#*shakes Quincy by the shoulders* what is your DEAL
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Hi mi amor! could you do a luke x reader based off of Light Year by Gregory Alan Isakov
I ADORE THIS!! TYSM FOR REQUESTING!
Light Year
Luke Castellan x Daughter of Athena!Reader
Summary: Toxic relationship with Luke Castellan.
Warnings: Cursing, Toxic relationship, Luke being an Ass, Mentions of a S*x tape. (+ FEMALE RAGE)
Author's note: This was requested, i did a research abt Gregory Alan Isakov's song 'Light year' and it FITS Luke's character as a boyfriend!! (Since it's about a toxic relationship)
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I woke you up with poetry and stones The ragged and the bones Strewn around the room.
Flashback
"What the actual fuck" You mumbled angrily as you scanned your once organized cabin, now looking like a monster just rummaged through it. Luke was passed out on your bed, his shirt riding up a little bit, His face with unfamiliar kiss marks. Bottles of empty liquor and empty beer cans thrashed around the floor.
After leaving a week or two to visit your mortal father in new york, Instead of being greeted by a clean cabin to sleep in after hours of traveling, You were now kicking every empty beer cans in your way, You adjusted you tote bag that sat on your shoulders heavily, Your hair in a clip, Your eyes with dark circles.
Taking care of your mentally deranged father and his children with another woman wasn't exactly the kind of weekend you wanna spend, But you have no choice after all, It's either your step siblings starve and die or take care of them, and now here you are, With Luke Castellan, A grown teenager treated like a damn baby.
"Luke wake up!" You hissed as you shook the your drunken boyfriend awake, He groaned and mumbled a string of curses before sitting up the headboard. The sunlight passing through your self made daisy patterned curtains.
He looked around and sighed "I thought you'll be back in another week, sorry baby" Luke whispered before leaning in to give you a kiss, But you stepped away, That made the boy roll his eyes, clearly annoyed. He knew what was gonna happen.
"Come here baby, you know i hate that fucking attitude" You scoffed, a silent one before slapping him, Fast and sharp, a red mark appearing on his cheeks.
"You're telling me first which slut you brought here" You gripped his collar, showing himself the kiss marks made by someone, But Luke just chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Just Quincy from Aphrodite, She's a good kisser unlike you, too bad she left early-"
You shut him up with another slap in his cheeks, This time there were tears streaming down your cheeks.
"YOU HAD THE FUCKING AUDACITY TO THROW A PARTY WHILE IM GONE IN MY OWN CABIN WHILE HOOKING UP WITH A GIRL, LUKE, I WORKED YESTERDAY 13 HOURS STRAIGHT WHILE CHANGING MY SIBLING'S DIAPERS! HOW DO YOU THINK I'LL FEEL?! ALL I WANT IS TO REST AFTER AN EXHAUSTING DAY" You screamed, Uncontrollable rage filling you inside.
"It's not that big of a deal, You're being dramatic" Luke said calmly, as if you were a joke to him.
You were shaking in fury, You love him, you really do.
But sometimes..His attitude is insufferable.
"Fine. Where's my paycheck then? I sent it to you yesterday" You asked him, Yet again, The dark haired boy shrugged.
"Spent it all on beers and sodas"
You felt weak, You don't why, but this is just too much.
So you cried.
"All of it? MY 150$ PAYCHECK THAT I WORKED FOR?" Your voice raised higher, but Luke towered over you, underestimating your small frame.
"Yes, You've got a problem? Don't you ever give me that attitude, I'm the one who got you enrolled in that fancy university that you can't stop talking for months baby, Once i sent them that one video tape of you, You're done" He blackmailed you, Luke smirked as he watched your expression changed.
Of course, Your video tape with him..that video was from three years ago when you two were young and naive and decided it's best to film your first time with luke. Not knowing he'll use it against you.
Over and over again.
You cowered a little bit, mentally rolling your eyes before leaving your cabin, slamming the door shut.
__
I recall another hazy May Take a round in the ring Gone hungry for the win
Flashback
"Do you think we'll be soulmates in every other universe?" You whispered, Luke's muscular arms wrapped around your body as he pulled you close making you giggle softly.
"We could have been" He replied, fidgeting the hem of your yellow summer dress with daisy patterns all over. You two just officially became a couple, He couldn't get enough of you, kissing you everytime and holding your hands proudly. You felt loved and safe.
But you didn't answer, instead, You kissed him, pure of love expressing your undying loyalty to him, He found himself kissing back, gripping your waist, holding you closely.
"I love you so much" He whispered.
And you found yourself melting into his touch.
But then your relationship lost all its sparks.
No more kissing each other every morning or holding hands while striding at camp, It was more like arguing every day over little things.
"Stop it! What is wrong with you?!" You screamed as tears poured down your cheeks, You watched Luke smash another vase, the loud sound clattering.
"You are my girlfriend! you will do as you are told! if i saw you with that boy again i swear to the gods- " He yelled, you cried harder, you covered your ears as he begin yelling again, but then, you felt a sharp pain engulfing you, Luke grabbed your hair, almost pulling it out of your scalp, He dragged you outside your cabin before hurling you down your cabin stairs, you fell and you fell onto the fence, your ribcage caught the most of it.
Not even a day later, you sat in the infirmary, with yellow-ish purple bruises all over your body.
"Are you okay, baby?" Luke's sickly sweet voice asked as he caressed your tear stained cheeks, as if tho he wasn't the one who brutality beaten you.
" 'm fine" You mumbled, fidgeting your skirt, Luke then gave you flowers, Fresh daisies from the gardens of demeter's children.
You smelt the fragrance of the flowers, before feeling another tear roll down your eyes.
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Heres the part I just lose everything I cracked a spark just to hear you sing Sing
Flashback
"Surprise! Happy Anniversary, Baby!" Luke said as he untied the blindfold, You were greeted by a small, romantic picnic near the lake, Luke gripped your shoulder's from behind before pressing a kiss on your neck.
"Don't you like it?" He asked, Caressing your long hair at the process, But no, You didn't liked it. Even tho he had put so much effort in this simple picnic, you never felt sparkes like before.
Swallowing your distaste, You nodded before being dragged on the picnic blanket by luke, your sandal crunching on the fallen leaves and rocks.
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I took it out The papers and the trash Old among the cans This golden love gone bad
Flashback
"Sweetheart, I'm so sorry..." Luke whispered, You didn't listen.
Instead, you continued packing your things, shoving clothes after clothes inside you bag, not caring if your freshly ironed clothes came crumpled.
As he tried to touch you, you pulled away angrily.
"You wanna know something? I would rather prefer my dangerous freedom over this peaceful slavery you had done to me" Your eyes met his, but then, You saw him smirk, and pulled out a digital camera, Your loud, wonton moans echoing as he turned the volume louder.
"Freedom over shame? I thought you knew better, baby" He said, you felt your breathing ragged, your hands trembling as you threw you bag on the floor.
You looked around before snatching the camera and breaking it, But it seems like Luke wasn't bothered.
He clearly did something with your tape.
Sensing that you've known, He smirked and started laughing manically. His dark laughter echoing through the cabin walls.
You lost hope now.
Feeling defeat, you slumped your shoulders and fell, You knelt at his feet gripping it tightly, your fresh hot tears dripping on his feet.
"Please" You whispered, Luke just looked down at you, his gaze seemingly judging you. You sobbed harder, pressing your nose against his feet.
"Luke, not this again, Luke, Please, Please"
"Promises are Promises, Baby" The dark eyes boy said, before leaving you.
__
Shined it up Aiming at the sun Just a light year from us Hop a cab ride and we're off
And all the ravens came along to play The simple notes you sang just went astray
Flashback
"I'll be going"
"Okay"
You stopped.
"Just 'Okay' ?" Luke sighed and slammed the book he was reading just, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
"Yes, Do you expect me to kiss you? Fucking hell you're just going to visit your family, it's not like you're going abroad for fifteen years" He mumbled and leaned against the headboard of his bed.
You just nodded, tears stinging your eyes, threatening to slip.
"Do you want me to buy you anything? Snacks? or mayb-" He slammed his fist into his bedside table, the sound of his lampshade and coffee mug clattering made you flinch.
"Can you just- please shut your damn mouth?"
"Fine." You stormed away, leaving Luke again.
You two weren't always like this, As you stepped outside the camp barrier, You got a glimpse of the Hermes Cabin once more before leaving.
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Everything was up, its coming down Everything was up, its coming down Coming down
Flashback
You ran around, Dodging attacks and trying not to trip over dead bodies on your way, You couldn't even believe that Luke did all this, The rise of Kronos. The lightning theif.
When you saw him in the distance, Holding a scythe in hand.
"Luke" You called him, with your sweet melodic voice, He turned around, The first thing you saw was his scowl, Then you felt a sharp pierce on the side of your belly.
You barely saw it, But a Chimera had sting you. you gasped, the pain barely registering before you fell down on the cold ground, The blood had dripped, making a scarlet pool right beside you, as you laid down the cold ground, Luke appeared in front of you, Wearing the same evil smirk.
Your hair was scattered in all directions, You truly looked like an angel, With one last kiss on your forehead, Your eyes went still, and before darkness had engulfed your vision, You heard luke say;
"Sleep well, My dear Y/n"
A/N: I researched about the song Lightwork and did the best i can to match the lyrics and story! But i do hope you guys like this!!!
#percy jackson#percy jackon and the olympians#xy/n#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#charlie bushnell#pjo series
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Okokok I know I said I was going to bed and this will probably sound like nonsense because half of my brain shuts off whenever I get too sleepy BUT. I know I gushed about Scu a bit but I also really like Quincy (the Scrybe) too. Not in the same mushy cartoon heart ba-dump sound effect way I like Scu but more of a "I want to know what the heck your deal is (affectionate)" way. Like. How did this happen to you dude. Why did like every ghost in a mile radius look at this guy and go "you. I like you" and why is he so chill about it. Like I know something something GameFuna and DATA shenanigans but man you have so many ghosts in and around you that I'm pretty sure the house from Poltergeist would blush. Is he just chill because this is normal to him or what. Also while I'm thinking about it like I feel he should have reasonably died like 3 times during the story and from that bit of background story we got it sounds like he's chronically near-death all the dang time like good Lord it's a good thing he has the other Quincy to help him out. Kind of makes me wonder if he died at some point and just hasn't realized yet but that's probably me looking too much into things again
ANYHOO yeah I should go to bed now but in summary I like Quincy (Scrybe) as a character a whole bunch and want to put him under a microscope. He also reminds me of one of my own OCs so that might have something to do with it
#*shakes Quincy by the shoulders* what is your DEAL#ok yeah sleeping now brain steadily turning to mush#but yeah Quincy reminds me of Leviathan so that's an added bonus lol#sorry for the brain vomit Dynam
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awesome thank you!! if it’s not too much, could you possibly write a sam holland imagine x a reader who is dealing with postpartum depression? i understand if you don’t feel like it or it makes you uncomfortable :) please take all the time in the world, absolutely no rush!
This is so cuteeeeeeeeee
You were distancing yourself from Quincy and Sam. Your baby girl was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. She looked just like her daddy and that man loved her more than anything. But recently, you'd felt that everything was your fault and the growing chores were triggering your anxiety. You'd snapped at Sam all day today and watching shock flash through his hazel eyes and hearing that awkward little affirmation afterwards made your heart hurt.
Sam pokes his head into the bedroom,
"Hey love, dinner's ready and… I'm out of milk in the freezer. If you're up for it, Quinn's gonna need a feed." He tells you as calmly as possible. You hum, chewing your lip,
"Yeah… okay." He shoots you a reassuring smile,
"Want me to bring your food in here?" He asks sweetly, your heart aching again. You shake your head,
"No… if it's okay with you… I'll eat out there… with you… if you-"
"Yeah, no, of course. We can eat like a little family. C'mon love." He holds his hand out which you take and follow him down the hall. He sits you at the dining room table, holding Quinn put to you hesitantly. You smile up at him reassuringly, something he returns. He sighs,
"I uhh… I'm glad you decided to join us." He tells you. You nod,
"I just… wanted to keep my distance from you with the… snapping and all. I felt bad." He shakes his head, dishing up dinner as you free yourself from your bra and let Quinn latch,
"Don't ever feel bad. I get it. Your postpartum is going to kick you down a lot and I get it and I just wanna support you. I don't really care how much I get snapped at as long as you two are taken care of." He reassures. You purse your lips, holding your little girl to you as she suckles, staring down at her. He approaches you with a plate, stroking your hair down,
"I don't really care about being yelled at. I just want you and Quinn safe and happy and not saying that you would, but I don't want you hurting her or yourself." He reasons. You sigh, closing your eyes with your head leaned into his lean body. He continuously strokes hair over your shoulder, leaning in to kiss your cheek softly,
"No matter what you do, I love you more than anything on this earth. You and our little girl are all that matter to me and if I have to endure some yelling at, that's all fine by me." He tells you. Sighing, you take his hand and kiss the back of it,
"You, Sam Holland, are the absolute best. And I don't know what it is about you that makes me so emotional." He smiles,
"Its the dashing good looks." He jokes. Rolling your eyes, you let him collect his food, coming to sit just beside you, your feet wrapping around his calf. And just like that, for an entire meal, you eat like eat like normal, little, cute family.
#sam holland x you#sam holland x y/n#sam holland imagine#sam holland smut#sam holland#dad!sam holland x yn#dad!sam holland x you#dad!sam holland x reader#dad!sam holland#dad!sam#sam holland blurbs#sam holland blurb#blurbs
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Erich/Kisuke/Alexis: Soulmate AU + Character in Peril Part 20
The world is quiet when Erich swims back to awareness: no gunfire, no shouting, no noise, just quiet-safety-peace.
(Quincy wards hum in the back of his mind, protection-reassurance-warmth.)
(He’s home.)
(He home, he’s home, he home!)
Erich takes a careful, shallow breath, braced for pain, but— it doesn’t come. Just a slight tugging at his side, more like fresh scar instead of fresh wound, but that’s… that doesn’t… Degurechaff isn’t a healer and neither is Alexis—
But Urahara is, he remembers abruptly.
(If Urahara has healed him once again, after all the suspicion, all the fear…)
Erich grimaces. Tries to lift his hand—
Realizes that there’s someone at his side. Someone holding his hand, their grip tight-desperate-unwavering even though their breathing is the quiet-even-calm of sleep.
He tilts his head towards the other, slowly prying his eyes open—
Stares blankly at the mop of flaxen hair that meets his gaze. Wonders what he should feel, wonders if it should be a surprise that it’s Urahara asleep at his side, holding his hand as if the moment he lets go, Erich will disappear.
Erich contemplates Urahara for a long moment, debating nudging the man awake, then sighs softly and lets his eyes drift closed again.
(He’s too tired to deal with this right now.)
(He’ll just… rest a bit more.)
(Just a few more minutes…)
\\\
“—to you in time,” Alexis is saying the next time Erich drifts awake; she sounds tired but confident, without any indication of worry that he can sense, and it’s… it’s good to hear. Good to sense.
(They’re safe.)
(They’re all safe, and Urahara is here, which means Alexis has done what he’d been dreading and oh, he’s going to need to apologize for that, for getting injured, for failing her, but for now… for now they’re all safe.)
“Mmm, but until then…” Urahara murmurs, his words trailing off with a quiet sigh as his hand tightens slightly around Erich’s and his presence shades towards doubt-worry-exhaustion. When Erich squeezes Urahara’s hand in return, the man freezes then swiftly leans in and asks, “Rerugen-san? Awake?”
Erich hums in agreement and reaches up to rub the grit from his eyes, trying to force his brain back into gear after… however long he’s been asleep. “S’matter,” he asks in concern, then wrinkles his nose and tries to clear his throat, annoyed at how rough his voice sounds.
“Ah, no, nothing—”
“The Clan is torn between ignoring him, being afraid of him, and wanting him to leave,” Alexis cuts in before Urahara can continue deflecting. When Erich turns his head enough to give her a questioning look, she snorts and shakes her head. “No one’s done anything— he saved your life, after all, and everyone could sense that, so it’s making things difficult for the hardliners to stir sentiment against him, but everyone’s… a little jumpy.”
Erich grimaces, knowing that ‘a little jumpy’ is likely to be an understatement, and wonders what — if anything — he can do about it.
(Very little, probably.)
(Damn.)
Discarding that line of thought for the moment, he carefully begins to push himself up, mindful of any lingering soreness or aches. Urahara even reaches out to help, his free hand settling between Erich’s shoulder-blades as a brace. His touch lingers as Erich settles, warm-steady-gentle in a way that Erich… finds he doesn’t particularly mind. The change is… odd, but at the same time…
(Power sheltering him, healing him, echoing trust-home-loyalty as it does.)
…at the same time, maybe it isn’t such a surprise.
Erich gives Urahara a thoughtful look, wondering at the emotions he sensed, then sets his curiosity aside for the moment, inclines his head and says, “Thank you.”
Urahara starts and drops his hand away from Erich’s back. “I… it… don’t, uhm…” he swallows and ducks his head, switching to Akitsugo to say, “I should have been at your side instead of leaping ahead. I’m sorry, Rerugen-san, because of me—”
“Stop,” Erich orders with a frown, disliking the twisting snarl of guilt-discomfort-regret that he can sense from Urahara. “Has Degurechaff been snapping at you?” he asks, wondering if this is just the result of Urahara’s own self-worth issues or if Degurechaff has made things worse.
(He wouldn’t put it entirely past her, either accidentally or on purpose.)
(Sometimes she can sound significantly harsher than she is, and Urahara won’t know how to differentiate those times.)
Urahara hesitates, clearly debating his next words, before lightly squeezing Erich’s hand and saying, “Degurechaff-san has said nothing more than the truth,” with careful, solicitous blandness.
“You are not responsible for me getting injured,” Erich snaps, infuriated by the very thought; he hopes Degurechaff hasn’t actually blamed Urahara for what happened — as much as she seems to despise Urahara, she’s not often given to blatant lies — but if she has…
(No, he shouldn’t jump to conclusions.)
(Until he knows exactly what she’s said to Urahara, he can’t assume anything.)
(Not with how Urahara has reacted to other things that have happened.)
“Erich…?” Alexis prompts as she steps closer, settling on the edge of the bed and looking between the two of them in concern. “Is there something I can help with?”
“Just a misunderstanding about fault,” Erich replies, then makes a pleased noise as Alexis hands him first his glasses and then a glass of water. He puts his glasses on, then takes the water glass and takes a sip, using that moment to put his thoughts back in order; there’s nothing to be done about Urahara except to be patient and reassuring — he knows exactly how pervasive thoughts like that can be, after all — but there are other things he can — should! — be handling, now that he’s awake. “How long have I been out, and how are my men?”
Alexis sighs and shares a commiserating look with Urahara — and when did the two of them form an understanding like that? Surely he wasn’t out that long! — before she says, “About two days, give or take. I’ve gotten most of your men squared away in the hidden caverns, and our healers have begun doing their rounds; you might lose a few more of your worst injured, but Kai seems to think the rest will survive and make a full, or mostly full, recovery.”
He breathes a sigh of relief at her words, pleased that at least something is going right. On the other hand… “Two days?” he asks with a touch of disbelief. “Did I really… that seems a bit excessive.”
Alexis arches an eyebrow at him, then pointedly jabs her finger against the new scar down his side, making him twitch away. “Does it now,” she drawls, expression warming as she flicks a glance at Urahara when the man snickers. “I have no idea why you’d think that.”
“Two days, Lexi! That isn’t just— I’m healed, surely I didn’t need two days of rest!”
“No, you need significantly more than that, but we couldn’t get away with longer, not yet,” Alexis retorts with a scowl, then sighs softly when Urahara reaches out with his free hand to brush against her arm. She moves to catch Urahara’s hand in hers, linking their fingers together, and murmurs, “Thank you, Urahara.”
“Welcome,” Urahara murmurs back, head ducked a bit and color dusting his cheeks, then slants a careful, wary look at Erich as if waiting for a reprimand.
Not that Erich is interested in reprimanding his two soulmates for getting along; he regrets that the cause is likely their shared worry for him, but… but at least something good came of the whole mess.
(He’ll take what few shreds of hope he can get, after everything he’s survived so far.)
(He’s learned that lesson far too well.)
When the wary look in Urahara’s eyes only grows when Erich doesn’t immediately react, Erich clicks his tongue and prods warmth-understanding-thankfulness at Urahara through their connection, pleased at the way Urahara blushes and starts to relax in response.
“I would have appreciated being awake for our arrival and the fallout of our decisions, but what’s done is done,” Erich tells them dryly once the danger is past, making sure to keep acceptance-understanding-warmth towards the surface to prevent another misunderstanding. “Everything seems to have worked out, at least.”
“You… needed sleep,” Urahara says a touch awkwardly, blush beginning to fade again. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, then carefully adds, “Degurechaff-san… woke. When you fell. Her strength was… too much, with no warning.”
Erich purses his lips and tips his chin down, dredging through his hazy, scattered memories, but… he can’t remember much past the start of the ambush, the blazing agony of his wound, and hazy sense-memories of Urahara’s power sinking into his body.
It’s not much of a surprise — battles are always a bit of blur, especially if he’s been wounded during them — but he still despises how fallible memory can be.
“Even our Clan felt her fully awaken her powers, over a day’s march away,” Alexis tells him, a tiny, crooked smile on her face. “It was strong enough that she drove no few of your men to their knees under her fury, back where I was waiting with them. She is much stronger than I expected.”
Erich stares at her blankly, unable to process the idea of Degurechaff being strong enough to send a division to its knees when she wasn’t even standing in front of them.
(He did this.)
(He created this… this monster with his poorly thought decisions!)
(This is his fault—)
Pain sparks in the palm of one hand, snapping him from his thoughts, and he casts a wide-eyed look at Urahara.
“She was on the cusp of waking for as long as I was following you,” Urahara says firmly, before Erich can gather his scattered thoughts. “The timing was regrettable, but it would have happened eventually.”
“I started her awakening—”
“For as long as I was following you,” Urahara repeats with a frown, leaning in a bit as he does. “Rerugen-san, I sensed the moment you let your strength free, and while it did help her become aware of her powers, they were there before you did that.”
“I showed her—”
Urahara snorts, freezes briefly as his mind catches up with his actions, then swallows and carefully says, “Rerugen-san, she might have known how to weaponize it because of you, but an outpouring of strength like that is one of the first things people tend to do. It’s a natural reaction to suddenly grasping at power they don’t know how to control. I don’t know if it happens differently amongst the Quincy, but even Shinigami tend to do it when we reach a new stage of our abilities.”
Erich inclines his head slightly in grudging acceptance; he doesn’t know if he entirely believes the man about it not being his fault, but he’ll admit that he’s unfamiliar with how regular humans awaken to their spiritual powers. It sounds logical enough, but Quincy don’t (usually) have such difficulty, since they’re often born with spiritual reserves that slowly grow as they do. Desperation can cause something similar, but even then…
Well, he supposes it doesn’t matter.
