#if i call in sick for the night and then go to GR again... can my wallet handle it? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quitealotofsodapop · 11 days

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Imagine this for post jttw.

There's a really, really important festival coming up for FFM. Soemthing similar to Qingming, specifically to remember and celebrate those lost to the Great Burning and the War, and it's something that's SUPER stressful for Wukong because, well, he feels that he has to get this right no matter what! It was HIS foolishness that led to the War and the Burning, so the least he can do is try to make sure it's perfect for the monkeya who make a pilgrimage line to participate in the festival. Normally, he has Macaque there to keep him in check and help him out.

But this time, Macaque isn't there! He's still missing!

MK knows this is a very stressful time for his mom, especially since this is the first time he had to go through the ceremony and festival without his dad. He wants to help! He asks Pigsy for vacation time, about a week or two off so he can help his mom with preparations. This is the first time MK has ever asked for time off, he never asks for it off even when he gets hurt doing his Monkie Kid thing! So, of course, Pigsy is concerned and asks.

MK: It's just... there's this important festival going on up on the mountain soon, and it's really stressing Mom out. It's supposed to be a remembrance of those we've lost and the celebration of how our ancestral hone has healed from near destruction. Mom is trying to put it together all by himself since Dad is gone, and I'm worried about him, so I just want to help him out! Do my part as the Prince of Flower Fruit Mountain."

Of course, the group decided to get involved. Both because they don't want Wukong getting stressed out and also because they really wanna see the festival! When they head up the mountain, they find that MK was right to worry. Poor Wukong is a mess as he tries to juggle getting the bonfires ready, getting his ceremonial robes cleaned and refitted, writing a speech that isn't a rehash of what he did the last 100 years, dealing with his anxiety over said speech because of his stage fright, caring for the cubs and making sure they're not gonna cause chaos, figuring out travel routes for those who live away from the mountain, etc.

+a similar ask from @soniclozdplove;

Had to do some thinkings for this one;

Qingming is a Spring festival (April 4th this year), so I can imagine the "Memorial Day" for the Burning taking place between then and New Years.

Wukong has hosted the Memorial Day just fine in the previous years... but then again, Macaque was always at his side in those years. Without his mate beside him, Wukong starts feeling the pressure of organising such an important yearly event (not to mention him missing Mac so much he feels sick, but that could also just be pregnancy nausea).

MK has goofed around a lot in terms of his responsibilities as Prince - it comes with the casual nature of FFM. This year he wants to step up and help his mom with stuff he's worried about. Wukong tells MK he really doesn't have to, but is clearly delighted to have someone step in to help.

MK immediately runs to Mei, breathlessly explaining that he needs help organising the Memorial Festival since he has no idea what he's doing!

With a touch of her phone, Mei organises the crack team of party planners;

Mei: "Ok, what's Monkey King most worried about?" MK, counting off his fingers: "One, the festival tends to have bonfires on the beach that get doused at the end of the night to symbolise the fires on the mountain being quenched (mom really doesn't like fire). There's a lot of music and dancing involved." Mei, points to the line-up: "Red Boy! You're on pyrotechnics! I'll man the tunes! Jin and Yin will organise the dance floor!" Red, grumbling: "Stop calling me Red Boy." Jin & Yin: "Yea!" "We've helped out before!" "Course normally big brother supervised, but we can do it with our eyes closed!" MK: "Two; Transport for monkeys living on the mainland so that they can attend the festival." Sandy: "Oh I can do that! I ferry people across all the time!" MK: "Great! Next is someone to man the food stations. A lot of it is fresh fruit and vegetables, but there's normally a pot luck table with grills and soup pots going. Pigsy, can you pretty please help manage that?" Pigsy, determined look in his eyes: "If you insist." MK: "Fourth; Mom gets super nervous about the yearly speech he does to the subjects, so he'll need someone to help him out with that." Tang, hands shoots up: "OH OH! I can help! I do lectures and presentations all the time at work!" MK: "Ok, phew! That's a lot of the heavy work sorted out. The major one, and this is a doozy cus baba normally does it; someone to keep an eye on the cubs during the festival." Noodle Gang: (*look confusedly between themselves*) DBK, sudden booming voice: "I will be honoured to care for my xiandi's young for the durration of the Festival!" MK: "Wait, really? But aren't you nervous about people still being mad about the whole "Tried to Take Over the City"-thing?" DBK: "Boy, my wife and I tended to you in the years following your birth! Your parents were still busy rebuilding, and you were quite a troublemaker for someone not able to walk yet!" MK, embarrassed: "Guess that answers that question. Thank you guys." (*getting emotional*) Mei: "Aww, come here little monkey man." MK: (*gets group hugged*)

The day comes and... literally, almost everything doesn't go as planned.

Red Son misjudged the amount of fuel needed to start a bonfire and accidentally sets the whole beach alight before the party even starts. PIF (wind powers) and the others (extinguishers) help put it out, but the sand is noticibly scorched. Red insists on spending half the day trying to start bonfires "the old fashioned way" with flint, to avoid similar accidents. Red panics cus he's worried that his magic fire could trigger the monkeys who survived the Burning.

Sandy has to make multiple trips to and from the mainland to FFM, and hits a rough patch of rain as he's coming in. PIF sees the rain clouds ahead and uses her powers to blow them away for now. Hopefully that wont come back to bite them (lie). Each of are the Four Stalwarts arrive on different trips, and try their best to help out.

Mei is used to high-energy dance and rock music, and has no idea how to groove to the more traditional island tunes.

Multiple mishaps with Jin & Yin setting up the eating areas and dance floor. A few benches break cus the twins either got pinched by a crab or their feet stuck in a sand trap.

Pigsy managed to set a beautiful spread of fresh fruits and vegetables, and has the grills and cookers prepared. He is however, currently at war with the ungodly amount of pests attracted to the spread.

Tang is upfront with Wukong in helping him with his speech and the Monkey King is super grateful. Accidentally turns into an improv/therapy session as Wukong rambles to Tang about how he's feeling + the times previous festivals went badly. No actual speech prep ends up taking place.

DBK starts out fine with taking care of the cubs. But he's a complete pushover, especially towards his godcalves; the twins aptly nicknamed Rumble & Savage. The twins quickly have Uncle Bull allowing them to run off and fight eachother with weapons, and take food from Pigsy's table before the party even starts. PIF steps in to corral the misbehavior, but is distracted by little Luzhen running off and making hair clones of himself. Yuebei spends most of the initial drama asleep.

MK is supervising everything and is getting a little control-freaky. Calls up his clones to supervise different sectors of the party (Delivery for Food, Artist for Decor, Porty for music) and keeps running to and from characters to keep an eye on them.

All the guests arrive and things are going ok until- WHOOPS! The rain cloud PIF blew away came back with a vengance and turns into a tropical storm! PIF can't help rn either - Luzhen stole her fan and she's trying to catch him before he knocks over half the island.

The whole party has to be moved inside, much to the dismay of those who prepared it. Red's efforts in making the bonfires were for naught. Pigsy's beloved food spread has to be dismantled and moved inside. Mei's dj equipment nearly gets soaked. Jin & Yin nearly get lost in quicksand. MK's cloned went a bit haywire and have to be wrangled up.

Just as things look like they couldn't get any worse... the rain wakes up Yuebei. As she registers that she's wet and see can't see her Mama or Baba; an ungodly scream and two massive eye lazers shoot from her. DBK takes HP damage. All the babies/cubs attending the festival have to be rushed inside cus there's so much crying.

Wukong exits his office in the Stone Palace to see Water Curtain Cave packed to the gills with his subjects and freezes. He did not expect them all to be here now! Stage fright activated. Tang thankfully manages to encourage Wukong to take his place. The Stalwarts cheer for their little brother as he stammers through his few lines of well wishes and recap of the year. The room gets really quiet when he mentions the missing Warrior... The subjects take a moment to pray, not only for those lost all thoee centuries ago, but also those who could not be there that day.

The subjects then applaud not only their Kibg for his guidence, but MK and his friends for their effort! They all did wonderfully! To bring the decendants of the Pilgrims, and dear Brother Bull and Sister Iron Fan to them was an amazing feat! The praise is unprompted and MK, the Noodle gang, Jin & Yin, and the Bull family can't help but smile.

Rumble and Savage cut Uncle Bull and Auntie Iron Fab a break, and show that they used their portals to finally catch little Luzhen (fan included). The bull couple are immensely grateful and tired.

As the party officialy begins, within the walls of the caves rather tan the open beaches, Wukong brings his son aside to talk. Tipped off by four certain Stalwarts about the Prince and his friends' troubles organising everything;

Wukong: "Wait, you got all your friends, including my older siblings involved just to make sure I wasn't worried about the Festival?" MK, sheepish: "Yeah..." (*Wukong pulls MK in to a tight hug*) Wukong: "Thanks kiddo. But it's not the Festival itself I was worried about. I was just..." MK: "You really miss dad." Wukong, sadly: "I do. I really, really do. I haven't spent a holiday without him since before you were born. It's just with the Memorial Festival, I just kept thinking back to him. How he'd help me proofread my speech. How he'd direct plays for the subjects. How he'd keep your or your siblings in line so you wouldn't cause Havoc..." (*turns head away and sniffs*) Wukong, crying lightly: "You're so much like me and your dad, bud. I bet he would have loved to see your first planned Festival." MK: "Thanks mama." (*hugs back more*) Wukong, wiping his tears: "OK! Enough weeping! There's a whole festival to celebrate out there! Plus, we have to make sure the cubs haven't broken your Aunt and Uncle." MK: "I doubt it." (*Meanwhile with the Bull couple and the cubs*) DBK & PIF: (*covered in laser burns and bits of fruit as the four younger cubs + MK's clones sleep in a baby pile*) PIF, whispering: "And I thought our little firelily was a handful." DBK, happy but exhausted: "They are certainly Brother Wukong's children." PIF: "The playfulness, yes. But using shadow portals to toss fruit at each other from multiple dimensions? Using hair clones to steal my fan? That's Macaque."

Realms away; Macaque allows tears to fall to as his ears pick up what joyfull celebration he's missing. But he needs to ensure there's a way LBD doesn't make this Memorial Festival their last...

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seokahwrites · 3 years

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NUISANCE | chapter 1 (or, human walls and steak fungi)

5.8k

back to nuisance masterlist

pairing.

| lawyer! jeon jungkook x lawyer! reader (feat. ex! kim taehyung)

summary.

| all you wished for was a relaxing two weeks in a big ass boat eating some big ass shrimps, away from the real world. but instead you’re stuck with your arch rival with no means of escape — and goddamit why does the bastard smell so good

tags.

| the spice has commenced; POUTY JUNGKOOK???; hunky jungkook?; jungkook?; jungkook in a suit; a LOT of jungkook; pouty reader; stressed out reader; use of the words dick and cooch; use of the word satan (to refer to kim seokjin ofc); KIM SEOKJIN IS THE REAL MAIN CHAR; poor joon is a victim; JUNGKOOK WEARING EARRINGS AND BRACELETS; taehyung is nice (?) (¿question mark?)

a/n.

| this writing was sponsored by red bull, alcohol and fantasies of casual jungkook as well as jungkook in a suit. also, jungkook’s smile is described as tight lipped bc his signature smile appearing is important to the story. also i wanna know y’all’s thoughts on tae. BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY THANK U FOR THE COTINUOUS SUPPORT AND LOVE, I WILL CONTINUE TO GIVE MY BEST AND THANK U FOR READING MY STORY <333

Having once spent a sleepless night reading Dante’s inferno, you were well aware of the fact that there are 9 layers of hell.

Though, it seemed the old man had forgotten about the tenth circle: Anywhere with Jeon Jungkook.

Since the first time you met him, you never had any reason to believe that he was a humble character. He had always looked at you from the top of his high horse and he took much pride in trotting on it.

As you, Jungkook and the receptionist wait for the elevator, the air thick with discomfort, you look at the man in front of you and remember that first time.

Your head is invaded with the memory of you in your Hello Kitty pajamas, adorned with grease and all, as you worked on a divorce case that causes you migraines to this day — love is a bitter bitch. It must’ve been past midnight when you and Jin were chewing away pizza slice after pizza slice at the office.

Then, there’s a knock at the door.

“If that’s Namjoon I’m literally going to fire you,” you bark at Jin as you hold his leftover crust on one hand and a document on the other.

And Jin, being the smart ass he is and knowing you wouldn’t survive a day without him, gets up from your leather couch without a word and opens the door, launching himself at none other than Kim Namjoon.

You roll your eyes at the love birds while wondering when the fuck their honeymoon phase was gonna end. You were so sick of them.

“Y/N,” Jin calls you from your desk, urging you to come to the door and once you’re beside him, this time with a cup of coke in your hands, “Can you keep them entertained for a bit? I just gotta grab Namjoon’s meds.”

Before you could say no, the little devil was already running off to his own cubicle, leaving you alone with the all familiar Namjoon and a very much not familiar stranger.

You lean on the doorframe without uttering a single word, sipping on your drink as well as the stranger — Sure, looking back at the moment you kinda just wanna punch yourself in the cooch and tell yourself to get a grip, but you weren’t blinded with hatred at the time, and also not blind — because it isn’t every night that a man clad in a charcoal suit and an unbuttoned shirt, comes knocking at your door; not to mention his watch dazzled under the artificial light and he held the blue tie in his hand with just the right grip.

You’re snapped out of your daze when the man goes from checking the time to whispering something in Namjoon’s ear, covering it the same way eight year olds cover their own secrets, and he laughs. This would all be good and well if he hadn’t looked at you with such appall in his eyes the moment before, the look still clear as day in your mind.

You're reminded that your makeup was probably smudged from all the times you had rubbed your eyes, your skin oily from the tiresome day and you were wearing Hello Kitty pajamas.

Maybe you shouldn’t have taken the insult so personally, but you did.

“I’m here,” Jin is back, a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder as the other one passes him a lunchbox of cold medicines, “What did I miss?”

At this you look up from the pitiful ground, pulling Jin back to your office, and accidentally spill (or throw) your coke at the stranger. You watch in delight as he looks at his very expensive looking suit drenched in a sticky brown, utter terror in his eyes, inhaling the wonderful moment for a second before shutting the door in his face.

The consequences of your actions: an almost two-year long rivalry with the stranger, revealed to be Jeon Jungkook moments after the incident when Jin asked, “Did you just throw your drink at Namjoon’s boss, you crazy bitch?”

And that wave has rippled to this day, in the form of insults and high-school level teasing (if his brain had even evolved to that age). The words “I’ll have you all to myself’ comes to mind; it makes you puff with exasperation. Sure it comes off a little flirty to unknowing ears, but it was just another reminder of Jungkook’s dismay — and that he had an all new access to torture you.

You attempt to shake the ick from your body, but in a trice you found yourself in front of the suite, the four floors you travelled to get there seemingly a glitch in time.

Isabelle scans the room card in front of the handle, handing it over to Jungkook after the green beep. “This is your room!”

You shove Jungkook aside, pulling your trolley as you enter. You had seen the pictures before, but seeing the grand room before your eyes in all of its shades of brown and gray dispersed throughout the walls and furniture, the intricate branch of lights in the ceiling and the panoramic ocean view that gave it its name; it made you forgot who you were sharing it with for a moment.

When you turn around, Jungkook is as wide eyed as you, and it makes the corners of your mouth lift ever so slightly because he looks like a fucking dork.

“Well,” Isabelle is smiling and you could sense her relief of not having to deal with the two of you anymore, “If you need anything, me and the rest of the Royal Sunrise team are available at all times, have fun!”

And just like that, she made her escape, leaving you and Jungkook standing in the middle of the room, alone.

For a moment you shut your eyes as hard as you can, scrunching your face with your fists up, in hopes that a miracle happens and Jungkook disappears. You have been having some odd dreams lately, maybe this was just—

Nope. He’s still there.

Since his eyes seem to have wandered too far, you call out his name to bring him back to earth, crossing your arms when his gaze lands on you, “We should probably talk about a few things.”

He drops the backpack from his back as he nods.

“First of all, the sleeping situation—“

“Yeah, I already thought of that,” he walks to the (very cramped) couch on the other side of the room and pats the armrest, “I’ll take this wonderful bed.”

You look at him with quizzical eyes, wondering how the hell was he of all people going to fit there. But it wasn’t really of your concern if he wanted to get scoliosis, he had made his decision.

“Plus, you need beauty sleep much more than me.”

What a waste of oxygen.

You shrug off his words, immune to his childish remarks at this point, “Okay, then. Next on the list, eating arrangements.”

At this point he’s picking up his things and placing them in his territory, “Why is that on the list?”

You move closer to the windows, a little excited when you see the balcony — you would use it to either push your roommate into the cold ocean or catch up on a few books, tough choice. “Because the tables are arranged by rooms.”

You felt the confusion in his eyes poking at your back, so you turn, “That means that we need to share a table for the next few days, dipshit.”

Jungkook shakes his body in agony, throwing a tiny tantrum, “Why is that even a thing?” He whined.

When you feel a headache coming, you grab your own luggage and place it on top of the bed, opening it up and digging in the pockets for a little bit of liquid luck. God knew you needed it.

You down the sample of Jack Daniels in one go with a bitter face and a blow of air.

“Really?”

You start picking out your pajamas for the night, “I was saving it for when I’d find a hot stranger by the pool but—,” when you look up and see the mess on Jungkook’s couch, you’re taken aback, “What in the world is that?”

Jungkook’s hands are rummaging through the jungle that were his things, and it’s obvious that he just shoved as many clothes as he could find lying around the house. He grabs hold of a white tee, “What?”

Again, a waste of—

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH.”

In the roll of an eye Jungkook’s torso is fully exposed, his back turned towards you with all of its bumps and mumps looking right at you. And you only become aware that you are staring when Jungkook notices the lack of a comeback, pointing it out with a smug tone.

“Y/N,” he doesn’t turn but he snaps you out of your stunned state all the same, “I can practically hear you drooling.”

At the very next instant you cover your eyes, just as little kids do when an inappropriate scene comes on the TV. “You wish, jackass,” and it comes off a little shoutier than you expected, as if the lack of visual correlated with the volume of your voice. Blindly, you grab your shirt and shorts from the bed and run to the bathroom, which just had to be on Jungkook’s side of the room.

And things take a turn for the worse when you run into something, and that something is warm and firm and breathing.

“Uh—.”

Pain.

You convince yourself it was just an invisible, Jungkook shaped wall they failed to mention on the website and fling yourself to the bathroom door, finding the handle rather quickly from all the adrenaline.

Once you’ve slammed the door shut, you let your back slide against the wooden slab and your ass hit the marble floor.

The clothes are still in your grip, your left hand feeling your overheating cheeks and for a tick you think that maybe, just maybe, you should throw yourself into the water and let the sharks take you so you could be buried at the very depths of the ocean. It seemed like a better fate than whatever the fuck was awaiting you the next two weeks.

You take a deep breath in, letting your mind focus on something else.

You look around and, oh, wow. Even the bathroom was charming — if you could ignore the absurd amount of windows, any sea creature passing by would surely see more than they should — glass making up all of the walls, including the shower’s.

The exposure that surrounds you, in its own weird way, cleared up your head the tiniest bit and for the first time since you’ve arrived, you were able to think, only the ocean and its blue around you now.

And what would be your first course of action after a glimpse of clarity?

Calling that rat bastard assistant of yours, of course.

You stand up and place your phone atop the hazel counter after clicking contact name ‘Twinky’, out of fear you’d smash the damn thing when you hear his voice, smoke was bursting at the seams of your chest. Prepare to meet your end, Kim Seokjin—

“Good evening, Ms. Y/N. For what reason are you contacting me in the midst of your vacation?”

Breathe in, breathe out. “Don’t get all formal with me, Kim,” you’re wagging your finger to no one, “I know you did something. Confess.”

The obnoxious twirling of Jin’s chair could be heard through the speaker, “I’ve no idea of what you could possibly be talking about, Madam—“

“Confess.”

“Fine, fine,” you could picture Jin putting his hands up at your murderous tone, “Me and Joon just thought it was about time you two kids got together.”

You take a pause from your pacing around. Motherfucker.

“Okay! I thought it was time and convinced Namjoon to go along with it,” your fist meets the counter with an audible thump, and you were seethed at the probability of Jin smiling at your behaviour. “Speaking of it, how’s it going?”

“Well, Jin,” you place the microphone as near to your mouth as possible, “JEON JUNGKOOK IS TAKING OFF HIS CLOTHES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING ROOM,” you put on a docile face and naturally assume that Jin could see you telepathically, “So you tell me how it’s going.”

For the first time since you hired him, you had left Jin speechless. Or so you thought.

“I didn’t know you would move this fast—“

“Jin.”

“I apologise, I apologise,” the witch cackles, “But you didn’t give me any context, I only assumed the best.”

“Spare me from your taunts, you hag,” you huff and roll your eyes, “And, as I’ve told you many times before, Jeon Jungkook is literally the worst. I hate—.”

“—him. Yes, Y/N, I’ve been hearing the same speech every single day for two years,” you could hear Jin walking back and forth before an abrupt pause, “Listen to yourself, Y/N, you brought this upon yourself. Whenever you saw or just remembered Jungkook existed you wouldn’t stop talking about him. So, being the good friend I am, I handed you his—,” you rush in a failed attempt to muffle his next words with your hand, “—dick on a silver platter.”

Oh, dear lord.

“You’re out of your mind if you think I wanna be anywhere near Jungkook’s—,” you speak in a hushed tone, “—thing.”

“See, you can’t even say it,” and you give up, because no matter how many times you denied it, Jin never let up. “Anyway, I gotta go and… take a call. Have fun!”

And he hangs up.

All you can do is groan, making a mental note that you oughta kick Jin in the balls one of these days, and you look at yourself in the mirror — you couldn’t even enjoy your tacky shirt because of him. Was a normal vacation really too much to ask for?

You remember that the universe had already answered your question with a big yes, and you can’t help but pout.

Still, ever the changing mind, were you really going to let the universe win?

Your pout turns into a smirk. Of course, you weren’t. All you needed to do was avoid Jungkook as much as possible, that would be easy for sure, you were on a gigantic cruise ship after all.

Yeah, this can still be great.

And so, quick to think as always, you grab your phone and scroll through the Royal Sunrise website.

To your luck, the cruise offered classes and activities of all types with a different theme each day — tomorrow is cooking. Not only was it going to be actually entertaining, you could avoid Jungkook without having to look behind you every other minute.

Genius.

With this new mindset and plan, you change into your oversized navy shirt and banana-printed shorts, a newfound excitement in your step. You even bang your chest with each of your fists, a gorilla-esque fighting technique if you shall, as a way to pump you up.

The door doesn’t seem as intimidating when you push it open, your arms swinging at your side as if you were one of the seven dwarves. This was good.

Immediately you're met with the vexing view of Jungkook, and you quirk your eyes when you notice that all he was wearing was a pair of gray shorts and that white tee, the oddity of it all iffy in your head since you’ve only ever seen him in suits and shirts. There’s a familiar tingling of (what you always assumed was) contempt in your fingertips and toes, one that would only ever occur with Jungkook. Hatred finds a way, huh.

He looks at you, back to his phone and back to you all in one second, and once his brain processes that you’re back and present, he ditches his phone and props himself up on one elbow. “You know the walls aren’t that thick, right?”

The tingle turns into a twitch and you almost hit yourself. Breathe, Y/N.

Jungkook sits up, crossing his arms, his eyes wandering once again, “I knew that Namjoon was planning something. He was sweating so much, I thought it was just the heat,” and they land back on you, “Turns out, it was betrayal.”

You head to your own king-sized resting place and a chuckle slips out of you at Jungkook’s little remark. “You did hear that Jin was the one who dragged him into this, right?”

You’re both pulling your covers over your bodies with silent grins due to the dumbassery of your assistants, “I assumed as much.” At this, your smiles become full-out laughs and your heads must have been too exhausted to dwell on the out of character situation.

It fades after a few seconds and you take one final look at Jungkook before turning off the lights, only to make sure he was already laid down.

Your anxiety comes back to the surface, your eyes staring blankly ahead at the ceiling.

“What a mess,” you don’t even notice you had blurted it out loud.

The rustling of sheets sounds through the otherwise cricket-silent room, “Tell me about it.”

Another chuckle.

“Jungkook,” you call him, the words coming out with no warning, “Can we just promise, no monkey business? I just really wanna relax and—.”

“Y/N,” he stops you before you could yap any further, “No monkey business.”

His interruption makes you sheepish, that tingle coming back as you fiddle with the sheets.

All of the sudden, “Good night, Y/N.”

Silence.

“Don’t be a killjoy.”

Groan. There really isn’t any reason for you to answer the prick. Still, you roll your eyes, “Good night, you troll.”

You hear his pleased sigh.

“Kinda bummed you don’t want my thing, though.”

Damn you, Kim Seokjin.

Your eyes flutter open, not with the calming sound of the dancing waves or the rustling of the sheets beside you from a happy hour mistake, no. You wake up with the sound of the shower running, the drip drop of the water meeting the glass floor of the bathroom.

The walls are very thin.

The image of a very naked Jungkook just next door is forced into your head, and you try to get rid of it by putting a pillow over your face, in hopes that it would put an end to your misery, but the world only gives a hundred problems and zero solutions.

Sat up, you remind yourself of the fresh-new mindset you had implemented yesterday, and this motivates you to restart your morning right and get dressed for the busy day ahead.

You squat down to your bag, grabbing the first jumpsuit and shoes in front of you, surprisingly not too shabby. The black off-shoulder fabric was adorned with pale pink flowers and your basic white sneakers didn’t add much but they were still a welcome fit — you’d only brought three pairs of shoes, so you didn’t really have much of a choice.

The background noise of the shower running disappears.

Shit.

You stumble around the room, trying to switch out of your clothes as fast as you possibly could to avoid any of yesterday’s incidents repeating, the need of any sort of grooming forgotten along the way. Still, you succeeded, and just as Jungkook unlocked the bathroom door, you were out of the room.

The joy in your step was back as you took the few steps needed to the elevators, pressing that little button of victory. Though you’ve been to countless luxury premises, the details of each place still managed to leave you awestruck, and the black railing and golden walls of the ship with decoration clearly inspired by the Romans, weren’t an exception.

The elevator was going from the sixth floor to the fifth when you heard a door open, the hairs of your back standing up out of instinct.

“Wait up!”

Fuck me.

You turn to the left, met with the, once again, odd view of Jeon Jungkook wearing casual clothes, this time in a charcoal shirt a few sizes too big, black cargo pants and signature chunky shoes. But, there’s something even more strange and you can’t quite put a finger to it, it isn’t the fact his lavish watch was replaced with leather braids on his wrist or that his hairs strayed a bit more wildly, it’s—

“Holy shit,” your eyes shoot wide open, “Are those hoops?”

Your hands almost go to touch the silver in his ears, but you remind yourself you’d probably turn to stone.

An unfamiliar red paints Jungkook’s face as his own fingers prod at the earrings, his eyes not meeting yours, “Maybe.”

A gasp. “How did I never notice,” you state more than ask, but Jungkook answers all the same.

“I mean, I never wear them to anything work-related because keeping a professional image and all of that,” he looks at you, his bashfulness fading into an all-knowing smile, “And those are the only times I see your bitter face.”

You scoff, “Wow, actually we talked like normal people for a whole thirty seconds.”

The imp has the audacity to laugh at your face, the way he stops to scan you up and down going unnoticed by your sight. “I gotta say, Y/N, you actually know how to dress—“

Ding.

The black tinted doors open to the glass elevator, a panorama of all the ship’s floors in full display, blue and purple lights reflecting on the gilded ornaments. Your hands rest on the black railing and you don’t even notice there’s another person in the elevator.

“Y/N?” The deep timbre of the voice is all too easy on your ears.

A slight turn to the right is all it takes to see him, fluffy ash hair (that was rough between your fingers from all the times he had dyed it), a shirt that flowed like the clouds and beige slacks that matched with the sepia of his sandals (an ensemble that contrasted the vibrant version of him in your memory). But that square grin was still the same.

“Tae?” You laugh in utter disbelief, “Kim Taehyung?”

“Come here!” His long arms bring you into a hug and with your head nuzzled against his chest, his heartbeat echoed good times, easier times that weren’t filled with paperwork and suits.

It’s interrupted by your forgotten acquaintance clearing his throat.

You pull away, recomposing yourself as you stand beside Taehyung, “Jungkook, this is Kim Taehyung,” you feel Taehyung’s eyes on you, “He was kind of my college boyfriend.”

They shake hands and look back at you, as if waiting for something.

