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letarasstuff · 3 years

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One kind of intern

(A/N): This was requested by @greenslifestuff :) It took me a week or two because I had to interact with my friends in order to get the inspiration I needed 😅 Summary: The team gets to work with a gen z teenager. Let’s see how that goes.

Warnings: Swearing and gen z humour

Wordcount: 2k

✨Masterlist✨

___________________________________

“Team, this is (Y/N) (L/N). She will be interning for the upcoming three months alongside this team. (Y/N), these are Agents Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi, Derek Morgan and Doctor Spencer Reid and our Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia”, Hotch introduces a teenage girl to his team like this happens every day.

“Wait Hotch, we don’t get interns. What is she going to do, no offense, but getting us coffee or what?” Morgan eyes her suspiciously. She looks like any teenager grabbed from the street. A band t-shirt, a torn pair of jeans and a cup from starbucks in her hands. Nothing you would expect to even enter a federal building.

“No offence taken, Agent Morgan. I know having an ugly pickly bitch working with professionals seems weird. It’s just I have summer break and I thought it would be a good thing on my resumé if I already interned in the FBI, because I just graduated and I wanted to go to the academy this fall. But if you wanna do a vibe check with me first, that’s fine by me. Whatever floats your boat.”

The room falls silent. Then out of all sudden everyone turns to Garcia, who puts her arms up in defense. “I don’t even know half the things she said, ask her yourself.”

That’s how the BAU gets their first contact with Gen Z culture and let me tell you it is a wild ride, so buckle up your seats, drink your tea up because we aren’t going to make any stops.

“(Y/N), I need you to come with me. We are going to the M.E. getting the latest reports from our last case”, Morgan tells her while passing her desk. In the blink of an eye the teenager is ready, putting her denim jacket with various pins and bits of patches on.

“Derek, can we get starbucks on the way back? The pumpkin spiced latte is back on their menu and I am on withdrawal. Pleaaaaaasseeee”, she looks at him with a pouty face. Morgan smiles. “Ok, under one condition: We both get one, take awesome pictures and send them to the group chat and then we act like we didn’t get them anything, but we actually buy them their usual.” He got the hang of it pretty fast. “Deal, Sis.”

While they are in the car on their way to the M.E. the agent groans. “Ugh, road work ahead.” “Uh yeah, I sure hope it does!” Morgan eyes her from the side. His whole demeanor says ‘old and confused’.

“What was that, kid?” But (Y/N) begins to laugh. “Don’t you know vines? Short dumb and funny clips people made?” It’s safe to say that this afternoon he learns to speak in vines, getting on Rossi’s nerves because nothing makes sense anymore.

“Ok, I heard you wanted to become a profiler. So I thought I would show you some old cases and then you try to figure out the profile. I’ll present them to you like I do to the team, alright?” JJ and (Y/N) sit in her office, safe from curious eyes. “As right as the law, Ma’am.”

“Good, this is a case from several years ago. It happened here in D.C. Three men were murdered execution style in the middle of the night in an alleyway. They were all from different backgrounds. The only connection between them was that they were evicted for some form of sexual harassment or assault. The UnSub also had a signature: A shot into their groin while the men were alive.”

Unfaced by the presented facts (Y/N) pops a piece of gum into her mouth. “It do be like that.”

“What?” “I mean, it’s obviously a woman. She experienced any harassment or assault herself. She also has excess to the files, I assume she works as a paralegal, since most of them are women. Female serial killers are extremely rare, but they are better organized. The only thing left to say is good for her getting revenge.” The blonde looks at the teenager with wide eyes.

“I-I guess but you know you can’t say anything like that to Hotch, do you?” She asks concerned. “JJ, I’m dead inside, not dumb. I know this.” But the agent shrugs. “Good. Though I really want to see his face.” “Mood.”

Penelope Garcia is the closest one to relate to Gen Z culture, since a great part of her time is spent on the internet. She happily learns about all the phrases and their meanings as well as the newest trends and hypes.

“Purp is sus, I tell you”, is heard from the lair into the hallway. Spencer and Derek look at each other with concern on their faces. “Do you think they are alright or do we have to-” “IT’S A SELF REPORT I SWEAR PENNY! YOU WORK WITH PROFILERS IN GANDALF’S NAME!” Spencer’s question is answered by that.

“Baby girl, crazy girl, are you doing good? Do you need help or something?” The older one asks warily. But it’s drowned in another screaming match. “I TOLD YOU PURP WAS THE IMPOSTER BUT YOU HAVE TO TELL THEM I VENTED WHEN I DIDN’T! I WANT ALL TIKTOKS I SENT YOU BACK!” “YOU DON’T DARE TO REVOKE MY TIKTOK PRIVILEGES!” “WATCH ME GARCIA!”

“Whoa girls, what about taking a break?” Morgan tries to diffuse the situation. “Yes, I think JJ got new pictures of Henry and Emily brought cookies this morning”, Spencer adds.

The girls, who mere seconds ago were ready to jump each other's throats, look at the other one. “You get the cookies and I go to JJ, deal?” (Y/N) asks. “Deal!” Without sparing the boys another glance they run out of the lair. Their devices are still lit up. A red figure shines into their faces. ‘AMONG US’ is written underneath it. “I think we get too old for this stuff, don’t we Reid?”

Spencer always thought he was young. Of course, his mind is older, but physically he is not that old. But the intern proves him wrong. And boy is he wrong.

“Spencer, is there anything interesting to know today?” (Y/N) takes a seat on his desk, distracting the genius from his paperwork. It is a common occurrence for her to go to him to ask for a fun fact.

“Do you wanna learn something about sloths?” His knowledge (or the writer’s) on this subject is astonishingly big.

“Spill the tea, sis.” “Did you kn- What? But I don’t have tea to spill. And I don’t wanna spill anything, I-” Reid rambles in confusion.

“It’s just a saying, Spencer. There is no deeper meaning to it then ‘Tell me everything about it’. You know, it’s mostly used for gossiping, but I don’t really like to gossip. That’s why I use it in a different context. You got it?” (Y/N) explains it to him in a soft manner, knowing her generation can be complex.

“Yeah, I think I do. Thank you for telling me. I really like the phrase. It has a nice ring. What about you spill the tea about all the phrases you know and I tell you some things from my knowledge?” “I think you got yourself a teacher, genius. But now tell me about the sloths, I love them.”

A few days later Rossi catches her doing some weird moves. “Are you having a seizure or what is your problem, youngster?” Even though he tries not to show it, David took a great liking to (Y/N), thinking of her like a granddaughter. Still, most of her actions confuse the hell out of him.

“I’m practising a dance for tiktok. My friends and I worked on a choreo we wanted to film later. Come here, I can show you.” And that’s what she does in the conference room. The teenager walks him through every move of the choreo, explaining the meaning to it and how it correlates with the song.

“And then you move your arm like that. Exactly like that! You did a great job, David! Are you sure you don’t want to come with me later? We can make you your own account and name it ‘Grandpa-on-tiktok’. You can promote your books over there and it’s a way to float with the trend!”

Seeing her this excited Rossi can’t do anything but agree to the idea. Also, he secretly liked doing the dance thing. It made him feel young again.

“(Y/N), you said you graduated this summer. But your file said you are 16?” Emily asks her one boring day filled with paperwork and countless cups of coffee. “It is what it is”, she mindlessly answers, too focused on filling out the work in front of her.

“I mean yes but how?”

“Emily, smart people exist. I know, coming from me hits different, but here we are.” Finally (Y/N) puts her pen away looking at the raven haired woman.

“What are you talking about? I can’t really follow you.” The more the intern says the more confused gets Emily.

She sighs. “I don’t want to leave you on read here. I kind of am smart somehow. Apparently I was smart enough to skip a grade or two. But it’s no biggie. Many peeps do this, so I don’t sweat it.”

“Even though I feel like you are selling yourself short here, I know you are an incredibly intelligent person. Someday you will be an awesome profiler and any team will be lucky to have you. I really hope we will be the lucky team. But I’m still not sure if this is what I should say in this context.”

“Emily, you are goals. This fam is squad goals. I really hope to be a part of this someday”, (Y/N) admits. “I’m sure Hotch will do his best to get you on the team, you became a great part of it. I can’t imagine a future without you.”

Sadly Prentiss has to get used to a time without the team’s beloved intern. On her last day (Y/N) knocks at Hotch’s door.

“Hey, I wanted to say thank you. The time with you and all the others was amazing and I learned so many useful things for not only the academy but also for my daily life. I really had a glow-up here”, she says after coming in.

Hotch motions towards the chairs in front of his desk. “Take a seat, (Y/N). I got something for you. See it as a compensation for not getting paid for your internship. You really did great work and a better job than some agents, who are doing theirs for many years already but don’t know half the stuff you do. You are a valuable member to the team.”

“Wait, you speak in presence tense. I leave you all this afternoon, you know that, do you?” But the Unit Chief only gestures to a white envelope on his desk. Quickly the teenager takes it and reads it.

“Are you serious Hotchner? Because I will cry you a river if you joke”, she threatens him.

“I’m dead serious, (Y/N). Even though half of your talks are difficult to understand, the other half is twice as useful and important. Additionally to that, you are like a fresh breath of air that the team needed. That’s why a place here will be available for you as soon as you graduate from the academy. I trust you that you will pass with flying colors, I had to promise that to Strauss.”

“Of course, Hotch. I swear on my Animal Crossing Island that I will do my best and more. Thank you so much”, she leaps into his arms.

The others watch the interaction from the bullpen, pretending to not get teary eyed. Their favorite Gen Z Kid will come back to them after all.

Taglist:

Spencer Reid

@calm-and-doctor

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x teen!reader #penelope garcia x reader #penelope garcia x teen!reader #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x teen!reader #david rossi x reader #david rossi x teen!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x teen!reader #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x teen!reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #x teen!reader #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau x teen!reader

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lazypeachsoul · 3 years

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you promise?

Request: by anon “Could you write an Osferth drabble. About anything you'd like. Please and thank you.”

Warnings: Nothing.

Word count: 1,8k

A/N: Here's the first fic for The Last Kingdom Week! Hope you enjoy some sweet baby monk. I might have gone overboard with this story, but I can't help it when it comes to osferth. Enjoy 🌼

The streets of Cookham were bustling with workers returning home from the fields that surrounded the village. Thanks to Lord Uhtred and his fame the once forgotten town had become a stop for every merchant that traveled through Wessex and the workload had increased. And you were no different than any of those other people.

The sun was now setting and it was your time to return the children you minded back to their homes, where their overworked parents would take care of them. It wasn’t normal for common workers to have child minders, normally leaving the kids at home with their mothers, but Cookham was busier than ever and women were working the fields too. And that left you to take care of the little rascals that lived in town.

You had tried to work as a seamstress and at the alehouse, but nothing seemed to really suit you. Well, at least until you started taking care of the kids. You didn’t get much pay since the people you worked for were underpaid to begin with, but the little you got you saved for a new fabric, or a sweet treat or for those times you would meet Osferth at the alehouse and you wanted to prove him that you were a hard working woman.

And how you loved those times. Osferth seemed to always be busy either training or meeting with the rest of what had now been named the “Cookham squad”. Lord Uhtred and his loyal warriors were the talk of all Wessex and a great source of gossip for the entire town. Lord Uhtred and his beautiful wife Gisela took care of the people that lived inside their walls. Then there was Finan, the loud irishman who seemed to bring joy and fun to any occasion celebrated, always close to him was Sihtric, the mysterious dane who didn’t speak much but said a lot with just a look. And the last one was the monk who is not really a monk Osferth.

When you first met him you were trying to learn to become a barmaid and accidentally tripped on his foot, sending a pitcher of ale flying everywhere and leaving you both embarrassed and asking for mutual forgiveness. Since that moment, you had started to meet together at the alehouse every few days, providing you with a nice friendship but keeping all the rules a respectable young unmarried woman should follow.

And that’s exactly where you were headed after dropping your last child at home with his grateful mother. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the familiar blonde mop of hair sitting on one of the outside benches, and you had to admit to yourself that maybe it was more than just casual meetings at the alehouse. At that moment Osferth turned around and waved in your direction and with a small wave you made your way to the bench, sitting in front of him.

“I thought you didn’t see me, you looked distracted.” Osferth's sweet voice spoke and you had to admit he was right, you almost missed it because of your constant daydreaming about the man. But you couldn’t admit that.

“Excuse me, the children were wild and I’m extremely tired. Must be because of the nice weather.”

“Maybe we should meet another day, I wouldn’t want to tire you more Lady-” “No!”

You hadn’t been able to stop the agitated answer from coming out when you heard his dismissal. You were tired but never too tired to stop meeting Osferth. You could feel your cheeks hot with embarrassment and you tried to clear your throat to diffuse the tension.

“I mean, I would rather stay here with you and relax with a friend.”

Osferth’s face seemed to harden at your words but as soon as the barmaid brought you two cups of ale everything seemed to go back to normal, except for a small curious voice at the back of your head wanting to know why the expression changed.

“A friend. Of course. I enjoy the time we spend together too.” He nodded his head, his blonde hair falling in front of his eyes before taking a sip from his cup. “The weather is really nice so I wouldn’t blame the children. Lord Uhtred told us that the weather would turn nicer before we leave.”

You felt the ale you had been drinking get stuck in your throat but you tried to conceal it with a soft cough so as to not cause a scene in the packed alehouse. Leave? They were leaving?

“Are you leaving soon? You didn’t say anything before.”

“Lord Uhtred just confirmed it this morning. The King has requested the Lord’s help in some negotiations with the danes. He thought it best for us to accompany him since his history with the king is not the most amicable.”

You nodded along as he spoke but your brain was overworking itself trying to comprehend the situation. They were leaving to assist the King of Wessex and they would leave Cookham unattended for God knows how long. Of course the real reason you were worried was not the village, Lady Gisela could take care of it and more without a problem, you were worried about Osferth and you. Was there even an 'Osferth and you' to worry about?

“That’s...great that the King and our Lord are speaking again. Maybe it might help us get resources from the crown.” You tried to excuse your previous silence but it must have been obvious you were deep in thought because Osferth looked at you with a curious face. “And when are you leaving?”

“We’re expected to depart tomorrow morning. Apparently those matters are very important and require us to be there as soon as possible.” He shrugged in a move to downplay the entire situation.

Silence was the only thing that could be heard from your side of the bench, a deep contrast from the rest of the groups happily chatting and drinking. The table was silent but your mind was not, still overthinking every word your companion had said. You were overthinking so much that you almost missed his quiet voice.

“I am going to miss you.” Osferth spoke and as soon as you looked at him again he seemed to flush. “And our conversations. Or friendly conversations as...friends.”

You wanted to laugh at the poor man in front of you. In the many months you had known Osferth you had never seen him that flustered in his life, cheeks and ears bright red and a stuttering mess.

“I’m going to miss you too Osferth. And our friendly meetings.” You placed your hand next to his on the table next to his, not wanting to overstep and make the poor man more uncomfortable.

He moved his hand carefully almost imperceptibly until his fingers touched yours and a warm feeling ran down your entire arm from your hand. He seemed to be the one deep in thought at the moment and you almost wished you could pick at his brain to see what was going on. Is that how he felt every time you zoned out?

“Maybe you could remember me-” “Of course I’m going to remember you Osferth, don’t be silly. You are not going to war, only a mission for the king.”

A nervous chuckle was the only thing he could let out now and his reactions were starting to worry you a bit. If it was only a small trip he shouldn't have been that nervous.

“Let me finish. Maybe if I gave you something that you could remember me by, it would be easier.”

“You don’t have to do that, Osferth. I will remember you anyways.” You tried to reason with him but you couldn’t stop him from moving to look for something in the pockets of his robes.

After a bit of fussing with the robes he placed his closed fist on top of your hand, opening it just enough for something small and metallic to fall into your hand. Moving your hand closer you found a small fragile chain that seemed to have been at least as old as you.

“It’s not much, just a scrap of metal if you try to sell it. But it was my mother’s, the only thing I have from her. I hid it from the monks when I was growing up so they wouldn’t take it away. Carried it into battle with me every time I’ve fought too.”

Every single word of the explanation seemed to make your throat close a bit more and your eyes glossier. You knew Osferth had no real memories with his mother and you could imagine how important that bracelet must have been for him.

“I can’t accept it, it’s so important to you. Why would you give it to me?” You debated with your head shaking and trying to push the chain into his hand again. “Don’t be silly, Osferth. It’s your mother’s bracelet.”

“You must keep it. Please.” He kept his fist tightly closed to avoid you giving him back the piece of jewelry. “I want you to have it.”

“But I don’t have anything to give you in return.”

You kept trying to pry his fist open, all in vain because he wouldn’t even budge. You wanted to get up and hug him for such a meaningful gesture and hit him at the same time for wanting to part with such a meaningful piece.

“You have.” He spoke, grabbing your hand and halting your movements. “Maybe you can give me your promise.”

You looked at him curiously at what his proposal might be. Maybe he just wanted you to take care of Lady Gisela, you knew how he saw her as the mother he never had. Or maybe he wanted you to care for Lord Uhtred’s children.

“You can promise me that once I’m back from Wincester you will allow me to properly court you.” He explained and you felt your heart stop. “I-If you want, of course.”