Whether he’s at fault or not, it doesn’t change the fact that it happened, and that the fallout is now his responsibility.
“I’ve been giving her more focused lessons, now that your men are squared away and there’s less for her to do,” Alexis says before Erich can ask. “She’s a gifted student, though it’s probably best if she masters the basics before trying anything more advanced.”
“Given what you’ve said happened, control is probably a good emphasis for now,” Erich agrees with a wry smile, then gently pulls his hands free from Alexis and Urahara’s grips and nudges the two back a bit. “Is there anything else I should be aware of?” he asks as he shifts to the edge of the bed and sets his feet on the floor, then repeats the question in Akitsugo just to make sure Urahara understands it.
“No for me,” Urahara answers with a small shake of his head.
Alexis hums slightly and taps something at her hip, drawing Erich’s attention to where Benihime is bound to Alexis’ belt. “If the two of you aren’t bothered, I’ll keep hold of her for the moment,” she says, looking between them. “At least until Erich’s been pronounced healthy by Kai.”
“Ah, it’s… good,” Urahara pauses, considers that, then corrects with, “Fine?” before shrugging awkwardly and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Benihime is… uhm…” He frowns, then turns to Erich and says in Akitsugo, “Benihime’s starting to like both of you a bit, so… either of you can carry her, at least, uhm… at least as long as you don’t separate us by too much, or try to attack me or… or things like that.”
“So regular common sense limits,” Erich replies with a touch of amusement, then asks, “How far is too far?”
Urahara blinks at him in surprise. “Uh— she’s gotten a bit antsy during the times when Alexis was in the caves with your men and I was here with you, so probably not much further away than that?”
Erich considers the distance between the cavern shelters and the main house, then nods and tells Alexis, “Urahara says that Benihime will be fine with either of us, so long as we remember common sense and don’t go much further from him than the caverns are from here.”
“I could sense a bit of her unease when we were there,” she agrees. “It’s why I’ve had Briar and Ilsa take over moving our people into the remaining shelters and divvying up supplies.”
“How’s that going?”
“We’re going to need to ration a bit more than we were doing, but we should be fine for a few months, especially if we keep sending foragers out,” Alexis answers as she stands up and offers her hand to him. “Come on, I’ll give you the full report over a meal.”
Erich rolls his eyes at her, pointedly hands her the almost empty water glass instead of taking her hand, and then stands on his own; he doesn’t need to be babied, especially after being fully healed and then being made to sleep for most of two days.
(The soft, breathy laughter his actions startle out of Urahara is a very nice bonus, though.)
“There had better be tea,” Erich says with a playful huff, even as he gestures for Urahara to follow.
“I’ll make sure there’s an entire pot just for you,” Alexis promises with a warm smile.
Erich gives her the exasperated look that deserves, but he can’t — and won’t — mask the warmth-care-love that bubbles up in response. He’s missed her, and this, and even if the war is still grinding on, still grinding down, he’s done. He’s done. He’s done what little he can do, saved the men who look to him, and now the only thing he can do is take shelter and wait for the outcome.
It’s more of a relief than he expected, if he’s being honest.
He still has his duties but… not as many. Not as complicated.
He can just… be a Clan head again.
And maybe, just maybe, he can build something lasting with both his soulmates.
He thinks… he thinks he’d like that.
He thinks he’d like that a lot.
#soulmate au#and this is the official end of the main bit of story#i may or may not come back to do epilogues but for now I think i'm calling this here
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cocaine | kiara carrera
madison bailey rlly met her gf ON TIKTOK, thats wild and now i see that my chances arent as low as i believe. anyways love that for them.
writing this made me so damn depressed. like if anyone would like to fall in love w me, im just here...chillin.
masterlist | cocain series: 2 | 3
summary: Kiara falls in love with someone who isn’t willing to love anymore (story inspired by the mentioned song and this scene).
warnings: that gay shit, cursing, angst, underage drug use, underage drinking, mentions of dying, unrequited love?
♫ Cocaine by Pink Sweat$ ♫
Kooks could talk as much shit as they wanted but it didn’t exactly stop them from showing up at the boneyard for a kegger. They whined and complained about Pogues but still came around to the other side of the island because they knew they would have a good time.
“It’s like watching National Geographic,” Kie winced and you sputtered out a laugh, stumbling back as you tried to keep the water from dripping onto your clothes. There was a pocket of Kooks jumping around to the music, moving in a weird sort of unison that was both stiff and awkward.
“Ew,” Kie laughed as you leaned forward to spit out the water that you had been trying to drink. To be honest it wasn’t that funny of a comment but you were also high of your ass so everything was hilarious.
“I can’t breathe,” you huffed out and Kie had to hold you steady when you stumbled into her. You were laughing so hard that it was at that point where you weren’t even making any noise. She couldn’t stop herself from laughing because of how hard you were laughing.
“Oh my god (Y/N) it wasn’t even that funny!”
“Then why are you laughing?!”
“Because you’re laughing!”
The two of you burst out into another fit of giggles as you wrapped your arms around the girl, resting your head on her chest as she wrapped her arms around you and struggled to keep the two of you standing.
“Are you two ok?” Pope walked up to the two of you just as you stumbled into the sand in a laughing heap. You let out one giggled and took in a deep breath as you stared up at Pope, your head hazy and heavy.
“Chillin dude,” you drawled out and Pope shook his head before he helped the two of you up. Kia brushed off the sand from her curls and you gave an aggressive shake of your head as you brushed out the sand from hair at the same time. Kie let out a noise and Pope stepped back to avoid any sand flying at him.
When you stopped you stumbled to straighten up. Everything around you was moving fast and yet slow at the same time and you let out a laugh.
Kie couldn’t help but look at you with a dopey look on her face. She wished she could tell you just how much she loved you. The day Kie had realized she was in love with her best friend was a bit of a stressful one. Kie was a firm believer of the “No Pogue on Pogue macking rule”. Not only did she believe it would change everything if broken, she also didn’t want to have a reason to be tied down to the Outer Banks. She loved her friends, her family, and her life on the island but she knew she was capable of so much more. Deep down in her heart she knew that she was meant to travel the world. That the best way for her to succeed was to get out of the Outer Banks and into the world.
But then one day she looked into your eyes and knew she loved you. That she was in love with you.
You were friends with the Pogues before she’d joined the group but you were the first one she met. You met the rest of the Pogues through JJ, and then had integrated Kie into the group after you started working at The Wreck.
After the betrayal of Sarah Cameron and the pain she went through being ostracized by her entire school, meeting you and then the boys had been her saving grace. Sure you weren’t jumping to your feet to try and help baby sea turtles into the ocean, but you always listened to her. You understood her.
“I mean everyone’s freaking out about plastic straws but the cups are like...more plastic,” you added to her rant and she nodded enthusiastically.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying!”
She was pretty much convinced the two of you were soulmates the day you had played her a playlist that you made just for her.
Yet even though she was so head over heels in love there was too many reasons why she couldn’t tell you.
One of the biggest reasons was your lack of faith in love and relationships. Convincing you that falling in love and being in love was a good thing proved to be a difficult feat. You’d been hurt so much by the concept of love that you’d moved past the point of thinking you’d ever fall in love. You left it behind and believed wholeheartedly that it wasn’t something meant for you. You didn’t believe in marriage and didn’t believe that you would ever find that person. You’d stopped looking and that meant that you couldn’t and wouldn’t see Kie in the way she wished you would.
“Yo (Y/N)!”
You and your friends turned at that and Kie watched you grin as you ran up to the boy who called you. You jumped into his arms and Kie bit her lip.
“Dude! What the fuck is up?!” You yelled as the boy laughed and let you down. You were jumping around excitedly, “Yo when did you get home?”
“Yesterday.”
“Who’s that?” Kie asked JJ and the boy turned to look at what she was talking about.
“Huh? Oh that’s Quincy, he graduated last year I think? Went to the Navy or something, him and (Y/N) were really close.”
“Oh.”
Kie wondered why she never heard about Quincy.
“Kie!!!” You waved her over and Kie pushed down that weird feeling that was rising up and hid it with a smile. She moved to stand by you and tried not preen when you took her hand in yours, intertwining your fingers and holding on tight. She hoped that Quincy would conclude that she was yours. (You may not have been hers, but she was wholeheartedly yours).
“Kie this Quincy. He was my fuckin plug before he left,” you laughed and Quincy crossed his arms and gave you a look. Kie felt a little relieved but then thought about this.
“Didn’t you start smoking when you were like...in middle school?” Kie asked and Quincy laughed while you shrugged.
“Yeah, can you imagine how I felt seeing this 12 year old asking me if I sold?”
Kie tried not to cringe. You’d been smoking for way longer than she’d known you. Your tolerance surpassed JJ, likely because of your lack of tolerance breaks. Kie could argue that at least you’d only smoked weed and hadn’t dove into other, harder drugs. The one time you had, Kie nearly had a heart attack and the boys almost killed a boy for urging you to take it.
You’d told her once that you just really liked how being high made you feel. The strain you smoked made you feel relaxed. It eased your mind and your body.
You told her that you started smoking after your parents separated. They’d fallen out of love and decided that rather than being adults and dealing with their issues themselves, they’d put the weight and stress of their problems onto your shoulders. A year later you had decided you were going to quit because you’d fallen in love with your boyfriend of a year and a half. You nearly did stop getting high, but then your boyfriend broke up with you, didn’t tell you you why, and then ghosted you.
3 days later he’d posted about his new girlfriend (he’d reassured you nothing was going on between them when you were together. The time stamp of the filtered picture told you and everyone else otherwise).
Kie wanted to spite the people who’d led to the walls you built around your heart.
You had guided Kie and Quincy back over to the other Pogues and Kie couldn’t help but cling to you that night. She didn’t like Quincy’s familiarity with you. It was kind of childish really but it’d been a while since you’d looked eager to interact with anybody who weren’t the Pogues. Kie’s heart skipped a beat when she realized how absolutely ok you were with her holding and touching you.
“Hey...(Y/N)?”
“Hmm..?”
The two of you were laying in her bed. The kegger had ended some time ago and though the two of you would’ve usually stayed at the Chateau with the boys, she’d decided she wanted to spend the rest of her night alone with you. She’d appreciated Quincy taking the two of you to her house.
“You really don’t think you’re going to get married?” she questioned quietly and she watched you open your eyes and look into her own.
“Hm...Yeah. Probably not,” you told her honestly.
“Why not?”
“...I don’t know. I don’t think I’d want to commit to someone that much. Plus...I don’t think anyone would wanna commit to being with me either.”
Kie would.
“But what if someone loves you...so so much, but you just won’t open yourself up to them? Would you really risk losing that before you even know it?”
You stayed silent at that. This was something that constantly went through your mind. sometimes you thought about those “what if” moments constantly. What if you’d given that boy a chance? Would you be in love with him now? Would the two of you be happy?
Yet you also thought: but maybe the two of you would be miserable instead. Maybe it would just lead to more pain.
“I don’t know if I could deal with being hurt because of love again.”
“...Ok...”
The two of you eventually drifted off to sleep. Kie’s chest hurt but she dreamt about kissing you.
Kie sometimes wished that she could be the one to bring your heart out of its hiding place. She wanted to be the person that you were willing to finally love. She wanted you to toss aside the risk of getting hurt because she’d make it clear to you that she would never hurt you.
JJ had gotten too high once, and had told her that you and him sometimes went to the dock and just sat there in silence. That the two of you would allow your worries to ease just by being beside one another and that you both knew that even without talking, or venting, or even smoking, you understood how JJ felt and JJ understood how you felt.
Kie wanted that.
She wished she didn’t have to push so hard for you to feel comfort in her, but she would continue pushing nonetheless. Despite how close the two of you were as friends, vulnerable moments were rare with you.
“Kie, I need you to leave this alone ok? It’s seriously not any of your business,” you’d tried to shake her off and she only became angrier. The boys had shuffled out of the room the moment you’d walked in with Kie yelling at you.
She had went to pick you up and caught you snorting a line of...something, in your room.
“None of my business!? I can’t just let you hurt yourself like this (Y/N)!”
“Kie you smoke with me! Fucking weed is killing me just as much as any other drug would! If you cared so much then don’t cherry pick what you decide to care about!”
“Don’t ever tell me how I feel!”
“God you’re not my fucking mom Kie, just stop!”
“No (Y/N)!”
You’d stormed off after that argument. Out of all the people in your life you thought Kie would be the last person the chastise you for anything you did. You thought she understood. Kie felt terrible when you didn’t come around to the Chateau or even talk to her and the Pogues for the rest of the day. Kie’s heart was in your hands and you were squeezing.
The next day, Kie had bursted into your room crying.
“You can’t be mad at me for just wanting you to be ok...” she sobbed and you held her tight to you.
“I know Kie, I know. I’m sorry,” you mumbled into her hair before you gave her a kiss on the forehead. She pulled back to look at you and she took in the worried expression on your face. She was hyper aware of the feeling of your thumbs stroking her cheek. Kie shut her eyes and leaned forward to press her lips onto yours.
Her heart broke into a million pieces when you gasped and backed away.
“Oh my god...” Kie sobbed and stood from where the two of you had clung to each other on your bed, “I’m sorry-I just..I’m gonna go-”
You couldn’t say a word as you watched Kie rush out of your room.
“Fuck!” she yelled before the door slammed shut.
part 2...?
#outer banks imagine#kiara carrera x reader#kiara carrera imagine#kie carrera x reader#kie x reader#kie imagine#kie carrera imagine#x reader#reader insert#angst#romance#poc!reader#woc!reader#outer banks#obx#obx imagines#outer banks fic#obx fic#outer banks fanfiction
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Merry & Bright {9}: Shawty, With You
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Previous: May All Your Christmases Be White
Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader
Genre: Fluff
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Swearing! Kissing!
Summary: Yoongi’s been too nervous, and awkward, and embarrassed, to kiss you. With a nudge from his friends, will he finally do it?
Yoongi moves absentmindedly through the Christmas party. It’s a mix of who’s who in the music scene, a wanna be Quincy Jones Grammy party outfitted with the hottest celebs, elves and a high society mall Santa. Somewhere in the mix of celebrities and B-listers, Yoongi knows, is you.
You, no doubt dressed in an ethereal holiday outfit, make up flawless and striking, resembling something straight from Euphoria, and if he knows you, laughing. God, Yoongi loves your laugh, the trill notes you hit in your giggle, the way your smile showed your double set of dimples, chocolate eyes squinting as you lost yourself in bliss. The smile you made when you’d calmed down, not gummy like his, but dazzling, blinding, Helen of Troy sent men to war over her beauty, and if you were any less otherworldly, you could destroy the galaxy.
“You have to talk to her,” Namjoon urges, moving to stand next to Yoongi.
“I don’t even know if she’s here,” Yoongi says, eyes scanning the crowd.
“Text her,” Namjoon says.
“No,” Yoongi shakes his head.
“Make a move before she finds someone else to kiss at midnight,” Namjoon takes a sip of his drink, eyebrows raised. “I’m right.”
“Namjoonie, leave me alone,” Yoongi blushes, gently shoving his maknae.
“At least come dance with us,” Namjoon nudges him towards the dance floor, and he resigns himself to partake.
“Let me get a drink first,” Yoongi counters, and reluctantly Namjoon allows Yoongi out of his sight.
Drifting to the bar, Yoongi bumps into a countless number of celebrities, all looking at him with confusion and recognition in their eyes. They can tell he’s important, the way he holds himself, the manner he’s dressed… It screams of his status, but they can’t place him. K-pop absolutely, but which group? And after they determine the group, which member? Yoongi appreciates his anonymity, though racist, as he brushes against Jimin at the bar.
“Suga-hyung!” Jimin calls, smile dancing on his lips. He wraps his arm around his shoulders, dragging him to the front of the line with him.
“How deep are you?” Yoongi asks, laughing at the blatant intoxication of Jimin and Jungkook.
“Get on our level!” Jungkook yells, giggling immediately as the words fall from his lips.
“Fine,” Yoongi orders three shots, tosses them back and turns to his maknae. “Happy?”
“Let’s dance!” Jimin calls. He takes the hand of each man and guides them to the dance floor. An EDM version of Last Christmas fades as a dance-pop remix of Jingle Bell Rock takes its place. The seven men have a way of finding each other regardless of circumstance, regardless of the crowds around them… Their hearts beat together. Tonight, though hammered nearly into oblivion, they’ve managed to find one another on the dance floor. To say they’re a spectacle would be an understatement. It’s hard to dance anywhere when Jimin, Ho-Seok, Taehyung and Jungkook could wipe the floor with anyone that tried, and tonight is no different.
They laugh and sing as they groove, only stopping when Yoongi stands still, eyes staring at a figure in the distance.
You’re laughing with some guy he doesn’t recognize, the light of the nearby Christmas tree illuminating your dimples, gold eye liner striking a contrast against your warm skin. Yoongi doesn’t realize he’s staring until Taehyung is in his face, drunken smile dancing on his boxy lips.
“Yoongi-ah go say something,” Taehyung urges.
“He’s too scared,” Ho-Seok adds.
“Just remind her how handsome you are… Oh wait, that’s me!” Jin laughs at his bad joke, which elicits an eyeroll from Namjoon and a giggle from Jimin.
“She doesn’t care,” Yoongi shrugs, ear trying to make out the new song the DJ is scratching.
“That’s a lie and you know it, she likes you,” Taehyung teases.
“How would you know?” Yoongi questions, eyes suspicious.
“Get her under the mistletoe and find out!” Taehyung turns from him, laughing with Ho-Seok as they begin some choreography he doesn’t recognize.
“Oo, kiss her underneath the mistletoe!” Jungkook says, his mind catching up to what Taehyung had suggested.
“That’d be so romantic,” Jimin adds.
“Then you’d know,” Namjoon says. He glances past Yoongi at you. You’re stunning, merriment pouring from you like light from the angels. He knows Yoongi is smitten, the flirting and banter you’ve exchanged over the last few months, the dates that haven’t quite been dates, the longing stares and gentle touches Yoongi hoped he hadn’t dreamed… Namjoon had seen it all. He hoped that being in LA for the holidays would spur his hyung on, give him the courage to seal the deal or be gently rejected, and here he stood, at the hottest Christmas party of the season, standing, staring, unmoving.
Namjoon turned to his brothers, and in a quick huddle they hatched a plan. Yoongi wasn’t clueless, but he could be misdirected, especially when he was drunk, especially when you were involved.
Guiding Yoongi back to the bar, Namjoon turned quickly into the crowd, leaving Yoongi alone. Annoyed, he started walking back to the dance floor, only to be grabbed by Jimin who said Namjoon was at the other bar, on the opposite side of the room. Nodding, Yoongi started making his way through the crowd to the opposite side, only to be distracted by Taehyung and Jin, laughing uproariously, guiding him towards the buffet and away from the bar. Somewhere between the buffet and circling around the pool, Yoongi is left alone, taking in his surroundings.
Where the fuck is he?
He turns to walk back the way he came, bumping into you. In the distance he sees Namjoon and Ho-Seok, giving him a thumbs up. He suppresses his instinctive eye roll.
“Fuck,” He says, arms intuitively wrapping around your waist to keep you from falling.
“Sorry,” He breathes.
“It’s o- Min Yoongi,” You smile, lipstick still impeccably placed. “Funny running into you here.”
“I, uh, yeah,” Yoongi’s immediately flustered, cheeks crimson as he tries to glance away from you.
“I’ve been looking for you, your friends said you’d be here,” You say, hands tightening around his biceps. He gets the hint and tries to relax but having you in his arms is electrifying.
“Hmm, they led me on some wild goose chase to I guess, find you,” He shrugs.
“Isn’t that romantic?” You laugh, eyes glancing above you. Yoongi copies you, eyes going embarrassingly wide as he takes in what hangs above you. Mistletoe.
Yoongi stops staring at the plant, which he assumes is plastic, and dares to lock eyes with you.
“I, uh, I’m,” He’s flustered, and it’s making your knees weak.
“We don’t have to, we can just, walk away?” You offer, a hint of disappointment in your voice. Whether you want Yoongi to detect it or not, he does.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Yoongi says. His dominant hand moves swiftly from your waist to cup your cheek and in a decisive moment, his lips are on yours. They’re soft and gentle, skillful and patient.
In the distance, Yoongi’s brothers whoop and holler before tossing back another shot and dispersing to go back to dancing.
Under the mistletoe, you and Yoongi remain, lips intertwined.