“Uh— Right. Tae, this is Jungkook, my—,” you glance at the brunet to find the right words, “—co-worker, of sorts.”

Your embarrassment only deepens when you remember that the Jeon Jungkook was a first-hand witness to the mess you were melting into in front of your ex-boyfriend.

Who needed caffeine when shit like this kept happening to you.

“Oh,” Taehyung’s voice drops an octave as he shoves his hands in his pockets, “So you two came together?”

And you wave your arms around to signal a ‘no’, but it comes off as ‘that-one-crackhead-at-the-corner-of-the-street-ish” instead. “God, no,” you snort, much to your chagrin.

Taehyung sticks his tongue between his teeth, staring down at Jungkook who was chewing on his own bottom lip, “That’s good to hear.”

It seems you’ve regressed to your college-self, tucking your hair behind your ear with blushed cheeks at your senior.

Ding.

The elevator had arrived at the first floor, Jungkook’s cue to leave.

But he doesn’t make a straight itinerary, instead standing in front of the elevator, “Aren’t you gonna catch breakfast, chump?”

Ah, right. Your genius plan could finally come out in the open, “No, actually. I have an all-day cooking class on the 5th floor.”

“No kidding,” Taehyung turns to you and places a hand on your bare shoulder with a wide smile, “Me too!”

At this, Jungkook’s shoulders slump and his expression falls flat, but you couldn’t get a word in as the elevator doors closed and he swiveled away to his own day.

Eh, it’s not like it was your affair anyways. Plus, 9AM wasn’t the hour to deal with his bullshit.

You and Taehyung made your way up, speaking of all the things you’ve been up to for the past three years.

“So, Jimin’s dancing in Europe,” you gasp, a swell of pride in your chest, your old friend would talk about it every free night he spent in yours and Taehyung’s flat.

“Yeah, now I don’t know who’s keeping an eye on all the dumb shit he does.”

The weight on your shoulders only got lighter with every laugh you shared with Taehyung, sweet nostalgia.

“We’re here,” you point at the chalk sign, the words ‘Bon Appetit’ scribbled on it.

Out of sheer intuition, you pull Taehyung by the wrist until you reach the entrance, a Royal Sunrise worker awaiting with a list of, what could only be, the names of the participants.

You let go of Taehyung when the man’s eyes travel to your holding hands. Oh, God.

He smiles, “Good morning, Mr. and Ms. What would your names be?”

“Good morning, I’m Y/N Y/LN,” your smile hadn’t left your face, “I signed up yesterday.”

He nods and you walk inside, Taehyung following you before the worker puts up a hand to stop him.

“Your name, sir,” his tone changes..

You look back, wondering what the fuss was about.

“Uh— Kim Taehyung.”

The man reads over the clipboard, even flipping to the previous pages. “Excuse me, Mr. Kim. But your name doesn’t seem to be in the—.”

Taehyung’s calm demeanour becomes a bitter scowl as he pats a fifty dollar note down the man’s pocket before he could continue his speech. “Just let this one slide, buddy.”

The sight is a bit rough on the eyes and the corners of your lips turn downwards, something itching at your throat, but you hadn’t seen him in a long time and he most likely had good intentions with the man, you could let it slide, right?

“So,” Taehyung rubs his hands with a smile that reaches the pillows of his eyes, a 360° from the him you saw a few seconds ago, “Where were we?”

The blue of the sky had faded into a deep lilac once you and Taehyung were finished with your last batch of food.

You stood outside with smiles plastered on your faces and flour sprinkled on your hair, reminders of a day well-spent.

“This was great,” you held boxes of chocolate crepes and mushroom pasta, “Except for the fact I was forced to eat and deal with mushrooms.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows pull together, “So many years together, and I didn’t know you hated mushrooms,” you remember telling him countless times, but he never had the best memory — you don’t bother to bring up your hatred for crepes. “But, yeah… I think it was the company that sealed the deal, though.”

A beat of silence. The boy was smooth as ever.

You’re the first to break it. “I guess I’ll go get dinner then.”

“Right, right,” he purses his lips, “I’m gonna catch a nightcap, too full for food anyways. See you, Y/N.”

And you only mumble a small goodbye before you and Taehyung are going different directions.

A day well spent indeed.

Grumble.

You couldn’t keep it in anymore.

Holy Moses, were you hungry as shit. Who knew that barely eating breakfast and lunch could do this to a person.

Once the coast is clear, you run to the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly because why is this thing so fucking slow.

The time taken to go down to the first floor is even more agonising, but you just imagined the wonderful meals that actually tasted like food waiting for you downstairs. You could feel the pork melting in your mouth already.

Ding.

Since the first floor is more packed, you pace yourself as you power-walk to the dining area but you arrive in no time, walking through the tables and scanning each marker for the number 83, until you finally find your salvation — and the mop of brown hair sitting there with its unmistakable silver.

You park your ass on the wooden chair and place the white boxes of gag-worthy food on the table.

“Fancy meeting you here, Y/N,” Jungkook shoves a fork of rare steak and potatoes in his big mouth.

“Don’t antagonise me, Jungkook,” you leap to grab his wrist before he can get another scoop, “Where’s the food?”

You feel him tense under your grip, “Okay, let go of me, hungry hungry hippo,” you loosen your fist and lean back on your chair with crossed arms, “And the restaurant is out of steaks for the night, your only other option is some fried fish or something,” he continues munching.

“No—,” your head meets the table with a bang, “—I’ve been dreaming of red meat all day.”

“Didn’t you cook at— you know, cooking class?”

“Yes, we did,” you sit up and shove the boxes of trash to Jungkook as he examines them.

“But, you hate mushrooms and crepes,” he turns his head in a robotic motion when he opens the lids.

Your hunger fades for a bit as that tingle in your fingertips pushes you to sit straight, leaning your head like a curious puppy.

“How do you know that?”

Jungkook bites his bottom lip as he seems to think of a response. “Well, you mentioned it at the Law & Practice Awards a few months ago,” he rubs his fingers on his chin with a feign look of concentration, “I believe your exact words were: ‘Why does the stake have fungus on it’ and ‘Everybody knows that crepes are just a—.”

“—a cheap version of pancakes,” you finish his sentence with surprise painted on your face. Still, you question him, “But, how do you even remember that?”

Jungkook’s flush is back on his cheeks, “As they say, keep your friends close,” he flashes that tight lipped smile of his, “And your enemies closer.”

Just as you were about to flip the fucker off, your stomach grumbles. Out of all of the moments it could’ve complained, it decided to do so in the only second of silence.

Jungkook mumbled something along the lines of “That’s it,” under his breath and let out a sharp exhale, cutting up his steak and taters and pushing them into a smaller plate, adding a few greens in the mix. He snaps his fingers at the nearest waiter and grabs a glass of wine from his tray. The act finishes off with him pushing the food in your direction.

You stare at the food, at Jungkook and back at the plate again. Dumbfounded, once again.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Eat,” he continues on with his dinner as if he hadn’t just done— Well, what he just did.

You bite your lip and bow your head slightly, though you’re sure he doesn’t see it, before vacuuming the food directly into your belly.

The rest of the evening is spent in comfortable silence, no daggers threatened to be thrown or scorn weighing in the air. This lasts all the way to the door of the room; you were fine with communicating with only ‘hums’ and nods but Jungkook, as always, had to ruin things.

He leans his back against the white door, arms crossed and a smirk as he looks down at you. “How lucky of you to have your mortal enemy and—,” he puts up air quotes, “‘kind of college boyfriend’ in the same boat as you, huh?”

You palm your face and hide a sheepish smile, “I was hoping you’d forget about that.”

“How could I when I was your special guest to first hand embarrassment in the elevator,” he waves the white flag of peace as he puts his hands up, “But, hey—“

“Hi, Jungkook,” someone behind you purrs, heels clacking.

You turn around and see a woman of jet-black hair in a stunning red silk dress, the pony-tail on her head swinging a delicate left to right as she waved her manicured hand at none other than Jungkook — who brushes a hand through his hair before complimenting her greeting.

It takes you by surprise, though you laughed at Jungkook’s gnarly stance at the beautiful woman, the tingle comes back, this time prickling at the pit of your stomach.

As soon as she had walked away, you rubbed your hands at the sides of your arms, “Wow, Jungkook. Moving fast are we?” you squint your eyes, “I think it’s the earring.”

“First of all, screw you,” he unlocks the door, “Second, that’s nothing, trust me.”

He holds the door open for you and you catch a whiff of his black vanilla scent. You stop in your tracks and place a hand on his shoulder with a grimace on your face, “Just don’t do anything on my bed, okay?”

You don’t bother to wait for an answer as you head to the bathroom with your comfy tee in your hands.

This time, the counter was embellished with skincare and cologne galore, all thanks to your dear roommate.

“He wouldn’t notice if I used some of this, right?” You say to Jungkook’s bottle of cleanser, too lazy to go back and grab your own toiletries.

“If you use that I’m drowning myself,” you hear him shout from the other room.

Sorry, face. You’ll have to wait for tomorrow.

Once you were snug in your tee, you were off to bed — Jungkook in the same attire as yesterday as well.

You leave the lamp on as you checked your phone for the first time since yesterday. Of course, Jin was your only notification, a plethora of obscenities and questions that would, unfortunately, be permanently ingrained in your mind forever. You turn off your phone and throw it on top of the night stand.

Not today, satan.

“You mind?” You ask Jungkook who seemed to be scrolling away, too engrossed in his phone to look at your finger pointing at the light, only a grunt on his behalf.

You turn it off and shut your eyes, your body tense, not that you weren’t used to it, the decaying muscles of your back have been like that since you graduated high-school. And, it was a bit more intense from all the mixing and pot handling — thank the heavens that tomorrow’s activities involved massaging. Though, today was a win.

Jungkook’s phone turns off and his body sloshes around, the sounds he makes the only ones reverberating in the room.

“Good night, Y/N,” you try to ignore him, but he comes forward with a good case, “Come on, I gave you my food.”

Guilt tripper.

“Fine, but only because you’re annoying as shit,” he lets out a satisfied breath, “Good night, Jungkook.”

You arrive at dreamland in no time.

taglist. (open)

| @fangirl125reader / @vantxx95 / @jinpanman / @ggukkieland / @miniiimee / @paizthemaiz

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raineydays411 · 3 years

Text

That’s so fucking cool.

Steve Harrington x powers!reader part 1

Master list

Summary: You are 000. The first child Brenner ever experimented on and El’s big sister. After being found by Hopper freezing in the forest, you and El become tired of hiding. So you sneak out one day just to see what your missing. That’s when you meet the only and only Steve Harrington.

The soft drone of the tv in the living room hits your ears as you wake up . Another dreamless night, you honestly don’t know if you prefer them to the nightmares. You’re tired of staring into the dark. You want a normal life. One where you don’t have to worry about evil scientists who want to make you into a weapon or giant monsters from other dimensions. You want to be able to leave this damn cabin. And even though you’re grateful for Hopper taking you and El in, you wanna see the world you were deprived of, not be hidden away again.

“Hey double 0, if you don’t wake up soon El and I are gonna eat all the waffles”

“I’m coming” you grunt as you push yourself out of bed. You sigh as you go into your closet, quickly changing before heading to the bathroom to brush your teeth. Finally you make it to the little table that acts as the dining room.

“Oh look who’s finally graced us with her presence” Hopper said sarcastically looking up from his coffee to raise an eyebrow at you. El doesn’t bother looking at you as she continues to munch on her waffles.

“Good morning” you grunt as you take a seat at the table. There’s barely enough for all of your plates and it wobbles as you cut into your meal.

“How did you sleep?” Hopper asked awkwardly. He always asked the same questions and you always had the same answers.

“Okay. No dreams again.” You say quietly. “How long are you going to be gone?”

“Till 5:45”

“Will you let me know if you’re going to be late”

“Of course”

Really everything was the same. You were tired of it. You can’t even go into the backyard. You get it really. There are rules, we don’t break the rules, breaking the rules is stupid. But you’d kill for a conversation that consisted of more than three syllables. And you’re not talking about El.

El. She’s the light in your life. She was back when you were in the lab, back when you were forced to do unspeakable things to people. She was when you both escaped, running through the forest hand in hand as sticks and stone dug into your feet. And she was when you both got sucked into the upside down and spit out in the middle of the forest. Now, she’s the light as you try and teach her how to read,write, and all the basic things someone her age should know.

“Okay El, read this out loud to me.”

“I do-o-o n-noT lll-ike g-gr-gree-ee-N eggs and HaM”

“Hey you’re getting better! Just a bit more practice and you’ll be reading like me.”

“Like you?”

“Yeah El”

“Good”

“Good.”

Of course there are things you don’t know. You were in that lab for as long as you can remember. You hardly remember your parents, only that your mother was beautiful. She had dark curls that she twisted in the night time, beautiful brown skin that glowed in the sun, and beautiful brown eyes that were kind. You didn’t know your father. You can’t remember him at all. Only Brenner. His cold eyes and false smile tainted your memory.

As the first child they experimented on, you were his pride and joy. He found a sick pleasure in making you become what he called his “little helper”. You helped keep people under his control. Your powers consisted of mental manipulation, telekinesis,and emotional manipulation. You were powerful, and he knew that. He craved the power you had, to wield it with an iron grip. At first, you lived for his approval. You were so young, the thought of pleasing the man who claimed to e your father was a no brainer. But when you saw all the other kids, who died painful and horrific deaths, your faith in Brenner slowly dwindled. You hadn’t met El before, you both were kept separate after the failure of the other children and after one managed to escape. That’s when he became stricter, refusing to let you roam the facilities, stopped the private lessons, and only let you read kids books. The only time you were allowed to leave your room was when he needed someone to comply or...be disposed of.

Then that’s when you met her.

El was being removed from a testing room when you were being taken to it. You both made eye contact and an immediate urge to protect her formed inside of you. That very night you persuaded a guard to leave the door open and broke out, taking El with you. You both split up for a while, you stayed in the junkyard while El met Mike and his friends. Then you were sucked into the Upside Down. Way before El though, managing to meet Will and help him hide from the Demagorgon. After El was sucked into the Upside Down, you both reunited and found a way out. Ending up in the middle of the forest, freezing when Hopper found you.

He took you both in and from then on it’s been you, El, and Hopper. You were grateful of course. You learned a lot from him, but you want to see the world.

“Maybe I can” you think to yourself. You have a plan.

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #reader insert #eleven x reader #hopper x reader #reader has powers #star wars #mention #teen!reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington

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captain-josslett · 3 years

Text

Broken Melody - Part Twenty

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen...

Summary: Grammy Award winning Emma Danvers is the first to say she has a pretty good life. But what happens when it implodes around her and it looks like things will never be the same again?

Words: 5.8k+

Warnings: Angst, Fluff.

Pairings: Emma Danvers x Lena Luthor

This Part: Emma tries to work through everything and continues to struggle with not seeing her sisters.

So, so, sorry it’s been a while since updating. I’ve started a full time job and my mind just hasn’t been able to write 😅 But I do get to daydream when I work so I have loads of ideas stored away and hopefully will be able to update quicker.

Thank you for reading and let me know if you wanna be tagged or any general feedback will be greatly appreciated. Please! I like knowing your thoughts.

Taglist: @finleyfray, @life-is-hella-unfair, @natasha-danvers, @supergirl-writingz, @camslightstories, @thinking1bee, @aznblossom,

Ten year old Emma Danvers jumps awake when she hears a blood curdling scream. For a few moments she blinks into her dark room, confused at the noise that woke her. But when a softer wail fills the silence Emma quickly rolls out of bed. Recognising the cries coming from her recently adopted kryptonian sister, Kara.

Emma pads out of her small room and into the hallway, yawning and tiredly rubbing her eyes as she gently pushes Alex and Kara’s bedroom door open. Kara’s whimpering increases in volume as Emma enters the room. She softly closes the door behind her and quietly tiptoes over to Kara’s bed.

Emma sadly looks over at her oldest sister, Alex, who is turned away from the crying alien. Seemingly ignoring Kara’s pain. This annoys Emma greatly and the sisters have already argued over it. The blonde had even offered to swap rooms with Alex but the redhead stubbornly refused saying it was her room.

“Kara?” Emma whispers softly and waits for the crying figure to respond. Tearful blue eyes peer over the shaking duvet before quickly disappearing again.

Emma looks mournfully down at the other blonde as she thinks of ways to help her. After a few moments Emma lifts the corner of the covers and climbs into Kara’s bed. She gently reaches out and hugs Kara close, remembering how her Mom would comfort her after she’d have a bad dream.

Her new sister flinches slightly at the touch but soon Emma feels Kara settle and maneuver around to hug her back. The alien starts to shake as she tries to stifle her sobs into Emma’s shoulder.

Emma’s heart aches at the sound. She pulls her head back so she can see Kara’s face. The night light illuminates Kara’s flushed cheeks and bloodshot eyes. “No, it’s okay to cry. Mom said you get sick if you try to keep your tears in.” Emma tries to encourage the alien. Though she doesn’t know if Kara can fully understand her yet. However, Kara’s face scrunches up and fresh tears fall.

“It’s okay.” Emma says soothingly while stroking her hair.

“S-s-sing?” Kara gulps out and buries her head back into Emma’s little shoulder.

“Which one?” Emma asks softly and Kara thinks for a moment but shakes her head as she sniffs heavily. “Okay.” Emma purses her lips forward as she thinks about the other songs she has sung to Kara. “I got it.”

Somewhere over the rainbow, Way up high, There’s a land that I’ve heard of, Once in a lullaby.

Emma immediately feels Kara relaxing as she continues to quietly sing. The sisters had recently watched ‘The Wizard of Oz’ with Kara because Emma wanted to show her new sister one of her favourite films. The alien had truly been fascinated with the movie and Emma couldn’t help but watch Kara’s reactions to certain parts. How Kara’s face lit up when Dorthy opened the door to a world of colour or how freaked out Kara got when the Wicked Witch appeared in a plume of red smoke and disappearing in a blaze of fire.

Somewhere over the rainbow, Bluebirds fly, Birds fly over the rainbow, Why then oh why can’t I?

As Emma nears the end of the song Kara’s sobs start to die down, being replaced with shuddering breaths. The twelve year old alien clings tightly to the little human, the pressure hurts Emma slightly but she knows Kara doesn’t mean to hurt her and she is not use to her super strength yet.

Emma stares over at Alex’s back. Not knowing if the redhead was awake or asleep. But Emma guesses she is awake by how she is breathing. Silently Emma hopes her oldest sister will come around to Kara.

Yes it had been a shock when Superman brought his older, but now younger, alien cousin to them but Emma was overcome with curiosity and intrigue over the other blonde. She tried to communicate with the alien and found a way through hand gestures and persistence. Repeating words for Kara and pointing items out. Mainly important things like water, food, Star Wars and everything a ten year old finds important. Once Eliza found Emma talking to the Kryptonian about the different plants and vegetables in the garden and Kara patiently listened. Fascinated by the texture of the leaves and the words Emma was saying. Both missing the scowling glare Alex was giving them from her bedroom window.

Emma then presented the wooden swords her dad had made. Giving Kara Alex’s and demonstrating how to sword fight. Soon the two blonde’s were giggling while twirling around and bashing each other’s swords. Until Alex furiously stormed over to them and took her sword away from Kara. Grumbling it was hers and she was going to break it. Jeremiah immediately set to work making Kara one of her own. Which the two blonde’s watched with tilted heads.

But when Jeremiah told them to go play and leave him to concentrate Emma took Kara back into the house, trying to figure out more things to show her new sister. She had already displayed her seashell collection, which Kara analysed deeply and Emma noticed a crinkle appearing between the other blonde’s eyebrows.

Emma looks around the house and her eyes fall on her art supplies. Making Kara jump when she claps her hands together in excitement.

“I hope you like art! Alex doesn’t really, which is sad but she likes her own things. Like reading. Reading is okay but I much prefer doing something.” Emma smiles at Kara who smiles politely. “Have a seat.” Emma points at the dining room table and Kara complies. The ten year old then pulls out all of her art supply to show Kara. She watched as the alien’s blue eyes lit up behind her glasses.

“Did you do art on Krypton?” Emma asks, happy that she may have found something Kara enjoys.

Kara nods and the pair quietly sit for hours as they draw and paint. Emma didn’t mind Kara using most of the red paint and was pleased she thought of a good idea.

She hardly sees Alex, seemingly too moody that she wasn’t the centre of attention in the Danvers household anymore. Keeping to herself and barely talking to her baby sister.

Weeks turned into months and slowly Alex seemed to warm up to the new addition to the family. Especially when Kara defended Emma against a group of bullies. Standing with her little sister and ready to defend her. Alex marched over and stood next to her side, ready to punch any bully in the face that hurts either of her sisters. This was the moment Kara uttered her family motto, explaining they were stronger together.

The three started to become closer over time and would regularly be found in the forest by their home playing and having adventures.

On one such occasion a fifteen year old Alex and twelve year old Emma teamed up together as heroes to try and take down the evil villain that was destroying their town of Midvale.

“Psfft I don’t see the target. Over.” Emma quietly talks into the walkie talkie and holds her wooden sword tightly in her other hand.

“Please tell me you did not just make the static noise?” Alex laughs while rolling her eyes.

“Ah come on Al! Plus you need to say over. Over.”

“Fine.” Alex sasses back. “Over.” The redhead continues to look around, listening intently for the fourteen year old Kara. Having a sneaky suspicion that her alien sister was using her powers. Which was against the rules.

“Psttf I have an idea. Over” Emma’s voice whispers out from the walkie talkie.

“And what is that?” Alex responds quickly. “Over.”

“What if we do what that guy did in that movie. Over.”

“Vague… We watch loads of movies dork.” Alex rolls her eyes again at her little sister’s comment. She twirls her bow in her hand as she waits for Emma’s response.

“You know he sacrifices himself. Draws the evil guy out and gives the hero a chance to defeat them. Over.”

“Not a bad idea. Especially if you are the bait.” Alex chuckles and shakes her head. “Over.”

“Let’s do it by the fallen tree in the clearing? You can hide and I’ll call for her. Over.” Alex smirks at the excitement within Emma’s voice.

“Sure Peanut. Over.”

Alex quietly jogs to the huge fallen tree. Constantly on the lookout for Kara. But her adopted alien sister is nowhere to be seen. As Alex approaches the clearing she sees Emma step out of the other end and start to look around. Their eyes immediately connect, as if Emma could sense where she was and Alex quickly hides within some bushes and waits. Readying her bow and arrow. Making sure the arrow was a dummy that would only sting Emma slightly if she got in the way.

Emma waits for Alex to get into position and cups her hands over her mouth, yelling loudly. “Kara?! Hey Kara!” She waits and soon enough a blur appears before her. “Hey! You used your powers!”

“Well as a villain of course I would!” Kara bites back slyly with a grin.

“You really are evil!” Emma gasps dramatically, raising a hand to her chest.

“And when I am finished with you I will hunt your sister down and hurt her! And your little dog too!” Kara slowly takes a few menacing steps towards Emma who stands her ground.

“No! Not Alex and Toto!” Emma’s eyes fill with tears. Alex is always blown away that her baby sister can cry on demand and would often use her sister’s talent to get extra treats from their Mom or sitter.

“Little one?” Kara asks, concerned enough to break character.

“They are fake, keep going! You’re doing really well!” Emma gives Kara a smile before filling her eyes with tears again. “You will never get away with this!” Emma yells dramatically, pointing at Kara.

‘Give her the damn Oscar!’ Alex thinks with a smile as she watches the blonde’s.

Kara nods and puts a sly smirk back on her face. “But I already have!”

“No! You will never win! Good always defeats evil, you piece of bantha fodder!”

Alex snorts at Emma’s Star Wars reference and readies herself, knowing she’ll need to spring out at any moment.

“How dare you insult me! Me the mistress of all evil! You are nothing but the dirt on the bottom of my shoe!” Kara yells as she reaches for her wooden sword. Emma circles around so Kara’s back is to their eldest sister. “Now prepare to meet your doom!”

“Not if I can help it!” Alex suddenly appears behind them and fires her bow and arrow at the blonde. Hitting Kara’s right shoulder where it harmlessly falls to the ground.

“No! Ow!” Kara screams and collapses to her knees. “Damn you!” She coughs comically and falls to the floor.

Emma snorts and places a hand over her mouth.

“Emma! It’s rude to mock the dead.” Alex scolds her little sister.

“Sorry.” The blonde tries to wipe the smile off her face and make her expression natural.

“Who says I’m dead?” Kara’s muffled voice pipes up from the ground.

“Well the arrow would have been made out of a substance that could kill you and due to my excellent marksmanship it went through your heart. Killing you instantly.” Alex explains as she twirls the bow around.

Kara lifts her head up and smirks at the redhead. “You hit me in the right shoulder. My heart is on the left dummy.”

Emma snorts again which erupts into loud laughter when Alex glares at her. “Great shooting Alex!”

“Which means… Sneak attack!” Kara yells while pulling Emma onto the floor and starts tickling her.

“Nooo!!” Emma screams with laughter and tries to get out of her sister’s grip. “Please! Stop! Argh! Alex! Help!”

The redhead watches the pair with amusement before stepping in. “I’ll help you!” Alex yells theatrically. But instead of aiding Emma she joins in with Kara.

“Traitor!” Emma gasps out. “You’re… My sister!”

“And? Maybe I purposefully aimed for Kara’s right shoulder to take down the real villain!”

“Dun dun dunnnnn!” Kara laughs out as she continues ticking the thrashing blonde.

“Please stop! I’m gonna pee!” Tears of laughter stream down Emma’s face and the sisters finally stop their attack.

Alex smirks at her baby sister as Emma wipes the tears from her face, the redhead then looks up at the sky. “It’s getting late, we better head back.” She stands to her feet and holds out her hands for her sisters to take, helping Kara and Emma stand. The sister’s turn towards home and walk together in unison, laughing and joking together. Ready to take on the world.

-- -- --

Present day Emma stares out of the DEO window while plucking at her guitar while her mind wanders through her memories with her sisters. Though she can’t really remember the time before Kara came. To her Kara has always been there.

Slowly her mind starts to filter through the session she had with Alistair. They had worked on her fuzzy memories of the attack. How they are slowly coming back into focus but seemingly her brain was protecting her by blocking most of it out. Emma had projected the hurtful words spoken by her sisters that Emma does remember. That a part of her believes making her insecurities bubble up to the surface.

Lily, Alistair’s white german shepherd, had almost instantly jumped up on Emma’s bed and placed her head in Emma’s lap. Staying there throughout the session. Helping to ground Emma and when she got emotional or experienced a flashback, Lily had been a comforting presence.

A noise by Emma’s open door draws her attention away from the window. Standing in the hall was a transfixed Winn with Brainy and Nia behind him.

Emma smirks and waves at the trio. Stopping the music seemingly snaps them out of their trance.

“Hi Em.” Winn smiles brightly as he approaches one of the chairs around Emma’s bed. Emma returns his smile but it is more subdued. “You okay?” He frowns at the blonde, noticing her lack of a smile. He places the food container on the tray table by Emma and she nods while pulling the table closer to her. Her smile brightens slightly when she sees the sausages, vegetables and mash potato.

“Doctor Hamilton said you can start trying some form of solid foods and as I know you like that British restaurant down the road we thought lunch could be a bit more international.”

‘So the Tai food the other day wasn’t international enough for you?’ Emma wants to say but doesn’t write it down. Instead letting out a breathy snort as she starts cutting into the food.

“Oh yea Doc also said to cut it up real small. Chew lots before swallowing” Winn lists off the instructions Doctor Hamilton had told him while opening his container. Watching as Emma nods in response. “Enjoy your bangers and mash!”

Emma lets out a breathy laugh, remembering the weird names the Brits call their food. ‘Spotted Dick’ being her favourite by far. Not believing they would call a fruit, sponge dessert by that name, but had been proved wrong when the amused waiter brought the pudding out for Emma to try. Despite the very off putting name, Emma thoroughly enjoyed it. Almost having to fight off her bandmates to eat all of it in peace.

“Have you been to the UK Winn?” Nia asks, filling the silence.

“Yea I have. Both future and present.”

Emma lifts an eyebrow in response. Wondering what life is like in the future and being frustrated that Winn was keeping so tight lipped about it all.

“Awesome! I haven’t yet but it’s on my bucket list.” Nia replies enthusiastically, a longing look fills her eyes.

“Did you know the British public consume over sixty billion cups of tea a year. Around 100 million each day.” Brainy chimes into the conversation, causing Nia and Winn to gape at him about the statistic.

