#in their own heads. and. yeah that sums it up to a tea. everyone else go home they explained it perfectly. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

retrogradedreaming · 3 years

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UHHHH maybe,, you could write a little thing for reki making the sk8 fam tea? and kaoru thinking hes gonna have to pretend he likes it but then "oh wait reki can actually make tea what-"

just bc this has been living in my head for awhile sdkljfs

(capt-snoozles)

It turns out I am completely incapable of writing ANYTHING short, so have a full one shot type thing, I guess. I hope it's okay that I kinda borrowed headcanons from you and @that-was-anticlimactic for Reki with TS at a couple of small moments in the fic?

----

It used to be Kaoru alone who visited Kojiro’s restaurant when it was closed on Mondays. But since the start of winter break, Sia la Luce had become much livelier now that Reki, Langa, and Miya weren’t in school all day, and Shadow came when his days off lined up right. If Kaoru were being honest, it took some time to get used to the space no longer being only his and Kojiro’s, but he’d grown to like how their group came together like this.

The afternoons were the quietest part of these days. Kojiro took these opportunities to try out new recipes on them, leaving everyone contentedly full and pleasantly sleepy. Today, Langa had actually fallen asleep in the booth, and Reki sat beside Kaoru at the counter, playing with a tiny skateboard and making soft sounds like a small motor. Shadow and Miya sat at a table across the room, arguing over whether clown or cat makeup looked cooler while Kojiro finished cleaning. Kaoru let himself sink into the lull, Reki’s noises and that of the skateboard wheels on the counter an almost comforting presence beside him. And yet, one thing was missing, keeping him from truly relaxing.

“Seems like a good afternoon for tea,” Kojiro said, as if reading his mind as he appeared out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “You want me to make some?”

“Absolutely not,” Kaoru scoffed. “People who microwave their tea should be arrested.”

“There’s no way you can tell the difference,” Kojiro said, defensive. “Hot water is hot water.”

“Only an uncultured pig would believe that,” Kaoru snapped. He was about to stand, to tell Kojiro he’d make the tea himself like he always inevitably had to, when Reki all but leaped from his seat, skateboard abandoned for the moment.

“I’ll make it!” he offered, and the way his face lit up meant that Kaoru took too long to say not to bother. By the time he’d found his words, Reki had already bounded around the counter and into the kitchen, and Kojiro didn’t even try to stop him. Before Kaoru could tell Kojiro to stop him, Reki called out to Kojiro, asking about the industrial stove, and soon, Kojiro was not only allowing Reki to make the tea, but encouraging him.

Kaoru supposed this was a step up from Kojiro’s microwave technique, but if Kaoru were likely to trust anyone other than himself to make a decent cup of tea, it wouldn’t be Reki. The idea that he’d wanted his tea made well and was unlikely to receive it as such set him on edge. As he listened to the water boil and the conversation continued around him, he found himself wrapping a strand of his hair around his finger and tugging, letting it go, and repeating the process until his scalp hurt. He didn’t even notice that Langa had woken up until he appeared beside Kaoru and spoke.

“What’s Reki doing?” he asked.

“Making tea,” Kaoru said, doing his best not to appear so anxious about something so small.

Langa peered over the edge of the counter to where Kojiro and Reki were talking in the kitchen, and then turned back to Kaoru. “I like how he makes it. I never liked it before I met him.”

Kaoru hummed a halfhearted response. He doubted that Langa’s standards were very high, given that he’d grown up in Canada. He’d likely had tea often enough, given that his mother was Japanese, but Kaoru knew from experience that plenty of people even here in Okinawa had no idea how to brew a proper cup. It was about timing, knowing how hot to make the water, how long to steep the leaves, and so many people rushed the process—or worse, forgot about it and steeped too long—that Kaoru preferred to make his own.

He couldn’t help but envision Reki handing him a bitter cup, or one that tasted like little more than hot leaf juice. He grimaced at the idea of having to drink it and pretend he liked it, suffering all the while. He would have to wait until he was home later to make something better for himself.

He was still trying to think of a polite way to decline the tea he’d obviously wanted when Reki came out bearing a tray of steaming cups and began making the rounds through the restaurant. Reki handed the first one to Langa, who accepted it, smiling softly up at Reki. Langa sipped the tea immediately, only to flinch and draw it away after the first sip.

Not promising, Kaoru thought. If he’d boiled the water, it was ruined, even if it was something as simple as green tea. And yet, Langa only took another sip while Reki looked on approvingly.

“It’s good,” Langa finally proclaimed, and Reki glowed as if he’d received praise from the emperor himself. Reki moved on, handing Kaoru his cup.

“Thank you,” Kaoru said, accepting it with both hands. Fortunately, Reki moved on to Shadow and Miya without waiting for Kaoru to try it, which meant that he didn’t know Kaoru only held onto it without making a move to taste it. If nothing else, he could enjoy the warmth that crawled from his fingertips all the way to his elbows.

Neither Miya nor Shadow hesitated in drinking theirs, though Kaoru couldn’t imagine they cared much how it tasted, as long as it was hot. And yet, as he watched, the two of them looked just as pleased as Langa when they tried it.

“Oh wow, the slime makes good tea,” Miya pronounced, hugging the cup close to him like a space heater.

“Damn, this is pretty good,” Shadow said, drinking deeply and draining half the cup. “How’d you even learn to make it like this?”

Reki shrugged, taking up his own cup, the last on the tray. He set the tray down on the counter and took the empty seat beside Langa. “I dunno, I guess I just picked it up over the years. It’s kinda like making skateboards, y’know? You have to figure out how all the parts fit together, and if you do it wrong, the tea doesn’t taste right.”

Kaoru looked up at him from the murky depths of his tea, brows raised. When it came to making tea, the analogy was rather profound, and Kaoru couldn’t argue it. Reki was right—tea was about the sum of its parts, the pieces fitting together perfectly. And as with building skateboards, the person making it had to know exactly how to combine each piece to create the whole.

“That doesn’t make any sense, but whatever,” Shadow said, taking another sip. “All I care about is that it doesn’t suck.”

“How come you’ve never made us tea before?” Miya asked, eyes trained on the Switch he’d pulled from his pocket now that he’d abandoned his conversation with Shadow.

“I don’t really have the patience for it,” Reki said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s kinda like, if I don’t wanna put in the time to do it right, why bother?”

While everyone was wrapped up in conversation, Kaoru finally chanced a discreet sip. If it was as bad as he’d expected, he could school his expression appropriately while they were all distracted. Perhaps he could even get away without having to lie about how good it was. And yet, when the tea touched his tongue, he paused.

It wasn’t too hot.

It wasn’t too weak or too strong.

It wasn’t too bitter and the leaves didn’t taste as though they’d been burnt.

It was, as far as Kaoru was concerned, some of the best tea he’d had outside his own home. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words to say so. He sipped it again, just to make sure he hadn’t deluded himself based on everyone else’s praise. Sure enough, it was almost more delicious the second time.

“You surprised?” Kojiro murmured at his ear, his own cup dangling from his fingertips. Kaoru jumped, nearly spilling his tea. When he turned to face him, Kojiro’s lips quirked in a smug grin, and he raised one brow meaningfully. Kaoru shot him a hard glower in return, a silent command to keep his mouth shut before Kaoru turned back to Reki.

“It’s delicious,” Kaoru said, and it wasn’t forced in the least. “I’m impressed.”

Reki, who had already immersed himself in talking to Langa, gaped at Kaoru, one of his hoodie strings falling from between his teeth. Then, he flashed a wide grin. “Glad you like it!”

“Have you ever practiced tea ceremony?” Kaoru asked, reluctantly setting his tea down on the counter.

“Nah, my parents let me try it once when I was younger, but I kept messing up the steps,” Reki said. “It’s not really fun when people get mad at you for doing it wrong.”

“I studied it for some time,” Kaoru said, remembering how the order felt comforting, how the amount of concentration it required gave his anxious mind something to focus on, how the simple yet refined aesthetic felt like clearing his head. In recent years, he didn’t have time for it with his calligraphy business, but a part of him missed it. “It’s quite a bit different from drinking tea like this, but if you wanted to, perhaps we could do a...modified version of it. Something less formal with everyone here.”

Reki’s eyes brightened, and he looked to Langa, who only seemed to share his enthusiasm. “It sounds fun, yeah! A lot better than getting yelled at by a bunch of old people because ‘tradition.’”

“I’d say so,” Kaoru said, and they devolved into talking about their favorite teas and the best ways to brew them. Kaoru couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to someone who actually understood that tea was an art even more than it was a drink. But Reki did, and when the rest of the group finally left, leaving Kaoru and Kojiro alone in the restaurant to clean up, Kojiro nudged him with an elbow.

“You didn’t think Reki could make tea like that, did you?” he said, the words teasing but too close to Kaoru’s own thoughts for comfort.

“Shut up or I’ll leave you here to wash dishes alone,” Kaoru quipped, even as he accepted the next cup to dry. “I will admit, I was pleasantly surprised.”

“I knew you would be,” Kojiro said as he dried his hands and stretched.

“Anything is better than microwaved tea,” Kaoru said. And although it was true, he couldn’t help but look forward to the next Monday, and the last before the kids started school again.

#anyway hope you like it!#i had a lot of fun with this one #i also think kojiro's flaw as a chef is microwaving tea #even though that's not exactly a chef thing really #i tried putting some renga in here #so hopefully everyone is in character because apparently i only know matchablossom #also sorry miya and shadow have like two lines #i tried including everyone but it was SUPPOSED to be short #reki kyan #kaoru sakurayashiki #langa hasegawa #kojiro nanjo #hiromi higa #miya chinen #sk8 the infinity #sk8 fanfic #writing prompts #capt-snoozles

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igotbulletproof-insomnia · 3 years

Text

Adopting Bangtan 09

01 previous

AN UNLIKELY WEDDING

You bit your lip as you stared at your phone. You had an email from Jimin and Taehyung’s mother. Song Jieun was your old coworker who you had adored, but who also tricked you into taking care of her children so that she could get married without worry. Your respect and opinion of her had gone down significantly with that move, but you… didn’t exactly understand, but you did appreciate that she gave her children to someone who could properly take care of them instead of leaving them to fend for themselves which had seemed to be her original plan.

What’s wrong?” Seokjin looked up from the video game he was playing, ignoring the cut scene he had watched a dozen times before now to focus on you. You could hear the younger boys playing in their bedroom, the sounds of legos clattering and mouth-made explosions louder than what their closed bedroom door could block off. They were sounds that had become familiar in the past six months, sounds that used to be made by one child and were nowhere near this boisterous.

“Nothing,” you shrugged while you scrolled through the email a second time and tried to sort out your feelings. Seokjin’s stare burned into your cheek and rolled your eyes. “I mean it, nothing is wrong. Just…” You could feel your face twisting into a dissatisfied expression and tried to relax it back into something more neutral. There were times when you found you could rely on the eldest of your children, and times when you thought it was better to keep things to yourself, and you weren’t sure which one this was.

“Someone emailed me,” you hedge. “I’m just trying to decide how I feel.”

“That’s your worried face,” said Seokjin. “You only make that face about work and about us. But you also whine when you’re worried about work, so it’s about us, isn’t it? Which one of the kids is failing school?”

“No one is failing school,” you laugh. “Namjoon could be doing better, but I’m certain he just doesn’t care as much as his teachers want him to. Neither does Yoongi…. You know, as a teacher myself, I should probably be more concerned.”

“You’re appropriately concerned,” Seokjin reassured you. “Why should you worry about things you can’t control? You’re just going to age faster.”

“You’re going to stop calling me old one day.”

“Lying isn’t healthy,”

“Says the kid who lied his way into adoption.”

“I took advantage of my situation. That’s not lying, that’s cunning.”

“I didn’t raise you like this,” you say, standing.

“No, but that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? I’m raising myself, six kids, and my guardian. I can’t tell if I’m doing a piss poor job or not.”

“Language, Kim Seokjin!”

“Dinner, seonsaengnim!” he shouted back. The problem was, you aren’t sure if he successfully distracted you from your concerns or if you successfully distracted him from you.

===

Song Jieun’s email bothered you intermittently throughout the week. It’s not like you forgot she existed. You’ve received a hefty sum into your bank account every month for taking care of the boys, enough to make you wonder exactly why her new husband didn’t want to take care of them when he would probably be spending a lot less money if they were under his own roof. So no, Song Jieun wasn’t someone you forgot existed unlike like you could the rest of your kids’ parents, she just… wasn’t relevant. So it bothered you that she was trying to make herself relevant now, after six months of silence.

“You’re doing the thing again,” Seokjin poked your face. You startled, unaware that he had approached, but thankfully kept your coffee mug full. “What are you so worried about?”

“Nothing,” you say for the umpteenth time that week. “I’m not worried about anything.”

“You’ve been ‘not-worried’ since last Thursday,” Seokjin argued.

“So then why do you keep asking me what’s wrong?” You didn’t have to turn to see the weighted stare he gave you, you could feel it. That was the thing about your kids, all of them. They had a way of making you feel like you were the one in trouble, you were the one being raised instead of the other way around. Some days you were convinced that they were the ones keeping you around, explicitly for financial reasons.

“If you’re just going to insist on being stubborn,” Seokjin sighed. He poured two cups of coffee, one for himself and one for Yoongi, and turned the kettle on for Namjoon. The other boys would be zombie-walking their way into the kitchen for breakfast soon, so you and Seokjin set to work preparing leftovers from dinner a few nights ago.

“Song Jieun wants to visit the boys,” after a long, silent moment, you finally admit your concern. The kettle was puffing it’s pre-whistle warning, so you turned it off, sitting the pot on its wicker table mat until Namjoon made his way to the table.

“Who’s Song Jieun?” asked Seokjin. “Which boy? Not me, right?”

“No, of course not you, silly. You won’t even tell me your parents’ names. How am I supposed to know when they come to visit?”

“Trust me, they won’t,” Seokjin’s tone left no room for discussion, just a sad or regretful sort of resentment.

“If you say so,” you shrugged off your curiosity, familiar with how closed-off this kid got when it came to his home life before you. “Song Jieun is Taehyung’s mom and Jimin’s stepmom.”

“The coworker who tricked you into adopting them?”

“That’s what you got out of that?”

“Isn’t that what happened?”

“That’s besides the point,”

“That is the point.”

“What’s what point?” Namjoon shuffled into the kitchen.

“Our guardian is trying to decide if the twins should see their mother.” Seokjin answered.

“That’s not what I said,”

“That’s what you were going to say.”

“Everyone else gets nice, obedient, adoring children,” you grumbled. “I get sassy monsters who boss me around.”

“You raised us like this,” Namjoon said absently.

“I did not, you raised yourselves.”

“Same thing,” both boys speak in unison.

“I’m giving you two away.”

“Good luck living with Yoongi without us,” Seokjin shrugged. “You’ll be begging me to come back by the end of the week.”

“Joke’s on you, this is the end of the week.”

“My point still stands.”

“Okay, I quit, I won’t win this one,” you literally throw your hands in the air.”

“Good,” Jin grins at you in that cheeky way he’s mastered, taunting you.

“So what’s this about the twin’s mom though?” asked Namjoon. “I thought she…” he trailed off, but you understood what he was saying, or rather, what he didn’t want to say. I thought she didn’t want them.

“Yes and no,” you say. “She just… it’s… not exactly complicated, not if I were in her position, but… let’s just say, some people are stupid and not everyone has the same priorities.”

“Song Jieun chose to make herself happy over taking care of her kids?” Seokjin translated. “She didn’t want to take them to live with her new husband?”

“More or less,” You agree, taking note of the bitterness in his tone.

“You’re not allowed to get married,” Namjoon mumbled from the table.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not allowed to leave us or get rid of us because you want to be married,” Namjoon repeated. He’s obviously still half asleep from the way he lays his head down in his arms, but your heart clenches just a little bit from the casual desperation he speaks with.

“If I were to get married,” you said, “my future spouse would know that they come in eighth place anyway. I’m not getting rid of you, even your original parents would have to fight me. God will have to fight me.”

“But you’re still not allowed,” said Namjoon.

“Drink your tea, you’re talking crazy,” said Seokjin. “Our guardian will have to actually date first, and we all know that won’t happen.”

“The disrespect, I tell you!”

It’s after breakfast and during the chaos of getting seven young boys dressed and prepared for school when Seokjin knocks on your bedroom door frame, wearing an anxious expression.

“... Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“What’s up?” you asked. Seokjin walked fully into the room and closed the door.

“About… the twins? I… I don’t know what you’re thinking about, and that’s valid, but… I think you should maybe let them see her?” Seokjin didn’t fidget like the rest of the kids did. He leaned against the door, arms crossed and focused his eyes fully on you. It was moments like these when you realized exactly how mature your eldest was, and you recognized that most of it wasn’t because of you. Namjoon and Yoongi were you. Seokjin had probably been raising himself for longer than he’s lived with you.

“Okay,” you said.

“I just… if it was me, I would want to know that she still cared, right? And she does, I guess. You mentioned that she sends them money, and she wrote you a letter asking forgiveness, so that has to mean something. I just don’t want them feeling abandoned like the rest of us. Not if they don’t have to.”

“I’m just worried that it will confuse them even more,” you admitted. “It took weeks before Jimin would talk to us openly. Jieun-ssi isn’t going to stay. She’ll come for an afternoon or a day, take the kids out, spoil them, and then bring them back here, and they’ll both be wondering why. And I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“With the truth, obviously,” Seokjin rolled his eyes. “You’re always straight-forward with us. Why should this be any different?” Because they’re younger than you were. Because they were given away, not abandoned. Because their parent still cares from a distance. Because I don’t like making you all cry. Because picking up pieces has never been fun.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you said instead. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay,” Seokjin nodded, and you can see him visibly deflate, relieved to be finished with the conversation. “That’s all I wanted to say. Don’t forget to take your lunch with you.”

“Make sure all the kids have theirs,” you countered.

“It’s funny because you thought I didn’t already do that,”

“I love you, Kim Seokjin,” was your response.

“I love you too, I guess.”

=======

Your talk with Seokjin gave you a new perspective, but you still felt apprehensive about everything. You just didn’t like the idea of hurting Jimin and Taehyung any more than they already have been. What type of guardian would you be if you just let them walk back into heartbreak? What if this was just a one-time visit and Song Jieun never came to see her children again? What do you do when the boys ask to see her again? You had been lucky that you only had to have one conversation about not being able to take the boys to see their mother in the last six months, but if Jieun could make the time and the trip to come visit, then what will be your excuse now? What if this visit was actually a prelude to taking the boys back home with her?

Oh.

Huh.

So that was the real problem then. You didn’t want the boys to leave you. As much as you groaned and complained about taking in so many kids -- usually just to yourself, but sometimes your stress got the better of you in front of the kids -- you loved them. Each one of them, you loved and adored them and the thought of any of them leaving you or being taken away hurt. Not only that, but where in the hell would any of those parents get off, what right did any of them have to come to you and even fix their mouths to ask you for “their” kid back? You had words prepared for each and every so-called “parent” of all seven of your boys, copies of your lost child police reports, drafts of parental rights transfer papers, the phone number for several NCPA lawyers, and a fist just itching to make contact.

But what if Taehyung and Jimin preferred to be with Jieun anyway? She is their mother. She raised them for years, even if she was Jimin’s stepmother. You’ve only had the “twins” as you and the older boys had taken to calling them, for six months. Why would they want to stay with you?

“Okay, but she didn’t say she wants to take the kids,” you told yourself against the slew of depressing thoughts. You retrieved your phone from your pocket and opened your emails. Finally pressed reply. “She just wants to visit. A visit is… safe. It’ll be okay.”

Probably.

=======

Later that day you received a new email. Song Jieun will be in town that weekend. Tomorrow.

It took a lot of effort for you not to swear and make plans to take the kids out of town.

=======

Song Jieun was pretty. She wasn’t particularly tall or “skinny” like what TV liked to portray, but she was hippy and had a cute face and short hair that she curled most days. She favored dresses with blazers or oversized sweaters and skinny jeans, with pale makeup and dark pink lipsticks. It was easy to pick her out at the cafe she asked to meet at. She sat alone off to the side, a coffee already in front of her, but two plates with fruit-decorated cakes were also placed nearby. You considered telling her that the boys weren’t allowed any sweets right now. It wouldn’t have been a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. They weren’t allowed sweet things like cakes until after dinner and only when they behaved well. Still, you decided that was just your frustration and jealousy talking. You didn’t want to punish the two boys because of their mother, so you bite your tongue and hold your bitterness and let it go.

“Jieun-ssi,” you greet uselessly, as the moment Taehyung and JImin saw her they sprinted across the room to tackle the woman in hugs. Jieun’s smile stretched across her face and she cooed and made cute noises as she greeted her sons in return. You felt something creep in your chest that felt a lot like jealousy. But you weren’t jealous. You couldn’t be. You just hugged them this morning when they tried to tickle you awake. You held both of their hands from your house to the cafe. You had nothing to be jealous of, they were your kids now.

“How have you been?” Jieun asked when you sat down across from her. Jimin and Taehyung were already seated and digging into the cakes she bought for them. You barely had a chance to answer before your chatterbox was rattling off every activity he’s done for the last six months to his mother. Jimin grinned and threw in his two-cent’s worth every few minutes, but generally let Taehyung carry the conversation for him. And you, in spite of all of the emotions pressing on your chest and clouding your judgement and making you really, really want to shake Song Jieun, you enjoy yourself. You watch your boys -- your boys -- smile and chatter and sing and show off for their mother. You wonder if they’ll be okay going home, if you’ll have tears to clean up later, or arguments to break up, or just pieces to sort out and glue, but right now the kids are happy, and right now, that’s what you’ll enjoy.

=======

Taehyung climbed into your bed that night. He should have been asleep an hour ago at least, you’re sure, but he’s seemed to have a lot on his mind since this afternoon, and you’ve been letting the kid have his own space to figure out his thoughts. As hyper as he normally is, Taehyung is also prone to moments where he just sits and fiddles and thinks and you’ve learned that it doesn’t do any good to bother him about it.

“Can’t sleep?” Taehyung shook his head as he slid across the blankets to bury his face into your shirt. You curled an arm around his shoulders and held him close.

“Mommy…” Taehyung started and trailed off. “Is Mommy happy without me?”

It felt like your heart stopped with the words of his question, but you continued to brush his hair with your fingers. It was a difficult question to answer. You wanted to be honest, but you also didn’t want to hurt him. Unfortunately, there weren’t too many ways to answer without hurting Taehyung one way or another.

“What do you mean?” Taehyung was quiet for another short moment before he spoke again.

“Mommy… didn’t seem sad. And she said she’ll see us another time. And… she got married, but she didn’t want to keep me and Jiminie… So I started wondering… is she happy now? Happier than she was before when it was just me and her and Jiminie? Did we -- I don’t think -- I --” And the kid seemed to break then, all of the tears that hadn’t been shed for six months seeming to finally culminate into an emotional outburst. You shushed him, holding him just a little more tightly, and the fingers in his hair moved down to stroke his back. This was the thing you had wanted to avoid, and while part of you felt satisfied to be right, most of you just fought your own tears. It hurt to see one of your kids so hurt. You aren’t a stranger to crying children, but this emotional distress was something that never got better. You thought that maybe Jieun had talked to the boys beforehand, maybe Taehyung had dealt with his emotions before he came to live with you and that was why he seemed so well-adjusted. Clearly, Taehyung had just been living in denial, or maybe with the belief that his mother would come back for him “later,” that you were only a temporary home.

“This isn’t your fault, Taetae,” you murmured. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes… sometimes adults make hard decisions. We think we’re doing the right thing and… sometimes it’s hard to see if we’ve made the right choice or not.” You sighed, picking through your words super carefully. “I think… I think that your mother made what she thought was the best decision for both herself and for you and Jimin. She believed she would be happy with her new husband. But she did not believe you and Jiminie would be happy. So she put you somewhere that you could be. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, but I’m still sad,” Taehyung cried harder.

“I know,” you said, “and that’s okay. I would be sad too.”

“I just want my mommy back,”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to get married,” Taehyung said suddenly, long after his sobs had calmed down. Tears still fell, but slowly now. “I don’t want you to send me away too.”

“If you listen to your Jinnie-hyung, he says that won’t happen because I don’t date anyway.”

“Mommy didn’t date for a long time… and then she did. And then she got married.”

“I won’t get rid of you even if I did get married, Taetae,” you told him.

“You’re still not allowed to get married,” he argued. “Or date. You have to be mine forever and ever, okay?”

“No matter what, I will be yours forever and ever,” you agreed.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” Taehyung asked. “I'm comfy and you make me not sad.”

“Of course,” you said. “You’re comfy like a teddy bear, I don’t want you to go.”

=======

In the morning, Taehyung was bouncing off the walls, screaming as he chased Jungkook around the house. Jimin was curled into a corner of the sofa, giggling while he watched his brothers play and encouraging Taehyung in his antics. You could hardly tell that Taehyung had an emotional breakdown the previous night. You knew he was far from being “over” his feelings about his mother, he was only eight and the feelings were complicated. But he was happy for now and that made you happy. You’ll deal with the noise and the chaos and shout at the kids yet again about running inside where things were breakable including themselves as long as they kept smiling.

Surprisingly, it was Namjoon who came knocking at your door after bedtime that night. Similar to Taehyung, he didn’t speak or ask permission, just closed the door behind him and slid into your bed. Buried himself beneath the blankets and stuck his head beneath the pillow and tucked his gangly limbs into a ball. You were familiar with these moods, but haven’t seen one in years, not since you took in Seokjin. So you finished the chapter you had been reading, turned off the light, and sank down to lay your head on your pillows. Similar to Taehyung, Namjoon would speak when he was ready, when he found the right words to use to express his feelings.

“You really won’t get married, right?” Namjoon whispered beneath the pillow next to you. His voice was heavily muffled, but you’d been waiting for him to speak for some time. You just didn’t expect for him to continue a joke conversation from several days ago.

“What’s wrong with me getting married?” you asked.

“If you get married, you’ll have to get rid of us.”

“There is no world where I will give up any of you just to get married, Namjoon.”

“But that’s what happens, isn’t it?” said Namjoon. “Adults… if they aren’t married, but they have kids… they get rid of them so that they can date. Because kids get in the way. Because it’s stupid to take care of other people’s kids.”

“Why does it sound like you just called me stupid?” Your sarcasm probably wasn’t appropriate for the moment, but the words slipped before you thought about it.