Next: All I Want Is You
#Yoongi X Reader#Yoongi drabble#Yoongi min#min yoongi#merryandbright2020#merry and bright#25 days of christmas#christmas writing challenge#christmas#mistletoe#Justin bieber#Yoongi fluff#Yoongi fic#Suga / you#Suga X Reader#Suga drabble#min Yoongi / suga#thebtswritersclub#btsgoldnet#ficswithluv#bangtanarmynet
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The Trinity |Golden State Warriors| Chapter One
Summary: Golden state rookie Quincy Williams feels he has found the love of his life, but how can he balance basketball, a new relationship, and growing fame.
word count: 2.8k
"QUINCY! QUINCY!" Reporters shouted in the little room containing only his 5th post-game interview. He fiddled with the Rolex Stephen bought him, after He won their very first game for them. Now he began to feel as if he didn't deserve it. The screaming of reporters grew louder and Quincy new it was time to face the beast he created. He looked up and choose a reporter in the front row to answer to first. The room fell silent and all eyes now laid on the nervous ESPN reporter. He spoke timidly but his voice fell on Quincy like a thousand pounds. "You scored 23 points in the first quarter, an all time high for you so far this season. How much of an accomplishment was this for you in your rookie season?" Quincy's eyes squinted at the reporter causing the reporters hands to shake more vigorously. It was obvious that Quincy's 6'6, stocky, shooting guard stature was intimidating. And His hard expression helped none, at easing this reporters nerves. "It doesn't mean anything! We still lost, and a personal win doesn't mean a thing if your team lost. Ask me this when we win." Quincy hissed. He refrained himself from cussing knowing that wasn't a good headline for a rookie player. He didn't want to be labeled as another player with a "bad attitude." He knew that could ruin careers, and he didn't want to end his career before it even really began. "Just eight questions." Quincy mumbled to himself. Reminding him of the NBA regulations that permitted the players to only have to answer 8 questions in any interview. "QUINCY! QUINCY!" The reporters started to bark again. He picked another reporter. This time a women, who sat in the back with her hair tied. "Quincy do you feel your team mates gave this win away? Or do you think you needed more help out there? " "I feel as if mistakes were made among me and my team. Dumb turnovers and lazy defense on my part. Next question." He quickly brushed the insult he felt off his shoulder. He hated the fact they acted like Quincy was the only player out there, as if he didn't have the legendary Klay Thompson, and Stephen curry playing along side of him. It seemed to him these reporters were always trying to twist his words into him saying something bad about his team. As if he wasn't truly blessed to play with these guys. As the interview continued Quincy continued to get the usual post-game questions. Like 'why that shot? Or what was going through your head when..?' The same old things. Well that was until... "Quincy, you're known as showtime do you think you still live up to that expectation, or do you feel stripped of your title? " Quincy had never felt so offended. Them asking him that question was like them asking if he felt all those long practices on the court were for nothing, or if getting up at 5 o'clock to train alone was a waste of time. They were asking if HE had given up on his career this early in the season. Quincy clenched his fist and sat up in his seat. Fuck his image! He was finna tell every reporter how he felt! He opened his mouth to finally speak his mind like he's wanted to this entire interview. but then came Stephen, shirtless in his game day shorts, storming up the stairs of the stage like platform, then snatched the mic from Quincy. "Quincy Williams is still showtime, will always be showtime, and is the best rookie out right now! And anyone who questions that, questions me and the golden state warriors!" He defended. He then snatched Quincy up and dragged him to the locker room. The vets in the locker room laughed. Not at Quincy, but at the memory of their rookie seasons. They've all gone through being eaten alive by the press, and this moment just reminded them of that. "Are you stupid?" Stephen yelled at him jokingly before draping his towel across his shoulders. Quincy remained silent. He was still pissed and talking to his teammates, that took nothing but the games seriously, wasn't on the top of his to-do list. He just crossed his arms and leaned against his locker. "C'mon man. This shit happens to every great player, especially rookies. You gotta prove yourself. Despite the score." Klay informed him then headed to go take a shower himself. Quincy listened to his advice, but just didn't want to acknowledge it. Not now. His stubbornness wouldn't let him let this go. He snatched the basketball he kept in his locker and headed to the court. "Bruh, where you going?" Andre called after him. But nothing. Quincy walked on the court and took in the empty stadium. This was like his home to him, but he felt like his city was beginning to turn against him. He walked over to the 3-point line. Pulled up and shot the ball. Swish. "He dribbles down the court! The shot clock winding down, and for the game win..." He shot the ball again after acting out his play by play commentary, and once agin, swish. "Quincy Williams with the game winning shot!" He fetched his ball that was now down the court and headed to the center of the Golden state emblem. He sat down the ball in his lap then laid back staring up at the ceiling. "You need to go home rookie! Fuck the media!" Green yelled out to him as he exited the stadium. Considering the number of people left in the stadium was dwindling down, he agreed with Green's suggestion. He then entered the locker room and changed into his grey slacks with a red polo sweater, and exited the locker room with Steph. Some paparazzi still lingered, but wasn't too obnoxious that steph, and Quincy couldn't continue their conversation about the game. "That 3 you made in the corner toward the end of the second quarter was dope! I can't do that with all the luck in the world." Quincy confessed. Steph laughed. "Practice rookie! It took me from freshman year in high school til sophomore year in college to master that." Steph informed him. Steph had really taken Quincy under his wing, and watched out for him. He knew what fame could do to boy who never had anything. It could make him become arrogant, cocky, and NO golden state rookie was going to be that. They continued their conversation, and all Quincy could do was mess with his rolex. He was disregarding almost everything around at this point, even what steph was saying. All he could think was that he didn't deserve this anymore. Eventually they reached the player exit where Reily, and Ayesha where waiting. "Daddy!" Reily yelled. Her little legs moved swiftly as she went to embrace her dad in a hug. He swooped her up then swung her onto his hip. Ayesha then came and gently kissed steph, and whispered what Quincy assumed was good game. "Hi que!" Reily yelled, flailing her arms in a waving motion toward Quincy. She had trouble pronouncing his whole name, so he let her call him by his nickname. "Hey Reily, hi Ayesha.... I'll catch you later steph." Quincy went to exited from the family scene when steph called after him. "I bought that for a reason Quincy... believe in yourself." Quincy smiled and gave Steph a slight nod. He went out to the the car lot. The brisk Oakland air hit his face and immediately he regretted wearing a sweater in the hot Oakland weather. Moving quicker to get out the heat he found himself in front of his 2015 Benz that he bought himself the day he signed his contract. When he got in ESPN radio blasted throughout his car. "I don't know what got into Quincy Williams tonight Mike. He just.. wasn't himself." The radio host commented. Immediately Quincy shut off the radio. He looked down at the Rolex on his wrist then chunked it into the backseat. He didn't want to think about it let alone see it. As he cruised around the city he passed a diner his mom used to take him to when he was sad. Dirty Diana's. When he was in college he would drive all the way from UCLA to Oakland just to feel at home after a bad game. He parked and just peered into the tiny diner. Except from a little boy with his grandfather, and what looked to be a construction worker, the diner was empty. He took one deep breath before turning off the car and proceeded in. The little boy gasped as he noticed the first round draft pick in front of him. He repeatedly nudged his grandfather and pointed. Quincy noticed, and waved, but decided not to say anything. He loved his fans, but he wasn't in the mood right now. Quincy sat in a booth toward the back, and after a few seconds he was greeted by a waitress. When he looked into her eyes he was mesmerized at how beautiful simple brown eyes could be. It felt like just the two of them in that diner. Her smile was so soft and bright, it almost made Quincy forget how horrible he played tonight. Not only that but, her straight black hair reached down her back and shined against her brown skin. It reminded him of how his mother's hair was when he was younger. Her name tag read rosemary. "Sir?" She asked interrupting all these thoughts Quincy had going through his head. "My bad." He mumbled timidly. Which was strange for Quincy. He had always been so confident, so out-going, and definitely never one to shy away from a beautiful girl. "Can I have a slice of pie please?" "What kind?" "Which ever is your favorite." He replied softly. His flirting was almost so settle, she didn't notice. It he wasn't obnoxious like she was used to. So she didn't really know how to react to him, so she smiled and went to go his pie. "Rose, do you know who that is?" The cook, Sam, asked dragging her into the kitchen. She looked down at his hand on her arm, and his bug-eyed expression, and gotten a little afraid. She didn't know who he was, but apparently he was some big deal. "That's Quincy Williams! First round draft pick, plays for golden state! The boys the best rookie, since Jordan!" He whispered. He looked around as if he were afraid that Quincy was just gonna walk up behind them. Rosemary looked at him with a blank expression, he said a lot of words that she didn't understand. Like rookie, and first round draft pick. "Great?" She said in more of a question than an actual statement. She freed her arm from his hold, and went to get Quincy's pie. "Here you go." She smiled softly as she put the pie down in front of him. "Apple pie with ice cream." He announced before taking a big bite. "My favorite." She reminded. Quincy dropped his head and smirked a little bit. He thought she had kinda blown what he said earlier off, and paid it no mind. But he found it cute that she remembered. Rosemary went to continue her shift, but Quincy grabbed her hand and drew her back. It wasn't like she had a dinner of people to attend to. "Here." Quincy said handing Rosemary a spoon. She looked at him then around the dinner, as if she had a big responsibility to attend to. "C'mon... it's your favorite." She untied her apron then sat in the booth across from Quincy. "I'm taking a break sam!" She shouted over to the cook that had previously held her hostage in the kitchen. He glanced up at her with his eyebrow raised. She ignored him and took the spoon from Quincy. At first they sat in this comfortable silence. Quincy just admired her beauty as she sat in front of him oblivious to all the thoughts he had going through his head. He was astonished of the fact she hasn't said one thing about his career, or asked 'what is like being a pro-athlete?' Or any other question females, or people in general usually asked when first meeting him. "You have no idea who I am uh?" She had shoved another bite of pie in her mouth so all she could give Quincy was a puzzled look. She wondered why he cared so much whether or not she knew about his career. Then she came to the realization of how hard it must be for him to find a girl who's not a gold digger or something. "Well sam said something about you being some rookie baseball player or something.... Quinton Williams? And Something about you and Jordan. I don't know. " she confessed. To be honest she really hadn't paid that much attention to what sam was saying. She just assumed he didn't know what he was talking about. "Quincy." He stated laughing. She was the first person in a while who hadn't known him. Rosemary gave him another puzzled look. "What?" "Quincy... My name is Quincy. I'm a basketball player, I play for..." Quincy just stop talking. It was obvious that it didn't matter to Rosemary where he played, and if she didn't care it wasn't worth him talking about. "Your name, rosemary... I haven't heard that name in a while." She ran her fingers across her name tag, with a small smile on her face. It made Quincy curious to know what about her name was so special to her. "Common tell me." He cooed to her. She blushed a little bit. There was something about Quincy that reminded her of a high school crush. There was just something so... fun, and genuine about him. "I'm named after my grandmother. She was my best friend growing up.... I used to get picked on because of my name in elementary school. People would tell me to watch out before someone ate me or something. It's stupid now." Quincy couldn't refrain from laughing. Knowing him, he would've been one of those kids. She gasped hitting his chest. She wasn't mad he laughed, but she definitely didn't expect that! "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He pleaded. "But you have to admit... it's pretty funny." "It most certainly was not funny! I would cry because of that!" But rosemary, herself laughed. This was the first time she had laughed about the situation. She usually thought about as such a tragic thing, but now... it seemed less of a big deal to her. It was finally funny. "Before I started playing basketball I tried to play football, and I- I sucked. I was really bad." Quincy confessed as rosemary was dying laughing. "I tried to play almost every position. Quarterback, but I couldn't throw to save my life. I would constantly hit my line man with the ball in the back of the head. And I couldn't catch so the ball would fall right through my hands. I got called butter fingers til my freshman year " Rosemary laughed harder. She liked the fact Quincy would embarrass himself to make her feel better, and Quincy didn't mind doing so if it meant he got to see her smile again. "Well i guess it doesn't matter now Mr. Superstar." He looked down, after his performance tonight he was feeling less than a superstar. Rosemary sensed the tension that now lingered between them. "I'm didn't mean to say..." "No, it's not you. I just... bad game." He ended the conversation. He loved that he didn't have to talk about basketball with rosemary. He definitely didn't the want to start now. "So rosey...." Quincy went on to interrogate her on her whole back ground, as did she. Like where they were from, their family. Things like that. Quincy even told her about being cut from his his school basketball team his sophomore year, because of selling drugs trying to be a thug, and he had never told anyone that. Not even his mother. They had talked and laughed for hours. Shared secrets with each other. They even talked about their future goals. This was the first time in a long time Quincy had felt like he meet someone genuine. Someone who finally didn't care, or barley even knew about his career. I mean she didn't know much about basketball, but he could change that! "Rose, it's time to get back to work!" Sam yelled at her. She took a deep breath, and rolled her eyes. Only three more people had walked in, it wasn't like they really needed her. But Rosemary knew she couldn't argue after a 3 hour break. "I gotta go. But I'll see you later."
A/n: I really hoped y'all enjoyed this. I already have 5 other parts written so if you would like me continue lemme knowwww. Also if you’d like to be added to the tag list lemme know.
Tag list: @loganwrites20 @terrablaze514 @shaekingshitup @highasfantasy
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56. Part 4
Placing Reign over my shoulder, Robyn is again being unfair and just loves listening to her own voice. Locking my car as I made my way to the home, I can literally hear Robyn outside this door “and where have you been mom? Seriously, I called you” rolling my eyes walking up the steps “here we go” I said to myself “I just needed some time to myself; I didn’t need anyone in my ear Robyn. That is all, I am back now so stop shouting. What is all the commotion outside I could hear you from here” placing Reign down on the couch, she is tired. Placing Reign on her side as I sat down on the edge “oh just Maurice hates the poor and I argued with him about it, that is all, no big situation at all. He is a stuck up drama queen, I can’t be bothered to deal with him” taking Reign’ shoes off “whatever Robyn, keep talking. Says the woman in her million dollar home in New York be quiet” Reign’ feet are all sweaty in these shoes “mom, he was so rude. He didn’t want anything because some poor people made it, he complained right from the start, shall we take a bodyguard, shall we not wear anything expensive. And then he made my family! My family, feel like shit for being poor, how is that even right? His pussy ass couldn’t even tell some kids off” placing Reign’ shoes on the couch “Robbie, calm down. Stop it now” turning while sat on the couch so I can see Robyn’ flustered face, she is just boring “you’re a hypocrite, fine whatever. You’re down for the people, I am not so what. You are just doing the most, I don’t care what you say or what you feel, I will never go back there, ever. Take it as you like. You are the same woman waltzing around with people with money, you are living with a maid and a fucking bodyguard yourself. You are disrespecting my life when you are fucking living it too, ok?” Terry looks so displeased, she just sighed out heavily “I didn’t want the maid!! You fucking bought it, like you do with everything. You are wrong Maurice, accept it, you are wrong. I felt it, I felt awkward and I know they did too. Stood there like a fucking plank of fucking wood watching with such a face on, they were nice to you” getting up from the couch “I wasn’t wrong, it’s not a good place and I said what I said. I am trying with you, I fucking tried!” why won’t she accept I tried “tried!? You should have stayed here, you’re only happy on your throne, your dad did the worst job with you” walking over to Robyn slowly “and still, you’re going to be in your Million dollar home” I stood in front of Robyn “at the end of the day you’re still going to be flying back in a private jet, this shit is irrelevant because your life is not the same, now lower your tone” Robyn mean mugged me “fuck you! Why are you even in this home, you hear this mom. He said I came here didn’t I, making out even this home is beneath him, why stay here?” rubbing my chin “you right, but seeing as my daughter is here I will be here” I said “same room you’re standing in when didn’t want her, right?” I knew that was coming, nodding my head “you’re predictable, you know what. I will go” I can’t be bothered; it will be low blow after low blow from both of us.
“Maurice” Robyn said, I don’t want to hear it anymore. I can find anyone in the Hollywood Hills that will take me in anyways. Dragging open the door “where exactly are you going to go?” banging the door shut as I got my phone out from my pocket, jogging down the steps as I unlocked my car. Diddy will let me use his crib, tapping on his name as I got into my car, I am honestly not going to argue about this to her “Maurice, the man himself. Not like you to call me out of the blue, I guess this ain’t no business dealing” he said down the phone, I chuckled “not exactly, I just need to use your crib in the Hollywood Hills?” putting the car engine on “you know me, you always can. When did you ever need to ask, Quincy is there so just go. You family” putting the car in reverse as I drove back slowly “thank you, this is why I called you first. I knew you got me always, don’t tell Quincy is throwing a little something?” he always doing that “you know how he do, my boy always got a party to throw. But I will let him know you are coming but I have my invite my nigga, my invite to the kings party for the takeover huh” my dad is out here inviting everyone “well I am sitting in the throne with rest of the black kings, that’s how we do. But I will speak to you later, I am driving right now and I ain’t connect it to the car yet so I will call you and tell Quincy to relax. I don’t need that shit around“ I laughed down the phone “I can’t control him, but I will speak to him, be cool” disconnecting the call. I didn’t even want to go but I can’t even believe she made that noise; she made that noise about the moment when I was in a bad place. I am not happy, talking about Maurice. Fuck that, I am annoyed.
The gate opened up as I drove into the mansion, I mean shit is beautiful here, now this is me “Big M!” Quincy said, revving my car as I parked at the side of the Ferrari “it’s been a while” putting my car in park “a while? You thirty now, I saw you and you was in your twenties” getting out of the car “I blinked and I literally aged, family” hugging Quincy “good seeing you, who you with here?” I hope he isn’t having a party; I just don’t want no trouble. Just somewhere to lay my head “some of my friends, some girls. Just a little get together” locking my car door as I walked with him into the home “my dad called and said that Maurice is coming, I am so fucking hype you here. It’s been years! I remember I used to sleep in your home here” I laughed remembering “you mean you was asleep on the floor; I would be walking around in the morning and your ass is on the floor asleep. But it was good, we had fun but good looking. This place is even better now, the renovation was needed pretty much” seeing some new dudes, I don’t know who these are “who are these anyways?” I asked “so this is Cyn, aye. This is Maurice, or Big M, or to me my brother. But Big M was named after what?” I am trying to think now “it was that night, when I got that delivery, and that nigga called me Medicare, the crib was full of all the drugs, I had every drug in that crib. But y’all can call me Big M or Maurice, not Medicare please” Quincy busted out laughing “this nigga threw the best parties, every nigga was there but this is Cyn, and this Lil M” Quincy laughed which made me laugh “are you my son, you light skinned enough to be my son, little fucking M” I cackled “y’all niggas playing me” the kid said but he sound like he ain’t even hit puberty yet.
There is a few girls here, they ain’t coming near me and I ain’t going near them so we good “you passed that now?” Quincy placed the bag of weed on the table “way passed it, you and I both know I have partied enough to question why I am alive now. So we doing lowkey parties now, what is this?” I pointed at the little group around the pool “I arrived here yesterday, but if you want to throw a party we can do it” shaking my head “I was just asking, I am all good with that” getting my phone out from my pocket, Robyn is calling me but I can’t be bothered to hear her at all “I am playing, I am happy for you. We joke and stuff, but you done so good, I flew out for you actually. Your big day, nigga we all are coming out for you” I didn’t even know this “that is dope to hear, not going to lie. You think that shit is fake, you know this famous life. But you do meet good people, yo Cyn. Take a picture of us” holding my phone out to him, he was just walking by us “I am going to be on your Insta? No way” I laughed shaking my head, Quincy rested his arm on my shoulder as we looked my phone “done” he held the phone out to me “thank you” looking down at the picture “light skinned united finally” Quincy spat “I look pale as shit, New York don’t be giving me no sun. That Spain tan done left me” captioning the picture ‘Hollyweird’ posting the picture “what we saying today Big M” looking up at him and laughed “Big M with my nigga Quincy, we just vibing in Hollyweird, we got little M over there. We just vibing, and Shad, if you know the location then come up for a drink” Quincy busted out laughing “we living” he stopped recording “Shad is going to be running here, watch” Shad is like some groupie nigga that made a name for himself, he always was every party I been too here, I think he had an obsession over me.
Sitting down on the chair “can’t sleep?” my mom said “I am tired but then I’m not, he got me angry. I didn’t want to say it, but I did but I didn’t mean it. Mom he was so rude, he literally stood there like they were shit, he made them feel awful. I know they was feeling because I was, I had to go. And then he is acting like some asshole for what? They are my family, they don’t have money, what does he want? Not everyone is rich” shaking my head “I don’t want to be involved Robyn, he is acting how he was bought up like you are acting like you was bought up, you have seen struggle, he hasn’t. I am not taking anyone side because he could have acted better, but also you could see it from his side too. You both need to talk, not argue. I feel like this home is a curse, I am sick of it Robyn. I want to move, how can there be so much bad luck but how was it baby? Are you happy?” My mom asked “I am happy but now I am upset, Maurice is god knows where. I called his phone, but he disconnected it, I didn’t mean to say it. I just want to know he is ok; I want him to know I will see them. They are not bad people, he is taking it all wrong” I am so stressed out “let him have space, try again tomorrow. Did you see his grave?” nodding my head “I cried, it was emotional. I was upset about that, then I was upset that Maurice was not liking it at all. They are not us; I mean they not even me. Yes, I saw, well they told me they have guns, but they have it for their own protection. I don’t know, I didn’t want him to walk out” I feel bad now, I really do.
“I guess he is ok” I said after seeing the post he has made “what makes you think that?” my mom asked “he is with the people he likes, the rich. He posted on social media, but he ignored my call” I want to make up with him but now he’s annoyed me even more “you know what to do, let things cool off. Text him, tell him that you would like him to come here so you both can talk. I am not going to be involved in this, but emotions are high, I just want you both to be ok. Least we know he is ok, that is all we need to care for” placing my phone on the table “but I honestly can’t take the fact he feels that way mom” I don’t think I can “Robbie, listen to me. You love him, let’s start there. You both need to come to a solution, it can done. Sleep on it and think of something. I will take Reign out with me. Or go back to New York, I have had enough because California is no good to you and him. This home!” my mom huffed out “I am going to sleep” rubbing my face shaking my head, he was rude and I am not that but I didn’t mean to say that to him either, my anger and frustration got the better of me.
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just follow my yellow light (and ignore all those big warning signs)
Warning! This fic includes mentions of depression, anxiety, needles (in a medical setting), and dealing with grief/trauma. Please stay safe should you choose to read!
A/N: This is also a more plot-heavy fic, with most of the fiendery occurring in the very last sections, so please be aware of that! Word count: 8499 Title: “Yellow Light” by Of Monsters and Men
The thing about hospitals is that they’re all the same.
Cal understands why people hate them—really, he does—but sitting here on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath him, a blood pressure cuff tightening around his bicep, he can’t help but feel...safe. Understood.
He’s biased, he guesses. He grew up in one, doodling on prescription pads with crayons, running his favorite toy car along the floor (weaving around the nurse’s practical clogs on his hands and knees, look, Mom, look at how fast I am!), his mother Marianne bouncing him on her lap as she updated charts on her computer even though he was far too old for that, stray blonde hair that escaped from her tight bun tickling his cheek. Every once in a while, she’d turn to him with a wide, warm smile.
The whirring of blood pressure machines were his lullaby. The smell of antiseptic was the closest he got to the smell of home, and was in fact the very smell that followed him home from work with Marianne, permeated the whole house along with her tired sighs and her whispered arguments with his father Henry when she thought Cal was sleeping.
So, yeah. Cal likes hospitals. Don’t overanalyze it.
The nurse—Alicia, today—gives him a small, tired smile, the expression of someone who genuinely cares but is too busy to do much about it. “Dr. Moore says everything looks good, Cal. Just make sure to keep an eye on your lungs. Don’t bind for too long and keep doing your injections around the same time each week, okay? You know where to find us if you need something.”
“Thanks, Alicia,” Cal says, but she’s already whisking out the door. Cal wonders how many patients she has. Alicia oversees the hospital volunteer program, and even though Cal's known her for years, he swears her face is as young and beautiful as it was when he was a child. She’s funny and whip-smart and strong and she likes Cal best, he thinks, but lately she’s looked so tired.
He wonders if she’s one of the nurses who really cares about all of her patients. He wonders if that kind of thing is sustainable.
Alicia cares, he thinks.
He’s walking down the corridor, idly rubbing at the bandage across his forearm—and yeah, okay, if he has to name one part of the hospital experience that he could do without, it’s the blood draws—and he’s so fixated on reaching under the bandage to rub at the stinging skin there that he almost runs directly into Sweater Guy, who reaches out preemptively to steady Cal by the shoulders.
“Shit, sorry,” Cal mutters reflexively, then looks up to see that it’s him and, well, fuck.
Cal’s been volunteering at the hospital for six months or so, now, answering call buttons for the nurses and giving directions to confused family members and just grunt work, really, something—nay, anything—for him to put on his resume, and at every single shift he’s volunteered for, he’s seen Sweater Guy.