Emma continues to listen to her friends talking. Wishing she could join in and tell them about her time in the UK. But also being aware of how painfully slow conversation flows when she has to write everything down.

Sighing deeply Emma shoves more food in her mouth. Thankful that Winn chose something she enjoys. To be fair Emma likes anything. Other than Marmite… A disgusting yeast spread that half of Brits like. One of her stage managers in the UK dared Emma to try it. Making the blonde gag and causing her to drink loads of water to get rid of the horrible taste in her mouth.

“Emma?” Nia calls out, breaking Emma’s train of thought. “You’ve been to the UK many times right?” Emma nods. “Have you seen the Queen?” Emma nods again.

“What when?” Winn asks with a mouthful of food and his eyebrows almost up to his hairline.

Emma quietly sighs and grabs her notebook, keenly aware of the silence in the room as she writes.

‘The Royal Variety Performance.’

“Ah yea!” Nia smiles remembering the video she found on youtube after Kara first told her about Emma. She had been transfixed by Axis’ music and Emma’s performance. Singing a powerful ballad that moved the brunette to tears. Nia had spent hours upon hours going through Axis’ social media and debated about whether to send Emma a friend request. The brunette had squealed loudly when Emma had accepted and immediately messaged her,

A knock stops Nia from asking more questions as Emma looks over to see Lucy standing awkwardly by the door. Emma can’t help but shift uncomfortably in the bed, hoping Lucy has calmed down from earlier this morning.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to yell at you.” Lucy says as if she has read Emma’s mind. “May I come in?”

Emma nods before turning back to her meal. Though she feels like she has lost her appetite.

Lucy glances at the three friends who give her looks of encouragement as she cautiously approaches Emma’s bed, watching the blonde push her food around.

“Can I sit here?” Lucy points to the end of the bed and Emma nods without looking up at her. Lucy lowers onto the bed and takes a deep breath. “So, I’m sorry about earlier. I overreacted when I found out you were missing and you are like a sister to me and I got so scared-” Lucy lifts a hand to her head trying to find the words to how terrified she had felt when Emma wasn’t in her room or in the building. She immediately rushed down to the cells but when there was no sign of Emma anywhere the brunette really panicked.

A hand grasps her knee and Lucy’s green eyes snap up to Emma’s. “Sorry.” Lucy breathes out and Emma gives her a timid smile. “So, we also need to discuss the next steps. Mainly the timeline of your recovery because we cannot disclose the Phoenix serum.”

Emma nods and leans back against the bed.

“How long would this timeline be?” Winn asks with a frown.

“We are trying to not make it overly long. Doctor Hamilton did say wounds like Emma’s would have taken at least 3 months to heal fully and she’d be bed bound for a while.”

“But Emma isn’t bed bound.” Nia blinks in confusion. “Would Emma need to stay here?”

“Or in her apartment.” Lucy looks at the blonde mournfully, who deeply swallows in response. Not liking the sound of that at all. Not feeling at all ready to go back to the apartment. Even after J’onn had told her a crew had made it good as new, with no evidence of the incident.

“There would be a huge media frenzy if any photos come out of you like this. The world thinks you can barely open your eyes and hardly move due to the amount of broken bones you have.”

Alarm fills Emma and she quickly grabs her notebook to write.

‘Robyn?!’

“Ah yea. I had her sign a NDA.” Lucy rolls her eyes. “She was annoyingly persistent. I thought you hated each other?” Emma shakes her head and lets out a breathy chuckle. “Jack isn’t far behind, though I’m trying to hold him off for as long as possible.”

Relief starts to filter in and Emma nods before starting to write again. She bites the inside of her lip at the thought of returning back to her apartment. Not sure she’s ready or even wants to go back there.

‘How do you propose we move forward?’ She holds the pad up and watches her friend’s face as she reads.

Lucy hesitates slightly before unlocking her tablet to bring up the timeline. “We will need to stage photos and videos showing your recovery and release them at the right time.” Lucy looks down at her notes. “We do have some already but I’d be happier if we do more.”

Emma glumly sighs causing Lucy to glance back up at her.

“I’m sorry Em but we need to do this to keep the media off our backs. J’onn and I had hoped it would have died down but everyone is still up in arms about what happened.”

Emma’s expression morphs into one of shock and disbelief. She quickly writes one word before showing the lawyer.

‘Why?’

“Because those that listen to your music feel a powerful connection towards you. Even though they have not met you or know you personally.” Brainy explains simply.

“And the attack has brought your music to the attention of more people.” Winn points out.

“Tell me about it.” Lucy says exasperatedly and runs a hand through her hair. “I had a three hour debate with your record label as they want to release the work you’ve done on your new album. Even the covers you’ve been sending Lena.”

Emma immediately shakes her head quickly at the idea. Causing a ringing in her ears.

“Yea I told them they can shove it.” Lucy agrees and quickly takes a piece of sausage from Emma’s container. Almost getting her hand stabbed from Emma’s fork.

Emma playfully glares at the brunette and Lucy sticks her tongue out before popping the meat into her mouth. Emma shakes her head and starts writing.

‘So I will be under house arrest?’

“I’m afraid so.” Lucy says softly, causing Emma’s shoulders to slump and her expression becomes sullen.

“I may be able to help with that.” Winn pipes up, causing Emma and Lucy to stare at him. “I, with Brainy and Lena’s help, could develop a face modifier. That way Emma can move around freely and not disrupt the timeline.”

“That could work.” Lucy squints her eyes as she considers the idea.

“May help Alex and Kara to know Emma is moving around too. I’ve never seen them so broken, I mean poor Alex, you would have thought Kelly would have stood by her and not run away-” Nia comments passionately and Emma freezes.

Horror fills Emma's whole body. She remembers Alex telling her the morning before the attack that she and Kelly were having problems but Emma never imagined Kelly would leave Alex like this. Especially with what her sister is going through.

Immediately Emma leaps out of bed and sprints to the door. She needs to see her sisters. Her heart aches knowing they are both in pain. That they are broken.

“Emma?!” Her friends yells fill the hallway as they chase after her. Agents seemingly appear ahead of her but the blonde easily sidesteps them. Using the training Alex had taught her in self defence.

As soon as she reaches the end of the corridor the blonde slides into the wall and repeatedly slams her hand on the elevator button. When it becomes obvious the doors won’t open quick enough she dashes towards the door to the stairs. Her determination gives her tunnel vision and she ignores those around her.

Until someone leaps on her back.

“Emma stop!” Lucy yells as she clings to Emma, wrapping her arms and legs around the blonde. Halting Emma from leaving the floor. “I’m sorry but they aren’t ready to see you. I’m so sorry.”

Emma tries to get Lucy off her back but the brunette has too good a grip. The blonde heaves in heavy breaths and her face scrunches up as she starts to silently cry. She longs to hold her sisters. To reassure them they are okay.

A ping announces an elevator has arrived. Emma turns her head to gaze longingly at it but feels Lucy’s grip tighten around her chest.

“Emma please.”

The blonde watches mournfully as the doors close.

When it becomes apparent that Emma won’t be running down to the cells Lucy slides off her back.

The brunette sadly looks at the tears streaming down her friend’s face. Placing a gentle hand on Emma’s shoulder Lucy guides her back to the room.

“Emma.” Nia squeaks out with wide eyes as she walks with the pair. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think-”

The blonde reaches out and squeezes Nia’s hand. Giving her a barely there smile which Nia returns with an encouraging one of her own.

Emma re-enters the room and sits heavily on her bed. Staring out of the window.

“Em?” Winn asks softly, causing Emma to slightly move her head and focus on him. “Are you gonna finish that?” Winn points at the half eaten food.

Emma shakes her head before turning back to the window. She ignores the yelp of pain from Winn when Lucy slaps his arm as he reaches out for the discarded food. Purposefully tuning out the conversation in the room.

Instead, focusing on the world outside of the DEO. The airplanes that zoom across the sky, the birds that flutter past the window and settle on the sill. The traffic down an avenue she can see. Anything to try and keep her mind from acknowledging the pain she’s feeling. The thoughts that are screaming in her mind about her sisters.

“-ma?” Winn’s voice breaks through as she recognises he’s calling out to her. Slowly she turns to look at him. “We’re going back to work. I- er- left your food.”

Emma looks down at the tray and sees that Winn hasn’t touched it. She nods and lifts the right corner of her mouth slightly to show her appreciation.

Emma eyes flick to Nia as she cautiously approaches her. “Can I give you a hug?” Emma nods and opens her arms. Nia immediately dives into them. “Message me if you need me.” Emma nods again and squeezes the superhero. When Nia steps back Winn is already there with his arms open, waiting for a hug. Making Emma voicelessly snort.

“Ah come on!” Winn whines and Emma motions for him to hug her. He does immediately and Emma can’t help but feel more of her anxiety melt away. “If you need anything just give a shout.” Winn says as he pulls away. Emma raises an eyebrow at him and can’t help but smile at the look of horror that comes across his face. Especially when Brainy, Nia and Lucy lower their heads into their hands. “Em. I’m so sorry I-”

Emma immediately lifts a hand to his lips, silencing him. Thankfully he complies, instead gaping at her like a goldfish.

“See you later Emma.” Brainy nods at her before quickly leaving the room, already analysing his tablet at ideas for a face modifier. Nia forcefully grabs Winn’s hand and pulls him out with her.

“I can stay if you want me to?” Lucy asks as she hovers by the bed and massages her shoulder.

Emma is tempted to shake her head but instead she nods. Not wanting to be alone right now.

“Okay great!” Lucy beams at her. “Do you want to do anything? I mean I have work I can be doing but I can watch a film with you or we could play a card game? Chess?”

Emma looks over at the chessboard on the coffee table by the sofa. Lena had brought it in to give Emma something else to do. But the board is currently being taken up by an intense game the girlfriends were playing. Emma reaches for her notebook and writes a response.

‘Lena will immediately say she’s won if we mess the board up.’

“Ah! We can’t have that!” Lucy jokes and sits on the end of Emma’s bed. Her expression becomes sombre as she studies the blonde closely and Emma stares right back. “Are you okay?”

Emma looks between Lucy’s questioning green eyes and slowly shakes her head.

Lucy reaches out and gently holds Emma’s hand. “I’m here if you want to discuss it.”

Emma’s eyes start to glisten with tears and she wipes at them in exasperation.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Lucy grabs Emma’s hand to halt her rubbing. “It’s okay to cry. God knows I’m done my fair share recently.”

Emma tilts her head and frowns slightly.

“What?” Lucy mirrors Emma’s expression. The blonde lets go of Lucy’s hand and starts writing.

‘What do you mean?’

“About what?” Lucy asks, confusion written across her face.

‘What have you been crying about?’

“About you! And Alex and Kara! This whole shit show!” Lucy says bitterly and watches Emma move her pen to paper. “And don’t even think about writing that you are not worth my tears cause you fucking are!”

Emma eyes’s snap up to Lucy’s and her mouth drops open. She was going to write exactly that.

“I’m right aren’t I?”

Emma shuts her mouth and shakes her head.

“Bull.” Lucy narrows her eyes. “Have you forgotten I am a lawyer? And a damn good one at that?”

Emma smiles sadly and looks down to write. ‘Yea you are. Frustratingly so.’

“Unless I’m the one defending you right?” Lucy raises an eyebrow and Emma nods, her smile turning more genuine. “So, do you wanna write about it? You don’t have to, I just-” Lucy hesitates, sighing deeply as she chooses her words. “I worry about you and I wish I could make everything better.”

‘I know.’

“You totally wrote that with Han Solo in mind didn’t you?”

Emma lets out a breathy snort and Lucy laughs loudly.

“You're such a nerd.” Lucy teases and Emma just shrugs. But her smile fades and the blonde gazes down at the paper as she thinks about her sisters. “Em?”

Emma takes a breath and starts writing. Lucy watches her and the expressions Emma makes as she scribbles her thoughts down. In these moments Lucy really misses Emma’s voice and her anger bubbles up at whoever did this to her friend. But before Lucy’s anger simmers up anymore Emma turns the notepad around.

‘I just feel so helpless. We’ve always done everything together and I’m happy they have each other but I want to be there with them. Dad always joked we were like a three legged stool. When one of us wasn’t at home we almost couldn’t function. I get what you are saying that they aren’t ready to see me... But I just miss them so much.’

“Aw Em.” Lucy says sympathetically after she reads. Her eyes flick back up to Emma’s. “It will get better. I know that doesn’t help right now. But, it will.”

Emma nods and leans back against the bed.

“So, what do you want to do?”

‘Okay if I paint?’

“Of course it is! I’ll just work here on my tablet.” Lucy smiles reassuringly at Emma and hops off the bed. She pauses and turns back around to Emma. “Hug?”

Emma smiles and opens her arms. Lucy wraps her arms around the blonde and tries to convey how much she cares for her in it.

After Lucy sits in a chair to work she can’t help but watch how Emma morphs into her creative mode. How the blonde focuses solely on what she’s doing with her paint brush. The way Emma’s eyes squint and her tongue slightly pokes out to the side.

Lucy smiles and tries to concentrate on her own work. Leaving the pair in peaceful silence.

-- -- --

Many hours later there is a knock on the door. Lucy glances up as Lena and Sam enter the room.

“Hi!” Lucy greets the friends happily and turns to look at Emma. The blonde is still so busy with what she’s doing she hasn’t noticed the new arrivals.

It’s only when Emma cleans her brushes, happy with what she’s done, does she sense Lena’s presence in the room. She quickly looks up towards the sofa where Lena, Sam and Lucy are sitting. Seemingly halting their conversation as the trio notice Emma’s focus on them. Lena can’t help but greet her girlfriend with a beaming smile.

“Hi love.” Lena says while standing and approaches the blonde. Emma waves at her but gives her a questioning look. “I didn’t want to disturb you.” Lena gracefully sits on the bed next to Emma and softly kisses the blonde’s lips. “You were so engrossed in what you were doing.”

“Sorry.”

“No don’t be! I’m glad you are painting.” Lena smiles reassuringly at her girlfriend. Her smiles then morphs into a shy one. “I- er- got you something.”

Emma tilts her head and her eyes bulge when Lena lifts a huge bouquet of flowers up. Having not noticed them when the raven haired beauty walked in or when she came over to the bed.

“Wow!” Emma signs and she reaches out to touch a red rose. Feeling the softness of the petal and admiring the colour.

“The florist told me the roses mean love, obviously. The baby breath is everlasting love. The-” Lena pauses as she tries to remember the meaning of the other flowers. Emma starts kissing her cheek making Lena beam and lean into them. “Em! I’m trying to think!” Emma pulls away and rests her chin on Lena’s shoulder. “So, the daisies are my love is pure and the tulips all have different meanings, the red being eternal love, the orange desire and passion, yellow happiness and sunshine and the cream tulips-” Lena gently moves her girlfriend’s head so she can gaze deeply into Emma’s slightly bloodshot eyes. “I will love you forever.”

She watches as Emma melts and her eyes glisten with tears. The blonde tilts her head and slowly leans towards her girlfriend. Lena copies her and they gently kiss but before they can deepen it further and noise fills the room.

“Blurgh!” Lucy yells out, pretending to heave. Emma furiously pulls away and flips her off. Glaring at the brunette before turning back to her girlfriend.

“Thank you. I love them.”

“I’m glad.” Lena smirks at the blonde and Emma carefully places the bouquet on the tray table. Making sure not to knock any of the other stuff on there. “So, how's your head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints yet.” Emma signs cheekily and Lena roars with laughter.

“What did she say?” Sam looks between the two girlfriends, wanting to know why Lena reacted the way she did.

“Haven’t had any complaints yet.” Lena responds while continuing to laugh, causing the two brunettes to join in with her and Emma just smiles happily at them as she snuggles into her girlfriend.

(Part Twenty One)

#supergirl #supergirl tv #supergirl imagine #supergirl fanfic #supergirl baby danvers #lena luthor x baby danvers #lena luthor imagine #alex danvers x baby danvers #alex danvers imagine #kara danvers x baby danvers #kara danvers imagine #baby danvers #b!d

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boreothegoldfinch · 3 years

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chapter 12 paragraph v

But instead, when I threw open the door—I could scarcely believe it— there stood Boris. Rumpled, red-eyed, battered-looking. Snow in his hair, snow on the shoulders of his coat. I was too startled to be relieved. “What,” I said, as he embraced me, and then to the determined-looking clerk in the hallway, striding rapidly toward us: “No, it’s okay.” “You see? Why should I wait? Why should I wait?” he said angrily, flinging out an arm at the clerk, who had stopped dead to stare. “Didn’t I say? I told you I knew where his room was! How would I know, if not my friend?” Then, to me: “I don’t know why this big production. Ridiculous! I was standing there forever and no one at desk. No one! Sahara Desert!” (glaring at clerk). “Waiting, waiting. Rang the bell! Then, the second I start up—‘wait wait sir—’ ” whiny baby voice—“ ‘come back’—here he comes chasing me —” “Thank you,” I said to the clerk, or his back rather, since after several moments of looking between us in surprise and annoyance he had quietly turned to walk away. “Thanks a lot. I mean it,” I called down the hall after him; it was good to know they stopped people charging upstairs on their own. “Of course sir.” Not bothering to look around. “Merry Christmas.” “Are you going to let me in?” said Boris, when finally the elevator doors closed and we were alone. “Or shall we stand here tenderly and gaze?” He smelled rank, as if he hadn’t showered in days, and he looked both faintly contemptuous and very pleased with himself. “I—” my heart was pounding, I felt sick again—“for a minute, sure.” “A minute?” Disdainful look up and down. “You have some place to go?” “As a matter of fact, yes.” “Potter—” half-humorously, putting down his bag, feeling my forehead with his knuckles—“you look bad. You are fevered. You look like you just dug the Panama Canal.” “I feel great,” I said curtly. “You don’t look great. You are white as a fish. Why are you all dressed up? Why did you not answer my calls? What’s this?” he said—looking past me, espying the room service table. “Go ahead. Help yourself.” “Well if you don’t mind, I will. What a week. Been driving all fucking night. Shitty way to spend Christmas Eve—” shouldering his coat off, letting it fall on the floor—“well, truth told, I’ve spent many worse. At least no traffic on the motorway. We stopped at some awful place on the road, only place open, petrol station, frankfurters with mustard, usually I like them, but oh my God, my stomach—” He’d gotten a glass from the bar, was pouring himself some champagne. “And you, here.” Flicking a hand. “Living it up, I see. Lap of luxury.” He’d kicked off his shoes, wiggling wet sock feet. “Christ, my toes are frozen. Very slushy on the streets—snow is all turning to water.” Pulling up a chair. “Sit with me. Eat something. Very good timing.” He’d lifted the cover of the chafing dish, was sniffing the plate of truffled eggs. “Delicious! Still hot! What, what is this?” he said, as I reached in my coat pocket and handed him Gyuri’s watch and ring. “Oh, yes! I forgot. Never mind about that. You can give them back yourself.” “No, you can do it for me.” “Well, we should phone him. This is feast enough for five people. Why don’t we call down—” he lifted up the champagne, looked at the level as if studying a table of troubling financials—“why don’t we call for another of these, full bottle, or maybe two, and send down for more coffee or some tea maybe? I—” pushing his chair in closer—“I am starving! I’ll ask him—” lifting up a piece of smoked salmon, dangling it to his mouth to gobble it before reaching in his pocket for his cell phone—“ask him to dump the car somewhere and walk over, shall I?” “Fine.” Something in me had gone dead at the sight of him, almost like with my dad when I was a kid, long hours alone at home, the involuntary wave of relief at his key in the lock and then the immediate heart-sink at the actual sight of him.

“What?” Licking his fingers noisily. “You don’t want Gyuri to come? Who’s been driving me all night? Who went without sleep? Give him some breakfast at least.” He’d already started in on the eggs. “A lot has happened.” “A lot has happened to me too.” “Where are you going?” “Order what you want.” Fishing the key card out of my pocket, handing it to him. “I’ll leave the total open. Charge it to the room.” “Potter—” throwing down the napkin, starting after me then stopping mid-step and—much to my surprise—laughing. “Go then. To your new friend or activity so important!” “A lot has happened to me.” “Well—” smugly—“I don’t know what happened to you, but I can say that what happened to me is at least five thousand times more. This has been some week. This has been one for the books. While you have been luxuriating in hotel, I—” stepping forward, hand on my sleeve—“hang on.” The phone had rung; he turned half away, spoke rapidly in Ukrainian before breaking off and hanging up very suddenly at the sight of me heading out the door. “Potter.” Grabbing me by the shoulders, looking hard into my pupils, then turning me and steering me around, kicking the door shut behind him with one foot. “What the fuck? You are like Night of the Zombie. What was that movie we liked? The black and white? Not Living Dead, but the poetry one —?” “I Walked with a Zombie. Val Lewton.” “That’s right. That’s the one. Sit down. Weed is very very strong here, even if you are used to it, I should have warned you—” “I haven’t smoked any weed.” “—because I tell you, when I came here first, age twenty maybe, at the time smoking trees every day, I thought I could handle anything and—oh my God. My own fault—I was an ass with the guy at the coffeeshop. ‘Give me strongest you have.’ Well he did! Three hits and I couldn’t walk! I couldn’t stand! It was like I forgot to move my feet! Tunnel vision, no control of muscles. Total disconnection from reality!” He had steered me to the bed; he was sitting beside me with his arm around my shoulders. “And, I mean, you know me but—never! Fast pounding heart, like running and running and whole time sitting still—no comprehension of my locale—terrible darkness! All alone and crying a little, you know, speaking to God in my mind, ‘what did I do,’ ‘why do I deserve this.’ Don’t remember leaving the place! Like a horrible dream. And this is weed, mind you! Weed! Came to on the street, all jelly legs, clutching onto a bike rack near Dam Square. I thought traffic was driving up on the sidewalk and going to wreck into me. Finally found my way to my girl’s flat in the Jordaan and layed around for a long time in a bath with no water in it. So—” He was looking suspiciously at my coffee-splattered shirt front. “I didn’t smoke any weed.” “I know, you said! Was just telling you a story. Thought it was a little interesting to you maybe. Well—no shame,” he said. “Whatever.” The ensuing silence was endless. “I forgot to say—I forgot to say”—he was pouring me a glass of mineral water—“after this time I told you? Wandering on the Dam? I felt wrong for three days after. My girl said, ‘Let’s go out, Boris, you can’t lie here any more and waste the whole weekend.” Vomited in the van Gogh museum. Nice and classy.” The cold water, hitting my sore throat, threw me into goosebumps and into a visceral bodily memory from boyhood: painful desert sunlight, painful afternoon hangover, teeth chattering in the air-conditioned chill. Boris and I so sick we kept retching, and laughing about retching, which made us retch even harder. Gagging on stale crackers from a box in my room. “Well—” Boris stealing a glance at me sideways—“something going around maybe. If was not Christmas Day, I would run down and get something to help your stomach. Here here—” dumping some food on a plate, shoving it at me. He picked up the champagne bottle from the ice bucket, looked at the level again, then poured the remainder of the split into my half-empty orange juice glass (half empty, because he had drunk it himself). “Here,” he said, raising his champagne glass to me.

“Merry Christmas to you! Long life to us both! Christ is born, let us glorify Him! Now—” gulping it down—he’d turned the rolls on the tablecloth, was heaping out food to himself in the ceramic bread dish—“I am sorry, I know you want to hear about everything, but I am hungry and must eat first.” Pâté. Caviar. Christmas bread. Despite everything, I was hungry too, and I decided to be grateful for the moment and for the food in front of me and began to eat and for a while neither of us said anything. “Better?” he said presently, throwing me a glance. “You are exhausted.” Helping himself to more salmon. “There is a bad flu going round. Shirley has it too.” I said nothing. I had only just begun to adjust myself to the fact that he was in the room with me. “I thought you were out with some girl. Well—here is where Gyuri and I have been,” he said, when I didn’t answer. “We have been in Frankfurt. Well —this you know. Some crazy time it’s been! But—” downing his champagne, walking to the minibar and squatting down to look inside— “Do you have my passport?” “Yes I have your passport. Wow, there is some nice wine in here! And all these nice baby Absoluts.” “Where is it?” “Ah—” Loping back to the table with a bottle of red wine under his arm, and three minibar bottles of vodka which he stuck in the ice bucket. “Here you go.” Fishing it from his pocket, tossing it carelessly onto the table. “Now”—sitting down—“shall we drink a toast together?” I sat on the edge of the bed without moving, my half-eaten plate of food still in my lap. My passport.

In the long silence that followed, Boris reached across the table and flicked the edge of my champagne glass with middle finger, sharp crystalline ting like a spoon on an after dinner goblet. “May I have your attention, please?” he inquired ironically. “What?” “Toast?” Tipping his glass to me. I rubbed my hand over my forehead. “And you are what, here?” “Eh?” “Toasting what, exactly?” “Christmas Day? Graciousness of God? Will that do?” The silence between us, while not exactly hostile, took on as it grew a distinctly glaring and unmanageable tone. Finally Boris fell back in his chair and nodded at my glass and said: “Hate to keep asking, but when you are through with staring at me, do you think we can—?” “I’m going to have to figure all this out at some point.” “What?” “I guess I’ll have to sort this all out in my mind some time. It’s going to be a job. Like, this thing over there… that over here. Two different piles. Three different piles maybe.” “Potter, Potter, Potter—” affectionate, half-scornful, leaning forward —“you are a blockhead. You have no sense of gratitude or beauty.” “ ‘No sense of gratitude.’ I’ll drink to that, I guess.” “What? Don’t you remember our happy Christmas that one time? Happy days gone by? Never to return? Your dad—” grand flinging gesture—“at the restaurant table? Our feast and joy? Our happy celebration? Don’t you honor that memory in your heart?” “For God’s sake.” “Potter—” arrested breath—“you are something. You are worse than a woman. ‘Hurry, hurry.’ ‘Get up, go.’ Didn’t you read my texts?” “What?” Boris—reaching for his glass—stopped cold. Quickly he glanced at the floor and I was, suddenly, very aware of the bag by his chair. In amusement, Boris stuck his thumbnail between his front teeth. “Go ahead.” The words hovered over the wrecked breakfast. Distorted reflections in the domed cover of the silver dish. I picked up the bag and stood; and his smile faded when I started to the door. “Wait!” he said. “Wait what?” “You’re not going to open it?” “Look—” I knew myself too well, didn’t trust myself to wait; I wasn’t letting the same thing happen twice— “What are you doing? Where are you going?” “I’m taking this downstairs. So they can lock it in the safe.” I didn’t even know if there was a safe, only that I didn’t want the painting near me—it was safer with strangers, in a cloakroom, anywhere. I was also going to phone the police the moment Boris left, but not until; there was no reason dragging Boris into it. “You didn’t even open it! You don’t even know what it is!” “Duly noted.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “Maybe I don’t need to know what it is.” “Oh no? Maybe you do. It’s not what you think,” he added, a bit smugly. “No?” “No.” “How do you know what I think?” “Of course I know what you think it is! And—you are wrong. Sorry. But —” raising his hands—“is something much, much better than.” “Better than?” “Yes.” “How can it be better than?” “It just is. Lots lots better. You will just have to believe me on this. Open and see,” he said, with a curt nod. “What is this?” I said after about thirty stunned seconds. Lifting out one brick of hundreds—dollars—then another. “That is not all of it.” Rubbing the back of his head with the flat of his hand. “Fraction of.” I looked at it, then at him. “Fraction of what?” “Well—” smirking—“thought more dramatic if in cash, no?” Muffled comedy voices floating from next door, articulated cadences of a television laugh track. “Nicer surprise for you! That is not all of it, mind you. U.S. currency, I thought, more convenient for you to return with. What you came over with— a bit more. In fact they have not paid yet—no money has yet come through. But—soon, I hope.” “They? Who hasn’t paid? Paid what?” “This money is mine. Own personal. From the house safe. Stopped in Antwerp to get it. Nicer this way—nicer for you to open, no? Christmas morning? Ho Ho Ho? But you have a lot more coming.” I turned the stack of money over and looked at it: forward and back. Banded, straight from Citibank.