“We’re really lucky to have you, we know that,” said Namjoon. “But that just means --”

“Namjoon, I’m going to stop you right there,” you cut him off before he finishes. You remove the pillow from his face so that he can hear you clearly, and card your fingers through his hair. “I didn’t create any of you. I didn’t ask for any of you. But I have you. And I love you. I adore you. I will tear apart skies, drain oceans, and vanquish God if it will keep you all safe and happy, okay? If your parents ever come back for you, I will press charges against them and make it so that they can never look at you, let alone hurt you ever again, do you understand me, Kim Namjoon? You and Yoongi and Jungkook and Seokjin and Hoseok and Taehyung and Jimin, you’re all mine. You’re my kids, all seven of you, and I will be damned if any lover or spouse, or anything at all, comes between me and you. I don’t say that because it sounds good -- although seriously, you have to admit that this is one of my better speeches,” -- at that, Namjoon giggled, the noise muted and soft, but a win was a win -- “but I say these things because I mean them. I will put a brick in the hospital for you, Joonie.” You hesitate, but continue anyway. “If it weren’t for you, I may have left the country at the end of that year. Teaching is fun, but I wasn’t super happy before. But then you asked me to take you home and you were so cute that I got attached almost immediately. I didn’t want to take you to the police and have them send you to your parents. I liked having someone to come home to. I liked taking care of you. Most people go get a pet or a lover when they’re feeling lonely, but here’s me, collecting kids like you’re pokemon cards.”

“No one collects pokemon cards anymore,”

“What, is Yu-Gi-Oh back in style?”

“What even is that?”

“The coolest card game ever. Period.” Namjoon laughs again, and you feel accomplished.

“It’s not that cool if I’ve never heard of it,” Namjoon argues.

“Joonie. I love you. But even I know you aren’t the coolest among your classmates.”

“I’m the coolest out of all my friends!”

“I won’t argue about that. I’m also sure that in your group of friends, ‘coolest’ means ‘knows the biggest words and has the best grades.’”

“You’re just jealous,”

“Absolutely. I wish I knew as many words as you do. Imagine how much fun I’d have fussing at you kids in Smart People language!”

“Why are you like this?”

“Please, other kids wish they had someone as cool as me taking care of them.”

Namjoon cuddled closer to you in the bed, laying his head on your shoulder and gripping your pajama shirt. You spend a few minutes massaging his scalp, a soothing gesture for you just as much as it is for him. After a few minutes, you begin drifting off, believing Namjoon is on the verge of sleep as well.

“Are you really okay?” he asks. “With taking care of all of us? You don’t… want to go back home?”

“I am home, silly,” you flick the side of his head gently. “I love you. And even if I wanted to go back to my home country, don’t think I won’t take each one of you with me. I said you’re mine. I mean it.”

“Okay.”

And it’s not that you don’t believe him, but you know your kid. You know he internalizes things and finds convoluted ways to take blame for other peoples’ problems, including your own. You know it will be a while yet before he truly accepts and believes you when you say you want to keep him and enjoy taking care of him. But you also know that he wants to believe you and he’s trying. You idly wonder if you’ll have to have some sort of discussion in the morning, an announcement over breakfast that no children will be displaced in the event of an unlikely wedding. You dismiss the thought, deciding it was more likely to incite panic and give you a headache more than anything else.

To find more of my child-bangtan fics, select the "Collecting Strays" tag at the bottom of this page ^_^

#bts #bts fan fiction #bts scenarios #kim taehyung #bts v #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #bangtan #kid bts #bts army #cross posted on ao3 #wow I just realized #kim line #reader insert #darkbalance #collecting strays

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dontcallmecarrie · 3 years

Text

tfw the plot bunny strikes and refuses to let go, here, continuation of this:

Loki was torn between chagrin and vague amusement, as he observed everyone else’s reactions to the two Justin Hammers in between herding everyone to one of the safehouses Victor von Doom had somehow managed to get ahold of in this strange world.

At first glance, Victor seemed to be the most unperturbed— but Loki knew him well enough to note the way his eyes had widened when he’d seen the two side by side, couldn’t help but catch the tiniest shift in the way he held himself and Loki would bet anything that if he were any sort of telepath, he’d be hearing nothing but an infernal screeching coming from his corner of the room.

Ivan Vanko wasn’t much better, but at least he’d elected to hyperfixate on cleaning up the loose ends they’d left in relation to their original mission: from his mutters, some of the security cameras’ footage had been trickier to access than not, and required even more effort to scrub. Loki gave it another five minutes before he was forced to look away from his computer and acknowledge the reality of the situation.

Meanwhile, the Winter Soldiers were an interesting study in contrasts; while Winter was extremely apologetic about the situation and had already apologized no less than five times, Soldat seemed to be content to look on in bemusement as the situation unraveled from there.

...which wasn’t very different from what Loki’s own counterpart was doing, actually, but at least Soldat wasn’t enjoying the chaos. Visibly, anyway, and Loki was getting a new appreciation for just how irritating that particular smirk looked on his own face. If they all weren’t so focused on calming the jumpier, more visibly frazzled-version of their leader, someone would’ve punched it off his face by now. As it was, though...

“Who the hell are you people?!” Justin Hammer whisper-shrieked, in between sharp gasps for air and eyes wide as he cowered away from his kidnappers. “And wh— wh—”

“He’s more high-strung than you are.” Someone muttered to the terrifying figure who had his face—

“Of course he is, he has no idea what’s going on and you guys kidnapped him,” his mirror image replied with a flat look, before turning to face him looking vaguely embarrassed. “Look, Hammer— can I call you Hammer? Wait, no, you can be Justin, I’ll go by Hammer and man this is weird— I can explain. Just. Sit down and take a breather, because it’s, uh, a bit of a long story.”

Justin would’ve thought an explanation would leave him with more answers than questions.

He was sorely mistaken.

The headache he had now wasn’t much of an improvement from before.

“So, let me get this straight: you,” Justin jabbed a finger at the dude with the dark grey mask which was just about the only thing differentiating him from his twin, “grabbed me because you mistook me for him—”

“Sorry about that, by the w—”

“—and you’re all from some other dimension and pissed off goodness knows how many organizations trying to figure out how to get home,” Justin steamrollered on, closing his eyes in an effort to take things one step at a time because he was trying not to feel overwhelmed but these guys weren’t making it easy, “is that right?”

“Well...”

“I mean...”

“Yeah.” Ivan— not the bastard responsible for his being in Seagate, another version of him who apparently didn’t actively try and screw people over— replied, and Justin opened his eyes just in time to catch the tail end of his shrug. “That about sums it up.”

“Okay.” Justin nodded to himself. “Why?”

“Why what? You’re going to need to be more specific, here, I’m not a mind reader.”

“How’d you even get here? Or do you weirdos just go dimension-hopping for fun on a Friday night?”

“You’re not the only one wondering that.” The alien god said airily, toying with a— that was a knife, okay, Justin already knew he was in way over his head, he didn’t need the reminder, thanks. Where did it even come from, anyway? “I would really like to know that as well, Ivan.”

“Oh, nah, this was a freak accident.” Ivan snorted, then gave them all a smirk that gave Justin goosebumps for a second. “As for why...look at it this way: this was weird and stressful for us, and from the start you guys knew what was going on and have me to figure out how to get us back. Now imagine if it’d been the Avengers.”

The silent, broody one— Victor, was it?— made a noise of realization. “That is diabolical. I love it.”

“I know, I was trying to figure out how to temper it when this happened. The ray gun was supposed to be temporary, I’m not sure what happened but the end goal’s a duration of twenty-four hours. Sorry you guys got caught up in the beta, by the way.”

“We are going to be having words about proper lab safety protocols when we get home, Ivan.” Victor said darkly, and something in his voice that had six out of the seven other people in the room freezing for a second.

Justin couldn’t help but notice his...twin was not part of that number.

But first, because this was something he’d been wondering ever since he’d heard of how this ‘Cabal’ operated—

“Why are you going to this effort?”Justin asked.

“Oh, boy, here we go again,” the guy calling himself ‘Winter’ muttered, but before he do more than start to turn to him in confusion, Ivan spoke.

“Because death is too simple.” He said, not looking away from the computer he’d pulled out. “Because any rando with a gun could do that, if they wanted. No, if I’ve got a beef with someone, I want them to suffer. I want them to regret ever having pissed me off, to curse my name every time they step on a Lego and realize who put it there, to—”

“Yes, I know, we get it.” One of the alien gods cut in. The one who didn’t look like shit, and had a long-suffering look on his face partway into Ivan’s spiel. “If I had a penny for every time you go on that rant...”

“Says the guy who uses my ideas to become the official nemesis of the Avengers.” Ivan shot back, unamused, and the way Winter sighed and Victor pinched the bridge of his nose told him this was a recurring argument.

“Guys,” Justin’s...twin cut in, and Justin couldn’t help but feel something in the pit of his stomach clench as he noticed the way everyone from his dimension came to attention. “If we could focus on getting home?”

“I know, I know, I’m on it.” Ivan muttered, turning back to his computer. “Trying to throw SHIELD off our trail’s easier here, but it’s still not exactly a cakewalk.”

“Okay. What can we do in the meantime?”

The more Justin saw of this ‘Cabal’, of Hammer and the others, the more uncomfortable he felt.

Because the more time passed, the more it felt like...he was seeing a better version of himself.

How long had he tried to get people to respect him? How many classes on public speaking and marketing had he taken, how many books had he read in an effort to build his charisma, to be remembered as something other than the cheap knockoff of Tony Stark?

And now...

Justin watched as someone wearing his face walked around, and he was quiet, and fairly introverted, but something about him demanded respect, commanded all the attention in the room when he talked, and... Justin wanted that.

Of course, Justin’s...twin noticed.

For some reason, the look of sympathy he got felt even worse than the first time he’d donned prisoner’s uniform in Seagate.

Not to mention the conversation they had, when Justin was ushered into a quiet corner near the safehouse’s kitchen as they had tea.

It was. A talk.

Not a great one.

Not that there really could’ve been, considering, but.

“I am not you, you are not me, and that’s a good thing.”

Justin didn’t know what he was expecting, really.

Another version of himself, forcing him to acknowledge things he’d thought he’d gotten over— how was he supposed to handle it?

“You were set up for failure from the start, you know. No child should ever have to carry some of the burdens you grew up with.”

Just.

Someone who understood, and how was he supposed to deal?

“You cannot change the past, but you can control your own actions in the future. What do you want to do, who do you want to become? What makes you, you?”

Justin had thought he’d felt tired when he’d finally been brought into the mess these guys were part of, but now his exhaustion felt soul-deep and he didn’t know when he’d started crying but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t stop—

Mercifully, the others left him alone for the rest of the day.

He... needed to think.

Justin wasn’t the only one having a hard time, he knew: he’d noticed the way Soldat followed Winter around, trying to mimic his self-confidence, and the Loki of this world looked at the easy camaraderie his counterpart had with a hunger that would’ve made Justin very nervous if that expression were aimed at him.

Something dark and feral, all jagged edges and brittle smiles and it shouldn’t have resonated nearly as much as it did but—

It made for a good conversation starter, if nothing else. Something relatable to bond over tea, because Victor was a monster who had an irrational disdain for coffee and Justin needed his caffeine fix if he wanted to keep what was left of his sanity.

Justin didn’t know what he brought to the table. Not compared to whatever his twin did, anyway, and he didn’t want to go that route either because he wanted to be himself.

Even if he wasn’t certain what that looked like, anyway, not after decades of chasing after Tony Stark’s shadow, but...

He’d find out. Somehow.

“Hey! Guys, I figured it out!” Ivan’s excited cheer woke everyone up early one morning. “Just gotta get my hands on some materials, but we can go home soon!”

#No Hero [Downward Descending]#schrodinger's canon #My writing

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potrix-the-queerschlaeger · 3 years

Text

boys boys boys

Inspired by this awesome post. I couldn’t resist. Also, I recommend listening to Mötley Crüe’s “Girls Girls Girls” while reading the story. Also available over on AO3.

[Now with a Sam/Bucky sequel!]

Sam wakes to a loud crash, followed by a string of breathlessly hissed curses. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, and why—on mission, somewhere in the alps, near the border between Switzerland and Italy—but once he does, he rolls over with a tired groan, blindly fumbling for the bedside lamp.

In the dim light it casts, he can make out Bucky crouched by the other bed across the room, picking shards of glass out of a damp spot on the carpet. His shoulders are tense, and he’s carefully avoiding Sam’s gaze, his mouth a thin, unhappy line. It’s too dark for Sam to see, right now, but he’d bet a hefty sum of money on the bags under Bucky’s eyes to be even more pronounced than yesterday.

A quick glance at his phone tells him it’s shortly after four in the morning, meaning they’ll have to be up and ready in less than two hours. Also meaning there’s no point in going back to sleep again.

Yawning, Sam throws back the covers, and slides out of bed. Bucky’s still not looking at him as he heads for the tiny kitchenette in the corner to flick on the kettle. He keeps his back to Bucky while he grabs mugs and tea bags, busying himself with preparing their tea in order to give Bucky at least a semblance of privacy.

(Watch out for the break!)

Sam’s no stranger to night terrors himself, although it’s hard to imagine what kind of horrors plague Bucky’s dreams, on top of the ones everyone in their line of work is unfortunately, intimately familiar with. And Bucky would almost definitely rather bite off and swallow his own tongue than admit it, but Sam’s fairly sure their current location isn’t exactly helping Bucky’s general state of mind, either.

It doesn’t take long for the water to start boiling, but once Sam turns back around, two steaming mugs in hand, the only evidence of what happened are the pieces of the broken water glass in the trash can by the desk. Bucky’s sitting on the bed, back leaned against the wall, knees pulled up, and face buried in his hands.

He lifts his head when Sam plops down next to him, though, taking the proffered mug with a raspy, “Thanks.”

They don’t talk, but after a couple of minutes, once Bucky’s looking a little less wild around the eyes, Sam bumps their shoulders together. Bucky leans into the contact, and they continue to drink their tea in silence.

By the time Sam catches up with him, Bucky’s got the last remaining HYDRA agent pinned against the wall by his throat, frantically scrabbling at Bucky’s metal arm as his face turns redder and redder. Sam lands a few feet away, and approaches the remaining distance on foot, hands held up placatingly.

Their objective is to bring this particular guy in alive for questioning. Sam knows this. Bucky knows this. Sam knows that Bucky knows this.

What Sam doesn’t know is if Bucky cares.

The instant they’d stepped foot in this particular base, Bucky’s whole demeanour had changed. He’d blinked at the lab equipment, first in confusion, then in recognition, and Sam had realised they were in for one hell of a bumpy ride.

“Bucky,” he says, quiet, when he comes to a stop at Bucky’s side.

Bucky’s breathing hard, chest heaving, and he bares his teeth in a silent growl before dropping the guy to the floor. “I know.”

Whoever this guy is, he definitely does not know when to quit. He coughs violently, but even though he can barely catch his breath, he spits out, “Желание, Ржавый, Семнадцать—”

Sam winces, but Bucky only rolls his eyes, grunts out, “Will you shut up?” and smashes the guy’s head into the wall, knocking him out cold.

Then he turns to Sam, grins, and announces, “You carry 'im upstairs,” before walking away.

Sam glares at his retreating back. “Man, you've got super strength!”

“You got wings, flyboy!”

“We’re in a bunker!”

“Can’t hear you, gotta speak up!”

“Oh, fu—”

Bucky’s sitting at the end of the dock, legs dangling over the edge, bare feet dipped into the water.

Sam loosens his tie as he walks over to him, the bottles of beer Pepper had handed him upon arrival hanging between the fingers of his free hand, clinking together softly. He kicks off his dress shoes once he reaches Bucky, and nudges him with the bottles until he takes them so Sam can pull off his socks.

The water of the lake is pleasantly cool, even in the otherwise sweltering summer heat, making Sam groan out loud when he pushes his feet in. Bucky chuckles quietly as he hands one of the beers back over.

“How bad was it?” Bucky asks, after a couple of minutes. He’s worrying his bottom lip, absently peeling the edge of the label on his bottle.

“A lot of speeches from a lot of people thinking themselves incredibly important.”

That makes Bucky snort out a laugh. “So, Steve woulda hated it, is what you’re sayin'?”

“Oh,” Sam says, equally amused, “definitely, yeah.”

He takes a pull of his beer, eyes wandering over to the willow tree on the shore, and the stone bench sitting in its shadow. They’re too far away for Sam to be able to read the memorial plaques, though if he squints, he can just about see them between the gently swaying branches.

Stark.

Tasha.

Steve.

Bucky comes readily when Sam slings an arm around his shoulders, smiling sadly at Sam’s, “Happy birthday, old man.”

“Happy birthday, Stevie.”

Stakeouts are boring.

And this one especially, since absolutely nothing has happened on any of the three days they’ve been watching the place. Their intel had been frustratingly vague, only alluding to someone with certain information maybe coming to stay at this particular Airbnb sometime this week.

With nothing else to do, Sam checks their perfectly working surveillance devices again, and scowls at the side of Bucky’s head.

Bucky never looks up from his rifle, but mutters an annoyed, “Cut it out,” in Sam’s general direction.

Sam pulls a face at him, but before he can snark something back, Bucky’s phone chimes from his pocket. Bucky startles, and fumbles it out with a clearly embarrassed, “Shit, sorry 'bout that.”

“Look at the professional,” Sam teases, and has to bite back a laugh when Bucky flicks a pebble at him. “Overwhelmed by modern technology, grandpa?”

“Funny,” Bucky says, deadpan, with a roll of his eyes. “Remind me, who was it who forgot to—”

“One time!” Sam cuts in, and throws a pebble back, nailing Bucky in the chest. “And I wasn’t the one who—”

Bucky glowers at him. “That doesn't count!”

“Yes, it most certainly does count,” Sam counters, ready to argue his point, when suddenly— “Wait, wait, hold on!”

“What?” Bucky is frowning, looking from Sam to their target house, then back again. “Somethin’ happening?”

Sam shakes his head, and tries to think of a delicate way to ask the question burning on the tip of his tongue, only to blurt out, “Are you on Grindr right now, man?”

The way Bucky’s entire face goes hot is very telling.

“Look, I was gonna tell ya—”

“No, hey,” Sam is quick to interrupt, reaching over to give Bucky’s arm a reassuring squeeze, “you don’t owe me an explanation, okay? I was just, uh. Let’s go with surprised.”

Bucky ducks his head, but he’s smiling faintly. “‘S not somethin’ I’m used to talkin’ about, is all.”

“Well, if you ever need to talk about it,” Sam spreads his arms in invitation, grinning when Bucky rolls his eyes again, “I’m right here.”

It’s enough to dispel the last of the awkwardness between them. Bucky quirks a brow at Sam, chin propped up on one hand, and flutters his lashes as he asks, “Wanna talk about boys, Wilson?”

“We’ve got the time,” Sam points out, then holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

The look that earns him is extremely dubious. “Why?”

“Look,” Sam wiggles his fingers impatiently, “do you want my help, or not?”

“Never asked for it,” Bucky grumbles, but does unlock and hand over his phone. “Just don’t—”

“Open the DMs, yes, got it,” Sam says, grimacing, and frantically presses the back button while Bucky cackles next to him, eyes shining with mirth. “That’s very forward.”

“Oh, he ain’t even the worst one,” Bucky says, looking at the screen over Sam’s shoulder. “What’re you doin’, anyway?”

Scrolling down the list of recent conversations, Sam clicks on the picture of a guy who’s actually showing his face, instead of his thighs or abs. “Figuring out your type.”

He stops swiping when he gets to a picture of the guy in a suit, and tilts the phone so Bucky can see better. “You know, he reminds me of—”

“Nope,” Bucky snatches the phone back, slapping at Sam’s hands when he tries to steal it again, “don’t ruin ‘im for me—”

“You don’t know who—”

“I don’t wanna know!”

“I think you already know he looks like—”

“I will throw you off this roof, Wilson!”

“Bring it on, Barnes!”

#the falcon and the winter soldier #sam wilson #bucky barnes #friendship #coming out #short and funny #no tfatws spoilers #myfics

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givemeweasley · 3 years

Text

First Things First pt. 2

Fred Weasley x Reader

Word Count:8.8k

Warnings: hella fluff, and ooey gooey romance, and then some angst (I couldn’t resist)

A/N: here's part two! Hope you enjoy!

First Things First pt. 1, First Things First pt. 3

-----

You remembered the first time you told your friends back in the States about him.

After about a million rounds of hugs the lot of you had settled down around your bedroom. You and Louisa were sitting on your bed, Danny sitting reverse in your desk chair, Thomas claimed the bean bag chair as soon as he walked in the room, and classic Iris who had opted to sit on the floor and lean against the wall. The familiarity of it all felt wonderful. Yet, almost new. You hadn’t seen them in a year, things had changed.

Once everyone was settled, the questions shot out at the pace of rockets. You could barely hear who they were coming from.

“What’s Quidditch?”

“How’s England?”

“What’s Hogwarts like?”

“Are there really prisoners running loose?”

“Did you see a dementor?”

“Did you almost die?”

“What are their houses?”

“Can you understand anything they say?”

“Are the boys cute?”

At that everyone shut up, glaring at Thomas.

He lifted his hands in defense and shrugged. “What?! Don’t act like we weren’t all thinking it!”

Like that instantly reminded them all of something, they shared a look before they all glanced at Iris.

She raised a brow. “I’m not surprised you bunch of cowards. I thought you were Wampus’?” She rolled her eyes before looking directly at you and smirking. “So who’s Fred Weasley?”

Your jaw dropped. You could’ve heard a pin drop in the room as all your friends stared back at you. Clearing your throat you answered, “He’s a friend of mine.”

Danny chuckled. “A friend? Is that what you ‘em in England?”

You crossed your arms, but Louisa nudged your sides. “Come on, Y/N! Tell us everything!!”

Whatever reserve you had had about saying anything, much less admitting it to yourself, dissolved with Louisa’s urging. You pulled your sleeves down until they curled around your palms. “Well, you already know his name.”

Louisa squealed, clutching your arm excitedly. She immediately got hushed by everyone else in the room.

“Um.” You furrowed your brows looking between all our friends. “I don’t really know what to say, honestly.”

“How about you start with how you two met, kid?” Danny smiled softly crossing his arms over the top of the chair. You huffed a laugh.

“Yeah. I suppose that’s a good place to start. Well, we met on the train to Hogwarts. It’s called the Hogwarts Express-”

“They get a train?!” Thomas shouted from the beanbag. A quick glance told you your other friends shared your sentiments. You had forgotten the stresses of using a portkey to get to school. A shiver went down your spine before you continued.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice too. They come by with a food cart around noon that has all sorts of treats-”

“Fred?” Iris raised a brow.

“Right. Well I found an empty car and sat down. He and his brother, George, and their friend, Lee, found me and wondered if they could join me since the other train cars were full.” Louisa awed from beside you. “Well at first I was so stuck in my head that I didn’t say anything so they almost left, but then I remembered I had working vocal chords and responded. That’s when they realized I was American.” You found yourself fondly rolling your eyes at the memory. “They then proceeded to pelt me with questions for the next several hours. Hm. Almost reminds me of some other people I know.” Giving a very pointed look at the four friends around you. But instead of guilty looks, they were all smiling, besides Iris who looked vaguely amused.

“What then?” Danny urged.

“Well, then I got sorted into the same house he was in. And no, Louisa, it was not love at first sight.” You said, noticing her hopeless romantic look. “He’s an identical twin, remember? I could barely tell him apart from his twin.”

“What houses do they have?” Iris interrupted. That was just the sort of thing she would interrupt for.

“Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.” Iris raised another brow, hinting that you should continue. “Gryffindor is the brave, Ravenclaw the wise, Hufflepuff the kind, and Slytherin the ambitious. That’s the best I can sum it up.”

“Hm.” She nodded. “Continue.”

“Right. Well. I got sorted into Gryffindor, which was his house. Then he and George called me over to sit with them and I did. Honestly, it was kind of history from there. They call me ‘Merica.” A small smile crept up on your face almost without your knowledge. “But there were lots of things we did. We had detention together.” You glanced up at Danny seeing his head thrown back in laughter. “We ate breakfast together every morning, had classes everyday, went to Hogsmeade-”

“Hogsmeade?” Louisa spoke up again.

“Oh- uh- it’s a little wizarding town outside of Hogwarts. We get to go there a couple times a semester.” Louisa nodded. “Anyway, there were lots of little things I think that we did together. Although a lot of the time we did them with George, Lee, and Angelina.”

“When did you know?” Thomas said grabbing the bean bag and dropping it a few feet closer to the bed before plopping down in it again.

“Know what?”

“You know, like, know.” Thomas winked dramatically.

“Oh-oh. Um.” You leaned back against your headboard. Was there a specific moment? “Well, I think I first started to-” You cleared your throat, “like him when I first got your letters at Hogwarts. It was probably a month or two into school and I was opening them before our Hogsmeade trip. I was- sad. I read Danny’s letter first and it reminded me how much I missed you guys. Fred sat down across from me and instead of saying any bullshit like it’s okay or I’m sure they miss you just as much or you have new friends now, he said well then, it’s a good thing we’re going to Hogsmeade today so we can buy them a couple of souvenirs to send back. I don’t know.” You looked down at your comforter and traced the pattern in the cloth. “It was just exactly what I needed to hear.”

“You can tell Fred I loved those Dungbombs.” Danny smirked.

“Tell him yourself. You have paper and quills.” You smirked back. “But-” Turning back to face Thomas, “I think I knew when I had to leave for the end of the year. Something about not being around him all the time made me realize holy shit I want to be around this buffoon all the time!”

With that you looked over to Louisa who was dabbing at imaginary tears, Thomas had his hand clenched over his heart, Danny was just shaking his head with a smile, and Iris was actually smiling.

Iris looked over to Danny. “Kids in love.”

You grabbed a pillow from behind her and chucked it at her. “Am not!”

“Sure. Sure. Whatever you say, kid.” Iris laughed as she caught the pillow and tucked it under her arm.

“Last question.” Louisa placed her head on your shoulder. “What does he look like?”

Hm. Good question. Your mind took you miles away and weeks ago as you waved goodbye to him on the Hogwarts Express platform. “Bright red hair that brushes his broad shoulders. He’s really tall too. Soft brown eyes. Muscular arms and a really warm smile.”

The room had quieted once again. You hadn’t realized you were staring off into space blushing until Danny spoke up breaking the silence looking at Iris.

“She’s in love.”

You flopped back onto the pillows and threw your arm over your eyes.

“Guys!”

But their laughter and teases had already overtaken your voice as the rest of them piled onto the bed on top of you.

You couldn’t help but smile underneath the weight of them and the thought that they were probably right.

-----

You remembered the first time you stayed at the Burrow.

Your mom had driven you to the Burrow early in the morning and parked around a hundred feet away from the front gate. You both walked to the front door, your suitcases in your hands, your football (and one extra for Lee) under your mothers arms. You set your suitcases down and knocked on the door.

If it had been quiet before that, all hell broke loose at the sound of your knock. You heard vague sounds of griping and fighting, before the door was wrenched open by who you assumed was Mrs. Weasley. Your first thought was she looks like the kindest woman I’ve ever met. It made you wonder what Fred and George and even Ron whined so much about.

“Oh! You must be Y/N and you must be Mrs. Y/L/N! Come in, come in!” She waved you both into what was the most out of order, magnificent, mismatched house you’d ever been in. And you couldn’t wait to stay. Mrs. Weasley hurried you both over to the chairs at the table before flicking her wand. You and your mom sat down before two cups of hot tea came flying (not spilling a drip) and landed on the table before you.