Courting Osferth was not something you had thought about, mainly because you had nothing to offer. Your parents didn’t have fields or many resources they could offer a prospective husband. And Osferth was a warrior, so you thought settling down seemed to be out of the picture for him. But you had to admit the idea made your stomach turn in the best way possible.

You realized you had been thinking for a long time and still hadn’t given an answer when you felt him squeezing your hand. Could you promise him something like that?

“I promise.” Of course you could, the idea of a lifetime with Osferth only made you more excited about life. “Only you have to promise me to come back soon.”

He nodded with enthusiasm, moving his hands to take the small chain from your delicate hand and clasp it around your wrist. This mission hadn’t even started and you already wanted it to end.

Taglist: @webreathfandoms @thebohemianpenguin @emilyhufflepufftlk @solinarimoon

#the last kingdom imagine #the last kingdom x reader #tlk imagine #tlk x reader #osferth x reader #osferth imagine #tlk week #myfic

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linssikeittomies · 3 years

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The Place Between Here And There - Chapter 10: ...And Happiness In Private Life(cont'd)

Masterpost AO3 Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 9(cont'd)

I've finally updated the status of the fic to ABANDONED, I was going to do that way earlier but I didn't want to admit defeat, and then I just kind of forgot... Time really starts flying by as you get older, it totally doesn't feel like 2 years passed by^^' I'm still writing scenes for later on in the fic, and I've had the general outline of the story planned for a long time, but I haven't been able to write complete chapters for any of my projects for over a year now, it's very annoying. Anyway, this is the rest of chapter 9, not my best work but at least I like the part with Toris. He's noticed Ivan's small efforts of being nicer and wants to encourage them. Thanks for everyone who read this story and sorry for not being able to bring it to conclusion for all of you who were invested!

Ivan sent Fredya home until Wednesday – claiming it was so he could concentrate on work, but he was sure Fredya could tell he was just fretting about the upcoming meeting. Ivan was terrified Katyushka would get carried away, and that was closer to certainty rather than possibility, and then Fredya would walk out of his life. He had known from the start that the time would come sooner or later, but he had much hoped it would fall on the later end of the spectrum. This was a wholly different case from that of his first girlfriend - the one he had been with all of three days before Katyusha started talking about weddings. She had left him the next day, not surprisingly, and he hadn’t really cared one way or the other - she had been far too practical to occupy his thoughts when she wasn’t in sight. But if Fredya left as suddenly, and he was certainly impulsive enough to do so on the spot, then... Obviously it still wouldn’t be the end of the world,of course it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, losing a home for example would be far worse than losing a companion, it really wasn’t that big of an issue when you thought about it – there was no reason to lose what little will to live Ivan had left over something that insignificant. No reason.

So Ivan would not worry about it – he slammed the door on the thought, and worked hard to put all his concentration on his notes. He had not yet studied Rogers enough, his files on the computer had sat abandoned for too long. Opening his folder, going over the routes again, verifying time codes, Ivan fell to a comfortable, familiar routine, cup of tea beside him growing cold. Rogers didn’t have much of a routine, which made observing him a challenge and data collecting a thrill. At least this was an activity that Ivan could still lose himself in despite whatever non-turmoil was boiling in his gut. Comparing coordinates, discovering overlaps, identifying patterns, data was something Ivan was good at. Data had no emotions, so it was easy to handle. Data didn’t mind his extracurriculars, didn’t judge him for his jealousy, didn’t snoop into his past. Though it also didn’t text him at 3 am to tell him about a silly dream it had. Even less it cared about whether he was coming home for the night or not. It not wanting to watch brainless, cliched superhero should have been a positive, but in the dark, the brain gets sentimental. Ivan suddenly wished he had a file on Fredya. Ivan certainly had enough data on him, though so far it was all in his brain and a few lines in his notebooks. One photo on his phone, a selfie Fredya had sent some weeks ago. It was taken with one of those filter things, Ivan wasn’t familiar with the apps so he couldn’t tell if it was instagram or snappychat or whatever others there were. Fredya had cartoon glasses on his nose, on top of his real-life glasses. He was doing a victory sign, and there was a badly drawn pink heart floating in the lower left corner, not anchored into anything. The composition of the photo was bad. A large dead space occupied the top left, a pile of dirty clothes was poking into the frame from the bottom right. The lighting was scarcely better, the only diffuser was the dust inside the light fixture. Fredya’s artistic ability was nil, though he did make for an attractive subject, harsh shadows and all. It would be nice to have proper photo of him, before he got out of reach. With a reference to guide him, it might be possible. Ivan quickly scanned his bedroom for inspiration.

Perhaps it was too much effort for 2 a.m., but Ivan rather liked the end result. The handful of stars drawn on the wall to form a suggestion of a halo – however wrong it looked on Ivan – and hands posed to form a heart on the chest, and some minor lighting adjustments on photoshop, he thought it near perfectly captured how Ivan saw Fredya. Bright, innocent, center of the universe, unashamed of his affections. Fredya wouldn’t put as much effort in to it, even if he did take his own version of the photo as Ivan had requested, but that was also good. It wasn’t in Fredya’s nature to try too hard at something he didn’t feel like understanding - such as art other than of the moving pictures variety. Together, the photos formed a piece – the fantasy and the reality. It was a commentary on expectations. Fredya may or may not look at the photo when he inevitably got up to go the bathroom sometime soon, but he wouldn’t take his own until afternoon if ever, so Ivan finally went to bed. He only had a few hours before his shift started.

-_-_-_-_-

Fredya had sent an emoji Ivan didn’t understand the meaning as response to the photo, followed by hearts and something that seemed to be an abbreviation, Ivan didn’t research the meaning. It likely wasn’t important. Ivan got coffees for everyone again, and Amanda gave him a incredulous look. It was getting suspicious, Ivan acting nice. He should dial down on the social interactions for the next few days. It would be good practice for when Fredya left him, anyway. “Oh, thank you for going through the trouble”, Toris commented smiling. Ivan studied the smile, trying to map out proportions and gauge timings, but again he failed to replicate the gesture. It kept coming out as sarcastic. He would prefer if both would just shut up and their coffees without scrutinizing his intentions. Let a man act civil to fellow humans beings in peace. “If everyone is done sitting around, we need someone to go interview Fowler’s parishioners.” Predictably, Amanda volunteered for the task. That left Ivan and Toris at the office, reading through statements, comparing alibis and viewing security footage, the same draining and pointless sinkhole of never-ending choppy black-and-white footage that glared a print of the screen in your soul, so that in the end when you lost everything else to dementia and cataracts, you would still see that stinging bright rectangle staring you in the eye, smirking gleefully, taking pleasure in removing everything one used to take joy in, and replacing itself in place of loved ones. That metaphor ran a little wild at the end, there. In all fairness, it could be intriguing work when results could reasonably be expected, but everyone and their mother knew the only thing learned from these particular ones would be just how much time were wasting on them. Even Toris, being his professional self, couldn’t resist glancing at the clock every few minutes. He would of course try to make it inconspicuous, just letting his eyes dart to his wrist and back again, but it was noticeable enough when one was more concentrated on the coworker than the work. It came to Ivan’s mind that perhaps this was another aspect of Toris he should try to simulate, rather than keep studying, his work ethic was excellent. Surely that was something most people would approve of. And Fredya did often complain Ivan was rather lackadaisical about his work, he would appreciate the effort. “How do stay so focused?” he asked sincerely. It was admirable, really, how Toris could throw himself at something so tedious. Toris blinked at him in confusion, probably surprised to see his colleague who was supposed to working beside him blatantly ignoring said work. “I’ve practiced it for years, there’s really no easy trick for it.” “Ah. Shame.” “I find that meditating regularly helps. And a good diet.” Well, that was already two things Ivan would not be trying out. “I could send you some articles if you’d like.” “You should spend your free time on yourself. You work too much.” Ivan went idly back to his files, not really feeling like working, but deciding to at least give it a shot, but feeling Toris’ curious eyes still fixed on him was too much of a distraction. After several seconds of silence he couldn’t take it anymore. “Yes?” “Thank you. That was considerate of you.” Ivan didn’t know how to answer that. It had been such a banal thing to say. Not warranting any response, really. Just a stock phrase, however true of some people and situations - such as this particular specimen. Toris must have heard the exact same statement hundreds of times in his life, knowing that he had an actual social circle who cared for him. Ivan was outside that circle, and people rarely care for the things outsiders say in matters like these - surely Toris should feel nothing particular about anything Ivan said. There was no need for him to smile like that, it was just embarrassing for a grown man to get so giddy about faint praise. Ivan scoffed and went back to his work.

-_-_-_-_-

U maek a habot of drawning on walls huh Outside of his brief childhood, Ivan had only ever drawn on walls three times - once in a drunk, misguided bout of creative frenzy, once to write his number on an intriguing man’s wall to annoy him, and once in an attempt to save a relic of happier times for the future. Mostly when you are involved, it seems. Perhaps you are my muse for wall-related artistry It had been a while since Ivan had drawn a portrait, but now might be the time to dust off that skill set. Ivan considered himself more of a photographer, but there was also something appealing about creating from scratch. Although... he would need to keep the portrait hidden, it would raise questions and pity later on. Ivan wished he was better at abstraction, that way it wouldn’t look like Fredya to anyone else, but his mind seemed to be too observational for it. It could only make sense of things that connected together in realistic ways, it couldn’t create anything out of feelings alone. Perhaps he simply didn’t have enough of them for that kind of art. The dinner with Fredya and his sisters was a few hours away, but Ivan was already nervously ironing his clothes. He once again pleaded Katyusha to control her romantic impulses, and of course she promised, but Ivan knew that meant little. She had very bad self-control. Tasha’s picking me up, we’ll meet you there Natasha was coming? Nataliya was coming?! Fuck - what was she - this was bad news - why hadn’t she said - oh god, forget about Katyusha ruining everything if Nataliya Grigorova was coming! She never mentioned wanting to come along That sneaky little girl, she told me you said it was okay, haha He would not survive this night sober. He wanted to make a good impression. He did not want to be drunk when the only three people who mattered to him were all in the same room. He wanted to be fully conscious, to enjoy an outing with his family while being fully genuine, not just sedated into calmness. But lord knew he would not survive the night sober.

-_-_-_-_-

Remembering the fit Fredya had thrown the last time Ivan had driven not-strictly-drunk-but-also-not-sober, he was glad that they had arranged beforehand for Fredya to pick him up. Because he was observant in the most inconvenient ways, Ivan had been sure Fredya would notice something was off, maybe a smell or the slow movements to counteract the unsteady hand-to-eye-coordination, but fortunately he was too stoked about meeting Ivan’s sisters again, officially, to notice Ivan’s oddly calm demeanor. He babbled excitedly the whole way there, and was halfway across the street before Ivan had even fully exited the car. “Come on you snail! They’re gonna think we ditched them!” “It’s only a few minutes away, you can afford to slow down”, Ivan chuckled. Fredya was so adorably excited, he resembled a puppy on a walk. “Being overeager is as bad as being late.” “Beg to disagree! Pick up the pace slowpoke!” Fredya sped up ahead, Ivan kept his leisurely pace. He missed the re-introductions, but it seemed like he hadn’t been needed for those at all - Fredya and Katyushka already looked like old friends, while Tasha regarded him with a haughty look, but nary a nasty word. She raised an eyebrow at Ivan, as if saying really, you chose this clown over me?, and he simply smiled pleasantly at her. As they waited for their food to arrive, Fredya and Katyushka were unsurprisingly the only ones to hold up conversation. They had found a common ground in Star Trek - in that Katyusha had heard a lot about it, but had never watched an episode and was interested, and Fredya was an expert in all the series and films and liked talking about them. They went through the pacifistic ideas on the original series and how it sometimes contradicted itself on it, analyzing the casting choices for the remakes, some more things that Ivan had no interest in. When their plates were brought, the were in the midst of trying to speak klingon - the attempts of both of them were saddeningly hilarious. Or perhaps they were both surprisingly accurate. Ivan had no way of knowing, the franchise being something he had never taken an interest in. Of course he liked space, but he was more fact-oriented than a fan of fanciful fiction. “You seem so young, it’s almost like you’re still in college”, Katyusha giggled, and Ivan could not agree more. The youthful energy Fredya exuded was refreshing, at least most of the time. “Never went to college, I went straight to work from high school”, Fredya explained, crumbs flying. That was the one habit that Ivan never found charming in Fredya, it was just plain disgusting. Tasha made a small chortle of contempt that passed Fredya by. “Our brother is a very intelligent man”, Tasha commented sharply, and Ivan knew exactly what she was going for – he had come to the same conclusion, himself. And truthfully, neither of them had been wrong - Fredya really was stupid. “Oh, tell me about it”, the insulted man chuckled, not understanding what was being implied. Ivan would have liked being able to defend Fredya, but the thing was that Fredya was not intelligent – intellectually or socially, and attempting to claim otherwise would have been pointless. He might have been considered smart in some useless areas, such as entertainment trivia, but faint praise is just as damning as admitting faults. Trivia! There was the opening Fredya needed to impress Tasha! “He has a master’s degree in movie trivia and celebrity gossip, if nothing else. Just give an actor’s name and he will tell you every movie they have ever been in.” “And not just that! I can also tell which year each movie came out!” Fredya exclaimed proudly. Ivan started with an easy one - Tom Cruise. Tasha did look reluctantly impressed as the titles and dates kept on coming, but refused to admit defeat. She tried her favorite actor, someone much more obscure. “Ken Foree?” “Hmm… The midnight man, 2017… Rift, dark side of the moon 2016, Cut slash pri- no wait, I think he was in Divine tragedies, 2015, Cut slash print 2012 –“ However, since

Tasha’s obsession with her brother refused to give way to respect for her perceived enemy, she realized that to claim victory she could simply ask about any non-American film star. “Anastasia Zavorotnyuk.” “Anastasia who?” Of course he pronounced the name the American way, but Ivan was still mildly impressed he could tell Анастасия and Anastasia were the same name. “Zavorotnyuk.” Tasha allowed herself a malevolent smirk as Fredya racked his brain for the name in vain. “A true expert wouldn’t limit himself only to Hollywood”, Tasha hmphed in triumphant malice, believing to have proved her superiority over him once and for all, despite not showing an ability to counter his. It seemed the point had only been to prove Fredya was not omniscient. In Ivan’s eyes, it was enough to be merely well-versed. “He does hate subtitles to the point where I thought he might be illiterate”, Ivan joked. “Hey, at least I speak the language of the country I live in!” “Verily, my darling, thou speakest with the most biting of tongues. Shakespeare himself would envy your prowess.” “The guy lived like hundreds of years ago, who gives a shit? Ivan Drago was famous in the 80’s.” “Ivan can sound almost native when he tries”, Katyusha said, trying to diffuse the argument, not knowing the workings of their relationship well enough to tell it was all said in jest. “I haven’t tried in years, I doubt I could anymore”, Ivan thought. He had tried training his accent away in high school, so he would sound less foreign in job interviews. Having a foreign name was bad enough in an application. He had never achieved a smooth, natural accent, he had to concentrate very hard which caused the words to come out very slowly and robotically, and still there was always a hint of foreign phonemes. Combined with his attempts to deepen his voice – an incredibly embarrassing failure on its own – had made him cringe, even back then. Tasha had encouraged him, of course, because in her mind anything and everything her dear brother did was the right decision. Excluding taking romantic interest in someone other than her, of course.

The rest of the evening went by in much the same fashion. Fredya and Katyusha got along swimmingly, Tasha made snide remarks about Fredya, Ivan defended him in mean ways, Fredya played along. It was all very pleasant. Finally the staff started dropping hints that it was time to vacate the table, so they got up and parted ways. Katyusya was enchanted enough to not wait long enough to be out of earshot before starting to gush about her baby brother’s relationship, which made for a perfect opening for eavesdropping. “Don’t you think Vanechka looks so much happier than usual?” Katyusya said, nearly clapping her hands in excitement. “Idiocy might be contagious”, Tashenka grumbled in response. “I never imagined he’d go for that type, but I guess it goes to show opposites really do attract!” Katyushka squeed. “It’s only for the moment. That American moron will start getting on Vanya’s nerves soon”, Tashenka claimed, not sounding too confident herself. Ivan had expected that to happen as well, in the beginning. “I hope he won’t, I think Alfred is good for Vanechka. He’s come out of his shell.” What did she mean by that? As far as Ivan was aware, he had never been shy around his sisters. Or other people, for that matter. “What’re you frowning about?” Fredya asked. “I’m eavesdropping. Katyusha likes you, and Natasha doesn’t despise you.” “Well that’s good news isn’t it?” Fredya smiled, and tried to hear the women. “Man, you got great hearing. I can’t hear them at all.” Yes, it did take some practice to achieve Ivan’s level of spying on other people’s conversations. And by then they had gotten far enough that Ivan couldn’t hear then anymore either, actually. “Your eardrums must be damaged from the all screeching you do.” “You’re walking home, asshole.”

Tasha + Katyushka = affectionate nicknames for Nataliya and Yekaterina. Tashenka + Katyusya = one level more intimate. Ivan is being drunk and sentimental so at the end of the evening, the way he feels about his sisters is something like most people do when seeing tiny kittens. Thanks again for reading! Maybe in like 10 years so I'll add a final "chapter" describing the rest of the plot, but I know myself and won't make any promises. I have some more snippets on the masterpost if anyone wants to frustrate themselves with a story that will never be finished.