“ ‘Thank you Boris.’ ‘Oh, no problem,’ ” he answered, ironically, in his own voice. “Glad to do it.’ ” Money in stacks. Outside the event. Crisp in the hand. There was some kind of obvious content or emotion to the whole thing I wasn’t getting. “As I say—fraction of. Two million euro. In dollars much much more. So —merry Christmas! My gift to you! I can open you an account in Switzerland for the rest of it and give you a bank book and that way—what?” he said, recoiling almost, when I put the stack of bills in the bag, snapped it shut, and shoved it back at him. “No! It’s yours!” “I don’t want it.” “I don’t think you understand! Let me explain, please.” “I said I don’t want it.” “Potter—” folding his arms and looking at me coldly, the same look he’d given me in the Polack bar—“a different man would walk out laughing now and never come back.” “Then why don’t you?” “I—” looking around the room, as if at a loss for a reason why—“I will tell you why not! For old times’sake. Even though you treat me like a criminal. And because I want to make things up to you—” “Make what up?” “Sorry?” “What, exactly? Will you explain it to me? Where the hell did this money come from? How does this fix a fucking thing?” “Well, actually, you should not be so quick to jump to—” “I don’t care about the money!” I was half-screaming. “I care about the painting! Where’s the painting?” “If you would just wait a second and not fly off the—” “What’s this money for? Where’s it from? From what source, exactly? Bill Gates? Santa Claus? The Tooth Fairy?” “Please. You are like your dad with the drama.” “Where is it? What’d you do with it? It’s gone, isn’t it? Traded? Sold?” “No, of course I—hey—” scraping his chair back hastily—“Jesus, Potter, calm down. Of course I didn’t sell it. Why would I do any such?” “I don’t know! How should I know? What was all this for? What was the point of any of this? Why did I even come here with you? Why’d you have to drag me into it? You thought you’d bring me over here to help you kill people? Is that it?” “I’ve never killed anybody in my life,” said Boris haughtily. “Oh, God. Did you just say that? Am I supposed to laugh? Did I really just hear you say you never—” “That was self defense. You know it. I do not go around hurting people for the fun of it but I will protect myself if I have to. And you,” he said, talking imperiously over me, “with Martin, apart from the fact I would not be here now and most likely you neither—” “Will you do me a favor? If you won’t shut up? Will you maybe go over there and stand for a minute? Because I really don’t want to see you or look at you now.” “—with Martin the police, if they knew, they would give you a medal and so would many others, innocent, not now living, thanks to him. Martin was —” “Or, actually, you could leave. That’s probably better.” “Martin was a devil. Not all human. Not all his fault. He was born that way. No feelings, you know? I have known Martin to do much worse things to people than shooting them. Not to us,” he said, hastily, waving his hand, as if this were the point of all misunderstanding. “Us, he would have shot out of courtesy, and none of his other badness and evil. But—was Martin a good man? A proper human being? No. He was not. Frits was no flower, either. So —this remorse and pain of yours—you must view it in a different light. You must view it as heroism in service of higher good. You cannot always take such a dark perspective of life all the time, you know, it is very bad for you.”

“Can I ask you just one thing?” “Anything.” “Where’s the painting?” “Look—” Boris sighed, and looked away. “This was the best I could do. I know how much you wanted it. I did not think you would be quite so upset not to have it.” “Can you just tell me where it is?” “Potter—” hand on heart—“I’m sorry you are so angry. I was not expecting this. But you said you weren’t going to keep it anyway. You were going to give it back. Isn’t that what you said?” he added when I kept on staring at him. “How the hell is this the right thing?” “Well, I’ll tell you! If you would shut up and let me talk! Instead of ranting back and forth and frothing at mouth and spoiling our Christmas!” “What are you talking about?” “Idiot.” Rapping his temple with his knuckles. “Where do you think this money came from?” “How the fuck should I know?” “This is the reward money!” “Reward?” “Yes! For safe return of!” It took a moment. I was standing. I had to sit down. “Are you angry?” said Boris carefully. Voices in the hallway. Dull winter light glinting off the brass lampshade. “I thought you would be pleased. No?” But I had not recovered sufficiently to speak. All I could do was stare, in dumbfoundment.

At my expression, Boris shook the hair out of his face and laughed. “You gave me the idea yourself. I don’t think you knew how great it was! Genius! I wish had thought of it myself. ‘Call the art cops, call the art cops.’ Well— crazy! So I thought at the time. You’re a bit nuts on this subject to be perfectly honest. Only then—” he shrugged—“unfortunate events took course, as you only too well know, and after we parted on the bridge I spoke to Cherry, what to do, what to do, wringing our hands a bit, and we did a little nosing around, and—” lifting his glass to me—“well in fact, a genius idea! Why should I doubt you? Ever? You are the brains of all this from the start! While I am in Alaska—walking five miles to petrol station to steal a Nestlé bar—well, look at you. Mastermind! Why should I ever doubt you? Because —I look into it, and—” throwing up his arms—“you were right. Who would have thought? Over million dollars for your picture out there in reward money! Not even picture! Information leading to recovery of picture! No questions asked! Cash, free and clear—!” Outside, snow was flying against the window. Next door, someone was coughing hard, or laughing hard, I couldn’t tell which. “Back and forth, back and forth, all these years. A game for suckers. Inconvenient, dangerous. And—question I am asking myself now—why did I even bother? with all this legal money straight-up for the claiming? Because —you were right—straight business thing for them. No questions asked whatever. All they cared about was getting the picture back.” Boris lit a cigarette and dropped the match with a hiss in his water glass. “I did not see it myself, I wish I had—did not think a good idea to stick around if you get me. German SWAT team! Vests, guns. Drop everything! Lie down! Great commotion and crowd in the street! Ah, I would have loved to see the look on Sascha’s face!” “You phoned the cops?”

“Well not me personally! My boy Dima—Dima is furious at the Germans because of the shooting in his garage. Completely unnecessary, and a big headache for him. See—” restlessly, he crossed his legs, blew out a big cloud of smoke—“I had an idea where they had the picture. There’s an apartment in Frankfurt. Used to belong to an old girlfriend of Sascha’s. People keep stuff there. But no way in hell could I get in, even with half a dozen guys. Keys, alarms, cameras, passcode. Only problem—” yawning, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—“well, two problems. First one is that police need probable cause to search the apartment. You can not just call with name of thief, anonymous citizen being helpful if you know what I mean. And second problem—I could not remember the exact address of the place. Very very secretive—I have only been there once—late at night, and not in best of condition. Knew roughly the neighborhood… used to be squats, now is very nice… had Gyuri drive me up the streets and down, up the streets and down. Took for fucking ever. Finally—? I had it pinned to a row of houses but was not one hundred percent sure which. So I got out and walked it. Scared as I was, to be on that street—afraid to be seen—I got out of the car and walked it. With my own two feet. Eyes closed halfway. Hypnotized myself a bit, you know, trying to remember number of steps? Trying to feel it in my body? Anyway—I am getting ahead of myself. Dima—?” he was picking assiduously through the breads on the tablecloth—“Dima’s cousin’s sister in law, ex-sister in law actually, married a Dutchman, and they have a son named Anton—twenty-one maybe, twenty-two, squeaky clean, surname van den Brink—Anton is Dutch citizen and has grown up speaking Dutch so this is helpful for us too if you get me. Anton—” nibbling on a roll: making a face, spitting a rye seed between his teeth—“Anton works in a bar where many rich people go, off P. C. Hooftstraat, fancy Amsterdam—Gucci Street, Cartier street. Good kid. Speaks English, Dutch, only two words maybe of Russian. Anyway Dima had Anton phone the police and report that he had seen two Germans, one of which answers to precise description of Sascha—granny glasses, ‘Little House on the Prairie’shirt, tribal tattoo on his hand which Anton is able to draw exactly, from photograph we supplied—anyway, Anton telephoned the art police and told them he had seen these Germans drunk as gods in his bar, arguing, and they are so angry and upset they had left behind —what? A folder! Well of course it is a doctored folder. We were going to do a phone, a doctored phone, but none of us were nerd enough to be sure we did it totally untraceable. So—I printed out some photos… photo I showed you, plus some others that I happened to have on my phone… finch along with relatively recent issue of newspaper to date it, you know. Two years old newspaper but—no matter. Anton just happened to find this folder, see, under a chair, with some other documents from the Miami thing, you know, to connect to prior sighting. Frankfurt address conveniently inserted, as well as Sascha’s name. All this is Myriam’s idea, she deserves the credit, you should buy Myriam big drink when you get back home. FedExed some things from America—very very convincing. It has Sascha’s name, it has—” “Sascha’s in jail?” “Indeed he is.” Boris cackled. “We get the ransom, museum gets the painting, cops get to close the case, insurance company gets its money back, public is edified, everyone wins.” “Ransom?” “Well, reward, ransom, whatever you want to call it.” “Who paid this money out?” “I don’t know.” Boris made an irritated gesture. “Museum, government, private citizen. Does it matter?” “It matters to me.” “Well it shouldn’t. You should shut up and be grateful. Because,” he said, lifting his chin, speaking over me, “you know what, Theo? Know what? Guess! Guess how lucky we were! Not only do they have your bird in there, but—who would have guessed it? Many other stolen pictures!”

“What?” “Two dozens, or more! Missing for many years, some of them! And—not all of them are as lovely or beautiful as yours, in fact most of them are not. This is my own personal opinion. But there are big rewards out on four or five of them all the same—bigger than for yours. And even some of the not-sofamous ones—dead duck, boring picture of fat-faced man you don’t know— even these have smaller rewards—fifty thousand, hundred thousand here and there. Who would think? ‘Information leading to recovery of.’ It adds up. And I hope,” he said, with some austerity, “that maybe you can forgive me for that?” “What?” “Because—they are saying, ‘one of great art recoveries of history.’ And this is the part I hoped would please you—maybe not, who knows, but I hoped. Museum masterworks, returned to public ownership! Stewardship of cultural treasure! Great joy! All the angels are singing! But it would never have happened, if not for you.” I sat in silent amazement. “Of course,” Boris added, nodding at the bag open on the bed, “this is not all of it. Nice Christmas present in it for Myriam and Cherry and Gyuri. And I gave Anton and Dima a thirty per cent cut right off the top. Fifteen per cent each. Anton did all the work really, so in my opinion he should have got twenty and Dima ten. But this is a lot of money for Anton so he is happy.” “Other paintings they recovered. Not just mine.” “Yes, did you not just hear me say—?” “What other paintings?” “Oh, some very celebrated and famous ones! Missing for years!” “Such as—?” Boris made an irritated sound. “Oh, I do not know the names, you know not to ask me that. Few modern things—very important and expensive, everyone very excited although I will be frank, I do not understand why the big deal on some of them. Why does it cost so much, a thing like from kindergarten class? ‘Ugly Blob.’ ‘Black Stick with Tangles.’ But then too— multiple works of historic greatness. One was a Rembrandt.” “Not a seascape?” “No—people in a dark room. Little bit boring. Nice van Gogh, though, of a sea shore. And then… oh, I don’t know… usual thing, Mary, Jesus, many angels. Some sculptures even. And Asian artworks too. They looked to me worth nothing but I guess they were a lot.” Boris stabbed out his cigarette vigorously. “Which reminds me. He got away.” “Who?” “Sascha’s China boy.” He had gone to the minibar, returned with corkscrew and two glasses. “He was not at apartment when the cops came, lucky for him. And—if he is smart, which he is—he will not be coming back.” Holding up crossed fingers. “He will find some other rich man to live off of. That is what he does. Good work if you can get it. Anyway—” biting his lip as he pulled out the cork, pop!—“I wish I had thought of it myself, years ago! One big easy check! Legal Tender! Instead of this Follow the Bouncing Ball, so many years. Back and forth—” wagging the corkscrew, tick, tock—“back and forth. Nervewracking! All this time, all this headache, and all this easy, government money right under my nose! I will tell you—” crossing over, pouring me out a noisy glug of red—“in some ways, Horst is probably just as glad it fell out like this as you. He likes to make a dollar same as anyone but he also has guilt, same ideas of public good, cultural patrimony, blah blah blah.”

“I don’t understand how Horst fits into this.” “No, nor do I, and we will never know,” said Boris firmly. “It’s all very careful and polite. And, yes yes—” impatiently, taking a quick sneaky gulp of his wine—“and yes, I am angry at Horst, a bit, maybe I don’t trust him so much as formerly, maybe in fact I don’t trust him so much at all. But—Horst is saying he wouldn’t have sent Martin if he knew it was us. And maybe he’s telling the truth. ‘Never, Boris—I would never.’ Who can know? To be quite honest—just between us—I think he may be saying it only to save face. Because once it fell to pieces with Martin and Frits, what else could he do? Except gracefully back away? Claim no knowledge? I do not know this for a fact, mind you,” he said. “This is just my theory. Horst has his own story.” “Which is—?” “Horst is saying—” Boris sighed—“Horst says he didn’t know that Sascha took the picture, not until we snatched it ourselves and Sascha phoned from clear blue sky asking Horst’s help to get it back. Pure coincidence that Martin was in town—here from LA for the holidays. For druggies, Amsterdam is fairly popular Christmas spot. And yes, that part—” he rubbed his eye —“well, I am pretty sure Horst is telling the truth. That call from Sascha was a surprise. Throwing himself on Horst’s mercy. No time to talk. Had to act quick. How was Horst to know it was us? Sascha wasn’t even in Amsterdam —he was hearing it all at second hand, from Chinky, whose German is not that great—Horst was hearing it at third. It all lines up if you look at it the right way. That said—” he shrugged. “What?” “Well—Horst definitely didn’t know the painting was in Amsterdam, nor that Sascha was trying to get a loan on it, not until Sascha panicked and called him when we took it. Of that? I am confident. But: did Horst and Sascha collude to make painting vanish in the first place, to Frankfurt, with bad Miami deal? Possibly. Horst liked that picture very very much. Very much. Did I tell you—he knew what it was, first time he saw it? Like, off the top of his head? Name of painter and everything?” “It’s one of the most famous paintings in the world.” “Well—” Boris shrugged—“like I said, he is educated. He grew up around beauty. That said, Horst does not know that it was me cooked up the folder. He might not be so happy. And yet—” he laughed aloud—“would it ever occur to Horst? I wonder. All the time, all this reward sitting there? Free and legal! Shining in plain sight, like the sun! I know I never thought of it—not until now. Worldwide happiness and joy! Lost masterworks recovered! Anton the big hero—posing for photos, talking on Sky News! Standing ovation at the press conference last night! Everyone loves him—like that man who landed the plane in the river a few years back and saved everyone, remember him? But, in my mind, is not Anton the people are clapping for—really is you.” There were so many things to say to Boris, I could say none of them. And yet I could only feel the most abstract gratitude. Maybe, I thought—reaching in the bag, taking out a stack of money and looking it over—maybe good luck was like bad luck in that it took a while to sink in. You didn’t feel anything at first. The feeling came later on. “Pretty nice, no?” said Boris, clearly relieved I’d come round. “You are happy?” “Boris, you need to take half this.” “Believe me, I took care of myself. I have enough now that I can not do anything I don’t feel like for a while. Who knows—maybe go into bar business even, in Stockholm. Or—maybe not. Little bit boring. But you— that’s all yours! And more to come. Remember that time your dad gave us the five hundred each? Flying like feathers! Very noble and grand! Well—to me then? Hungry half the time? Sad and lonely? Nothing to my name? That was a fortune! More money than I had ever seen! And you—” his nose had grown pink; I thought he was about to sneeze—“always decent and good, shared with me everything you had, and—what did I do?”

“Oh, Boris, come on,” I said uneasily. “I stole from you—that’s what I did.” Alcoholic glitter in his eyes. “Took your dearest possession. And how could I treat you so badly, when I wished you only well?” “Stop it. No—really, stop,” I said, when I saw he was crying. “What can I say? You asked me why I took it? and what can I reply? Only that—it’s never the way it seems—all good, all bad. So much easier if it was. Even your dad… feeding me, talking with me, spending time, sheltering me in his roof, giving me clothes off his back… you hated your dad so much but in some ways he was good man.” “I wouldn’t say good.” “Well, I would.” “Well, you would be the only one. You would be wrong.”

“Look. I am more tolerance than you,” said Boris, invigorated by the prospect of a disagreement and sniffing up his tears in a gulp. “Xandra—your dad—always you wanted to make them so evil and bad. And yes… your dad was destructive… irresponsible… a child. His spirit was huge. It pained him terribly! But he hurt himself worse than he ever hurt anyone else. And yes—” he said theatrically, over my objection—“yes, he stole from you, or tried to, I know it, but do you know what? I stole from you too and got away with it. Which is worse? Because I’m telling you—” prodding the bag with his toe —“the world is much stranger than we know or can say. And I know how you think, or how you like to think, but maybe this is one instance where you can’t boil down to pure ‘good’ or pure ‘bad’ like you always want to do—? Like, your two different piles? Bad over here, good over here? Maybe not quite so simple. Because—all the way driving here, driving all night, Christmas lights on the motorway and I’m not ashamed to tell you, I got choked up—because I was thinking, couldn’t help it, about the Bible story—? you know, where the steward steals the widow’s mite, but then the steward flees to far country and invests the mite wisely and brings back thousandfold cash to widow he stole from? And with joy she forgave him, and they killed the fatted calf, and made merry?” “I think that’s maybe not all the same story.” “Well—Bible school, Poland, it was a long time ago. Still. Because, what I am trying to say—what I was thinking in the car from Antwerp last night— good doesn’t always follow from good deeds, nor bad deeds result from bad, does it? Even the wise and good cannot see the end of all actions. Scary idea! Remember Prince Myshkin in The Idiot?” “I’m not really up for an intellectual talk right now.” “I know, I know, but hear me out. You read The Idiot, right? Right. Well, ‘Idiot’ was very disturbing book to me. In fact it was so disturbing I have never really read very many fictions after, apart from Dragon Tattoo kind of thing. Because”—I was trying to interject—“well, maybe you can tell me about that later, what you thought, but let me tell you why I found it disturbing. Because all Myshkin ever did was good… unselfish… he treated all persons with understanding and compassion and what resulted from this goodness? Murder! Disaster! I used to worry about this a lot. Lie awake at night and worry! Because—why? How could this be? I read that book like three times, thinking I wasn’t understanding right. Myshkin was kind, loved everyone, he was tender, always forgave, he never did a wrong thing—but he trusted all the wrong people, made all bad decisions, hurt everyone around him. Very dark message to this book. ‘Why be good.’ But—this is what took hold on me last night, riding here in the car. What if—is more complicated than that? What if maybe opposite is true as well? Because, if bad can sometimes come from good actions—? where does it ever say, anywhere, that only bad can come from bad actions? Maybe sometimes—the wrong way is the right way? You can take the wrong path and it still comes out where you want to be? Or, spin it another way, sometimes you can do everything wrong and it still turns out to be right?” “I’m not sure I see your point.” “Well—I have to say I personally have never drawn such a sharp line between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ as you. For me: that line is often false. The two are never disconnected. One can’t exist without the other. As long as I am acting out of love, I feel I am doing best I know how. But you—wrapped up in judgment, always regretting the past, cursing yourself, blaming yourself, asking ‘what if,’ ‘what if.’ ‘Life is cruel.’ ‘I wish I had died instead of.’ Well —think about this. What if all your actions and choices, good or bad, make no difference to God? What if the pattern is pre-set? No, no—hang on—this is a question worth struggling with. What if our badness and mistakes are the very thing that set our fate and bring us round to good? What if, for some of us, we can’t get there any other way?”

“Get where?” “Understand, by saying ‘God,’ I am merely using ‘God’ as reference to long-term pattern we can’t decipher. Huge, slow-moving weather system rolling in on us from afar, blowing us randomly like—” eloquently, he batted at the air as if at a blown leaf. “But—maybe not so random and impersonal as all that, if you get me.” “Sorry but I’m not really appreciating your point here.” “You don’t need a point. The point is maybe that the point is too big to see or work round to on our own. Because—” up went the batwing eyebrow —“well, if you didn’t take picture from museum, and Sascha didn’t steal it back, and I didn’t think of claiming reward—well, wouldn’t all those dozens of other paintings remain missing too? Forever maybe? Wrapped in brown paper? Still shut in that apartment? No one to look at them? Lonely and lost to the world? Maybe the one had to be lost for the others to be found?” “I think this goes more to the idea of ‘relentless irony’ than ‘divine providence.’ ” “Yes—but why give it a name? Can’t they both be the same thing?” We looked at each other. And it occurred to me that despite his faults, which were numerous and spectacular, the reason I’d liked Boris and felt happy around him from almost the moment I’d met him was that he was never afraid. You didn’t meet many people who moved freely through the world with such a vigorous contempt for it and at the same time such oddball and unthwartable faith in what, in childhood, he had liked to call “the Planet of Earth.” “So—” Boris downed the rest of his wine, and poured himself some more —“what are your so-big plans?” “As regards what?” “A moment ago, you were tearing off. Why not stay here a while?” “Here?” “No—I didn’t mean here here—not in Amsterdam—I will agree with you that it is a very good idea for us probably to get out of town, and as for myself I will not care to be coming back for a while. What I meant was, why not relax a bit and hang out before flying back? Come to Antwerp with me. See my place! Meet my friends! Get away from your girl problems for a bit.” “No, I’m going home.” “When?” “Today, if I can.” “So soon? No! Come to Antwerp! There is this fantastic service—not like red light—two girls, two thousand euro and you have to call two days in advance. Everything is two. Gyuri can drive us—I’ll sit up front, you can stretch out and sleep in the back. What do you say?”

“Actually, I think maybe you should drop me at the airport.” “Actually—I think I should better not. If I was selling the tickets? I would not even let you on a plane. You look like you have bird flu or SARS.” He was unlacing his waterlogged shoes, trying to jam his feet into them. “Ugh! Will you answer me this question? Why—” holding up the ruined shoe—“tell me why do I buy these so-fancy Italian leathers when I wreck them in one week? When—my old desert boots—you remember? Good for running away fast! Jumping out of windows! Lasted me years! I don’t care if they look crap with my suits. I will find me some more boots like that, and then I will wear them for rest of my life. Where,” he said, frowning at his watch, “where did Gyuri get to? He should not be having so much problems parking on Christmas Day?” “Did you call him?” Boris slapped his head. “No, I forgot. Shit! He probably ate breakfast already. Or else he is in the car, freezing to death.” Draining the rest of his wine, pocketing the mini-bottles of vodka. “Are you packed? Yes? Fantastic. We can go then.” He was, I noticed, wrapping up leftover bread and cheese in a cloth napkin. “Go down and pay up. Although—” he looked disapprovingly at the stained coat thrown over the bed—“you really need to get rid of that thing.” “How?” He nodded at the murky canal outside the window. “Really—?” “Why not? No law against throwing a coat in the canal, is there?” “I would have thought so, yes.” “Well—who knows. Not very widely enforced law, if you ask me. You should see some of the shit I saw floating in that thing during the garbage strike. Drunk Americans puking in, you name it. Although—” glancing out the window—“I am with you, rather not do it in broad daylight. We can take it back to Antwerp in the trunk of the car and throw it down the incinerator. You’ll like my flat a lot.” Fishing for his phone; dialing the number. “Artist’s loft, without the art! And we’ll walk out and buy you a new overcoat when the shops are open.”

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winchesterbrotherstan · 4 years

Text

SPN- Hunted (2.10)

Pairing: Olive Winchester (sister OC)

Summary: After Dean spills the truth about their father’s last moments, Sam runs off, taking Olive with him. Dean goes after his baby siblings, and they’re targeted by an unwelcome familiar face.

Warnings: cursing, blood, knives, guns, uhh, like mention of a dead cat? sam lowkey kidnaps olive, the usual with the rest you know

Word Count: 5147

“Dean, what did Dad tell you?” I stood up straight, staring at him with wide eyes.

“He said that he wanted me to watch out for you, Sam. To take care of you.”

Sam huffed, and I tilted my head. “What?”

“He told you that a million times, Dean.”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “This time was different. He said that I had to save you.”

“Save me from what?” Sam repeated.

“He just said that I had to save you, that nothing else mattered. And that if i couldn’t, I’d…” Dean looked away, tears in his eyes.

“That you’d what, De?” My chest tightened.

“That I’d have to kill him!”

My heart began to pound, and I stumbled backward, sitting down on the railing. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling my eyes begin to sting. It didn’t sound too far off for Dad, but the fact that Dean had kept it hidden for so long felt like a knife to the back.

“He said that I might have to kill you, Sammy.”

“Kill me?” Sam took a step back. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.” Dean pushed out.

“I mean, he must’ve had some kind of reason for saying it, right?” Sam huffed.

“Oh, god.” I mumbled, wiping the tears from my eyes.

He knew something, but whatever the secret was died with him.

“Did he know the demon’s plans for me? Am I supposed to go Darkside or something? What else did he say, Dean?” Sam stepped forward.

“Nothing. That’s it. I swear.” Dean sniffled.

“Why the hell would he say that, Dean?” I sobbed.

“I don’t know!”

“How could you not have told me this?”

“Because it was Dad! He begged me not to!”

“Who cares, Dean? Take some responsibility for yourself! You had no right to keep this from me!” Sam spat.

“You think I wanted to? Huh? I wish to god he’d never opened his mouth! Then I wouldn’t have to walk around with this screaming in my head all day!”

“It doesn’t make sense. I’m Okami, why didn’t he tell you to kill me, too?”

“Olive, I don’t know.”

Sam turned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ve just gotta figure out what’s going on, then. Figure out what the hell all this means.”

“We do?” Dean tilted his head. “I’ve been thinking about this. I think we should just lay low. You know? At least for a while. It would be safer. And this way we can make sure-”

“What? That I don’t turn evil? That I don’t turn into some kind of killer?” Sam growled.

“Hey, he never said that.” I stepped in.

“Well fuck, if you two aren’t careful, you will have to waste me one day.”

“I never said that!” Dean shouted.

“Jesus fucking Christ, boys!” I snapped.

They both glared at me, then at each other.

“This is getting out of hand. Both of you. Relax.”

“Look, Sam. You’re immune to some weird ass demon virus, and I don’t even know what the hell anymore. You’re pissed at me, I get it. That’s fine. I deserve it. But we lay low until we figure out our next move. Okay?”

“Forget it.” Sam scoffed, turning away once more.

“Sammy.” I called.

“Please, man. Hey, hey, please. Please.” Dean begged.

“I’m going-”

“Sam! Give us some time to think. Please.” I caught his arm.

“We’re begging you. Please.”

Sam sighed and gave us a reluctant nod.

***

“Bug.” Sam shook me softly.

I groaned and rolled onto my side. “What?”

“Hey. Come on, we’ve gotta move.”

I sat up with a huff. “Why?”

“We’ll explain later. Come on, I packed all your stuff. Dean’s waiting in the car.”

I rubbed my eyes and stumbled out of bed. Sam picked me up and held me against his hip. I snuggled my head into the crook of his neck and let myself fall back asleep.

***

I yawned and sat up. I rubbed my eyes and looked over. Sam was in the driver’s seat, staring at me with a soft smile.

“What the fuck?”

“Hey, bug.”

“Where the fuck are we? This isn’t Baby. Where’s Jinx?” I sat up straight and backed away from Sam. “Where’s Dean?”

“Look-”

“Sam, what the fuck is going on?”

“We’re at the Roadhouse.”

I looked over to see that we were, indeed, in the parking lot of the shoddy building. I scowled as I turned back to Sam.

“You fucking lied to me.” I struggled with the car door.

“Ollie-”

“Leave me the fuck alone.” I hissed, finally stumbling out of the unfamiliar black car.

“Olive-”

“Christo.”

Sam only stared with a bitchface. I whimpered and crossed my arms over my chest as he began to walk toward the door.

“Why?”

“Because we need to figure out what’s happening!”

“Not without Dean!” I scoffed as we trailed into the Roadhouse.

“Sam. Olive.”

“Hey, Ellen.” Sam gave her a sheepish smile. “You don’t seem that surprised to see us.”

“Well…” Ellen hummed. “Dean’s been calling. He’s worried sick, running around the country looking for you two.

Sam huffed as we dropped onto the stools. “Yeah, I figured he might.”

Ellen eyed me. “I take it this wasn’t planned on your half.”

I looked up at her with a scowl. “I was kidnapped.”

“Oh, honey.”

“I want Dean.” I hissed at Sam.

“What’s going on between your boys?”

“Dean made a mistake and now Sam is being-”

“How’s Jo?” Sam cut me off.

Ellen sighed. “I don’t really know.”

Sam and I glanced at each other, and I immediately remembered that I was upset with him. I turned back to Ellen.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, after she worked that job with you kids, she decided she wanted to keep on hunting. I said ‘not under my roof’ and she said ‘fine’. I don’t know where she is now.”

“So we’re probably the last people you wanna see right now.” Sam sighed.

Ellen gave a chuckle. “Don’t get me wrong, I wish I could blame you kids. It’d be easier. Truth is, it’s not your fault. None of it is. I want you to know that I forgave your Daddy a long time ago for what happened to my Bill… I just don’t think he ever forgave himself.”