It was right at that moment that two boys came crashing down the stairs. Your head twisted to see Fred and George laying on top of each other in a weird pretzel at the base of the staircase. They both scrambled to get up and make their way over to you.

“Boys, be gentlemen and take Y/N’s stuff up to Ginny's room.” The boys looked at each other and then back to their mom.

“But mum-”

“Ginnys!” She raised her voice the slightest bit and gave them a smile you recognized seeing on your own mother several times before. The one that garnered zero arguments. Hearing them sighing, you placed your tea back down on the table and stood.

“I’ll go help them, if that’s alright?” Your hands were clasped tightly together. You didn't want to offend Mrs. Weasley your first night here. You could hear the twins grabbing your suitcases from behind you.

“Of course, dear. It’ll give me a minute to talk with your mum.” She gave you a kind smile which alleviated some of your nerves as you pulled the footballs from your mothers grasp and followed Fred and George upstairs.

As soon as you hit the second floor, Fred grabbed your arm and pulled you into a room. They both dropped your suitcases and threw their arms around you. The footballs fell onto the floor as you wrapped your arms around the both of them.

“Missed you, ‘Merica.” George mumbled.

“Things have been boring around here.” Fred smiled pulling back. You tried your best to conceal the blush that threatened to make itself more known than it already was.

After they both let go, it gave you a chance to see their room. You knew it was their room the minute you saw the mess. Papers of what you assumed were plans for joke shop products were scattered everywhere but mostly concentrated on the desk. Their beds were littered with a few of those test products that you had been on the receiving end of a few times. Your eyes lifted back to the boys.

“I’ve missed you guys too.” You bent down to grab your suitcases, but Freds hands snatched them out of your grip. “But your mom is going to hate me unless you take me to Ginny’s room.”

“No she’s not.” George rolled his eyes but squeezed past you and into the hall. You followed him, leaving the footballs in their room. “We’ve told her too much about you and how you’ve tried to get us to stop doing pranks-”

“That’s not true-”

“She doesn’t need to know that.” Fred whispered in your ear from behind you, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin. His head appeared next to your shoulder as he followed close behind and winked.

“Stop that!” You swatted at him, but he had already moved laughing as you missed.

“And here we are.” George led you into Ginny’s room and Fred followed before placing your suitcases on the floor.

“Where’s Ginny?” You asked, turning to the twins.

“Down at the lake with Ron. We were gonna go join them but then Fred here remembered you were coming today, so we decided to wait.”

“How sweet.”

“Well get dressed so we can go join them!” Fred called as he and his brother left the room, shutting the door behind them.

As soon as you heard the click you plopped down on the nearest bed. Your heart felt as if it was about to beat itself right out of your chest. You could practically hear it. For a moment you wondered if Fred could.

And then you realized you were being paranoid. You shook your head trying to get your mind off the way Fred’s arms felt around you. Strong. Comforting. Warm.

Those could’ve been George’s arms.

With that, you stood up and quickly got changed into your swimsuit and grabbed a towel. Holding it over your body, a little self conscious, you poked your head out the door. Seeing Fred leaning against the wall in nothing but swim trunks almost made you fall flat on your face, but luckily you caught yourself on the door frame.

You cleared your throat as you walked out and closed Ginny’s door behind you. Fred looked up. You couldn't have been lying to yourself as you saw a faint flush light up his cheeks as his hand lifted to rub the back of his neck. The tension only seemed to build as neither of you spoke.

Finally you managed to choke out, “so where’s George?”

A light seemed to go off behind Fred’s eyes as he straightened and shook his head. “Oh- um- George. Right. He- uh- he already left to go to the- uh the lake. Said he got tired of waiting.”

You nodded. “So are you ready?” You asked taking a step closer to Fred. He choked and stumbled backward grabbing onto the wall.

“Yeah- uh yeah!” Abruptly, he turned around and made his way down the stairs. You stood there for a second thinking about what just happened before shrugging and following him down.

“Oh there you are sweetie!” Your mom smiled standing by the door. “I was waiting for you to come down so I could say bye.”

You strolled to the door and hugged your mom tightly. “Love you, mom.” She kissed you on the head.

“Love you, too. Have fun and treat Mrs. Weasley with just as much respect as you would your father and I.”

“Yes ma’am.” Giving her one last hug, she walked out the door and to her car. You watched her at the door as she drove away.

“I’m really excited to have you here Y/N! Your mum is a kind woman.” Mrs. Weasley said from behind you.

You turned and smiled at her, nodding. “She really is.”

“Anyway!” Fred interrupted, grabbing your hand. “We’ve got a lake to go swim in! Bye mum!” Fred pulled you out the door and past the gate before you even had time to wave.

“Be careful!” Mrs.Weasley called out at the door.

Once you two were far enough from the house, you figured Fred would let go. But, he didn’t. You allowed your heart to expand just a little. He slowed his pace to a casual walk instead of the frantic run he’d started with.

The problem was he wouldn’t look at you. Actually, he seemed quite interested in anything that wasn’t you.

You stopped, half expecting his hand to leave yours as he continued walking. Instead, he jerked to a stop too once he realized your hand was tugging on his. You tried not to think about the fact that he was still holding your hand rather than continuing to walk on without it.

However, he still didn’t look at you. He only tilted his head in your direction, still facing forward.

“Are you mad at me?” You whispered laying it on thick, hoping it would do the charm. It did.

Fred’s eyes snapped to yours worriedly. “Mad? Bloody hell no. Why would you think that?” He asked, taking a step closer to you.

“Well you weren’t looking at me or talking to me, so…”

Fred ran his free hand through his hair and closed his eyes sighing. “I haven’t looked at you, because you’re killing me here.”

You took a step closer.

“How so?” You tilted your head innocently as you gazed up at his still closed eyes. At feeling your body heat, Fred’s eyes snapped open. He took a step back. This felt like a dance you only vaguely knew the steps to.

He visibly took a deep breath before shaking his head. “Forget it, let’s go before they start having all the fun without us.”

You let him pull you this time. A small hope blossoming in your heart and a secret smile forming on your lips.

-----

You remembered the first time you almost admitted how you felt.

Turns out Fred’s surprise was an invite to the Quidditch World Cup. Something he insisted was the very height of all world sports. You didn’t tell him you still thought Quadpot was better. You were appreciative either way.

The day leading up to the match was quite eventful. From the portkey that instantly took you back to America and Ilvermorny, to watching as Fred and George gambled away their entire savings on the game you were sure the game couldn’t possibly be as entertaining as everything around it. Especially not when Fred and George painted their faces in Irish colors.

“So you enjoying yourself?” George asked from beside you in the stands. Fred was on your other side not paying you a bit of attention as he took in every aspect of the general splendor.

Your eyes shifted to look at George who still had his eyes on the pitch.

“Yeah, I guess. Honestly, I’m just happy to be here with everyone.”

“How were The States? I don’t think I’ve gotten the chance to ask, with that one-” he nodded at Fred, “hogging all your attention.”

That sent a blush straight to your cheeks. It almost made you sick how often that was beginning to happen.

“I-”

“Don’t even try to deny it, Y/N. We all see it.” He nudged your shoulder with his. “Mum supports it wholeheartedly if that’s what you’re worried about.” Your jaw dropped at that. You quickly glanced to see if Fred was paying any attention, but his focus was still on the ads flashing before him.

“George- I-” You sat back and huffed. “How’d you know?”

He scoffed. “As if everyone couldn’t tell. You two are constantly making googly eyes at each other.” George leaned in close. “Fred wouldn’t shut up about you the first night after we met you. Kept raving like a madman about how pretty you were and how he wanted to hear about football and a million other American things.”

You had to keep from looking behind you at the boy who was the focal point of your conversation.

“What you are lot talking about?” Speaking of the devil, his head appeared over your shoulder.

You frantically looked at George hoping he would come up with some sort of-

“We were talking about how her trip back to The States was.” George replied leaning back in his seat. “Now focus, the game’s about to start.” You nodded way too energetically, and you almost thought Fred was going to say something about it. But he seemed to hold his tongue after meeting George’s eyes and turned back to the game.

“The Irish are gonna win. I’m sure of it.” He mumbled.

“You better be. You bet all your savings on it.” You whispered back a slight smirk on your face. Fred shook his head and opened his mouth to respond.

“Well if it isn’t another dirty mudblood in the stands.” A low voice hissed in your ear. Your head whipped around only to see Draco Malfoy sitting behind you, an evil little smirk on his beady face. You felt both the boys tense beside you as they both prepared to presumably respond. You immediately turned around and grabbed both of their arms firmly.

“We’re just gonna pretend he’s not here.” You whispered quietly enough you knew the twins would hear, but hopefully not loud enough Draco-

“I almost forgot-”

You muttered under your breath.

“How beautiful and kind hearted you are.” The shriek of indignation was a clear sign of it’s effectiveness. You smiled broadly as Fred and George both turned to you as Draco continued to mumble niceties.

“The hell did you do?” George laughed.

You shrugged. “Wandless magic. I call it the Sweetheart Charm.”

Both boys' jaws dropped. “You know wandless magic?!” Fred leaned in.

“Not strong magic, but it’s kind of an elective at Ilvermorny. A useful one apparently.” You giggled still half listening to Draco talk about how much he admired Harry Potter.

Fred huffed. “You could’ve told me that before I borrowed George’s wand to scourgify Snape’s classroom last year.”

You turned and nudged his shoulder with your own. “A good magician never reveals her tricks.”

With that, the game kicked off. Quite literally. The players took flight and from your mid-pitch seat you were able to see everything well enough. The excitement in the stadium was tangible. Both sides were rowdy and exuberant and became even more so as the game went on. Especially when the Veela and Leprechauns began to fight on the pitch.

Quadpot would never.

Finally, Victor Krum caught the Snitch meaning the game was over. And the Irish had won the World Cup. Fred and George jumped up throwing their hands in the air before Fred hauled you up with him and pulled you into his arms.

“We won!!” He shouted, smiling broadly. “We won!! That means we won our bet!!” Now that was something you could cheer for.

You screamed, throwing your arms around his neck as he picked you up. With your face pressed into his neck, you breathed in. He smelled like face paint, sweat, and a tiny hint of firework ash. You dug your face deeper never wanting to forget it.

Eventually he set you down, but his arms were still wrapped tightly around you. For a moment, just a moment, you contemplated leaning up barely a fraction of an inch to join your lips to his. You could feel his breath on your skin. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you began to rise to your toes.

“Fred! George! You won!” Ron shouted from below you. You two jumped apart as if you’d been shocked. You heard Fred clear his throat while you stood next to him trying to remember how to breathe.

“Yeah, Ron. We did!” He smiled but it looked more like a grimace. You should’ve known he was being weird when he didn’t immediately find something to tease Ron about.

After that, Mr. Weasley led you out of the stands and back down to your tent. For a while, you all stay out and celebrate. Shouting and screaming and laughing and just having fun. But there came a point where even you got tired and had to retreat into your tent. You practically collapsed on your bed after changing into sleep shorts and a random No-Maj band t-shirt. Sleep was instantaneous.

“Wake up! Girls get up!” You awoke to someone shaking your shoulders. Blinking rapidly, you focused on Mr. Weasley standing above you with a panicked look. “Get up!” He moved on from you seeing you were awake, to wake up Hermione or Ginny. You didn’t know. But the fear in his eyes made you roll out of bed and grab your wand.

Hermione and Ginny were both waking up looking just as frightened, shivering in their nightdresses as Mr. Weasley ushered you all out of the tent. All you managed to piece together in your terrified state was Mr. Weasley saying the woods and stay there. You barely registered as Fred grabbed onto Ginny and George grabbed onto you, as they whisked you into the forest.

Your bare feet tripped over souvenirs and sticks. You tried to ignore how it stung and how the bitter English cold bit through your thin t-shirt and shorts.

I am way out of my depth.

Fear trickled into every inch of your body as George kept tugging you into the forest. But you tripped. George lost his grip and in seconds you lost sight of him.

“Get up!” Someone yelled as they grabbed your arm and yanked you into a standing position. It took a second to see it was George who had come back for you. Relief flooded your system. Finally you both broke through the trees, but you had lost Fred and Ginny in the process.

George didn’t let up, he kept pulling you in whatever direction was away from the campsite. Your feet were definitely going to be cut up. You tried not to think about it even as tears poured down your cheeks.

After what felt equally like hours and no time at all, you both came to a halt. George pulled you into a sitting position behind a tree, you settled between his legs and his arms around you. Your heart was pounding. Your muscles were aching. You had never felt more ill equipped than you did at that moment. Even with being a witch.

“George, I’m scared.” You whispered so quiet you could barely hear it. It felt odd that the forest was so quiet. You could barely hear the screams and shouts coming from the campsite, whether that was a good thing or a bad thing you weren’t sure.

“Y/N,” You knew that voice. “It’s Fred.” His hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear. His head resting on your shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Trust me.”

You leaned your head against his and closed your eyes. “Okay.” You tucked your knees into your chest and just waited. You could feel Fred’s chest heaving from behind you. It countered your own labored breathing. That one solitary fact provided the smallest bit of comfort. That he was breathing in while you breathed out. That he breathed out while you breathed in. It felt safe. You couldn’t describe it any other way.

Briefly, you thought back to what George said in the box earlier that day. You turned your head ever so slightly towards Fred. You licked your lips as if giving yourself just a second more before gaining the courage.

If the fear of death wasn’t motivation enough, you didn’t know what would be.

“Fred?” You breathily whispered.

“Yeah?” He whispered back.

“I have to tell you something.”

He let out a small laugh but it sounded so devoid of any humor. “Then tell me, love.”

“For awhile now, I’ve been-”

Green light flashed like lightning above you. You scrambled to your feet, Fred following, to see what it was that lit up the entire forest in an eerie green glow.

A snake coming through a skull.

The Dark Mark.

You stumbled back into Fred who caught your arm before you fell.

“Let’s go.” He mumbled before fiercely tugging you in the opposite direction of the mark in the sky. Fear rattled through your bones then.

Even as Fred tugged you through the forest, your eyes were on that Dark Mark in the sky. You didn’t know if you wished your parents had never brought you here or if you were glad they did.

-----

You remembered your first kiss.

The Triwizard tournament held more excitement for you than for most. It wasn’t because you could enter under the name of Ilvermorny (although you did consider it but you were a year too young). Nor was it because the prospect of spectating the tournament held a special excitement. It was because for the first time in your Hogwarts life, you were not the only foreigner.

French and Russian wizards and witches were now at Hogwarts which meant, for the first time, no one cared that you were the only American in a British Wizarding school. Your friends still called you ‘Merica, but that had never bothered you to begin with.

Everyone was instead focusing on the fact that Quidditch World Cup player Viktor Krum was in attendance at their school.

You, however, were using the time everyone was focused on stalking him to find some peace and quiet. The start of classes had been even more stressful than last year. You had gotten your OWLs back and had gotten ten total. Considering your aspirations to be a healer, you had no choice.

You had stopped studying in the library as Viktor had decided, for whatever reason, to make it his personal haunt. Meaning that there were always a gaggle of girls following close behind, trying and also failing at being quiet. Also meaning that you had to find a new study hole.

Instead of picking the obvious choice, the Gryffindor Common Room which always seemed to be bursting at the seams with signs and people chanting Harry’s name, you went with something a little more hidden.

The kitchens.

The house elves were friendly and welcomed you everytime you came in carrying your books and papers. They’d been kind enough to help you set up a little armchair in the corner of the room with a small side table next to it to lay your work on. It had been a life saver. It gave you an escape from everything and an opportunity to make new friends. Although the thought of slaves enjoying slavery sent a chill up your spine, but if you knew anything about Hermiones attempts at SPEW, it was better to leave the subject alone.

You’d been spending more and more time alone since returning to Hogwarts from the Burrow. Especially after Defense of the Dark Arts with Moody. The thought of that specific class made you want to hurl. Your boggart had been nearly unbearable.

The sight of your mother dead on the floor of the classroom had been nightmare material for the past month. You didn’t tell anyone, not even Fred you were having them. You just pulled back figuring that once everything stopped feeling so fresh and raw, you could talk about it.

“More coffee ma’am?” One of the house elves you’d come to know as Jippy held out a cup of pitch black liquid.

You reached forward taking the cup from his hands, breathing in the welcoming aroma.

“Thanks, Jips.” A broad smile overtook his big eyed face before he nodded and went back to work.

You continued to work through your Potions homework with the utmost concentration. The NEWTs class was indeed harder, and took up most of your studying time.

“There you are.” A voice called from across the room. Your eyes lifted, seeing none other than George Weasley strolling towards you with his hands in his pockets. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Who’s we?” You asked sitting up from your slouched position in the chair as George grabbed a nearby stool to sit on next to you.

“Who do you think?”

“Well is he wearing an Invisible Cloak?” You replied just as sarcastically.

George let out a small laugh. “No, we split up to cover more ground. He went to check the upper levels. If only we still had the Marauders Map.” He shook his head wistfully.

“What if I didn’t want to be found?” You lifted the corner of your mouth in an attempt at a smile, but he saw right through it. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and gazed sharply at you.

“Then I’d have to ask you why.”

You looked away unable to hold his stare. “George. I don’t wanna talk about it.” You hesitated. “I’m not ready to yet.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw George nod sadly. But he understood, you could tell. “Alright, Y/N.” He stood and pushed the stool back to its original position. “But you’ll find us whenever you’re ready to talk?”

You met his eyes and smiled softly. “Of course.” With that he nodded and began to make his way to the back of the portrait. “Wait!” You stretched your arm out as if you could reach him.

“Yeah?” He asked, glancing back at you.

“Don’t tell Fred about-” You waved your hands around you. “I wanna still be alone here.”

George nodded. “No problem.” And with that he stepped through the portrait and was gone.

You slumped on the chair, lifting the hot coffee to your mouth. All you could do was think. Think about nothing and somehow everything as the coffee stung its way down your throat.

It was past midnight a few nights later when you snuck out of the Gryffindor tower. The hood of your cloak was pulled over your head after you checked that the coast was clear. Quietly you made your way down to the Trophy Room on the third floor. It was the only place you could think that would have what you needed. The halls were dark and the only sound was your light footsteps on the stone. The light from the candles flickered as if they were minutes from going out. But you reached the room in enough time.

You closed the door quietly behind you once you reached the room and began to look around. The trophy room was almost always empty. Plenty of dark nooks and crannies within the cases and trophies themselves. The trophies themselves seem to stare at you from behind the glass of their cases, following you through the room, knowing what you were seeking. You slowly made your way around the room listening for any creaks or sharp noises.

“Lumos.” You whispered walking steadily through the room. The light from your wand caused shadows to stretch up to the ceiling. They leaned over you and stared down causing a sliver of fear to creep it’s way into your heart.

Finally, closer to the back of the room than you would’ve liked, you heard it. One of the bottom drawers in what looked like a dresser filled with cleaning supplies was rattling. You lifted your wand higher and whispered.

“Alohomora!”

The drawer snapped open as the boggart flew at you, almost causing you to drop your wand. You stumbled back into a trophy case before catching yourself. But that moment was all the boggart needed to shift before your eyes.

Your mother was clutching her bleeding throat, blood pouring down the front of her dress. Her eyes were desperate, until they focused on you. They shifted to burning rage as she stumbled forward choking out a few words as she stumbled towards you.

“You...disappoint...me. You’re no…daughter...of mine.” She choked out as you fell backwards onto your hands.

“Rid-R-Riddikulus!” You pointed your wand at your mother. But the boggart shifted into your father. Clutching his abdomen as blood poured out onto the ground.

“You did this.” He spat at you.

“No. No, Dad- I-” It shifted again into Danny.

“You abandoned me. Abandoned our school. Our friends. Our life. Don’t ever come back.” He lifted his hand which held a wand with a frightening look on his face as he shifted into Iris.

“I never liked you. You were always weak, too weak to be a Wampus. Too weak to even be called a witch, you mudblood.” She spat at you.

And then her face shifted into one much taller with flame red hair. The gentle brown eyes you’d come to love looked at you with utter loathing. You shook your head desperately wanting it to stop.

“You think I would ever love you? As if you’d ever be worthy of my time much less my affection. It’s hilarious to think I would ever want a vile creature like you.” You crawled backwards, scrambling to get away. Bumping into trophies and trophy cases as the boggart gained on you. Every shadow that had once seemed lifeless, seemed to peel off the walls before you, multiplying your fear tenfold.

This wasn’t real, you tried to remind yourself.

It’s not real. He’s not real.

“Not real, am I?” Tears spilled down your cheeks obscuring your view of Fred. But you could see the disdain on his face clear enough. “I’m flesh and blood, Y/N.” He took another step closer, you felt the sound of that footstep in your chest. “You have no future.” Another step closer.

“You will die alone.”

Another step.

“No one to love you.”

“Riddi-Riddi-Riddiku-”

“No one to mourn you.”

Another step.

“Bury your body.”

“No.” You whimpered, shaking your head frantically.

“You are nothing.”

“R-Riddikulus!” You shouted again with tears in your eyes. “Please!”

But Fred kept gaining on you, until his hand wrapped around the front of your cloak and hauled you close to his face. His brows were furrowed deeply, the lines around his mouth almost made it look like he was snarling. His eyes looked at you like he couldn’t even stand to touch you or even look at you. “I hate you.”

“Riddikulus!” A voice shouted from behind you. You fell to the floor as the boggart shifted into a firework before disappearing altogether. Sobs wracked your body as you laid crumpled in a heap. You heard footsteps gaining on you but couldn’t even bear to see who it was. Despite knowing the answer.

“Y/N?” A hand gently laid on your back. The flinch that followed couldn’t be helped. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry.” He immediately whispered, lifting his hand. You heard a soft sigh before you felt hands softly grasping your chin.

Fred was kneeling in front of you with the gentlest expression you’d seen on him to date. And yet, you saw the deep pain in his eyes. One hand swept your hair back then moved to wipe the tears still falling from your eyes with his thumb.

“C’mere.” He opened his arms. He made no move to force you into his arms. For a moment, you hesitated. His words- the boggarts words- were still reverberating around your skull. But you needed him. Fred. Not- not- the Fred of your nightmares. So you crawled into his arms, still shaking.

His arms came around you immediately, rocking you both back and forth on the floor. He shushed you softly while running his fingers through your hair. Fred pressed a kiss into your hair before tucking your head under his cheek. But he remained silent. As did you.

Slowly but surely your breathing slowed. You leaned further into Fred’s embrace as if that was possible, relaxing your muscles a fraction.

He seemed to take that as a sign that you were ready. “Y/N, what happened?” His voice was soft in your ear. You lifted your hand and placed it on his chest. You felt the steady thrum of his heart, and it gave you just enough peace to answer.

“I’ve-” Your voice broke off, hoarse from trying to scream a spell that wasn’t working. “I’ve been having nightmares.” Your fingers curled into his shirt. “Ever since Defense Against the Dark Arts. I saw my mom.” At that it seemed like everything came spilling out.

“I’m so scared, Fred. That Dark Mark-” Fred’s grip tightened. “My grandfather died in the First War against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I didn’t know him, but my grandmother talks about it sometimes. It’s why we moved to America.”

“I didn’t know.” He whispered in your hair.

“How could you? I never told you.” You sucked in another breath. “I’ve been having nightmares about death. My parents dying, my friends dying, you dying. I can’t get it out of my head, and it just keeps playing on repeat like some horror film that only shows one scene. Maybe it’s the stress of NEWT classes, maybe it’s because I’m weak, I don’t know.”

Fred gripped your chin in his hand, turning you to meet his eyes. The softness was still there but it was buried underneath determination. “Y/N, listen to me very closely. No one is dying. We’re all here. We’re all safe. Okay?”

You nodded.

You desperately wanted to look away as you asked the next question, but Fred’s grip was firm. “How much did you see?”

His thumb brushed over your cheek. “I walked in the room when he said ‘not flesh and blood, am I?’ but it took me a minute to figure out how to get over to you.” There was real pain in his eyes as he spoke to you this time. “Y/N, I would never never say those things to you. They are simply not true.” Fred released your chin to tuck you under his own as he brushed back your hair. You wondered if it was more for you or him. “When you die, a long time from now, it will be surrounded by those whom you love and who love you in return. You will be missed for as long as the sky is blue and your children's children’s children will get to say they are a part of your family.” He pressed a delicate kiss to the crown of your head. “You are important. You are magnificent. Breathtakingly beautiful. And I-” He cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t know how to live without you anymore.” The warmth that bloomed in your chest dissolved every shadow in your soul that carried those fears. They were pressed and suffocated by the light that Fred was.

You leaned back to look him in the eyes. Your faces inches apart. Your hand reached up to brush his hair from his face and tuck it behind his ear. Instead of pulling it back, you slid it behind his neck. It wasn’t you pulling him or him pulling you, it was a tacit movement from both ends. And your lips met.

It felt like falling. The sky before you in shades orange to pink to yellow to blue. Like a sunrise on a beach. Morning dew in a quiet wood. Cold rain after a drought. All the best things the Earth had to offer were experienced in one moment. One person.

Your fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of his neck while one of his arms lifted to cradle your shoulders trying to pull you closer. As if somehow the two of you could become one and never separate.

His lips were soft and warm. Everything you knew him to be. They moved over yours gently, like he was afraid to break you.

Just as naturally as you two eclipsed, you pulled back. Your hand still wound in his hair, his still tightly clutching your shoulder and waist. The world could’ve been falling apart around you and neither of you would’ve noticed.

You began winding a piece of his hair around your finger. “How’d you know where I was?” It came out breathier than you anticipated.

“I left my sweater in the common room and saw the portrait shut behind you. I had a feeling I’d need my wand so I ran back up to my dorm to grab it before coming back. I knew Harry still had the Marauders map so I snuck up to his dorm to grab it before coming to get you.” He twisted a bit as his arm left your shoulders. He pulled out the map from his pocket and opened it, showing the two of your footsteps in the Trophy Room. You stared at the spot you two were intertwined on the map way too long to be considered normal, before looking back up at Fred.

“Thank you.” You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Always, ‘Merica.” He whispered back, clutching you to his chest. “Always.”

-----

You remembered the first time you fought with him.

It had been several months since that night in the Trophy Room. But whatever you’d been hoping for when you left that room was not quite what happened when you actually did.

Everything went back to relatively normal. Forgetting the unspoken tension between you and Fred whenever you were next to each other or even remotely close. It took only a glance now for your heart to start pounding out of your chest as you were reminded of the feeling of his lips on yours.

You turned your head back to Professor Sprout who was going over the many uses of Moly.

“It’s most common uses are as a counteragent against a range of enchantments…” She went on as you scribbled the notes down. This was probably a plant you used in multiple antidotes if you wanted to work at St. Mungos.

You desperately tried to focus, but it was difficult when you could feel his eyes on you every five seconds. You quietly slammed your quill down before looking at him.

“What?!” You whisper-shouted.

Fred’s already wide smile broadened. “Nothing.” Then he turned to look back at Professor Sprout.