#hereandthere #fan fiction #hetalia #RusAme #AmeRus #russiaxamerica #linssifanfiction #WIPtale

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snippychicke · 4 years

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I will probably never write this out, but I outlined it and thought it was too cute to share. An Otto/OC(self-insert tbh) story with a happy ending.

Allison's husband Raymond gets a very unsettling surprise when Otto starts trying to get out of the rolled carpet. Turns out he was unconscious but not dead. He freaks out because a beat-up woozy white guy in a black man's house is going to get him in jail, and likely dead.

He helps Otto into his car and races to one of the few allies he knows, a nurse from a local hospital. She helps him get him into her home and promises to keep silent (though doubts the story he tells her, because to her it sounds like gibberish.)

She takes care of him in her old family home. He wakes up while she is cleaning his wounds.She begs him not to kill Raymond, stating he's a good man who got in over his head. That no one should be judged on one mistake.

He leaves and searches for Axel but there is no sign of him at the cat house. Some of their stuff is there, but all of Axel's belongings are noticeably absent. It's been years since he was truly alone. The ache of losing both brothers hits him hard.

Otto wanders around Dallas but ends up back on the nurse's porch, where she finds him sitting on the stairs looking absolutely dejected and lost.She has seen a lot of different people on wrong paths in their life. Offers him a bed as long as he needs it, fusses at his wounds that reopened? Leg wound too? She pointedly doesn't ask questions, and he appreciates that.

They fall into a domestic situation that he is unused to. He is used to living on the road, always travelling and hunting. He needs something to do but isn't ready for an ordinary job. The house is run down, and she explains her father meant to fix it with the supplies in the garage but never did.

It gives him something to do. She of course gets flustered by seeing him sweaty and shirtless but does her best to be respectful. He masters the skills needed by stumbling through the how-to books left behind, with her helping occasionally when he silently points to a word. And of course physical labor is rather easy for him.

She wants to thank him and asks around to find Swedish recipes and such.

The night she makes a sweedish dish as a thank you, he breaks somewhat. She apologizes profusely, saying she didn't mean to. He hugs her. Well, pulls her down into his lap is more like it, desperate for physical touch. She settles in his lap and just lets him cry into her shoulder, soothing his hair and reassuring him it would be okay.

They shift from roommates to friends as the weeks pass. Her obvious trust in people leaves him on edge. He makes a habit of making sure doors and windows are secure because she never does. She fusses at him to take breaks and relax, wondering why he is so paranoid in her opinion. They enjoy early mornings together on days off.

They also adopted all the cats. She wakes up to the half of a dozen cats wandering the house, acting like it's theirs now. When she asks where they came from, Otto just shrugs. She gets use to it quickly when she sees it brings him some sort of peace, and sees the mouse infestation vanish in a fortnight.

She does start to drag him out once in a while on her days off. To the theatre, street festivals, and to other such events. Otto seriously starts to wonder how she hasn't been killed yet because trouble seems to follow her. Especially when white men see her being polite to poc, whom she tends favor more than others. Otto has to stop a few fights from being started with a strong glare. Just his presence diffuses more than one fight, and she has to admit she feels a lot safer with him at her side.

But one time he's maybe distracted at a fair, thinking of buying her a small cat charm she had been eyeing but denied herself, and comes to find some assholes getting rough with her and he loses it. The assholes are on the concrete within seconds. She is barely able calm him and begs him to quit as he's punching the man that smacked her, but manages to pull him away and go home.

She cleans his bruised and cut knuckles with shaky hands and he stops her so he can tend the split lip on her own face.

"They hurt you...I'm sorry."

He has barely spoken monosyllabic words at this point, so she tears up. She enjoys the feeling of him cupping her face, and presses his hand tighter to her cheek as she laughs and says he easily paid them back 10 fold.

He realizes this cute little nurse has become dear to him.

She realizes she's fallen for her housemate.

Then the commission steps in. The new council asks Otto to return because their reduced numbers. Except he's already lost both of his brothers to them, he cannot lose her too. He doesn't feel strong enough to stand on his own. He turns them down, and turns back inside to wrap his arms around her as she is cooking. No kissing or words, just holding her in his arms as she sways.

Herb comes alone a few days later. Otto turns to leave but Herb stops in his his tracks by offering to track down Axel. Not because to get them back for the commission, but as a peace offering for what happened to them. The offer makes him torn. On one hand it's his brother, Axel. The last of his family. But yet he still has nightmares of Axel choking him, even though he knows it's not his brother's fault, which leaves him conflicted. And he's built a life in Dallas. Helps the neighbors both colored and none with any heavy labor needed. And of course his budding relationship with the woman.

But ultimately it's his brother. Family. He cannot give up the chance. He leaves her a simple note asking her to stay safe. (he drafted over a dozen notes which she finds in the trash, ranging from promises to come back and ones where he thanks her for her kindness, and others scribbled out harshly she cannot make out the words.)

And when she realizes he left hurt it breaks her heart. She still fusses over the cats, but can't bring herself to do much more than work and sleep. Her friends try to pull her out for nights on the town, but she cannot.

It takes weeks but Otto finds wherever the hippies have travelled to, the reunion of brothers is heartbreaking. The Cult fear the worse as the two storm towards each other before embracing tightly, trying hard not to cry. Axel thought he was dead, that he killed him. So to see him all be and okay breaks his facade.

He begs for forgiveness, but Otto immediately assures him there is nothing to forgive.

Otto brings Axel back to Dallas. When the woman sees him coming down the street, she forgets propiet and races down the sidewalk to jump into his arms. Axel watches both surprised and amused as his brother holds the tiny woman close. The woman is too emotional to think and ends up confessing her feelings in a jumbled mess. Otto silences her with a kiss, soft and sweet. Which she turns into a rather long intimate one.

Otto awkwardly introduces Axel after his brother clears his throat during the couple's kiss. "Can he stay with us, Älskling?" Otto asks, pushing her hair away from her tear-streaked face.

She happily says yes.

Axel enters the house and the first thing he sees are the cats.

Otto: "What? You think I could leave them?'

Axel: *did leave the cats to fend for themselves* …

Just need to figure out a way for Oscar to show up sans his one leg but otherwise okay. Maybe he was a patient she has been caring for at the hospital?

Axel and Oscar quickly accept her as their little sister-in-law. Ships their brother with her so hard and push them together. Sets up so many cute dates for the two that usually end up not going as planned but still cute

Edited: i lied

#fanfic #ikea mafia #tua swedes #tua season two #tua s2 #tua otto #tua oscar #tua Axel #the umbrella academy #otto/OC #otto/reader

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ddixons-angel · 4 years

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Fated: Season 4

Summary: Gloria Rhee narrowly escapes Atlanta with her brother as the outbreak reaches the city. Luckily, they find a camp outside the city and together, they fend through encounters with the living and undead.

Starts a little before Season 1 and then follows the main storyline of the show.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Glenn Sister!OC

Warnings: major TWD spoilers, language, violence (the typical TWD stuff)

A/N: I’m gonna sound like such a broken record in my author notes for each chapter of at least half of Season 4, but I am really nervous about these next few chapters >~< I don’t know why, I just feel really insecure about the original idea that happens next.. sighhh please let me know what you think!!

Chapter 3

Letting the dagger fall out of her hands, Gloria runs over to Daryl as he falls from the gunshot. She kneels down next to him, letting him lean back against her. Daryl groans at the pain in his shoulder and Gloria grabs his bag with the bandages they had scavenged earlier.

“Here, let me.” Gloria says, her voice soft.

She gently moves the collar of his shirt to the side to inspect the wound, relief flooding through her when she sees that it was only a graze to his shoulder. Gloria starts to patch up his wound when Glenn and Maggie run up to them, holding their rifles with worried expressions.

“Hey, you guys okay?” Maggie asks, a little out of breath.

Daryl nods as Gloria finishes up with his injury, “yeah, we’re okay.”

He gets up from the ground with Gloria holding his arm, she’d also picked up his crossbow, refusing to let him hold the weapon when he was hurt. Glenn picks up Gloria’s dagger she had dropped then looks at his pocket watch.

“It’s gonna be 12 soon, we should get going.” he calls out to the rest of them.

The others nod and pick up their bags and start heading back out to where they had parked the car. Glenn opens the trunk to the car and places his bag inside, waiting for the others to do the same with their bags. He slams the trunk closed then hands Gloria her dagger back but not without shooting her a scolding look. Gloria sighs, knowing exactly what this was about then goes to join Daryl in the back seat of the car. Glenn starts the car and the group is silent on the drive back to the prison. Throughout the ride, Glenn keeps glancing in the rearview mirror to Gloria when he isn’t able to hold it in any longer.

“What the hell was that?” Glenn blurts out in Korean, causing all three of the others to look at him, Maggie and Daryl’s faces full of confusion.

“What?” Gloria rolls her eyes as she replies in Korean, annoyed that he’s choosing to do this now.

“I saw you, you were going to stab yourself! What the hell was that?!” Glenn fumes, getting visibly more angry.

“What choice did I have? They were going to kill him!” Gloria retorts, referring to Daryl.

Maggie looks back and gives Daryl a ‘what do we do’ look and Daryl shifts and shrugs at her as the siblings keep fighting. It didn’t help that they didn’t know what they were even saying so they couldn’t diffuse the situation either.

“You were gonna kill yourself then, is that it? What if we didn’t come in time to save you, you could be seriously hurt right now!” Glenn yells as he drives.

“I knew what I was doing!” Gloria yells back, done with this conversation.

“No you didn’t! You were going to kill yourself to save someone else!” he points out, his face turning red.

“And you would have done the exact same for her!” Gloria calls him out, referring to Maggie, knowing it’s true.

Glenn grips tightly on the steering wheel, fuming from their argument but says nothing else. Sensing that it was the end of their heated discussion, Maggie reaches out and puts her hand on Glenn’s arm, a soft smile on her face wanting to somehow soothe him without words. Gloria turns her attention to Daryl, he’d been looking out the window while chewing on his thumbnail. She sighs at his habit, knowing he only did it when he felt really uncomfortable. She reaches out to him, taking the hand of the thumb he’d been chewing.

“You okay?” Gloria asks in a hushed whisper.

Daryl nods, looking at her, squeezing her hand in reassurance. Glenn waits for Carl to open the gate to the prison before driving onto the premises, towards the building. Once the car is parked, the four of them get out of the car, Glenn and Gloria glaring at each other.

“You’re not going on anymore runs.” Glenn tells her in English before popping open the trunk and taking a few bags with him into the building.

Gloria, still annoyed and angry at him, rolls her eyes and grabs the remainder of the bags from the trunk, slamming it down to a hard close before following Glenn into the building. Maggie and Daryl share a look of not knowing what to do before they both follow the siblings into their home.

Hershel greets Glenn with a smile when he sees him walk into the main area outside the cell block but his smile is replaced with a confused frown when he notices Glenn and now Gloria’s expressions. The two had put the bags on one of the tables, both crossing their arms and looking away from each other. Daryl and Maggie make their way into the room, everyone’s attention drawn to the four who had just walked in.

“Maggie, what happened?” Hershel asks, turning to his daughter as he knows he wouldn’t be getting a proper answer from either sibling.

“We ran into some thugs on our run and they tried to steal Gloria and Daryl’s things.” Maggie explains.

The story causes Carol to walk up to the group, “are you all okay?”

Daryl nods but Gloria looks at him, guilt written all over her face, “Daryl... got shot.”

“What?!” Nina pipes up and rushes over to him, “oh my God, are you okay?”

“‘M fine.” Daryl says, backing away from Nina before she can touch him, “was jus’ a graze.”

“Hershel, can you check on him?” Gloria says and adds before Daryl can protest, “I was an emotional mess when I patched him up, I just want to make sure.”

Daryl sighs at her words, and Hershel nods, both of them understanding, “come with me, Daryl.”

Hershel starts walking first and Daryl hesitates until he catches Gloria’s eyes, giving in when he sees her eyes welling with tears. He walks past her to follow Hershel, but not before giving her a small hug and a kiss on her forehead. The group had turned the infirmary into an actual doctor’s office rather than having Hershel, Gloria or Caleb, a doctor from Woodbury, check on people in their cells. Carol goes up to Gloria and puts a hand on her shoulder for comfort. Gloria forces a small smile for the older woman, nodding at her.

“So, how did you guys get caught up with the thugs anyway?” Sasha asks, genuinely curious, leaning on the wall.

“We split up to cover more ground, and they ambushed me and Daryl when we were done raiding a pharmacy.” Gloria says, looking down feeling ashamed of being so careless.

“Daryl wouldn’t get caught off guard like that, it must have been your fault.” Nina says, glaring and pointing at Gloria, “you distracted him.”

“That’s not how Daryl is!” Carol says, frowning at the other girl.

“Really? Then tell me how on every single run Daryl goes on, he comes back perfectly fine but the one time he goes with Gloria, he gets hurt?” Nina counters Carol’s defense.

Sasha scoffs at her, crossing her arms, “you wanna know why? Because shit happens. It doesn’t matter if it’s his first time going on a run with or without Gloria.”

“Why are you so adamant on blaming her, anyway?” Carol takes the chance to call Nina out on her actions.

“Because I know that Daryl isn’t careless or reckless, but I can’t say the same about her!” Nina shouts.

Her words hit Gloria like a brick. She thinks back to when they were scavenging the pharmacy, Daryl had already tried to warn her about hearing something outside but she just brushed him off. If she had listened, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

“She’s right... it was my fault.” Gloria sighs, looking down, not able to face any one of them.

Carol’s eyes soften as she looks at Gloria, “no, it wasn’t.”

“Yes, Carol, it was.” Gloria finally looks up at her, “I... Daryl warned me that he heard something when we were in the pharmacy but I... I didn’t listen...”

Nina hides a smirk as she scoffs, “I don’t think you should go on any more runs, for everyone else’s safety.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” Carol says, eyeing Nina.

“Glenn already decided that when we got back.” Gloria says in a small voice, making Carol turn her attention to Glenn, looking at him disapprovingly.

“I-I... that’s not what I meant!” Glenn stutters to defend himself.

Gloria shrugs, trying to play it off, “it doesn’t matter... I should go tend to my shift.”

Glenn watches helplessly and guiltily as Gloria walks out the building to go to her 'shift' on the fence. They all knew that she didn’t have a shift, when she agreed to go on the run, she’d passed them off to Tyreese. She just wanted to be alone, let out her emotions by killing some walkers. Gloria spends at least an hour killing walkers on the fence when Daryl approaches her. He doesn’t call out to her or anything, he watches for a moment then starts to help her clear out the walkers on the fence. She turns to him when she notices he’s out there with her.

“You shouldn’t be out here, you need to rest.” Gloria holds his forearm, stopping him from moving.

“Told ya, ‘m fine. It’s jus’ a graze anyway, ya saw it.” Daryl says, “‘nd ya shouldn’ be out here either, ya don’ have a shift.”

Gloria sighs and nods, “I know...”

Daryl places his hand on the one that’s already on his forearm, he hesitates to speak then sighs, “Glenn’s right... I don’ want ya going on runs anymore either.”

There’s a tear at her heart at his words. The realization that Daryl had blamed her for getting hurt weighed heavily on her and there was only one thing she could really do about it.

“Okay...” Gloria says, looking down and nodding.

Daryl furrows his brows in confusion; acceptance was not one of the reactions he’d expected from her. He expected her to get mad at him like she did with Glenn. He had been dreading an argument with her over the restriction. Her accepting it so easily was not like her, and even though they weren’t yelling at each other, Gloria being so quiet and compliant worried him even more.

“Ya sure you’re okay with not going on runs anymore?” Daryl asks, his thumb caressing her knuckles.

Of course she wasn’t, but she’d caused enough.

“Yeah...” Gloria sighs and forces a smile on her face as she looks up at Daryl, “it’s for the best, right?”

He gently grabs her arm and pulls her towards him, wrapping his arms around her, cradling the back of her head in his hand. Gloria snuggles into his embrace, snaking her arms around his torso.

“I just want ya safe.” Daryl whispers in her ear.

Gloria just nods, accepting it although she knew he was using her safety as an excuse to comfort her. For the sake of everyone else who went on runs, she wouldn’t go on runs anymore. That’s how she would be able to protect her family, it was the only way she knew she wouldn’t cause any more damage.

---

Next Chapter

As I said before, I don’t know whether this chapter or the future events will be liked by you guys, maybe it’s the fact that I made Nina such an annoying little shit... lol please let me know what you thought here, all the comments/critique you guys give me help a ton and motivate me to continue posting, so I really have to thank you guys for that!

Also... should I add ‘annoying OC’ to the warnings for Nina? LOL

I hope everyone stays safe and healthy, please don’t panic, we will get through this!

And as always, I would really appreciate any comments left for me! I’ll be replying to any comments in a new post because this is a sideblog!

Taglist (please let me know if you’d list to be added/removed!):

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estherwritess · 4 years

Note

Hello! Congrats for your 1k followers! I have a request for you! :D Fluff; 12 and bodyguard au! with Hinata. :D Honestly, it would be cool if the reader is a tsundere and the one who gets caught! 💜 stay talented! 👏👍🏻

Hi hun! thank you so much for your request! I hope you like this and thank you for participating in the prompt event!