Sam shifted, uncomfortable. “What really… did happen?”

“Um, so… why did you guys come here?”

“I need help.”

“I’ll get Ash.” Ellen put the rag and cup down and disappeared into the back.

“Ollie, look-”

“Dude, you can do whatever you want, I don’t care where you go or why or when, but I’m staying here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m staying here until Dean comes to pick me up.” I turned my nose up the other way.

Sam sighed. “Fine.”

***

I swung my legs and leaned forward as Ash came out of his back room. He flipped a piece of paper around in his hand and placed it on the bar in front of Sam.

“Done and done.”

“That was fast.” Sam snorted.

“Well, apparently, that’s my job. Make the monkey dance at the keyboard.”

I sighed and sunk further into my seat as Ellen shook her head. “Just tell us what you got, Ash.”

“Four folks fit the profile nationwide. Born in '83, mother died in a nursery fire, the whole shebang.”

“Four? That’s it?”

Ash nodded. “Sam Winchester from Lawrence, Kansas, Max Miller from Saginaw, Michigan, Andrew Gallagher from Guthrie, Oklahoma, and uh… one last name. Scott Carey.”

I sighed. “That’s the only one we haven’t met yet.”

“You got an address?” Sam turned to Ash.

“Kind of… the Arbor Hill Cemetery in Lafayette, Indiana. Plot 486.”

I closed my eyes as I repeated it to myself in my head.

“So he’s dead?” Sam sighed.

“Killed, about a month ago.”

“Killed?” Sam repeated. “How?”

“Stabbed. Parking lot. Fuzz don't have much, no suspects.”

“Alright. Thank you, guys.” Sam got up.

Ash slapped him on the back before snaking his beer.

“Where are you going?”

“Indiana.”

“Sam?” Ellen called.

He turned.

“You’re not taking Olive?”

He looked at me. I shook my head.

“I’ll wait for Dean.”

“I’ve gotta call him. I’ve gotta let him know where you are, Sam.”

Sam sighed. “Ellen. I’m trying to find answers about who I am. My brother means well, but he can’t protect me from that. Please.”

Ellen sighed and nodded reluctantly. Sam came back my way and held his arms open. I shuffled out of my seat and accepted the hug, leaning against him.

“I’m sorry, bug.”

I shook my head. “I’ll see you when we’re all together again. Be careful.”

“Always.”

***

The phone rang from behind the bar, and I sighed. It was the fifth call in the last half hour. None of them had been Dean. I had little hope this one would be. I hadn’t memorized Dean’s latest phone number, and Sam had taken my phone with him. Ellen shot me a sympathetic smile as she picked the phone up and held it to her ear. “Ellen speaking.” A beat. “Hold on, hold on, hold on. Sweetie! Hang on a second.”

She looked at me and nodded me over. “It’s Dean.”

I scrambled around to the other side of the bar and held the phone to my ear. “De?”

“Baby girl! Hey, baby. Hi, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Yeah, I’m okay. Look, De, Sammy’s in Indiana. Lafayette. Uh, Arbor Hill Cemetery. There’s someone else like him, but the kid’s dead.”

“Okay, listen, princess, I’m coming to get you. Okay?”

“No, De! Oklahoma to Indiana is a 12 hour drive. You don’t have time.”

“I’m coming to get you. Okay? Just be ready.”

I sighed. “Fine. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

***

“Dean!” I squeaked as the Impala stopped on the side of the road.

“Beanie!” He jogged across the street and plucked me off my feet, swinging me around.

I snuggled into his grip, wrapping my arms and legs around him. He hooked me on his hip and walked us back into the Roadhouse. Jinx followed, tail wagging as she yapped.

“Dean.” Ellen smiled.

“Hi. Thanks for keeping my kid safe.” He gave me an extra squeeze.

“De, you’ve been driving for hours. Maybe we should find a place to stay the night?” I whispered.

“You guys are more than welcome to the beds out back if you’d like.”

Dean sighed. “Thanks, but I think we should keep moving.’’ He put me back on my feet and ruffled my head. “Ready to roll, kid?”

I snuggled back into his side and looked over at Ellen. “Ellen, Dean’ll take a beer if you don’t mind.”

She smiled. “Come sit.”

“But-”

“I’ll drive. You need a drink and a nap.” I grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

***

“De, we’re here.” I put the car in park.

“Come on.” He grunted, climbing out of the car.

I followed, tossing him the keys as we looked at all the windows. A curtain fluttered in one, and I caught a glimpse of Sam.

“Oh, thank god you’re okay.” Dean mumbled to himself.

Sam moved, and a brown haired girl was standing in the room with him. I scoffed, and Dean grinned.

“Oh, he’s more than okay. Sam, you sly dog.”

Jinx let out a loud whine, and I felt an uneasy feeling grow in my chest. I looked around, confused.

“Ol?”

“Something’s wrong.” I hissed, feeling my fangs shift in my mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“Sam’s in danger. We’ve gotta move.” I looked both ways before starting across the street.

“Where are you going?”

“Just trust me.” I beckoned him to follow.

Glass shattered, and both our heads snapped around to see that the window of Sam’s room was gone.

“Shit!”

“Come on!”

More shots rang out, and Dean pushed ahead of me. He held a hand up for me to stay back as we reached the rooftop. He grumbled a curse to himself before going out into the open.

“Gordon!”

I peeked out to see Gordon with a sniper rifle. Dean kicked him, pinned him, then punched him repeatedly in the face.

“You do that to my brother, I’ll kill you!”

“Dean, wait!” Gordon struggled.

I watched in horror as he managed to grab the rifle. He slammed into Dean’s face twice. I ducked back onto the fire escape, panting. Gordon would kill me if I didn’t win the fight. But I didn’t want to leave Dean in his hands alone.

I took a deep breath and pushed Jinx down the stairs. She whined and I growled at her. She turned tail and ran. Sam would grab her. I heard a gun cock, and I forced my fangs back into my mouth. I put my hands up as I slowly popped into view.

“Huh.” Gordon clicked his tongue. “Nice surprise.”

“Why do you wanna kill Sam?”

Gordon’s only response was to stalk closer and bash the butt of his gun into my knee. I crumbled to the ground.

***

“Hello?”

“Dean! Olive!”

“Sams.” I called through gritted teeth.

“We’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah. Look, I’m in Indiana. Uh, Lafayette.”

“I know.” Dean glanced over at me.

“You do?”

“Yeah, dummy. I told him.”

“We just got here.”

“It’s a really funky town.” I grunted.

“You ditched us, Sammy.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Look, right now there’s someone after me.”

“What? Who?” Dean feigned surprise.

“I don’t know, that’s what we need to find out. Where are you guys?”

“We’re staying at, uh…” Dean glared at Gordon.

Gordon pulled a gun and pressed it to my forehead. I clenched my jaw. My knee was throbbing, and I was starting to lose any feeling in the lower half of my leg. My kneecap was out of place, and there was a gash that was pumping blood.

“We’re at 5637 Monroe Street. Sams, why don’t you come to us? Since we have Jinx and all.” I added our last hint. “Oh! And can you bring my red shirt? I forgot it in the car.”

There was a pause, and I sighed. The situation was more than clear now.

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll be there soon. Love you guys. Be safe.”

“Always.”

“Love you too.”

Sam hung up the phone, and Gordon tossed it aside with a sickening grin. “Now, was that so hard?”

I let my head fall backward and toward Dean.

“Bite me.” He spat.

Gordon ignored him, turning to rummage through his bag. He began to pull out weapons. One by one, he laid them on the table next to him.

“So, Gordy. I know me and my siblings ain’t exactly your favorite people, but don’t you think this is a little extreme?” Dean asked, trying his best to inch closer to me.

“What, you think this is revenge?” Gordon sharpened the knife he had cut Sam with four months earlier.

“Well, we did leave you tied up in your own mess for three days.” He chuckled. “Which was awesome. Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh.”

“Yeah.” Gordon hissed. “I was definitely planning on whooping your ass for that.”

Dean hummed.

“But that’s not what this is. This isn’t personal. I’m not a killer, Dean. I’m a hunter. And your little siblings are fair game.” He sheathed his knife.

Dean and I shared a look.

Oh, shit.

***

“See, I was doing an exorcism down in Louisiana. Teenage girl. Seemed routine, some low-level demon. But between all the jabbering and the head-spinning, the fucking thing muttered something. About a war that’s coming. I don’t think it meant to, it just kind of slipped out.” Gordon shifted the weight of his rifle. “But it was too late. Caught my interest. And you can really make a demon talk, if you got the right tools.”

I scowled. “What about the girl it was possessing?”

“Oh,” Gordon shook his head, “she didn’t make it.”

Dean huffed. “Well, you’re a son of a bitch.”

Gordon stood straight and walked right toward us. I strained against the ropes, but I was getting worse by the minute. Gordon backhanded Dean, and I flinched at the sound of skin against skin.

“That’s my momma you’re talking about… anyway. This demon tells me there are soldiers to fight in this war. Humans, fighting on hell’s side. You believe that? I mean, pft, they’re psychics, so they’re not exactly human. But still! What kind of worthless scumbag have you got to be to turn against your own race?”

I glared as he swung the rifle around with each word.

“But you know the biggest kick in the ass? This demon said I knew one of them. Our very own Sammy Winchester.”

Dean snorted. “Oh, this is… this is an entire new level of moronic. Even for you.”

“Yeah?” Gordon got in our faces. “Come on, Dean. I know. About Sam’s visions. About Olive’s abilities. I know everything.”

“Really?” Dean laughed again. “Because a demon told you?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t lying.” I spat.

“Hey, look. I’m not some reckless yahoo, okay? I did my homework. Made damn sure both things were true. Look, you’ve got you Roadhouse connections, I’ve got mine. It’s how I found Sammy in the first place.” Gordon crossed back to the corner and sat down again. “About a month ago, I found another one of those freaks here in town. He could deep-fry a person just by touching them.”

“Yeah, did he kill anyone?” Dean taunted.

“Well, besides Mr. Tinkles the cat? No. But he was working up to it. They're all gonna be killers, Dean. We've got to take them all out. And that means Sammy too.” Gordon cocked the rifle.

“Do you really think Sam’s stupid enough to walk through that front door?”

“No.” Gordon chuckled. “I don’t. Especially since I’m sure you two found ways to warn him. Huh, you really think I’m that stupid?”

Dean and I both raised our eyebrows as we looked down. Gordon got up and began to pace.

“No. Sammy’s gonna scope the place first, see me covering the front door. So he’s gonna take the back. And when he does, he’ll hit the tripwire. Then…” He pulled a grenade from his bag. “Boom.”

“Sam’s not gonna fall for a fucking tripwire.”

“He’s not stupid.” I spat.

“Maybe you two are right. That’s why I’ll have a second one.”

There was a long pause. I shifted. If the gash in my knee didn’t kill me, Gordon most certainly would.

“Hey, look. I’m sorry, Dean. I wish I didn’t have to do this, I really do. But for what it’s worth, it’ll be quick. And after we’re done with Sam, we can let princess here run loose so that I can gun her down.”

***

“He’s gonna kill me, De.” I whimpered.

“No.” Dean shook his head. “No, I won’t let him.”

Gordon came back into the room and straddled a chair, a foot away from us.

“Come on, man. I know Sam, okay? Better than anyone. He’s got more of a conscience than I do. I mean, the guy feels guilty surfing the internet for porn. And Olive?” Dean scoffed. “I mean, look at her. She’s just a kid. Hell, she needs to be snuggled to sleep.”

“Maybe you’re right. But one day they’ll be monsters.”

“How?” I snapped. “I get me. But how’s someone like Sam become a monster?”

“Beats me.” Gordon shrugged. “But he will.”

“No! You don’t know that.” Dean sneered. “Neither of them will.”

“I’m surprised at you, Dean. Getting all emotional. I’d heard you were more of a professional than this. Look, let’s say you were cruising around in that car of yours and, uh, you had little Hitler riding shotgun, right? Back when he was just some goofy, crappy artist. But if you knew what he would become. You’d take him out. No questions. Right?”

“That’s not Sam, you asshat.” I snarled.

“Yes it is. You just can’t see it yet. It’s his destiny. Look, I’m sympathetic. He’s your brother, you love the guy. This has gotta hurt like hell for you two.” Gordon pulled out two shreds of fabric and stalked toward us. “But here’s the thing.”

He gagged Dean, then tied the second piece around my mouth. I held back a choke as my fangs immediately sunk into the fabric.

“It would wreck him, but your dad? If it really came down to it, he would’ve had the stones to do the right thing here. You’re telling me you’re not the man he is?”

***

The lock in the back door clicked, and I looked at Dean with wide eyes. My body was drained, and I had long since kicked into what Dean referred to as ‘monster mode’. My jaw was beginning to lock and I was on the verge of passing out, but knowing Sam was safe was my priority.

“You hear him?” Gordon asked.

There was the creak of the door, and Sam’s heavy footsteps were audible.

“Here he comes.” Gordon grinned.

Dean grunted, and I worked my jaw harder, teeth ripping at the scarf bit by bit. Sam took another step. I tore the scarf in two.

“Sam!”

I screamed too late, and there was an explosion in the back room. Dean screamed, and I roared, tears welling in my eyes. Gordon didn’t look our way.

“Hold on. Not yet. Just wait and see.” He spoke calmly.

“Sammy!” I shouted again, but the second grenade went off anyways.

Dean began to choke, tears falling down his cheeks. I let my head fall forward. Blood mixed with spit began to drop down onto my lap. I whimpered.

“Sorry, Dean.”

Gordon held his rifle up as he sauntered out of the room. Dean began to sob, and I closed my eyes. Gordon’s footsteps were heavier than Sam’s, and I could think of nothing more than ripping his spinal cord out with my teeth.

There was the cocking of a gun, and a soft step. “Drop the gun.”

Sam.

I shot up, eyes wide. I looked at Dean, but he was still crying. He couldn’t hear Sam.

“Sams!”

“You shouldn’t take your shoes off around here.” Gordon warned. “You might get tetanus.”

“Put it down now!” Sam ordered.

“You wouldn’t shoot me, would you, Sammy? Because your brother and sister, they think you’re some kind of saint.”

“Yeah? Well, I wouldn’t be so sure.” Sam hissed.

“See? That’s what I said.” Gordon whispered.

There was a grunt, followed by a series of punches. A wall crashed, and I knew by the thud that followed that Sam had just hit the ground. Dean struggled against his ropes, and I whimpered before tearing my own off. My wrists started to bleed right away, and I tumbled out of my seat.

Dean grunted, staring at me with wide eyes. I tried to get to my feet, but my leg gave out. Dean panted. I turned to sit and took a deep breath. I held my knee to my chest and breathed again. Dean watched, concerned. I paused before slamming my kneecap back into place. I let out a pained scream, and Dean’s face drained of color when I looked back up at him.

He squinted.

Are you okay?

I nodded as I got to my feet.

“Sam!” I called, shuffling through the rooms.

“Do it!” Gordon screamed.

Sam had him pinned, rifle against his forehead.

“Do it! Show your family the killer you really are, Sammy!”

I stumbled behind Sam and took the rifle from him. Gordon stared as a look of terror washed over his face. I wavered, and Sam grabbed my waist, holding me steady. I pulled the rifle back before slamming the butt of it into his head. He went out, cold.

“It’s Sam.” He spat.

I dropped the gun and began to fall backward. Sam caught me and pulled me into his chest.

“It’s alright.”

I looked up at him. He had cuts scattered all over his face. His cheekbone, the bridge of his nose, his lip. A bloody nose, messy hair, tired eyes. I let out a whimper and began to sob.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and cupped my cheeks. “It’s okay. Let’s go get Dean, yeah?”

We walked back to where Dean was tied up, feet dragging as we leaned against each other. Dean grunted at the sound of our footsteps. Sam clapped his shoulder as we stood behind him. I began to untie Dean’s gag as Sam knelt to untie his ropes. Dean shook his head and tore himself out of the last rope. He pulled Sam to stand and stared at him, hands on his shoulders. Sam nodded as he panted, grabbing Dean by the shoulders.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean hissed as he wheeled around and toward the door.

“Dean, no.”

“I let him live once. I’m not making the same mistake twice.” Dean growled.

“Trust me.” Sam sighed. “Gordon’s taken care of.” He leaned forward and grabbed Dean by the jacket, pulling him toward the door. “Come on.”

Sam and I stayed on his tail as we shuffled out of the cabin. We were greeted by Jinx, who had been tied to a tree nearby. She whined and started to paw at the ground. Dean untied her and took the leash off, tucking it into his pocket.

Jinx turned, and her tail stopped wagging. She let out a loud whine and started to run.

“What…”

There was a gunshot, and we turned to see Gordon with a gun in each hand. I tripped and fell, and Sam dragged me off the ground, hauling me over his shoulder.

“Come on!” Dean shouted, leading the way.

He jumped into a ditch, and Sam dumped me in. I hit the ground and rolled, groaning as I tried to untwist my knee.

“You call this taken care of?” Dean howled as Jinx and Sam ducked into the ditch with us.

“Sammy, what the hell are we doing?” I hissed as Gordon stalked closer, firing without end.

Dean pulled me into his side, making sure I was out of sight.

“Just trust me on this, alright?”

As if on cue, sirens blared, and the sounds of cops and their demands met our ears. I flinched and ducked further into Dean. Sam held Jinx as we stared at each other, eyes wide. We peeked up through the shadows to see Gordon dropping to his knees, glaring in our direction.

The boys grinned and I held back a giggle. I looked up at Sam, then Dean with a huge smile on my face. Sam leaned down.

“Anonymous tip.”

Dean shook his head with a smile. “You’re a fine, upstanding citizen, Sam.”

***

I frowned as Sam finished bandaging my leg. I huffed, and he ruffled my hair.

“All better, okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He held his hands out for me as I slid off the hood of the car. He glanced over, and I turned to see him staring at Dean, who was on the phone and fuming as he paced around. I sighed and turned back to Sam.

He smiled. “Come on, bug. You should get to sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

I yawned as he opened the passenger side door. “Fine.”

He slid in next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I snuggled into his side and yawned again.

***

“Hey, Ava, it’s Sam… Again. Um, call me when you get this. Just wanna make sure you got home okay. Alright. Bye.” Sam hung up the phone with a sigh.

“Everything alright, Sams?”

“Yeah. I hope so.” He huffed.

“Well, at least Gordon should be reaching for the soap for the next few years at least.” Dean grinned.

“Yeah.” Sam sighed again. “If they pin Scott Carey’s murder on him. And if he doesn’t bust out.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Well, if he does, I’m fucking wasting him.”

Dean looked over at Sam, then back at the road, licking his lips. “Dude, you ever take off like that again…”

“What? You’ll kill me?” Sam jested.

“That is so not funny.” Dean hissed.

Sam laughed and I rolled my eyes, leaning further into his side and letting my eyes fall shut.

“Alright. So where to next, then?”

“One word. Amsterdam.”

“Dean.” Sam scoffed.

“Come on, man. I hear the coffeeshops don't even serve coffee.”

“Oh, and they’ve got the van Gogh museum there!” I piped up.

“I’m not just gonna ditch the job.”

“Man, fuck the job.” I squeaked.

Dean blinked, taken aback. “I mean, she’s right. We don’t get paid, we don’t get thanked. The only thing we get’s bad luck.”

“Well, come on, dude. You’re a hunter. I mean, it’s what you were meant to do.”

“Ah, I wasn’t meant to do shit. I don’t believe in that destiny crap.”

Sam half smiled. “You mean you don’t believe in my destiny.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean huffed.

Sam sighed. “Look, Dean. I’ve tried running before. I mean, I ran all the way to California, and look what happened. We can’t run from this. And you can’t protect us.”

Dean looked back at us. “I can try.”

“Thanks for that.” Sam whispered.

My shoulders dropped and I shifted from Sam’s side to Dean’s, wrapping my arms around one of his.

“Look, Dean, I'm gonna keep hunting. I mean, whatever is coming, I'm taking it head-on, so if you really want to watch my back, then I guess you're gonna have to stick around.”

Dean rolled his eyes fondly. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam spat back.

They grinned at each other, and I smiled, letting my head fall against Dean’s shoulder. There was a long pause before Sam picked up his phone again.

“You calling that Ava girl again? You sweet on her or something?”

“She’s engaged, Dean.” Sam scoffed.

“So what? What’s the point of saving the world if you can’t get a little nookie once in a while, huh?” Dean teased.

Sam hung up, a scowl on his face. I frowned.

“Sams?”

“Just a feeling. How far is it to Peoria?”

***

Sam picked the lock and led the way. I swept my flashlight around as we stalked down the hall.

“Hello? Is anybody home?”

“Ava?”

Sam stopped in a doorway and I ran into him. Dean stepped on the back of my heels before scrambling backward.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sam?”

“Oh my god.” He whispered.

I snuck under his arm and gasped. A man was lying on the bed, face-up and drenched in blood. Dean pushed past Sam and ran his finger along a windowsill. He huffed and held his finger up.

“Hey.”

Sam turned.

“Sulfur. Demon’s been here.”

“What’s that?” I squinted, pointing to something shiny on the floor.

Sam knelt and picked it up. He sighed.

“Ava.”

Previous Ep: Croatoan (2.09)

Next Ep: Playthings (2.11)

taglist: @i67

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houseofzoey · 4 years

Text

Plot

The central conflict of this book relates to Zoey’s mother’s death and the mystery of Aurox. It’s stated multiple times that a powerful sacrifice would be needed to create a creature like him, and Linda was murdered not long before he first showed up at school. Therefore, Zoey and co. are pretty sure Neferet is behind Linda’s murder, but they need to find a way to prove it.

However, as is often the case with this series, very little time is actually spent working toward this goal, or even really discussing it. I mean, absolutely nothing is done about Aurox until the very end, and Zoey has a very easy way to figure out what he is. Her seer stone heats up every time she sees him, so, logically, she just needs to look through it to see what kind of old magick was used in creating him. But that would hugely advance a major plot point faster than the author wants, so of course it doesn’t happen.

Instead, we have a weird half-conflict with Zoey and Stark because Kalona invading Stark’s dreams is making him sleep deprived and grumpy, but this is ended unceremoniously and nothing actually comes of it. We have Stevie Rae and Rephaim regularly arguing about a) him longing to reconnect with his father, and b) her wanting him to stay with her when he turns into a bird. Again, nothing really comes of this. We have the Twins’ falling out, which comes out of nowhere, is way-overemphasized considering how little presence they’ve had in the last several books, and – oh yeah – accomplishes nothing.

There are other, scattered little conflicts, too, like Lenobia and Travis’ romance subplot that takes up far too much room in this book considering how little reason I have to care about it, or the rogue red fledglings showing up at school, or Rephaim and Dallas butting heads over Stevie Rae, etc.

Rather than all these different conflicts making the book feel complicated, or creating the impression that the characters are overwhelmed, all this does is distract from the one conflict that actually matters. Because nothing really comes out of these other conflicts, they essentially amount to padding and filler. It’s only there because the author wanted the book to be longer than 50 pages.

Day One: Chapter 2 – Chapter 12 (Thursday) I’m starting at chapter two because the prologue and chapter one were technically the day before, but aren’t super important to the timeline of the book, particularly as it pertains to the ritual at the end. Basically, in those chapters, we learn that Kalona is still influencing Stark through his dreams but Zoey doesn’t actually do anything about it, and we learn a little bit about what Aurox is and is capable of.

We start with ableism and too much dialogue before Zoey and co. load onto the minibus to head to school, there’s some conversation about grief between her and Damien, and then we start the school day. Zoey, Stevie Rae, Kramisha, Erik, Dragon, Lenobia, and Neferet have a Skype meeting with Duantia. This goes on far too long and basically confirms that, yes, they can treat the tunnels as a separate dorm from the Tulsa House of Night, but Neferet is still their High Priestess – except no, she’s not, at least not for red fledglings, because Stevie Rae is their High Priestess despite not actually running a school or having any valid reason to hold that level of power.

Scattered throughout is a chapter with Kalona and a chapter with Rephaim. Kalona is upset about Rephaim turning from him and orders some of the other Raven Mockers to go ask Rephaim to spy for him. Rephaim, meanwhile, is dealing with bullying and jealousy from Dallas. Damien is showing him around to classes, and they quickly decide that he should sit out his fourth hour fencing class because Dragon would not be happy to see him. While Rephaim is hanging out in a courtyard, his brothers show up.

Now, this is where the timeline gets screwy, because Zoey and Stevie Rae leave the Council Meeting at the beginning of second hour, but somehow they hear the fight that breaks out when Dragon sees Rephaim talking with Raven Mockers. There’s a confrontation, Neferet shows up with Aurox, who transforms and kills one of the Raven Mockers, and Stevie Rae uses her affinity to protect Rephaim without ever actually manipulating the earth because Wasted Potential is this series’ true name. They all argue ineffectually for a while about why Rephaim was speaking with Raven Mockers and what the hell Aurox is, including Zoey feeling her seer stone heat up but failing to even try to look through it.

We then get a single, tedious chapter from Erik’s perspective. He’s a Tracker. He Tracks and Marks Shaylin. She’s blind, but then she’s not because vampyrism. Also, she’s Marked red and that’s concerning. She confuses Erik by talking about auras. The end.

Back with Zoey in the stables, Lenobia reassures her that it’s totally fine to not look at Aurox through the seer stone because that makes her uncomfortable. Also, Stark being briefly possessed is definitely not worth worrying about. Then we meet Travis, the new human stablehand that Neferet has hired for Lenobia. There is much tittering about how hot he is, though the author very confusingly insists on comparing him to Sam Elliott. There is tension between him and Lenobia, but she decides to be courteous to him to thwart Neferet’s dastardly plan of creating mild confusion and irritation – sorry, I mean “chaos”.

Damien shows up to tell Zoey that her Grandma is there and looks like she’s been crying. We get confirmation that Zoey’s mom has been murdered. For some reason, the police assume it was drug addicts looking for quick money, despite the body being entirely drained of blood. After completely mistranslating a bunch of Cherokee words, they agree to perform a cleansing ritual at Grandma’s farm once she has completed her own seven days of mourning.

There’s a scene with Aurox and Zoey. He randomly has Kleenex because he is Heath and ~*symbolism*~. Zoey’s emotions stay with him, which is weird.

Zoey meets Shaylin, who reveals she can see auras in the most confusing way possible. Damien concludes this is probably True Sight, and almost immediately after their introduction, Neferet shows up. Shaylin pretends to faint. There’s some arguing, but because Shaylin is Marked red, she goes to the tunnels with Zoey and co. instead of staying at the school under Neferet’s sway. After Neferet leaves, Shaylin basically says her aura looks like pure evil.

(This is also about where we derail into an infuriating and unnecessary rant about the author’s – sorry, Aphrodite’s – right to say ableist slurs.)

We cut to Kalona. He learns that Rephaim is human now and Aurox killed one of his sons. He decides to seek out Rephaim in the interest of working against Neferet, their common enemy.

We cut to Rephaim. He and Stevie Rae argue because she wants him to stay with her when he turns into a bird, but he says being a raven makes him a dangerous beast. Sure. Right. Also, Stevie Rae tries to convince him to stop holding out hope for his father because he’s a bad parent.

Zoey and co. talk about True Sight. And then they argue about if they can still trust Rephaim after seeing him talking with Raven Mockers. Nothing comes of any of this. They all go to bed.

We have a pointless chapter with Lenobia and Travis.

We then cut to Aurox. He and Neferet go into the basement of Will Rogers High School in a needlessly complicated and drawn out scene. They find the rogue red fledglings and convince them to come back to the House of Night, largely because they’ll all die if they aren’t around adult vampyres – never mind that Dallas is an adult and there aren’t that many of them.

Day Two: Chapter 13 - Chapter 16 (Friday) Stark has a dream about Zoey dying. The narration makes it seem like it’s not from Nyx, but nothing comes of it, so… I have no clue what it was supposed to accomplish.

They arrive at the school. The bus full of rogue red fledglings is already there. Requisite but pointless drama. Then, as everyone is heading into the school, Rephaim pulls Zoey aside and tells her he can feel Kalona calling to him. They go meet with Kalona, talk for far too long to basically conclude that he wants a truce so he can help them defeat Neferet.

Zoey skips class because she’s stressed, then spends several pages recapping events to herself. She has another conversation with Aurox, which is interrupted by Stark. She tries to talk to Stark about Aurox, but then they’re interrupted by Thanatos, who tells them that she has a new class for special students that will take over her first hour slot, effectively saving Zoey from ever attending class with Neferet as her professor. Can’t have Zoey dealing with discomfort!