He was doing shit like this all the time. It was driving you up the wall. You couldn’t decide if it was because you were upset at the fact that nothing had happened between you, if he really was just being annoying, or maybe because he hadn’t asked you to be his date to the stupid Yule Ball. You supposed you should at least be glad your life had gone back to semi-normal. You’d stop shutting yourself in the kitchens (although you still made time to visit Jips). George, Lee, and Angelina practically cheered the next time you joined them in the library to study. Fred smiled secretly from his chair, that day, as you tried to avoid eye contact.

Shaking your head, you got back to taking notes. This was an important class that you needed to do well in if you wanted to get the job you dreamed of. Rolling your shoulders, you studied the Moly in front of you.

You tapped it with your quill before continuing to write.

“Taking enough notes, ‘Merica?” Fred whispered right into the shell of your ear. The shiver it sent through your body caused your quill to jerk across your page right through your notes. Your jaw dropped. Your notes were...legible at least.

You snapped your head to him. “Fred! What the hell!” You punched his arm.

He had the decency to look guilty. “Sorry, love. Didn’t think you’d react that way.” He scratched the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his, you’d come to realize. You hated how it stretched the muscle on his arm making it much more noticeable. Your eyes flicked back up to his. He was smirking, the prick. He knew what he was doing.

You huffed before turning back to Professor Sprout. “It’s fine.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know.”

You’d been walking back to the common room with Fred and George after dinner with Adrian Pucey grabbed your arm. You jerked to a stop as you turned to face him.

“Oi mate!” Fred shouted and stepped forward with a heated look in his eyes. “Bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Let her go.” George seconded.

Adrian wasn’t looking at either of them though. He rolled his eyes before focusing back on you. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Can it not wait? I kinda need to study for-”

“It can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Did you not hear him? He said let her go.” Fred growled, stepping forward between you two. You laid a hand on his arm pushing him away gently.

“It’s fine. I’ll meet you two in the common room okay?” You smiled and he seemed to deflate as he furrowed his eyebrows. Nonetheless, he and George walked away (not without Fred huffing the entire way to the staircase).

You turned back to Adrian. “So?”

“Wanna go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Huh?

You glanced around for a moment, half expecting Draco or Pansy to jump out with a sign that says ‘Surprise! You thought a Slytherin would ask you??’ But no one jumped out. In fact the hall was pretty quiet.

“Y/N?” Adrian shuffled.

“Oh, um.” You paused. “I can’t. I’m going with-” with who? Fred? The guy who hadn’t asked you yet despite kissing you in the Trophy room months ago? “You.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could take them back. You looked up at Adrian expecting to see his face break out into a cruel laugh, but it didn’t. He just smiled.

“Cool, I guess I’ll uh come get you from Gryffindor Tower at like 7:45?”

You nodded mindlessly, still not believing you’d said yes. “Uh- yeah that works.” You lifted your hand, stumbling backwards towards the staircase Fred and George had disappeared up. “Alright- bye.” You spun on your heel and practically catapulted yourself up the steps.

You said yes. To Adrian Pucey. Because Fred hadn’t asked you yet. Despite the ball being only a few weeks away.

What did I do? You shook your head and almost turned back to tell Adrian you made a mistake, despite being at Gryffindor Tower. But bumping into a solid frame prevented you from walking in either direction.

Two strong hands grabbed you by your forearms steadying you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“What did Pucey want?” Fred spat his name out like it was poison. You tried hard not to look guilty as you looked up into his eyes.

“He wanted to talk about the Yule ball.”

Freds grip tightened on your arms. “What about it?”

You sucked in a deep breath. “He asked me to go with him.”

“You said no.”

“No.”

Fred jerked back as if you’d stung him with nettle. “No you said yes, or no you said no.”

You pulled yourself out of Fred's grip, taking a step back. “I told him I would go with him, Fred.”

Fred had the nerve to look affronted. Anger swept over his features. For a brief moment, you were reminded of the face of the boggart. Yet even in Fred’s obvious anger, it could never compare to the deep loathing set in the face of his mimic.

“Why.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Are you serious?”

“Obviously.”

“Because no one else has asked me, Fred.” You said his name with the same venom he addressed Adrian with. “The Yule balls only a few weeks away and I don’t want to go alone.”

Fred’s eyes softened as he stepped closer to you. “I would’ve-”

You pushed his shoulders as hard as you could, causing him to stumble back a few feet. “Then why didn’t you?! I was waiting! There was no reason to say no to Adrian, who has only ever been nice to me, when there was no guarantee that the guy I wanted to go with would even ask me if he hadn’t already.” Tears unwillingly built up in your eyes.

“Will you go to the Yule ball with me?” Fred asked, reaching out for you. You couldn’t believe your ears. The question you’d been waiting for for weeks and here he was asking you only minutes after you’d been asked by someone else.

You let out a loud humorless laugh, gripping your stomach as you doubled over. Nothing was actually funny, you were just in such a state of shock that it bubbled out of you in the form of laughter.

“We kiss. Never bring it up. Never do it again. Never say so much as the word kiss around each other.” Every word you took the smallest step towards him until you were standing a foot away. Yet somehow it still felt like miles. “And suddenly when someone else shows interest, you want to too.”

Whatever you said seemed to anger Fred even more than hearing you’d said yes to Adrian. His eyes narrowed into slits as he glared down at you. “You could’ve brought up that kiss just as easily as I could’ve, Y/N! Hell, you could’ve asked someone to the Yule ball instead of waiting for him to ask you!”

A part of you hated how right he was, but the other part just wanted to win the fight. “Well one guy decided I was worth the risk of rejection, while the other was apparently waiting for me to build up the courage to ask even though I’d practically handed my heart to him on a silver platter.” You pushed past him to whisper the password to the Fat Lady.

The portrait swung open, the Fat Lady doing her best to not meet either of your eyes. Your hand still gripping the frame you turned back to Fred. Tears slipping down your cheeks in waves now.

“You know, for a Gryffindor you sure are a coward.”

The portrait fell shut quietly behind you.

#Fred Weasley x reader #Fred Weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #fred Weasley fic #George Weasley #harry potter #Harry Potter fic #hogwarts #ilvermorny #First Things First #fw

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c-c-cherry · 4 years

Note

OOH I GOT A GOOD REQUEST,,,, How about Jonathan’s reaction to each of the jojos, and their jobros?

*Jonathan looking down at his absolutely fucked family tree, a single tear running down his cheek*

Listen...I always say that *insert literally any character* is the best parental figure but it's Jonathan hours which legally means I can call Jonathan best dad in this post regardless of anything I’ve said in the past about any other best dads.

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Lemme just implement my soft Jonathan headcanons first:

-Soft man. The king of manly tears. Tears down toxic masculinity like a fucking bulldozer

-Knits AND crochets. He never had a mother growing up so when Erina came in with all these lovely, traditionally feminine skills, he wanted to learn ALL OF IT

-Arguably gives the best hugs out of every Jojo (Josuke is a pretty close second, though)

-Since this post is just an impossible dimensional pocket where anything can happen, him and Erina live in one of those old grandma cottage-houses with a comfy, old couch and tacky curtains and a really cute little garden

-Again, if this is a pocket dimension he’s definitely hosting the Joestar family reunion there

-Just one of those houses where everyone feels comfortable

-Is impossible to piss off (except if you do anything to the people he loves)

-Always speaks in a very soft, understanding voice even when he’s mad/disappointed

-The father figure all the Jojos wish they had

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Part 2:

-You know that face you make when you watch someone you love do something insanely stupid but you’re still trying to keep positive because you know from experience that trying to stop them is futile?

-Just this constant, wincing smile?

-Yeah. That pretty much sums up Jonathan’s expression within any vicinity of Joseph Joestar

-He loves the man. He really does. But oh my god is he a dumbass

-Jonathan is the type of man to like,,,make bread and talk about his feelings but Joseph wants none of that shit and that’s ok,,,Jonathan can and will find another way to bond

-Regardless, he loves his Himbo grandson and the two of them end up talking about Erina and Speedwagon and a lil bit of Hamon too :3

-CAESAR on the other hand—Jonathan is so fucking happy to see a descendant of the Zeppeli’s continuing the whole Hamon thing and managing to be friends with Joseph

-Although Joseph never wants to talk about it outside of fighting, Jonathan and Caesar both share this tender love for the healing aspect of it :’)

-He teaches Caesar how to do stuff like grow/heal plants and flowers and Caesar ends up growing his own sunflowers in Jonathan’s backyard :)

-Smokey reminds him of Poco and he literally just wants to protect him with his whole heart hhhhhhhh

-Suzi Q also reminds him of Erina, but he still has no idea how she puts up with Joseph’s bullshit (and whenever she can’t decide what to wear, he always helps)

-He penalizes Lisa Lisa for being a fucking Hamon coach and also smoking cause like-

Part 3:

-Hgggghnn HEAR ME OUT but between him and Joseph, Jotaro arguably has more qualities of Jonathan including this wonderfully secret, sweet, sensitive side

-Jonathan grows flowers using Hamon and braids them into Star Plat’s hair (he has practice when doing it with Erina) :))))

-Joot claims to hate the bread that Jonathan bakes but if he DOES make it y’all know you’ll find him sitting there, eating it, and talking about his feelings like a good man should (but only if no one else is around)

-Arguably the only responsible father figure in his life and the only one who would scold him for literally going to jail

-Also apologizes profusely for not killing DIO the first time ;(

-Kakyoin is the kind of person you could just sit in silence with for hours doing shit like reading or painting or something and Father Jojo is loving the vibe

-YES JONATHAN WOULD HAVE A HOME GARDEN and every year he grows cherries for Kak >:)

-Pol is a bit extreme for him, but if he can handle Joseph then he can handle this man

-As rich, Victorian boys often did, he definitely studied french as a kid and can surprisingly hold a pretty good conversation

-Him and Avdol!!!! Feed his chickens together!! And engage in lovely, civil conversation :)))))

-Holy definitely inherited Jonathan and Erina’s sweet nature and she’s always down to compare knitting techniques with him :)

Part 4:

-Is it....is it safe to say that Jonathan just adopts all of Morioh?

-Ok but Josuke gets along with everybody (Rohan doesn’t count hgfjgh) so you already know he’d be up for some nice familial bonding (though he wouldn’t show it initially)

-I feel like he’d be hesitant at first because him and Joseph are already on weird terms and he doesn't wanna “intrude” on the Joestar family or anything like that

-But our man Jonathan is here to reassure him that he’s still a part of the family and his cute little grandma house door is always open for him when he needs it

-Jonathan would bake that bread and Josuke would be sittin’ on that couch pouring his heart out before that shit even comes out of the oven

-Josuke’s the biggest out of his friends so getting completely engulfed in a nice, warm, loving Jonathan hug is the best shit

-Like instant serotonin :)

-Crazy Diamond doesn’t have any hair so no stand braiding :( BuT Josuke will let his hair down sometimes and you already know master weaver Jonathan Joestar is braiding in some purple flowers and shit :)

-Okuyasu isn’t that smart academically, but our man has a big heart and that’s all Jonathan cares about

-Jonathan always makes soup for him whenever he’s down because Oku’s mama used to make him soup when he was sad too ;-;

-The two bond over losing a mother at a young age and never being close with their father and feeling unwanted growing up and its the sweetest shit

-Koichi would just,,,,stare in awe because between Jonathan, Joseph, and Jotaro he feels like a fucking ant (and is honestly kinda scared)

-The first time they meet, Jonathan tries to ruffle his hair and accidentally PUSHES THE BOY INTO THE CONCRETE and he feels so bad after, that he spends all night knitting him a new sweater

-He gives it to Koichi with apologetic tears in his eyes and Koichi fucking LOVES IT with all his heart

-Rohan is extremely intrigued by all of this shit and they two of them spend hours talking about Jonathan’s life

-Rohan ends up giving him a painting of Erina and now Jonathan sends him his favourite cookies on his birthday every year

-Also him and Tonio are real good buds and Tonio never yells at Jonathan for “eating impolitely” like George used to because he knows its just a sign that he loves his food :)

Part 5:

-What can I say? Both Jonathan and Giorno got a love for flowers and life, and that’s literally all they do together

-Like,,,their happiness is in one giant, contagious loop because when Jojo’s really happy, his Hamon will just make shit bloom everywhere and when Giogio is happy, his stand will go fucking bonkers and change shit into plants

-Ok but what if,,,they braided flowers into each other’s hair? :D

-Jonathan would bake the bread. Giorno would sit hesitantly on the couch. The moment this kid takes a bite with that GOOD jam he’s like “HAHA there goes my stoic front whoops-”

-Jonathan thought Giorno would get cold in the winter so he crocheted a heart the size of his tiddy window and gave it to him for Christmas

-As I said previously, him and Bruno would go fucking hard on tea parties and all that shit -Both are the obvious mom friend, it’s impossible for them not to get along

-Abba’s a little,,,iffy about him, but eventually grows on him the more Abbacchio actually starts warming up to Giorno (for whatever reason)

-Jonathan’s never really had to deal with teenagers that much (aside from when he was one himself,) so he really has no idea what the hell to do around Narancia and Mista because they’re so young and he feels like a fucking grandma around them

-But they’re always really sweet to him and ask if he wants to play COD but Jonathan has no idea why they could wanna play with a fish so he just smiles and laughs and hopes its a joke :’)

-When Trish wants her nails done, best jonadad is here to do it. She wants her hair done? Jonathan’s got that special brush that doesn’t hurt when you’re doing tangles. Hugs? Infinite hug supplier, babey. He’s really out here doing whatever it takes to keep best girl happy

-Fugo is,,,quiet,,,but he always comes over and eats the strawberries in his garden when they’re ready for harvest

-He even helps make them into jam :)

-He also teaches Fugo Hamon breathing techniques when he caught wind of his anger and it actually helps him a lot

-He considers everyone in that house his family too, and always invites them over for social events at his pocket dimension grandma house

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Jonathan Joestar lives in my head rent free...

If you’ve got a head canon idea, my ask box is always open!! <3

#jjba #jojos's bizarre adventure #jjba headcanons #headcanons #jonathan joestar #joseph joestar #jotaro kujo #josuke higashikata #giorno giovanna #jojo's bizzare adventure golden wind #diamond is unbreakable #battle tendency #ask-c-c-cherry #phantom blood #cw: smoking

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imma-fucking-nerd · 4 years

Text

Sweethearted Security

(Nines x Reader)

A/N: here's sum good ol fluff for the hardass we all love. I was gunna say sorry if its ooc but then i remembered he doesn't have a canon personality lmao

————————————————

You were the adopted child of a very wealthy and highly powerful family. Normally any other family of your status would keep that little secret hidden at all costs. However your parents were quite public and open about the idea. It made the public think they were generous people. Again, unlike other families like your own, they actually were good people.

However kind they were, they still managed to acquire enemies of their own. Most of them being jealous of your families success. So naturally, you and your family were in constant danger with threats of assassinations. Your life moreso than your parents, considering you were the heir to the family wealth and also the perfect bargaining chip.

After the attempt on your life that nearly succeeded, your parents set out on a mission to find you the best body guard money could buy. And the best they got indeed. With enough promises of donating extreme amounts of money to the DPD, the captain finally gave in. Now, your family was the proud owner of your very own RK900 android.

He wasn't exactly the gift you thought you'd recieve on your 18th birthday. Quite honestly you were scared of him, despite the fact his sole purpose was to protect you. But that fear of him only lasted a couple of months before you got used to him. He wasn't given a name so you decided to call him Conan, and if you didn't know any better you'd think liked that choice.

Now you were well in your 20's and yet your parents insisted on keeping him around for your sake. Not that you were arguing to get rid of him per say. You were actually quite fond of his presence. When he was around you knew you were basically untouchable. You even swore that he seemed to form a sort of personality too, something he'd deny if you asked.

Even though he was programmed to do whatever you asked him to do, you still did most things for yourself. You didn't want to use him, no matter how many times he tells you that he's just a machine. That wasn't the case in your mind. He was more of a person than most the people you've met at all the social gatherings your family forced you to. So you made it a rule to yourself to never treat him like a maid, and if you do, pay him for it. Not that he'd ever accept the money. At least you could say you tried.

However there was one exception to that rule, and that was when you were sick. Which happened to be in the predicament you were in now. You woke up in the morning with the classic sore throat and stuffy nose that felt dry and yet was runny at the same time. In other words, you felt like absolute garbage.

The moment you left your room you greeted by Conan, as always. He took one look at you, seemingly scanning you, before narrowing his icy blue eyes.

"You're sick," he deadpanned.

"Yeah, no shit," you shot back, sarcasm evident in your nasally voice.

"Then you should be going back to bed to rest," he said, taking a step infront of you to block you from going anywhere else.

"Yeah well I need the bathroom so," you trailed off as you easily stepped around him.

You didn't have to look at him to know his eyes rolled at you. One of his signature actions you've noticed.

After tending to yourself in the bathroom you left said room and tried to head downstairs. Emphasis on tried.

"And where do you think you're going?" you heard from behind you, already all too familiar with the voice of your bodyguard.

"Going to make some coffee," you replied although it sounded more like a question.

"No you're not. You're going back to your bed to rest. I'll get you whatever you need," Conan said, more like demanded.

"Conan, we talked about this. I don't want you running around doing shit for me when I'm perfectly capable," you said with a long sigh.

"I'm aware. However you aren't 'perfectly capable' at the moment. Therefore I suggest going back to bed, otherwise I'll take you there myself," as he spoke his lip quirked up into a slight smirk, knowing he'd won.

"Conan..." you whined.

"(Y/n)," he said in a warning tone.

"I'm serious, I'm fine. I'll just get some coffee quick and then I'll-"

"As you wish," he suddenly cut you off before leaning down and carrying you over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing.

"Conan!" you squeaked, causing a small cough to escape you.

"I did warn you, you decided not to listen," you could practically hear the smug smirk he wore as he carried you into your room and plopped you down on your bed.

"You know I hate it when you do that," you huffed, your mouth forming a pout.

"And you're aware that I don't really care," he sassed.

You rolled your eyes at him and crossed your arms over your chest childishly. When you met his eyes again you swear you saw a flicker of amusement in his usually hard steely hues.

"Now, if you're done being difficult. I'll go and make you a cup of herbal tea."

"But I want coffee," you whined, dragging out the 'e' sound for far too long.

"Herbal tea is healthier than coffee. It'll also help sooth your throat. Besides, you should really avoid ingesting excessive caffeine. Like you have been doing for the past several weeks," he spoke with the matter-of-fact tone he knew you hated.

Once again beating you in one of your many squabbles.

Sighing, you finally gave in,"Fine, whatever."

With that, Conan left the room to go fetch you your tea. He'd also make sure to bring back the bottle of cough syrup as well. He also had the thought of adding honey to your tea, for some added sweetness.

No one would ever be able to figure it out on their own, but Conan actually quite enjoyed taking care of you when you're ill. Or taking care of you in general. Being your protector. Of course, if you ever confronted him about it himself, he'd simply feign ignorance or straight out deny it. The good old 'just a machine' excuse. But that's all it was at this point, an excuse, because of you. Truth was over the years he had been at your side he had grown attached to you. He loved you, not that he actually realized it yet.

It took him much longer than his predecessor, Connor, to figure it out but he was capable of feeling. Of course, he still hasn't quite accepted the fact yet. Or show any signs of him being a deviant around anyone who isn't you. But hey, you just excited you saw even the slightest of signs really.

To everyone else he was still the same stone faced, emotionless, empty monster wearing humans skin. A machine ready to strike at a moments notice with no intentions of mercy upon anyone who dares face him. In many ways he still was that.

Conan liked to think he was able to keep that facade even infront of you, but you saw when that mask slipped. Hell, you knew he was capable of it even before he did. But to see it was something you'd never forget, and something you were excited to see more of. You of course never said anything about it though, wanting him to come to you when he's ready.

When he returned back to your room he was pleasantly surprised to see you laying in bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You actually listened to him. It wasn't a particularly rare thing for you to do and yet it made his biocomonants feel all fuzzy. It was a feeling he had grown to cherish only because it was caused by you.

Once you noticed the android enter your room you sat up and scooted back so your back was against the backboard. Conan held out the mug of tea and you gingerly took it. The mug was emanating a warmth that was just hot enough to not burn your hand. And you had to admit, the tea smelt pretty nice.

"There, I trust I won't have to force you to drink it?" he asked almost playfully.

"Yeah yeah I bet you'd love that wouldn't you," you smirked before blowing on the tea a couple of times.

You were just about to take a sip before Conan stops you as he pours a spoonful of the opposite of sugar, "Before you drink your tea you should take this."

Before you had the opportunity to take the spoon for yourself, Conan was already holding the spoon in front of your mouth. You felt your cheeks starting to flare up and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He only stared at you expectantly. Before he spoke up with some some snarky remark you quickly leaned closer to take the spoon in your mouth and swallow the syrup. When you leaned back you averted you eyes from him awkwardly.

"Now you can enjoy your tea," he chimed with satisfaction.

You quickly brought up the mug up to your face and gingerly took a sip. You'd hope that Conan would think the heat in your face was caused by the hot beverage and not because of him. Conan might have been new to the whole understanding human emotions thing, but he was by no means clueless. (Unlike his predecessor) He knew exactly what he was doing.

After taking your first taste you hummed at the pleasant sweetness. He must have added honey, your favorite. Your lips curled up into a small smile.

"Thanks Conan," you said sincerely, smiling up to him.

"Of course, (Y/n)," he replied with a slight bow of his head.

Your smile widened and paused just before taking another sip of your tea, "you're uh excused by the way."

With another nod Conan left your room. It wasn't long before he returned with an old paper book in hand, must have gotten it from your Dad's library. He then took a seat in a chair by your side on your right, opening to the page you assumed he left off. You never got why he liked to read books when he could probably download the whole thing in a matter of seconds. But you never spoiled his hobby. It was nice to watch as his striking blue-grey eyes glided across the paper. He almost looked at peace. Almost.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours and you immediately looked down into your mug. Your cheeks were darkening in embarrassment. It wasn't the first time he had caught you staring, and it probably wouldn't be the last either.

"I recommend you try and sleep after you've finished. The more rest you get the faster you will recover," Conan said, cutting the growing awkward silence.

"Yeah, yeah," you waved him off, no longer having the energy to argue with him.

Conan's attention went back on his book, the tiniest of blink and you'll miss it smiles gracing his features. Meanwhile you tried to keep your attention on your phone as you slowly finished your tea. Emphasis on tried. But you just couldn't stop your eyes from glancing up at your favorite android. It wasn't your fault Cyberlife made him so perfect.

Eventually, you finished your tea and oddly enough you felt very tired. You placed the mug on the end table beside your bed before a yawn escaped you.

"You should rest," Conan said, not looking away from his book.

"You drugged me didn't you," you squinted at him, your lips pursing.

Conan looked over at you with a blank expression, "No, but if that's what it will require for you to rest then I will."

You couldn't stop the smile from spreading on your face and you rolled your eyes playfully. You knew he was only kidding and it wasn't an actual threat. Then again, maybe it wasn't. Either way, your soft chuckle at his maybe not joke made him feel nice.

"Sorry to spoil the fun but I think I'll pass," you said as you laid in bed and got yourself comfortable.

Conan only rolled his eyes at you before returning his attention back to his book.

Luckily the cough syrup was enough to allow you to easily fall asleep without any interruptions of coughing. You were out like a light for a good few hours. But as the medicine slowly wore off, your coughing became more frequent. You were also sniffling more often as well. It was when Conan heard soft whimpers fall past your lips when he set down his book and went to get you more cough syrup. He could have just waited until you officially woke up, but he didn't see the point in needlessly making you suffer longer than required.

Once he returned to your side, he gently shook your shoulder and softly called out your name. It didn't take more than a few moments before your (e/c) eyes fluttered open to meet his ice cold ones.

"Conan?" you mumbled sleepily.

"My apologies for waking you (Y/n), but I think it would be for the best if you took more cough medicine," he informed you slowly so your waking mind could understand.

You nodded in agreement and replied with a little, "okay."

You sat up slightly as he opened the bottle of the thick deep red liquid. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes you tried not to think too much about the strong, very unpleasant, taste. At least it worked well. Just like before, Conan guided the spoon to your mouth but this time you didn't hesitate to take it.

"Good, now you can go back to sleep," Conan said, an almost tenderness to his voice you thought you imagined.

At his okay you plopped back down. Conan took this as his cue that he was excused but just as he turned to leave your side he stopped when he felt a tug on his jacket. Looking back, he raised a brow in question.

"Is there something you need, (Y/n)?" he inquired.

"Can you lay with me?" you asked, half asleep.

Conan didn't respond right away, he just stared down at you. At the lack of an answer a small frown tugged at your lips and you let him go, assuming his answer was no. So you layed back down, mumbling a short apology.

When you closed your eyes you heard a soft sigh, that you knew was unnecessary, before the mattress next to you dipped under new weight. Your eyes fluttered back open and you were delighted to see Conan laying next to you. He was watching you from the corner of his eye as you scooted closer to his form.

All you did was lay next to him for a short while, testing the waters. You honestly never thought he'd let you get this close to him. Let alone lay with you. It was nice. But you were becoming more sleepy and wanted maximum comfort. So, in a fleeting moment of bravery you shifted to rest your head and an arm on his chest.

Immediately you felt him tense underneath you, and you half expected him to push you off. But to your surprise, he placed a hand on your back and slowly traced up and down your spine. It was a comforting action that made you subconsciously snuggle up closer to him.

Conan never ceased his fingers that traced your spine, telling himself it was for you. Even when he presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head, he told himself it was just to make you feel better. But when he ended up brining up his free hand to pet and play with your hair gently. It was hard to convince himself the action absolutely for his own enjoyment. After all, you had been asleep for at least five minutes at that point.

"Sleep well, my heart."

———————————————

A/N: short (at least by my standards) n sweet. Love to see it. But i feel like my writing is garbage. Like I feel like i keep using the same words and phrases n shit. If anyone could lemme know if im just overthinking it or not please leave a comment or dm me or something! Hope y'all enjoyed 💙

#dbh #dbh x reader #dbh fanfic #dbh rk900 #detroit become human rk900 #detroit rk900 #rk900 #rk900 x reader #nines x reader #dbh nines #detroit become human

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prinxlyart · 4 years

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Your Vinira is sSO SWEET MY HEART US MELTING! How Viney not only accept Emira' stutter but straight up loves it?! Oh my poor bleeding heart! Now, my own question: How do the redeemed Blight parents react to their relationship?

Ooohhh see at least in my Willumity headcanons, Alador and Odalia don’t redeem themselves for several years. Like, maybe 8 or 9 years from when our girls first start dating. I imagine Viney and Emira become a thing in roughly the same time frame. So Emira doesn’t even tell her parents about her girlfriend. Viney introduces Emira to her parent(s) (eventually, maybe after like 6 months of dating?? Maybe a year?) and they are super wary at first because a Blight???? Is dating our daughter?????? And Viney reassures them that yes, they’re dating and it’s not some wild ruse. That being said, the heads of the Blight family also don’t know they’re dating so like. They’re trying to keep their relationship on the DL.