Another show done and dusted, tonight had been an exhausting but rewarding night, interacting with the fans who stood around the stage. It was a fulfilling job and you couldn’t wish for anything else. Regardless, walking backstage, away from all the hustle and bustle was a relief. One of the crew members hands you a towel, you gratefully take it, looking around for your favourite familiar faces. Everyone is frantically running around, like the devil is chasing them, moving the sound material, the backdrop; it’s chaos to say the least, you gracefully make your way between the mass of fast-moving bodies to get to your dressing room.

The noise muffles as you close the door behind you, letting your hair fall from it’s tight updo. A breath of relief passes your lips as tension is relieved from your scalp, neck and shoulders; once you’re looking around, you realize how lonely it really feels; sure, a lot of people might love and admire you, but in the end all you really had was yourself. There was no one at the end of the show that would be waiting in the dressing room for you, no one to comfort you, no one to confide it.

The closest to a relationship like that was the bond you’d had with your longtime bodyguard Hinata Shouyo. Ever since you had taken the leap into the entertainment industry he was by your side, deep inside you were extremely grateful that the company had decided to keep him as one of your body guards. He was the ideal distraction when the nerves were eating you up from the inside, his bubbly attitude was a refreshing change of atmosphere from the usual cold and professional environment you had been dragged into since the start. If there was anyone you couldn’t miss, then that would be Hinata, without a doubt.

You emerge from the dressing room, having changed into an outfit different to your stage outfit; one that was a bit less attention-grabbing. You’re met by two familiar faces, two bodyguards had settled them on either side of the door; like they always did. You stay quiet for a bit, relishing in the peaceful atmosphere as you knew you would soon have to pass through another group of excited fans and reporters. The orange-haired man next to you stays quiet, recognizing that you were bracing yourself for the last push before you were able to go home and rest up after the last show in a long series.

The moment the doors open, a deafening chant breaks out, you make sure to stay in between the two assigned bodyguards, occasionally waving at fans or taking a picture. The stretch of concrete feels so long, having to stop nearly every few steps you took; once you reach the end, you let yourself plop down on the backseat of the car, bodyguard on either side of you. Hinata nudges your side gently, a curious look on his face;

“You seem exhausted, are you okay?”

You nod, clearing your throat as you sit up a bit straighter, “just tired,” he places his hand on your shoulder as a way to portray some sort of pity for you. You shift your attention to your phone in your pocket, finally noticing the steady stream of notifications coming in; it’s mostly people reacting to your post from last night, no real messages from your family or friends. It didn’t surprise you, it was late after all. Your attention is pulled away as you feel Hinata’s hand slip off your shoulder, turning to him you notice the surprised expression displayed on his face.

“Am I your lock screen?” he seems a bit surprised by it, but by the sparkle in his eyes he doesn’t seem to mind it one bit. The picture he was referring to was a picture you had taken on one of your off days, you’d asked him to turn a blind eye to his supposed duties for the day and come hang out with you.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” blush rises to your cheeks as you avert your gaze, trying to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible.

It’s a very hinata-like reaction, his face lights up, arms impulsively slinging around you while he’s blubbering on about how cute it is. The sudden physical contact takes you by surprise, your face heats up more than it already has, making you feel like you were suffocating in the car.

“It’s not that special!” you manage to wiggle out of his grasp, Hinata doesn’t seem to be phased, rather he seems happy. You huff, but deep down you’re quite glad he’s reacted so well to it.

taglist: @hihiq @hqgrandescape @mitzwinchester @izzyphantomgamer @clauclaustar @idiot-juice-enthousiast @kara-grayson04 @yams046

#haikyuuwritersnet #1k prompt event #hinata shoyo x reader #haikyuu x reader #hinata shoyou #hinata x reader #hinata shoyo imagine #hinata shoyuo #haikyuu prompts #hq imagines #hq x reader #hq prompt #haikyuu fanfiction

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chipsandcoffee · 4 years

Text

Whouffaldi Fanfic

“You Sound Like a Song”

Post-Hell-Bent, fix-it of sorts, memory loss, confessions, angst, romance, eternal love, s10 spoilers, canon compliant (well technically at least), cameo appearance by Bill Potts

Also on AO3 at this link.

______________

He knew her name was Clara. He knew they’d travelled together. But that was all he knew.

The list of things the Doctor didn't know about Clara was so much longer and went so much deeper, prodding away at him from a restless corner of his mind. What was she like? What had they meant to each other? Why would he have wiped the memory of her from his mind? And the one question that troubled him most: what had happened to her?

He ruminated on these questions yet again as he slumped in a leather armchair in his office at St. Luke's University, absent-mindedly strumming his guitar. He often felt a sense of melancholy on these solitary nights. Nothing was sad until it was over, he thought. Then everything was.

He had spent a long time trying to look for Clara (being stuck on Earth for a number of years hadn’t stopped him, for he was based where she was most likely to be). Of course he didn't know who he was looking for (hadn't someone told him that once?), but he believed he would know her if he met her again, and she would surely know him. But it had never happened. And he’d never heard a word from her.

He'd eventually reached the most logical and painful conclusion: she was dead. She'd likely been dead all along, even before he’d erased her from his memory (he could tell he’d used a neural block, could feel the sensation of a hole in his mind where something ought to be). Maybe that was why he'd taken the drastic step of eliminating those memories in the first place: her death had simply been too painful for him to bear.

He obviously had no idea how Clara had died, but he had the painful feeling that it had somehow been his fault. Hers was probably another life cut tragically short because of him, just like too many other people he’d been close to.

Indeed, he’d experienced more than his fair share of loss over his long life, and the last few decades had certainly been no exception. River had gone to her inevitable death shortly before he’d arrived in Bristol (at least by his timeline). He’d also very nearly presided over the execution of Missy before rescuing his oldest friend and bringing her to St. Luke’s. But for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, the very idea of Clara being dead made his hearts ache in a way nothing else did. Perhaps more than anything else ever had.

It was strange grieving for someone he didn’t remember. His grief after losing River had made sense to him, and he’d been able to move on from it (even if Nardole, devoted to River as always, continued to assume that any sign of sorrow from the Doctor was connected to his late wife). But he had a vague, shapeless sense of loss deep in his bones that he knew, he just knew, was the grief he was still carrying for Clara. He obsessed over the unknown and unknowable details of her life, their life, and her presumed death.

His grief frequently bubbled up to the surface when he played his guitar. In fact, as he sat there in the shadows of his office, he realized that he'd once again started playing a variation of a song from long ago that he knew was called “Clara.” Bill was always curious about that tune, but he'd never told her its true title. How would he begin to explain the story behind it when he didn’t understand it himself?

The Doctor suddenly recalled with regret that he’d been rather curt with Bill earlier that day when she'd teased him that that particular song was the only one he knew how to play. He thought maybe he should say something to her by way of apology when he saw her again. He also knew he was rubbish at such conversations, so he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and fished out the stack of dog-eared index cards that he relied on for such occasions. He'd had them for many years, each card a neatly-written sentence that he could use in tricky social situations (which for him was most social situations). One of his companions had probably made them for him at some point, but he couldn't remember who. He liked to imagine they came from Clara, that he still had something tangible left of her that he carried with him. He wondered if she would have liked that.

The Doctor put his guitar aside, ran his hand down his face, and started pacing around his office. All this brooding wasn't doing him any good. He needed a distraction. He paused, fingers drumming on his desk, as his eyes fell on his TARDIS parked in the corner following his last outing with Bill. He'd been thinking recently that the timeship’s interface stabilizer could use an upgrade; that would keep him busy for a while. But he’d need to get his hands on a few parts first. He considered his options.

His favourite place to get spare parts for the TARDIS was at a marketplace on the planet Haligonia. Of course Nardole would give him grief if he found out that the Doctor had travelled off world, but Nardole was currently occupied with tinkering with the locks on the vault deep under St. Luke’s and likely would be for a while. The Doctor could be gone and back before Nardole knew he’d left. He rubbed his hands together, his decision made. He pushed open the TARDIS doors.

A few minutes later, the Doctor was strolling through the bustling marketplace on 48th-century Haligonia. The planet was a human colony, but the well-known market attracted shoppers of a variety of species from all over the galaxy. It was a warm, sunny day, and the breeze carried smells of local street foods as he made his way past vendors selling everything from the latest tech gadgets to exotic jewellery to flowers of every possible colour.

Soon enough he spotted the parts dealer’s stall. As he approached it he noticed there was a rather spirited conversation going on between the tall, burly dealer and a petite young woman. The customer was dark-haired and wore a black leather jacket with a well-worn satchel slung over her shoulder. Her clear voice stood out over the din of the market, and as the Doctor walked up behind her, he could hear her haggling over the price of something.

“Come on, this would've cost less when it was new than what you’re asking for it now.”

The dealer folded his arms. “Yeah, well life’s not fair, lady. And if you can find it new somewhere else, feel free to buy it there.”

“Fine,” she said nonchalantly, “I will then.” The woman spun around and began striding off, nearly walking into the Doctor.

“Sorry,” she said, glancing up at him. She did a double take and suddenly froze, staring at him, her strikingly large eyes becoming impossibly larger. She stood stock still for a long moment. “Doctor,” she breathed.

He peered down at her, knitting his eyebrows and squinting slightly. “Have we met?”

“Yeah, yeah we've met,” she said faintly, sounding dazed. She continued to stare at him, and now her eyes were starting to look distinctly watery.

The Doctor became increasingly concerned that this stranger might inexplicably burst into tears right in front of him, a prospect that he found rather frightening. He reached into his pocket for his social cue cards in a desperate attempt to find something to say that might diffuse whatever was happening.

He found one of his frequently-used cards, and recited, “I apologize for not recognizing you. I am a time traveller and I sometimes meet people out of order.”

The woman tore her eyes away from the Doctor's face to look at what he was holding. However, much to the Doctor's horror the card had only made things worse, as she had clasped her hand over her mouth and a tear trickled down her face.

“I, um,” he spluttered, his arms flailing.

The woman suddenly seemed to snap out of her emotional state and darted her eyes around the marketplace, as though searching for an escape route. “I'm um, I'm so sorry,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to smile. “Have a good day.” And with that she turned and strode away without a backwards glance.

The Doctor felt somewhat relieved that this problematic encounter appeared to have resolved itself. But he also felt responsible for upsetting this person, and he found himself chasing after her through the crowd of shoppers.

“You there,” he said, starting to catch up to her. “Are you okay?”

He thought she must not have heard him, because she kept on walking. But then she came to a sudden halt, and the Doctor had to stop himself from running into her from behind. After a moment’s hesitation, she turned around, her face somehow conveying trepidation and relief at the same time. The Doctor was baffled how she managed to do that.

The woman heaved a long sigh. “I am so sick of hiding from you.” The Doctor frowned as she stepped towards him, the crowd swirling around them. “The reason I recognize you but you don't recognize me isn't because of time travel. It's because you’ve forgotten me.” She paused for a second and wiped away a tear. “You, um, you chose to forget me.”

The Doctor felt as though his hearts had stopped and that all the blood had drained from his face. His mouth fell slightly open. Some distant part of his brain thought he must look like he'd seen a ghost. To him he had.

“Clara,” he whispered. It wasn't a question. He knew somehow, he was certain who she was.

“Yeah,” she whispered in return, gazing into his eyes.

“You're not dead,” he blurted out, immediately realizing how ridiculous that sounded.

“Yeah,” she frowned. “Why? Have you remembered--”

“I haven't remembered anything. I'd just… guessed. That-- that you were dead.”

Clara looked into the Doctor’s eyes and he immediately felt like she could see into his soul, into every lonely, hopeless night he’d spent grieving for her. Her face grew concerned.

“Oh, Doctor.” She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek, and the Doctor surprised himself by not flinching under her touch. “I think we should talk.”

______________

A few minutes later, the Doctor found himself incredibly, miraculously sitting with Clara at a small table in the corner of a quiet cafe on a back street near the marketplace, a steaming mug of herbal tea in front of each of them. They sat in silence at first as they stole glances at one another and tried to figure out how to navigate this strange situation.

“I like your coat,” Clara started, nodding at the blue-lined black velvet jacket he'd favoured of late.

“Oh, um, thanks.” He felt himself blushing. He wasn't used to people saying that sort of thing to him. Another moment passed and he asked, “How did you travel here?”

“In my TARDIS,” she answered easily, as though that were something that humans did all the time.

“What?” He was flabbergasted. “You have a TARDIS? How?”

Clara sighed. “Oh, this is going to be a very long story, Doctor.”

Several cups of tea later, Clara had told the Doctor the story of their final days together: the raven on Trap Street, the Doctor pulling Clara from her time stream on Gallifrey (which partly explained the vague memories he’d had of being trapped for a very long time in his confession dial), and her escape in a stolen TARDIS (oddly with the immortal woman Ashildr).

Once Clara had finished her story, the Doctor sat in stunned silence, attempting to make sense of it all, of the extreme lengths he'd gone to for Clara. He tried to wrap his mind around the idea that he’d actually plucked this woman from her time stream right before her death. And here she sat, still time-looped. Still, in essence, alive.

“You know how to fly a TARDIS?” It probably wasn’t the most important question, but it’s the one that popped out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” she laughed, her eyes twinkling, and the Doctor thought her laugh was perhaps the loveliest thing he’d ever heard. “I picked up a thing or two in the years we travelled together.”

The Doctor was impressed. “So how long has it been for you since you last saw me?”

“Oh, um, I'm not sure anymore. A while back I stopped keeping track of how long it’d been. It was--” She paused, lowering her eyes, a hint of pain crossing her face. She cleared her throat, met his eye again and continued, “I figured that was for the best. But I guess it must be close to a hundred years now.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows slightly. "I think it's almost exactly the same for me."

The corners of Clara's mouth quirked up. "Yeah, that's just the way things seem to go with us. We've always been… connected, somehow.”

“What have you been doing all that time?”

“Oh you know, flying about a bit, watching the odd star being born, saving the odd planet.”

The Doctor couldn't help but laugh at Clara's jokingly casual tone, and he marvelled to himself at this amazing woman. But there was an important issue that Clara hadn’t yet explained.

“So why don’t I remember you, Clara? Based on the type of amnesia that I experienced, I’m guessing that I used a neural block of some sort?”

Clara’s face turned serious and she glanced down.

“Um, yeah, you did.” She gave a puzzled frown. “It's weird though, I saw you shortly after the neural block, and you seemed to remember a bit more than you do now. At least some of what had happened on Gallifrey.”

“Ah, well it's not uncommon in the early stages following a neural block to be left with some disjointed shards of memories. Over time, if the brain can't process those fragments, they're forgotten. It's sort of like forgetting a dream shortly after awakening.”

“Right, okay.”

The Doctor searched her face. “Clara, why did I use a neural block to forget you?”

Clara looked upwards as if searching for inspiration on how to respond to the Doctor’s question, tears threatening in her eyes again. She took a deep breath.

“It wasn't meant to be you, not at first.”

“What do you mean?”

“You, um, you were going to use the neural block on me. You thought I'd be safer from the Time Lords if I didn't remember you.”

The Doctor frowned in confusion. “So what happened?”

Clara lowered her eyes. “I used your sonic sunglasses to reverse the polarity on the neural blocker when you weren't looking.”

“You what?”

“I didn't want it to go off on you, I just didn't want you to use it on me.” She began to raise her voice while a tear spilled down her face. “I didn't want you to use it at all, I told you what I'd done!”

Her voice broke and she paused, catching her breath and wiping her face. The Doctor felt a rush of sympathy and heartache for her. He realized that as difficult as it had been for him to live with his missing memories, Clara had suffered too, in a different way: she'd had to carry around the weight of everything they'd been through, while he had been blissfully ignorant.

Clara continued, speaking more quickly as she got through the rest of her story. “So. You didn't know at that point what would happen when the button on the blocker was pressed. That's when you suggested that we both press the button together, knowing that one of us would forget the other, but not knowing which one. Better than flipping a coin, you said.” Clara dropped her gaze and her voice fell to nearly a whisper. “And I guess you kind of lost the coin toss.”

The Doctor watched Clara for a moment, her head bowed. Then he found himself leaning forward and placing his hand on hers. Clara looked up at him, surprised at the contact.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“For everything, I guess. For forgetting you. For trying to make you forget me. I'm sorry that you feel bad about what happened with my memories, because it wasn't your fault, Clara. We knew the risks and we pressed that button together.”

She squeezed his hand, a hint of relief on her face.

“You didn't say why I thought one of us needed to forget the other,” the Doctor continued. “But I think I'm starting to understand. Everything I did, the confession dial, the extraction chamber, my plan to hide you away and make you forget me.” The Doctor felt his hearts stirring as he now wrapped Clara's hand in both of his. “I think I would have torn the sky apart for you, Clara Oswald. And I think I knew that.”

A sad smile crossed Clara's face. “And I would have done the same for you.”

The Doctor and Clara gazed silently at each other, her small hand wrapped in his two, lost in the universe that was each other's eyes.

After a while Clara swallowed, leaned forward, and spoke in a quiet voice. “Doctor, there's one more thing I still haven't told you. When you and I were on Gallifrey, we sat together in the Cloisters, and I told you something important, something I'd never told you before.” Clara took her free hand and laid it on top of his, her eyes round and sparkling. “I told you that I loved you. That I'd always loved you and I always would, and that I wished I'd told you a long time ago. That maybe if I had, things would have turned out differently.”