He’s Cal’s height but twice as skinny, collarbones jutting out underneath his sweaters (his endless sweaters, usually layered over collared shirts and rolled up to the elbows, no matter how swelteringly hot it gets outside). The sweaters bother Cal more than they should, because they all look expensive, and yeah, sue him, he’s a little bitter, because he buys one new pair of shoes a year and calls it splurging. He’s a candy striper, Cal thinks. He wears a pair of yellow-tinted glasses that Cal cannot for the life of him make sense of, constantly slipping down his nose (and yes the yellow compliments the rich brown of Sweater Guy’s skin beautifully, not that Cal has noticed, thanks). He has what Zara always insisted is sex hair, expression perpetually annoyed, like he always has something better to doing.
And he avoids the fuck out of Cal.
“It’s not on purpose,” Zara said one day a few months ago, leaning conspiratorially over their little table in the hospital cafeteria, mouth full of mediocre tuna fish sandwich, because Zara is a godless heathen who enjoys tuna fish sandwiches. “He’s just...busy, you know? He doesn’t avoid you more than he avoids anyone else.”
“Except he does,” Cal muttered, toying with the bottle cap from his soda. More than once he’d made eye contact with him in the hall, and then watched him completely switch directions, head ducked down low over his shoulders.
Not long after that, Zara--who had, until then, occupied the third room in he and Amy’s apartment--left school to attend a community college program for mortuary science, because Zara is, in addition to being a godless heathen, a chiefly ridiculous person, and now Cal doesn’t have anyone to complain to about this.
It shouldn’t bother him, except...Cal is likeable. He is. He charms nurses as though that’s what he’s getting volunteer credit for. Babies smile at him on the street. He’s likeable.
So what the fuck, you know?
“I apologize,” Sweater Guy says now, and Cal is hyper-aware of the guy’s chapped lips, of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously in his throat. He makes himself look away.
“You apologize? I’m the one who didn’t see you, dude,” Cal says, and God damn does that yellow sweater he’s wearing look nice on him. It shouldn’t. Yellow is categorically the worst color. Cal’s pissed.
Sweater Guy actually cracks a smile. “Yes, well. I’m glad we avoided a collision.”
And just like that, he’s walking off, and Cal doesn’t know what he’s supposed to make of it, if it means anything at all, but surely first contact after six months of silence means something.
“Hey,” he calls out before he can think better of it. “What’s your name?”
Sweater Guy stops and blinks, surprised, then pauses for a minute like he has to think about it. “Oh. My name is Quincy Washington.” He swallows. “What’s yours?”
“Cal.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Cal,” Quincy says softly, and Cal watches him walk away until he disappears around the corner.
*
Cal has a routine. He’s never been particularly organized, never been the type of person with color-coded planners or who lays out his outfits the night before, but he has a routine for check-up days: after picking up his inhaler refills and testosterone from the hospital pharmacy, he’ll treat himself to an iced chai tea latte with almond milk, hot if it’s cold outside or he’s feeling adventurous. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits in line to place his order, his lips flicking up into a small little smile as he pulls out his phone, realizing he finally has an update, deciding to send it to the group chat he still has with Amy and Zara:
I figured out his name!!
Amy texts back immediately, and Cal’s little smile splits into a full-blown grin. ???????????
Sweater Guy, Cal types, shifting forward as the line moves. It’s Quincy Washington, apparently.
Cal grins when he sees a message from Zara appear: r u sure he gave u his real name? that sounds pretty made up ngl :* but hey u finally talked to him!!!! told u it wouldn’t be hard!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3
Cal rolls his eyes a little, but good-naturedly. Zara was always convinced that Cal has a crush he’s not addressing, a conspiracy theory that has infected Amy as well, because no one fixates that hard if they DON’T have a crush, Cal, come on. Cal maintains that while he isn’t blind, there are about a million things more interesting about Sweater G--Quincy than how attractive he admittedly is.
Cal: In my defense, he talked to me first, and it’s only because I ran into him.
Zara: charming! did u gaze longingly into his eyes? did he gaze longingly into urs?
Cal rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Well it wasn’t his EYES I was looking at. ;) (I was looking at his stupid yellow sunglasses.)
Zara: silly! u should’ve asked him if he needs roomies. it would be an honor if my old room went to The Cause :)))
Cal’s lips droop, the smile sliding off his face as he pockets his phone. He knows Zara meant nothing by it, but he’s been compartmentalizing the roommate situation until now, and it’s not something he can particularly deal with at this moment. He doesn’t have to, as it happens--at that moment, an impatient “--sir? Sir, may I please take your order?” breaks through his mental abstraction, clearly not for the first time, and he shakes his head to clear it, cheeks flushing as he approaches the counter, mumbling apologies. He orders his drink, iced chai tea latte, please, making sure to leave a hefty tip in the jar.
Eager to spare himself further social anxiety, Cal grabs his drink as soon as it’s placed on the counter, mumbling another apology as he grabs a straw and walks briskly out of the exit closest to the parking lot, sipping eagerly at the drink (he swears it’s even better than usual) and what do you fucking know.
“Quincy,” Cal says when he reaches his car, clamping down on the little thrill he gets from knowing the name. He swirls the drink a little like some kind of movie character with a glass of wine. He’s chill. He’s cool.
“Oh. Hello, Cal,” Quincy says sheepishly. He’s standing at the front of a car—not just a car, the car—its hood propped open in a universal sign of defeat. “I seem to...be having some car trouble.”
“No fucking way,” Cal breathes out, because some things are too strange to be coincidences.
“I’m...I’m sorry?”
Cal shakes himself. “No, you’re good, sorry. It’s just that, uh. This is your car?”
It’s a Mercedes AMG, and it’s been parked next to Cal’s car every day for a couple months now. Cal’s awe hasn’t dulled with time. He figured it belonged to some paranoid doctor, rich and extravagant and scared enough of car crashes to buy a luxury armored SUV. The fact that it belongs to Quincy isn’t strange all on its own—because sure, whatever, Quincy is well-off, that’s a thing that happens to people—but the odds of the day he realizes it belongs to Quincy being the same day he learns Quincy’s name after months of wondering and silence?
Well.
“Yes. It’s practically new,” Quincy says sadly, “but I’m hopeless with cars. It’s probably something rather foolish.”
And then, because Cal is a masochist, he finds himself saying “Well, I know a thing or two about cars,” and yeah, okay, this is happening, apparently.
“You do?” Quincy’s expression is nothing short of hopeful. “Cal, I would be incredibly grateful.”
“Of course,” Cal says, already moving toward the car, because who is he to say no to a beautiful boy in a yellow sweater, to a beautiful car with its hood propped open? “It’s no trouble. Keys?”
“In the ignition.”
Cal forces himself to focus on the task at hand, even though sitting in the driver’s seat makes him feel downright giddy. He tells himself it’s the car’s immaculate leather interiors, the sheer novelty of sitting in a ridiculous, extravagant vehicle, and not the boy standing in front of the hood with his arms folded across his chest in defeat. He takes a breath.
Although, he thinks as he twists the key in the ignition, surely this is an acceptable thing to be intrigued by. Why is unassuming Quincy, who looks no older than Cal, driving an armored SUV—and not just any armored SUV, but one that can sustain machine guns and hand grenades?
He guesses people could say the same about him and his car, because the upkeep of classic cars is a bit of a bitch, but Cal’s beat-up inherited ‘59 Chevy Apache isn't machine gun proof, and it certainly isn't new. She's valuable, of course, but she was passed down to him, not bought fresh off the lot, and that value is probably tempered by years of dings and scratches. She's not a symptom of extravagance the way this absolute mammoth must be. So. Not the same, actually.
When he tries to crank up the car, it makes a horrible grinding sound that he knows well, the needles on dashboard instruments shuddering. Cal takes great pains to compose his amused grin into something more sympathetic.
“Good news and bad news,” he says, slamming the car door behind him reflexively before cringing. This isn’t the Apache, with its squeaky doors and stubborn latches, and that door alone probably cost more than Cal’s college tuition. “The good news is it’s nothing serious. You’ve just got a dead battery.”
Quincy slumps a little with what Cal assumes is relief. “That seems manageable.”
“The bad news, though,” Cal says. “Do you have jumper cables?”
“No,” Quincy replies, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed.
“See, that’s what I was worried about.” Cal gestures to his own car. He sips at his latte, and is genuinely alarmed to realize it’s almost empty. It’s delicious, but still, he’s only had the drink for twenty minutes at the most. “I don’t have mine either. I--” Cal considers the location of his jumper cables, in a heap in the living room of the apartment, leftover from a Skype debate with Zara centered on a story her classmate insisted was true concerning jumper cables and nipples. Cal doesn’t regret the use of a visual aid--he won the debate, after all, because seriously, have you seen jumper cable clamps, there is no way--but he decides this is not something he needs to share with Sweater Guy. “They’re at home. I can go grab them and come back to give you a jump, though? Our place is literally right around the corner.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Quincy hedges, a little desperately. Cal sees him battling internally between the need to be polite and the need to get his car running again.
“You’re not imposing,” Cal says, “because I offered. Seriously. Apologizing to me when I ran into you! Thinking you’re an imposition after I offered you something! You’re too nice for your own good, Quince.” The nickname slips out without Cal’s consent, and he feels the tips of his ears warm.
Quincy looks at him, tilting his head curiously. “I have an anxiety disorder,” he says after a moment, very plainly, and Cal feels like the biggest asshole in the world. He feels like an even bigger asshole because his knee-jerk reaction is to laugh, because what a mood, really.
To his abject horror, the laughter actually bubbles out, warm and genuine and fuck, he needed it, but he can also feel himself blushing crimson, because Jesus Christ, Cal, this is not the kind of reaction you should be having to this information. “I’m sorry,” he manages after a too-long moment. “I’m so sorry, oh my God, I promise I’m not laughing at you. It’s just...fuck, we’re not allowed to be that blunt, you know?”
Quincy inclines his head again, an unspoken question, and yeah, okay, you made this bed, Cal, now lie in it.
“I just mean, like...okay. Example. I’m chronically ill, right? I have asthma, thanks for that, genetics, but anyway the point is that I tell people I’m sick and they’re like, get well soon! They don’t understand that I don’t...want that. They don’t get that I’m sick, and that it’s okay! That’s fine! If you’re sick, you either have to be dying, or you have to be overcoming it or some shit. I just…I wish I could introduce myself like hi, I’m Cal, I have depression and my lungs don’t work very well. But I can’t, because that’s weird, that makes healthy people feel awkward, and our whole lives are about making healthy people feel better about our fucking lives.” He takes a breath, a little more painfully than he would prefer because it's goddamn cold out. “I just mean...I don’t know. It’s refreshing.”
Well, okay. Emotional intensity with Sweater Guy is not what Cal banked on happening today, but Sweater Guy is Quincy Washington, and now that he’s looking at him up close, he kind of feels like he’s demystifying him or...or something. The expensive sweater, he sees, is fraying at the sleeve from being picked at nervously. That annoyed expression, the one Cal always interpreted as aloof, is the face Quincy makes when his glasses start slipping down his nose. His sex hair is just...really good hair, perhaps a little mussed at the roots from a tendency to run his hands through it with the air of an exasperated father in a movie, and what’s wrong with that, really?
Sweater Guy, as it happens, is just a guy.
Anyway, Cal’s shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling the full force of the straight-up monologue he’s just delivered, but then Quincy is saying “That’s exactly it” in this relieved goddamn voice, so maybe things are okay after all. “What is that? Why do they make it so weird? It’s not as though it’s contagious.”
“Right? I don’t know. I’m just kind of exhausted of healthy people.” He inclines his head, toward his car, moving to the driver’s side because, again, it’s cold as shit and his lungs ache and he really should get Quincy that jump. “I’ll go grab those cables.” Something in the pit of his stomach grumbles at the movement, and he frowns, a reflexive hand coming up to rest on his belly. Weird.
“Oh, yeah,” Quincy says, like he’s forgotten what the whole point of this was (and doesn’t that just make something warm pool in Cal’s chest, God, he’s so screwed), and casts a withering glance toward the hospital doors. Cal looks at him for a second, shivering underneath his layers in front of his out-of-commission car, and before he can think about it any further than that he’s saying “You can ride with me there and back, if you want? It’s awfully cold out.”
Quincy positively beams. “I would like that very much, Cal.”
Okay then.
*
Amy is doing an honest-to-God tarot reading in the middle of the living room when Cal gets home, complete with candles and a red cloth draped over their coffee table, and isn’t that just their whole relationship summarized. He throws Quincy a put-upon glance over his shoulder, and Quincy bites his lip to keep from laughing. Has Cal mentioned that Quincy is attractive? God fucking damn it.
“Permission to enter the divination room?” he says in lieu of a hello, and Amy startles, nearly knocking over one of the candles.
“Cal!” Amy says, scandalized, staggering to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming! I would’ve gotten rid of these!”
Cal can’t help but chuckle. “I’m not going to have an asthma attack from candles, Ames.”
“You could! Go--go stand in the kitchen or something! Make your friend help me!”
Cal gives Quincy a look, a sort of see what I have to deal with? shrug, and Quincy responds with an amused smirk. “I’d be happy to help,” he says in a tone that sounds like he’s honest-to-God fucking with Cal. “What tarot deck is that?”
The kitchen is essentially attached to the living room, the two only separated by a narrow doorway, but Cal shrugs and takes this opportunity to wriggle out of his jacket and grab a soda from the fridge. He has a feeling he’s gonna be here for a while. As he reaches into the fridge, however, that strange little twinge deep in his belly makes itself known again, and he grimaces as a cramp seizes his insides. He closes the refrigerator empty-handed, leaning a suddenly-clammy forehead against the cool stainless steel. This does not bode well.
“So how do you know Cal, again?” Amy is saying just as he’s composed himself enough to re-enter the living room. Quincy has migrated to the couch, at least, albeit with his back ramrod straight, Amy apparently having been satisfied that Cal is not in any immediate mortal peril.
“He volunteers at the hospital with me,” Cal says before Quincy can say anything, and when Amy glances over at him, Amy mouths Sweater Guy over Quincy’s head. Amy’s eyes bulge, so Cal forges ahead before she can say something to embarrass him. “His battery died, so I came here for the jumper cables.”
“Riiight, the hospital,” Amy says, a barely restrained grin in her voice, and God, when Amy tells Zara that Cal brought Sweater Guy home he is never going to hear the end of it. “Did you put up the fliers, by the way? We’re really gonna struggle this month if we don’t get it figured out soon,” and Cal looks up sharply, idly placing a hand on his stomach when it protests at the movement. Why is Amy bringing up the roommate fliers now?
“I know,” Cal says slowly, trying to communicate please don’t do this now with just a glance.. He sits on the couch next to Quincy, careful to leave a socially acceptable distance between them. “I know, Amy. But...no, I didn’t.” He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, his stomach starting to churn in earnest.
“Cal,” Amy chastises, and Cal thinks he would prefer anger to disappointment. “Did you talk to anyone, at least? It’ll be easier if it’s someone we know for, like, negotiating rent and stuff.”
“Um,” Cal says eloquently, but then Quincy is saying, “Actually, he talked to me,” and alright then, that took a turn.
“Oh,” Amy says, skeptical, but her face has brightened nonetheless. “Really?”
“That’s part of why I brought him with me to grab the cables,” Cal says, because he’s rolling with this, apparently. He really is never going to live this down. “To show him the room.”
“I wanted to see it for myself,” Quincy says sagely.
“Uh, yeah,” Cal adds lamely.
Amy is giving him this proud goddamn grin, and Cal is having trouble looking at it, because seriously, it shouldn't be like this. Amy has left this whole roommate search up to him, which is a nice gesture—Amy could live with anyone, with her natural inclination toward small talk and her compulsive baking which is the least unwelcome coping mechanism and her goddamn optimism, but Cal, with his bound chest and testosterone injections, has a lot more to lose here. The thing is, Cal, for all his charm and his mock-flirting and his wolfish grins, has a hard time with people, so him bringing home a coworker (or whatever he's supposed to call Quincy—coworker doesn't feel right, and Cal's trying really hard not to overanalyze that) isn't exactly a common occurrence. Amy is a proud parent smiling at her kid for making friends on the first day of kindergarten, and Cal loves her for it, he does, but it also chafes against him like his chest binder on a hot day.
"Well, go ahead," Amy finally says, breaking what could have turned into an awkward silence. "Don't let me stop you! I'm Amy, by the way. What's your name? I’m not sure I caught it." She glances at Cal as she says with a terribly unsubtle wink.
"Quincy Washington," Quincy says in that same quiet way he told Cal. "It's wonderful to meet you, Amy. I’m a fan of tarot myself and you have an excellent eye for ambiance."
"Thanks!" Amy beams, and Cal wrenches himself off the couch and ushers Quincy down the hallway before Amy loops him into a conversation about the history of tarot or some shit. Cal loves her to death, but knows she’s practically chomping at the bit. He won’t be surprised if she’s texting Zara as he speaks.
"You did me a solid, there, Quincy," Cal says quietly when they're far enough down the hall to be out of Amy’s earshot, hyper-aware of how sluggish he is. "We can just waste a little time and then I'll get you that jump."
"May I see the room?" Quincy asks, and Cal's heart just about stops entirely. "I'm glad to have done you...a solid, but I do happen to be looking for a room to let." His voice catches strangely and unfamiliarly around the slang.
Cal stares at him for a second. "Seriously?"
"I am very serious. If you'll have me, of course," Quincy says then, rushing through the second sentence and looking self-conscious about it.
"No, I just..." Cal says in something like disbelief, then shakes himself off. "Anyway. I guess I'll show you the room, then?"
"Please," Quincy says, so Cal leads the way.
"It's kind of small," he says apologetically, pushing open the door and flicking on the lights. They're Edison bulbs, and they cast the room in buttery yellow. "And obviously we'd move this stuff out of here if you moved in."
Quincy doesn’t say anything, and Cal turns to see that his face is frozen in genuine, slack-jawed awe. It's more than a little endearing, and Cal tucks his fond little grin away before he speaks. "You're a book guy, huh?"
"You could say that," Quincy breathes, and moves forward a little. "May I—?"
"Go for it," Cal says, and Quincy reaches out to touch one of the bookcases.
The room belonged to Zara until she moved out, the smallest room by far but also the one with the most windows, all against the far wall looking out toward the main road. Pushed against the opposite wall are three wood-paneled curio cabinets that Henry once used as bookshelves, packed tight with the books he cared about most in this world. Many of them are leather-bound and there is more than one special edition, all of them older than Cal's grandparents.
"They're beautiful," Quincy finally says after a moment, "but why do you have rare books in your apartment?"
Cal snorts, because it is so contrary to what he was expecting, but also because this is a valid question. "Honestly," he says, "I just couldn't bear to part with them. They were my dad's." The words are out before he realizes he's just dropped the dead dad bomb, so he forges ahead. "Uh, like I said, we'd get them out of here before you moved in."
"Or you could leave them," Quincy murmurs, eyes darting back and forth as he scans the titles. "God, is that a livre d'artist?"
On some level, Cal registers that this a very pretentious question, and also that there is just something strange about the way Quincy speaks, like everything he says has been polished beforehand. On another, baser level, he finds it frustratingly hot. "Uh, that sounds like a question I should maybe know the answer to, but honestly, these were my dad's thing. I haven't opened up any of the books since he died. I keep the shelves dusted, but I'm not much of a literature person."
"Are you a book person?" Quincy asks.
"Come on, you can be one or the other. People can like books without liking capital L literature," he says, turning to look at Cal with this ridiculously excited expression. It's kind of heartwarming. "You know, people who hate Hemingway but loved Twilight."
Cal may or may not have the entire saga on the much smaller, far less decorative bookshelf beside his bed, but Quincy doesn't need to know that. "Interesting distinction. Yeah, I guess I am."
"I knew it. Team Edward or Team Jacob?"
"Wow I hate this conversation."
Quincy smirks and turns back to the shelves with a quiet sort of reverence that makes Cal smile. It also makes his heart ache a little because it reminds him so much of his dad, but it's an ache that has dulled with the passage of time.
"So," Cal says, trying to sound casual, "Are you a student?"
"Yes," Quincy replies, still scanning book titles with a feverish intensity that skirts perilously close to lunacy. "I'm a senior. Are you?"
"Yeah," Cal says thinly. There's still a chance, he tells himself, and has to catch his breath as his stomach cramps again. A low rumble has begun deep in his gut, like someone set it to simmer, his stomach doing lazy barrel rolls that make him swallow hard. "Senior, too. Pre-med."
"I'm a double major. Classics and Theology. Not the most practical, I know," Quincy says, sheepishly, like he's used to people reacting poorly to it.
Fuck. God fucking damn it.
"Oh!" Cal says, forcibly infusing his voice with something akin to enthusiasm. "That's really cool. Um. Side note, just by the way..."
Quincy looks at him inquiringly. Fuck. All at once, his stomach cramps harshly enough to have him seeing stars, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead again, and he can’t quite stifle a pained moan, clutching at his roiling insides, leaning against the doorframe for support.
“Are you okay, Cal?” Quincy takes a step toward him, evidently not too worried about whatever Cal was going to say, looking more concerned than Cal would expect from someone who avoided the fuck out of him prior to today, and he gives a pained nod, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Something bubbles in his lower belly painfully, and it hits him all at once.
“Fuck,” he hisses, noticing all at once how his stomach is puffy, poking out under his shirt and over the waistband of his jeans, how the cramps are accompanied by a near-constant rumble and oppressive waves of nausea. “Sorry, I’m--I just forgot to ask for—” He swallows again, hardly able to think about the damned chai tea latte, presumably made with full fat milk, churning around inside him. “I’m...lactose intolerant,” he manages, painfully aware that this is happening in front of Sweater Guy of all people. “I forgot to ask for almond milk instead of regular.”
“Are you alright?” Quincy sounds alarmed, eyes darting from Cal to the door and back again. “Should I get Amy? Is it an allergy, or—?”
“No, no,” Cal manages, laughing lightly. “You sound just like her, though. It’s just—” He grimaces, clutching at a twinge of nausea— “Just a pretty gnarly tummy ache. I’ll be okay.” He allows himself to rest a hand on his belly, straightening up through immense willpower. “Seriously, let’s just...move on, if that’s alright.”
“Of course,” Quincy murmurs, still looking rather concerned. It’s endearing, Cal thinks, even through the fog of nausea and the embarrassment tinging his cheeks red. “I believe you were saying something?”
“Oh,” Cal remembers, and looks at the floor. "My dad's name was Henry Kline?"
Quincy freezes. To his credit, he reigns in the incredulous expression relatively quickly.
"Cal," he says instead, very sincerely, turning to look at him with sad, sad eyes. "Cal, I am so sorry."