But if I’m gonna dip deeper......

( way deeper. This is another one of those Long One’s, lol )

I think....if Alador and Odalia catch wind of their daughters dating people they don’t approve of, there would be hell to pay. Like, all of them being grounded until further notice and that means escorts to and from school, no friends, no extra curricular activities, nothing but school and home. Not even their “approved friends” are able to communicate with them because their scrolls would be confiscated. Tutors (babysitters) while they do homework and further studying on weekends. No contact with the outside world. And if they even try to speak with anyone at school? They’ll all be pulled from Hexside and be homeschooled from then on.

All the while they’ll be using their connections to have Viney, Willow and Luz expelled, permanently. They may not have too much sway over these delinquents’ lives, but they’re going to make sure they’ll never be able to advance in society. And then they find out that this “Luz” is the Human that dared go against Emperor Belos? I can’t even begin to imagine the hell they’d bring down on them all.

So yeah, there’s a lot of disaster scenarios like that that haunt the Blight girls and ensure that they’ll never tell their parents of their relationships and will keep most displays of affection away from the rats that would somehow get the word back to them. At first it might hurt Luz and Viney to not be able to be affectionate, but Willow 100% understands. She already has that history looming over her in her memory. Viney and Luz will often use the Secret Room of Shortcuts in order to just hang out with their respective girls between breaks when they can.

I genuinely don’t know how the timeline of events will play out in the show in regards to Belos and the portal. It could take just days, weeks, months??? Years???? Before he’s taken down accordingly and a new portal is made.

Regardless, I like to think that in that time though, the moment the twins turn 18, they leave and they take Amity with them. They’re not just going to sit idly by anymore. Whether that means revoking their family name by some intensive ritual or just fleeing and using whatever money they took with them to find an apartment somewhere, they need to get out from under their parents’ thumb. As soon as they’ve established new lives for themselves, they are as open with their relationships as they want. They might even be a little over-eager, what with Amity kissing her girlfriends for probably too long at school in front of everyone, or Emira actively distracting Viney from her work while on the clock.

By the time we get to the point where they’re trying to re-enter their children’s lives, it’s stiff and awkward at best and like bulls butting heads at worst. The Blights are using any method they can to bring their children back home, whether it’s promises of extra freedom or putting in a good word to their coven of choice; even sending them extravagant gifts that none of them want. This maybe goes on for about a year before the twins and Amity agree to meet with their former parents. They bring their respective partners with them too; not as back up or anything, but mostly as moral support and as a giant middle finger to their parents.

Alador and Odalia don’t hold back their disdain. For their children’s’ foolishness, for their childish behavior thats ruffled so many feathers within the Emperor’s coven, for the damage they’ve all done to the Blight name; and for their daughters’ choices in partners.

They could take all of the other nonsense their parents were spouting, but being so outwardly hostile to their respective partners??? That causes Emira to nearly turn the entire Blight Manor upside down and Amity to summon an abomination large enough to chuck the manor into the Boiling Sea with her parents inside. Edric manages (somehow) to keep them both sane long enough to continue their conversation, at which point I think the Blights simply write off their girls’ anger as petty childishness.

And that. Is what sets off Luz, Willow and Viney. They absolutely go off on the Blights and just tear them both a new one. I think it’s been a long time since the Blights actually feared anyone besides the Emperor, but in that meeting, they feared these teenagers who seemed to radiate more power than they’d ever been witness to before. I think Emira and Amity are both shocked but Edric just gets comfortable and summons some popcorn to watch the show because finally, someone is telling off these miserable witches they used to call their parents.

They don’t meet with their parents again for a few more years after that encounter. I think Emira and Viney maybe break up once for a week before getting back together due to a misunderstanding, but Amity couldn’t possibly be happier with her life as it goes on, free from her parents and being able to be with her girls as she wants.

Over the course of the following years, they all still receive correspondence from their parents. On every birthday, they send a sum of money and a simple greeting. Every holiday season is the exact same. I think Luz is the only one to actually reach out to Alador and Odalia. I think she sends them a photo of their most recent holiday get together; where everyone is smiling or laughing or making messes or whatever. The exact opposite of every holiday held at the Blight Manor. They see each of their children, smiling and looking truly happy. And on the back, Luz maybe writes something about wanting to speak to them. Alone. Not with Amity or Willow, not with Emira or Viney, not with Edric, no one else. Just Luz and the Blights. They agree.

When Luz meets with them, it’s tense. They’re all quiet and stiff and still have an aura of hatred hanging between them. But Luz clears her throat and informs them that she’s planning on proposing to Amity and Willow. She’s still not sure when, or how, but it’s something she’s planning. She also informs them that if they don’t want to miss another wedding, they’d better clean their acts up and fast. And she just hands them a small scrapbook full of pictures of Emira and Viney’s wedding. They hadn’t even known it had happened. They weren’t informed, let alone invited, and Luz was granting them possibly the only chance they’ll ever have again at being in their children’s lives. Luz lets them know to reach out to her if they decide they want to be in their kids’ lives again and leaves them with the scrapbook.

When they do reach out, Luz shows up at Blight Manor with three others in tow: Eda and Lilith Clawthorne and Camila Noceda. They are three different kinds of pissed and the Blights have the good sense to just be good hosts and invite them in with little fanfare or argument. They all settle in with cups of tea and I think Lilith goes first; she tells them about how she’s had the opportunity to watch Amity grow up, even more so after she abandoned the Emperor’s coven. Over time she still acted as something of a mentor, but also as a parental figure when she or the twins needed her to be. She was honored to officiate Emira and Viney’s wedding. She’s grateful to be part of their lives because she’s been a witness to their incredible achievements. She really digs the knife in deeper when she tells them that Emira and Viney are considering having kids but Emira’s been especially hesitant due to fears that she’ll somehow end up like her parents.

Eda goes next, not even having touched her tea, just sitting with her legs and arms crossed and glaring at them in the most severe way. She tells them about the various sleepovers she’s hosted over the years. How at least half of those sleepovers found Eda talking outside with at least one Blight child if not all of them in the middle of the night.

She tells them she got herself a scroll for the first time ever because she knew those kids needed an adult figure that wouldn’t reprimand them for existing. They needed an adult figure to go to for comfort and guidance, someone that could reassure them that their best is more than enough. They don’t need to work themselves into the ground for a scrap of approval or force themselves into the rigid mold their parents made for them.

She tells them she’s seen more tears from the Blight kids than she’s ever seen from any other kind of creature. Not even Luz cried as often as they did, and she’s a giant softy (Luz lets out an indignant “hey!” At that and pouts). She tells them that she, Edalyn Clawthorne, the Boiling Isles Most Wanted, has provided more warmth and comfort for their kids in the time she’s known them than they [the Blight Parents] had in their lives.

Eda hasn’t had magic for years. But everyone knew how powerful she once was. They had all gone to school together too, of course they remember her and the trouble she caused. She lets them know that if she even had an ounce of the magic she once had, she would use it to decimate the Blight parents in every way possible for causing so much harm to three bright, talented, loving children that have grown into some of the most powerful witches the Boiling Isles has to offer. She also lets them know that before they even consider being part of those kids’ lives again, they have a lot of shit to work on and sort out. Because if they don’t? It doesn’t matter whether or not Eda has magic. She will decimate them.

Finally Camila sets her empty tea cup down and levels them with the most venomous stare she can. She’s the only one of Luz’s guests that’s actually also a biological mother. If she could, she’d probably go Super Saiyan with the sheer power she’s exuding with this stare. The Blights actually flinch which causes Lilith to have to hide a chuckle (she’s been on the receiving end of that rage before and she’s excited to see it unleashed on them).

She just starts tearing into them like her life depends on it. She doesn’t hold back in the slightest. She admonishes them for holding their social status at a higher priority than the safety and happiness of their own children. Her criticisms and curses are all laid out with razor precision. The longer she goes on, the more the Blights shrink in on themselves. Alador definitely starts crying at one point but refuses to wipe his tears away because he knows there’ll just be more anyway. The Clawthornes are shocked at seeing him cry, throughout their time at Hexside and while Lilith worked with the Blights in the Emperor’s coven, they’d never seen Alador express an emotion beyond irritation. Odalia also has tears in her eyes but she refuses to let them fall. Her face is bright red in shame though, it just grows steadily more red as Camila goes on. (Luz idly notes that that must be where Amity and the twins get their blushing genes from. She also notes that Odalia looks remarkably like Amity and wonders if that’s what Amity will look like when they’re that age. Her heart flutters a little at the concept of being with Amity for the rest of their lives, but she tampers down the runaway thoughts to refocus on her mom’s tirade).

By the time Camila’s done with them, Alador and Odalia are hiding their faces in shame. Alador’s trying to stifle his crying to the best of his ability cuz his breaths are turning ragged from how much emotion he’s experiencing. Odalia is desperately trying to wipe her tears away without ruining her makeup, but she’s also quietly sniffling and hiccuping. Camila sits back with a satisfied huff and Luz pats her shoulder (as a thank you? As a good job? As a ‘tag me in it’s my turn’? Who can say).

After letting the Blights collect themselves, Luz clears her throat to get their attention. She struggles for a moment to figure out the best way to say it, but ends up setting her jaw firmly and just blurting it out: she asks for their blessing for her to marry Amity.

After a moment of shocked silence, Luz’s courage starts to crumble a little and she begins to explain herself; she knows that Amity doesn’t value their opinion. She hasn’t for years now. Luz also doesn’t value their opinion. But if she’s going to such lengths to try and give one of the loves of her life her parents back? She may as well start off with a show of respect.

Odalia is the one that gets up from where she’s sitting and quietly approaches Luz. Eda and Lilith are about ready to throw hands if need be and Camilia starts to put her arm in front of Luz, but Luz stands up to meet her. Odalia gently takes Luz’s hands (she also notes that her hands are just as tiny and soft as Amity’s) and brings both of their hands up to about chest level. She has to clear her voice before she speaks; her throat became tight with the tears and hiccuping she was trying to hold back.

Odalia takes one hand to draw a large circle around their joined hands before clasping Luz’s hands again. She tells Luz that she absolutely has their blessing, and vows to do whatever she needs to to atone for the cruelty she put her children through. And so the Everlasting Oath is sealed.

Alador also stands up and does the same in a tear-strained voice. After his oath has been sealed, he places his hands on Luz’s shoulders and thanks her for being so damn stubborn.

They promise that they’ll be in touch with Luz again soon, but they need to talk to one another first and really sort everything out. Luz gives them a small smile and confirms that she’ll be waiting to hear from them as the Clawthornes/Nocedas stand up to leave. Before they leave, Odalia gently places a hand on Camila’s shoulder and asks her quietly if she could maybe come to her for advice on how to approach their children when they’ve figured themselves out. Camila stares at her for a moment before giving her a smile and nodding. She doesn’t have a scroll or anything, so she tells her to just reach out to Luz when they’re ready to talk. Odalia just nods and the Blights watch as their guests leave.

I think it particularly strikes Alador how casually Eda ruffles Luz’s hair and pulls her in for a side hug, loudly telling her how proud she is of her for pulling such a bold move. It dawns on him that he used to do that to Edric when he was still smaller than his own knee. It may have been after the first spell Edric ever successfully cast. Odalia sees Camila scoop Luz into her arms and plant a giant kiss to a her head, probably also praising Luz. They watch as Luz puts her arms around Eda and Camila’s shoulders as they leave the Blight estate and Alador closes the door before he starts crying again.

I think that’s the first time in years the Alador and Odalia really hug each other properly. Not to pose for a picture, not just a quick greeting as they pass each other in the halls of the Emperor’s coven, but like. For comfort. I don’t think they really realized how big and cold and empty their manor is until that moment.

I think it takes several months for them to get their acts together. They seek out a family counselor, they have weekly tea with Camila, they dust off the parenting books that have been untouched on the shelves in their library for decades. They look into Viney’s family and find out that she and Emira have started their own service beast program. The general air of grief and undertone of determination is interrupted by a moment of sheer pride at knowing their eldest daughter not only found someone she loves, but has taken the risk of starting her own business with her wife that’s a genuine service to the Boiling Isles. They make a few duplicates of the newspaper article they found announcing the grand opening of the first Service Beast Training Center and Shelter on the Boiling Isles and have it framed in different places; there’s one on the desk in their study, there’s another on their wall in their bedroom; they each have their own copy at their desks at work.

No joke, it’s taken Luz months to convince Emira and Viney that Em’s parents are trying to change. Emira has absolutely 0 faith in her parents being able to turn over a new leaf. It’s not until they hear Camila say that she’s surprised at the Blight’s improvement after their last tea meeting that they even consider that they actually are trying to change.

Luz coordinates a day and time for them to all meet once Emira and Viney agree to do so. I think they meet at a park somewhere, maybe a particularly nice public garden (maybe it’s Willow’s). Emira’s never seen her parents look so nervous before and that already sparks some hope in her heart that all of Luz’s efforts might not be naught. I think Odalia tries to reach out to hug Emira but like, actually flinches when Emira steps back. So instead they sit at one of the secluded garden tables and just talk.

Alador and Odalia apologize in as much depth as they can. Emira just sits and lets them say everything they want to say. Once they’re done with everything they can think of, they just sit in silence for a minute while Emira processes everything they’ve said. It’s not until Viney squeezes her hand that Emira finally starts crying. She wants to be angry, she is angry, but her entire heart feels like a full-grown griffon just stood up from where it was sitting and flew away. Her heart feels so much lighter. She stands up and moves to her parents and they stand and embrace her tightly for a while. Viney also feels like a huge weight has been lifted just watching the exchange. Maybe she also cries a little bit because she’s so happy to see her wife so happy. (And she maybe ignores the sound of a high five happening in the distance; she’s like, 90% sure Luz is there with someone else spying on them to make sure the meeting goes well).

All the Blights have full-on waterworks going on because they each individually realize this is the first time they’ve expressed their love for each other in probably more than a decade. Long before Emira and Edric took Amity and left. Viney maybe also hears a muffled sniffle and when she turns around to see, yup, there’s Luz, and she’s definitely crying into Willow’s shoulder. Viney rolls her eyes. Luz is such a sap. That’s probably why they all love her so much. She brings out the sap in all of them too.

After the Blights finally calm down, Alador and Odalia have an entire separate list of things to apologize to Viney for, which takes her off guard. She maybe expected an apology for the last time she saw them in person, but they went waaaay deeper than just that. And then they don’t stop at the apologies? They start thanking her for all sorts of stuff. Like loving Emira and being there for her when they weren’t. For helping her grow into the incredible person she’s become. They also congratulate them on their Service Beast Shelter and ask if maybe eventually they’d be allowed to visit and see them in their element. That’s when Viney’s face finally splits into a wide grin and she joins the big family hug they’ve got going on.

Lmao so yeah, long story short, it takes them a long-ass time, but eventually the Blights learn to love Viney 💖💖💖

#prinxly inquiries #wam-hope #the owl house #vinera #vinira #Alador Blight #Odalia Blight #Emira Blight #toh viney #Luz Noceda #camilia noceda #camila noceda #edalyn clawthorne #lilith clawthorne #spoiler alert: all blights are big babies #long post #should i come up with a headcanon tag???#probably if you guys keep sending me asks lmao

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jadekitty777 · 3 years

Text

On Your Six, Chapter 3

Day 3: Parenting for @taiqrowweek

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Mind

Early on in his career, Qrow had come to value the strength in listening.

He knew for every omega who walked through his door, he was a step in their healing process. It didn’t matter at what point in that process he was treading into; everyone came needing something. A sense of control. A desire to feel beautiful again. A need to shake off shame. No matter what it was, every reason was understandable and downright defensible.

But he knew his deed didn’t always end at the tip of a needle. Sometimes it wasn’t what was on their skin, but what was in their minds that weighed the most. Those were his talkers. The ones who felt so hurt or overcome by what had happened to them, they had to tell their story to someone.

So Qrow listened. He listened to the Mistrialian baker who tried to escape his abusive relationship by drugging his alpha one night and escaping into the night as the word Disloyal was overwrote. Erased Rebel as he was enraptured by the Rights Activist from Mantle who handed out self-funded newspapers all dedicated to lining out the inequalities among the dynamics. Nearly cried with the elderly Valian spinster who had been trafficked from her home in Vacuo decades ago to became the fourth wife of a rich proprietor as he made sure Owned could never be seen again.

Now today, he was turning the word SLUT into art as Tai recounted the love story that dared him to engage in one of society’s most taboo acts.

“So there I was, dragging my feet out of the ER at 2 AM, feeling like the worst parent in history as Yang bawls in my arms. I was so distressed, I couldn’t even remember where I’d parked and just started going through the rows.” They were sitting today. Tai cross-legged on his bed and staring out the window while Qrow sat behind him. “That’s when Summer called to me. She remembered I was one of the patients just going in as she got off her shift. She asked me what was going on and I told her how the doctor who’d seen us kicked me out for wasting his time over some diaper rash. And you know what she did?” A smile uplifted his tone. “She looked between me and Yang and said, ‘No parent spends five hours in the ER over nothing.’ Then she took my arm and led me back inside. Snapped at the staff to give her a room and saw to Yang herself. I couldn’t believe it. She’d just come off of a twelve-hour shift. She had to of been exhausted. But that was the kind of woman she was. When she saw someone who needed help, she put everything else aside to do it.”

A hiss breathed through the other’s teeth as Qrow lined over the base of the T, tailing the ends to look more like the trunk of a tree. “Were you right?” He prompted, hoping to distract him.

“Yeah. Yeast infection.” Tai puffed up proudly. “Nothing a bit of prescription cream and some TLC couldn’t fix, but it still felt so validating to be told my worries weren’t just in my head. It was the first time since Raven left that I felt I really could do this on my own.” That uplift was back, overlayed with fondness. “But, it was Summer who reminded me that just because I can, doesn’t mean I had to.”

He moved his pen higher, maple leaves beginning to bloom along his back. “How’d it happen?”

“Well, so, they called me in a few days after that night for a check-up. When I got there, I found out Summer had arranged things to make sure she was the doctor attending us. She had told me at the time it was just normal for her to touch base with anyone who came through ER that she had looked after. That it made her happy to see her patients doing well.” He barked out a laugh. “She was such a liar! She didn’t tell me this until later, but apparently the only reason she did it was because she thought I was cute and wanted to see me again.”

Tch, what a brat. Qrow scoffed, doggedly ignoring the had he been in her position, he absolutely would have done the same.

“We started talking and joking around. One thing led to another and suddenly she was asking me out for coffee! I was so shocked I almost fell out of my chair. But… I said yes. And, it was the best decision of my life.”

He couldn’t do this. He jerked back and turned off the pen before the shaking in his hand ruined his work. “Sorry. Hand’s cramping up. Can we take a break?”

Oblivious as ever, the omega gave him one of those stupidly bright smiles that he hated because it made his heart do weird things. “Sure.” As they slid off the bed and Tai took the opportunity to stretch, he asked, “How about tea?”

“Yeah, I’ll go put on the pot.” Qrow didn’t even get two steps before a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“Nope. You’re resting.”

“But-”

“Relax. I got this.”

Then Tai wandered right into his kitchen like he owned the place, leaving him with no choice but to throw up his arms and take a seat. Qrow watched him go through the motions, turning to fill the kettle. From this distance, the word that had once been etched into his skin was completely unreadable, overtaken by a mismatch of new marks in various states of healing.

A perfect reflection of the man who bore them.

Regret dropped like a stone in his stomach, feeling sick as the omega took care of him over a lie. He lowered his head and took his punishment in the form of a simple question, “So when did you two get serious?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean Sums and I?”

“No, I meant you and me.” Qrow snarked, because he hated himself.

Tai set the pot on the stove, the burner sparking to life. “I knew we had a forever connection the day you offered to eat all the yellow Starburst from the bag and leave all the good flavors for me.”

Well now he was resentful and insulted. “Yellow is the good flavor.”

“Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that.” He started tearing open a pair of tea packets, dropping one each in the mugs. “Anyways, promise not to judge me too much?”

“For what, your love life or your weird issues with Starburst?”

“Qrow!”

He held up hand as a peace offering, leaning back. “Okay, okay. I promise.”

Tai eyed him suspiciously for several seconds before finally saying, “We bonded four months in.”

“FOU-” He cut himself off and took a breath. He seemed to have to do this a lot more lately. “I mean, that’s not so bad.”

“Good save.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone. “Look, I thought I was going too fast too. But when I would sit down and think of my future, I just could see her in it. Summer was a piece of me I didn’t even know I was missing. And when I found out she felt the same about me we decided, fuck it! Who cares about what everyone else is going to say? We knew we wanted each other.”

On display as he was, Qrow’s gaze fell to the spot on Tai’s neck where the two scars lay. The imperfect ovals were layered atop one another right in the juncture of his shoulder and collarbone, cutting through his scent gland. Similar to a snake’s fangs, alpha incisors had a hollow part, allowing them to release a bit of their musk during the bite which would then inject itself into an omega’s glands and permanently alter their scent.

Staking a claim.

Granted, with the tattoo he couldn’t smell even a hint of either Raven or Summer any longer. But back then, he could imagine how pungent it had been. Even if the new smell wasn’t a dead giveaway, the pinker shade of the fresher one was a big neon sign that drew the eye. There wouldn’t be any hiding it, even if the couple had tried.

Which meant they absolutely became the gossip of every corner on the street. Summer being well off and Tai being abandoned and annulled didn’t help matters in the slightest. He already knew what people would have thought, well before the brand was ever made.

He frowned. “Even knowing you’d get the worst of it?”

“Tch. Tell me something else that’s new.” Tai snipped, rolling his eyes. “You know, I could have been a perfect little omega. Quiet. Thoughtless. Unopinionated. Or I could have also spent the rest of my life as a part of the Single’s Forever Club. Risen Yang alone and never looked at another Alpha again. And you know what? People would still have shit to say about me. That’s what happens when society’s rigged against you.” He smacked his hand down on the counter. “When does my happiness matter?”

That stone still in his stomach was only getting heavier. “Sorry.”

The fire burnt out as quickly as it was there, and Tai only shook his head, mumbling, “Forget it. It’s whatever right?”

“It’s not. It’s fucking wrong.” He said with more fury than he meant to.

Tai’s smile was tired and defeated. “If only more people thought like you.”

The kettle whistle blew, effectively ending their conversation. It wasn’t long before Tai was taking his seat across from him, their mugs steaming on the table before them. Idly, Qrow traced the rim of his with his index finger, trying to think of something to say.

His focus shifted when a hand was suddenly being held out before him, clearly asking for something. “Uh?”

“Give me your hand.” Tai demanded.

His brain moved sluggishly, but when he understood what the other was offering, his face went redder than his eyes. “I, uh, need to drink my tea?”

“You’ve got a left one for that. Come on already.”

“It’s fine. It’s not that-” Any argument he had slipped away when he tried pulling his hand further away, only for the omega to reach over and snag it.

The simple touch was like electricity zinging through his muscles, leaving him helpless to resist as Tai laid his arm across the table. “You’re such a big baby.” He teased as he rolled up the cuff of Qrow’s shirt, pressing the pads of his fingers along the length of his forearm.

When the massage started, Qrow absolutely melted. While he hadn’t been entirely honest, it would still be true to say that he was probably working his way into an early case of carpal tunnel with how much tension built from his shoulder down to his wrist during his work. He sighed, slumping over the table as the other made his way up past his elbow. “I hate you.” He mumbled, face pillowed in his other arm.

“Yeah, I’m the worst.” Tai replied cheerily.

Gods, if only that were true, then maybe he wouldn’t love him as much as he did.

“I wish you could have met her.” Tai told him a little after sundown.

Qrow hummed questioningly, not pulling his eyes up from the midribs he was painstakingly adding onto every leaf. He felt like he was performing some sort of a balancing act, sitting on the edge of the recliner so he was close enough to draw while also trying to keep out of the beam of his scroll light pointed at them from his nightstand, since the weak 40 watt overhead just wasn’t bright enough to work with. There was a reason he never tattooed after dark.

“Summer.” Tai clarified, reminding him exactly why they were an hour behind. “You woulda liked her.”

He almost laughed at how inane that statement was. “Doubt that.”

“Really! She was sweet and a little shy. A bit of a rebel too. And I mean, she moved to Vale ‘cause she knew she could help more people in need for cheaper than the high end hospitals she could have worked in would charge.” He glanced over his shoulder as Qrow re-inked. “You gotta let that Atlesian stigma go, man.”

There really was no good way to answer that, so he didn’t bother trying. Gods only knew what Tai would have thought of him, if he found out the real reason they never would of gotten along was because Qrow didn’t believe he’d be able to resist his instincts a second time around. The ones that screamed at him to show Tai he was the more worthwhile mate, even if that meant delving things into a fistfight.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now.” The omega said when he caught on that he wasn’t going to get a response. “At least you’ll have a chance to meet Ruby. I warn you though, you’re totally going to fall in love. She’s got so much energy to her, like you wouldn’t believe. She giggles so much too, it’s the cutest little sound. And-! And…”

Pausing, Qrow flipped off the pen. “Tai?”

“S-Sorry.” He rubbed a hand over his face, clearing his throat loudly. “It just, hurts. Not knowing how they’re doing.” His voice broke. “I miss them.”

Not sure what else to do, he silently pressed his forehead against the base of Tai’s neck, mindful of his back as he wound an arm across his middle in a loose hug.

Knew, without a doubt, that it wasn’t nearly enough.

A year ago, when Qrow was working outside of Mantle for a spell, a client he’d never forget walked through his door. He was unusually broad-shouldered and buff, just like Tai. Yet, it wasn’t his physical attributes that truly made him stand out. It was the omega’s confidence. He had a stride to him that exuded self-assurance and a stance that yielded pride.

It threw him completely off his game, as he was used to playing the role of consoler. Yet, as the omega held out his hand to shake, Qrow found himself wanting to compete against him. “You’re Harbinger. It’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot.”

“Only good things, I hope.” He replied, his grip firm and unyielding. “And you are?”

“Clover Ebi.” That name rang a bell, but he couldn’t place why. “And they were. You did a rebrand for a buddy of mine who lives over in the orange district. I was hoping you could do the same for mine.”

That brought some air to his sails as he found himself on more comfortable ground. “Yeah, ‘course I can. Why don’t you take a seat and I can get a gander at what I’m working with?”

“That’s the thing…” For the first time since he walked in, some of that boldness faltered. “If I show you, I need you to promise me not to freak out.”

Well, now he was really intrigued. “Come on. It can’t be that bad. Wait – it’s not on like, your ass cheek or something right?”

“You’re as crude as Robyn warned me you’d be.”

Qrow perked up at the name, remembering her as the outspoken journalist he’d looked after during his first stint in Mantle.

Clover placed a hand over his left bicep. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s under this.”

“Okay then, what’s the proble- Oh, shit.”

His heart rate jumped from resting to cardiac arrest in record time at the sight of the brand – not a harsh word like so many others had been forced to bear, but a simple, cursive script of the man’s own last name. The mark of someone who was in service of the Atlas military.