The Doctor had been surprised by many things Clara had told him that day, but somehow her declaration of love wasn't one of them. He’d known it, felt it, from the moment he'd met her in the market outside.

“And how did I respond?” he whispered, scarcely breathing.

Clara gave another sad smile and shook her head. “You didn't. That was the moment you got the service hatch open and, well, we had to keep running.”

“Ah,” was all he could think of to say.

“Yeah. We’ve had a lot of bad timing, you and me.”

As if to emphasize the point, the cafe owner at that moment walked by their table and turned off the “open” sign in the window, pointedly clearing his throat as he did so.The Doctor glanced around and realized that he and Clara had been alone in the cafe for quite some time.

“I think we’re being kicked out,” Clara whispered loudly, her eyes twinkling.

“Looks like it,” the Doctor replied with a crooked grin.

Outside, the Haligonian night had fallen, and the streets were nearly empty. The planet's two champagne-coloured moons shone overhead, and the air felt damp and cool after the warmth of the day. The Doctor and Clara wandered together through the town for a while, swapping tales of adventures and wild escapes, their bursts of laughter ringing through the stillness of the evening. The streets and laneways they walked eventually gave way to a green, park-like area on the edge of town where the scent of blossoming trees drifted through the night air. The Doctor wished they could keep walking forever, but as his TARDIS came into view in the moonlight, he was reminded that their magical day had to come to an end.

They walked together across the dewy grass and stopped near his blue box, standing in an uncertain silence, the only sound a nocturnal bird calling in the distance. Clara finally spoke. “So what happens now? Me and you, what do we do now?” The hint of tears glistening in her eyes told the Doctor that she probably already knew the answer.

“Oh, Clara. I don't even need my memories to know that there’s nothing in this universe I’d like more than to travel with you again. But I said today that I would have torn the sky apart for you all those years ago, and I know in my hearts I still would. And that you’d still do the same for me.”

He took a step closer to her. “Everything you’ve told me, everything I can see and feel now tells me that we were amazing together. But also that we were dangerous. And I don't think there’s any way to stop that from happening again, because of who we are, and because of--” He paused and took a deep breath. “And because of how we feel about each other.”

Clara looked down and nodded, a tear falling to the ground. “Yeah,” she whispered.

The Doctor tenderly placed his hand on Clara’s cheek, and she looked up at him. Clara had told him so much that day. Now there was something he felt he had to tell her, something that was burning within him. He wasn't going to let the opportunity pass him by again, not this time.

“Clara, I never got the chance to respond to you in the Cloisters, and I know a lot of time has passed since then and I’ve forgotten so much. But I know, I’m certain of one thing. I loved you, Clara Oswald. I loved you-- I love you with both my hearts. And I always will.”

Clara smiled up at him, even as another tear rolled down her cheek. The Doctor wiped away the tear with his thumb, feeling dizzy with the emotions swirling inside him. He found himself slowly leaning towards her, feeling a pull as irresistible and inevitable as gravity, as Clara ran her hand up his arm. Their lips met in a soft, heartfelt kiss. To the Doctor it felt surprisingly natural, right, perfect. It felt like the long-awaited conclusion to a conversation begun 100 years ago.

The Doctor stepped back and took Clara's hand as he stood there smiling softly at her, warmth and contentment infusing his body. She smiled back at him, all dimples and shiny eyes.

“I’m really glad I got to see you, Doctor.”

“I’m really glad I got to see you too, Clara Oswald.”

But his smile faltered as the reality of his situation sunk in. Clara frowned.

“What’s wrong, Doctor?”

He released her hand and sighed. “My neural block, Clara. I don’t know what'll happen when I leave tonight. Seeing you today, talking to you, learning all about you, about us. I don’t want to forget any of it, not again. But my brain has blocked my memories of you for a very long time, and I'm afraid it'll do it again.”

Clara’s face was filled with concern. “There must be something we can do.”

He shook his head and half-shrugged his shoulders.

Clara’s eyes lit up. “Hang on, I have an idea.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and opened her satchel. After some rummaging around, she pulled out a small cardboard box and opened it. “I carry these around with me. They still come in handy for all kinds of things.”

______________

Bill started packing up her things as the day’s tutorial with the Doctor wrapped up.

The Doctor was sitting behind his massive desk, continuing to flip through the book they'd been discussing. “And don’t forget that your research paper on laser-cooled ions is due tomorrow.”

Bill rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good.” The Doctor tried to look stern, but he had a feeling he wasn’t quite pulling it off. Tossing aside the book, he stood and picked up his guitar from the chair where he'd left it, wandering around his office as he played the song that he now knew was named for the woman he loved.

Bill paused as she walked towards the door. “Don't think I've heard that version before. It's, I dunno, cheerier.”

The Doctor smiled to himself. “Good night, Bill.”

“‘Night, Doctor. See ya tomorrow.”

Now alone, the Doctor played for a while longer before setting his guitar down. He relaxed into his favourite armchair and reflected on how different things were for him since his trip to Haligonia a few weeks earlier. He could still remember much of his wondrous encounter with Clara, though some of the details were growing hazy, almost as though the whole thing had been a dream. Sometimes he thought maybe it had been a dream. But whenever that unsettling feeling arose, he would do as he did now. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small stack of index cards. Some were old and dog-eared, but some were new. All of them had the same neat handwriting, and now he knew whose handwriting it was.

He picked out the new cards. The one on top read, “Clara is alive and doing well. She wants you to be happy.” He gave a contented sigh. The next two were his favourites.

“Clara loves you. She always has and always will.”

“You told Clara that you love her, and she will always cherish that.”

He smiled even as his eyes felt wet with tears (perhaps he was malfunctioning). He gazed at the cards for a long time, his fingers running lightly over the words.

He knew her name was Clara. He knew they’d travelled together. He knew she was still out there, exploring the universe. He knew they'd loved each other deeply and truly, and they always would.

He also knew that nothing was sad until it was over. And he and Clara would never be over. Not in his hearts, not ever.

______________

Thank you for reading! This is my first fic and any feedback would be very welcome and appreciated!

#i'm so nervous/excited to finally publish this #my first fic #whouffaldi #fanfic #fan fiction #my fanfic

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nuttersascend · 4 years

Text

Fishy Tales

After being called mackerel one too many times by Chuuya, Dazai felt himself shrinking down as his skin started turning scale-ly and somehow, breathing became a chore. The world started becoming far too big for him as the skies moved farther and farther.

The two were near the mooring, where one sad sap had to become fish bait for her treachery. The ginger had chosen to look away from his partner, having been fed up of his shenanigans- but that moment of distraction had proven to be fatal.

Dazai chose to abandon ship when he realized what he was turning into. Hearing a splash behind him, Chuuya turned around in irritation at what would be yet another of his partner’s suicide attempts and found nothing but clothes and bandages pooled next to him.

“Seriously?! You had to go skinny dipping into the sea?! What, you wanted to personally see how that guy would turn into fish bait?! You damned control freak-” and dived in to fetch a drowning mackerel, ignoring the obvious contradiction.

But there was no lanky, insufferable idiot in those waters, only davy jones finding himself at the bottom of the sea.

“Where did that idiot go?! Cut it out already, Dazai. Har-dee-har-har, I’m a wet sheep dog. Mori wants a report and you’re not getting out of it this easily.”

Then a mackerel swept towards him and gave him a slap with its tail. In his increasingly irritable mood, he felt the familiar feeling of wanting to murder something in that fish. For a mackerel, that thing was huge.

Feeling like he might have lost it to think this, but he spit out a bubbly diffused “Dazai?”

“It took you being slapped to know that it was me? Well, unfortunately, it seems like drowning to death is forever crossed out from my plans.”

“We’ve got to go back to the headquarters. Why can you talk in the first place? You’re a fish.”

“I don’t know Chuuya, am I talking human to you or can you talk fish to me?”

“Stop it with your bullshit, Turn back. I don’t have a fish bowl or a water bottle with me right now.”

“No, I’m making perfect sense. You’re the one talking inside water- air won’t vibrate to create sounds here. Your voice wouldn’t reach me.”

“When has it ever?! I’m the voice of reason in us two, you idiot! But why are you the brains of the operation, I’ll never understand.”

“Chuuya, if you bring me back as a mackerel and interpret my messages to the boss, he’s going to think that your muscles finally won and took over as the true control tower of your body. In simple words, he’d think you’d need to go to the looney bin and then he would make me sushi for Elise. Then she would eat me and then get dispelled. But since she ‘ate’ me, I’ll always be inside her and then your respected boss would no longer have an ability.”

His partner looked at him like he was an abomination worse than the puffer fish and he said,

“Well, how do you turn back?”

“This is your fault, slug. You always go on and on about how I’m a mackerel and look, all that suggestion finally worked. And you say that I’m manipulating minds and hypnotizing people.”

“This is not how that works. You just want to skip work. There was the show Elise watched, right? Little mermaid or something. She changed to human with a potion and later reverted back to a fish lady with time… so if we wait, you’d turn back into …human…?”

“I’ve become a fish now. I must join my kind and enact revenge upon the humans who fished us and hooked into our bodies to catch us for a prize. I will go and poison the sushi factory. If you stop me, I’ll go into your mouth and then we would be Soukoku in the most undesirable form- your stupidity and shortness coupled with my utter lack of brawn. Then I will neuter you from ever controlling gravity and the boss will wonder why did you do something this useless.”

“Why did the boss assign us to be in the same team? Why can’t I just tell him that you’ve gotten yourself into another fishy situation?”

“I think we’re a bit too closely aligned. I’ve become a mackerel and yet I can still communicate with you. You’re underwater, but you��re not drowning. I was hoping that all you hear would be blub blub, but you even got that I turned into a fish on the first try- aren’t you the one with the fishy attitude? You set me up, didn’t you?!”

“I’m not the one who spends every living moment in their live scheming to make someone else’s life miserable. In fact, if I let you slink away, I’m the one the boss would order to get your ass back to the headquarters. Like hell I’m going to let you make me have even more quality time with you. ”

When he made a grab for the huge fish, it slithered and escaped right through him.

“I see that you’re still a slippery little bastard.”

“You should rejoice, Chuuya. This is the only time I’ll be smaller than you.”

“Don’t you ever get tired about making a dig at my height? I’m tired of repeating myself. I’m going to be growing from now on!”

“The only thing you’ve been growing is your attitude.”

Chuuya stopped himself from retorting when he noticed something very strange.

“…You… for a fish, you swim strangely. Rather than calling it strange, it’s like you can’t swim at all.”

“That would make sense, since I’ve never learnt to swim. Why would I? Then I’d never be able to drown!”

“But… you’re a fish now.” And then he proceeded to give the fish a look of utter confusion.

“Yes. Did you know, Chuuya? When fishes swim, the dissolved oxygen brushes past their gills as opposed to our respiratory function.”

“Wait! You mean to say you can’t breathe right now?!”

“Wow, you’re unusually sharp today. You must have ceased being a hatrack the moment it floated to the surface.”

“I can’t believe I have to consider giving you a CPR and chest compressions to get you back to breathing! Why are you a fish?! How are you a fish?!”

“I should ask you the same question. Why are you a slug?”

“Wha-” then Chuuya looked at his reflection in those dead fisheyes and saw a four eyed slimy creature and all of a sudden, Dazai looked slightly bigger than him- like the status quo was restored.

Then he woke up with a gasp.

“It… It was a dream? … That shitty Dazai must have added a heck lotta hallucinogens and whatnot in my wine last night.”

He wondered briefly if this version of him was something his ‘slug’-self had dreamed up- a version of him that was human. Maybe soukoku had always been a mackerel and a slug. After all, that fish was oddly intelligent for a fish…

When he found Dazai on his quest to drag him alongside for soukoku’s latest mission, he briefly pondered giving the other a reason to wrap up both of his eyes in those mummifying bandages. Those eyes reflected like a mirror. And he would not trust anything that could show up in the murky, twisted eyes of the boss’s favorite pupil, the demon prodigy.

Especially if it shows a slug peering back. Maybe it was time the idiot got a new nickname instead…

#bsd fanfic #bsd fanfiction #soukoku #skk #crack treated seriously #crack fic #didn't quite cut it #so it's here now lol

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lindsaylouus · 4 years

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8 Maids a-Milking 🐄🐄🐄 (BTS - Jungkook)

A/N: Finally back on these, it’s been a hot minute, but let’s see what Christmas with Jungkook would entail!

It was Christmas Eve Eve. That makes sense, right? The 23rd of December was always reserved for you and Jungkook.

Two years ago, he’d surprised you with a short trip to Norway. You could finally see some snow at Christmas time, instead of grey clouds and rain. Last year, you went to Busan’s Christmas Tree Festival. You’ll never forget that beaming smile on his face; not only from being in his city, but from getting to share it with you.

This year would be no exception. You’d talked about where you’d both like to go and what you’d like to do, but you had both been so busy. The whole year seemed to have flashed before your eyes. You both had the best of intentions to organise something for your little Christmas tradition, but plans had yet to materialise.

After long days at work though, all you both wanted to do was chill.

You felt like you’d both had the same conversation a million times on those evenings, usually going a little like this:

‘Y/N, we need to plan something for before Christmas!’ Jungkook would suddenly remember, controller in hand, game suddenly paused, and a wide-eyed expression on his face.

Whilst lying spread out on the same sofa, legs over Jungkook’s lap and head hanging over the arm rest you’d look up from your phone.

‘Oh yeah! I can’t believe that’s the date already! We’ll definitely plan something. In fact, let me look now.’ You’d return to your phone with the absolute intention of getting trip inspiration.

However, five minutes later, you’d be adding to your endless ASOS wishlist and Jungkook would go back to beating the bad guys.

It was already December 19th, and you were heading back home from another tough day at work. You’d come to the conclusion that maybe a trip wouldn’t be on the cards this year. It was a sad thought, but so long as the two of you could see another Christmas through together, that’d be enough.

You turned the corner, key in hand, when you saw it.

What the heck is this?!

You stood there, mouth open, staring at the mini machine that was now parked in your driveway. You literally had to take a moment to make sure you’d remembered where you lived.

Nope, it was the right house.

At that moment, Jungkook swung open the front door and bounded up to you, like an excited little bunny.

‘Y/N! Look at that!!!’ He gestured toward the new vehicle outside your house.

‘I am, Jungkook...’ You were still a little dumbstruck, ‘umm, what exactly is it doing here? And where’s our car?’

‘Ah come on, Y/N, you know what a camper van looks like! And don’t worry, Jin has the car.’ His smile was unfading.

‘Wait, what? Camper.. Jin has the car?’ This jigsaw was not fitting together in your head at all.

‘Yeah, it took a little bargaining, but that’s OK. We just have to cook for him for the rest of the year, which is only another twelve days. Oh, and I have to let him win whenever we play games, which is totally not gonna hap..’

‘Jungkook!?’ You interrupted his little narrative.

You knew immediately that you’d been left out of yet another one of Jungkook’s Master Plans.

‘Here, let me explain...’ Jungkook took your bag, hurled it over his shoulder and gently taking your hand, led you inside the house.

After settling in your usual spots on the sofa, your boyfriend finally filled you in on some key information, and things were beginning to make some sense.

‘I just didn’t want us to miss out on spending some actual quality time together,’ Jungkook had explained, ‘we’ve been so busy and distracted, that even when we’re together, it’s felt like we’re apart.’ As sad as that was, it was true.

You curled your feet underneath you, and huddled into Jungkook’s side. He draped an arm over you and rested his head on yours.

‘No, I get it babe, I really do,’ you responded, ‘I just, never thought of camping, I guess.’

You had to admit, you were sceptical. Unlike your other half, you weren’t massively adventurous and despite how much you loved the outdoors, you’d only ever been camping once with your family.

It hadn’t been your favourite experience, and Jungkook knew this. He could clearly read your doubtful expression.

‘Don’t worry Y/N. That’s why I rented the van! No tents, no bugs and no cows to harass you.’ He couldn’t help but wink as he said this.

You weren’t impressed.

‘You still find that funny, don’t you?’ You sulked, but remained by his side, too comfy to move.

‘Anyone would find that story funny, Y/N, like seriously, anyone. But it’ll be an adventure, plus, I’ll be there to protect you from any rouge farm animals.’ He looked down and at you and bounced his eyebrows up and down.

You elbowed him gently in the ribs, but then preceded to tickle him.

‘Ah! Y/N.. st..stop!’ He forced words out between giggles.

‘I’m glad you find my childhood trauma so funny, Jeon Jungkook!’ You swung a leg round to clamber on top of him.

‘I’m s..sorry, I surrender!’ Jungkook flailed his arms trying to catch your hands in his, before you both almost fell off the sofa.

The ‘traumatic’ incident wasn’t exactly the worst thing you’d ever experienced, but it wasn’t the best either.

When you were little, your family went on a short camping trip. All was fine and dandy, until the second night, when a small gap was left in the zip up window of yours and your sister’s section of the tent.

You were suddenly awoken by, what you thought, was a terrifying beast breathing right in your face. You remembered being paralysed by fear, especially when the creature let out an almighty sneeze before retreating.

After further investigation by your parents, it turned out that it was just a rouge, and clearly curious, cow that had stuck its head through the zip opening.

Funny now, but when you were six, terrifying.