"Don't be," Cal mumbles, looking down, rubbing at the back of his neck. His stomach lets out a loud, angry rumble, and he flushes an even deeper shade of crimson. "I just, uh, wanted you to know from me. 'Cause if you live here, you gotta understand that people are gonna talk. They always do, about us. 'Specially when they hear our last name."
"Cal Kline," Quincy realizes all at once, and then, with that painful sincerity again, "I wouldn't listen."
Cal smiles despite himself. "Thanks, Quincy."
Quincy clears his throat, straightening up from where he's been crouched to pour over the books. Cal is sort of impressed at the sheer muscle tone it must’ve taken to forget he was doing a deep squat. "Cal, I have something to tell you as well."
This is it, Cal thinks. He doesn't want the room. Doesn't want to live with the bereaved Klines. It's too much. Just give him the jump and go back to never speaking again. The anxiety stirs up his upset stomach, and he clamps down forcibly on a burp that tries to burble up. His stomach lets out a low groan in response to the air being forced back into it.
"I was studying under Professor Kline," he says instead, and oh, okay. Which is to say, what the fucking shit, how many motherfucking coincidences can there feasibly be in one 12-hour period, but okay, it's better than what Cal was expecting. "I was a teaching assistant, and I was helping him restore his book collection." He glances back to the shelves. "I should have recognized them immediately, but I never saw them on the shelves..."
Cal's glad Quincy isn't looking at him anymore, because he can't vouch for what his face is doing. The ache Henry left is healing, dulled with the passage of time, but it still hurts if Cal picks at it. Quincy studied with Henry. Quincy knew him in a way Cal never did, never will, his brain screams, and something about that is just, well. His stomach flips, something cramping low and urgent in his belly.
Quincy is beautiful, and he is wearing a yellow sweater, and he likes Cal's car, and the only reason he cares that Cal's last name is Kline is because he doesn't want to be inconsiderate to Cal.
So, fuck.
"Well, now that we've got the awkward parts out of the way," Cal says, and Quincy flashes him a genuine smile that is positively blinding. He recovers from his seven consecutive heart attacks before continuing, "I can show you the rest of the apartment."
“Are you sure?” Quincy glances dubiously at Cal, who still has an arm curled around his belly. “You’re awfully pale.”
“That’s, uh—” Cal laughs nervously, feeling sicker and sicker by the moment. “Yeah. Maybe you could just...show yourself around?” At that moment, a low whine fills the apartment, a sure tell that Amy has gotten into the shower, and Cal’s stomach tightens. “Minus the bathroom, I guess. Sorry, our pipes do that when we use the shower. I’m just gonna, uh, have a seat in the living room.”
Quincy doesn’t question this, and Cal sends up a silent cry of gratitude to whoever may be listening. He settles into his favorite crease on the sofa, looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure Quincy is occupied with checking out the patio before pressing both hands to his grumbling stomach, feeling irritable movement beneath his palms. Oh, it hurts, cramps squeezing at his lower belly like a vice, a sticky, hot nausea plaguing his tummy. He tries in vain to soothe the ache, rubbing his hand across his bloated stomach as gently as possible, but the touch only sends up a dangerous belch that leaves him panting, hanging over the edge of the couch, the taste of chai and stomach acid coating his mouth revoltingly.
Quincy’s self-guided tour doesn't take long; their three-bedroom student apartment doesn't exactly contain multitudes. Cal has thankfully composed himself before Quincy pokes his head into the living room. “I have seen what I need to see, I believe,” he says with that stiff formality that seems to crop up occasionally.
"Yeah, that's the place! Nice and straightforward,” Cal says brightly, as convincingly as he can without moving around too much. “Any clutter you see is mine because Amy is an android, probably."
Quincy smiles, and Cal's cardiac health continues to worsen, God those fucking smiles. "Can you prove it?"
"Irrefutably. Evidence: runs for fun. Consumes spinach, also for fun. Wakes up and goes to bed at the same time every day. Possibly irons her clothes, but I'm still not sure on that one."
"She sounds...pretty human. Perhaps you're the android."
"No, I just have depression," Cal says before he can stop himself.
Quincy throws his head back and laughs, and it makes Cal feel so fucking warm. Has he mentioned recently that he is completely screwed in a way that has nothing to do with his cramping stomach?
"God, Amy hates when I joke about it. It'll be nice to have someone who understands around here when you move in."
Quincy straightens up. "When I move in?"
"What can I say. You sold me. If you want to live here, I want you to live here." He smiles, small.
It was kind of a done deal when you said you worked with Henry Kline, Cal doesn't say. The way you talk to me like I'm a normal person and the fact that you're fucking gorgeous are just bonuses.
"There is one more thing," he says, steeling himself. Much of his life is spent steeling himself. He pauses, waiting for Quincy to make a joke, to grin another heart-stopping grin, but he just looks at Cal curiously. "I'm trans. I wasn't born a male but I am and always have been a boy. I bind my chest and live as a male and use he/him pronouns. If you don't understand it, that's okay, but I will demand a certain level of respect in my own home, and it'd be preferable if that respect was voluntary." The speech is well-oiled from use, but Cal's voice still shakes.
"Is that all?" Quincy says, and Cal feels his entire body slump in relief, straightening back up a little when his stomach protests. "I mean, of course, Cal. I'm not ignorant."
"Oh, yeah, right. Thank you, gentle cis man. I worship at the holy altar of your allyship." He says it like a joke, but it takes effort to get out, because despite everything, it's taken him years to give this speech to a receptive audience and not feel like he's been granted a favor.
It's taken him years to say I'm here and not have it come out as I'm sorry.
When he told Zara, it was this whole thing, Zara reaching across the table to clasp one of Cal's hands in both of hers, you know I'm here for you, right? Cal's Facebook messages are full of Zara sending him every post she sees with the word trans in it, and like yeah, Zara, you're very sweet and supportive, but sometimes Cal just wants to be Cal, you know?
It's just that Cal's known Quincy for all of a few hours and he already feels so goddamn understood.
"I'm happy to pay whatever Zara’s share was," Quincy says, "And if you would be willing to leave Professor Kline's books, I would be honored."
"Consider it done," Cal says, smiling a little. He’s almost able to forget about the slow, sinister ache in his stomach. Almost. "Though get ready for Amy to talk about it all the time. She’s really not on board with them being here."
"I mean...religion isn't my cup of tea either, believe it or not, but I saw an original King James Bible. That alone has to be worth at least twenty grand. Literature person or not, that's...a really valuable thing to be keeping in your rented apartment."
Cal's eyes flit to the tiled floor, and he can feel Quincy's gaze on him, and he knows he's biting his lip, something he does often enough that one side of it is slightly larger than the other.
"Oh...Cal, I apologize. I didn't mean to intrude." It's that stiff formality from their almost-collision at the hospital again, and when Cal glances up, Quincy is backing away from him, hands folded behind his back. "I'm sure they're insured, or...even if they're not...I just mean, it's your business, of course. I apologize."
"No, it's fine." Cal clears his throat nervously. "You're right. Zara and Amy just kind of went a little crazy helping me get rid of his stuff when he died, and they wanted to donate them to the university. I probably should have let them, but..." He shrugs, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, presses his lips together around another burp that he forces down, wincing at the added pressure. "It's not like these are even all the books he had. There are probably hundreds in the storage unit. But I'm ridiculous, and they were just his thing, and for some reason the thought of them just sitting in a dusty room with boxes of his old clothes and the lawnmower and literal cobwebs just didn't sit right, so."
"So you brought them here." Quincy looks at him like he understands, and isn't just that the worst fucking thing? "I get it."
"I kind of do want to donate them, as it turns out," and wow, okay, Cal didn't realize that until he says it out loud. "I'm just a little worried because I haven't exactly been...maintaining them, or whatever. I wouldn't even know where to start. If I'm going to let the university open up the Henry Kline Memorial Library or whatever the fuck, I don’t want to give them dusty books with cracked spines, you know? He would've hated that."
Quincy clears his throat, licks his lips a little, and wow, okay, Cal's feeling things again. "I don't know if this is something you'd even be comfortable with, but...I could continue the work I was doing with Professor Kline. We were in the middle of restoring his collection, and I learned his technique well. I still have access to the labs. I could take it one book at a time. With your approval, of course."
Cal blinks. "Um...yeah. Yeah, okay. That's super cool of you, thank you."
"Are you kidding?" Quincy blurts, and then scratches the back of his neck a little like he's embarrassed. "I mean, it's just that you're doing me a favor. Henry Kline's book collection...I'll admit that I've missed them."
Cal can't help the little smile that tugs his lips up, and seriously, he has to get these feelings under control, God, the guy hasn't even moved in yet.
Before he can say anything, Quincy's face softens into that aching sympathy again. "And Cal...I miss him, as well. He was a good man."
Cal kind of wants to cry, so suddenly and desperately that it takes his breath away for a second. His stomach churns audibly, and Quincy looks at him in alarm.
"Quincy," he says when he gets his voice back, "How soon can you move in?"
Quincy beams. "How soon will you have me?"
*
When Amy gets out of the shower, Cal is sprawled across the couch, openly groaning, clutching his stomach with both hands.
"What happened to Quin--Cal?” Amy blurts out as she enters the living room, rushing over to the couch when she takes in Cal’s sickly pallor.
“Finally drove him back and jumped his car," Cal groans, still marveling that he was able to hold it together long enough. He may or may not have had to pull over on the way back, heaving up a trickle of stomach acid and chai tea latte onto the side of the road, at least as much due to anxiety as it was to lactose intolerance, but Amy doesn’t need to know that. "Says he'll take the room…"
“Okay, that’s great, we’ll unpack that later,” Amy says, sitting gently at Cal’s feet, “But what’s going on with this?” She doesn’t wait for permission, laying a soft hand on Cal’s bloated belly, kneading gently at a cramp, ushering up a soft burp. Amy is sort of a miracle worker.
"’S gonna pay Zara’s share,” Cal murmurs, leaning into Amy’s touch, grimacing as the pressure ushers up a burp that brings up a wave of stomach acid. He swallows hard.
"Again, that’s great, but,” Amy says, rubbing his belly in wide arcs, maintaining a steady pressure that does wonders for the cramps. “What the hell?”
“I got anxious getting my latte,” he mumbles, letting his eyes slide shut. Amy’s ministrations are easing the worst of the nausea, and he is so, so thankful for her. “Forgot to ask for almond milk.”
“Cal,” Amy says, all faint disapproval and warm concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You were showering,” he whines, then whimpers a little at a particularly strong cramp, and Amy moves closer, applying a bit more pressure as she kneads at the cramp, massaging her other hand gently over the burbly places in his lower belly. “I made him show himself around. He didn’t even mind.”
“Sounds like a dreamboat,” Amy says, her voice light and teasing.
Cal doesn't know what to say to that that won't be self-incriminating, so he just says, "He really likes yellow."
"I noticed that,” Amy agrees. "When does he move in?"
Cal keeps his eyes shut, studiously avoiding eye contact. "Tomorrow."
"Oh, wow, so soon! I can't wait to get to know him." Amy’s tone is completely genuine, probably working out what she can bake that properly conveys a message of thanks for living with us! She applies a bit of firm pressure unexpectedly to the bloat beneath Cal’s ribs, and he groans, feeling a flutter in his stomach as it tries and fails to expel a rush of trapped air. “Oof--please don’t do that again,” he manages, clutching at his chest.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Amy says, sounding genuinely sad, and Cal slowly opens his eyes. “Just seems like you’ve got quite a lot of air stuck in there. Would you like some tea? Not chai, I guess...”
Cal groans, shoving a couch pillow over his face. “I know. I’m an idiot. Oh, my tummy—”
“Let me make you that tea,” Amy says lightly, giving his tummy a little pat before wrenching herself off the couch, and Cal loves the fuck out of her, has he mentioned?
"I think you'll like him," Cal calls as Amy moves into the kitchen, deciding to take this opportunity to drop the bomb, adding more quietly, "Oh, and, small world, he worked with my dad."
The rustling in the kitchen pauses, then starts again almost as suddenly as it stopped. "Does he...?"
"Yeah, I told him. Didn't seem to bother him. He really likes the books."
"The books," Amy murmurs, and oh God, not this again, but Amy is already following up with "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do with them?"
Cal takes a deep breath and feels it stutter a little in his chest, reminding him he's been binding for a bit too long. "Yeah, actually. They were working on restoring the books when Dad died. He said he'd help me get them back into shape and I think I'll donate them to the university."
"Oh," Amy says, pleasantly, and Cal reminds himself that Amy is good, that Amy is only doing what she thinks is best, what Zara told her would be best, that most rational people would question the wisdom of having cases of books worth thousands of dollars in an apartment not known for its impenetrable security measures. "That's really cool. He sounds like a really neat guy, Cal."
Cal thinks of yellow-tinted glasses, of that scar on his face and the way he looked at Cal like he understands him. "Yeah," he says softly. "He really is."
“Ginger or mint?” Amy calls, and Cal is thankful for the change of subject.
“Ginger, please,” he calls back, carefully cupping his stomach with his palm, and takes a very deep breath.
*
A long while later, Amy has fallen asleep on his shoulder, a hand still splayed across his slightly-less-bloated belly, old episodes of The Twilight Zone streaming at a low volume on the TV. Cal can’t be bothered to move, too comfortable, too deep in thought, the churning of his belly finally soothed by Amy’s ministrations and a few shamefaced trips to the bathroom.
Cal thinks about his dad every day, and that is no euphemism. He sometimes drifts past the extra room (Quincy's room, he thinks, something blooming in his chest in a way he doesn’t want to deal with right now) and sees his books, or catches sight of the scar on his knee he got the first and last time he and his dad went fishing when they were supposed to be studying for Cal's math test the next day, when a stray hook went straight through and he needed stitches, remembers the ice cream after, I'm not going to say don't tell your mom, but I'm going to say I won't if you won't, and he smiles, just a little (he didn't tell his mother). Every night he lays in a bed across from a desk that's been flush to the wall underneath the window since the day his dad built it, the one they picked out together at IKEA before Cal moved in, the one that had him muttering profanities for three hours on a blisteringly hot day in August while Zara’s mother, Virginia, poked her head in intermittently, how are those PhDs treating you, Dr. Kline? Cal thinks about his dad all the time.
It's just that he can't remember the day he died.
It's just that he knows that he's the one who found the body, that he's the one who, somehow, called 911, who clung to Amy when the ambulance came, but he knows it the way you know stories about your fourth birthday party or your first day of school—more retelling than memory. Something you know because you're told.
If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can remember what his uncle was wearing that day, what the perfume of the hospital secretary smelled like, but he can't for the life of him remember his dad's face, what the last thing he said to him was. And when it comes down to it, maybe he doesn’t remember what his uncle was wearing at all, maybe he just remembers him saying at the funeral, he bought me this tie, you know.
You'd be surprised how many people come to a funeral for a professor, how many handshakes and hugs Cal got just for losing someone. How many looks of pity he got (gets) when they hear his name: Cal Kline, the guy who found his dad dead.
And he can't even remember it.
Psychogenic amnesia, Dr. Hodge told him in one of their first sessions, because yeah, when you're trans and you find your dad dead and can't fucking remember it, the one thing you spare no expense on is a really badass therapist. His brain couldn't handle what happened. He repressed it. It was the emotional shock, was the trauma, was the pain, yeah, Cal gets it.
It's just that the one thing you should be allowed to hold onto are lasts, and Cal can't even remember his. He thinks of his dad and sees fishing, sees the lectures he sometimes sat in on, sees a receding hairline and eyes just like his and of course I still love you, sweetheart, daughter or son, you're family, and it aches.
He wonders if Quincy's lost someone, if that's why he looked at him like that, eyes soft and understanding but not pitying. I get it, he said, and Cal believes him.
Cal rolls that around in his head like a marble.
I get it. I get it. I get it.
Yellow's an awfully pretty color.
#timeline#Cal#Zara#Quincy#Amy#okay yeah i forgot to write a bio for zara we'll get to that later#i. did not proofread this#belly rubs#spot the myx shoutout :P
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[ ROONEY + QUINCY ]
“I’m tired, Roo.” Beanie’s voice was almost dropped to a whisper. The girls had been scavenging all day. They’d gone from house to house searching for goods to stock their out hideout with. The house they’d made camp in was just over a mile away from their current spot. If they’d been in the pre-zombie era then Rooney would have pushed more for Beanie to keep going. A mile wasn’t all that bad. That was then. In their current days, a mile could be incredibly long. You had to be aware of your surroundings one hundred percent of the time. Cars were strewn everywhere in the road and you had to check every single one of them. There was the human threat component to all of this, but the two had been fortunate to avoid running into any other humans. It wasn’t a simple matter of just continuing on for the mile. If Beanie was tired then it meant she wasn’t going to be as aware, and that wasn’t a risk that Rooney was willing to take. Rooney herself was bordering exhausted.
There was a house up ahead that was devoid of cars or large debris. “We’ll stop there for a few hours, but then it’s right home.” The reality of getting to sleep for a bit seemed to be all too much for Beanie to handle. She nearly yelped with joy. Rooney smiled and shook her head, taking out her trench knife. “You know the deal. I check for zombies and you stay at my back. Facing which way?” Beanie replied with a quick ‘Back to back’, and the two were good to go. The house they’d be staying in for the respite was one floor- the best choice for a short stay such as this one. It took a far smaller amount of time to check that way. After doing the usual door knocking to bring any zombies to the front, they went in.
Rooney wedged a window open and checked the room once again, just to be sure. When she confirmed it to be clear she lifted Beanie up to the window and let her climb in. Beanie’s red hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned out of the window to grab their backpack from Rooney’s outstretched hand. Once Rooney was inside she dusted herself off, closed the window, and looked around. “Whatdya think, Beanie Baby?” Beanie placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the room just as Rooney had. Whoever had occupied the space had clearly made it their home. The space bore signs of it everywhere you looked. Pictures on the walls, shelves- even the coffee table. Small toys littered the ground in clumps, as though their owners had left in a hurry. Which they probably had.
Beanie dropped herself to the ground and unrolled her sleeping bag from her backpack. They never slept in them, just on top with a blanket. Rooney surveyed the room, making sure it was adequately safe. It was a front room with two exits. One to the front and one on the left side. The front door was somewhat blocked by a couch. The side exit was situated in a way that wouldn’t leave them visible to anything that stumbled through. Rooney put her trench knife away in a makeshift holster hidden under her shirt. She plopped down on the floor next to Beanie and smiled down at her. The two girls could have been twins- only Beanie had red hair. Beanie was like a string bean, thin limbs and a beautiful mess of hair. “Love you, Roo.” Her sister said it in a hushed tone that Rooney knew meant she was falling asleep. “Love you too, Beanie Baby.”
Rooney hadn’t slept properly since all of this started. She was always on edge, always looking for zombies that could hurt Beanie. Or her, for that matter. The most she’d slept was a few hours every other night, and she could feel it getting to her. Rooney made a resolve to not sleep, but at some point must have failed because approximately an hour after her sister fell asleep she was asleep too. Until suddenly she wasn’t. She felt something yank at her ankle, jerking her suddenly awake. She looked up, expecting to see a zombie but found something worse: a man with a dark look in his eye. Right away she looked over at Beanie, who was still asleep. She always was able to sleep through anything. “Look at you two!” The man said in a tone that clearly indicated his intentions were no good. When Rooney looked around she saw that he wasn’t alone, but was surrounded by other men. Some looked uncomfortable and others were just as interested as he was.
She knew too much about the world to pretend like they weren’t in trouble. In one sharp movement she reached over for a knife that was next to Beanie’s sleeping bag. Rooney managed to grab it, but the guy in front of her kicked it out of her grasp. This was when she really started to panic, the possibilities of what could happen were beginning to flood her mind. She turned and scrambled for Beanie, who was groggily awake in the shake up. “Roo?” Her eyes fluttered open and closed, confused. The man grabbed both of them and jerked them towards him. Before Rooney even had a chance to react, he’d stabbed Beanie in the chest. Rooney screamed like she’d never done before- shrill and at the top of her lungs. Beanie fell backward, clutching at the wound on her chest. Rooney moved forward and tried to shove the man backwards, but he threw her back to the floor. He stabbed Beanie one more time before turning to Rooney. Rooney was scared, of course she was. But there was something else more to the forefront of her mind. She rushed him, but was pulled back by one of the other guys standing in the room. They threw her to the ground and he pulled her towards him by the hem of her shirt.
He turned her over and flopped down on top of her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll be just like your sister soon. But we’re gonna have some f-” Rooney had wedged her hand under herself and had managed to pull out her serrated trench knife. Teeth gritted, she swung her arm up and plunged it deep into his side, pulling it out with a twist. He screamed angrily, lifting his arm fully to get a look at the wound. This enraged him and he grabbed the knife, twisting it out of her hand. After a few seconds he brought the knife down, stabbing Rooney in her abdomen. Then again. Both wounds were deep, that much she knew immediately. He attempted to stab her somewhere in her face, but Rooney moved her head which meant it turned out to be a swipe from her forehead to somewhere on her scalp. It would bleed a lot, but that wasn’t the one she was worried about. She tried to stop him but knew it was a fruitless attempt. There was a noise from somewhere outside of the room, one that sounded almost like thunder. It was the last thing she could remember before passing out.
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UraIchi Week 2020 Day 6
UraIchi Week 2020
Day 6: Fantasy Mix
Used Prompts: Supernatural
Bad Things Happen Bingo Square Filled: Damaged Wings
Ao3 Link
UraIchi Week 2020 Tag
Created for @badthingshappenbingo - Another Bingo!
Tags: UraIchi Week 2020, Bad Things Happen Bingo, damaged wings, Supernatural AU, Post Winter War, Powerless Ichigo Kurosaki, Winged Ichigo Kurosaki, hurt Ichigo Kurosaki, Ichigo is dying, Cousins Ishida and Ichigo
Ichigo crossed his legs into a more comfortable sitting position from where he was perched on the roof of the hospital. Ichigo sighed as he took in the way the setting sun bathed his town in pink and orange hues. Ichigo winced as he rolled his shoulders, biting back a whine when a few orange feathers fluttered to the ground around his crossed legs.
Ichigo gently eased his left-wing around his side and brushed his fingers over the soft yet brittle feathers that made up his wing. He winced and removed his fingers when more feathers sank to the roof.
“Ichigo,” Ishida’s quiet voice came from the teen. Ichigo turned slightly before turning back to look at the setting sun when he caught sight of Ishida’s healthy and shining dark blue wings.
“My sister’s wings are starting to come in, they are little buds but they are so excited,” Ichigo said slowly as Ishida sat next to him, their wings contrasting in the dying light of the day.
“They can’t wait for me to teach them how to fly as Kaa-San did.” Ichigo’s voice shook as he curled his fingers into fists against the fabric of his pants.