Which meant he was probably being set up right now.

“Fuck!” Qrow stumbled backwards, looking around wildly for a weapon. An exit. Anything.

“Hey, it’s okay!” Clover followed after him, albeit at a slower pace. “Come on, you said you wouldn’t freak out.”

He picked up an umbrella, holding it en garde like his sister used to with her katana. “We’re way past that, buddy. So, what is this? A trap? Are a bunch more of you about to bust through my wall to take me in?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Will you just – put the umbrella down!”

He came within striking distance – so Qrow struck. A fast swipe at his face.

Clover didn’t even look as his hand shot up to catch it. With strength he wasn’t even trying to hide, he yanked the makeshift weapon right out of Qrow’s grip and tossed it over his shoulder. He caught the fist that came next, boxing him into the corner so that he didn’t have room to move. It was an oddly uncomfortable feeling, being pinned down and powerless.

But while the hold was solid it wasn’t tight, nor was Clover’s face aggressive. “Can you calm down, please? I didn’t come here to turn you in. I came here because I want your help.”

“Why?” He barked back. “You chose to take that mark. Feeling regretful now soldier boy?”

The omega’s expression shifted darkly. “The only thing I chose was to fight for my kingdom, because I believe in protecting the people. This mark is something I have to bear, if I want to pursue that goal.”

His hands slid off, giving Qrow some breathing space. As he stared at the other, suddenly it came to him. “Wait. Ebi. I knew I recognized your name. You made headlines recently. You’re the captain of Tin Jimmy’s specialty squad.”

It had been a huge sensation, an omega taking a leadership position like that. It was practically unheard of and people talked it up like it was a sign of the ‘changing times.’ But he had brushed it off as another one of the kingdom’s typical publicity stunts. They always had something or the other going on to turn the people’s heads – because if everyone was looking at Atlas, no one would see anything else.

“I don’t get it. Why?” His brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it.

“Because I represent something larger than just a captain of a team. I represent hope. The worst thing for us is when no one’s talking. And I sure got them talking.”

That made sense. Nothing changed if no one was having the conversation. Still… “Rebranding could get you decommissioned. Negative PR be damned.”

“Well, as they say: Sometimes you got to risk it all for a dream.” Clover said with a quirk of his lips. “So, will you help me?”

It was one of the most needlessly reckless decisions he had ever made, but he did. In two, relatively short sessions, they were done. He slept with one eye open every day in-between, but when they finished and Clover was instead urging him to keep his contact info (“Just in case you ever get in trouble.”), Qrow felt oddly at ease. Like maybe he truly did make a friend in all this.

He never questioned why the case never hit the news – but if he left Mantle a little quicker than normal, well, that was his business.

Now, as he hit dial on that old contact, he could only pray Clover at least was going to keep this part of his word.

He picked up after the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey soldier boy.” Qrow started, trying to sound casual. “It’s Harbinger.”

A beat. Then, “Oh. Oh! Uh, two seconds okay?” There was a muffled bit of a noise and a faint, “I’ll be right back. Gotta take this.” A bit more shuffling and background noise as Qrow assumed he left the room, then Clover’s voice was back in his ear, surprisingly frantic. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Sorry, it’s not an emergency call.” He replied.

The omega let out a sigh of relief. It felt oddly nice to be worried about. “Oh thank Gods. So then, what’s up?”

“I was hoping you might be able to help me with something.” Qrow said, unconsciously pacing around his box-in-the-wall apartment. “Might be a longshot but, you got any connection with OPS?”

The OPS, or Omega Protection Services, were a kingdom-to-kingdom association that talked big about how they were dedicated to the proper care of the omega brethren in need. While in some veins of their work that was true, like funding lobbies for better rights in the system or providing financial support to those in trouble, it was equally true that under the table the organizations were fed big money from the reformatories to turn over a revolving door of clientele.

The biggest contributor of which was the Crisis Department. It was no secret that a death of a bond mate was devastating to an omega and there was a small percentage of those who became non-functional after the loss. Therefore, any omega known to have recently lost their mate was visited by an OPS agent. If the agent found the omega to be in such an extreme state, it was customary that the widow would be sent away for rehabilitation and any children would be rehomed either with known family or into a foster family until the parent was well enough to care for them again.

The key words being a small percentage. However, according to statistics, almost a quarter of all widowed omegas were in need of ‘reformation’. A percentage that went up or down depending on what kingdom was involved. Vale, their home country, was the only one underperforming on those numbers. By all accounts, Tai never should have gone to a reformatory at all.

The issue was the OPS agent assigned to the omega was from their alpha’s home kingdom. Which meant the agent that knocked on Tai’s door was from Atlas, the kingdom boosting the highest reformatory count by almost double any other one. They also had one of the strictest policies on how they rehomed children. Rather than even consider familial connections, they fostered all of them, claiming it would provide a more stable environment without the potential of an omega in probation from seeking them out and ‘influencing’ their young one’s minds before they were fully well.

All this to say it was almost impossible to know where Tai’s kids were unless he could talk to someone on the inside.

“I know someone who works out of there.” Clover said, before prying almost teasingly. “Why? Who are you looking for?”

Qrow realized too late that he probably should have expected this. “Don’t get any ideas!” He squawked. “I’m… trying to get some info on my niece. Nieces, actually. Just wanting to make sure they’re doing alright.”

“Oh.” Just like that, Clover was all business again. “Yeah, I can swing that. Just gonna need their names and ages, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find them. The names of their sires helps too.”

A sense of relief spread through him. “Yeah I can get that to you. I’ll message it.”

“Perfect! Should have something for you in a few days, okay?”

“Thank you Clover.”

“Anytime.”

It was only after the call ended and he’d written out the requested information, that it hit Qrow.

If he disclosed all this, it really wouldn’t be much further of a stretch for Clover to locate his own information alongside it. All these years on the lam potentially wasted in one single text message.

He flopped onto his bed with a groan, mussing a hand through his hair as the weight of the decision nettled him. Yet, as his thumb moved over to erase everything, his gaze unconsciously fell to his nightstand, where the pages of Tai’s designs were still resting. Thought of all the pain his friend still had to go to finish them, coupled with all he bore before this. Wouldn’t just a day of solace be worth it?

His thumb moved back up.

Sometimes you just had to risk it all, right?

Qrow hit send.

Tai smelt his anxiety the moment he walked through the door.

“Everything alright?” He asked, looking about the room as if he expected to find a portion of it on fire.

“Yeah, yeah.” Qrow assured, doing a very bad job of actually appearing alright as he fidgeted with his necklace. “I just have something I wanted to show you. Come here.”

“O…kay?”

Tai followed him over to his bed, sitting down beside him. It was more comfortable than the stiff plastic of the mismatched dining chairs at least, but now Qrow was also realizing it was painfully intimate. As he sat there, fighting the urge to just shove his scroll into the other hands, he realized maybe he should have planned this better. “So, I know this guy from Atlas, right? Someone on the higher end who has a lot of connections. And well, I asked if he might be able to check in on your daughters.”

“What?!” The omega gripped onto his arm, a sort of manic desperation dancing in his eyes. “Qrow, are you serious?”

He nodded, plucking his scroll off the nightstand and swiping over to his photo album. “Yeah and he was able to get me this from their file.” He handed the device over, seeing the way Tai eyes went wide. The photo was reportedly back from January, taken on some sort of outing the family had been on. The two girls were sitting in a sandbox, Yang pushing sand into a yellow bucket with her hands while Ruby watched her, biting on the end of the shovel that her sister probably should have been using.

“They’re with a beta family. An older couple whose kids have already left the house.” Qrow rambled as his friend just continued to stare at his children. “It’s a real nice place. Both the girls have their own rooms and there’s a backyard for them and everything. And the expense reports are showing their getting a nice, balanced diet and toys and even some learning, uh, things. Books and flashcards and all that fancy shit. And, well, uh – T-Tai?”

Tears dripped from the man’s chin, hitting the display of the scroll. “Yang’s in pigtails.”

“What?”

Tai lifted his head, eyes swimming. “I couldn’t get her to let me brush her hair most days, let alone put it in pigtails.”

“Tai…”

The omega brought the device to his chest, as if it was a suitable replacement for the children he’d rather hug. “And look at how big Ruby is now. She’s sitting up all on her own now. Probably walking.” He sobbed, a wretched, terrible noise that burst from something aching to his very core. “What else have I missed? Ruby has to be talking now. I didn’t even get to hear her first word. And Yang’s old enough to be in kindergarten – I should have been there to take her to her first day. But I wasn’t! I wasn’t there for any of it!”

Something in Qrow’s own heart shattered listening to the father’s anguish and he surged forward, gathering Tai up. Pulled him into a tight embrace as if it could protect him from all the hurt he had to bear.

“It’s not fair.” Tai cried into his shoulder. “It was awful enough, losing Summer. But then those OPS bastards came into my house, took one look at my marks and said I was unfit to raise my own kids! I felt so humiliated.” He clenched onto fistfuls of Qrow’s shirt, shaking hard enough he might just fall apart. “It’ll be almost two years by the time they give them back to me. They took those years away from me and I’m never getting them back!” He heaved over another sob. “What if they don’t even remember me Qrow?”

He ran his fingers soothingly through the other’s hair. “No one could forget you Tai. Not with that big, stupid, sunny smile a’yours. Those girls’ll take one look at it and go ‘there’s daddy!’. I just know it.”

It earned him a watery laugh that only delved into more tears. If he could have, Qrow would have torn up all of Atlas to find those pups and bring them back to Tai right then and there. As it was, there was little else he could do but hold him through it.

When the cries eventually turned to sniffles, Tai pulled away to wipe at his face. He looked a mess, eyes bloodshot and blotchy and red. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to lose it on you like that.”

“Think I should be the one saying sorry.” He cast a guilty glance to his scroll, which had fallen onto the bed at some point. “I just thought – I don’t know what I thought. Maybe I wasn’t.”

“Oh, no! Qrow.” Tai pat his knee reassuringly. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much it means to me to see them. To know you did all this for me.” He cast his gaze away, sighing. “It’s just, some days I feel like I’m drowning. There’s not a day that goes by I don’t think of my girls. Worry about them. But if I’m too emotional, suddenly I’m ‘too unstable’. So, I’ve been trying so hard to hold it together.”

Qrow’s jaw clenched. Becoming a professional arsonist was sounding better and better every day. “You don’t have to, not with me.”

“Heh. Even if I cry every day?”

“Cry every hour, if you need to.” He made an aborted gesture towards Tai’s hand. Touched his forearm instead. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you. Alright?”

Tai had no such inhibitions, his other hand laying down over Qrow’s, squeezing gently. “Thank you. I know I haven’t said it nearly enough, but I really do appreciate everything you’ve done. I don’t know how I would have gotten through these past few weeks without you.”

“You would have.” He said, doubtless. Tai was strong inside and out. He’d always admired that about him. “But, I’m glad I can help.”

Anything was worth bringing that smile to his face.

As if on cue, one stretched across Tai’s lips as he said, “I’ll pay you back one day, promise.”

One day, maybe Qrow would tell him he already had.

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #Taiqrow #taiqrowweek #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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lilhawkeye3 · 4 years

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This Ohio discourse has got me dying to create discourse about every other state now hehe so I officially present:

Hawk’s review of 36/50 US states!

In alphabetical order because that fuckin song “50 nifty United States” has been stuck in my head since fourth grade.

Arizona: Phoenix is hot. Can’t believe y’all choose to live in a place that gets haboobs. Saw Sen. John McCain in the airport. I feel that sums up the state well. 4/10

California: as a resident of the state of Oregon, I’m legally required to say fuck California😌 unless anyone else talking shit about Cali and then we got your back😤 SoCal vs San Fran vs Northern Cal are totally different worlds though. 7/10

Colorado: damn idk how y’all breathe there, them air is thin. But really pretty out there! 7/10

Connecticut: oh my god fuck New Haven. And Stamford, and Hartford, and— Yknow what? Let’s just toss the whole state into the Sound. For real, traffic is the WORST here and I’m so sorry that y’all gotta live like that. 3/10

Delaware: I cannot believe this is considered a state. There’s no difference between Delaware and Maryland/Pennsylvania. 1/10 should not be a state

Florida: “the only hills in Florida are the highway ramps and the Matterhorn!” —the shuttle driver at Disney World. He was right. Shit is flat as fuck here. And hot. And humid. The Gulf Coast is nice? But tbh it’s just all very touristy which is kind of a bummer. 5/10

Georgia: ...I can’t with the humidity or thinly veiled racism. But y’all got nice peaches! Also Black Panther filmed there so thank you for blessing us with that. 6/10 for fruits

Hawaii: okay pineapple farms are cool. Tbh I just feel really bad for how much mainlander/tourist bs all the islanders put up with. Ik price of living is v high and keeps going up. That said I did love Hawaii... although I was stung by a jellyfish. Hate those little bastards. 8/10 for wonderful people and nature

Idaho: as an Oregonian I’m required to also say fuck Idaho 😝 you da hoes. Okay for real tho southern Idaho has become v white white and kinda scary tbh. The northern part of the state is pretty chill tho. Also Oreida kettle chips are partly made in Idaho so I gotta give you half credit for that. 4/10

Illinois: at least you’re not Indiana. 4/10.

Indiana: I never want to step foot in Gary, Indiana again in my life. (Passed a Mack truck hauling a race car to Indy 500 though so that was cool.) 2/10

Iowa: I almost moved here. I’m so glad I didn’t. Why are the Quad Cities actually a group of five towns? I hate that. Also the roads were all cement, felt like driving on a sidewalk. Was also interesting because the second we got out of the city proper, it was just... corn fields everywhere. 2/10 y’all raising children of the corn.

Kentucky: I really don’t have anything to say about Kentucky. I thought the trees were pretty? 5/10 yeah idk

Maine: my relative has totaled two cars by hitting moose in Maine. Maine scares me. Or rather, the moose do. Also the lobster roll hype is real. And the coast truly is beautiful. 8/10 but an extra point for the moose bc I hate that relative so 9/10

Maryland: oh god Baltimore. Also I’m blaming you for the DC traffic because it’s on the land you gifted them. 3/10

Massachusetts: Patriots fans are the worst NFL fans (the racism is real, especially after fans burned the jerseys of Black players who knelt for the anthem). Liking Dunkin’ Donuts is not a personality trait. The North End in Boston is truly the best place to get pizza in the entire country. Western Mass is not the same state. And the Cape Cod bridges give me nightmares. 5/10 but cause I had to pay taxes two years and it really is Taxachusetts, knocking it down to 4/10

Michigan: it’s a lot bigger than I initially thought. 5/10

Minnesota: it’s Canada but in the US. Pretty driving through the southern part. Cops suck tho. 5/10

Montana: okay Montana is downright gorgeous. (Except Billings. Sorry, Billings.) I must include a photo. I wanna get a cabin here and just exist. 8/10

New Hampshire: can’t decide if it hates Massachusetts or wants to be Massachusetts. All it knows is that it’s better than Vermont. Which... y’know, valid. (If you wanna see NH culture watch North Woods Law tbh). 4/10

New Jersey: why are there so many goddamn highways in this state? Also there are more places to weekend trip than the Shore or the Poconos. Although you do have people pump gas for you just like Oregon, so... that’s valid. Things my friends have added: Newark airport is cursed (valid), the jughandles are nightmares (true), pork roll/Taylor Ham is good and so are bagels and New Jersey pizza (allergic so idk), and everyone is split on whether the shore is actually decent or not 😂 I give it a 3.5/10 out of spite

New York: NYC is fun, Upstate is MASSIVE but really beautiful. Long Island is... yeah I don’t have anything nice to say about Long Island. 8/10 For NYC, 6/10 for Upstate, -2/10 for Long Island, gives us an average of 6/10

North Carolina: very good peaches. Isn’t South Carolina. Keep it up👍🏽 6/10

Ohio: I already told y’all how I feel about this flat ass boring state. I feel no need to slander it any more lmao. 3/10

Oregon: she flies with her own wings, mi amor🥰 to list all the reasons I like Oregon (and the issues too bc it ain’t perfect), I would need a whole other post. I’ll just leave you with this picture I took of Mt. Hood, the queen of our Cascades. 11/10

Pennsylvania: so apparently PN is three states hiding in a trench coat like NY. There’s upstate, philly and Pittsburg. Personally I think they’re just trying too hard and wanna get the same recognition as NY. Meh. 5/10

Rhode Island: THIS FUCKIN SHAM OF A STATE Just merge it with Connecticut and be done with it!! It’s tiny. Providence sucks. There’s nothing unique about this state that you can’t find in Southern Mass (except MA has cheaper taxes so y’all come to work and shop in MA anyways smh). Also the fingers are really annoying to drive down to get to some beach areas haha. 2/10 you’re barely better than Delaware.

South Carolina: my Black father was invited to a party celebrating General Robert E Lee’s birthday. So... 0/10

South Dakota: very gorgeous, didn’t realize the Missouri River went this far west, but VERY LARGE. I mean it looks big on a map but then you get there and... yeah. No speed limit on highways is a great time though. And the Badlands have mountain goats! 6/10 bc while pretty, living there seems really hard. (Picture is me in the Badlands).

Texas: gave us Juneteenth and Beyoncé and JJ Watts. Thank you Texas. But is very big, got independence from Mexico to keep slavery (yikes), is like 97% private land (yikes) and is like the second or third largest state. Very big. That said, everyone I’ve ever met from Texas is lovely. 6/10.

Utah: Other than Idaho, this is the whitest state I’ve been to. Or it feels that way. Like a, the people crossed to the other side of the street and held their bags because I’m brown, state. And I don’t ski so I can’t even say that’s a good thing (I fell off the ski lift the one time I went, long story). Yeah 0/10.

Vermont: wants to be New Hampshire or Canada and can’t decide which. So it’s just kinda there. Pretty hills though. 3/10

Virginia: let’s be real we all forget that Virginia exists west of Richmond. Nova is a beauracratic and traffic nightmare and half our neighbors had to pass security clearance checks. Hampton Roads and beach area is a tourist and mosquito nightmare. But there were dolphins and I made snowmen on the beach. Good times. 6.7/10

Washington: again, legally required as an Oregon resident to say fuck Washington because it’s all your fault we now are getting a toll on the I-5 border. But you’re better than California. And the Sound is really cool for fishing, love Wicked Tuna. And the fish market. Best salmon I’ve had. Eastern Washington... y’all got Spokane but the rest is kinda sparse. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 8/10

Wisconsin: cheese is actually good. Again, pretty state, much larger than I initially thought. 7/10

Wyoming: this was the ONLY STATE I lost cell service in when diriving cross country. Kinda surprised it wasn’t Montana, but no, it was Wyoming. Views are gorgeous though so I was distracted either way. 4/10

Thank you for joining me on this cross-country edition of Tea Time with Hawk. Please respond with any reactions, corrections, addendums about any and all of the states mentioned. And thank you for taking part in this wholesome Clone Wars fandom discourse with me 🥰💕

DISCLAIMER: THESE RATINGS ARE ALL A JOKE PLEASE DO NOT ACTUALLY GET MAD ABOUT IT

#ohio discourse #50 states reviews #oregon #midwest #california #texas #New York #massachusetts #deep south #midatlantic #New England #united states #the clone wars #DISCOURSE COMMENCE

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

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You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 4

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 2,620 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Past Assaults

Author’s Note: This chapter goes deeper into the past trauma and assaults. If those are triggers for you, be advised and be responsible. -Thorne

She drifted. Weightless like a buoy on the sea, like a feather on the wind. It was comfortable, something she hadn’t felt in years. As if the burdens had finally left her shoulders. She almost felt like not leaving.

She cracked an eye open and stared at the sky above her, as blue as it’d ever been. Strange. She thought. Last thing I remember is collapsing on the tavern steps. And with the gentle roll of her head, she saw a woman in robes next to her.

The woman smiled, dark wine-colored lips parting to show pearly whites. “You’ve been asleep for a long time, (Y/N).” she murmured.

(Y/N) heaved a sigh. “Hello Na’ilah.” She looked away, glaring at the perfectly clear sky. “So that’s it then? I’m finally dead?”

Na’ilah snorted and helped her sit up. “No, not yet.” She caught (Y/N)’s eyes. “You’re in that little space between here and there.”

“Great,” (Y/N) scoffed. “The in-between. As if I didn’t have anything better to do than spend time around here.”

“You’re rather upset for someone who isn’t bleeding to death anymore.”

“I’m not upset, Na’ilah. I’m pissed.” She grunted.

“At?” Na’ilah encouraged, but (Y/N) kept silent, causing her to sigh. “You’ve always been terrible at expressing your feelings.”

That did the trick and (Y/N) glared at her. “I have not. I just don’t do it often.” She clambered to her feet and stared at the desert expanse. “Why the hell is the in-between a fucking desert?” She kicked at the sand. “It’s hot and sandy and not fun.”

Na’ilah snorted and rose to her feet as well. The cloak billowed around her. “Oh complain, complain. Life’s better now than it was. You live in a nice tavern and get paid quite a big sum.”

“What? Have you been spying on me through the clouds in heaven?”

“Something like that.” Na’ilah took her by the hand and they began to walk across the sand.

“I hope you’re taking me somewhere that has shade, because if all this place is, is desert? Yeah, I’ll just decide to die.”

Na’ilah turned on her and smiled. “This place is a part of you, (Y/N). It can be anything you make it to be—you get to decide.”

(Y/N) eyed the older woman suspiciously then shut her eyes. In an instance, she felt the heat of the sun come off her and the smell of ale rise through her nose. She opened her eyes and saw the interior of The Ethereal Crew Tavern before her.

“Odd choice, given that you hate alcoholic beverages.” Na’ilah commented. “Though this place is considered safe to you, so it fits.”

She pulled away and sat down in one of the booths, nodding at the seat across from her. (Y/N) slid into it and stared at her. She hadn’t changed. Bright green eyes full of mirth, a calm smile, and yet for a dead woman, she looked as though she hadn’t aged a day.

“I guess dying at thirty-seven does that to a woman.” She murmured.

(Y/N) recoiled with a glower. “Get out of my head.”

“Then don’t think so loudly.” Na’ilah countered and for a moment, they glared at each other, then burst into laughter.

When they calmed, the older woman waved a hand and a set of tea appeared. (Y/N) picked up one of the teacups and looked inside. “Kuwaiti tea?”

“Your favorite, as I recall.”

“Haven’t had in in a while.”

“You drank some last week.” Na’ilah laughed.

(Y/N)’s expression turned solemn and she stared into the golden tea. “Not yours, I haven’t.” The older woman’s face dropped, and she looked at her. “Why are you here, Na’ilah?”

“Can’t I be here to visit my favorite apprentice?”

“You’re not real.”

Na’ilah cocked a dark, elegant brow. “Oh? Am I just a figment of your imagination? A last defense before your body finally shuts down?” She waited on (Y/N)’s answer.

“I don’t know,” (Y/N) muttered. “But I know you’re not the real Na’ilah.”

“And why am I not?”

She met the older woman’s eyes. “Because she’s dead.”

Na’ilah smiled sadly. “Dead, yes. But never truly gone.”

(Y/N) huffed humorlessly. “Isn’t it the same thing?”

She took a sip of her tea, refined as always in her mannerisms. “You know as well as I that death isn’t the end. Merely a beginning.”

“And how long did that beginning take for you after you threw me into that boat? Days? Weeks? Years?” (Y/N)’s eyes were hard, yet so pained.

Na’ilah hummed. “You can stop holding that over yourself, (Y/N). My death wasn’t your fault.”

“My escape was.”

“That I orchestrated. That I put into motion.” She looked at her. “I helped you escape so that you would be free, not so you could live your life repenting for it.” (Y/N) didn’t respond and she remarked, “Do you genuinely think I let him kill me? That my final moments were not my own doing?”

(Y/N) met her gaze and saw a clarity in her eyes. “You killed yourself then?”

“I did.” Na’ilah answered. “Up on that hill we always saw through the window. The hill that touched the moon.” She tipped her head to the side. “I died on my own terms, (Y/N). Will you choose yours?”

The tea tasted bitter in her mouth, despite the sugar in it. “I don’t feel free.”

“That’s because you view your freedom through a noose. You think of freedom as some one-shot deal where if you take the final step it’ll be your last.” Na’ilah took her hand. “That mark on your skin holds nothing. It’s merely a piece of the past. Let it go and focus on the future.”

(Y/N) felt a mirthless smile cross her lips. “That’s easy for you to say—you’re dead. I can’t take my clothes off without seeing his symbol branded on my abdomen.”

“Then get it removed.” (Y/N) met Na’ilah’s eyes. “The only reason you haven’t is because you’re afraid that you’ll have nothing to hold onto if you do.”

“That’s not—”

“Then why didn’t you get it removed when you got to the colonies? Why didn’t you have someone burn it away? Why didn’t you have someone paint over it with tattoos? Why didn’t you do something about it?”

Na’ilah’s eyes held an expectance and (Y/N) threw her hands in the air. “I don’t fucking know! Okay! I don’t know!” She dropped her arms and put her face in her hands. “I don’t know why I didn’t get rid of the brand.”

“I think you do.” Na’ilah encouraged. “I think you do every time you look in the mirror and remember your younger years.”

(Y/N) peered between her fingers and sighed. “It was the one thing I could always blame things on. The pain and hatred. After I escaped…I was afraid that if I got rid of it, I wouldn’t have anything to pour my rage into. That I would forget why I do the things I do and am the way I am around others.”

“And so, you keep it as a safety net. But also, a reminder to be cautious of those around you.”

“I don’t trust at all.”

Na’ilah smiled. “I think you trust those two. Especially the one.”

(Y/N) grunted, knowing exactly who the woman was talking about. “Shay’s a pain in my ass and talks about how mean I am all the time and Haytham’s nosey as hell and thinks it’s amusing when I snap at him.”

“But you trust them.”

Figuring it better to agree than to fight, (Y/N) huffed. “Only a bit.”

“I think it’s more than a bit.” Na’ilah quipped and she rolled her eyes.

They lapsed into a silence, quietly sipping their tea, then (Y/N) asked, “Is this what it’s like to live after what we went through? To distrust every hand that comes your way? To be a shell?” She met Na’ilah’s eyes. “I don’t even remember who I used to be when I was a child before living at the Viviani Residence.” She huffed. “I don’t even remember what it was like to be a child.”

“Do you know what I see you as now?”

(Y/N) laughed mirthlessly. “A cold-hearted bitch who keeps people at arms-length and kills rapists and murderers?”

Na’ilah didn’t laugh. “I see a young woman in her thirties who has suffered more pain and strife than any should ever have to. And instead of succumbing to all the trauma, she has used it as a means to save other women and children from ever having to suffer it too.” She took (Y/N)’s hand. “I see a young woman who is so afraid to trust people, especially men, that she has drawn a line in the sand and keeps everyone away so that she doesn’t experience those pains ever again. I see a young woman who struggles everyday to express her feelings clearly yet keep them so hidden, so no one learns her past.”

