the children from that kind of torment. They were giddy like children were at their options of greasy Chinese that came from a questionable looking shop front but tasted divine eaten out of the carton on the floor belong to one of many sitting rooms. They hadn’t ventured much beyond that, the house still a mystery to the children as Olivia practically vibrated with a want to show them everything she had set up for their arrival. For now, they were happy to camp put on the rug beneath them, sharing food orders across several plates as Jacques did his best to documents the very beginning of the V.F.D. He lingered on moments involving their parents, unknown details coming to light as each child savoured bravery and ingenuity, all of them marvelling that their loved ones had kept this life a secret.

‘Our biggest threat was Olaf. I am sorry your parents had to pay the price for his greed.’ Their faces were sullen but hopeful, caught in juxtaposition as they tried to look forward while the grief of their parents, finally actualised and allowed to be felt, pressed down on their shoulders trying to hold them back despite their ability to keep on living for months before now.

‘Why don’t we all go make some hot chocolate and go to bed? You must all be so tired.’ Olivia offered them a kind smile, the look almost always plastered on her face as she stood and reached her hand out to the first child willing to take it.

Isadora stood and the others followed as Jacques kept up the back of their small group, Sunny sitting on his arm. ‘Are there any tunnels under this house?’ Violet asked.

‘Or useless elevator shafts?’ Duncan quivered.

Jacques chuckled, unable to help it as Olivia gave him a warning glare, his humour fading to seriousness. ‘We’re free of all those things. It’s a new life and a new beginning for all of us. There will be no more secrets, okay? V.F.D might still need us but that will be dealt with when the need arises.’ Five heads nodded. ‘Would you like to check for yourselves?’ He returned to the tunnels and hide-e-holes.

Klaus turned with intrigue. Happy for an opportunity to ensure his safety and that of his sisters as well as close friends’. ‘I think the children need to be going to bed.’ Olivia offered, already glowering like a disgruntled mother.

‘I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep unless I am sure.’ Duncan supplied, small shiver chasing across his skin as he stepped closer to his sister. In all fairness, they had been tucked away in ersatz elevators, red herrings and even fowl fountains. The children had a right to want to see with their own two eyes that they were safe.

‘After hot chocolate.’ She compromised, each child following like a duckling as they made their way to the kitchen, following small instruction as she asked for help in preparing such a large batch. Sunny squawked, her siblings filling in that the youngest of the newly Snicket-Caliban children knew just the recipe.

#jacques snicket #olivia caliban #asoue #a series of unfortunate events #jacques x olivia #i wrote my thesis on jacques lacan and every time i write his first name i think it's wrong but like i KNOW its not #anyway of course i am at a super busy part of my life and i get hooked in a new fandom #like that's so goddamn typical lucy #ASOUE fic #my fic #all our enemies have been defeated

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