They eat lunch and talk about daddy issues. This is where we learn that, suddenly, Shaunee also has a tumultuous relationship with her father. We thus start the Twins’ conflict.

There’s a short and pointless scene with Lenobia in the stables.

Back at the tunnels, Kramisha reveals her new poem. They speculate about what it means for a while but ultimately come to no useful conclusions. They once again argue about if Rephaim can be trusted, which – again – leads to no meaningful changes or developments. Aphrodite makes a rude comment when Rephaim leaves to go turn into a bird, and Stevie Rae runs out of the room crying. Zoey goes to comfort her. Then Zoey goes to be and uses spirit to calm Stark’s dreams.

Kalona is watching Stark’s dream, which is cringey and pointless, but seems to be the last time Kalona ever uses this connection to Stark in this way.

Day Three: Chapter 17 (Saturday) Shaunee refuses to go shopping with Kramisha, Aphrodite, and Erin on the excuse that she is sick, which causes tension between her and Erin. Shaunee reflects on feeling neglected and abandoned by her father. Kalona shows up and they talk. Shaunee is sympathetic to his efforts to reconnect with Rephaim, so she gives him her cell phone.

We then cut to Shaunee telling the group about this. Tensions boil over between her and Erin. They officially have a falling out.

Day Four: Chapter 18 (Sunday) While Zoey and Aphrodite are sitting outside the depot chatting about recent events, Thanatos shows up. She waxes poetic about train stations for a needlessly long time. Then she announces that she’s buying the depot in their name (even though Duantia had already declared the High Council was going to do this), and then explains that she wants to uncover the truth about Neferet, which is further cemented when Zoey says she believes Neferet has taken the white bull as her Consort.

We have a scene where Aurox attempts to rape Becca and is only stopped by Dragon showing up. Dragon tells Becca to stop freaking out and walk away gracefully if she’s not interested. Aurox and Dragon talk, and Aurox says Zoey isn’t mean like Becca.

Day Five: Chapter 19 – Chapter 24 (Monday) Zoey and co. attend their first class with Thanatos. Nothing really happens except that Thanatos threatens bodily harm against Dallas, not because he’s a bigot, but because he’s a bigot in her classroom. Everyone writes down questions they would like to have answered and Zoey shows complete and utter disregard for her friends’ privacy by trying to peek at them.

After class, Dallas and Rephaim have a confrontation in the hallway. Or possibly the courtyard. The scene can’t make up its mind. Dragon breaks up the fight, but still doesn’t like Rephaim, so there’s a bunch of yelling and arguing about that. The chapter ends with Thanatos, Zoey, and Stark talking about their fear that Dragon might turn over to Darkness.

We have a chapter with Lenobia. She and Travis are still flirting and I still don’t care. They kiss, then she rejects him and runs away to cry in her room. I still don’t care.

Over with Neferet, she narrates about all the “chaos” she is causing and is very smug about it. Then she sees Zoey and Shaunee talking outside. She tries to call on Darkness to break a tree branch and kill Zoey, but Darkness – which killed Jack and Shekinah without additional sacrifice – refuses to kill Zoey because she’s a High Priestess and demands a powerful sacrifice. So Neferet asks Darkness to break the tree and bruise Zoey. Aurox rushing in to save her is written off as the white bull interceding for Reasons.

We get the same incident from Zoey’s perspective. Aurox gives off the same heat as the seer stone because… sure?

Zoey skips class again and runs into Thanatos, who asks her if she will talk about her mother’s death in front of an entire class of her peers. Thanatos also asks for Grandma’s phone number so she can talk to her about Linda’s death. Oh, and apparently Thanatos can see Darkness and Light, but has kept this a complete secret because apparently it won’t accomplish anything because the High Council is uselss. Also, Zoey is now being compared to Frodo.

On the bus home, everyone discusses whether or not the wind felt unnatural that day, and then Aphrodite has a vision. Too much time is spent discussing ordering pizza as a distraction. Finally, we get to Aphrodite in her room after the vision, which is followed by her rehashing the vision in a completely disjointed, poorly prioritized, and way too dragged out fashion. The conclusion is that Rephaim cannot attend the cleansing ritual at Grandma’s farm or he’ll die. Naturally, Stevie Rae and Rephaim show up to say that no, actually, Rephaim will still be attending that ritual, because logic and survival is for chumps.

Neferet and the bull spy on Kalona and conclude that his attachment to Rephaim is a big weakness.

Stevie Rae and Rephaim discuss the same BS about Kalona again, but also argue about him attending the ritual. They conclude that he is, in fact, still going to the ritual, and also Stevie Rae says she will stop pestering him about how his dad is evil and he should stop trying to repair their relationship.

We get the scene Neferet witnessed, but from Kalona’s perspective. He realizes Neferet is watching him. Concerned for Rephaim, he flies to the depot, where he sees Rephaim transform into a bird and gets mad at Nyx for still punishing Rephaim despite supposedly forgiving him.

Day Six: Chapter 25 - Chapter 29 (Tuesday) Zoey talks to the special class about her mom’s death, which includes digressions into Islamophobia and gay stereotypes. Then Thanatos announces – in front of the entire class, including Aurox – that Zoey and co. will be helping her perform a ritual to reveal who killed Zoey’s mother at her Grandma’s farm and that they leave right after class. Naturally, Aurox goes and tells Neferet, who tells him to follow them and interfere so that the ritual can’t be completed (but not to kill a High Priestess, because we can’t have actual threats or tension for the main character). Dragon also finds out what they’re doing because he sees everyone heading in the same direction despite having different classes, and also because Thanatos cannot understand the concept of “don’t tell Dragon because he might be the one who murders Rephaim.”

We spend a very long time on exposition and set up for the ritual, including heavy emphasis on how important it is that it be performed on the fifth night – which is unfortunate, since this is canonically the sixth night in the timeline. There’s also some serious research failure regarding Grandma’s dress, and for some reason Grandma is representing spirit in this ritual despite not having an affinity for it. Everything in the ritual is going fine until – shock horror – Aurox shows up! Because Thanatos announced their plans in front of him. Darkness has forced him to take on his bull form, he charges Rephaim, but Dragon shows up and defends Rephaim, completely countering literally everything that was built up about his motivations and regrets thus far.

They complete the ritual, witness Linda’s death, but can’t close the circle because Thanatos left out one very small detail: The ritual needs a death sacrifice to be ended. ‘Cause, you know, that’s not an incredibly sinister or disturbing thing to avoid telling a bunch of kids until the last minute.

But this story is built on convenience and contrivance, so Dragon is killed by Aurox, ending the ritual while allowing our main characters to survive and keep a clean conscience. Zoey finally looks at Aurox through the seer stone, realizes he’s Heath, and uses earth (sorry, a “green glow”) to prevent Darius and Stark from killing him. Aurox runs off. Everyone sees Dragon’s spirit reunite with Anastasia. Yay, happiness.

But Rephaim is badly injured. Kalona, who Stevie Rae had called on her cell phone during the climax, has shown up and is distraught that Rephaim is dying. So he cries and tells Rephaim he loves him, asking Nyx to spare him. One or all of these things – it’s not clear – heal Rephaim.

Thanatos declares she is the new High Priestess of Tulsa, ‘cause I guess she can do that and doesn’t, like, have responsibilities she needs to get back to in Italy. For unknown reasons, Kalona swears a Warrior’s Oath to her and says he will be the school’s new Sword Master.

#final thoughts #destined #house of zoey

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skiasurveys · 4 years

Text

435

your name:

Skia

do you like to shoot pool?:

are you any good?:

Idk

what is the scariest movie you ever saw?:

Cars 2

the funniest?:

Uhhhh

the saddest?:

Hope floats

do you daydream?:

Yes unfortunately

do you dream at night?:

Yes vividly

do you remember them? Care to share?:

Too weird

when you’re sick, do you like to be pampered, or left alone?:

pampered ngl

who’s the better actor, jack nicholson or anthony hopkins?:

Both

are you superstitious?:

No that shit dumb lmaooo

how many pictures are in your wallet?:

Zero

do you like getting pictures taken?:

Yeah I do but not without my approval or where someone wants to make me look ugly hahaha

if someone cries while watching a sad movie..do you laugh at them?:

No that’s rude lol

how often do you change your sheets?:

Pretty often once a month

is you bedroom upstairs or down?:

I’m in an apartment so same level

is it true blood is thicker than water?:

if you could wish someone out of your life ..who would it be?:

No one

if you could be with anyone in the world..famous or not..who would it be?:

No one

are you high maintenance?:

no. i don’t think so at least

if you could change one thing in the world..what would it be:

How others view others

if you could star in any movie..which would it be?:

Something like lord of the rings or a fun Disney one

deliveryman at your door..who’s the package from?:

amazon

if you could completely change who you are..would you?:

yeah i guess like maybe change the shitty parts of me like how i am super sensitive or how i am too kind to people who use me

if you could live in a fairytale..which would it be?:

uhhhh idk lmao

if you could live in the past..where would it be?:

i don’t know like maybe the 80s would be different and cool

if you could see only one person right now..who would it be?:

i’m okay

do you wear shoes in the house?:

no only if i’m about to leave or i come home and forget to take my shoes off right away

do you dream in color or black and white?:

color.

what is your favorite accent?:

i don’t think any tbh i used to be one of those annoying bitches who thought the british accent was hot but it’s really not lol no offense to british people 😂

do you like sunsets or sunrises?:

sunsets are pretty but sunrises are just so much more prettier imo

what age did you find out santa wasn’t real?:

never believed

do you write poetry/songs/stories?:

used too when i was younger. not my thing tbh i suck. sometimes i’ll try free form or something but nothing good enough to share hahaha

do you wear socks with sandals?:

fuuuuck no!

would you marry for money?:

no because money is nice but it can come and go and if i married someone i didn’t like then that would suck and also i need to be with someone i enjoy hhaha

do you have any “in the mood” music you like to listen to?:

would you vote for a woman president?:

no bc one i’m not american but i also wouldn’t just vote for a woman because she’s a woman but if she had good shit then sure

Are looks/appearances really important?:

No but nothings wrong with wanting someone you find attractive

what are you most looking forward to?:

maybe when everything is kinda back to normal

if someone lied to you and came clean is that forgivable?:

depends on the lie

if you had to repeat a day over and over again..what day would you pick?:

oct 3 2015

When you die, do you want to be cremated or buried?

buried i think

Did/do you like high school?

I didn’t hate it but it wasn’t the best time of my life

Do you like to play video games?

yup!

Do you like Final Fantasy? Which one do you prefer of all?

i haven’t really played them

Have you ever caught on fire?

no lol

Do you have a YouTube channel?

yes haha

Do you ever go to video game arcades?

i would if we had them here

Do you care what people think of you?

yeah i do lol

Have you ever had a crush on a teacher?

once in gr 7 lol so nasty i think he knew too lmaooo

Do you like Lady Gaga?

yeah sure

Don’t you hate when your foot falls asleep?

yeah i hate the feeling lol

Do you think you have been in love before?

yeah i am

Do you write poetry?

not really sometimes i do but never good hahah

Do you like Edgar Allan Poe?

l doooo

Have you ever met anyone famous? If so, who?

nah

Have you ever gotten hit on by some creeper?

yeah

Do you watch LifeTime?

Do you bless random people when they sneeze?

Do you have a short temper?

yeah

Do you like Sarah Dessen?

who

Do you want to have children? If so, how many?

i’m not sure tbh i don’t know if i do but if i were to have kids i would probably want 2 for sure bc when it comes to trips and stuff it’s way easier to plan for 4 people than 4, and also they have a buddy

Have you ever had a yard sale?

nah

Do you go to Barnes and Noble for books, the library or someplace else?

we don’t have that here we have indigo books and chapters (same thing lol)

Do you have an iPad?

i doooo shes my baby 🥺 tbh it’s the best tech i have ever owned for some reason it’s like 4 years old so i need a new one cus i can tell shes at her wits end

Are you scared to die?

scared of how

Do you go to church every Sunday?

Have you ever called one of those Hot Line numbers?

Do you think you draw well?

yeah but i could be better!

Have you ever wanted to be a meteorologist?

nah

yessss

Do you like Taylor Swift?

#surveys #god the person i tool this from was annoying

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years

Text

Title: If Only For Now

Author: @alyssaleandra (ifloveistheanswer on ao3)

For: @kokikomachi

Rating/Warnings: G, no warnings

Prompt: “Nagito with the Despair Disease & Hajime actually understanding him"

Author’s notes: The events of Komaeda contracting Liar Disease are taken with a little bit of liberty. Please enjoy!

Tsumiki peering apologetically at people isn’t anything new, but the way she’s looking at Hinata right now, pupils darting side-to-side like maintaining contact for too long will burn her alive, certainly adds a layer of anxiety to an already unpleasant situation. “I-I’m sorry, even if Monokuma tells us it’s ‘Liar’s Disease,’ I have no idea how to treat something like that…”

Treatment is far from Hinata’s mind as he sets to work re-contextualizing everything Komaeda was saying before he’d collapsed and been rushed to the hospital. A lying disease? That would explain why he was going on earlier about absurd things like Kuzuryuu being dead. In fact, that was probably his way of trying to convey what was happening to him, despite the disease specifically blocking him from saying what he really wanted to say. Weird disease, Hinata thinks, but it’d almost be weirder if Monokuma had inflicted a normal disease onto everyone. Doing things that are normal and NOT horrible or inconvenient? Psh. That’s not his style.

He wonders, is this Monokuma’s way of making investigation difficult? As annoying as Komaeda can be, he’s usually several steps ahead of the rest, and though he draws out conflicts like he savors them, it’s not uncommon for him to be a key player in resolving them as well. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d sort of catalyzed the beginning of the killings, even if just through a failed attempt to get himself murdered, Hinata might think that Komaeda wasn’t as antagonistic as he appeared.

Dammit, I don’t have time for this, Hinata grouses to himself. He’s already spent far too many nights running in mental circles, trying to figure out how he feels about Komaeda’s role in everything. For now, he glances at the boy resting under thin, white sheets, and shoves fidgeting hands into his pockets. Regardless of mixed feelings, it’s disconcerting to see Komaeda so utterly drained of vitality. His skin is so pale it’s practically blue, and yet he’s plagued by a raging fever that coats him in a full body sweat. And though he’s so weak that Hinata had to carry him to the hospital to begin with, Komaeda tosses and whimpers restlessly in his sleep. It seems even rest is no reprieve from this disease.

Hinata can’t help but worry. He reaches out and touches Komaeda’s forehead again as he did earlier—tentative, measuring. It’s still dangerously hot, although the strained tension in Komaeda’s face muscles relax as he leans into Hinata’s touch. Hinata allows himself to linger a few seconds longer than originally intended in hopes of imparting some kind of relief from the misery.

“Isn’t there something more we can give to him, at least for the fever?”

“I-I already tried that,” Tsumiki says, almost terse—at least as terse as Tsumiki can get while still maintaining her default state of distress and contrition. She seems somewhat affronted that Hinata’s questioning her procedures. “Nothing’s working, s-so I think all we can do for now is keep him resting.”

Hinata falls into another contemplative silence that’s soon shattered by a loud crash from Mioda’s room. Tsumiki bolts to her feet, her Ultimate Nurse talents probably urging her to attend to the ominous noise. “I’ll leave you t-two alone for a while! Call me if anything urgent happens!” She leaves with a level of speed and grace that Hinata didn’t know she was capable of.

And at the sound of the door clicking shut behind Tsumiki, Komaeda begins to stir and flutter his heavy eyelids open. What luck. Hinata finds himself straightening his posture as if he needs to be at the ready for something more than just a barely-lucid sick boy.

“Komaeda? How are you feeling?”

Komaeda’s eyes swim with an unfocused slurry of emotions. “Wonderful! Much better!”

“Really? That’s gr—! Oh wait.” Right. Liar’s Disease. “Sorry, I forgot for a second. So… that bad, huh?” He winces at his own stupidity. Maybe he’s already caught a disease of his own. Stupid Disease. As if I need to catch a disease for that.

“Not bad at all,” Komaeda utters, struggling to prop himself up on his elbows. Large beads of sweat form on his face for all his effort. “I’m feeling really relaxed about this whole situation.”

A few more sweat beads trickle and trace faint lines down to his chin. He seems frustrated with his inability to sit up, so Hinata reaches out to support him by the lower back. The boy once again leans into the touch, physically expressing the gratitude that his words cannot reflect. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’ve got you,” Hinata replies with a wry smile, trying to reconcile this meek, fragile Komaeda with the laughing, calculating menace that usually tries to turn every class trial into a circus show. He supposes even the untouchable Komaeda Nagito is a human capable of wanting normal human comforts once in a while. “Do you want me to call Tsumiki in so she can—“

“Yes. I can’t stand being alone with you,” Komaeda says emphatically, his eyes managing to focus for the first time since he’s woken up. He balls up fistfuls of the sheets like he’s embarrassed to admit it, but he pushes on. “I hate seeing you.”

And Hinata knows what’s meant by those words, at least in the most clinical sense of comprehending that they are words that Komaeda spoke that are intended to have the opposite effect of their stated meaning. As far as connecting the message between Komaeda and himself, that’s an ongoing process. Why would he say that? Why now? It seems like such an out-of-character thing for Komaeda to freely admit, Hinata’s first reflex is to assume he’s being wheedled into a plot of some kind. But what would Komaeda really gain from trying to earn Hinata’s trust this late in the game?

He stands up, having half a mind to let this just be Tsumiki’s problem while he checks in with Kuzuryuu. But then he sees a look of terror cross the sick boy’s face, and he belatedly senses the note of desperation in all of Komaeda’s words. Komaeda is scared. Perhaps thinking about the possibility of even dying in this hospital. After all, Tsumiki looked grim about the prognosis when they’d first carted him in…

Hinata distantly registers what an odd thing that is for Komaeda to be so afraid of. Death. Wasn’t that what Komaeda wanted to begin with? Hasn’t he repeatedly invited everyone to kill him? Only if it’s for hope, he thinks bitterly, supplying the answer that Komaeda would probably offer if only his mind wasn’t being razed by illness. But is that really all it is? Or is Komaeda as grievously mortal as anyone, so scared of his teetering health that he’d blurt such buried, sincere words without an ulterior motive?

“Do you… really want me to stay that badly?” Hinata finally asks.

Komaeda outstretches a hand tethered by an IV drip and gently, gently grabs Hinata by the bottom of his shirt. He lifts his heavy white lashes looks up with what can only be described as raw, unfiltered vulnerability. The face of someone who can’t let his real feelings go unspoken, not like this. Hinata’s a little shaken by the realization. Feelings are such tenuous things, he’s learned during his time on this island, yet Komaeda seems so sure of this.

“Please… get out of here.” Don’t go. “You’re being a nuisance.” I need you.

And against better judgment, Hinata yields.

Komaeda is brutal and confusing and dangerous, and somehow at the same time so warm and enticing and comfortable. The blossoming feelings he once had for the luckster (before the killing game changed everything) still carry vestiges of life within them and flourish anew at this unexpected development. He’s a little frustrated with himself about it (Why should I care about a guy like this? Why should I fret over him just because he told me he likes me? Why do I care so much?) but fighting with himself is always a losing battle. Instead, just this once, he lets himself win by perching on Komaeda’s bedside and wrapping a secure arm around Komaeda’s trembling frame, and if he’s every bit as comforted by the action as Komaeda seems to be, no one’s around to judge him for it.

“I’m not gonna go anywhere,” he murmurs softly for only Komaeda to hear, and for now, he means it. “I’ll stay here with you.”

#komahina #fanfiction #komahina secret exchange

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v-writes-stories · 5 years

Text

Fabian Part 4

Fabian had barely whispered the words before the door swung open.

In stepped a man, looking to be around the same age as Fabian. As soon as he’d crossed the threshold, the inn was filled with the overwhelming stench of the seawater. His sandy blond hair hung in tangled ringlets around his face. He glanced around briefly, his eyes scanning the crowd, before locking eyes on Fabian.

Harrison fell quiet for a moment, copper eyes wide- then lifted his tankard towards the stranger.

“Jackard Kriopti!” He called jovially, a wide, lopsided smile spreading over his face, “What a surprise!”

Immediately the man’s stormy expression broke into a boyish grin, his eyes lighting up as he crossed the room to Harrison. The half-demon climbed down from the table, pulling Jackard into an unrestrained embrace.

“Harry! I missed you! I see you’re still up to your shenanigans?”

“Shenanigans?” Harrison chuckled, kissing both of the man’s cheeks, “Never.”

“Sure, old friend.” Jackard said, grin widening. He shook his head, pulling away from Harrison.

The newcomer walked toward the bar, his gaze trained again on Fabian. He felt himself shrink under its scrutiny.

“You’re new.” He said, vaulting himself easily over the bar to pour himself a tankard of ale.

“I started working here a few weeks ago.” The smell of seawater was stronger now, and Fabian could taste the salt in the air. He tried his best to not wrinkle his nose at it.

“You’re one of Harrison’s…?” Jackard gulped the ale, his eyes flicking down Fabian’s figure as he sized him up.

Fabian wasn’t sure what he meant, but he definitely didn’t like the tone of his voice.

“I just wash dishes.” Fabian bit back.

“Ahh. I thought- nevermind. Welcome to the team, then.” He held a hand out for him to shake. Fabian hesitated before taking it.

“Uh, thanks.”

Much to his dismay, Jackard slid into the seat next to him. He contemplated heading into the kitchen, with the excuse that he needed to help Rynnth with cooking. He had a feeling Jackard would either not buy it or follow him- so he settled on staying put and downed his ale.

As the night wore on, Harrison grew bored with telling stories and sidled his way over to the two men, who drank their ale in silence. He fell into them, losing his balance in his intoxicated state. His hands thudded on their backs as he caught himself, though he played it off like he’d meant it.

“My two favorite gentlemen,” He grinned, leaning on them, “I hope you’re getting along?”

“Swimmingly.” Jackard smiled back at the taller man.

Fabian couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“Excellent! Excellent! Surely you’ll be staying a while, Jack?”

“Of course, Harry.”

Fabian choked at the response, trying to duck out of the way as Jackard wrapped his arm around him.

Just great, he complained inwardly, pulling himself out from under the blond’s arm. His nostrils burned and eyes watered from the salt that seemed to envelope the man.

He was not the least bit fond of Jackard.

Opting to join Rynnth in the kitchen, he stalked away from them as they continued to catch up. The troll-woman was standing over a large pot of bubbling liquid, the smell of spices and garlic wafting into the air as she stirred.

“Ya escaping the drunks too?” She teased, wiping her hands on her apron as she turned to face him.

Fabian grinned at her guiltily. Rynnth had a bad habit of seeing right through people, and he was no exception. Unlike the much more delicate Harrison, Rynnth always spoke her mind- and Fabian found her refreshing.

“Couldn’t stand the smell anymore.”

Rynnth snorted, dropping various root vegetables unceremoniously into the pot.

“Yeah, don’t blame ya. Can only take so much of that fishbrain. Throw Idler in there too, and ya got a recipe for disaster.” She sighed, handing Fabian a knife and some potatoes, “Cut these up before we have ta go break up a brawl.”

Fabian set to work, washing the dishes from yet another one of Harrison’s nightly parties. He’d been getting worse since Jackard showed up- before, the nights had ended in calm contemplation, with Harrison asking unanswerable questions. Now every night, without fail, ended in a large bar fight that Rynnth and Fabian had to clean up after. It was exhausting.

Oddly enough, since Jackard had shown up, the inn was making money. Customers showed up during the day to eat before the nighttime chaos. The same men showed up at night as always, and stayed often until morning. Fabian found it a strange that no new faces turned up- and that not a single one of them paid. If Rynnth had found it unusual too, she didn’t say anything. He’d brought it up a few times just to be met with a shrug.

Slowly, the breakfast crowd started filing in, and Fabian got plates ready. Jackard and Harrison walked down the stairs together, deep in conversation, and Fabian felt a twinge of annoyance. They never seemed to separate.

“Be nice.” Rynnth warned, her eyebrow cocked as she handed him their usual fare- sausages and egg for Harrison, and smoked herring for Jackard.

Fabian slid the plates over to the two men.

Harrison glanced up at him, smiling brilliantly.

“Fabian! Good morning! This looks lovely.”

“I helped this morning.” He wiped his hands on his apron- a habit he’d picked up from Rynnth.

“I didn’t know you cooked.” Jackard commented around a mouthful of food.

“Rynnth’s been teaching me.”

“After she’s done with you, Fabian,” Harrison gestures to the stairs, “Come up to my study. I could use you for a bit.”

Fabian wiped down the bar long after breakfast had ended. His mind began to wander for the upteenth time that day, trying to solve the odd occurrences that plagued the bar every night. Why did the same people always show up? Not one of them was in a bad mood- in fact, they’d always seemed elated to be there. Elated to see Harrison.

His eyebrows knit together as he scrubbed the already clean counter.

“You know,” Fabian jumped at Jackard’s voice- he hadn’t noticed him standing there.

“You could just ask him.”

“Ask him what?” For a moment, Fabian thought perhaps Jackard could read minds.

“Ask him what’s going on. You were mumbling, friend. I could hear you.”

“It’s none of my business.” He responded in a clipped tone.

“Isn’t it?” The man leaned on the counter, “Don’t you want to know what he does to them?”

Fabian froze.

“What?” He spat, glaring up at the blond man, who smirked as he took the bait.

“How he controls them. You’re curious, aren’t you? About Harrison?”

Controls them? He controls them? He felt sick. Harrison wouldn’t do something like that. Doubt weighed on his mind, and he was unable to shake the possibility. If he was controlling them, was he controlling him too?

His hands trembled. Everything has been too easy- he’d walked in and been given a room, a job, was fed and clothed. It would make sense if Harrison had been up to something- but mind control?

When he looked back up, Jackard was gone. He threw down the rag- and feeling too anxious to do much else, he made his way to the study.

Harrison was sitting there at his desk, his hand laced in his salt and pepper hair. His round-rimmed glasses had slipped down his nose. His tie loosened haphazardly, and his usually pristine shirt was wrinkled. A glass of whiskey rested beside his hand. Fabian had never seen him so disheveled.

He did everything he could to keep his lithe body from shaking. He thought maybe he should turn back, to bring it up another time- but then Harrison looked up.

“Ah, Fabian- there you are.”

Before he could stop himself, the words poured out-his fear getting the best of him.

“Harrison, why do those people show up every night?”

Harrison paused, tense before going back to writing.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re the same men. And they-“

“Did Jackard say something?” His eyebrows raised, he kept his gaze focused on his parchment.

Fabian knew he was asking something he wasn’t meant to.

Harrison was hiding something.

“Do you… pay them?”

“No.”

“So they’re... your thrall?”

Fabian flinched as Harrison snapped the pen in his hand, ink splattering over the paper, coating his fingers.

“They’re friends.” The words were laced with venom, and Fabian knew he’d touched a nerve.

When he didn’t answer, Harrison flicked his copper gaze up to stare him down.

“You’re judging me.” He said in an accusatory tone, wiping his ink-stained hand on a handkerchief.

“Why force them?”

“I don’t force them,” he snapped, “I just...compel them to enjoy my company.”

“That’s the same thing!” Fabian argued.

“It isn’t! I don’t force them to do my bidding! I don’t control them!” As his voice raised to a roar, Fabian felt himself shrink back. He’d never seen Harrison angry.

The taller man took a deep breath, trying to compose himself.

“Tell me, Fabian,” he said quietly, “What did you feel when you met me?”

“Harrison-“ he said quietly, reluctant, knowing the truth would sting.

“Tell me.”

“I-“ The words stuck in his throat and he swallowed thickly.

“I’ll tell you what it was.” Harrison sighed, “Repulsion. Disgust. And above all- fear. Your skin crawled, you were terrified, and you wanted to get away as quickly as possible.”

Fabian stayed silent. He wished he could say it wasn’t true- but there was no sense in lying.

“It’s what everyone- everyone- feels. I terrify people. Its what demons do.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and hoarse.

“I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Fabian stared in shock as Harrison dropped the carefree image he always upheld. His shoulders sagging, his knuckles white as he gripped his whiskey glass.

“Did you...” His words trailed off. Fabian knew it wasn’t what Harrison needed- he looked so broken standing there. Taking in a deep breath, he knew had to ask before he lost his nerve, the words difficult to form.

“Did you compel me?”

Fabian could see the taller man’s back visibly tense, and almost missed the way his fingers shook. He immediately wanted to take the words back, seeing how much they hurt.