She squeezed (Y/N)’s hand, watching tears slide down her cheeks. “I see a young woman who is so strong and so passionate in her way to help others.” Her other hand reached up and wiped the tears from (Y/N)’s face. “Most of all, I see the young woman I trained day in and day out for years and ultimately gave my life for so that she could find freedom. In helping others. In finding love. In finding peace.”

Her image began to fade, and the feel of her hand became feather-light. (Y/N) grabbed her hands tight. “Don’t leave me alone, Na’ilah. Not again.”

Na’ilah smiled. “You have never been alone. I have always been with you.” Barely a specter, she said, “You are not your past. Just as this world bends to your will, so does reality. No one else’s words can give your life definition. Only yours, (Y/N).”

“Na’ilah,” she whispered, vision beginning to brighten.

“And in the end, you are what you make yourself to be, (Y/N).” She laughed, but it sounded like tinkling bells in (Y/N)’s ears. “What are you going to make yourself, (Y/N)?”

***

When she opened her eyes once more, she was met by the ceiling of the tavern she knew all too well. A heavy feeling set in her chest and she turned her head, catching sight of Haytham asleep in the chair beside the bed, arms curled across his chest. She snorted silently at how his chin dipped into his chest, quiet snores sounding from him. (Y/N) took a moment to observe him closer.

His hair was in disarray, unkempt strands had pulled from the usually tight ribbon, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

Her eyes drifted to the window and she saw dawn peeking through the window, telling her that she’d at least slept through the whole night, but if she was being realistic, she’d probably been out for more than a couple days. (Y/N)’s side ached with a fury and she gently flexed her fingers to get the blood flowing before she shifted her hand to her waist. The bandage around it felt clean and it was underneath her shirt, so at least they’d listened to her delirious request to keep her clothed.

(Y/N)’s fingers trialed below her left breast to the mark branded into her skin. She traced the raised flesh, forming a ‘V’, a frown crossing her lips and she decided that when she could finally walk, she was going to cut if off or burn it away. Na’ilah was right—she used it as a reminder and she no longer needed it. (Y/N) inhaled deeply. Maybe I’ll ask Shay where I can get a tattoo and I’ll get it covered. Maybe a rose? What about a sparrow? Because they fly and they’re free and oh my god that’s too cliché. How about a—

“(Y/N)?”

She damn near jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice, eyes darting to her side to see Haytham leaning over. He looked truly tired, like he hadn’t slept in years. She swallowed and pulled her hand from underneath her shirt. “Hey,” she murmured.

Haytham stood but took a moment to stretch and she couldn’t help but snort at how he groaned from the cracking of his joints. He turned to the desk and after a moment, appeared with a cup. “Here,” he said. “You’re probably thirsty.”

Now that he mentioned it, she was parched, and (Y/N) grunted as she forced herself to sit up, ignoring his concern. She held out her hand and he gave her the cup, watching as she downed it in one drink.

(Y/N) lowered the cup from her mouth. “Thank you.”

Haytham nodded, taking the cup back. “How do you feel?” he asked.

She met his gaze and smiled. “Like I got stabbed in the side then spent time in a feverish sleep.” He huffed through his nose. “In all, pretty good for what happened.”

“Your little stunt almost killed you. You’ve been out for three days. You should’ve told me,” he chastised and behind his eyes she could see a slight anger directed at her.

It almost made her roll her eyes, but she looked away. “I should’ve.”

He almost sputtered but caught himself. “What did you just say?” Haytham grinned. “Did you just agree with me about your personal condition?” He reached over and felt her forehead. “Are you still feverish?”

(Y/N) glared at him but didn’t pull away from his touch. “Don’t make me punch the shit out of you, Haytham.”

His steel eyes met hers and he lowered his hand, gently caressing her cheek. “That’s the second time you’ve used my name.”

The smile he wore made her heart race a bit and she pulled a glower. “I’m getting closer to punching you.” He smiled and moved his hand. “Who saw to my wound?”

“I did.” Her eyes narrowed and he raised his hands in surrender. “Priscilla and her mother tended to it, but I helped them in the medical area.”

“Did you remove my clothing?” (Y/N) inquired.

“No. They lifted your shirt to your stomach to see the wound, but other than that, no.”

His words held his utmost assurance and she nodded. She knew he wanted to ask but wouldn’t unless she brought it up.

She looked at him. “I have a mark on my skin that I don’t want anyone seeing.”

Haytham cocked a dark brow. “A birthmark?”

“A scar.” (Y/N) looked past his head at the wall. “From a bad time.” He seemed to understand, and her eyes focused back on him. “Maybe I’ll—”

She went quiet and Haytham echoed, “Maybe I’ll?”

(Y/N) held out a shaky hand and he softly placed his in hers; she gazed at him and murmured, “I will tell you about it one day. I ask that you give me time though.”

“Of course,” he promised. “Your past is yours to reveal when you wish, (Y/N).”

She pulled her hand away rather quickly, pretending to not notice the somewhat hurt expression on her face. “Thank you.” She said hurriedly. “Now, get out so I can get up and change my clothes.”

Haytham snorted. “Your mind changes fast, you know that, yes?”

(Y/N) raised a fist. “I’m two seconds away from punching the stupid smile off your face.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He chuckled and stood up, heading for the door.

She called out to him before he opened it. “Haytham?”

He turned and waited with a smile.

“Thank you…for watching over me…while I slept.”

Haytham tipped his head, his eyes full of fondness for her. “Of course, (Y/N).” And he was gone, leaving her with the full scent of cedarwood and peppermint—of Haytham.

#haytham kenway x reader #haytham kenway x reader imagine #haytham kenway x reader imagines #haytham kenway imagine #haytham kenway imagines #haytham kenway #ac rogue imagine #ac rogue imagines #ac rogue #assassins creed rogue #assassins creed rogue imagine #assassins creed rogue imagines #ac imagines #ac imagine #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #shay cormac

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

The Gift (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: The Gift Rating: PG-13 Length: 2200 Warnings: None. Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set in January 1997. This is part of the “big angst” that will be covered over this weekend and Monday. Summary: Reader considers the gift Javier gave her.

Taglist: @grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow@hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501@fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim@amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts@synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper@awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @ct-arc-5555 @cable-kenobi

“Do I really want to open this can of worms?” You questioned, running your hand over the subtle curve of your stomach. “I think your daddy really wants me to.” You sighed heavily and sank back in your office chair. Your gaze flickered towards the stack of manila envelopes sitting on top of your file sorter. They had been sitting, right there, since your first day back after Laredo.

You had gotten Javier an engraved ring; the day you met, your birthdate, his, Josie’s, and enough room for the new baby’s birthdate. Javier had gotten you a stack of FOIA’d files from the DEA. Every mention of your name on the Pablo Escobar case. Every contribution you made to the Cali Cartel investigation. Buried within that bundle of files was also, as Javier had explained, incriminating evidence that the DEA had intentionally concealed your efforts.

Swallowing thickly, you pulled one of the files off the sorter. You bent the metal clasp straight and pulled it open. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you stared down at the painfully familiar letter heading.

Colombia felt like a lifetime ago.

That last year with the DEA had been a living hell.

Working for the Miami PD had been a breath of fresh air. You had a team that supported you, supervisors who respected you and valued you… You never had that with the DEA. Javier and Steve had been the only two at the DEA who seemed to give a shit what you said. You spent your entire career working five times harder than every man, only to get an eighth of the credit.

Or none.

You got up out of your chair, heading over to shut the door to your office, pulling the blinds shut on the little glass window. You sank back down in your seat, staring at the stack of neatly stacked papers that had been tucked into the folder.

Five folders symbolized the culmination of years of effort. From 1987 to 1993.

You leaned forward and pressed the speaker button on your desk phone, before clicking the speed dial button for Javier’s office. It rang once before he picked up, his voice exactly what you needed to hear right then. “Hello?”

“Hey, Javi.”

“Hey baby, I was just thinking about you.” Javier said warmly. “What’s up?”

“I finally opened the files and... “ You laughed quietly, “I guess I’m a little hormonal right now.” You rubbed under your eyes as you looked down at the top sheet of paper. “Just seeing my name and the DEA is… blast from the past.”

“You were the best goddamn agent they ever had in Colombia. And you know it.”

“Of course I know it.” You rolled your eyes. “I had to put up with you and Murph. I had to be good.”

“You took down Carlos Lehder on your second day, baby. Do you have any idea how many years that asshole spent evading US forces? Second day and you fucking bag him. How many years has it been? Cause I’m still proud of you for that.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his praise. Your fingers trembled as you flipped through the pages. “What were you thinking that night?”

“Hmm?”

“At the bar. I still remember this look you had… I couldn’t figure it out.” You recalled, brows furrowed as you flipped to a page of reports that had Javier’s horrible handwriting printed between the margins.

“You really wanna know?”

“Sure.” You looked towards the phone. “Was it good?”

“Well, yeah.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth and chuckled. “What do you think I was thinking about, baby?”

“I figured as much.” You grinned, rubbing at the back of your neck as you settled back in your chair. “Damn… jealous since day one. Javier, have you always had a heart?”

“If you hadn’t been so fucking… you.” Javi huffed softly.

A comfortable silence fell between you as you shuffled through the pages, you could hear the soft inhale and exhales coming from him on the other side of the line. You wished he were there with you, flipping through years of work together. But he’d gifted them to you to do with as you wished.

“You trust this journalist?”

“He uncovered the whole Tailhook Convention scandal.” Javier sighed heavily. “And that was a shit show.”

“Yeah. I remember reading about it.” Trust the Pentagon to try to cover up a massive sexual assault scandal among their good ole boys. “So he’s good. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, but… is my story even that important?”

“Baby…”

“I’m just one agent that got royally fucked over by the DEA. Doesn’t it seem a little narcissistic to think I’m so important that I need to have my name printed?”

“Steve told me.”

“Told you what?”

Your heart sank.

Javier sighed. “After you left the bar that night. I didn’t realize what he was doing, but in hindsight… I get it now.” He was silent for a moment, before he continued. “You wanted to make a name for yourself. That’s what you told him, right?”

“I mean… Yeah.” You tucked the files back into the folder and reached for the second, peeling it open and dumping them out. There was a stack of square photos with a rubber band wrapped around them. Pictures from stakeouts, late nights… Steve was always documenting everything. He loved that goddamn camera.

They always had to go into the case files, except for a few you had stolen. “I mean… that’s why I volunteered for Colombia. No one else was crazy enough to go there and I thought… that’s my shot.”

“And it was. You could’ve had it all, baby. But I—”

“Were the best partner a girl could ask for, Javi. You and Steve were so good at your jobs.” You smiled wistfully down at a picture of the three of you. You had Javier’s aviators on and were wedged in between the two of them. “I wouldn’t trade what we have for anything. I don’t need my name in the history books.”

“But what about everyone else? What about Josie and the baby? What if they want to follow in their mother’s footsteps.”

“God, I hope they don’t want to be DEA.” You laughed, “Good parents don’t let their kids grow up to be feds.”

“You’re avoiding the topic.”

“If we start this, we have no idea where it’ll go, Javi. An article like this… it’ll have ramifications.” You cautioned. “Everything with the DEA comes at a cost.”

“This was your dream.” Javier pressed. “They cut you out. Completely. You know it, I know it, Steve knows it…” He sighed heavily. “Just call the guy. See where he wants to take this. He already knows the jist of this shit.”

“I know.” You sat the photos aside and went through a stack of neatly typed notes that you had taken towards the end of the case. Some of the last stakeouts the three of you went on together. Good memories. Really good memories.

“What do we do, Javi? Do we tell them everything? You, me… the kids? There’s a lot more to this story than just me being cut out.” You pushed your fingers through your hair. “And Steve…”

“Knows what I got you for Christmas. He helped me get them FOIA’d.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth and you wished you could see his face. “He’s willing to burn the place down, baby. Just say the word.”

“What is he going to do?” You questioned. “They’ve got two little girls.”

“He’s got plans to open his own consulting firm. He’s playing it by ear.” Javier told you, “He’s not thrilled with the DEA either.” He sighed heavily, “I’ve got this faculty meeting in a couple minutes, but… Do you want to meet for lunch at Demetrio?”

You tucked the files back away in the envelope, picking up the business card with the journalist’s name on it. “Yeah. Lunch sounds like a good idea. I think I’m gonna call this guy…”

“I’m proud of you.”

“I know you are.”

——

You passed your menu to the waiter, offering him a polite smile, “I’ll just do the omelet. You can put the sausage on a side plate for him.”

“Something besides water?”

“Hot tea. Breakfast.” You looked towards Javier who was still mulling over the menu. “You know you like their Monte Cristo, just order that.”

“I’m not sure if I want sweet.” Javier rubbed at the back of his neck.

“The spicy eggs were good.” You recalled, taking the menu from him and looking it over. “Spicy Morning.” You pointed it out to Javier. “Something like that?” You gave the waiter a sympathetic smile.

“I’ll do the empanada special.” Javier finally decided, “Coffee instead of tea.”

You rolled your eyes after the waiter left, “Really? I thought you hate how their empanadas were made.”

He shrugged, scratching at his jaw. “I’m willing to give them a second chance.” Javier looked towards you then, “Are we going to do this?”

“I think I’m ready.” You chewed on your bottom lip as you reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I called him. We spoke a little and… I felt good about it?”

Javier held your gaze, “You can stop at any time.”

“I know I can, but… I do think this is the right thing to do. Someone has to stop it, right? And I mean… They’ve got assholes like Chris working for them, but me? I get the ax? It’s bullshit.” You squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand, “So it was a good Christmas gift?”

You laughed, “I know I didn’t seem very appreciative.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “But I am.”

God were you glad he had suggested exchanging gifts in private. Opening a box to find a stack of manila envelopes containing the sum of your efforts in Colombia had not been your ideal gift. It was one of the few times you’d raised your voice — and you couldn’t really do that with Chucho sleeping down the hall.

It wasn’t until Javier gave you the chance to calm down that you realized just how profound the gift had been. Two years ago you had come completely unglued because of the DEA. Finding out that your name had been struck from every file had been a painful realization. Javier had listened to you, remembered it, and worked to find a way to rectify it.

If you had any doubts about how he felt about you, that gift would’ve made it abundantly clear. But you knew how he felt about you, about the life you shared with him. It had been a remarkably thoughtful gift.

“I’m just scared.” You admitted to him, rubbing your lips together thoughtfully. “We both know what happens when you go up against the government. They are ruthless.”

“I know, baby.” Javi squeezed your hand three times, before you both had to make room for the waiter’s return with the drinks. He sat Javier’s coffee down in front of him and your tea in front of you.

“Thanks.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

“We’re good, thank you.” You smiled, before looking back to Javier. “You know, when I got into the government — the DEA — I never pictured myself going down this path. Calling journalists, setting up tell-alls.” You curled your fingers around your mug,

“When I went to Colombia, I didn’t think I’d come home with a family.” Javier rubbed at the back of his neck as he took a sip of coffee.

You nudge his foot under the table. “Me neither.” You shook your head with a laugh. “We should fuck with them next Christmas. Send the Bogotá office a Christmas card with the four of us.” You stroked the curve of your belly. “The reporter had a lot of questions about us.”

“Really?”

You nodded with a sheepish grin. “I guess the human interest side of the story has some appeal.” You tapped your foot against his ankle. “I’m sure there will be scrutiny about us. We work together for what? Five years? Did nothing really happen before Steve left?” You rolled your eyes.

“We had tremendous self-control.” Javier chuckled, shaking his head as he scratched at the side of his jaw. “You don’t think they’d believe that?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “The thought of living in a fishbowl is a little terrifying. I already had the DEA turning over every aspect of my life.” You pressed your tongue to the inside of your cheek, looking away.

“How bad did it get?”

“Oh, they looked to see if I had any impropriety prior to Colombia. But,” You snapped your fingers and shot finger guns at Javier. “You were the only partner I was ever involved with… well, I mean Lance was working with the DEA. Does he count?”

Javier rocked his jaw and huffed. “I don’t think he counts.”

“That’s because you don’t like thinking about me with him.” You raised your brows, giving him a look. “I should probably call him and tell him about this article.”

“Do you talk?”

You shook your head, “Not since that day he was at the office. But I don’t want him blindsided.” You brushed the topic aside. “Are we really ready to face Colombia like this, Javi? I mean, this isn’t something small. This is The Washington Post… front page.”

“I’m ready if you’re ready, baby.”

“I think I am.”

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 22: Sasha

Basira brings the first tape before the week is out, and Sasha is apparently the only one surprised that Jon doesn’t seem happier about it. As a matter of fact, he seems downright distressed.

The assistants normally stagger their lunch breaks so there are at least two people in the Archives at any given time, something they’ve done almost since the beginning, but Jon comes out of his office and suggests all three of them go together, and Tim and Martin hustle Sasha out before she can ask questions. It’s Tim who points out, sotto voce while they’re standing in line at the cafe, that Basira probably called to say she was dropping by and Jon wants them out of there to preserve the fiction that he’s not telling them what’s going on. Sure enough, they pretend to ignore Basira in the parking lot on their way back to the Archives and re-enter to find Jon sitting on the edge of Tim’s desk, turning a tape over and over in his hands.

“That was quick,” Martin comments. “Thought it’d be harder for her to get them to you.”

“I did, too. I wasn’t—anticipating anything before next week at the earliest. And since I don’t know how soon she’ll be back with another one—or come back for this one, for that matter—I kind of have to listen to it as soon as possible.” Jon looks up at them with a pained expression.

Sasha frowns. “Am I missing something? Why’s that a bad thing?”

“Because I don’t…the real statements take a lot out of me. Live ones are worse. According to the Primes, doing more than one a week is going to be a drain. At least until I…build up my tolerance, I guess.” Jon sighs. “Which I’m not altogether sure I want to do.”

“We could record any real statements you get for you,” Sasha offers. “Then you can just listen to the tapes.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you all,” Jon says, looking shocked. “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

“Yeah, but you’re the Head Archivist. Why would it affect us like that?”

“It’s the statements, not the position,” Martin says. “Each one is a thread that binds you closer to the Eye. Regardless of who takes it.” When they all stare at him, he blushes and adds, “I talked about it with Martin Prime while I was recovering. He told me he read more than a few statements over the last year and a half he was at the Institute.”

Jon rubs his forehead. “All the more reason I should keep doing this. I just…I don’t want to lose myself, either.”

Tim hesitantly reaches out and puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “You won’t. I mean, Jon Prime hasn’t lost himself, has he?”

“Only because he has Martin Prime to keep him grounded.”

“Well, you’ve got us.”

Jon smiles, but says, “I don’t want to put the burden of my humanity on you.”

Martin tilts his head. “Even if we offer?”

“Even then. I just…it’s not fair to you.” Jon sighs, obviously frustrated. “And I’m curious. There’s no denying that. Especially about…this. Gertrude actually seems to have labeled it properly. And—well, I only met her once or twice, and I-I was very new at the time.” He looks at the three of them. “Did any of you?”

Tim shakes his head. “Apparently I’d remember if I did,” he says, shooting a look at Sasha.

Sasha shrugs. “You would. We talked a fair amount. She—she said I ought to apply for the position of Archivist if it ever came up vacant.”

Jon flinches, but doesn’t say anything. Martin swallows. “I think she avoided me, actually. Never could figure out why, but any time she sent up to the library for something, Diana made a point of sending anyone but me with it. Which was weird, since usually she took any excuse to get me out of the way for a few minutes.”

Tim drapes an arm over Martin’s shoulders. Jon looks embarrassed, but stares at the tape in his hands. “I suppose I’d just like any insight to her time here. And, well, even with—” He glances up at the ceiling. “Even with what we know, there’s so much we don’t. And I understand that, there are some things we need to discover on our own, and other things we won’t believe until we have proof. Still.” He sighs. “And on top of that, I find myself wondering if the Eye is going to have any influence over the tapes Basira brings or if it’s going to be random.”

“What’s this one?” Sasha asks.

Instead of answering, Jon hands her the tape. Sasha peers at the label—a case number, a name, and the words Algasovo, central Russia. “Well, I doubt Basira picked it at anything but random if she wasn’t being influenced somehow.”

She passes the tape over to Tim and Martin, who study it before handing it back to Jon. “Does that mean anything to you? Algasovo?”

“No. I’m not sure it means anything to Basira, either.”

“Hang on.” Sasha sits at her desk and flips open her laptop. A few keystrokes later and all four of them are peering over her shoulder at a list of search results. All of them are generic, or else written in Russian—basic information about the town, the weather, and the surrounding area. “It’s a nothing village in the middle of nowhere. But Gertrude obviously thought this was important enough to put on tape.”

Martin nods. “And if it’s something we need to know about…”

“I suppose I’ll have to listen to it,” Jon says with a sigh. He stares at the tape again, and there’s something in his eyes Sasha recognizes—something hungry. He wants to listen to it. But there’s also something in his eyes that she sees reflected in Martin and Tim’s—fear. He’s afraid of what he’ll become as much as he desperately wants, needs to know.

She thinks about what Martin said, about how the statements will affect all of them no matter who reads them. She thinks about Martin Prime quietly telling Jon Prime that you being here might help him. She thinks about all of them listening to everybody’s statements all at once and not getting half so wiped as Jon looked on Monday when Basira left after making her statement.

“What if we listen together?” she blurts.

Jon looks up, obviously startled. “What?”

Sasha taps a fingernail on her desk. It’s getting ragged, she really needs to make an appointment for a manicure—maybe this weekend, she thinks. “If it’s going to affect anyone who records it, or reads it or listens to it or whatever…there’s probably a finite amount of energy to it, right? It’s not like we’ll all absorb the full amount of fear, it’ll most likely be more…it’ll get siphoned out and divided between the four of us. If we all listen to this tape together, maybe we can stop you from becoming…like that. Or at least slow it down. Maybe it won’t take so much energy from you.”

Jon hesitates and looks at Tim and Martin. Tim shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

“I’m up for it if you’re willing,” Martin agrees.

Jon swallows, then nods. “All right. Let me go get the tape recorder.”

Martin blinks. “What, you want to do it here? In the open?”

“I don’t believe there’s any point in hiding in my office to do it. Or Document Storage or whatever. Nobody’s likely to come down and interrupt us. It—it should be fine.” Jon leaves the tape on the desk and heads into his office.

“I’ll make us some tea. We’ll probably need it.” Martin fishes four mugs out of his desk drawer and disappears in the direction of the break room.

Sasha watches him go. “We really ought to just set up a tea station here in the Archives. Save wear and tear on the carpets.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but that’s not half a bad idea,” Tim says. “Bet Jon would agree.”

“Agree to what?” Jon comes over with the tape recorder in hand. “Where’s Martin?”

“Getting tea. Sasha suggested setting up a tea station here.”

Jon pauses. “Actually, why haven’t we done that before now?”

Tim’s right—Sasha was being sarcastic, but she enters into the discussion anyway and they’ve got a list of things to pick up after work almost fully written by the time Martin returns with the same cups he always uses for them. They rope Martin into the discussion, since he’s the one who knows the tea procedure inside and out, and they’re all a lot more relaxed by the time they settle down to listen to the tape.

Sasha’s attention is immediately piqued by the statement. Gertrude’s familiar dry, reedy voice sounds much more intense than she remembers from their conversations. It’s obvious the statement is real—it comes across in the texture of Gertrude’s voice—but she reads it calmly, no hesitation or upset. Something about the scenario draws Sasha in as much as it frightens her. Maybe it’s knowing that it killed her in the Primes’ timeline, or maybe it’s just that it’s the antithesis of the entity she’s essentially bound to, but the Stranger scares her the most out of all the entities. It fascinates her, too, which she supposes isn’t the greatest sign in the world, but too much of her mind is focused on the statement to really care.

At last, the statement ends. Gertrude gives a short summing-up that makes it clear, at least to Sasha, that she never intended for these tapes to be used by anyone outside the Institute, or indeed outside the Archives; her supplemental makes reference to things she obviously already knew and speculates in a limited sense about the nature of the younger brother of the statement-giver, and then the tape clicks off.

The scrape of a chair breaks the spell, and Sasha blinks up in time to see Martin, his face creased with empathy, wrap Tim in a hug. Tim doesn’t even bother to stand up from his chair, just clings to Martin like he’s drowning. Sasha can see the tears rolling down his face. Shit.

“Tim?” Jon slides off the desk, looking a bit shaky, and puts a hand on Tim’s shoulder. Tim reaches out blindly and pulls Jon into the hug, too.

Guilt rises in Sasha’s throat. She should have guessed. Out of everyone in the room, she’s the only one who knows why Tim came to work for the Institute in the first place, and it really should have occurred to her as soon as Gertrude uttered the word circus that this one would hit Tim hard. Add in the younger brother in peril and her dry comment about them being lucky to escape with only significant mental trauma, and it’s no wonder he’s crying. But she was too wrapped up in the statement to even think about him, let alone notice what Martin evidently picked up on immediately.

God, some best friend she is.

“Oh, Tim,” she whispers, penitent. She gets up from her seat and joins the group hug, hesitantly, not sure if she’s welcome. She doesn’t want to wedge herself in the middle of things, so she just squeezes Jon and Martin closer to Tim and prays that’s enough.

Someone is murmuring something, over and over, and it takes Sasha a second to realize that it’s I’m sorry and a second longer to realize it’s Jon, apologizing repeatedly into Tim’s hair. Christ, he’s starting to tear up, too, and he doesn’t even know why Tim’s so upset. Unless he’s figured out the whole mind-reading thing already. She doesn’t think so, though.

Finally, Tim takes a deep, shuddering breath and pulls back. The others ease off, with varying degrees of reluctance, and Martin fishes a tissue from somewhere on the desk and offers it silently. Tim takes it and wipes his face. “S-sorry,” he says hoarsely.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jon says, obviously trying to be brusque, but it’s as obvious a lie as when he was trying to be brusque with Martin the night of the attack. “You have nothing to apologize for. I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you listen to that.”

“You couldn’t have known.” Tim closes his eyes and breathes deeply for a moment, then looks up. “My—I still owe you a statement, I think. Not today,” he adds quickly, evidently seeing the slight panic that crosses Jon’s face. “You can’t take that, and neither can I. Just…whenever you think you’re up to it. But—short version, I lost my brother to a Russian circus. It’s why I joined the Institute.”

Sasha actually knows precious few details beyond that—Tim may have told her the whole story, but they were both drunk at the time and she’s blurred out a lot, although she remembers the salient points. Jon looks stricken. “Tim, I—I didn’t know.”

“No reason you should have. I never told you.” Tim finishes off his tea in one long swallow, then pushes back from his desk. “I—I need some air.”

“Take your phone.” Jon’s voice is soft. “Call if you need us.”

“I will. I will.” Tim pockets his phone and heads out.

Jon watches him, then turns to the other two. He still looks shaken and visibly distressed. “Did you know?”

“I had no idea.” Martin touches his shoulder gently. “Jon, sit down. I’ll—I’ll get you another cup of tea.”