You’d had a weird feeling about camping ever since. Safe to say, you’d never humoured the idea since. And now Jungkook’s grand pre-Christmas plan was to do just that.

But were you going to turn him down? Of course not.

The 23rd rolled by and you both threw a couple days belongings into the van and set off for your ‘adventure’. Apparently Jungkook had found a site to park the van, where you could enjoy some of the countryside, before the hectic festivities began at home.

You cruised down roads and around bends heading to your destination. But you had to admit, even the drive there was so much fun. You blasted some Girl’s Day and had your own private karaoke session all the way there.

Now and then you’d just look at him. Smiling, relaxed and energetic, the same Jungkook you’ve loved for over two years. Despite the daily stresses of life that can make people drift apart, Christmas seemed to be the time of year in particular, that you both fell for each other all over again.

He caught you looking at him, whilst watching the road, he took your hand and kissed it, ‘I love you too.’

Dusk was gradually taking over the sky. A pastel painting of orange, yellow and pink.

You hopped out of the van and took a deep breath in. Maybe Jungkook was right about this. The air was so clean, you instantly felt happier.

Your boyfriend’s cooking skills were on point, as he set up a little fire to cook ramen for dinner, and not forgetting, marshmallows for dessert.

You couldn’t help but play Christmas songs on your phone as you both sat in fold out chairs, holding hands and watching the sun set.

Both of you talked more that evening, than you had the entire month. It was so refreshing to speak about things that you wanted to achieve in the new year, both together and independently.

Jungkook wasn’t always one to talk so openly about things that worried or burdened him. He was always more of a ‘suffer in silence’ kind of guy.

As his smooth voice echoed around you, you listened to his words, feeling unbelievable gratitude that he found solace in sharing things with you.

You had your head turned toward him, and you soon felt sleep take over uncontrollably, work and the travel had finally caught up with you. Your hand remained in Jungkook’s, where you wanted it to stay forever.

‘You’ve had such an impact on my life, you know?’ Jungkook began as he let his head fall back, he stared at the stars. ‘I never thought that I’d meet someone who I’d feel like this about. It’s kind of scary, right? But, in an amazing way. Like, I’m not afraid of the future, if you’re going to be there. I’m just afraid of messing up..’

He turned to you, to see your peaceful, sleepy self slumped in your chair.

He chuckled to himself, stroked your hand with his thumb and stared at the stars some more.

After a few moments he got up, and set the bed in the van for the night.

Maybe it was the slight noise he made, clambering around with sheets and pillows, maybe it was the music that continued to play through your phone, or maybe he was just in his own little world. Whatever the reason, he failed to hear the steps of something approaching your sleeping form.

You stirred, stretched and opened your heavy eyes ever so slowly..

‘AHHHHHHHH!!!’ You screamed, as you fell back in your chair, crashing to the ground.

Jungkook gambolled out the back of the van, to see you on the floor, ‘Y/N, what happen...’

As he looked up, he didn’t know whether to laugh or think that this was some elaborate prank.

A cow had appeared, what seemed, out of nowhere and had scared the living daylights out of you.

‘Seriouisly!!?? Seriously? Is this for real!?’ You shouted, still on the floor. Jungkook snapped out of his thoughts and helped you up. ‘What did I ever do to you, huh?’ You pointed at the cow, feeling like that six year old girl all over again.

Your tirade continued, ‘I don’t even eat beef, and you still harass me! Ugh, I literally cannot believe this.’

Jungkook, still not quite believing himself, that he was watching his girlfriend have a one sided argument with a cow, wanted to diffuse the situation.

He dramatically shielded you, putting himself in front of you, fists up, ‘Hey! Stop bugging my girlfriend, or you’ll have me to answer to! You got it?!’

Jungkook began to jump around, jabbing the air with his fists, making whooshing noises as he did so.

You burst out laughing, his humour making you realise how ridiculous this whole situation was. The cow, clearly unimpressed with the two of you, walked back off from wherever it’d come from.

After the whole ordeal, you were so ready for bed. Jungkook had set everything up to be as comfortable as possible. As you both snuggled up under a thick blanket, he began giggling uncontrollably.

‘Jungkook, really?’ You asked.

‘Y/N, you literally fell out of your chair,’ his giggling continued. It was too infectious, and you ended up joining in.

‘Think if we tell Jin this story, we won’t have to keep cooking for him?’ That just made him laugh even more.

‘Do you think it was the same cow?’ Jungkook asked.

‘I have no idea. I mean, it’d be a pretty old cow if it was. Probably wouldn’t be as stealthy as that one, it came out of nowhere!’

Once you’d calmed down and sleep began to softly consume the both of you, Jungkook murmured, ‘why did someone pull a cow’s udder?’

‘Huh?’ You really loved how random this dude was.

‘Who thought, let me see what this does?’ His eyes were closed, but his question was most likely serious.

‘Well, who ever they were, you should thank them. Because of them, we have banana milk.’ He smiled in response, but you could see how he was drifting further and further into slumber.

‘Jungkook,’ you whispered.

He moaned quietly with the last bit of energy he had.

‘I just wanted to let you know, that you couldn’t mess this relationship up, even if you tried. Even despite all the cow jokes I’m going to hear from you now,’ you chuckled softly to yourself, tracing his temple with your fingers.

He pulled you closer to him under the blanket and kissed you. There you both slept peacefully for the rest of the night, holding each other.

And not a cow in sight.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts fic #BTS jungkook #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fluff #Kpop Christmas #12 Days of Ficmas

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uniquedndcharacters-blog · 4 years

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DND Character: Terra

Dungeons and Dragons Character:

Name: Terra

Pronouns: she/they, pansexual

Class: Sorcerer, primarily uses fire spells

Race: Elf

Physical Description: Medium tone skin, and silver white hair. Mid twenties. Gray eyes with no pupil. Two light red fire tattoos coming down from her eyes as a reminder of her village. Thin build, and hair in a low braid, with a rose in her hair as well.

Background: Horrible plague swept through her village that slowly and painfully killed everyone off, including her family. Was the only survivor left from it in her teens, but her eyes turned gray as a result from it. Her village were of fire sorcerers, so she got the tattoos and uses fire spells in remembrance of her family and heritage.

The result of this has made her extremely over aware of her body. She must have it clean at all times, doesn’t like being near sick people, prioritizes potions of healing and medicinal herbs, hates being dirty, and is focused on being in top physical condition with both exercise and eating habits. To the point where she’d actually panic if forced to eat sweets. She is scared of being too weak to protect herself, and decaying sick bodies.

After the death of her family and village, she traveled from place to place to try and make ends meet, and ended up being a performer using her fire sorcery. Through roughing it, and the plague having her be temporarily blind, she is terrified of not seeing, whether it be in a tight forest where it’s hard to see surroundings, or where it’s super foggy and unclear. She wants to be in control of herself and her surroundings. She seems like a serious character to people she doesn’t trust, but deep down wants yet fears deep connections, and will use humor to diffuse situations if needed be.

Interaction Example:

Terra steps inside a bar, relaxed and poised as she sits down on the barstool. The bartender goes up to her.

“For you maam?”

She waves her hand dismissively, “Just a water, thank you. I’m just supposed to meet someone here.”

The bartender nods, and soon she’s sipping on her water as she looks around, a handkerchief on the cup. The person beside her starts coughing, and she instantly tenses. When they don’t stop, she abandons her water and quickly ingests a small herb to protect from illness as she pretends to stretch and sit down at a table, abandoning her water. She quickly prestigitates just in case.

Eventually, a man enters and notices her fire tattoos, and sits down. “Terra, I presume?”

She nods. “Indeed I am. I heard that you had an assignment for me?” He nods, and pulls out some paper for her to go over. “Just a small performance for the ruler of a small castle near us. Figured you’d appreciate the price.”

She takes her time, as she looks over every detail. “Looks simple enough, but what’s the catch?”

“Catch?” He asks cautiously.

She raises an eyebrow, and shows the price. “It’s a small castle, I highly doubt they’d be offering this much for me to perform. Why the large number?” He takes a moment to answer, “I, I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” She rolls her eyes, and looks at him with a deadpan expression. “You do realize that I’m not an idiot right? Clearly this performance is meant to be a distraction. What are you doing? Murdering or kidnapping?”

He tenses, and goes to a low whisper. “If you didn’t want to take the deal, you could just say so!”

“Oh no, go on,” she says loudly, so others can hear. “Please tell me how the ruler of this town is going to pay me more money to perform than their own salary, makes perfect sense to me! Doesn’t sound like you’re trying to bribe me to distract at all!”

He quickly tries to grab the paper from her hands. “Watch yourself,” he threatens.

She raises her eyebrow again, as she pulls the paper back so he can’t grab it. “You do realize that there is a warrant of arrest for someone with your exact features, don’t you?” she asks, voice still loud.

At this point, she has gotten attention from people in the bar. Someone looks closely and realizes that she’s right, and quickly leaves to get the proper authorities.

He draws out his sword, “You will pay for this.”

She yawns, and casts firebolt, quickly making the man back up as he tries to put out the fire. “You do realize that threatening someone in a crowded space is only going to make you look worse, don’t you?” she asks, unamused, as the proper authorities arrive. She gives her witness statement as he is arrested, and takes the payment for his arrest.

She celebrates by going on her midafternoon run, going to a small village that has a restaurant she likes in order to treat herself. She gets a very lean delicious meal with a salad, and happily eats as she looks at her surroundings and marks her earnings in a small little journal. Not as much as if I had taken that offer, but oh well. She muses as she puts the journal away, and sees a small little picture. Two moms, with her as a child and her older brother. She smiles sadly, as she gently strokes their faces. Love all of you. Hopefully the rest of today will go well.

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years

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Beer Run (a Dean/Cas fic guest starring our kids from Lebanon, 2.3 k, Coda to 14x16 “Don’t Go In the Woods”)

Where will Dean go to get the beer Jack was unable to pick up? He's not going to bother the liquor store for a six-pack, thinking a quick stop at the convenience store will be enough. But is beer the only thing he'll pick up? There are three kids there who seem to have something heavier for Dean to carry home. It's too much, and Dean is forced to call someone to help lighten the load.

(Read on Ao3)

Dean parks in the first open spot he finds, tugging the key out half way through Zepp’s ‘Stairway to Heaven’. Lugging himself out from the car, he speeds across the street and over to the convenience store. There’s barely anyone inside, however he recognizes three familiar faces by the counter. Each turn to stare as he enters and Dean waves to them all. A cocktail of emotions spills across their faces when they recognize him. Stacy shudders, fear flashing in her eyes before hiding it staring at her feet. Max bites her lip, wariness translated by the set of her shoulders. Eliot can’t snuff out the fire before Dean sees it. Fists tightening at his sides, his scowl causes any further friendliness to die on his tongue.

He moves on, giving the teens a wide berth on his path to the beer. It’s takes longer than he’d like to find his brand, too distracted by the tense atmosphere. He chokes on it like thick smog off a bad engine. When he finally finds the case of El Sol, Dean could slice through it with his silver blade. It gets denser the closer he walks to the counter.

Three sets of eyes watch him place the beer down on the counter. “Don’t worry,” he says, chuckling awkwardly, “I have ID.” The joke falls flat, each teen staring as if it were a baby bird pushed from its nest too soon. Dean stops laughing and instead digs his wallet out. But, par the course, he can’t do it fast enough. And when he does, Dean fumbles it and drops it on the floor. “Sorry, I guess I have performance anxiety –“

“Where do you get off?”

Dean startles, Eliot’s growl drawing his attention. He juts his chin out, arms hanging out on his sides like he’s ready to take flight. Max and Stacy are taken aback in shock. Max reaches for him, whispering, “Eliot, it’s not worth it –“

“No, I think we deserve to hear what he has to say!”

Dean glances between the two, shrugging. “I mean, I guess when I get nervous I try and diffuse the situation using humor… they’re not my best jokes but –“

“You think this is a game?” Eliot asks, scoffing, “That’s not what I’m talking about!”

He sighs, hands out between them in case Eliot’s powder keg burst. “Listen, kid I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, right. Like he didn’t tell you.”

“Who?”

“Jack.”

His heart skips a beat, the pure acid with which Eliot spit his son’s name out burning. “What,” he breathes, “What about Jack?”

Max takes the reigns of the conversation then. “You’re serious,” she says, “You don’t know.”

Eliot keeps glaring. “Of course he knows, Max, they’re all in cahoots together –“

“Eliot,” she hisses, “Stop it!”

Dean’s blood pressure rises, the flippant tone scraping at his nerves. The two teens keep arguing, and he has to slam his palm against the counter to stop them. “Listen, I don’t know what happened with Jack, and I’m not gonna know unless one of you decides to tell me, so…”

They wait a long beat before someone decides to talk. It’s Stacy who steps forward. She clears her throat and bats away the hand Max floats her way. “We ran into him the other day, right here. He was sweet, kind of odd but… well, after you and your brother saved us we thought it might be nice to hang out with him. Jack doesn’t seem like he hangs out with anyone his age.”

Dean nods, Stacy’s assessment fair and true. As nice as her story starts, he knows there’s a turning point in it. Otherwise Jack would have told them what happened instead of letting it slip between the cracks.

“So we’re all hanging out and he’s… trying to toss this sword thing.”

“He wasn’t getting it,” Max tells him, “It was kind of depressing, he did it for hours saying he could get it.”

“And he did, eventually,” Stacy says, “After he… after Jack made it fly.”

Dean’s eyes widen, “No…”

“His eyes glowed bright gold,” Eliot says, “Like some kind of monster.”

“Hey,” Dean barks at him, voice hoarse with terror, “he is not a monster.”

“But he’s something,” Max says, “And after he hit his target he kept showing off. Made his knife go every which way, had it circle us like a wasp. We tried to get him to stop but he wouldn’t listen and then he… then he –“

Stacy grabs her hand, squeezing it tight within her own. “I ran and he… he stabbed me.” Dean’s instinct takes over and he goes to check her over, but she jumps back at his advancing touch. He stills before reeling himself in. “Jack healed me but… but…”

“Why are you letting him live?”

Dean experiences whiplash with how quick he rounds on Eliot. He can tell from his posture the younger boy doesn’t regret his word choice. “Excuse me?”

“You hunt monsters, don’t you?” he asks, “Ghosts, vampires, werewolves, demons… angels? How can you let someone with that much power walk around with normal people –“

“Hey, you don’t get to speak about him like that!”

“And why’s that?”

“Because he’s my son,” Dean snarls, “And I’ll be damned if you think he’s a monster just because of his powers. He’s done a lot of good, saved a bunch of people. Jack… he’s…” Dean loses steam, shoulders slumping in on themselves as the weight of their story sinks into him. “It’s our fault, and we’re sorry. I know Jack is and… I am too. He was without his powers for a while, but he got ‘em back and he was eager to prove his skill. It wasn’t intentional and we’re… we’re working on it.”

“Well I don’t care if he becomes a master, I don’t want him anywhere near us,” Eliot tells him, “Do everyone a favor and lock him away.”

He storms off before anyone could stop him, stomping towards the back of the store. Max looks between her friend and Dean, not sure whether to leave Stacy with him or stand guard. Stacy pushes the beer towards him. “Just take it,” she says, “Please.”

Dean swipes his wallet and pockets it, using his other hand to grab the beer. On his way out he hears Eliot shout to him. “The Ghostfacers were right – screw the Winchesters!” The barbed comment barely pierces the shell Dean crawled into throughout the conversation. He focuses on his breathing the entire walk back to his car.

Sliding into Baby, Dean doesn’t start the car. His fingers can barely hold onto his keys, they shake so fiercely. He grips the wheel and slams his forehead against the leather. His breaths become more and more shallow, until he works himself into a panic attack. Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and he blindly searches for his phone. Dean pounds the number 2 and waits for the other end to pick up.

It’s barely past the first ring when Cas answers. “Dean? What are –“

“Cas,” he forces out between clenched teeth, “I need…”

“What do you need?”

“Talk me down, man. Please.” He’s desperate, weak, but Cas knows how to pick him up when he gets like this. Immediately his angel starts on a tangent about cows, having passed a dairy farm within the hour. From cows, Cas jumps to milk and other dairy products, discussing and ranking different cheeses. He asks Dean his opinion, and he does his best to answer. Once they move past that, Cas gets halfway through an argument about wine being the superior alcoholic drink before Dean can hear him without the tidal wave of his blood washing him out.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean stutters out, “I… I needed that.”

“I’m always here for you Dean. If I may ask, what happened?”

Dean leans back in his seat, carding his fingers through his hair. He whistles out a melancholy note before launching into the story. Cas remains silent through it all. “…I can’t help feeling that none of this would’ve happened if we were honest with Jack in the first place.”

He fiddles with the radio knob while waiting for Cas’s response. It’s a short beat before his angel speaks again. “Dean, you shouldn’t burden yourself with this.”

“A kid almost died –“

“But she didn’t,” Cas says, “Jack was able to heal her.”

“And what if he can’t do it the next time, Cas?” Dean cries, “We could end up with a Tombstone situation and when that happened he high tailed it out of there.”

“I think the only thing you can do now is watch out for Jack,” Cas starts, his deep rumble soothing the anxiousness in his mind. “There’s a reason he didn’t share this story with you, but you know now. You also know that he’s willing to lie about certain things so… maybe he won’t uphold his promise about using his powers.”