“I can’t.” Harrison ground out, “I can only compel humans.”

Fabian’s face paled, and he suddenly felt dizzy. He knew? How long had he known? He hadn’t told anyone of his unusual awakening. Had he always sensed it? Had he told anyone else?

“I didn’t know- that you-“ he stumbled over the words, feeling foolish.

“Does Rynnth...?”

“Of course she does. We don’t take in human employees. If you remember, you showed up in rotting clothing, and told us you came from the Haunted Woods. No human comes from there- they’re called the Haunted Woods for a reason. Every human that enters, dies.”

Fabian’s cheeks heated as embarrassment washed over him.

“And, “ he continued, “You were dazed. Walking like an animated corpse- it was alarming. If it was not for Ingrid sending you to us, you could have ended up in trouble.”

Ingrid? He wracked his brain for a few moments.

Of course.

“The shopkeeper?”

“She’s a Mirégroth. Communicated through telepathy. Pretty decent at subtly convincing people of things- like she did to get you to walk into her doorway.”

Fabian just stared at him while he poured more whiskey.

“She’s a lovely person, I assure you.” He handed the glass to Fabian, “She let me know to wait for you in the alley.”

Fabian was dumbstruck, and his jaw hung open as he searched for words.

“Come now, Fabian,” Harrison laughed, “Surely you didn’t think this was a coincidence? We just took you in without knowing anything about you?”

“I feel stupid.” Fabian mumbled, downing the whiskey in one gulp.

“I adore you,” he chuckled, slinging his arm around his shoulders, “But you aren’t all that bright.”

“Do you know what I am?” He asked incredulously, ignoring Harrison’s comment on his intelligence.

“No, unfortunately, but I can narrow it down, if you answer my questions.”

He pulled away from the shorter man, smoothing his shirt and adjusting his tie.

“Another time, Fabian, I’ll help you. Now, if you don’t mind,” The warmth was gone from his voice as he continued, “I have some business to attend to.”

Fabian had a bad feeling about this.

“Harrison!” He called, following the taller man down the steps frantically, “Harrison, calm down, please!”

“I am calm.” His voice was too smooth, emotionless- and Fabian knew the anger that was behind it. It radiated off of him- a terrifying, quiet fury rippling in waves.

“Idler.” Rynnth warned, her eyes boring into him from behind the bar, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Harrison didn’t respond, grabbing the bucket they used to mop, and slammed the door behind him as he left.

The inn was silent for a moment, before everyone went about their business. A few men played a dice game with Jackard, placing wagers- and others drank heavily at the bar. Fabian however, sat at a table, alone- staring blankly into his tankard.

He felt terrible for how things went down in the office. Harrison had been nothing but kind to him. He knew deep down that Harrison hadn’t been controlling him, but once the thought had invaded his mind, he couldn’t stop the doubt.

He’d let himself fear Harrison, and he’d hurt him. In hindsight, he knew he could have approached it in a different way- he wasn’t sure what came over him. Fabian resolved to apologize as soon as he saw him again.

It was well past midnight when the inn door swung open.

Harrison lugged in the bucket he’d brought with him, sloshing liquid on the ground. His pants were soaked from the knee down, and dripped as he made his way through the inn.

Rynnth glared at him and shook her head.

“Might want ya get outta the way, Fabian.” She grunted, gesturing for him to come back behind the bar. “This could get ugly.”

He darted behind the counter, his eyes locked on Harrison.

“What did you tell him, Jackard?” His voice still had that chilly composure to it.

Jackard leaned against his chair, laughing darkly.

“What’re you talking about, Harry?”

“I said,” he barked, his molten eyes flashing as his anger flared, “What did you tell Fabian?”

Jackard laughed again, locking eyes with Harrison.

“Nothing other than the truth-”

“You,” Harrison snarled, “Have been away from the ocean for too long, you fish-brained asshole.”

He swung the bucket over Jackard’s head, dumping its contents on him- soaking him head-to-toe in saltwater. Bits of seaweed trailed limply down the man’s sandy curls, and flopping to the floor.

Just then, deep red gashes appeared up on Jackard’s neck, the skin fluttering open as he gasped.

Gills.

Fabian didn’t have time to process it before Jackard’s fist connected with Harrison’s jaw, knocking the taller man clean off his feet. He fell onto the floor with a splash, glaring at Jackard.

Then, something seemed to shift.

Jackard’s eyes shimmered brighter, the cerulean intensifying. His skin seemed more vibrant, and his face relaxed from it’s typical haughty expression.

“Oh,” he said softly, as if in a daze, “Harry- I- I didn’t mean it, I’m sor-”

Harrison held up a hand, cutting him off.

“Don’t.”

He stood, shook his arms of excess water, and stormed off up the stairs.

“Well, it’s over.” Rynnth sighed “Shit that we gotta clean all that water up, though.”

“What the hell just happened?” Fabian couldn’t take his eyes off of Jackard, who sat smiling softly at the table, humming to himself. He had completely changed personalities, Fabian didn’t even recognize him.

“Kriopti is a Mer species,” She shrugged, “What ya seeing? That’s his usual self. Day-dreamy scatterbrain. Turns inta an a piece of shit when he dries out. Happens every time he visits.”

“And Harrison?”

“Ehh he’ll be fine. Always is.”

She seemed unconcerned, but it didn’t sit well with Fabian. Harrison had seemed so vulnerable earlier, so unsteady and unsure. He felt he owed it to him to at least check and make sure he was alright.

#fabian novel #harrison idler #Rynnth #Jackard Kriopti #Fabian #monster #monster boyfriend #exophilia

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thorsstorms · 5 years

Text

Abroad Pt. 7

Summary: Being the Hemsworth Kids’ Nanny, you were vowed to keep it strictly professional for their sake, but do the stolen glances go unnoticed between you both?

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: little anxiety. smut, oral (f recieving) +18!!

A/N: The California wildfires were so so devastating and scary. You can google for more videos of people trying to escape the fires and it serious makes my heart race watching it. Miley and Liam losing their home breaks my heart, the interview she did afterwards, she tried to stay calm and upbeat but you could tell underneath it freaks her out.

Masterlist

You sat waiting on the bleachers at your brothers college baseball game, waiting on the call. Your parents were tucked down in front of you in their stadium chairs. You watched patiently as the sun sunk lower in the sky. You could see your brother pull his sunglasses off his hat and shield his eyes out in center field.

The clock read 8:40PM. It’s almost 7 PM, his time, and he still hadn’t texted at least. Impatience grew quietly and your leg started to bounce anxiously. Staring at the clock on your phone, tapping it every now and then to keep it alive.

He had been texting you briefly this morning telling you that they were all getting freaked out as the wildfires grew closer, they were packing their things and keeping it all in the garage incase they needed a quick out. You told him to be careful and don’t take any chances, but of course he blows it off with a smile saying not to worry.

Cheering ripped you out of your gaze. You looked up just in time to see a ball bounce off the left field fence and your brother rounding second. You gazed out as he settled at third, wondering how they were already at the top of another inning. You watched as he looked towards you, tipping his helmet in acknowledgement, he knew you weren’t watching. Great.

8:45PM. You walked down the stands after Ty and two others came home, most likely sealing their win. You pressed the facetime button and waited. Facetime unavailable? You clicked the call button and it went straight to voicemail. Okay his phone is dead, they were probably out all day getting things situated. One of the kids probably drained it. You continued making excuses for him. After all, you did have a tendency to worry about what always turns out to be not a problem. You pushed down the uneasy feeling, ready to ride out the rest of this game.

“Did he answer?” Your dad asked as you settled behind him again. Of course he knew everything. It was a superpower of his, or any father really.

“No, I’ll try again later, I don’t wanna miss the game,” you turned your phone on full volume and set it down next to you. But not without sending Miley a text asking what was going on.

9:37PM. You were back home and just cancelled on your ice cream date with your closest cousin. This feeling wasn’t shaking and it almost made you physically sick.

“He hasn’t called, Ty. And she hasn’t even read the text!” Ty, still in his uniform, just got home and was standing in the doorway to the guest room while you were sat on the bed with a death grip on the phone.

“Im sure they are OK, you said it yourself this morning that they were keeping any eye on it,” though he tried, his words were not soothing. He stood awkwardly in the doorway and you sat silently on the bed. There was nothing you could do about it. You didn’t have Liam’s number, and who’s to say that he would answer either?

“Let’s just look at the news, they’ve been covering the fires LIVE for weeks now.” You followed him to the living room where he turned on CNN. They had another phone video from a family inside the car trying to evacuate. Flames and debris were scattering across the road and you could hear the panic in their voices as they drove through it.

“Ty, I don’t want to watch this,” you mumbled, but not making an effort to look away. You read the story headline at the bottom of the screen referencing Malibu homes being helpless. Another mumbled ‘oh my god’ escaped your lips as you stared with panicked features at the television screen.

Suddenly, you had a lightbulb moment, there was one more number you could try. Gen! She was in the city, safe from the fires, and you knew that for sure. Immediately after clicking her name, she answered on the first ring.

“Gen! What is going on!”

“Can you get ahold of Chris?”

“Can you send me Liam’s number? I don’t have it.”

“(Y/N) I don’t know he hasn’t responded all day. I didnt even think about calling Liam,” she scolded herself over the phone. You yapped at her to quickly send it to you. As soon as the contact came through you were calling.

No answer. You shook your head to yourself, staring at the call log.

“Ty, something is wrong. When my flight lands tomorrow, I’m going to be stranded at the airport because not one of them grabbed a damn phone charger! Their house is probably burning up right now, if it isn’t yet, it’s about to be.” You knew you sounded crazy. You probably looked crazy too.

“(Y/N) chill out, he is a grown ass man and hopefully smart enough to leave when he should. Or better yet, they are probably out at a bar drinking a damn beer, perfectly fine.” You rolled your eyes at your father. You knew sure as hell they couldn’t go to a bar, but your father didn’t have to think about those things.

You went to bed that night with little to no sleep. Forever staring silently at your phone sitting still on the bed side table for most of the night, ready to answer it within a second if it rang. It didn’t.

8AM. Your flight didn’t leave until 1PM and you were ready to leave the house at 8AM. The conflict you had between wanting to rush back versus spend as much of these last few hours with your family almost tore you in half. Regardless, you knew you weren’t leaving till 1PM.

9AM. You were seated at the breakfast bar in your grandmother's house. The entire family came for a breakfast to tell you goodbye with no idea how long it would be till you came back. You shoved around a single, half eaten pancake, hardly able to rack up an appetite. You tried their phones again this morning. Nothing. You sat numbly, sending small smiles and ‘I’ll miss you too’’s around to everyone.

11AM. Even though it was early for your small airport, you sat anxiously in the correct terminal. The people surrounding you were boarding a flight before yours. Even some netflix wasn’t able to catch your attention as you watched the clocks and randomly tried one of their phone numbers again. Gen was going to meet you at the baggage claim when you landed. You at least had the knowledge to call her for backup so you weren’t stranded. You could figure this out and locate them together. One could only hope that Chris remembered what time your flight landed.

12:35PM. You sat in your assigned seat after boarding the flight. Without making an effort to pull out headphones and get comfortable, you stared at the lock screen while the flight attendants went through the safety motions in the isle. It was a picture that Miley sent you the day after you left. She snuck a picture of Chris laying between your legs, his arms wrapped around your waist, using you as his pillow. You were both passed out on her couch. When you asked her why, she just sent a shrugging emoji saying it was ‘too cute’. You smiled slightly at the photo. She was right, it is cute.

1:30PM was when you landed in LAX. The time change saving you a few. Taking your phone off airplane mode, the notifications could not come in fast enough. That’s because there weren’t any. A text from your mother saying don’t wait so long to come back, and to let them know how things play out. But honestly, if someone could let you know how things were going to play out, that would be great. You pulled your back pack over your shoulders and speed walked through the crowd to the baggage claim. Your eyes scanned the crowds for Gen, looking for her against everyone else but didn’t spy her anywhere. You turned towards the carousel keeping an eye out for your bag, all while double checking your call log and text messages. Still nothing.

After a couple minutes, your bag finally started to come around towards you. You glanced one more time around you for Gen but came up empty. You sighed and started to walk closer to your bag. Just as you were stepping closer, a hand reached it and grabbed the handle, hauling it off the belt.

“Hey, that one’s mine,” your heart sank, confrontation is the worst thing in the world, but the second you saw who was grabbing it, your breath was taken away. Chris’s eyes were full of humor, he had to know it scared you that your bag would be taken.

“Oh my god!” You lunged your arms over his shoulders, knocking his hat off in the process. His familiarity flooded your sense and you felt yourself let go of so much weight that had been lingering around. “Your phone. You are here,” you mumbled incoherently into his shoulder as you tried to swallow tears of relief that pricked at the back of your eyes. You felt his grip tighten and your feet hitch off the ground.

“I’m here, I know! I’m sorry,” feeling him shaking from laughing. You could feel your body warm in his embrace against the cold airport air. Squeezing around his shoulders reminding you he was actually here, no more waiting and worrying. Your feet hit the ground when you pulled back reluctantly, keeping your fingers locked behind his neck, grounding your senses.

“Don’t laugh! I was so worried,” a stray tear escaped and he quickly wiped it away and pulled your face to his. Rightfully so, you missed him so much, and you let him know. He kissed you rushed, putting his apology into it. Your hands rested down his chest, against his shirt as he pulled away too soon.

“I knew you would be.” He spoke quietly, scanning your eyes, making sure you were okay. A small smile was all he needed. He pulled you in again for a quick kiss before picking up his hat and throwing it back on. You giggled out an apology while he put it on. He grabbed the handle of the suitcase and your hand in his. He quickly scanned his surroundings, you too, but everyone seemed to be minding their own business. It seemed a little too good to be true but you didn’t dwell on it. You both quickly walked towards the doors to the parking lot while you fired a million questions that he had trouble keeping up with.

You got your answers, sure enough, as he drove. You didn’t know where you were going, but he seemed like he did. Having the energy to ask where you both were headed escaped your mind as you thought about Miley and Liam losing their house and all their belongings. Sadness filled your heart for her, a tornado took your home when you were younger as well, but you were maybe 8 years old, and were able to rebuild and find some belongings around the area. You pulled into a driveway of a mid sized home, that you came to figure was your place to stay till you leave town. You caught Liams truck in the driveway. Chris parked the car and gave your hand a squeeze.

“It will all turn out,” he said while you both opened the doors.

Inside you were attacked by the kids, giving each of them a squeeze. You hugged them close, missing them just as much as their father.

“You can’t leave for that long ever again,” India whispered into your ear. “Papa missed you too much.”

You whispered right back before letting her go, “I’ll try my best.” She pulled away shyly and walked across the room to a couch where she was seated on a tablet before you came in. You scanned the room and spotted Miley sitting at a dining room table ignoring everyone else in the house. She sat still with her back to you with a phone pressed to her ear.

Chris shut the door loudly behind you making you jump a bit in your spot. He pressed a kiss to your temple and walked past you, disappearing into a hallway, suitcase and backpack pulling along with him.

At the door closing, she finally turned around and saw you. You walked over the boys at your feet and met her in the dining room, crushing her in a hug. After talking for a while, you got the gist that she was able to figure things out. She laughed about going to the store to buy a new phone charger for everyone, somehow finding humor in all the missed calls and texts from you to her. You glanced at the table she was sitting at and spotted, along with hers, one other phone plugged in charging as well. She caught you eyeing them on the table.

“Guess chargers weren’t that important to us,” she laughed awkwardly.

“I’m just happy everyone is okay.” It was the truth. She was still shaken, you can see that visually. It probably hasn’t manifested fully yet. After chatting a bit more and seeing Liam out on the back patio on hold with his insurance, you followed after Chris, finding him after he disappeared in the hallway. The master of the house was cute, and perfect for you both. Your suitcase was half empty on the bed as he was hanging up a shirt in the closet, next to his unpacked suitcase.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, watching him from the doorway.

“We are going to be here for two weeks (Y/N), I want to,” okay, can’t argue with that. The bed looked so inviting after a sleepless and anxiety filled night. You climbed and laid across it, resting your head on your folded hands, sighing.

“I need a nap,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. Chris abandoned his station in the closet and crossed the room. The bed dipped beside you and he pulled you closer, pushing his arm under your head. His other hand ran across your back, he kissed your forehead lightly.

“You are so nice,” you giggled quietly. “Nice to cuddle.”

“Nice huh?” You didn’t open your eyes, but you could hear the smile in his voice. The 10 seconds of quiet you received came to a halt when you both heard one of the boys scream for him across the house. Peaking one eye open, not wanting to move, you saw Chris throw a hand over his face in annoyance. You watched his face closely as he rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling fan.

“Papa!” Tristan yelled again. You rolled your eyes at his laziness and started to pull off the bed.

“I’ll go see what he wants, make him stop yelling.” Chris didn’t make a move to stop you, but his head followed you around the bed and watched you out the door, disappear around the hallway corner.

After about 30 minutes, you figured out the tv and put on a movie for the kids, sitting with them until the calm down. They sat silently while you were in the kitchen with miley, and when you returned to the living room, they were all three asleep. Guess they didn’t get much sleep last night either. You whispered to Miley that they were all asleep in there and that you were going to try to take a nap as well. A suggestive wink and wave of her hands was all you needed to round to corner and head back to the bed.

When you walked back in the room, Chris was breathing evenly and laying still on the bed. You quietly shut the door behind you and took off your shoes, next to where Chris kicked his off. He looked so inviting to cuddle up to but you were trying so hard not to wake him up. The throw on the end of the bed looked soft and was going to have to do because he was laying on top of all the covers. You returned to your spot and slid between his arms. He adjusted slightly, pushing you closer with a hand on your back. A lazy and quick kiss pressed to your forehead was brief and he was out like a light again, probably didn’t fully wake up in the first place. You nestled quietly and felt a weight lift off your shoulders. It was a relief to be back in his arms, all is as right as it can be.

11PM. You woke up cold, as always. Except it was dark out and there was no reason for him to leave you hanging. Its startled you slightly when you could tell the sun was down from the closed blinds on the window. You searched your pockets for your phone. You felt like it was a trick being played on you when you saw that it was past 11PM. You stilled and tried to listen beyond the bedroom door for any sign of life but it was dead quiet. You slid off the bed and flipped on the light, digging through drawers for pajamas, turning up with leggings and a baseball t-shirt of your brothers.

You creaked open the bedroom door and still didn’t hear anything. The house was still, the upstairs lights turned on, the kids were probably asleep up there. You continued till you saw movement out the back windows. Peering through the back door you spotted the three sitting on the patio furniture. Just talking, it seemed. You watched as Liam sat back and slid a hand down his face, probably stressing out. A habit they both have in common, you learned. You pushed the door open and all eyes turned to you.

“Hey, did we wake you up?” Chris asked, craning his neck around the back of his seat. You shook your head and made your way towards him.

“I woke up because I was cold. You always disappear,” you hughed, messing up his hair with your fingers. The other two let out a low ‘ooooo’ and he turned back to them to flip them off.

“Even when I am around your always still cold,” he complained. Just on time and breeze caught you and you shivered slightly. It wasn’t even the slightest bit chilly, he was right.

“My point!” he pointed up at you laughing, the other two joining in.

“Yea, yea. I’m going back to bed.” They all three followed you in after you told them what time it was. Miley and Liam trudged up the stairs while Chris followed you to the room.

11:20PM. You were snuggled into the covers while he turned the lights off, the lamp on, and the fan on, smirking at you. He started to strip his clothes down to his boxers, and you got to smirk while watching him. He crawled in next to you, and boy was he a sight to look at. You could stare all day. You missed him enough that you did so, shamelessly, though he wasn’t allowed to say anything because he does the same thing.

An arm slid underneath you, he pulled you to him and laid his head on your chest like you were a pillow. Fingers automatically finding themselves at the nape of his neck, and the other resting on his arm. You sighed as goosebumps covered your arms because they were now above the warmth of the blanket. Your fingers rubbed down his spine and and pressed against his muscles and he hummed in appreciation. Of course, now you were wide awake after sleeping so long. You waited patiently until you thought his breathing evened out, to stop moving your hands. He shrugged his shoulders like a needy child when your movements stilled.

“I was so worried Chris,” you whispered.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He lifted his head and found your lips in the moon lit darkness and placed a chaste kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You could see his eyes and feel his body still against yours.

“You, what?” He lowered his head pressing a kiss to your jaw lightly flowing lower to your neck.

“I love you,” you said slowly, feeling foreign coming out of your mouth. His lips left your neck, cold in his absence. Though he wasn’t gone for long, a slow and hard kiss pressed against your lips, eyes falling closed to the darkened room. He kissed you slowly, drawing his tongue in and showing his love for you endlessly. It was sweet, slow, and sensual in its own way. His stubble ran across your skin, leaving a tickle in its wake that you loved so much. When he pulled away, he kissed across your neck, leaving you to catch your breath. One hand was gripped softly behind your neck, giving himself more room while the other squeezed harder around your waist. He took his sweet time feeling you out, sliding your annoying in-the-way shirt off and paying attention to your chest that was rising and falling under his touch. You gasped as he payed attention to your nipples that grew hard quickly against the cold air and his fingertips.

“Say it again,” he demanded across your skin. Trying to grasp yourself to reality from his assault, you murmured ‘I love you’.

His hands flooded to your leggings and easily slid them under you and down your legs. Goosebumps rose across your skin and he ran his hands up your legs, finding home on your waist against underwear that hadn’t come off.

“Just take them off,” you told him breathlessly. You expected to see him fight off a smirk against your eager tone but there was no reaction except for lust flooding his features. As soon as they slipped past your ankles his hands where under your knees, carving a spot for him. He laid open mouth kisses down the inside of your thighs, making you humm in frustration.

“Love, do you even know how long you made me hold out?” He squeezed the back of your thighs playfully. “Let me enjoy this.” He settled himself lower against the bed and you could feel your heels rest against his back, your legs over his shoulders as he traced around where you wanted him most. You were almost shaking with anticipation, feeling his hot breath over you.

You licked a hot strip up your center, flicking your clit with his tongue. Your hips shuttered under his fingertips. You forcefully closed your mouth in attempt to silence yourself as he licked around your clit and held your hips down from moving. His hands eventually found yours and pulled one away from covering your mouth, intertwining his fingers with yours. His tongue dipped around and circled your entrance, and you gasped at the new feeling. He pulled up and bit playfully on the inside of your thigh.

“Let me hear you,” his voice broke your trance. Your own hands ghosted his as he ran his up your abdomen, his fingertips feeling hot over your skin, while sinking back down towards your heat, assaulting you with his tongue. He was treating you so good, adding fingers, one after another, stretching you for him. You came quickly on his tongue, not really giving you a choice, complying.

“Are you, enjoying it yet?” you asked breathlessly as he kissed up your abdomen. He grazed his teeth over your nipple, pulling a shocked noise from you.

“I am,” he said quickly, sucking a love bite at the base of your neck, giving you a moment to breathe normally again.

“I love you,” you said again, it spilling out as if against your will. Chris pulled off the bed and disappeared into the closet, emerging again with a foil pack in his fingers. You watched him with a small smile on your face, not missing his outline in the black boxers he was wearing. He looked at you as he crossed the room, on a sex high with your hair spread across the sheets and a love drunk smile. He was the lucky one here.

“I hope you don’t always move that slow,” you teased as he took his time padding across the room.

“That’s all up to you, beautiful,” he crawled up next to you pulled you close, kissing you deeply, lighting another fire inside you, though it never seemed to dim. You were the lucky one here.

Taglist: @keithseabrook27 @odinson-barnes @jonsnowisthesexiestbastard

@weekendswithnewtmas @innerpaperexpertcloud @toomanyflowerboys @thefashioncomplex @basmaraafat

A/N: Going to try and get the next chapter up before April 26th! we need a little promo tour in this. What happens when the reader meets Evans? lmao.

#chris hemsworth x reader #chris hemsworth #chris hemsworth smut #chris hemsworth fluff #chris hemsworth x you

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isitgintimeyet · 5 years

Text

Letting Go

AO3

Thank you all for reading.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge - she’s a great beta.

Thanks also to @happytoobservenolongerdistant

Chapter 4: Walk On By

If you see me walking down the street And I start to cry each time we meet Walk on by, walk on by

Burt Bacharach/ Hal David

Claire sipped her coffee and looked contentedly around the living room. She couldn't quite believe she had moved in only ten days ago. It felt like she had lived here for ages. Having furniture from the house probably helped, she reasoned, although she wasn’t sure what would happen when Lamb returned there in two years time. Would he expect the furniture to be returned? And would he expect her to be ‘returned’ too? Now that she had finally made the move, she doubted she would ever return to live there.

She had definitely fallen lucky with this flat… and with her neighbours. Mrs. Crook was as sweet and kind as Anna and Mary had said. Ten days in and Claire had already been the recipient of an apple turnover, a steak and kidney pie and half a dozen scones.

And, even in this short time, she had grown fond of Anna and Mary. Anna worked in marketing at the King’s Theatre whilst Mary was an accountant in the local tax office. They seemed very different; Anna was very outgoing and vivacious with a wide circle of friends, always heading out to parties or social functions whilst Mary was quieter and more reserved. And yet, they lived together very amicably -- their characters complementing each other’s.

Then last night, Claire had finally met John, who worked as a book editor for a publishing house. Their exchange had been brief. Claire was just coming in the front door after a long day at the hospital, whilst John was on his way out for some evening's entertainment, elegantly dressed and smelling divine. He kissed her warmly on both cheeks before continuing out of the door, calling assurances that they would indeed meet very soon for a ‘proper welcome to the building’.

Claire glanced at her watch and, suddenly realising the time, rushed into her kitchen, pulled a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge and made her way across the landing to Mary and Anna’s flat.

The door to their flat was already ajar. Claire knocked and walked in. Mary and Anna were sitting in the living room, full wine glasses in hand.

“Hi, Claire. You want a drink before we go out?” Mary made to stand up.

Claire motioned her to sit. “Yes, great. Don’t get up, I’ll get it myself. And I’ll pop this one in your fridge.”

From the kitchen, Claire heard the front door open again, followed by John’s voice greeting the girls.

“Mary... lovely, my dear. Anna… as glamorous as ever. I hope you don’t mind if an old friend joins us for dinner, do you? I hadn’t seen him since uni, twelve years ago and we reconnected at a reunion-type thing this week.”

Claire took a sip from her glass as she wandered back into the living room.

“So, this is Jamie…”

The thump of Claire’s wine glass as it hit the carpet interrupted John’s introductions. She immediately bent down to retrieve it before rushing to the kitchen for a cloth. Her cheeks burning, she leant against a countertop and stood still for a minute, trying to calm her breathing.

From her initial glance, he hadn’t changed that much in eight years. His hair was shorter. No longer touching his shoulders, it was barely long enough to curl. His shoulders were a bit broader too, clad in one of those flannel checked shirts he was always so fond of. She hadn’t dared to focus on his face… or his left hand.

She could hear John’s introductions continuing. And then he spoke. That soft Highland burr seemingly unaltered by the years in America. He spoke a low tone, too low for Claire to hear, his utterances drawing laughter from Anna and Mary.

“I’ll just see if Claire needs a hand.” Mary’s voice rose above the laughter, causing Claire to abruptly grab a dishcloth and hurry back into the living room.

“I’m so sorry, Mary, Anna. The glass just slipped from my hand… must be my hand cream… not rubbed in properly…” Claire’s nervous rambling finally ground to a halt.

“Don’t worry, this carpet’s seen far worse than a drop of wine.” Mary took the cloth and dabbed at the small patch of damp next to her. “You just sit down Claire.”

Claire perched on the edge of the sofa obediently.

“And here we have the newest inmate in our building… Claire Beauchamp… Jamie Fraser.” John was determined to finish. “Claire’s another damn Sasse…”

“Hello.” Claire broke into John’s introductions, finally glancing up at Jamie.

With a curt ‘hi’, Jamie nodded his head in response.

“So, Jamie, you joining us for dinner, then? We’ve got a table at the ‘Star of India’. You like Indian food?” Anna turned her full attention to Jamie.

“Aye, I’ll be happy tae join ye if ye dinna mind. Indian’s one of ma favourites.”

******

Nine years ago

“Ye ken, Sassenach, when ye said ye were takin’ me out fer a meal, I dinna imagine this… er… place.”

“Oh, what did you imagine?”

“Och, I dinna ken… somewhere with wee flowers, candles, soft music, tablecloths and a glass or two of wine. No’ these bench tables, beer from the bottle…”

“I love the food here. It’s my favourite. What are you going to order?”