“Not right now. I’m fine.” Jon does sit, though, and he squeezes Martin’s hand briefly before looking up at Sasha. “Did you…?”

“He told me once,” Sasha admits. “I don’t remember most of the details, honestly, but I knew about Danny. I just didn’t make the connection while we were listening to the statement.”

Jon rubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t even notice—God, I was so focused on—I’d have stopped it if I’d known.”

“I don’t think you could have,” Martin tells him. “I—he started turning grey right after Gertrude mentioned the circus, and by the time they realized the brother was missing he was starting to hyperventilate. I wanted to tell you to stop the tape, o-or try to intervene, or something, but I—until the tape stopped, I couldn’t move. It was like sitting there listening to Martin Prime rattle off that chamber of horrors all over again.” He sounds frustrated and upset. “Like I was bound there. I don’t get it. It’s not like I’ve never interrupted you doing a recording before.”

“Only once,” Jon says. “And you—” He freezes, suddenly stiffening, and looks back and forth from Martin to Sasha. “Oh, God. You’ve both interrupted me, but that’s the point, you came in in the middle of the recording. You’ve never been there from the beginning.”

Sasha gets it, all of a sudden. “Because we were there from the start, we got caught in the—the threads of the statement. I wonder if anyone ever interrupted Jon Prime if they’d been there from the start?”

“I—I don’t know. I suppose I can ask.” Jon rubs his forehead again. “Not right now, though.”

“No, not right now,” Martin says firmly. He stands up from his desk and moves towards the shelves.

“What are you doing?” Jon asks.

“Getting Leanne Denikin’s case file,” Martin answers over his shoulder. “There’s just a couple things I want to look at.”

Sasha looks at Jon and shrugs. “While he’s doing that, let me see what I can pull up about our statement-giver. Gertrude said she recorded this in ‘97?”

“Y-yes,” Jon says, looking a bit shaken.

“That was almost twenty years ago. The Internet’s come a long way since then. Bet I can find things she could have only dreamed of.” Sasha cracks her knuckles and opens up her laptop again.

Jon raises an eyebrow at her. “Do you read Russian?”

“No, but there’s this nifty thing browsers do now where they’ll translate whole pages for you. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough. Mostly.” Sasha offers Jon a cheeky grin. “More technology Gertrude didn’t have access to. And I have no idea if she read Russian.”

Jon’s eyes go slightly unfocused for a moment. “She didn’t. The Eye might have occasionally led her to read or understand a language she didn’t know, but only if doing so would give her the knowledge the Eye craved.” He closes his eyes and winces, shaking his head as if to clear it, and it’s only then Sasha feels the faint buzz of static receding. Before she can say anything, though, he adds, “The Roger Rabbit principle, I suppose.”

“The what?” Sasha and Martin, who’s just returning with a file in hand, say in unison.

“Did you ever see that old movie, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? It’s a blend of animation and live action—it takes place in a world where cartoon characters are real people and live alongside actual humans, although they live in a-a suburb of Los Angeles, I suppose, called Toon Town. The eponymous Roger Rabbit gets accused of murdering a man and turns to a human detective for assistance. There’s a segment in the film where the detective—Eddie Valiant—and Roger are handcuffed together, and Eddie is attempting to cut the cuffs off, but the box he’s using is wobbling, so Roger slips his hand out of the cuff and steadies it. When Eddie realizes what he’s done, he demands to know if Roger could have done that at any time, and Roger replies, ‘Not at any time. Only when it was funny.’”

“I think I get it,” Sasha says, glancing at Martin.

Martin nods. “You’re saying the Eye only lets the Archivist access languages otherwise unknown if it gets something out of it in return. Like extra fear.”

“Something like that.”

Martin sits down and drops two files on his desk. Sasha cocks her head. “What’s that second one?”

“Oh—since Gertrude listed the case number, I figured I’d see if I could find the paper file somewhere in the shelves.” Martin waves one of them at her. “It was in the back corner. I think it’s one of the ones Martin Prime said he was gathering, that he could sense were real.”

“What makes you say that?” Jon asks.

“You won’t like my answer.”

“Try me.”

Martin looks up at him. “The shelf was almost packed solid with cobwebs.”

Jon bites his lip. “You’re right. I don’t like that answer at all.”

Sasha tries to disguise her laugh as a cough as she goes back to her search.

She gets absorbed in the work—a totality of focus she’s only noticed a few times before—and is therefore caught off-guard when a mug of tea suddenly appears at her elbow. She looks up, startled, just in time to see Jon surprise Martin with his own mug. Sheepishly, Jon says, “I was starting to feel a bit useless, but I—I don’t know that I want to be alone in my office right now.”

“It’s fine. Thanks.” Martin offers Jon a warm smile, which Jon tentatively returns. Sasha wonders if they’re moving towards a romantic relationship. She also wonders how much faster they’re moving than the Primes did and if she’s going to have to shoot Tim before he uses the two of them being together as an excuse for why they should give it a go, even though she’s fairly certain he’s mostly joking about their “will they-won’t they” storyline.

“Either of you found anything yet?” Jon asks.

Sasha shakes her head. “Well, I was able to verify that Ivan Utkin did die in 1984, just like Gertrude said—it’s not that I doubted her necessarily, just that I wanted to be sure. That’s young, though. He was only forty-eight. His obituary doesn’t list cause of death, and, well, that was the height of the Cold War, so I’m not sure if the records exist anymore. I’ll keep trying, though. Yuri Utkin died in…” She swallows. “May of last year.”

“Around the time Gertrude Robinson died.”

“A bit after,” Sasha specifies. “The twenty-fifth.”

“Ah, the Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May,” Martin murmurs, not quite under his breath. When Sasha gives him a funny look, he adds, “Discworld reference.”

Jon shifts his attention to Martin. “Anything interesting in there?”

“It’s definitely the same circus. I mean, we knew that, Gertrude specifically called out Nikolai Denikin in her summing-up, but I’m guessing that the steam organ Utkin mentions in his statement is the one up in Artifact Storage, which…isn’t great.”

“No,” Jon agrees. Something suddenly seems to occur to him. “Sasha, how long have you been with the Magnus Institute?”

“Six years,” Sasha answers. She’s been in academia for ten years—well, eleven now—but the first few years after graduating she worked for the EPCC, until the project she was on shut down and she needed to come to London anyway. “Since August of 2010.”

Jon seems to deflate a bit. “So you weren’t here when the Calliophone came in.”

“No, but—Martin, you were here, weren’t you?”

Martin nods absently. “Yeah, I—kind of remember it getting delivered? Not surprised nobody can find the paperwork, though.”

Sasha looks over the top of her computer. “Why do you say that?”

Martin looks up, too. “There was some staff turnover in Artifact Storage about that time. There were a lot of injuries over the month, and at least six people quit. Then the head at the time—um, Henry Winchester—died and…I heard it was kind of messy.”

Sasha’s interest is caught. “Messy how?”

“Christ, Sasha, I don’t know. It didn’t happen on Institute grounds, so it’s not like I saw it. I just remember a couple people muttering about crime scene photos and peri- versus postmortem injuries and whether it was something that would end up in the Archives at some point.”

Sasha bites the inside of her cheek and stares at her computer for a second, wondering if she can dig up the police report and see what happened. Then she shakes her head slightly. It’s not relevant to anything they’re working on right now and she doesn’t need to be using Institute resources—including time—on personal projects.

“Actually, Sasha, do you think you can see what you can dig up on that?” Jon asks, and Sasha looks up sharply, wondering if he really is reading her mind. “If it’s…if Henry Winchester’s death was ‘messy,’ it’s possible that whatever killed him was…well, whatever killed Leanne Denikin’s ex. And, ah, being able to connect the death of the previous department head to an artifact from one of our statements might give us a bit of clout wh—if we have to tell them to leave another artifact alone.”

“I’ve got to admit,” Sasha says, backing out of the network of old Soviet record sites and tapping into the series of back doors she normally uses to access police records, “even knowing what we know, it still seems hard to believe that someone could be killed by an evil clown doll.”

“It’s probably not actually the doll,” Martin says absently. “Probably just a manifestation of the Stranger. There were clowns in the circus, after all, it’s not without the realm of possibility that the doll in Denikin’s steamer trunk was just an effigy of a real clown.”

Jon gives him a look of mingled amusement and amazement. “You’ve really got the hang of this side of things, haven’t you? The rest of us are fumbling in the dark and you’re marching in front with a spotlight.”

Martin’s cheeks turn pink, but he shrugs. “It just…makes sense, I guess. It’s like—like I’ve had this bag of puzzle pieces my whole life, only they’re a photomosaic and they aren’t really distinct enough to put together easily and there aren’t any distinct corners or edges to it. But now someone’s finally given me the box, so I can see what the whole picture is supposed to look like. Makes it easier to put together the right way.”

“We’re lucky to have you,” Jon says with a smile.

If Martin blushes any harder, the heat is going to set off Sasha’s computer fan. He mumbles something and goes back to work comparing the two statements.

Sasha hits a wall in researching the police records. No, not a wall—a black hole. There’s simply an empty space where the records ought to be. She backs out and tries again and again. Still nothing.

“We may have to get Tim to work his magic on this,” she tells Jon. “I think this might go past hacking files and into seducing file clerks.”

“Are you saying you don’t think you’re capable of seducing a file clerk on your own, Miss James?” Jon asks with a lift of his eyebrow. Sasha makes a rude noise in his direction and he smirks.

Martin looks up. “Where is Tim, anyway? Shouldn’t he be back by now?”

The smile melts off of Jon’s face. Sasha glances at the clock at the bottom corner of her screen and is astonished to realize it’s nearly four in the afternoon. “I’m not letting any of you boys go off on your own in the middle of the day anymore. Every time I do, you disappear for hours on end.”

Before Jon or Martin can answer, Jon’s phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket and answers with a crisp greeting. Instantly, his expression shifts. “Tim! Are you all right? We were just—what?” A frown puckers his forehead. “You’re where? How did you…never mind. I know where that is. Stay there. I’m on my way.” He hangs up and slides to his feet, then opens Tim’s desk drawer and fishes out his keys.

“Is everything all right?” Martin asks, a little anxiously.

“It’s fine. Tim got himself turned around and needs a rescue.” Jon flips through the keys and mutters under his breath, “I never pegged him for the damsel in distress type.” Straightening, he adds in a normal tone of voice, “I’ll be right back. Martin, if you can, go through the Hector Silvana file and see what we still need to follow up on…Sasha, have you had a chance to look into those incidents in Jason North’s statements?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back soon.” Jon turns on his heel and strides out of the Archives.

Sasha waits until she hears the door close, then tilts her laptop slightly closed and looks over at Martin. “So, while the Helicopter Parents are out of the Archives, how’s the search for a new place to live going?”

From the way Martin’s ears go pink again, she knows she’s right; he’s been avoiding the topic. Tim is still weirdly persistent about them staying at his house, and while Jon puts up halfhearted protests, Sasha doesn’t think he’s actually all that keen to go back to his own flat. Sasha’s been crashing in Tim’s bed since the Primes moved out, mostly because the others keep protesting the idea of sleeping in there and she’s just tired of arguing and also slightly tired of Tim’s living room, but she’s ready to go home. As much as she loves her boys, she looks forward to having her own space again.

“I’ve been looking,” Martin says, a bit reluctantly. “There are a few…Martin Prime told me where he ended up in his timeline, and it’s—it’s not bad, really, but it’s a bit out of my price range. He didn’t have a choice, he had to get somewhere in a hurry and it was the only place he could even come close to affording. I know Tim’s going to eventually want me off his sofa, so I’m looking, but…”

“Well, if you need someone to put in a good word for you, let me know,” Sasha says. “I don’t think there are any units open in my building, but my landlord runs a few different ones. Might be able to get you a good rate.”

“Th-thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Sasha re-opens her laptop and goes back to work. She somehow doesn’t think Martin’s going to ask her for a recommendation. As a matter of fact, she’s already mentally betting with herself against him asking Tim how much he’d charge to rent out his spare bedroom. They might all live alone, normally, but she’s noticed over the last couple of months that the boys seem much more relaxed sharing a space than they did before. And besides, living alone in the Archives for weeks on end probably isn’t good for anyone’s sanity. No wonder Martin wants to be around people these days.

She’s managed to verify an apparent lack of supernatural involvement in two of the incidents involving Jason North when she hears footsteps and Martin looks up from his work. The look of relief that spreads over his face tells her without looking around that it’s Jon and Tim returning, none the worse for the wear.

“Thanks for the lift,” Tim says, sliding into his seat and bumping his shoulder against Martin’s companionably. “Seriously, I didn’t realize I’d wandered so far, I just—”

“Tim, it’s fine. No real harm done,” Jon says, in a tone that indicates they’ve been having this argument for several minutes. “It’s been a long day and you needed to clear your head. Nothing’s actively trying to kill us at the moment, so far as we know. It’s fine.”

“Yeah.” Tim opens his laptop. “Still. Next time I need space, I’ll go…I don’t know, reorganize a shelf or something. Feels more productive.”

“At least it’s a nice day,” Martin says, but there’s an element of uncertainty in his voice as he glances at one of the high-set windows in the Archive. They’re technically underground, and while it was nice enough when the three of them went to lunch earlier, that’s no guarantee it still is.

“Yeah, it is. Oh, and, ah, I found something kind of interesting.” Tim reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, which he waves at the other three with a slight teasing grin.

Sasha can see in his eyes, though, that whatever it is, he’s very, very serious about it. “Oh? Do tell.”

Tim unfolds the paper and spreads it out on his desk. Sasha, Jon, and Martin all crane their heads over to see. It’s one of those flyers that real estate agents set out sometimes in front of houses for sale or rent, which is when Sasha remembers that Tim technically rents the little semidetached house they’ve all been crashing in lately. This one is terraced, but looks bigger, and appears to be in a halfway decent neighborhood. The price at the bottom is surprisingly reasonable for a house in London proper.

“Are you thinking of moving?” Sasha asks, surprised.

“Well, yeah. I-I mean, I wasn’t before, necessarily, but…well, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been living in that same house since, well, before Danny died,” Tim says softly. Martin looks up, eyes filled with sympathy. “It might not be a bad idea to start over somewhere new, you know? And it might be nice to own something, to start putting down roots. Plus, this one’s bigger—three bedrooms, it says. A-and I thought, well, I mean, if all of us went in together, it might…” He trails off.

Jon looks more startled than he has all day. “Wait. You thought—you wanted all of us to—”

“Well, it’s just—” Tim looks at Martin. “You need a place still, and I know—I thought it might be easier to share expenses on a place than to go full out on your own. And I’ve—I’ve kind of got used to having all of you around. I like it.” He looks from Martin to Jon to Sasha and back, his eyes almost pleading. “It’s just an idea, but—I mean, I thought I’d see if you guys were interested.”

Sasha is touched, but she’s also a little worried. Tim can be impulsive and tends to throw his whole heart into something, and he’s also been known to pin all his hopes on a single course of action. If he’s had the idea of all of them living together permanently in his head for more than a few minutes, it might not be easy for her to extract herself and go back to her own flat. It has to happen, though. She’s got just enough of a life outside the Institute that it’s important for her to get away.

Martin picks up the flyer and studies it more closely. “Says there’s an open house on Saturday afternoon,” he says, handing it over to Jon. “Might be worth taking a look, anyway.”

Tim brightens visibly. Jon examines the flyer, then nods slowly. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”

He offers it to Sasha, who smiles and shakes her head. “You boys have fun. I’ve got an appointment Saturday afternoon.”

It’s not exactly untrue. Second and fourth Saturdays are visiting days, and Sasha hasn’t been by in a while, so she probably ought to go. Plus she really does need to get her nails done. But it’s also a convenient excuse to avoid going and not have to pretend she’s going to be splitting the mortgage with them. Because Sasha knows herself well enough to know she’s not going in with the other three if they decide to do this. She values her independence, she values her privacy, and she does not want Tim to entertain any hopes that they might actually get together at some point. Besides, she picked her building for a reason, one she’s still not ready to share with the boys. She should probably feel guilty for keeping secrets, but she doesn’t.

“We’ll let you know what it’s like,” Tim promises.

Sasha smiles and nods and goes back to work and tries not to think about the fact that she’s basically going to break Tim’s heart.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#the magnus archives #tma #panic attack tw #love is stored in the jonmartim #and occasionally backed up onto the sasha

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helpinghanikan · 4 years

Text

Public Enemy

X-men x Reader

Sum: Powers don’t always obey their masters. Sometimes they have their own minds, making problems and causing destruction that you’re left to deal with. When that happens, you’re going to need some help finding a sanctuary.

an: It’s not specified what Reader’s power is but I was thinking force-fields. I just think Force-field powers are neat.

Charles Xavier:

Charles’s office, specifically the couch, has been your home for some time. Although it has only been a few days, two at most, but it felt like years. Hours spent sitting specifically in the couch’s corner where anyone entering wouldn’t notice you right away. Reading and taking your place as secretary more seriously makes time move in a slower fashion.

“Would you grab that book for me?” Charles asks, slapping you out of whatever deep thought you were currently drowning in.

At first these little tasks he asks you to do seem to come randomly. As if he just remembered you were there and felt bad. In reality he’s probably been in the outer layer of your mind for longer then you’ve been in the office.

Ignoring these facts, you focused on your work. It had spread quickly through the school that you were open and able to grade anyone’s homework or papers. Like the rest of your current life, these were taken care in Charles’s office. A place you’ve been bent over for hours until a phone call held your attention.

Charles is a pretty decent liar. Between his history with authority and with children, he speaks with enough confidence that it’s not worth thinking about. Obviously he still had his tells, even if the person he was lying wasn’t in front of him, he still looked down and go quiet for a second.

“No, I’m afraid we haven’t heard from her.” When he starts his lie, his tells are typically gone. “Yes, we will absolutely contact you if she comes here. And, in the event of that happening, I ask that consider our relationship before deciding anything.”

You don’t say anything when he hangs up. Instead deciding that to grab that book before he asks you to.

Erik Lehnsherr:

Erik was nice enough not to say or ask anything at first. Your few items in a bag, and all your savings spent on bribing a boat captain to take you here. All this was written on your face, practically screaming that you don’t want to talk about it.

“Is anyone going to be coming?” was the only thing he asked.

Instead of a verbal answer you shrugged with a shake of your head. Maybe…

Erik uses the excuse of an escort to keep a hand on your back, around your shoulders. Even gently on the back of your neck to ask his question in a whisper. Although Genosha was supposedly a sanctuary to all mutants, you were still an outsider. An outsider who had, not only, caused destruction but just might bring down the anger of the world onto them.

“You came here quickly, then.” Erik says, in leadership mode. Sitting across from you, elbows on his knees, looking almost into you.

“You guys aren’t exactly hiding,” It wasn’t a good joke but still you blow air out of your nose, trying to force a tiny laugh.

“Then why come here to hide?” He asks.

When the answer you give is another shrug (I don’t know…) he sighs. Standing and returning with a hot cup of beverage. A kettle had either been set before he stepped out to greet you, or one was constantly kept a little warm. Either way it was somewhere between tea and coffee, but definitely not both.

“What did you do?” he asks.

It took some time to tell the entire story. Skipping too many details about the fear and anger that all came at you at once. Erik has heard it all before in much worse amounts. Only admitting that you were wanted, so many were hurt or completely destroyed by a lapse of control.

He doesn’t interrupt or ask any other questions. He just listens and keeps an ear out for helicopters.

Raven/ Mystique:

At some point you were taken to the hospital with the other survivors. The journey was hard to remember; being placed on a bed and tossed around in the back of an ambulance. Pretending to be just as out of it as the others, really just avoiding eye contact with the paramedics.

It’s nice to think that you had a plan for when you got to the hospital, and you kinda did. With all the people coming in at once there was the chance you’d be left in the hallway or an open area to wait for a bed. In the event of that happening you could just roll over and walk out. Just walk with confidence and make it out the door.

That you were now restrained in a bed in your own room meant that plan was out the window. Laying back and letting the nurses check you out with shaking hands. Just enough to check you over but not enough to pretend to be doing their job.

“It’s fine,” The nurse says, practically slamming the room door shut behind him. It wasn’t a thick door; you could still hear through it. “Please don’t make me go near it again.” He says to someone in the hallway, probably a doctor or some other superior.

It isn’t until their talking has mostly stopped that you bother trying to escape. Your restraints were soft but also tight, something that you couldn’t slide out of easily. Rocking the bed, trying to tip it over, would just leave you dangling off the side. Still strapped in but with bruises and staring at the floor.

While thinking of another dashing escape plan the door opens again. A nurse steps and gently closes the door behind her. This one was a woman nurse, so far you’ve only been dealing with males. It was likely because of the threat you posed that it had only been men. Specifically, the biggest nurses and orderlies that were available.

Because of this you watch the woman as she walks over. She was a small woman with brown hair in a bob cut, the white uniform and a smile she held while pulling the curtain around. You were smart enough not to say anything until she did. Or until she shifts entirely from white uniform into blue skin, immediately pulling at your restraints.

“Hey, Hi. Babe, I’m sorry…” You have a million things to say at once.

All the words fighting to be the first to be said. All ignored by your girl, who just places a gentle hand over your mouth and whispers a shhh. Going back to the restraints and whispering:

“Don’t say anything,” She says, opening the first and reaching over to get the next. “Let’s just get out of here.”

You quickly pulled the faded green scrubs over your clothes. Raven placing a surgical hat on your head and mask over your face was the best she could do. Raven quickly becoming the bobbed hair nurse again. She nods at you, as if to say, “everything will be fine.”

Peter Maximoff:

So much energy coming out at once has to take it out form somewhere. What was a splitting headache a second ago became a massive weight. One that dragged you down from the standing position and towards the floor. Only to be caught by arms that were not there a second ago.

It wasn’t that Peter was “harboring a fugitive,” or was “obstructing justice” he was just helping out his girlfriend. Something that he has argued about with several people.

“I don’t believe this was done on purpose, Ser.” Professor Xavier says into the phone, staring at Peter as he did. “No, she still has yet to reach out to us. To any of us. The moment she does we will tell you.”

Peter makes a face and shrugs when the phone is hung up. “I don’t see why they need her. It’s was an accident, she said sorry, I don’t see what else there is.”

Professor Xavier doesn’t seem to bother asking where you are. Peter wouldn’t tell him, and he could easily find you with cerebro.

“Is she safe?” He asks, wanting whatever truth Peter was willing to give.

“I mean, I don’t know where she is, but she safe. I think, yeah, she’s safe.” He says. Smart enough to help you vanish but not enough to know better then to lie to a telepath.

Hank McCoy:

Like a little kid you’ve chosen the staircase banister to hide behind. Either hand holding onto a separate bar, looking out between them. Your spot was strategically placed far enough away from the door that they wouldn’t see your details through the banister. As far as they were concerned you were just a curious kid. A very big curious kid.

“They” were the people Hank was currently handling at the door. It had been only two days since the incident and it’s amazing it took them this long to reach your door. Three men in suits and a woman in a white coat knocked at your door just after lunch.

Sending the students from the hall Hank took control of the situation. Never outright telling you to leave the main hall but did make a similar “shoo” gesture that he gave the kids while telling them to make their exit.

Although the distance gave you an advantage it also kept you from hearing what was being said. The men on the other side weren’t giving enough body language to tell if they were upset or not. Only one seemed to be talking, the others were moving side to side on their feet. If Hank were to move too far to one side or the other they’d try and make their way inside.

“They don’t have a right to take you, not legally or in anyway.” Hank had reassured you hours earlier.

It started to get tense on the other side of the room. One of the men giving up on waiting for an opening and trying to make one himself.

Hank’s change can happen slow or it can happen so fast you don’t even realize it. The friendly approach of a regular human at the door was abandoned the moment they showed aggression. Blue arms and baring teeth made all three jump, reaching for their hips. The woman in white, the seeming bravest of the group, steps forward. A hand reached out, but the door is slammed in her face.

Jean Gray:

Life is confusing and everyone is screaming.

At first their screams were sympathetic; they were screams of fear and pain. But after hearing them non-stop for several minutes it’s hard to feel bad. It was almost like they were doing it on purpose. Like, if they just shut up for one second you could figure what was happening.

They didn’t, though, they wouldn’t shut up. Distracting you from the indestructible bubbles creating and growing in the walls, machines and skin. Expanding and tearing everything apart.

There’s two other voices among the screaming that stands out: the first is the loudest. It’s the purest form of anger and fear that could ever be made. It was also the most annoying, if that one person would just shut-the-fuck-up you could probably think. The other voice is the only one not screaming. It wasn’t sweet or kind like it was before, it was harsh and stern. Power behind the voice making it louder then a scream ever could be.

It was pretty obvious whose voice was yours and who’s belonged to Jean.

Jean’s voice was like that. It was powerful, it was a strict father’s and a commanding mother’s combined. If she wanted to, she could make it impossible to escape her voice. She uses this power of voice now: Where your ears can’t take any information, but your mind was burst open and unprotected.

You never understood what she was saying completely. Only that it was nice, and that it made everything go black.

Logan/ Wolverine:

More than half the population of earth is smarter than Logan. He’s more than willing to admit that, but what he did know was not to poke an already agitated bear. That’s all you were in that moment. A very pissed off bear sitting in the corner of a glass square.

It honestly wouldn’t have been that bad if Peter hadn’t compared it to the cages Magneto had been in. That was when everything seemed to become real for you.

This was only way that there wouldn’t be an absolute hunt for mutants. Your containment in exchange for a lie told by the Secretary of Defense to the entire world. That, no, there was not “mutant attack”, this was an unexplained, isolated incident. One that was now being held in the basement of a government building until your fate is decided.

“Are you allowed to smoke in here?” You ask, picking at the bottom of your white scrubs.

“I didn’t see the signs.” He says, waiting for someone to dare and yell at him about the cigar.

Instead of asking for the cigar verbally you raise a hand towards one of the small breathing holes. He slides it towards you, butt first. Only giving a little direction on how to puff the thing instead of straight up inhale it.

Smoking anything while stressed was a good way to start a bad habit. Something Logan tried to keep you from. Given the situation, he allowed the nicotine high you were gonna get from working on the thing. It was another test for this place. A test to see just how long or how many little rules he could break before someone yelled at him.

Not that he would ever use this knowledge for selfish means. It was just good to know when things would start to go south. Not that the Professor gave him permission, he just didn’t tell him not to.

Kurt Wagner:

Any pictures or footage taken of you during the incident were stolen straight from hell. That was the only aspect anyone cared about; the ones where you were wild and there was nothing in your eyes except for uncontrolled power.

No one thought about the few seconds after the incident. That instead of power there was confusion and fear. Staring at your hands and into the world looking for answers.

That scene only lasted a few seconds. Long enough for the blue devil to match your hell appear and disappear with you.

Like a child you went to bed without dinner. Although it was by choice, and this wasn’t your bed. It was a hiding place in the same building that your seekers were searching. But with a protective layer of blankets, and an extra layer of your boy sitting in front of the door, you could enjoy these last few minutes before your life goes to hell.

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