“Tou-San will figure something out, he always does,” Ishida promised and Ichigo shook his head as he rose to his feet.
“I’m not a normal Quincy Ishida, we both know the only way for me to keep my wings and my life is getting back my Shinigami powers. To get Shiro and Oss-san back.” Ichigo reminded his cousin as he clutched the front of his shirt over his heart as he the hole in his chest ached.
“What are you going to do then?” Ishida saw the way Ichigo’s wings were flexing behind him and knew Ichigo had some scheme in mind.
“My last chance, if it doesn’t work… Get my sisters away from goat-face and teach them how to fly.” Ichigo tossed over his shoulder before he stepped off the roof. His orange wings flared out behind him and with a few powerful downward strokes Ichigo took off leaving Ishida behind.
Ichigo took a moment to enjoy the rush of wind against his face and wondered how much longer he had to enjoy this. His wings were already aching and tiring from the short flight he was taking. The pain was echoed in his chest and Ichigo was relieved when he saw a familiar Shouten come into view.
He knew that he was about to blow his secret wide open, but he had to if he wanted Urahara to understand. Ichigo hovered over the Shouten and his lips tilted up into a smile when he caught sight of Urahara stepping into the yard and the surprise in his eyes when he caught sight of Ichigo and his large orange wings.
“Ichigo?” Urahara asked as he took a few steps back as Ichigo lowered himself down onto the ground. Just in time as Ichigo’s wings dropped down exhausted and the sudden change in weight sent Ichigo stumbling forward.
Urahara was there, strong arms catching him around the waist and Ichigo found himself face-first against the older man’s geta and he couldn’t help but inhale the familiar scent.
“…Kisuke, I need your help.” Ichigo curled his fingers into the front of the green geta as he allowed Urahara to look his fill at his wings.
“Anything Ichigo, anything,” Urahara whispered almost reverently and something was lifted off of Ichigo’s shoulders.
“I need to restore my soul, without them my wings… They’re dying…They’re connected to my very being.” Ichigo whispered minutes later when he and Urahara were seated in the older man’s lab.
This conversation was too delicate for the front room and Ichigo refused to hide his wings away as he had learned to do since he was young and had to constantly do around Isshin and then the Shinigami’s.
“When your wings lose all their feathers and strength, then you…” Urahara crossed his arms in the large sleeves of his geta and his hat shielded his face, but Ichigo could all but see the anger that was coming from the older man.
“I will die, permanently this time.” Ichigo finished what Urahara refused to say aloud.
“Am I correct in assuming Isshin has no clue?” Urahara’s voice was light but Ichigo knew that tone, the man was angry and this time it was directed at Ichigo’s father.
“None and he doesn’t need to know. I refuse to let him treat Yuzu and Karin the way he treated me.” Ichigo said fiercely, his wings shaking at the thought of his little sisters having to deal with Isshin in the way Ichigo had to.
“Isshin and I will be having words once we save you,” Urahara promised and Ichigo blinked at the firm words, a silent promise and a smile crossed his lips.
“I’m assuming you have a plan?” Ichigo felt giddy, he knew Urahara wouldn’t let him down.
“We will restore your soul, the Soul Society owes you a great debt and I plan on collecting it on your behalf.” Urahara’s voice was dripping with bloodlust that also shined in his grey eyes in a way that made Ichigo’s wings shiver in delight.
“How long do you think you have left?” Urahara asked suddenly completely serious as he leaned towards Ichigo with something unsure in his eyes now.
“A few days at best, Ryūken and Ishida have been giving me daily doses of reiatsu but it’s like putting a bandage on a gaping hole. It helps but doesn’t do a lot of good in the long run. Without those doses, I would have been dead a few weeks ago.” Ichigo ran his fingers through his hair as he spoke.
“I see,” Urahara’s fingers tightened until his knuckles turned white. “I better get to work then, I’ll have Tessai set up a barrier that will draw in reiatsu to help keep you stable until I can return.”
“I knew I could count on you Kisuke, thank you.” Ichigo felt relief go through him; even if this didn’t work he now knew that the older man truly did care for him.
“Thank me after I save you, don’t you dare die before I get back.” Urahara took Ichigo’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Urahara’s eyes were burning with determination.
“I won’t, I promise…Just hurry.” Ichigo whispered as he held onto Urahara’s hand as tightly as Urahara was holding onto his.
“Wait for me Ichigo,” Urahara planted a soft kiss on Ichigo’s forehead before he left the room, his green geta swirling around him as he moved. Ichigo lifted his hand up to his forehead, a blush forming on his cheeks at the kiss.
Ichigo honestly and completely lost track of time after Tessai escorted him to the basement training area and set up a reiatsu-absorbing barrier around him. Ichigo got lost in the glowing barrier and the way he felt both weaker and stronger with each passing minute as his wings that were sprawled out on either side of him shuddered and flexed. Ichigo was in flux constantly and he wasn’t even sure he was alive most moments.
The one thing Ichigo was sure of was when the barrier was taken down, it felt like he had taken a sword in the gut as pain wracked his body as the constant flow of reiatsu was taken from him.
“Hold on just a bit longer Ichigo,” Urahara’s voice pierced the haze that had settled over Ichigo’s mind and the teen managed to open his eyes to look up at the older man. Ichigo coughed and felt wetness splatter over his lips but he did his best to turn his lips up into a smile.
“K-Kisuke,” Ichigo’s voice was hoarse and he could feel the wetness drip down his chin as he lifted his hand. His wings felt like they were pinned to the uneven ground below him and he was afraid if he looked he would see that he only had a few feathers left. Only a few minutes of his life left.
“Do you trust me Ichigo?” Urahara’s hand was gentle as he cupped the back of Ichigo’s neck, easing the teenager up. Ichigo whined at the way his wings hung limply behind him and his body felt frail under Urahara’s strong hand.
“Always have,” Ichigo rasped out before he saw a bright flash of light and Ichigo screamed as pain radiated from his stomach. He looked down to see a glowing sword buried in his gut and he looked back up at Urahara.
“Live Ichigo,” Urahara ordered fiercely as the glowing sword burned brightly and Ichigo’s world dissolved around him with a familiar insane cackle and a deep voice saying his name.
Urahara backed away as Ichigo’s body glowed and was lifted up off the ground. The teenager’s orange wings glowing as bright as the sun as they flared out around him, the missing feathers restored themselves and shone with a healthy light. Ichigo’s lips turned up into a smile even with his eyes closed as he hovered in the middle of the training area as his clothes burned away and were replaced with the familiar black Shinigami robes. Ichigo’s forearms and neck were now covered in crisscrossing black and white bands, his right hand lifted up to the side and his meat cleaver style Zanpakuto formed in a wave of black and red reiatsu.
“Welcome back Ichigo,” Urahara couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his lips at the sight of Ichigo, fully restored and healthy before him.
“Kisuke,” Ichigo smiled as his eyes opened, his brown eyes were burning with an orange glow that matched his wings. Ichigo’s feet touched back down onto the ground and he placed a hand on his chest over his heart with a pleased smile on his lips.
“Thank you, you saved me.” Ichigo stepped closer to Urahara as he sheathed his Zanpakuto on his back in a swift, familiar movement. Urahara noticed how his wings seemed to shift and adjust around the weight on his back.
“Always,” Urahara found himself promising and he blinked when Ichigo suddenly was in his space and had his arms around him in a tight hug, one his giant wings mirrored. Urahara had never felt so warm and safe in his life and he savoured it as he returned the hug trying not to be awkward after all he couldn’t remember the last time he had been hugged.
“I’m no longer hollow, no longer dying. How can I ever thank you?” Ichigo whispered, unwilling to remove his arms and wings from the older man.
“Dinner?” Urahara blurted out, feeling his cheeks flush at the sudden declaration.
“Dinner to start.” Ichigo pulled back, his cheeks pink and a happy smile on his lips. Urahara felt lighter than he had in centuries and didn’t resist leaning in just to brush their lips together in a questioning kiss.
Ichigo laughed almost sounding giddy as his wing whacked Urahara’s hat off so Ichigo could grip the blond’s hair and haul him in for a deep kiss.
“Dinner to start,” Urahara repeated breathlessly when their kiss broke, their arms still curled around the other.
#uraichi week 2020#bad things happen bingo#Supernatural AU#Damanged Wings#Post Winter War#AU#powerless Ichigo Kurosaki#Winged Ichigo Kurosaki#hurt Ichigo Kurosaki#dying Ichigo#cousins Ishida and Ichigo#fallenqueen2
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Erich/Kisuke: Accidental Marriage + It’s Not A Date, We Swear Part 4
Erich hauls a new box onto Kisuke’s workbench and absently uses his reiatsu to slice it open, mind still focused on what he sensed — or rather didn’t sense — from Kisuke earlier; the rough edges of the man’s soul and the shadings of desire-longing-want were almost expected — such intimate reiatsu sharing had a tendency to invoke similar reactions no matter who was doing it — but the complete lack of anything that could have drawn Tessai’s attention…
That he didn’t have an answer for.
Nothing had stood out, everything seemed right to him, and yet… and yet Tessai’s reaction tells him there’s something there, something he’s missed no matter how deep, how thorough, his search had been.
The whole thing has left him uneasy and off balance, like there’s something hanging over his head, ready to strike the minute he looks away—
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” Kisuke declares as he sweeps into the room, once more dressed in his usual outfit; it’s both a relief and a disappointment, because Erich has eyes and Kisuke wasn’t the only one affected by the earlier reiatsu sharing, but he also knows that they’re friends and little else.
“You didn’t,” Erich says as he nods towards another open box on the other side of the workbench. “I hauled a box over and opened it for you, and just opened my own.”
Kisuke makes a pleased noise and darts around the table to the other side, peering into the box that Erich set out for him. “Mou, just more bottles and knives,” he says with a put upon sigh, then pulls the first one out and holds it up. He frowns as he stares at it, tipping it back and forth, and then asks, “Or maybe not the same?”
“The histories mentioned more than one potion,” Erich tells him in amusement, then steps around to stand at Kisuke’s side and leans in to peer through the amber glass. It’s not sparkling like the glamour bottles — nor is it translucent like them — so he’s inclined to believe it isn’t one, instead of it having lost its potency. “I’m… not sure which this is, though,” Erich admits after a moment. “There’s nothing particularly distinctive about it, which… describes about half the potions I’ve heard stories of.”
“Potions,” Kisuke repeats with a tiny laugh, then leans away and raises his hands in surrender when Erich scowls at him. “Sorry! It’s just… hearing you talk about potions—”
“What else am I supposed to call them?” Erich asks grumpily as he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. He knows exactly how Kisuke feels — he used to snicker at all the stories too, before he realized exactly what his people had lost — but hearing it from someone else, someone not a Quincy, is… different. Wrong. Infuriating. “The terminology was established centuries ago. It’s not my decision.”
Kisuke sobers at that, a strange glint in his eyes and hints of regret-awkwardness-uncertainty in his reiatsu as he sets the bottle down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, reiatsu filling with sincerity-regret-determination in the process. “I won’t do that again.”
Erich grimaces and frees a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He takes a breath, sets aside his absurd reaction, and says, “It’s fine. It is hilarious, you’re right about that. I don’t… really know why I reacted like that.”
“Because in the end, friend or not, I’m not a Quincy,” Kisuke says easily, then shrugs when Erich shoots him a puzzled look. “What? It’s not exactly a mystery why you’d take offense at a Shinigami laughing at pieces of your history. Isn’t that exactly why you didn’t want the Twelfth involved?”
Erich bites his lip and looks away, disliking the implication that he doesn’t entirely trust Kisuke with helping him. If he’s still thinking of Kisuke — of his friend — as a Shinigami—
Kisuke steps closer, reaching out—
Only to hesitate, hand hovering near Erich’s shoulder as uncertainty blooms in his reiatsu, so heavy that Erich can almost taste it, and it’s… odd.
(He’s never felt Kisuke’s emotions so clearly before.)
(He’s never known the man to wear his heart on his sleeve, so why now…?)
(What’s changed?)
Even as Kisuke pushes past his nerves and grips Erich’s shoulder, Erich continues to turn the question over and over in his mind. Contact doesn’t seem to change a thing, so it probably isn’t a result of their proximity, so what in the world…?
(There’s something he’s forgetting.)
(Something he’s overlooked…)
(But what?)
“I don’t mind,” Kisuke says firmly, dragging Erich away from the faded memory niggling at the back of his mind. “Just being allowed to see all these strange uses of reiatsu is enough for me,” he adds with a wry smile. “I hope you’ll let me help you decipher at least some of it—”
“I plan to,” Erich interrupts, temporarily giving up on whatever it is he’s overlooked; it’ll either come to him or it won’t, but now isn’t the time to be distracted. “I’m good at adapting or redesigning things I already know, not reverse engineering mysterious creations from hundreds of years ago.”
The anxiety-regret-nervousness in Kisuke’s reiatsu melts away as Erich talks, and Kisuke’s smile widens, crinkling the corners of his silvery eyes and brightening his expression into something almost breathtaking. “Well now, that I can certainly do.”
Erich swallows. Tears his gaze away from his friend and back to the box in front of them. “I’m sure you can,” he says as dryly as possible, trying to inject a bit of normality back into their conversation. “It’s what I was counting on, after all.”
“I see how it is,” Kisuke says playfully, letting go of Erich’s shoulder and stepping back. “You just want me for my brain.”
“It is an exceedingly clever one,” Erich agrees with perhaps a touch more fondness than necessary, then gives himself a mental shake and retreats back to the other side of the workbench before… before something happens.
(He’s not so sure he wants to know what that something will be.)
(Maybe that chalice did leave an effect behind…?)
(Damn, if only he knew what it was for!)
He leans against the workbench and pretends to peer into the box in front of him, using the moment to reorient himself and tuck away the last, lingering traces of longing-interest-want from when they shared reiatsu earlier. He can’t afford the distraction, not now, not when they have so much to do, not when Kisuke almost certainly doesn’t feel that way about him.
(Kisuke can’t feel that way about him, surely.)
(A powerful-clever-cunning man like Kisuke would never look at him like that… would he?)
Erich pauses. Casts a glance through his eyelashes at Kisuke. Tries to discard his assumptions in favor of assessments like he was once trained.
It’s… hard. Harder than he’d like it to be, because he’s always been terrible at assessing how others view him. It’s why he’s always let his actions speak for him instead of trying to put himself forward; at least then he can’t misread someone and thus misspeak and ruin his chances at whatever it is he wants.
But Kisuke…
Kisuke had been awkward this morning, a blush staining his cheeks and his gaze constantly roaming from Erich to the room and back again, as if he couldn’t bear to look away but didn’t want to stare.
They’d done nothing but sleep in the same bed, much of their clothing still on, and yet…
Kisuke had rambled like a waterfall and then fled as if his life depended upon it.
Erich absently plucks a little decorative box out of the collection of things and turns it over in his hands just as he turns the idea of Kisuke wanting him over in his mind.
Several months ago, he would have been infuriated by the idea, would have done his best to be colder-sharper-stricter, but after needing to work together for Kurosaki and Ishida’s sakes, after spending long evenings and longer nights pouring over tomes and modifying techniques in search of an answer to Kurosaki’s power loss, after fighting alongside each other against other Quincy…
He doesn’t know when it happened, when his mind changed, but… if Kisuke is in love with him…
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all…
(Does he dare test his theory?)
(How would he even go about it?)
(He hasn’t tried to show interest in anyone in decades!)
(He… doesn’t know how…)
(Alexis always just knew, but Kisuke isn’t Alexis and it’s unfair to hold them to the same expectations.)
(So how…?)
Erich sighs and sets the little decorative box aside without trying to open it — there’s no point right now, not really — and tries to set his thoughts aside the same way. There’s no use driving himself into a frenzy over a possibility, not when he has so much to do. He can’t afford to be distracted while handling ancient and damaged relics, as the previous evening already proved; they have a long day ahead of them and no time to waste on a possibility that Erich doesn’t know what to do with.
He might even be wrong, might be reading more into the situation than there truly is to see; Kisuke might just be uncomfortable with sharing space like that, or… or simply unused to it after so long as an exile.
(His instincts say he’s right.)
(His mind says it can’t be possible.)
(Which does he trust…?)
Erich clenches a hand, nails digging into his palm just hard into to send pain skittering up his nerves, and breathes out. Refocuses.
(He’ll… deal with this later.)
(That… that sounds like a plan.)
(Maybe if he just—)
(No.)
(Later.)
(…)
(Or never.)
(Never sounds good too.)
(…he’s such a mess…)
#fluffy accidental marriage au#part 4#Erich's starting to get a clue#it's honestly kinda hilarious to write these scenes
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MY BLUE HEAVEN // PART TWO
Fiona Carrasco is just trying to get by in law school. She has average grades and good friends, but is currently jobless and trying not to binge on ice-cream every night.
Harry Styles seems to have it all. He’s third in their class, has a job lined up at one of the biggest law firms in New York, and is beloved by the student body.
However, Harry has a problem and Fiona may be the answer to his problems… if they don’t strangle each other first.
A short story about law students, late night Dairy Queen runs, and finding love where you least expect it. AU.
Part One
“Your opening is too argumentative.”
I look up from my computer screen and look at Harry wide-eyed. “It is?”
We had been working in the library for the past two hours, going over rough drafts of our opening statements and direct examinations of our witnesses. However, instead of collaborating, Harry was just going through my notes and critiquing anything he could.
“Your statements of fact seem too argumentative. You’re supposed to tell the jury what you’re about to show them, not shove it down their throats,” he says, his eyes not leaving the notebook in front of him. I clench my fists together. I’m not one for a temper tantrum, but he should at least have the decency to look at me if he’s criticizing me.
“I was doing that. What part of my opening was argumentative?”
“Some bits at the beginning… middle… and at the end,” he says, waving his hand in the air dismissively.
I narrow my eyes at him. “But that’s all of it.”
He finally looks up from his notebook and raises his eyebrows.
“Exactly.”
—
“How’re things going with Harry?” Leanna asks, digging her spoon back into her hot fudge sundae.
Leanna and I are sitting on a bench outside Dairy Queen. Even though it’s the end of February in New England, nothing can come between me and a cookie dough Blizzard.
“Horrible,” I manage to get out with a mouthful of ice-cream.
She rolls her eyes. “It can’t be that bad.”
“He’s overly critical!” I exclaim. “Any chance he gets, he just has to pick apart everything I do.”
“Law students are type-A.”
I shovel a spoonful of ice-cream in my mouth and pout.
“I can’t believe you’re making excuses for him.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying he’s probably not doing it to get a rise out of you. He’s probably just stressed and wants to do the best job he can,” she shrugs.
I stick my spoon back into my Blizzard, only to realize that it’s empty. I sigh.
“I’m already kicking myself for doing this competition.”
“Hang in there,, Fi,” Leanna says, nudging my shoulder. “Who knows, maybe you might even start to get along with Harry.”
“When hell freezes over,” I mutter, as I toss my plastic spoon and carton cup into the trashcan across from us.
“Ready to blow this joint? I’m pretty sure Jane the Virgin’s on tonight,” Leanna smiles, tossing her empty container into the trash as well.
We get up from the bench and start to walk down the street.
“Jane needs to totally get rid of Rafael and Michael,” I say, shoving my hands into the pockets of my coat.
“But I love Rafael. He’s hot AF.”
“Guys are more trouble than it’s worth.”
We’re walking past a row of restaurants when an entrance door opens. Before I can react, a body comes through the door and comes straight at me. I bump into the warm body in front of me, and as I begin to wobble, two hands grab ahold of me to keep me steady.
“Whoa, sorry there love,” the body says, his British accent thick and recognizable.
I know that voice. I look up and squint my eyes.
“Harry?”
He furrows his brows. “Fiona? What are you doing here?”
“Being a human,” I quip.
“No, I mean all the way in Quincy.”
“Well it’s the closest Dairy Queen in the area so I’m a pretty frequent flyer in these parts.”
He nearly rolls his eyes at my response and looks over at Leanna. “Leanna, right? You were in my Partnership Tax class last semester.”
“Bingo. Nice to see you, Harry.”
Another person appears next to Harry. He’s slightly shorter than Harry with dirty blonde hair and facial stubble.
“Hiya ladies,” he greets with an enthusiastic wave. His greeting seems to knock Harry out of his stupor.
“Oh, this is my mate, Niall. Niall, this is Fiona and Leanna. They go to law school with me.”
Leanna extends out her hand and shakes Niall’s hand. I follow and do the same.
“Fiona? Are you Irish?”
I nod. “Half, on my mother’s side. She’s an O’Connor.”
“I’m a Horan,” Niall says proudly, puffing his chest out. Leanna giggles, and I can’t help but smile.
“Well it was nice to see you both, but Niall and I were just about to grab a drink over at Treva...” Harry starts.
“Would you ladies like to join?” Niall interrupts with a smile. I can see Harry from the corner of my eye visibly tense.
“Oh well we’re actually just…” I begin, motioning down the street.
“We’d love to join,” Leanna interjects. My head shoots up to give her a glare as she smiles widely.
“Great, after you ladies,” Harry mumbles, motioning for us to walk in front of him and Niall.
“But Jane the Virgin...” I whine.
Leanna places her arm across my shoulder. “We’ll catch the replay,” she says with a wink.
—
“Are you both hungry? This place has great bar bites,” Niall exclaims, taking a sip of his beer. We’re seated in a booth in the corner of the bar. Harry and Niall are sitting opposite Leanna and me. Of course I’m sitting directly in front of Harry, and I’m desperately trying to avoid eye contact. It’s bad enough that I see him almost daily to work on the competition, but now I’m seeing him during my downtime.
Leanna and I both shake our heads. “We’re good, we just had ice-cream,” she says, rubbing her belly happily for emphasis.
“Ice-cream instead of supper? Very nice,” Niall says, giving both me and Leanna a high-five. Harry shakes his head at his friend.
“Nothing to drink for you, Fiona?” Niall asks.
“Nah, I’m driving tonight so I gotta stay in tip top shape.” I take a sip of my water. Refreshing.
“Fi’s the most thoughtful person ever,” Leanna says, putting her head on my shoulder playfully. I pat her head and smile. Harry catches my eye, and I can’t help but maintain my smile out of politeness. Killing him with kindness.
“So,” I clear my throat, as Leanna lifts her head off my shoulder, “how do you two know each other?”
“We met through Liam,” Niall starts, “Liam and I have been mates since we were kids so when I found out he was in Massachusetts, we reconnected. Then I met Harry over here.” Niall clasps a hand on Harry’s back. Harry smiles and takes a sip of his vodka and soda.
“What brought you to America?” Leanna asks, taking a sip of her drink.
“My job. I work as an engineer here in Quincy,” Niall explains.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“Absolutely! It’s never a dull day.”
“Quite the difference from law then,” Harry interjects.