Dean bites back a gasp. “I… I didn’t even think of that.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Cas tells Dean, “This might not even be about his powers. This could have something to do with his… his lack of a soul.”

Kneading the space between his brows, Dean agrees with his angel. “It just worries me, y’know. Jack traumatized these kids, but I know he never meant to put them in harm’s way. We’ve been treating him like he’s human but Michael’s grace kind of… reset him, somehow. He’s practically a toddler, and we can only guess how this all affected him, what messed up ideas he absorbed.” Dean forces out a wet chuckle, “Can't even tell what he’s thinking nowadays…”

“Raising a child isn’t an easy thing, Dean.”

“I know,” he sighs, rubbing at his jeans now. His hands have flown all around his space, releasing all the nervous energy from his anxiety. Dean bites at his lip. “It’d be easier if you were here, though.”

Cas breathes out over the line. “I know.”

“When are you coming back?”

“Dean, I…” He knows nothing good will come with the next few words. “I don’t know.”

He tries to forces a smile, glancing up into the mirror at his ugly grimace. “Until the itch goes away, right?”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“I did call you in a panic, remember?”

“No, are you,” he drags it out, as if cherry picking the words from out the air, “were you okay with me leaving?”

In the comforting darkness, Dean finds no reason to lie. “I never am, Cas.”

“Dean?”

“Because I’m always wondering if you’re going to come back.” He never spoke his fears aloud, but they always existed. Hiding in the back of his mind, whispering and waiting for the moment Cas ultimately leaves. Dean figured that was over with, now that Michael was gone. They were waiting for him to forget, for him to feel truly happy before striking with vengeance. “I understand why you stay, when things are rough. And Sam was feeling better, Jack looked okay and I was free from Michael so we weren’t holding you back. Figured you might actually want to stay now that things were good and peaceful…”

“I’d like that as well,” Cas tells him, his voice bittersweet like a haunting love ballad.

“Then why don’t you?”

“I… I have my reasons.”

“Didn’t I give you enough of them to stay?” Early morning departures aren’t Dean’s specialty. Cas knew this, choosing it to make it easier for himself. Slipping out of their bed, gathering his duffel. Dean woke up though, caught him in the act. He couldn’t stop him though. But he hugged him tighter than he had before, clinging to his trench coat. Let his lips linger for longer than he does. Whispered a prayer for his safe return moments before slipping back into unconsciousness.

“Dean, believe me when I say that no matter where I go, I’ll always return home –“

“To the Bunker, I’ve heard it before, Cas –“

“No, Dean… the Bunker isn’t my home. You are.”

His heart leaps into his throat, choking out any noise.

“And before I can do that I need to see to a few things. Know that whatever I do, it’s to keep my family and my home safe, Dean.”

Dean covers his mouth with his hand, clearing his throat, doing anything to hide the delirious grin stretching across his features. “I… I trust you Cas, I do. You’re not going to share with the class though?”

“In time,” his angel says, “All I ask for is your patience.”

“Well you know better than anybody how much experience I have with that… especially when it comes to you.”

Cas chuckles, soothing the tight pit that gnawed at his stomach. “Thank you… and thanks for telling me.”

“Jack’s your son, too. Figured you’d wanna know.”

“I was talking about your true feelings… but yes, that as well.”

Dean blushes, “Cas…”

“Give him guidance, Dean, help him make the right decisions. I know you can do it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Until then.” Dean presses the end call button, tossing his phone to the side. It lands between the bench seat and his now warm beer. With the whirlwind of emotions tearing at his insides, Dean doesn’t care at what temperature he drinks his alcohol only that it does enough to knock him out. He’s already a little tipsy from his call with Cas.

It’ll be a long time before he allows himself the comforts of booze, though. When he gets home he and Sam will have a thorough conversation about Jack. He holds tight to the hope that it was a stumble and nothing more. A kid wanting to impress and biting off more than he could chew, it wouldn’t be a foreign concept to Dean. That thought sticks with him the entire drive back, other possibilities getting lost in the dust his Baby kicks up.

Dean doesn’t dare linger with them, in fear they’ll dislodge the already fragile scenario he has in place. If the truth is anything other than what he thinks, than Dean won’t know what to do.

And that’s scarier than all the monsters they faced.

#Supernatural #Spn #Spn14 #14x16 #Supernatural fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Spn coda #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfic #destiel coda #deancas coda

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gold-from-straw · 5 years

Text

Frozen Heart - ch5

Loki has a bad morning, but on the plus side, now Tony is well rested, he's able to recognise some accidental culture clash and resolve their awful misunderstanding! TW for panic attacks, blood, and accidental self-harm caused by a nightmare.

Read from the beginning on AO3 if you prefer! I’m tagging anyone who left a note on the previous chapter here as well, hope that’s OK!

Loki woke with a jolt, his heart pounding, nightmares of a frozen world and evil red eyes lingering in the fringes of his mind. He lifted trembling hands to cover his face, and nearly screamed.

He stumbled out of bed, his heart thumping, trying to get away from the vicious black claws, the blue skin that had haunted his nightmares since his childhood. He scratched at his arm, tore at the pale lines raised in the skin, whimpering and panicking, the quiet, calm voice inside now drowned out by the storm, and he couldn’t find himself, couldn’t dig himself out from under this hellish mask, this curse, this…

“Hey! Hey, Loki, please, calm, will you? Hey, look at me? I’m not going to touch you, alright? I just want you to look at the lights, can you do that? Can you breathe in with the light as it gets brighter? That’s great, keep going… OK, and now out. Like you’re whistling, purse your lips, yeah, just like that. Now in, feel it… feel it filling you up or… yeah, this is good. That’s great, buddy. OK, I’m just gonna… can I see your arms?”

Stark came closer, still holding his hands out in front of him and looking as unthreatening as possible. Logically Loki could see that he was veryunthreatening, a small mortal in soft clothing, hair still sleep-mussed and face pillow-creased, but with his heart still hammering inside his own chest, he couldn’t handle logic at all. He tugged his arms closer to himself, fingers slick with his own blood.

Then he looked down. The blood was indigo. He whimpered and pushed his arms out as far from himself as he could, staggering backwards, his breathing speeding up again.

“Hey, hey, it’s OK! I’ll get them fixed up, no worries.” Stark cupped his hands around Loki’s wrists, making a surprised hum. “Wow, you’re cold.”

Loki let out a burst of hysterical laughter that very nearly turned into a sob. How utterly pathetic. To have been reduced to a scared child, cowering in someone else’s room, terrified of his own appearance after a nightmare… Loki turned his face and closed his eyes. It was almost unbearable.

Stark tugged him gently over to the bed, encouraging him to sit. He left him there, staring down helplessly, hatefully, at his blue, bleeding arms. “Here we go,” Stark said a moment later, setting a bowl of water down by Loki’s feet. He took Loki’s wrist in his hand and started dabbing the blood away, staining the water an inky blue. Loki stared at the colour diffusing through the water and tried not to despair.

“There we go,” Stark said with a grin. Loki looked at his forearms, wrapped in pristine white bandages. He felt emptied out, like his heart had been excavated from his chest, leaving him dull and hollow. Stark’s smile slowly slipped from his face and he bit his lip. “Ah, do you… do you want to talk a bit?”

Loki blinked at him.

“Like, uh… do you maybe want to… were you trying to, um. Were you trying to hurt yourself? Is this, like, a self-harm thing? Because I won’t judge, I just…” He scruffed his hair. “Yeah, I’m not very good at this shit. Are you… OK?” He winced and looked at Loki sideways, almost as if he thought Loki would strike him for his question.

“No, Stark,” said Loki, his voice sounding very distant. “I am not OK.”

“Yeah, I kinda… got that.” Stark sat on his haunches and rubbed his face. “You know what? We need a load of breakfast. I’m thinking pastries and donuts, something that won’t go cold or soggy, and then I think you should tell me all about it. I mean, I can’t promise I’ll be any help.” He winced again. “Honestly, I’ll probably be shit. Like, worse than nothing. I’m not… the best listener. Or the best friend. But…” he shrugged and looked away like he didn’t care at all. “Yeah, croissants! JARVIS, could you order us, eh, I dunno, one of everything from Belle Maison?”

“Of course, Sir,” JARVIS replied.

Loki looked up in the direction of the voice. He had been introduced to JARVIS the night before, but this morning, after a night of somewhat effective sleep, he could cling to the fascination sparking in his chest, distract himself. “Is your companion made of magic?” he asked.

“What, JARV? Nah - or, well, he’s an AI - artificial intelligence. He’s made out of computer code and electronics and… stuff.”

“I blush, Sir,” said JARVIS dryly.

Stark just smirked. “I’ll show you the bots in a minute, it might make a bit more sense then. Assuming you’re still up for a bit of research in a while?”

Loki felt the cold flood through his system once more, ridiculous for a Frost Giant. He had forgotten during Stark’s treatment of him this morning that he was little more than a prisoner here. He was Stark’s research project, and nothing more - this had not been kindness, but a care for one’s tools. Loki summoned up a professional mask and nodded.

Stark blinked, his own smile faltering. “OK… OK, if you’re sure? Anyway. For now, do you want a coffee or something? I need coffee, I’m not human without the first one of the morning.”

Loki narrowed his eyes at him. “Hyperbole?” he asked.

Stark winked at him. “Only just. C’mon, Billy Goat Gruff, let me hook you up with the good stuff.”

Loki had hoped that the distraction of breakfast and coffee would make Stark forget his demand that they talk, but once they’d eaten a couple of the sweet treats, he tapped his fingernails on the polished stone of the high table he called a breakfast bar. “So, Loki-Doki, you wanna tell me your story? How did you end up in a crater on another planet causing snow in the desert?”

Loki closed his eyes for just a moment, put his pastry down on the plate and clenched his hands into fists under the table. “As you wish,” he said, his voice strained.

Stark frowned. “Hey, no, it’s fine if you don’t wanna tell me, you know? I just… thought it might…” He scrubbed his hair again. “I dunno, help? People are always asking me if I want to talk, I just thought it was the done thing, or something. You don’t have to.”

“No, I am yours to command.”

Stark made a face. “Not really, though.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Holy shit. Holy… did I say something? Was there a culture clash here? Have I like… I didn’t sign you up to be my indentured servant or some bullshit, did I?”

Loki peered up at him, surprised at himself that his head had ducked so low, that his shoulders were so hunched over. “You said you would give me sanctuary in exchange for experiments…”

“I did?”

“You did imply something along those lines, Sir,” JARVIS interjected.

Stark pressed his hands to his cheeks. “What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me, JARV?”

“I didn’t realise that Master Loki would take the combination of words in such a literal way. My apologies, Sir. And to Master Loki.”

Loki frowned. “You did not… but why would you take me in if not to-”

“I mean, sure, I wanted to study you,” Stark wailed. “But only if you wanted to find stuff out too, or like, show off… I don’t want you to be here against your will, holy shit, have I kidnapped you? Oh my god, I’m so sorry, shit!”

Loki blinked, shocked. Stark was apologising? To him? And in such distress! But Loki was nothing to him, here he was not even a prince, why would Stark care about whether or not Loki would choose to be with him? “I don’t… you do not have to…”

“I mean, I thought we were just gonna do some cool science together, I had no idea I was dragging you here like some sort of a threat, am I SHIELD in this situation? Oh my god, I’m basically Agent, guh, I’m gonna be sick, JARVIS!” He turned to Loki with wild eyes. “I am really, really sorry.”

Loki stared at him. There was a warmth in his chest, a spreading feeling he barely recognised. When was the last time someone had apologised to him? Someone of consequence, not a servant or a subject - and even then, they would always do so with gritted teeth. Loki knew he was unpopular. He’d never attempted to change that - it had always seemed so immutable a fact. Loki the trickster, don’t trust him, don’t listen, don’t spend any time near him in case he turns you into a goat.

“I would… I would like to stay,” he said, and he tried to hide a wince at how vulnerable his voice sounded. “I am interested in your science. In our differences.”

“Really?” Stark said, freezing in his distressed motions. “Are you sure, though? You’re not just saying that because I’ve, like, activated some hospitality clause I didn’t know about? You’re choosing to--”

“I am choosing, freely,” he said, swallowing and looking up at Stark. “If I am welcome, still?”

Stark’s face broke into a wide grin. “Hell, yeah, you’re welcome!” He let out a long breath. “Phew, god, that was awful!”

Loki’s lip quirked up. “Why was it so awful?”

“Well, I don’t know what life’s like on your planet or whatever, but we humans don’t like coercing other people.” He made a face. “Well, the non-assholes don’t. Yeah, actually, scrap that? I don’t like coercing people. I can’t talk for the rest of them.”

Loki grinned. “Your realm is not so different from mine, in that case. It sounds as if there are plenty of assholes in both.”

“I mean, honestly, I probably count as one of the assholes most of the time.” Tony shrugged. “Hey, do you want to go down to the lab now? I can show you the bots, and we can find out what your alien biology looks like on my holos.”

And just like that, Loki was reminded what he was, his freakish blue skin, the horns, the demonic red of his eyes. He held himself still, trying not to wince, trying not to react, for how could he explain this? He would just have to control his expressions, focus on the science. Because perhaps there would be something in Stark’s ‘lab’ which would help him to find his way back to his old - no, his true form.

But Stark stopped mid-sentence. “No? What? What is it? We won’t do anything you don’t want to,” he said, biting his bottom lip again.

Had he always been this obvious? No-one in Asgard would ever have noticed, but Stark had spotted his reticence at once - and Loki had been actively trying to hide it. Had his masks ever been as strong as he had believed? Or had nobody ever been truly looking? Loki stared at Stark, amazed at the perceptiveness of this small, sparkling mortal. “It’s…”

“I’m serious, Loki, we won’t do anything you don’t want to, OK?” Stark said, holding his gaze. “If there’s anything you don’t like, we’ll stop, no matter how far through the process we are, if there’s anything you don’t even like the look of, we won’t do it. And of course, I’ll put myself through everything you do - like, except for actually doing magic, ‘cause I can’t. Oh, and I can’t go into an MRI because of this,” he added, tapping the centre of his chest over the odd glow. “But you don’t have to do that either.”

Loki searched his face for any hint of a trick, any lie, and found only compassion. He swallowed hard. “I do not look like this,” he said, his voice nothing more than a croak. “I mean… not usually.” He looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists and feeling the sharp, obsidian nails digging into his skin. “I was Aesir - I am Aesir. I must be. But… during my brother’s coronation, I just… this happened. I turned into this… this monster, and now… now my magic is different, cold…” he took a deep, shuddering breath, the fear sending icy tendrils through every nerve. He looked at the table and gasped. Frost swirled out from every contact point with his skin, and he jerked his hands back in horror.

“Hey, hey, it’s OK,” Stark said, holding his hands out, placating the beast once more. “It’s OK.” He took a deep breath. “Hey, I know we said we didn’t have to talk, but do you want to tell me about it? And then… maybe we can get you back to normal?”

Tags from last chapter: @aformingsiren, @sketch953, @massivelandthingdonkey, @angrysockpuppetnoises, @ultra-rare-pegacorn, @redramzi, @senpaiweird, @giggling-breeze, @rarepair-collector, @saturnjuice, @kuree06 <3

#My writing #Frozen Heart #frozen AU #frostiron #tony stark #loki #loki/tony #hurt/comfort

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xmr-deity · 5 years

Text

Chris Rembrandt, What the Fuck?

Pairing: Remy x Villain!Male!Reader

Words: 1,487

Universe: The Adventure Zone: Commitment (Post cannon)

Summary: Remy needs to catch a villain, but the villain catches him first- in a different way...

Requested by: @youvesquel

It had been a few months since the whole ‘titanic’ accident, as Chris ‘Remy’ Rembrandt liked to call it. The day the ‘berg sank. Well.. maybe it was opposite titanic, but whatever. They’d gone off to the white house and given the ‘King of America’ to the president.. It didn’t really go as planned, and by that he means they were welcomed in for a cup of tea and Richard Poer was taken away while they were distracted. They have no idea where King Dick is now, but it’s fine.. Remy’s sure he’s fine.

The Do Good Fellowship was actually still thriving, some of the other people in there taking full charge, Mary actually taking most of the reins. So that’s how Remy found himself in this situation, racking his brain over this one villain they’d failed to catch, like, five times now. It was starting to get to the athlete.

He sat in his apartment room with Kardala and Nadiya both breathing down his neck as they tried to put clues together about where this villain might strike next. He hadn’t actually killed anyone yet, they were pretty sure, but he was really frickin’ annoying. Hitting up random spots and taking and/or braking things. One time they found him trying to interrogate the mayor of a tiny town in the countryside. But each time this guy keeps getting away, and Remy is determined not to let it happen again.

“What if he goes to that, ah, what is it called again.. Ah, yes, the pizzeria! What if he attempts to steal all of the Stromboli! We better go check there.” Kardala said, making Nadiya roll her eyes so hard Remy was afraid they might fall out.

“We’re not buying you more Stromboli.” She said, putting her pen behind her ear before she planted her hands on her hips.

“But this.. It is incredibly boring. We aren’t getting anywhere.” Kardala said, clearly getting increasingly agitated.

“Well it’s not like you’re doing much to help.” Nadiya snapped back, and Kardala raised a fist.