“Chicken Korma, or do they do an omelette?”

“Jamie, do you not like Indian food?”

“Honesty, is it? I canna say I do.”

“Let me order for you. I’m sure you’ll love it. But if you don’t like it I promise we don’t have to come here again. I’ll get my curry fix when you’re not around.”

“Is that a threat there, Sassenach? Because, let me tell ye, I plan tae always be around, ye ken.”

******

“Are we all ready to go then?” John looked around the room. “I’m sure the restaurant won’t mind another one joining our party. Might just have to squeeze together a bit more but I’m sure that’s not a problem, eh, Jamie?”

Anna and Mary led the way out of the flat, followed by Claire, with John and Jamie bringing up the rear. Jamie’s eyes drifted to the brown curls three steps below him.

Once he had got over the initial shock of seeing her, a neighbour of his friend no less, he tried to study her appearance through surreptitious half glances whilst maintaining his air of indifference. Not that it was an act. He knew himself to be indifferent to her. The past eight years had proved that.

At first sight, she seemed pretty much the same. From the introductions, it was clear that she wasn’t married. Her curls were as untamed as ever; perhaps she had lost a bit of weight. But the way her hands fluttered around her face in agitation hadn't changed. Neither, apparently, had her obsession with hand cream.

******

Nine years ago

“Come to bed, Sassenach. I want that round arse of yers here next tae me right now.”

“In a second. Just finishing.”

“How many times do ye have tae put that cream on yer hands?”

“But they get so dry with constant washing and using the hand sanitiser all day. I have to keep putting it on. You don’t want my hands all rough, do you?”

“Och, no, Sassenach. When ye put yer soft hands there… oh… like that… and hold me… aye… and stroke… oh god… yer touch…”

******

Downstairs, the door to Mrs. Crook’s flat was slightly open.

“Mrs. Crook...” Anna peered around the door. “Hello, Mrs. Crook, are you ok? Your door’s open.”

“Come in dear. I must have forgotten tae close it.”

Mary turned to Claire and Anna. “That’s not like her. Mind if we just check?”

As they stepped into the hallway of Mrs. Crook’s flat, it quickly became apparent that things weren’t right. The small Persian rug on the floor lay crumpled and askew. The side table had obviously been knocked, the Royal Doulton figurine laying on its side. They made their way into the living room to find Mrs. Crook sitting with one leg propped up on a stool. There was a cut just below the old woman’s hairline, the blood still fresh on her skin.

“Oh, Mrs. Crook, what happened?” Mary rushed to her side.

“Och, Dinna fash. I jes’ tripped up in the hall and banged ma head on the table. I’m fine, dinna bother about me.”

Claire’s professional instincts took over. “Can I see?”

Gently she touched the raised leg, her hands moving instinctively over the limb, pressing and prodding, looking for signs of pain or discomfort on Mrs. Crook’s face. Once satisfied, Claire sat back. “I think you’re very fortunate. You’ve only sprained your knee. We can put an ice pack on that to help with the swelling. I’m more concerned about the knock on your head. Do you feel sick, or sleepy?”

“Nae more than usual.”

“I think we need to take you to A&E, get you checked out there.”

“Oh, no, Dinna fash. I am no’ goin’ tae the hospital. I’ll be fine here. I can see ye’re all on yer way out. Dinna let me stop ye. Go, have fun.”

Claire looked sternly at the old woman. “No, I’m not leaving you here. You may have a concussion. If you won’t go to the hospital, then you’re going to have to put up with me staying to keep an eye on you.”

Mrs. Crook opened her mouth to protest, but Claire halted any protestation. “I’m not actually asking you, I’m telling you. That’s my plan. I’m going to go and get my medical bag and we’re going to spend the evening together watching the telly and drinking tea. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Once outside in the main entrance hall, Claire explained the situation to John. Jamie stood next to Anna, listening.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” John said sympathetically. “Are you sure you couldn’t maybe join us later?”

“No best not. But you all go and have a good night.”

Claire stood and watched as, laughing and joking together, the four of them headed out into the street.

******

Nine years ago

“So, have ye always wanted tae be a doctor, then?”

“Yes, ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to heal people, make people better. I think maybe it’s because… no, sorry…”

“What were ye goin’ tae say?”

“Er… maybe it’s because my parents died when I was a small child. Maybe I want to try to protect families from having to go through that. I don’t really know. I only know it’s always been my big dream.”

“I ken ye’ll be a grand doctor. I can tell. Ye’re a true healer.”

********

With Mrs.Crook comfortably settled, an ice pack on her knee and the cut on her head cleaned and washed, Claire sat down for an evening of watching television. As the opening credits for ‘X Factor’ appeared on the screen, she finally let her mind begin to wander over the evening’s events.

Like an unaccustomed hole in a tooth that the tongue is repeatedly drawn towards, even with the knowledge of pain to follow, so Claire’s mind kept being drawn towards Jamie, analysing every aspect of his sudden and very unexpected debut.

His physical appearance (still as muscular as ever, perhaps even more so, ageing well); his voice (no trace of the past eight years in his accent); his attire (still the same casual clothing, but worn so well. No wedding ring but then he never would wear any jewellery anyway so…); his demeanour (open and friendly… except to her).

And then, Claire realised, came the pain -- We have met. Now we are strangers, worse than strangers for we may never become acquainted.

NOTE: The last line is a direct quote from ‘Persuasion’ by Jane Austen.

#outlander fan fiction #outlander fanfic #Letting Go #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #chapter 4

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liquormixintellect-blog · 5 years

Text

Dusk til Dawn

Pairing: Harry x Reader

FRAT! HARRY HERE TO GIVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU EVER NEEDED AND MORE. I’ve been really excited about starting this and I’m going to try to have chapter 2 up by Sunday if this is well received!!! Also I added a teensy weensy bit of smut! Enjooooy <3 I would love feedback

Chapter 1

You knew you were that bitch. There wasn’t a more simple way to put it. You were confident in your inner as well as physical beauty, and you knew that’s what people found most intriguing about you. The way you could command attention whenever you pleased but you managed to obtain humility in the process. There was a lot of guys and girls willing to challenge that.

As your junior year of college was in full swing, parties became a daily occurrence. With the fraternities and sororities at the forefront of those events.

So when you walked into your 9am that morning, you weren’t surprised to hear that’s what the entire class was discussing. You tiptoed through the crowded rows of seats, normally you would arrive a tad bit early to avoid maneuvering through people but that extra ten minutes of sleep did something to amazing to your soul. Your best friend was gnawing on the base of her mechanical pencil the moment you sat down. You weren’t the type to necessarily have a friend that was closer to you than every one else but Denver was different. She was really easy to speak to and always always had your best interest. You two had been put in the same dorm freshman year and when you found out she had the exact same major as you, it only further sealed the deal.

“So, are you going to the party tonight?” Denver wasn’t making eye contact. Instead she was facing straight forward as if she was listening to the instructor to avoid being called out for talking. You took the moment to actually evaluate your best friend.

Denver was adopted. For a long time she struggled with her physical self due to attempting to conform to european beauty standards, but you took pride in helping her truly love herself and her culture. How could she hate something so unique and original?

She had extremely thick and long black hair that she kept tied into a high ponytail. Only a few stray pieces were kept out to adorn her face. Her skin reminded you of cocoa with just a few tablespoons of milk mixed in to create a dewy brown. She was beautiful. And you may or may not have had a intimate experience sophomore year when a thunderstorm cut off all of electricity on campus, but that was a different story for a different day.

“I don’t think so D! I feel like I’ve grown out of them. Aren’t they all the same at this point?” You were speaking while simultaneously jotting down notes. Unbeknownst to you, a certain curly haired frat boy was behind you eaves dropping.

“Oh no lovie. This one is going to be different.” You and Denver turn around to meet a pair of emerald eyes under arched brows.

“Lovie? Harry you’ve been throwing the same lame ass parties year after year.” Denver muffles her chuckle at your comeback.

“Then why do you make an appearance year after year?” You rolled your eyes and adjusted yourself to where you were facing forward again.

He was right. You did make an appearance frequently but what else were you supposed to do when everyone who was worth spending time with was at these said events? And where else would you find people to hook up with? And what if you were looking for a certain somebody to hook up with?

The rest of the class period was spent in silence, and you were kind of grateful for it. You actually enjoyed your major and everything about it only further intrigued her.

“All right. We’ve got an exam coming up at the end of next week so please stay on top of your notes and online assignments. You all are dismissed.” It didn’t even take a second for the sound of backpacks zipping to overwhelm the room.

Denver is right behind you as you make a beeline for the door.

“Ms. Y/L/N? May I speak to you for a moment?” Your professor hasn’t looked up from his desk as he speaks to you. Denver gives you a sympathetic look.

“I’ll wait for you in the hallway girl.” You nod.

Harry brushes past you intentionally nudging your shoulder.

“Oooh! Someone’s in trouble!” He throws his head back to laugh.

You didn’t know if you wanted to suck his dick or kick his ass in that moment.

Your standing in front of your professor awaiting his response.

“I’m so pleased with your work this semester young lady! You’re on track to make the highest overall grade I’ve ever given. If you’re able to keep that up, I’d love to get you into a summer internship program that could possibly guarantee you a job after graduation. How does that sound?”

You can feel each beat your heart makes.

thump thump. thump thump.

Fuck! Was this actually happening? Was all of your hard work paying off?

“Oh my god! YES! You have no idea how much this means to me professor peterson.” You’re so eager to relay the news to Denver that you take off before saying goodbye, only to make a quick ball change and jog back in to bid farewell.

As you catch back up to Denver, your brain is moving far quicker and your mouth can’t quite keep up.

“ohmygoddenverhesaidimbasicallyageniusandhesgonnagetmeajobandohmygoodnessthisiseverythingiveeverwantedandmore!” Your chest is rising and falling at a quick pace. Denver is uncontrollably giggling.

“That’s great babe! I’m so excited for you.” She pulls you into a tight hug. Denver then wraps her left arm around your shoulder while utilizing her right hand to create a nonexistent rainbow.

“Everything is up from here Y/N. I feel it in my hooha.”

You both break out in an uncontrollable laughter and you take her arm in yours hooking at the elbow.

“How I’d love to see the two of you like that. With no clothes. In my room.”

The speed at which the both of your heads whip around must’ve surpassed a world record.

Your met with harry and his best friend Benji.

“Ew. Did your cis gendered ass just sexualize a relationship that, by the way, is completely platonic between two women to fit whatever sick fucking fantasy is in your head!?” Denver growls in disgust.

Freshman year of college introduced you and Denver to a new way of woman’s empowerment and you haven’t been the same since.

“Don’t mind Benji, he thinks with his dick too much. Will we be seeing you two tonight?” You both exchange looks before simultaneously giving a stern no.

You both whip back around and continue walking.

Harry puts on a quick jog to catch up.

“Seriously!? I would love to see you both there, we all know you’re the life of the party.” Harry’s grin makes a slight curve revealing both of his dimples along with his adorable bunny teeth. His eyes are gleaming today and his eyelashes delicately flutter everytime he blinks.

Oh god. Were you daydreaming about Harry?

“Okay fine, we’ll go.” You huff a bit before shifting your attention to Denver who looks nothing short of annoyed.

“Great! I’ll see you both there, and cheer up Denver. You never know what can happen on a night of fun!” He gives you both a quick wink before he confidently strolls away.

“Y/N! Did you seriously just fall victim to the patriarchy? We’re better than this. Did you see the way Benji undressed us with his eyes?” Denver’s shaking her head.

“It’ll be fun girl. We can get dressed really sexy and do eachother’s makeup!”

Well. Denver would be doing majority of the work, you weren’t particularly skilled in the beauty department besides a basic everyday look.

*****

“Quit blinking Y/N!” Denver’s got her hands wrapped around your head at this point.

“You want me to stop blinking yet you’re about to poke my eye out?” Denver finished applying a touch of white eyeliner to your bottom lash line to give you a more awake and vibrant look. Your anxiety is causing your knees to bounce up and down. Were you really this nervous for a guy?

“Girl what are you so jittery for?” Denver cackles. You hadn’t been completely honest with your best friend but how could you be when you weren’t completely honest to yourself? Maybe. Just maybe you were excited to see harry tonight.

“Oh, nothing. It’s a habit. Should we get dressed now?” Your weak attempt at changing the subject doesn’t go unnoticed to Denver.

You quickly shoot up from her vanity and head to her closet. You two always shared clothes especially when it was time to make an appearance. Denver was usually the type to spend the extra dime on her apparel as well so you knew she was stocked with goodies. You settle on a navy and floral slip dress that leaves little to the imagination.

Accentuating your chest with a single pearl pendant.

You decide to dress it down with a pair of white trainers.

Your gazing at yourself in the floor length mirror before shifting your attention Denver. Who decided to take a different route with a utility style skirt that just brushed past her bum as well as a sheer white button up blouse with a bralette peaking through.

You did say you knew you were that bitch, it’s only right your best friend is as well.

Fluffing your hair one last time until it settles in it’s natural state, you grab your wristlet and head out with Denver.

****

The bass of the music is vibrating the floors, so much that you almost mistook it for an earthquake. There’s so many things happening at once that you’re not quite sure where to focus your energy.

A group of guys on one half of the large frat house are playing a serious game of beer pong with profanities strung left and right. A group of what you presume are freshman girls are huddled watching those same boys secretly hoping to be chosen.

You take a mental sigh. Your thoughts are interrupted by Denver rapidly back handing your upper arm.

You look at her face and follow her eyesight. Your eyes meet Harry who’s sat next to a gentleman you’ve never seen before. His hair is perfect styled with one single strand dropped to dangle just in front of his eye.

“Y/N, who the fuck is that!” Your giggling at Denver’s forwardness. Before you know it, she’s grabbed your arm and drags you over to Harry and his new friend.

“Hey Harry. Who’s your friend?” She was straight the point, wasn’t she?

“I admire your confidence.”

Okay. So new guy was a bit more confident than we anticipated.

“I have a few other things you could admire.” She takes a slow wet lick across her bottom lip before tucking her it into her mouth.

“Okaaay.. Let’s not do this right here.” You could cut their sexual tension with a knife.

New guy stands up before properly adjusting his clothing. He extends his hand towards Denver.

“Zayn.”

“Denver.”

Denver was bold.

They’re staring intently.

“Did you want to grab a drink?” Zayn then tops Denver’s boldness by tucking a loose strand behind her ear to get a better view of her beauty.

“I’d like that.” You just know she’s losing her shit inside.

Denver gives you a wink which makes Zayn take a breathy laugh before escorting her to the kitchen.

You shift your weight to the opposite leg and adjusts your posture.

“I knew she’d like him.” Harry takes a sip out of his red solo cup.

“So you planned this?” Your left eyebrow is raised, slightly amused by his effort.

“How else was I going to get you alone tonight?” He takes a step closer to you, his cologne of choice invades your senses. Making you feel a million things at once.

“Harry....” before you can continue, the entire house erupts in cheers. Harry puts his hand on the small of your back to guide you towards the ruckus.

“Harry, mate! You’ve gotta join us.” Benji takes Harry into a headlock and guides him further in leaving you to stand amongst the crowd. You cross your arms across your chest, annoyed that your private moment was interrupted.

“Give me a second lovie.” There goes that stupid pet name, the pet name that makes your heart skip a beat every single time he calls you it.

The beer pong game that you once observed beforehand had escalated. With everyone in the house focusing their attention on the table. Benji and Harry were on one side with another two of their frat brothers on the other.

“You can’t randomly add Harry in! That’s cheating!” The two boys are making a fuss.

“I almost single handedly kicked both of your asses. I do what I please!” Benji counters.

There’s one last cup on the opposite side of the table, Harry must come in clutch during situations like these.

He raises his wrist and adjusts it just right with one eye closed to evenly line himself up. With one slight flick of the wrist, a small drop is heard signaling his success. The crowd erupts into an even louder cheer causing Harry to smile as wide as possible. He was in his element.

“I never knew you had so much finesse.” You say as Harry sways towards you.

Your both settled into the corner you initially started in, with a round of shots accompanying you.

You throw one back and make a face of sheer disgust. Harry can’t help but lose himself over your reaction.

“Not funny. That was disgusting!”

“Well lovie, we’ve got a couple more to go so you betta get used to it.”

He splits the shots between you two equally and you decide the best decision would be to quickly throw yours back and get it over with. Or so you thought.

“So how do you know Zayn?” You break the silence between you two and you’re pretty sure you can feel your shots catching up to you.

“We were best mates before college, but we drifted a bit after attending separate institutions. I found out he was transferring and I was excited as hell. We could start hanging out again like we used to. It was just hunch that told me Denver would go crazy over him.” He’s sipping his wine cooler while laughing and shaking his head at his own success.

You knew what he was saying but you weren’t exactly processing it. You’re lost in his emerald irises. The tequila was getting the absolute best of you that not even Harry was expecting what you were planning to do next.

He looks at you awaiting some sort of rebuttal.

You take both of your hands and cup his cheeks pulling him in for a sweet yet tender kiss.

Harry doesn’t budge, instead he begins to work his lips against yours giving your ass a gentle squeeze.

You pull back and take a deep breath.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

Harry takes his lips between his fingers as if he was savoring the moment. He takes your hand in his and guides you up the long staircase into an even longer hallway with multiple bedrooms. The first one on the left is his.

He pulls you in and shuts the door with your body against it. His lips are moving at a different pace, almost like a sense of urgency. Like he’s been dying for this moment to come. He hikes your dress up and wraps one of your legs around his waist.

Somewhere in the timeline of you knowing him, he must’ve picked up that you were on the aggressive side in bed, enjoying every dominant move he made.

“Fuuck Y/N.” His voice is hoarse as he works his way from your lobe down to your collarbone with sloppy and wet kisses. His member is growing rapidly.

His actions are only leaving you craving more. Harry moves your panties to the side to garner access. He pulls down his jeans and boxers. He then uses his tip to tease at your entrance. A hiss leaving his lips.

“H-Harry.. I want you.”

That was all he needed.

He slips into you with ease, picking a pace that’s quick and has your back slamming against the door. All you can do is scream at the pure euphoria not caring who in this house heard you.

“HARRY!” You’re screaming his name repeatedly, he adjusts his hips to hit your sweet spot. He grabs your face and forces you to look into his eyes. His brows furrowed, beads of sweat dripping down his temple. A side of him you’ve never seen, but a side that you want more of.

It doesn’t take much for you to both reach your highs, riding them out simultaneously.

He properly sets you down adjusting your dress for you.

“Please don’t tell Denver.” That’s all Harry hears from you before you scurry out of the door.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fic #one direction imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles preferences #harry styles writing #zayn #zayn malik #zayn malik imagine #zayn malik fan fic #zayn malik fluff #zayn malik angst

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boycottphil · 5 years

Note

Omg if you're writing usuk can you please do something involving the Beatles/Beatlemania or the British Invasion in general? Theres so much good material there but no one really writes about it. I will love you forever

For context, I am taking fanfic requests!

This was a lot of fun to write! I wasn’t too sure if this is what you meant, anon, but if it’s not, feel free to send another ask! I’d be happy to write more. Anyway, enjoy!

Pairing: UsUk Rating: T Warnings: Strong language, mentions of blood, smoking (cigarettes) Word count: 2026

Imagine hundreds of thousands of people screaming your name. Imagine hundreds of thousands of people obsessing over your every step, word, move… Imagine loving every second of the intrusive behaviour displayed by fans.

Arthur, the lead singer of the “best band in history,” lived off of such things. Fame… It brought him joy, joy which he previously thought was impossible for him to feel. He was surrounded by security, yet his favourite moments were those when a fan managed to get to him, and looked at him with amazement in their eyes…

Looked at him as if he were a god.

[[MORE]]

Now, one could say that such thoughts and such behaviour was perhaps a bit… unhealthy. And one would be right. Arthur was sick; getting off on his own fame, and as he gathered more and more fans all over the world with each tour, he felt better. And better.

His band was good, not the best band in the world, per say, but definitely good. Their music was largely enjoyed by a female audience. Girls loved to imagine the songs being sung to them personally. They were written to be perceived that way. No names of girls were mentioned… no hints at any particular gender were given either.

Now, there were rumours, as there always are surrounding any band as huge as Arthur’s. Rumours like selling their souls to the devil, rumours like being robots invested by the government. Rumours like… being gay.

Arthur could only benefit from rumours that claimed he was an alien. It added more mystery to his character, more reasons for people to check out his music, come to his concerts. However…

Rumours that claimed he was gay could destroy his career. The thing is… he is gay. He does not fancy women at all. He couldn’t care less when girls form whole crowds and take off their shirts and bras. He didn’t care about his bandmate’s groupies offering threesomes or foursomes or ogies. He’d rather bang his bandmates if he didn’t despise them all.

He came quite close to having his career ruined, though.

One day, while touring the United States, they stopped in middle-of-nowhere-town of some State that Arthur thought was made up by the Americans to make it to 50 states in the first place. He was still convinced there aren’t 50 of them, but 10 divided into five parts each. But he would not express that opinion. Lest someone shot him for even mentioning the USA in any context that doesn’t presents it as the best country on the planet.

It was a town they were merely passing through, but they had to stop for fuel and food and for the drivers to rest a bit as well. Arthur wore his sunglasses and had clothes on that he wasn’t known for wearing, and decided to walk around town a bit. They had a few hours, and he wasn’t about to pass the opportunity to stretch his legs and turn off his brain a bit. Touring meant little walking and too much work, so moments such as those were few and far between.

He had purchased a box of cigarettes, which he planned to get through before he had to be locked in a fast moving vehicle again; in which he wasn’t allowed to smoke. With a fag already lit and dangling off his lips, he walked out onto the pavement, ready to resume his walk just when…

He was bumped into by some 5 foot 6 tall boy. He groaned as his cigarette fell into a puddle, together with his sunglasses. He grumbled and hurried to retrieve his glasses but, well… the kid already saw.

“Arthur Kirkland?! No way!!” He yelled too loudly, his voice far too deep for what Arthur assumed was a 13 year old boy.

“Shh!” Arthur shushed and then wrapped an arm around the other’s head and covered his mouth so he couldn’t make more noise. He felt screaming behind his hand and the boy seemed to be losing his mind just from being touched. Arthur did love attention… but not in some hick town when he was looking for a quiet place to smoke and meditate until he had to leave again.

He dragged the other into an alley- not a suspicious thing to do at all- and shushed him until the other stopped freaking out. He rambled about being touched and carried by Arthur, all of which was technically true, but it sounded so much more dramatic coming out of the kid’s mouth.

“Okay, listen here, kid-” he started, but was promptly interrupted.

“Kid? I’m 19!” He argued.

Arthur looked annoyed, but slightly less on-edge about dragging him into a dark alley. “Whatever, mate. Just stop screaming like a bloody schoolgirl. I don’t want this whole town to know we’re here. The paparazzi would hound us for hundreds of miles, like they did in the last town this happened in.” He explained as he lit his second cigarette- he was mourning the first.

“So you really are Arthur Kirkland?” The other asked, already taking off the backpack he had on and reaching for the first paper and pen he had. “Would you please sign this?” He asked, his bright blue eyes shining in anticipation.

Arthur frowned, but he took the pen and, without really looking or even thinking about it, produced a perfect loopy signature.

“Whoaa… That’s so cool! My name’s Alfred so could you…”

Arthur added, ‘for Alfred, stay cute’ at the bottom, as he does for all signatures, merely replacing the name.

“You think I’m cute?! Wow, Arthur Kirkland thinks I’m cute!!” Alfred said, his voice so high pitched in excitement that Arthur almost really did think he was cute.

“No, mate- I write that for everyone. Most of my fans are girls, you see and-” once again, he was interrupted.

“But you do think I’m cute! I can tell. You keep looking at me,” Alfred insisted, perhaps a bit cheekily. Arthur blinked, trying not to seem too taken aback.

“I, uh… I don’t… What?” He was usually never speechless. He always had a way to make a fan swoon over him with smooth comebacks and flirty lines that made girls go absolutely mad. But this was a boy. A boy who had called him out on his obvious interest in him, and a boy who, while excited to see him, clearly didn’t think he was a god.

Weird. He was supposed to always be seen as a god. What else could he be seen as?

“So… if you could keep this meeting to yourself for the next 24 hours, that would be bloody fantastic. Now, if you excuse me…” he mumbled and started walking away. He thought Alfred would be satisfied enough with that; he got an autograph and a hug- sort of. But no…

“So where are you headed now?” Came the American voice of the 19 year old who just decided to tag along.

Arthur felt his blood beginning to boil just a bit. “That is literally none of your business. Literally.” He sighed, exasperated.

Alfred fell into step beside him, keeping up easily even as the Brit tried to speed up. “Aw, come on! I won’t tell. I know how to keep secrets! I’m great at it. This one time, my cousin Austin, he told me that he and his aunt on his mum’s side-”

Arthur stopped abruptly. “How the fuck are you good at keeping secrets?”

“Well… I… You don’t know my cousin Austin, do you?”

Arthur groaned and kept walking, now deciding to ignore Alfred entirely. The teen though; he decided that he would ignore Arthur ignoring him. The Brit continued walking and smoking his cigarette as if Alfred wasn’t right there, and talking his ears off about dinosaurs and spaceships and how much he loved boys and how he knew Arthur could relate and-

Wait.

They had at that point reached a park, which was perhaps the size of two average backyards. There was no one around, and Arthur really appreciated it.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, his blood really getting to a simmer.

“Well, you know… You’ve never been seen with a girl, you never touch girls, you don’t talk about girls, you don’t even seem interested to all the girls we just passed while getting here. At all. You’re gay, and I can tell,” Alfred claimed.

“I have absolutely no idea where you get those ideas from. How would you know what I do in my free time?” He crossed his arms, perhaps a bit defensively.

“You look at my lips and arms so much, and you’ve looked at my ass too. I’m not dumb, you know! There’s no shame in being gay, Arthur. It’s all just-”

Arthur was angry at that point. He threw his half finished cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, then turned to face Alfred. “I don’t know who you think you are, but if you’re gay and you think making up lies is going to turn me gay, then forget about it. All right? I don’t even mess with groupies in the first place. Would you kindly leave me the fuck alone now?” He said loudly, keeping his composure enough not to yell at this kid.

“You’re just mean and in denial because you think if you come out that girls will stop obsessing over you. That’s okay. If you don’t want a groupie because all of them are girls, that’s understandable. But I mean… I’m free. I ran away from home a week ago. I have nowhere to be so… I could come with you. Warm your bed at night. Maybe do a few more other things too. Like ride you while you-”

Arthur punched him. He got too heated, too angry, amd he just… threw the punch. His knuckles ached after, and Alfred was holding onto his bleeding nose. It didn’t seem broken, but knowing the consequences of literally punching someone, Arthur began briskly walking away.

He should have expected to see the American again, before he even managed to walk down half a block. How he could cradle a bloody nose and run after him was a miracle.

“That was so rude!! I did not deserve to be fucking punched, man! I was just teasing you, dude! It’s literally not my fault that you are hiding your repressed homosexuality-”

“Stop. Calling. Me. Gay.” He growled, taking one step closer to the teen with each word uttered.

Alfred was practically pinned to a wall just then, looking up at the Brit with wide blue eyes. He was tall and handsome and…

And he kissed Alfred before he could get socked again. Instead of being pushed away and hit, as Alfred expected he would, he was pulled closer and kissed intensely enough to have all the air sucked out of his lungs.

Arthur pulled away seconds later, practically pushing himself off Alfred. Even behind his sunglasses, his eyes looked wide and shocked at what he had done. He looked around, then took Alfred’s hand and ran toward the bus.

He fucked up. He fucked up big time. But that’s okay… No one saw. And if he just kept Alfred with him on tour at all times… No one would find out that he was gay. At all.

“Is everything you need in that backpack?” He asked Alfred, out of breath from running, once they arrived at the bus.

“Yeah, why?” He asked and took off his backpack so he could take some tissues out and clean the blood off his face.

“Good. You’ll be coming with us on tour,” Arthur stated bluntly, not even bothering to listen for a yes or a no. Alfred grinned like a kid and hopped into the bus behind Arthur, already reaching out to cop a feel of his favourite singer’s ass.

Needless to say, Arthur did get himself a groupie. Involuntarily. And now every day became a series of “I almost outed myself to my millions of crazy fans.” It could be worse. At least he sleeps with a cute and annoying twink every night.

#hetalia #Anonymous #usuk #ukus #aph england #aph america #arthur kirkland #alfred f jones #beatlemania #i think #i mean i tried rlly hard n i think i did well #aph

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