“But law sounds fascinating! When you all are big shot lawyers, don’t forget about your friend here,” Niall smiles. “By the way, how’s that competition going?”
I can’t help but look over at Harry, who’s taking another sip of his drink. He quickly puts it down and licks his lips.
“It’s going great, Niall. Been working a lot. We should do pretty well,” Harry responds.
“Harry’s actually recruited me to be one of your practice witnesses,” Niall adds, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Really? That’s so nice of you to drive all the way to Boston to help out,” I say earnestly, taking another sip of my water.
“Anytime! I love being involved. I actually did theater when I was a kid so I thought why not, this shouldn’t be any different!”
“Well the help is much appreciated.” I lift my glass of water to toast with his beer.
“So, how’s it been working with Harry, Fiona? Hopefully he hasn’t been too much trouble,” Niall jokes.
I look over at Harry who’s looking at me with a piercing look that almost says, ‘your move.’
I clear my throat. “Harry’s been a fantastic partner.”
I look back over at Harry who’s giving me a small smile, and I peek over at Leanna who’s biting her lip.
Yeah, I know I’m a liar.
“Fiona’s been pretty great too. Very patient with me,” Harry adds. I can’t help but straighten up at his response. A compliment?
“Thanks, Harry,” I say slowly, afraid he might take it back.
“I only speak the truth, Fi,” he says, lifting his chin and taking another sip of his drink.
Fi? Now hell was definitely freezing over.
“I owe Fiona a lot actually,” he continues, “If it wasn’t for her, I’d be shit out of luck.”
I feel everyone’s eyes on me. “Well, it’s no problem at all. Gives me something to do besides classwork,” I say, pushing some hair behind my ear.
“Well I’d like to propose a toast to Fiona,” Harry says, lifting his drink. I perk up again at his gesture.
“Yes, to Fiona!” Niall bellows, lifting his drink.
I can’t help but blush as Leanna nudges me with her shoulder and lifts up her drink in unison. “To Fi!”
I look at Harry, who’s grinning from ear to ear. Someone should give him alcohol more often.
--
“The insurance company is a bunch of greedy bastards if you ask me.”
I look up from my notes and squint at Harry, who’s looking at me with furrowed brows. He’s tapping his pencil on the desk we’re sharing and I’m mentally counting down until I’m forced to tackle him to stop. After our outing at Treva a couple days ago, Harry’s been a bit better to deal with, but it doesn’t mean we’ll be best friends anytime soon.
I lick my lips and respond, “But they’re not being greedy. They don’t want to pay because they think our client paid for someone to purposely burn down the building.”
“We can argue that it’s unrelated and deny it,” he reasons, lifting his pencil off the desk and placing it behind his ear. My eyes can’t help but drift to his pencil. I was seconds away from reaching over and grabbing it out of his hand to throw it at him. He looks back down at his notebook.
“The guy died in the fire.”
He looks up from his notes and gives me an exasperated look through pursed lips. We had been at it for hours already, going back and forth, and I felt like we were at each other's throats.
“Do you have any ideas?” he grits out. Could someone give this guy another vodka and soda please?
I click my tongue in my mouth and think for a moment before I respond, “We recognize that the deceased was an employee but that his death was accidental. Wrong place, wrong time sort of thing. Unrelated, but recognizing the undeniable.”
“Accidental, eh?” Harry leans forward in his seat.
“Yes…”
“That could work,” he mumbles, turning his eyes back to his notes and scribbling words down messily. I can’t help but smile a little bit in victory. I then look up at the clock instinctively and realize it’s almost ten-thirty at night. I automatically rub my eyes in exhaustion.
“I think we should be good for tonight,” I say, as I start to shut down my laptop.
“Agreed,” he says, closing his notebook and starting to pack up as well.
“I have to catch up on homework this weekend, but I can meet again on Monday.”
“Sounds good to me.”
I pick up my phone and see that I have a missed call from Connor. I scrunch my eyebrows together. My thoughts immediately turn to the worst. I quickly text him, ‘Sorry I missed your calls. Is everything okay at home?’
“Are you alright?” Harry asks, shaking me out of my thoughts. He’s closing up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
I look up from my phone and nod my head. “Yeah, just missed a call from my brother.”
He nods his head in understanding. “Younger or older?”
“Younger by six years. Do you have any siblings?” I ask politely, as I slip my phone into the back pocket of my jeans.
“I have an older sister,” he responds. It all makes sense now.
“Ah, so you have the younger sibling complex.”
“I do not have a complex,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Baby brothers always have a complex,” I smirk.
He narrows his eyes and shakes his head.
“If only because older sisters gave them a complex,” he says with a close-lipped smile, as we begin to walk toward the library exit.
“Ah ha, so you admit it,” I say as I push open the door.
“I plead the fifth, Fiona,” he says, holding the door wider for me to exit.
I can’t help but grin in victory. I turn to start walking toward the main street when Harry catches my arm.
“Where are you going?” he asks with furrowed brows, letting go of me quickly.
“Home,” I motion in the direction that I was heading in.
“But the parking lot is that way,” he says, motioning over to the opposite direction.
“And my apartment is this way,” I say, pointing again toward the direction of the street.
“You’re not walking home alone, are you?”
“Yeah, it’s no big deal. I only live down the street.”
“But it’s dark out.”
“And I have pepper spray.”
“And it’s late.”
“I also have a mean swing.”
“I’m walking with you,” he declares, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder.
“You don’t have to,” I say, shaking my head.
“I want to.”
“But it’s out of your way.”
“How do you know?” he asks with furrowed brows.
“ESP,” I retort.
“Where do you live?” he presses.
I hesitate for a moment. “On Oak Street.”
I can see his eyes light up at my response. “That’s convenient, I also live on Oak Street.”
I can’t help but blurt, “Are you shitting me?”
I place a hand over my mouth. Harry chuckles.
“Wow, such the potty mouth,” he comments cheekily.
“I just can’t believe you live on my street.” A realization hits me at that moment. “But wait, I thought you were headed to the parking lot. Why would you drive if you live so close?”
“I was only going to go to the parking lot to walk you to your car.”
“Wow, such the gentleman,” I say sarcastically.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he smirks. “You really don’t take chivalry well.”
I narrow my eyes at him in response.
“No girl at this law school has actively avoided contact with me like you do.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m immune to British accents,” I shrug.
“You’re something else,” he says, shaking his head.
“And what does that mean?”
“If I tell you, how would I keep you on your toes?”
I give him a look that screams ‘give me a break.’
“Fine,” I relent, “I’ll let you walk me home so we can stop bickering in front of the library.”
“Excellent,” he says, tilting his head slightly back.
I can’t help but shake my head.
“Ladies first,” he says, motioning for me to start walking.
We walk side by side in silence for a few moments before I blurt, “So I have to ask, why did you decide to go to school in America?”
“Ah, I knew this would come up at some point.”
“What can I say, the masses want to know.”
“I guess I wanted to do something different. All my friends back home seemed stuck, and I wanted to adventure out here and see if anything would stick. I got into NYU, and I fell in love with the States. As much as I missed my family, once my junior year rolled around, I knew I didn’t want to go back home. So my advisor suggested I apply for graduate programs and the rest is history.”
“Why law school then?”
“Since I was young, I could always see myself as a lawyer so it was only natural that I applied to law schools.”
“I find it hard to see any eight-year-old wanting to become a lawyer.”
“It was one too many watchings of Law and Order and My Cousin Vinny,” he laughs. “What made you go to law school?”
“Well… I genuinely like learning about the law. I also want to help people, and I felt like the way to do it was through the law. My dad was definitely thrilled when I told him I was going to law school.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well,” I start, lowering my voice a bit, “my dad’s a lawyer.”
“So you’re a legacy, eh?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” I say, covering my face with my hands.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You should be proud you’re following in your dad’s footsteps.”
“It’s not that I’m not proud, it just that people tend to judge you when they think you’ve grown up with a silver spoon in your mouth. That certainly wasn’t the case for me and my brother. My dad’s big on pulling yourself up by the bootstraps and working hard to get what you want.”
“Well, I would never judge you.”
“Thanks, but you have to say that or else I’d quit being your partner.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
“Well, this is me,” I say, pointing to the building to our right. We both stop in front of it.
“Nice building,” he comments, looking up at my red brick building.
“Yes… good foundation.”
“Looks really sturdy too.”
I look back over at him, and I can’t help but smile a little. I then awkwardly extend my hand, and he gives me a perplexed look before he takes my hand into his.
“You’re really something else, Fi,” he says as I firmly shake his hand.
“You must tell me what that means one day.” I let go of his hand.
“Eh, we’ll see,” he says with a shrug.
“Text me when you get home, okay? It would suck if you died on your way home. That’d be on my conscious forever.”
He laughs. “Will do. Goodnight, Fiona.”
“Goodnight,” I say with a wave. I put my key into the door lock and turn it slowly. I look behind me and see Harry walking further away into the distance. I can’t help but breathe deeply and push open the front door.
—
“Hey Con,” I say into the phone pressed up against my ear. I was sitting on my bed preparing to wind down for the night when I remembered my brother’s text, ‘Call me ASAP.’
“Good to know you’re still alive, sis.”
I purse my lips. “Sorry I missed your call. You could’ve texted what you wanted to say you know.”
“But then I wouldn’t be able to keep you in suspense. Where were you tonight anyway? Hot date?”
I scrunch my eyebrows. “Ew no, I was in the library with my partner for my Mock Trial Competition,” I respond as I inspect my chipped nail polish.
“Do you get to bang a gavel?”
“That’s what a judge does, doofus,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Do you at least get to yell ‘objection your Honor’ really loud?”
I sigh. “I can.”
“Sickkkkk.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Anyways, what’s up Con? I doubt you called to to ask about my future profession.”
“Yeah well, I’m on a covert mission from Mom to make sure you’re coming to Dad’s birthday party in two weeks.”
I bite my lip. “She’s worried I won’t show?”
“More like she’s worried you’re going to make up some excuse so you don’t have to show,” he responds with a matter of fact tone.
“Why would she think that?”
“Because you haven’t been home in two months and you live an hour away.”
“Well things get busy in law school,” I reason.
“You were only down for Christmas.”
“I had a lot of work over break.”
“I’m just saying, they’ve noticed.”
“Well rest assured, I’ll be there.”
“And you have to make more than just an appearance. It’s Dad’s 60th so Mom is making it a big deal. She told me to tell you to bring friends or something too if you’d like.”
“Sounds peachy.”
“Great, now Mom can stop whining to me about you.”
“I’m not that big of a deal at home, am I?”
“Are you kidding me? You’re practically the golden child for following in dad’s footsteps.”
“You’re young, you could do it too.”
“Hard pass.”
I yawn and stretch my arms above my head. “Anyways, I’m exhausted so I’ll talk to you later, Con.”
“Night sis.”
“Goodnight Con.”
I hang up and look down at my screen to see that I have a new message. It’s from Harry. I bit my lip as I open it.
‘Got back home. Had to fight a biker gang, but made it out alive haha. Have a good night, Fi.”
I contemplate if I should respond with something witty back. I think about it for a few moments and breathe deeply. I slowly type back, ‘Thanks for risking your life to walk me home. Goodnight Harry :)’
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic#1dff#one direction#harry styles imagine#harry styles writing#harry styles story#one direction fanfiction#one direction fanfic#one direction story#one direction writing#my blue heaven#harry styles angst#harry styles fluff#harry styles stories#harry styles writer#harry styles writings#harry styles imagines#harry styles fic#one direction fic
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“This isn’t Diamond City.”
Cristina checked her Pip-Boy for what had to be the twentieth time, exasperated as she looked up at the bright, neon sign saying ‘GOODNEIGHBOR’. The map icon was close but she’d run in the wrong direction trying to get away from those massive, monstrous green people, and now she was lost. Apparently at a place called Goodneighbor.
“Well, might as well go in, least I can get something to eat,” she mused to herself. She was hungry, and hyper-aware of it. The laser rifle strapped to her back was out of ammo, and she’d been fighting with just her 10mm. Which… had done absolutely nothing against those mutant green men.
She stepped inside the gate, and noticed a few people in the shops. But she took more notice of the man approaching her, and it took all her willpower not to pull her gun out, frightened. Especially as the man leered at her and grinned. “Wow, pretty lady like you would need insurance Iin a town like this.”
Cristina raised an eyebrow. “Insurance…? What are you talking about?”
“Give me all your caps, and you won’t be attacked, is what I’m talking about.”
Cristina shook her head. “No way, I’m not giving you my money.” She set a hand on her gun as someone—a ghoul wearing clothes from the Civil War days—stepped out of an alleyway and observed the situation. The man took a single step towards Cristina and she raised her gun, cocking it and shaking her head. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Finn,” the ghoul mused, stepping over and drawing attention. “C’mon, man, don’t be like this. All are welcome in Goodneighbor.” He seemingly went to put his arm around Finn’s shoulders, but Cristina saw the glint just as the ghoul stabbed the man repeatedly. Bile rose in her throat and she took a single step backwards. Finn hit the deck, and the residents milling about simply looked over. How could they be unperturbed?!
The ghoul turned to her and went to ask a question, but she shook her head and sat on a chair, covering her face. He approached and squat down in front of her, waiting for her to react to his presence—she jumped and blinked when she noticed—before asking, “You good?”
“Yeah, fine.” She pursed her lips. “Thanks for… getting rid of him, I suppose.”
He grinned. “No problem-o,” he replied, missing the disdain in her tone. “Hey, go to the Third Rail. Have a drink on me, yeah?”
“Sure.”
He gave her finger guns and walked off. She stared after him, baffled and upset, before deciding to take the drink. She wasn’t a big drinker but one couldn’t hurt… or, well, it could, she didn’t know.
She stepped down into the building and nodded at the bouncer as she strode past. The bar itself smelled of smoke, booze and stale sweat. The air was filled with soft jazz, chatter from patrons, and the hissing of the bartender’s thruster. She stepped over, taking a seat at the bar, and waited for service. The bartender’s eye looked over at her. “What’ll it be?” he asked, voice gruff and with a slightly different accent than her own Mr. Handy.
“Just a beer, please.”
It was pushed over to her. “On the house,” the bartender confirmed, floating away to deal with a drunk patron demanding another round of shots. Cristina didn’t open it, instead taking it away from the bar and looking around a bit. There was a red lit room off to the side, which she could hear faint arguing, and her curious nature made her unable to leave it be. She stepped over and peered in to see three men, one sitting down, the other two standing. She didn’t understand what they were on about, however, but…
One of the men spotted her, and grimaced. “We’ll be back, Robert.” The pair departed, one of them slamming shoulders with Cristina. She hissed and stumbled, watching him go in shock.
The man sitting down—Robert—raised an eyebrow at her. “Look, lady. If you're preaching about the Atom, or looking for a friend, you've got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun... then maybe we can talk.”
“Uh… I was just looking around. Sorry. Um… but actually, how much do you work for?” A bit of protection could be nice… She pulled out her caps purse. “Here… I need some help, and… well… you can have all my caps.”
“You’re weird.” It seemed to amuse him; she saw a smile on his face. “But sure, I’ll work for you.” He took the purse, and counted out a fee, before handing the rest back. Cris noticed it was steep, but she said nothing. A mercenary in this world was a good thing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t betray her. “So. What are we doing?”
“I’m trying to get to Diamond City, but I got lost on my way here.”
“Travelling on your own?”
“No, I was with my dog—Dogmeat—but I didn’t want him to get hurt so I sent him to where I live.”
“Ah, I see.” He stood, dusting his jacket off and collecting the rifle nearby. “Alright. I’ll lead you there.”
Diamond City was not as… interesting as Cristina thought it would have been. She and her newly-hired gun had walked in silence, mostly avoiding any battles. Instead, they’d taken back alleys and roads abandoned by civilisation. The only thing they’d encountered was a horde of ghouls, but a bit of waiting had allowed them to pass by without gaining the ghouls’ attentions.
“This is Diamond City?” Cristina asked as they approached the gates.
“Yep. The Great Green Jewel.”
“It’s a baseball stadium.”
Robert peered at her, raising an eyebrow. “You said you’ve never been to Diamond City. How’d you know?”
“Because I’ve been to the stadium before it was Diamond City.” She noticed a woman by an intercom, and heard Robert grumble behind her as she approached. The woman was arguing with someone on the other side, and Cristina realised they were all locked out.
The woman saw her, and a mischievous glint shone in her eye. “Hey, got a trader from up near Quincy here! You wouldn’t want to deal with Myrna if she loses out on enough gear to stock the store for a month~!”
Cristina blinked. “Eh?” She looked at the intercom as someone grumbled, and the gate jolted before sliding open.
The woman grinned and turned to her. “You can thank me later.”
“You used me. That’s not okay.”
The woman furrowed her brows and pursed her lips. “You needed in, right?”
“While that’s true, I don’t appreciate being used like that.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Thanks for the quick thinking, at least.”
The woman grinned, then walked into the gates. Cristina made to follow, but Robert muttered, “That lady’s trouble. Just be careful, okay?”
“Okay.” She walked inside, and saw the same woman once more, talking to a man. Or, well, arguing. She stopped dead, looking at the man. Something about him rubbed her the wrong way… she could hear something to his voice that the woman and Robert—and the guards spattered around—appeared to miss. Was that… a slight roboticism?
The man turned to her. “Ah, visitors! Welcome to Diamond City, the Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth!” He beamed, but Cristina’s stomach sank. Danger. That smile said danger. “What brings you to our beautiful city?”
“I need help finding someone,” Cristina replied, doubting whether she should say too much. Robert, if he was surprised, did not show it.
“Ah, well, I’m sorry, but we don’t have the guards to spare. I… am sorry, but… who are you looking for?”
Why do you want to know if you can’t help anyway? Cristina wanted to say. Instead, she said, “My son. He’s only a baby.”
Robert looked at her, his eyes and face betraying nothing. The man furrowed his brows. “Well, in that case… the guards cannot be spared, but we do have a private eye in town. You may be able to seek help from him.”
Finally, some good news! “Thank you. I’ll be sure to do that.” She went to enter the city, but the woman grabbed her arm, and she jumped before looking over. “Can I help you?”
“Come by my office later.”
“Huh?”
She received no explanation as the woman entered the city, the man disappearing via an elevator. Robert still remained silent as he followed Cris into the central business district, but as they descended the stairs… “Your son was kidnapped?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “Stolen right in front of me. My husband was killed that day.”
“Any reason you didn’t do anything?”
“I… just couldn’t.”
Wisely, Robert dropped the conversation. Memories of that day—or night, Cris didn’t know—flashed unbidden in her mind’s eye, and she attempted to quash them lest she begin to cry.
They passed a little girl waving a newspaper around. Cristina peered at it, then walked over and asked, “Excuse me, but may I have a copy?”
“Sure, miss, you need to stay informed!” She thrust the paper into Cris’s hands, and she blinked as she noticed THE SYNTHETIC TRUTH written on them. More synths? she asked herself, thanking the girl before returning to Robert’s side. She flipped through the pages, confused as she read the scripture. Synths, Institutes, kidnappings… what in the world is going on in Massachusetts these days? She shoved the paper in her backpack just as her stomach growled.
Robert snorted. “You hungry?” he joked. “Come on, there’s a good noodle place over this way.”
She followed, and blinked as she saw the Protectron stirring the pot. As if this wasn’t confusing enough, as she approached, a woman looked over and said, “Just say yes.”
“Wha?”
“Just say yes. It’s all he understands.”
Cristina blinked. “Erm. Okay?”
“Hey, Taka!” Robert grinned as he leaned on the bench. “How’s business?”
“Nan-ni shimasu-ka?”
“Did… Did you just speak Japanese?”
Robert snorted as the Protectron repeated his question. Cristina blinked several times and attempted to get something else out of him, to the amusement of the other patrons. When she finally said, “Yes?” the Protectron gave her a bowl of noodles. She could only stare at it for several minutes before whispering, “What the fuuuuuck…”
Robert snickered. “Takahashi is busted. That’s all he understands and he just sells noodles.”
She set her bowl on the bench and grabbed some nearby chopsticks. “Okay, it’s official, Massachusetts went to shit.”
“Massachusetts?” He leaned beside her, squinting. “What’s that?”
“Another name for the Commonwealth,” she replied. While not technically a lie… it showed her just how little the wastelanders remembered about the time before. How many pre-war bloodlines had survived, minus those from the Vaults…?
Cristina realised that the world she had come from was gone. More than gone: it was history, forgotten by time, and forgotten by most.
#fallout#fallout 4#fallout fanfiction#fanfiction#fo#fo4#oc: cristina howard#robert joseph maccready#piper wright#diamond city#sai writes#word barf#sole survivor#female sole survivor#sosu#f!sosu#companion#fallout companions#fallout 4 companions#a continuation of a previous post
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Chapter Seventeen
Robyn
It was happening again. After almost a year of not having crazy dreams, I was having nightmares again.
This time, I dreamt I was getting married. I was walking down the aisle with happy tears because everything was so beautiful and all my friends and family were there. When my veil was lifted, I was standing in front of Chris. We say our vows and kiss. When we turn and face the crowd, everyone stands up and applauds except for Melanie, who is shaking her head with her arms crossed and a pregnant woman in the front row, who looks too big to stand, even if she wanted to. She’s sitting next to Joyce with her head down and her shoulders are shaking as if she’s crying. I squeeze Chris’ hand tighter to grab his attention and point the woman out to him, but when I look back at her, she’s gone. We walk down the aisle and out of the church to a motorcycle that has just married on the back of it, with ribbon and flowers flowing down the back. We both hop on the motorcycle while everyone’s yelling congratulations and blowing kisses at us. Before pulling off, Chris decides to pop a wheely and I fall off the motorcycle in my big ass, white gown, so I’m standing there yelling at him while he’s still driving. Then, in front of my eyes, a truck crashes into to him, and my eyes pop open. It was a horrible nightmare and I always woke up just as the truck crashes into him.
It was like hearing from Chris resurfaced energy it took me forever to bury. Maybe it was because I unintentionally stood him up. With everything that was going on with Rayven, I had completely forgotten about Chris that entire week. By the time I remembered, it felt foolish to try and apologize a week later, so I didn’t.
Nevertheless, today was the third time I’ve had this dream in the past month and each time I was in bed with Dre, thank God he didn’t wake up this time. It took him a week to stop asking me if I was okay the last time, when he witnessed the night sweats.
Instead of having breakfast with Dre, like I usually did after crashing at his place, I decided to get up and get an early start on my day. I joined a gym in my neighborhood a few weeks ago and had been coming three days a week since.
It was a nice, comfortable environment and I'd already met a cool chick who was on a strict workout plan, preparing to be a bridesmaid in her friend’s wedding. She was usually halfway through her session when I got there, but that didn't stop us from having a little friendly competition.