“I am the most helpful, demon!” The goddess cried, and Remy quickly stood up.

“Okay! Okay! Woah, woah, chill, okay? I think it is time for a break. Tell you what, I’ll go pick up some food- Stromboli for Kardala- and you guys can chill here, alright?” Remy said, hands up as he tried to diffuse the situation.

“I don’t want to stay.. Here.” Nadiya said, looking at the surroundings with disgust.

“Ouch.” Remy mumbled.

“I’ll take these files home and keep thinking. You all can stop for today.”

“But wait, then Kardala will return to the prison of Irene!”

“Yes, give the girl a break.” Nadiya said, gathering up papers and putting them in a manilla folder.

Remy helped clean up, mostly ignoring Kardala’s protests to not seperate, and they all headed out. The young athlete watched Nadiya drive away in her small, gray car and Kardala shifted back into a flustered and nervous Irene. Remy waited until a taxi showed up for Irene, and once she was gone he realized Stromboli actually didn’t sound too bad.

He walked down the street to his favorite little pizzeria, the bell jingling as he walked inside. He waited in line, idly thinking about what he knew about the villain.

1. They hadn’t killed anyone that they knew of.

2. They had also gotten powers from the Do Good Fellowship, but then got angry or something then left

3. Their power was the ability to create ice out of air

4. They were freaking annoying because they just had to slide away on some ice to escape.

Remy was pulled from his thoughts as he heard a rather out of place clink.

He turned to look at what made the noise and nearly had a conniption.

There was a boy sitting there creating ice cubes on his fingertips and letting them fall into one of the restaurant’s glasses. Just sitting there. At a table. Doing nothing.

“YOU!” Remy shouted, pointing at the casual looking villain, who jumped in surprise, looking over at Remy. Probably not one of Chris’s finest moments as a hero, but he was jittery and agitated. The villain got up from his chair so fast that it tipped over, and he made a brake for the back exit. Oh no, no, no no. That was not gonna fly with Remy.

The villain ran and Remy chased, the villain only just making it out to the alley behind the restaurant. He picked the wrong way to run as well, ending up at a dead end. Remy shouted, and the villain yelped, backing up against the wall just in time for Remy to leap. Remy cornered him, literally and figuratively, his hands on both sides of the villain’s head and his feet holding himself up on the wall on both sides of the villain’s waist. A four limbed kabedon.

“I’ve got you. Finally.” Remy panted, adrenaline rushing through him. The villain’s eyes were wide as saucers looking up at him, before a smile cracked on his face and he started giggling, which turning into laughing.

“H-Hey what are you laughing at?!” Remy questioned, letting his feet plant themselves back on the ground, leaning closer to the villain. The man Remy had pinned reached a hand up and gently pinched his chin, pulling his head forward and pressing a brief and yet somewhat passionate kiss to his lips. His lips were cold, but.. Super soft.

A blush bloomed across Remy’s face as he stared wide-eyed down at this villain he’d caught, but now he was starting to think maybe the villain had caught him. Because all it took to escape the astonished boy’s clutches was for the villain to gently push him aside and start walking away. Remy took the ‘L’ for today…

“Wait!” He called, and the villain paused, glancing over his shoulder. “What’s your name, at least??”

“(Y/n).” He said, then the ground in front of him was covered in ice and he was gone.

Remy’s eyes widened again, no expecting such an honest answer.. Though for all he knew he could have made it up, but.. He’d sounded pretty sincere.

He better tell Nadiya and Irene about this.. Tomorrow…

…

THAT WAS HIS FIRST KISS.

*****

-Several Months Later-

Remy spit blood out of his mouth, wiping at it as he brushed pieces of crushed ice off of himself, rolling onto his front. Fuck, that hurt..

In the near distance he heard the sounds of battle, Nadiya had turned her hand into a sword and (Y/n) had created a sword out of ice and they were fiercely battling.

This was what.. Their 15th encounter with (y/n) at this point? Remy was starting to feel things. And not just annoyance and anger.. Also.. well.. Maybe… affection..? (Y/n) was slippery, but he was also strangely polite to them each time, and he never hurt them too severely, and the only bad things he did were steal stuff and scare people. He was also super cute.. Remy couldn’t help it, okay! He’s weak for cute, smart boys!

Remy managed to get to his feet, feeling a bruise already start to bloom on his cheekbone. Ouch.

As his vision cleared up he could see down onto the main floor of the abandoned factory they were in, and he saw Kardala starting to approach the two individuals battling. She was raising her arms, lightning starting to crackle in her palms. Remy’s heart felt like it stopped, knowing just what she was about to do. And Nadiya had gotten a good few hits in on (y/n), the boy was not in the best shape. Remy didn’t think.

He leapt off the ledge where he’d been lying, aiming only for one person. He collided with (y/n) just as Nadiya dodged out of the way of the blast of lightning. It missed them by a hair, the two boys flying into a whole separate room because of Remy’s force.

It felt like time was moving in slow motion. (E/c) irises stared into brown ones, both their breathing heavy as they looked at each other’s hot, bloody, bruised faces. Their lips met and it felt right, soft, passionate.. And then they remembered where they were and all the adrenaline flowing through them and it got rough. Battling for dominance, rolling each other over again and again and again and again.

What finally broke them out of their trance was Kardala, cheering for Remy thinking they were still battling, Remy was on top at this point and quickly pulled away, looking back at the two women he worked with. Nadiya’s face was- first of all hilarious- but also a visage of pure disbelief, anger, and horror. Kardala just looked confused at why they’d stopped battling so abruptly. Nadiya cried out, (y/n) laughing his lungs out.

“CHRIS REMBRANDT, WHAT THE FUCK??!!”

#taz #taz commitment #x male reader #taz remy #chris rembrandt #remy x male reader #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #taz fanfiction #taz fanfic #the adventure zone #the adventure zone fanfic #the adventure zone fanfiction #he adventure zone commitment #fluff

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wilhelmjfink · 5 years

Text

“was” pt. 9

my fucking master list post isn’t working and idk wtf it’s issue is but here’s part 9 of i believe 11 or 12 enjoy~

also remember that i am far too lazy to edit these old stories that i am too lazy to post frequently i am sorry

Both Y/N’s and Negan’s mouths fell open in shock — there was a fraction of a second, she noticed, that Negan let his regular arrogance and confidence waver, just long enough for her to notice before the familiar sneer returned to his face.

Apparently, he was just as shocked to see him as she was.

“Holy shit, everybody! It’s fuckin’ Daryl!” Negan was beaming, though it was obvious through his eyes how furious he was, how stupid he must’ve felt being played a fool throughout Daryl’s absence at the Sanctuary, quickly realizing he was indeed losing control of the little empire he’d built up around him. He strutted toward Daryl who didn’t flinch, even when Negan shifted Lucille exaggeratedly from one shoulder to the other or when he bent down and just hovered inches away from his face. “Look at you,” he leered, eyeing Daryl up and down, unable to prevent his smirk as it quickly melted into a scowl as he did so. She knew he was referring again to Daryl’s fearlessness as it was always something Negan admired in him — it was why he’d taken her away from him in the first place.

And she knew that Daryl was scared… but couldn’t help the way her heart flipped inside her chest with joy and relief at the sight of him standing up for her. All she wanted to do was run to him and have him assure her that everything would be just fine.

Daryl was glaring back up at him pointedly, not blinking his eyes that hid behind his shaggy locks of brown, messy hair. He was dirty, he was exhausted, he was beaten and cut up and bruised; but he was the most beautiful thing that Y/N had ever seen.

“You and I have a lot of catching up to do,” Negan growled just low enough for Daryl to hear. He stood strong, though; even as the sole fact that Y/N was sitting in the corner of the room, alive and bright nonetheless terrified, had his brain screaming at him to go to her. Fuck, she had actually woken up. His fucking girl had come back to him. She had come back to him, and he was supposed to be basking in the relief that had shaken his body to the core. He could’ve wept with joy at the sight of her, living and breathing. But he refused to let Negan sense it.

Negan had a way of punishing people who wronged him by hurting what they loved instead of hurting the one who really deserved it.

“Stay away from 'er,” Daryl snarled, inching forward just closely enough to him to reinforce his words.

Negan’s white-knuckled grip twisted Lucille around irately, his head tilted in interest, features unwavering as he glowered down at Daryl. Footsteps approached behind them and slowed to a halt, Rick, Carol, Jesus and Michonne appearing behind them, with several other Hilltop residents forming an audience in the background being shoved aside by Saviors as they made their way toward the altercation.

Rick, of course, was the first to step forward, hands up in calming surrender, trying to diffuse the situation before it inevitably got out of control. “Hey… alright, let’s talk…”

Negan wasn’t hearing any of it and flung Lucille over from where she rested on his shoulder to pointed forward inches from Rick’s face threateningly without breaking eye contact with Daryl. “Hold it, Prick,” he warned. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, too, but I can’t help but feel like Daryl here is fucking asking for it.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ askin’,” Daryl snarled. At that, Negan’s smile returned as Daryl closed the last of the tension between them threateningly as one final forewarning before he begun to feel himself teetering over the edge of self-control. His voice dropped dangerously low. “I’m telling’ ya. One more time. Leave her alone."

“Daryl, Daryl, Daryl…” Negan taunted him, separating them slightly as he stood taller over top of him in an obvious effort to intimidate him. It almost had Y/N smiling because she knew that it meant Negan was beginning to get apprehensive. “I don’t think you understand. I care about Y/N. A whole lot, actually."

Stepping back forward to close the space Negan’d just created, Daryl strode forward aggressively, growling before cutting him right off. “Ya better fuckin’ choose your next words real carefully.”

“I want her to work for me.”

Daryl stiffened furiously, the flames in his eyes so harsh Negan could almost feel the heat radiating from them, but Y/N interrupted first, pushing herself upright from her wheelchair that she’d remained in for so long. “I would never work for you!"

“Alright, alright, calm yourself down,” Negan immediately disregarded her, holding his hand behind him to belittle her but calm her down nonetheless. “I’m just a little worried about how she’s healing is all, you know? I mean, can you blame me?” He was being dramatic as usual, not fooling anybody — still, none of the bystanders moved a muscle or made a sound, all too afraid to draw attention to themselves. Negan took notice and looked at all of the wide eyes on the faces that stared at him. “What? Oh — I’m sorry, let me clarify. I don’t mean work work,” he chided, relaxing back on his heels slightly as his sneer returned in full form. “I meant work, like, ya know…” He waggled his eyebrows, gleaming past Daryl as if he was clarifying to the others watching. “Freaky deaky."

And in the blink of an eye, Daryl fucking snapped.

He pounced like a tiger on Negan who, despite having a physique that towered over him, was taken by surprise at the archer’s audacity and was tackled to the ground. But he was just as strong as Daryl, and it wasn’t long before it had turned into a full on brawl between the two men.

Y/N shouted at them, pleaded for them to stop, begged Negan not to hurt Daryl as they fought like cats and dogs, snarls and growls and all, while his friends helplessly watched on.

Rick was fighting some sort of internal conflict on whether or not to interfere: every time he considered stepping in, Daryl seemed to have it under control. And when he didn’t, he wasn’t so sure Negan wouldn’t just kill him for doing so.

When they managed back to their feet, Negan hoisting Daryl up, they spun around once again in a whirlwind of punches and curses, grunting as they threw themselves at each other, Daryl slamming Negan up against the wall forcefully and getting a few solid blows in before Negan gathered his bearings and twisted them back around.

Y/N was horrified, mouth agape, mind reeling for a plan or an answer or anything to help her figure out what the fuck to do at that moment. God, she just wanted Daryl to be okay. That was all she fucking wanted. And she didn’t think it was too much to ask.

Negan charged him into the table, tumbling on top of him and landing several punches before Daryl brought his legs up and, fueled by fury and adrenaline, managed to kick him off though Negan had enough of a hold on him to drag him along as he stumbled backwards and through the bay window.

Daryl heard nothing but rain and shattering glass all around him and underneath it somewhere was Y/N screaming his name, but he could’t dwell on it for long because reality settled back in when Negan rolled over with a pained groan beside him but still managed to push himself up and dove back at Daryl to finish the fight.

It was a blur of colors and pain and Daryl was already weakened from the past week of the emotional torture he endured and lack of sleep and sustenance and normality. Negan was ruthless, his fighting capabilities matching his usual bad-boy demeanor, and Daryl was taking the brunt of his anger and knew that it was long overdue for them both.

But he had crossed the fucking line.

Daryl wasn’t even sure who he was in those moments: he couldn’t remember a time where he’d been so unfathomably angry, so blinded with rage that all he wanted to do was kill the man opposite of him. He wanted to watch Negan’s eyes as the life drained from him, as the realization of it all came crashing down on him and he got to linger in the last moments of his life terrified and bitter and miserable. His girl was in his peripheral, screaming as she was held upright by Michonne. He didn’t need any more fuel for the fire raging inside of him, but the sight of her could have driven him right to the gates of the Sanctuary to kill every single Savior with his bare hands if that was what she wants him to do.

With a newly found rage Daryl rose to the top once again as they rolled around on the damp ground, the collar of Negan’s jacket bunched in his left hand as he clocked him again with his right, the knuckles that collided with bones already scorching even through the knowledge that there was still no end in sight.

At least, not until the familiar chorus of cocking guns rang out, and once again he could hear Y/N call out for him, and it was clear as day.

Distracted by it all for just a split second Negan got one final hit in, knocking Daryl square across the jaw and sending him sprawled onto his back on the ground, laying still to catch his breath and basking in the relief the cool rain brought to the fire that was still surging through every nerve in his body as it poured down on to him.

In a second, Y/N was at his side, hovering over him and shielding him from the rain as she was quickly drenched in her own tears of terror and devastation. He groaned softly as she whispered comfortingly to him, shushing him, telling him to lay still and beg him to just do what Negan said.

God, he had never been so fucking angry in his life.

He reached for her pathetically, slowly losing his grip on reality as the headache throbbed with each beat of his heart and had him swimming around in the dark spots that plagued his vision. Searching for her, listening to her gentle whispers, the feeling of her soft hands caressing the sides of his face, that was all that kept him hanging on by that narrow thread. The fact that this was all he’d fucking wanted anymore, all that he’d asked for the last excruciatingly long week, was enough to keep him going on forever if it meant that she would be there by his side.

“Oh, God, Daryl,” she sniffled, leaning forward and pressing several delicate kisses to his forehead and swollen eyes and bruised jaw. “Why? Why did you do this?"

None of the dozens of Saviors that surrounded the scene fired at Y/N while she’d pathetically hobbled to Daryl, while Negan’s men helped him straighten back up on the other side. But when Rick or Carol or Jesus tried to move over to their injured friend, there was quickly several barrels aiming at them and halting them in their tracks.

And Negan was in pretty bad condition, too — his nose was spouting blood, drenching the front of him down to his white t-shirt that was now stained a deep red. A nasty cut above his eye brow had split open and he held it stiffly, obviously trying to stifle the pain, swearing to himself before he pushed himself completely upright.

“Line ‘em up,” he growled the simple direction to his men who immediately obeyed. One by one they forced the citizens of Hilltop to their knees and Y/N instantly went off, babbling hysterically to Negan as he observed the assembly before him.

“No, please, Negan! Please! I’ll do anything!” The look on Rick’s face as he was pushed down had her spiraling out of control, all too familiar, flashbacks of the last time they’d had to do this debilitating and shaking her to the core. "Please don’t hurt them! Please don’t hurt him!”

“It’s too late for sorry’s now, doll,” he growled in response, wiping some blood on the leather sleeve of his jacket. He was furious, and Y/N was quickly plunging into a full-blown panic attack, her hands latched on to the lapels of Daryl’s vest as she was yanked away by a burly Savior and forced to her knees.

Her hand clutched her stomach painfully where her wounds were. Daryl noticed and whether her cries were from pain or fear he had to try and help her and had to make it okay — but when he reached out to her he fell forward himself, weak and exhausted and beaten, using one hand braced down in the mud in an attempt to keep himself relatively upright while he tried still to catch his breath. Y/N sobbed helplessly at the sight.

It was pouring. Negan was mad. Y/N trembled in her spot, still quietly begging Negan to stop while he eyed the crew before them as they kneel motionless and silent.

“Wow, deja vu, am I right?”

He scowled every more so when nobody laughed at his poor attempt at his sick, twisted humor.

“I have tried so fucking hard to work with you people. I have given you so many chances, and you have beautifully blown every single fucking one of them like they were gigantic, thick fucking cocksuckers!” He seethed, his voice raising with every word despite being slightly skewed from the swelling in his face. “And now… oh, you fucking mother fuckers, now you are going to fucking pay.”

The smile returned and Y/N doubled over in some mixture of pain and hysteria, gasping as she tried to breathe. Again, Daryl forced himself to reach to her, yearning to feel her in his hands by offering her solace the only way he could think of, only to be torn away the second his bloody fingers brushed against her hair.

She screamed as it happened, instinctively reaching out for him as the Saviors yanked him away and forced him back to his feet, having to drag him like a rag doll since he was still recovering from the fight.

Lucille was shoved harshly into his chest and he grunted. “Congratulations, Daryl. You’re the lucky winner of the night.” There was no longer any hint of humor in Negan’s words as he motioned dramatically to the crew of Daryl’s family before him. "Pick your mother fucking prize.”

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