"Good morning Robyn. You're here earlier than usual” she smiled brightly as sweat glistened on her forehead.
“Mornin Katy” I replied, as I shoved my glasses, hat, and phone in a locker.
“I’ve already done my six miles, thanks to that B12 injection I got yesterday" she announced, following me to the floor and sitting on the squat machine next to me. “I’m telling you, that stuff is a game changer, and I’m gonna need all the energy I can get, so I can be nice and tight for that dress.”
"I absolutely hate injections and needles” I frowned at the thought “Well...unless I’m getting a tattoo”
“I swear people who have the most tattoos are the most pussy when it comes to injections” she laughed shaking her head. “What’s up though? You seem kind of down today?”
“I’m just a little tired” I replied, forcing a smile as I put some ten-pound weights on the bars.
“Oh, our eye candy isn’t here yet. He usually wakes you up, you seem to sweat a little harder on the days he’s here” she teased, referring to one of the trainers.
“Yeah, his smile sure does give me a little picker upper” I grinned, thinking of the last time he was here. He was training some girl who already had a perfect body, probably a model, and it was funny to watch him sweat as she kept bending over directly in front of him, obviously wanting a different kind of workout.
“Speak of the sexy little devil, here he comes now” she nodded towards the entrance.
“How are you ladies today?” he asked with a smile, locking eyes with me as he walked past us.
“Oh, we’re good now that you’re here” Katy winked and I could see his cheeks turn a little pink as he chuckled softly, but kept it moving.
“You are pitiful, leave that baby alone. I’m sure he gets enough of that from these tiny little 'models' he’s always training. I would be jumping at the chance to have him as a trainer too, if he were a decade older” I laughed. We worked out together for another half hour, people watching and laughing about the ones who were obviously here just to post it on social media.
After Katy left, I jogged three miles of my own, then hit the showers. I always felt ten times better after my workout, it put me in a singing mood. Today’s jam was ‘Girl on Fire’ by Alicia Keys.
“You have a beautiful voice” someone pointed out, scaring the shit outta me while I was digging for lotion in my locker. I thought I was the only one in the locker room.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” he grinned at how hard I jumped.
“Boy, do you know I could’ve slapped the shit outta you” I replied, clutching my chest.
“Who’s to say I wouldn’t have enjoyed it?” he asked raising his eyebrow.
“Don’t do that” I ordered, pulling the rest of my things from my locker.
“What?” he asked confused.
“Don’t flirt with me. I’m old enough to be your mama, or at least ya damn auntie” I replied, and he burst into laughter.
“You’re hella gorgeous and funny. I like that”
“Thank you” I smiled as our eyes connected.
"That was a nice workout you did today, but when you're ready for the real deal, let Quincy know” he stated, patting his chest. “I can help you on your form" He licked his lips, then proceeded to undress me with his eyes, and that was my cue to leave.
“Enjoy the rest of your day Quincy, and try not to scare the shit outta anyone else” I called over my shoulder.
After the gym, I had a doctor’s appointment to rush to. I was beyond nervous because I was here for lab results. I came a few days ago for a routine pap smear, but ended up getting a lot of other testing done too. I was wondering if it was possible for me to get pregnant again, even though I wasn't planning on it anytime soon. It’s just something that’s been heavy on my heart, so I wanted answers.
My palms were sweaty and my stomach churned as I waited for the doctor to come in. I just felt bad news coming and it made me anxious.
"Hey Mrs. Fenty, how are you doing today?
"Nervous"
"Well I have the answers to your questions right here" he stated, flipping through a stack of papers.
He went over my lab results and hysteroscopy with me and broke everything down to simpler terms.
"So overall, you're healthy. Your uterus did sustain a lot of scar tissue from the previous injury, which dramatically lowers your chances of being able to carry a baby again"
"what does that mean?"
"you will probably have no problem getting pregnant, but it's not very likely you'll ever make it past the first trimester again. If you and your husband are considering kids, it may be better to use a surrogate"
"Oh no, I just wanted to know. I'm not married and I'm not trying to get pregnant, I just wanted to know where I stood"
"Well if you ever decide to go that route, let me know. I know a good doctor"
I was supposed to have dinner with Dre and his mom tonight, but after my appointment, I wasn't in the mood to slap on a fake smile. Dre reads through that shit instantly, which means I would have to explain why I was in a sour mood. So instead, I went home and drank a bottle of Chardonnay to myself. This is the closest you get to a pity party" I told myself as I rolled a blunt.
I took it easy the rest of the weekend. I just sat at home with Ollie and Pepe, watching TV and eating junk. When Monday morning came, I'd gotten all the pity out of my system and was ready to work off that extra 5 pounds I gained overnight.
"Good morning. Are you ready to work on that form?" Quincy greeted me bright and early with that big ass smile he always had. It was eerily quiet with only one other person working out this morning, but that didn’t make him any less jolly.
"As a matter of fact, I am" I replied, catching him off guard. Still, that didn't stop him from coming through with the good advice. We had a thirty-minute session, but when it was over, I was drenched in sweat.
I walked a couple of miles to cool down then took at quick shower so I could avoid rush hour on the way to work. John was a good driver, but no one stood a chance against rush hour traffic.
"Thanks for the pointers today" I smiled when Quincy walked in the locker room. “I really feel the burn”
"My pleasure" he smiled, licking his lips. I swear he was doing that shit on purpose.
“Do you mind helping me out with my necklace?" I asked, after it slipped through my fingers for the third time.
"Of course" he replied, taking it in his hand and putting it around my neck. "You smell really good"
"Thanks"
“No problem” he whispered so softly, that he made the hairs on the back of my neck stand and sent shivers down my spine. My body shook involuntarily causing me to bump into him and I accidentally felt his manhood.
“Oh my God. I’m sorry. That tickled and I got the chills, I’m so sorry” I apologized repeatedly. I was embarrassed, but more impressed than anything. He had basketball shorts on so I felt everything. I couldn’t believe it was rock hard and a nice size at that.
“Hey girl, I woke up late today and-” Katy immediately paused, feeling the tension in the air.
“It was good working with you today, let me know when you’re ready for more” Quincy winked, leaving me to face Katy’s curious expression, and adding even more to the flame with that wink.
Chris
“Wow. This is beautiful. What do you call it?” Tae asked, as soon as we entered my bedroom. She came to the city this weekend, for my art exhibition and couldn’t get enough. She wanted to see more, so I invited her over to see some of the things I painted in my new home.
“Monster. I painted this in one night. I couldn’t sleep, so I found myself painting with no end in mind, this was the finished product” I explained.
“You are really talented. Her eyes are so intense” she continued in awe. “And look at her lips”
“Look at your lips” I replied, licking my own, then leaning in and kissing hers. It was bold, but I could tell she wanted it, because she wasted no time slipping her tongue in my mouth.
“Damn” she grinned, after I pulled back. “That was unexpected”
“In a bad way or a good way?”
“In a great way, but I might as well tell you now. I’m celibate, so that’s about as far as you’re gonna get without a ring on my finger”
“Whoa, I wish you would’ve told me that sooner. Now I feel like I crossed the line, and I don’t want to disrespect you”
“No, that was nice. I just don’t want you getting any other ideas” she laughed playfully, as her phone began to vibrate. She took it out, replied to a text, and put it back in her pocket for the hundredth time today.
“You must be a popular lady” I teased.
“Wouldn’t you like to know” she replied, leaning in and kissing me this time.
“Naw, you can’t be doing stuff like that. That’s not fair” I quickly shook my head, as the alarm chimed, signaling that someone just came in the house.
I knew it wasn’t Anthony, he wasn’t supposed to be back for another few hours, so I jumped up and ran down the hall to find out who it was.
“Chris!" Mama called out as I jogged down the stairs.
"Hey mama, what's up? You always call before you come"
"I have something to tell you” she began, getting straight to the point.
“This must be some serious stuff for you to drive all the way over here” I chuckled.
“We need to sit down” she sighed walking to the living room and sitting on the sofa.
“You okay?” I asked and she nodded. “What’s going on mama? Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to beat Richard’s ass”
“What? No Chris” she rolled her eyes. “This is going to be a lot to process, and I’m sorry I never told you this before. I had a baby when you were six. I was going through a lot at the time, and I couldn’t handle another child, so I gave him up for adoption"
"Wow...wait. Why are you telling me now?"
"He showed up at my doorstep a couple of months ago. I thought the records were sealed, but he found me. We’ve been spending some time together, but he wanted to be sure about the paternity before taking our relationship any further, so we had a DNA test done and I got the results today. He's really my baby boy” she whispered, clutching the papers to her chest.
“Wow Ma. I don't even know what to say right now?” I stared at her, lost for words. “I’m surprised you could go all this time without telling me something like this”
"It’s not something I was proud of, you know. I didn't think about the possibility of him wanting to know me after all this time, and there were so many feelings surrounding my pregnancy, that I hoped to never have to explain, so I forced myself to live with my decision"
"What do you mean"
"He came out looking just like his dad, and I couldn't live with that at the time”
“Wait, you said ‘his’ dad, so that means...”
“Yes, you two have different fathers. Anyway, I told him he has a brother and he's been wanting to meet you. I thought it would be best if we knew the DNA results first, so now that they're here, I thought we could all have dinner tonight at my house”
“Of course, if I have a brother out there, I definitely want to meet him” I nodded adamantly.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I’m going to get going Chris” Tae announced.
“I’m so sorry, Tae. This is my mom, Joyce. Mama, this is Lashontae. She’s Lala’s maid of honor”
"You are gorgeous Lashontae” Mama complimented, shaking her hand. “Chris, you should’ve told me you have company.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I see you have family stuff going on, so I think I should go”
“Nonsense honey. I didn’t mean to interrupt what you two had going on. I’m going to get going, I have to get to the supermarket. I’ll see you later Chris” Mama smiled. “It was good to meet you Lashontae, you’re welcome to join us for dinner later” she added on her way out.
“Aww, you look so much like your mom, and she’s super sweet” Tae grinned.
“Thank you. You’re not leaving yet, are you?”
“Well, I kind of overheard your mom, I figured you might want some privacy, so I was going to head back to Lala’s.” Tae replied.
“Please stay and join us tonight. Mama can really cook, I promise you won’t be disappointed”
“I'm sure she can, I just don’t want to impose on something so private”
“Stop it. I want you to be there. It’s not like I can just come swoop you up whenever I want to chill with you, so I want to make the most of the time you do get to spend out here”
“Okay, under one circumstance”
“What’s that?” I asked, hoping it was reasonable.
“I want you to paint something for me” she smiled.
“I should’ve known” I smirked. She was legit a fan of mine and that alone turned me on. The fact that she was celibate also ignited a fire in me. Everything about her was too perfect, and I couldn’t believe luck was on my side with this one. She was beautiful with a banging body, had brains, and was successful in her career. I couldn’t help but wonder if she had any secrets in her closet, only time will tell.
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Chapter Seventeen
Title: Ohana
Theme Song: Saturn by Sleeping At Last
Word Count: 3,994
Warnings: language, angst, violence, blood, character death
Characters: (OC) Harper Raven, (OC) Maisie Raven, (OC) Phillip Calloway, (OC) Quincy Carter, (OC) Simone González, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
A/N: “Ohana means family. Family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.”
Read the previous chapter here!
Chapter List | Extra Content | Character Roster | AO3
“You know, some of these stars could be dead right now. I love how we can still see their light even after they’re gone.” Maisie finds herself sitting on the outcrop of roof outside of Harper’s room, one of her favorite memories playing out in her dreams once again.
Maisie hums in agreement. “I guess humans are kind of like stars too. Even after they’re gone, they don’t really leave us. We can still see them everywhere in our lives. The things they did for us.” Maisie’s eyes become misty as she speaks, thinking of her late foster mother, Laelynn. Harper is silent for a beat, then she suddenly gets up and climbs through the window back into her room. Maisie can hear her rummaging around until she reappears through the window.
“Well, this was supposed to be for your birthday, but Mom wasn’t supposed to die… So, I think you should have it now.” Harper hands Maisie a small, round, white box with a bright yellow bow on top. It almost looked like a daisy, Maisie’s favorite flower. Maisie tugs on the bow lightly and it falls away. When she opens the box, her breath catches.
It’s a simple gold, circular pendant made to look like a compass. She turns it over, already knowing the coordinates that are engraved there by heart. The coordinates to the Harvelle’s Roadhouse, or rather where it used to stand before it was blasted to ruins by demons.
Maisie has been waiting on this gift for years. Harper and Jo had gotten identical ones, passed down by their moms. And now Maisie has Laelynn’s. Picking the necklace from the box, she merely lets it set in her hand at first, trying to feel all the history it held. She swears, if only for a second, she could feel Laelynn with her.
Maisie hands the necklace to Harper and turns her back so her sister can secure it for her. Once it’s in place, Maisie knows she’ll never take it off.
“Thank you, Harp.” Maisie pulls her sister in for a hug and doesn’t let go.
Maisie wakes with a start, confusion mixed with grogginess making her head pound. She slowly takes in her surroundings, wondering how she got to her old room in California. She doesn’t even remember falling asleep. The last thing she remembers is telling her dad where to find Momma Q.
Maisie tries to get to her feet, but has to lean on her bedpost for support. Her eyes are still heavy and her limbs feel burdensome. Suddenly, a man's loud, angry voice makes her flinch. It almost sounds like her dad, but she has never heard him raise his voice.
Making it to the door, she slowly pulls it open and shuffles down the hall towards the voices in the living room. She can now hear another, weaker voice, but there is a short bald-headed dude and a wiry woman with wild auburn hair, blocking her view.
“You’ll pay for what you took from me,” the first voice says, but this time it’s a quiet anger, his words coming out in a low growl.
“I’ll pay with my life if I have to. But you leave my daughters out of it.” Maisie realizes with a start, that the second voice is Momma Q. Her head throbs painfully as she tries to put the pieces together of what’s happening, but what Peter says next makes her heart stop.
“Maybe I could have left Harper out of it if she could have minded her own goddamn business! But I took care of her. I would have gotten rid of that little redhead too if it weren’t for that bitch of a witch I had to deal with. In the end, you are all that really stands in the way of an eternity with my daughter.” Maisie breaks from her shocked trance, when she realizes Momma Q is now gasping for breath. She reaches for her knife, but it isn’t there. All she can do is try to talk her father down.
Maisie rushes forward, breaking through the barrier of the two vampires. The sight of her only living mother fighting for her life at the hands of her father makes Maisie sick to her stomach.
“Dad, stop! Please,” Maisie begs, her voice cracking. She runs forward, trying to pry her father’s fingers away from around Momma Q’s neck. The two vampire lackeys suddenly seem to remember their job, and surge forward to restrain Maisie.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean for you to see this. In time, you will understand. And we will have more than enough time.” Peter turns back to Quincy, a sick smile playing on his lips as he tightens his grip. Quincy’s movements become less volatile, her strength giving out.
Maisie pulls and kicks against the vampires restraining her, but she has no leverage to pull free. She screams for her mother until her voice is hoarse, even after Quincy’s arms drop and her legs stop thrashing. Peter bares his fangs, and Maisie has to squeeze her eyes shut before he plunges them into Quincy’s neck, draining the last drops of life from her body.
Maisie hears Momma Q’s body thud to the ground, but it sounds far off. Her captors finally release their hold on her and she simply crumples to the floor. She doesn’t want to open her eyes. She doesn’t want to see her dead mother’s body that she knows is only inches away from her. Silent tears stream down her face. Only one thought ricochets in her mind until she loses all consciousness.
“It’s all my fault.”
As Philip sets the plane down without so much as a bump, Harper breathes a sigh of relief. “Hey, we didn’t die in a tragic, fiery plane crash. Not that I doubted you, Phillip, because apparently you can do everything,” she quips, trying to distract herself from the anxiety their current situation has caused.
“The less you know about me, the better.” Phillip returns coolly.
“Okay, that’s not ominous at all. Thanks for the ride, daa- dude. Da dude. It’s surfer talk, we’re in California now, gotta blend in.” Harper flimsily tries to recover from the fact that she almost called Philip dad. There’s an awkward silence before Simone pipes up.
“Um, evil vampire on the loose with your kidnapped sister ring a bell?” Everyone nods in agreement and starts to file out of the small plane. Harper brings up the rear, but before she starts down the steps, Phillip calls her name.
“Yeah?” Harper looks back at him expectantly. He stands up and puts a hand on her shoulder.
“Just be careful, kid. Call me when you’re ready to bring Maisie home,” Phillip says.
“You are always there when we call, huh?” Harper muses.
“Well, what can I say? You’d get yourself killed if I didn’t. As an officer of the law, I can’t have people dying on my watch if I can help it. Especially if it’s family.” Harper is surprised to hear Phillip say something so heartfelt, even if his face still portrays no emotion. “Alright, dismissed,” Phillip pats her shoulder and heads back to the cockpit. Taking a deep breath, Harper puts on a brave face.
“Sir, yes, sir.” She mocks a salute before heading after the rest of the group.
First things first, Harper needs to make sure they are on the right track. She pulls out her phone and tries Momma Q. No answer. Next, she calls the facility where Momma Q stays. When they tell her that Quincy has been checked out by a man claiming to be their uncle, Harper is oddly calm. It is close enough to the answer she was expecting.
“What did they say?” Sam asks as soon as she hangs up. She simply shakes her head.
“Uncle Peter took her for a trip,” Harper spits his name out like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth.
“Where would he take her?” Dean asks gruffly. Harper gives him a look that says ‘lose the attitude or I’ll kick your ass’.
“Oh yeah, I just forgot to mention the detailed notes on his plans I found in his diary.” Harper sasses back in annoyance. Sam steps between them, hands out to keep them at bay.
“Guys, now is not the time! We’re all worried about Maisie, but it’s not going to help her if we’re at each other’s throats.” Sam looks between them and makes sure they nod their agreement before he stands down.
“We can start at our family home. I don’t know that we’ll find anything but it’s a better place to think than this dirty airport parking lot at six in the morning. We need a ride, though.” As soon as Harper finishes her thought, Simone pulls up in a little red Ford Escort.
“Get in, losers,” Simone calls out through the open window. Sam and Dean eye the car skeptically.
“You couldn’t have stolen anything bigger?” Dean whines.
“It’s inconspicuous,” Simone shoots back. “And I thought it would be funny to see you and Sam trying to squeeze in the backseat,” she adds with a shrug. Dean rolls his eyes so hard he gives himself a headache. Sam turns to Harper, hoping she will save them from Simone’s pettiness.
“I call shotgun,” is all Harper says, opening the door and moving the seat up for the boys. “You wanna waste our time hotwiring another car?” Harper questions expectantly. The boys grumble assent to her point and fold themselves into the limited space of the backseat.
Sitting on her old bed, Maisie stares blankly at the wall; her thoughts and feelings ground to a halt when Momma Q’s body hit the carpet of her childhood home. The world around her faded away, feeling unreal and dream-like. At least, she hopes this is another dream, but the stirring in her gut tells her it’s all too real.
Peter pushes open the door, his posture more lighthearted than usual, unsympathetic to his daughter’s distress. The vampire watching over Maisie leaves the room at Peter’s command.
“Sorry you had to see that sweetheart. I thought my underlings would have kept a better eye on you,” Peter says, a slight edge to his voice, but it perks up as he continues. “Oh well, what’s done is done.” He pauses, gauging Maisie’s reaction, but she doesn’t even look at him. “I hoped you would see this from my perspective, Maisie.”
“And what perspective is that?” Maisie means to come off spiteful, but the words fall flat and defeated.
Peter sits down next to Maisie, trying to catch her eye as he props his elbow on his knee and gestures with his other hand as he speaks. “She took you from me, all those years ago. And I’ve been looking for you every day since. Quincy, she would have done the same all again just to protect you from me, your own father.”
When Maisie doesn’t respond again, Peter sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Everything I’ve done is because I didn’t want to lose you again.”
“What about Harper?” Maisie finds her anger again. He may be able to justify to himself why he did this to Quincy, but not her sister. Harper didn’t steal her away; they simply had each other’s backs throughout the years. “What did she do to deserve…” Her voice trails off, as does the anger, at the thought of what had become of her sister.
Peter sighs dramatically, as if her questions are nothing but a nuisance. “She would have stopped me too, sweetheart. She didn’t understand the vision.”
That piques Maisie’s interest, and her curiosity gets the best of her. “The vision?”
Peter’s eyes twinkle as he responds, “The vision that’s kept me going all these years. Eternity with my daughter.”
The sky is starting to lighten as Simone parks their little car around the corner from the house, out of direct view. Everyone hops out, and walks down the road to catch a glimpse of the house. A few vampires linger outside, keeping an eye on the street and surrounding homes for anything suspicious. The group takes a step back to stay out of sight while they figure out a plan.
“So, who has ideas?” Sam asks, glancing to his brother and the girls.
“Let’s walk in, guns blazing,” Dean offers, looking restless, but Harper immediately shakes her head. “Well, machetes blazing.”
“And draw a shit ton of attention to the house? No, we’ve gotta do this quietly.” Harper stares off into the distance, clenching and unclenching her fists as she thinks. “I’ll sneak in, and pull Maisie out.”
Sam shakes his head fervently. “You’re not going in alone.”
Harper frowns at him. “I know how to sneak into this house, I did it a million times growing up.”
“Yeah, but like Peter said earlier, your sneaking skills suck, Harp.” Simone responds honestly.
“Really? Now we’re bringing this up?” Harper throws her a frustrated glance. Simone shrugs as if to say ‘sure, why not.’
Dean looks to Harper, slightly confused. “Did he really say that?”
“Basically,” Simone says before Harper can get a word in.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me, we don’t have time for this,” Harper mumbles her thoughts out loud. “I’m going in, whether you like it or not. I made this mess, and I’m going to get my sister out of it.”
“You didn’t make anything, Peter did.” Sam interjects. “At least let someone go with you.”
“No, there’s more risk if anyone else goes. I’ve got this, okay?” Harper’s voice softens toward the end. “Just let me do this,” she says; there’s a pleading tone to her voice as she stares Sam down.
His shoulders slump. “Fine,” he sighs out.
“If something goes wrong, we’ll go with Dean’s idea, sound good?” Harper sounds matter-of-fact about it, as if ‘wrong’ couldn’t really be that bad. Dean and Simone nod, but Sam hesitates. Harper reciprocates the gesture before turning toward the house and her sister.
Sam’s hand wraps around hers when they are a few feet away from Dean and Simone. “For the record, I hate this,” he says with a half-hearted smile as she turns back to him.
Harper gives him a little smirk. “I know, but I’ll be back with Maisie soon enough.”
There’s a silence as Sam looks away for a moment, still holding her hand in his. Harper impatiently glances to the house, not wishing to wait another second.
“Relax, I’ll be back before you know it,” she says, giving him a forced smile.
“Just let her go already,” Simone talks a little louder so the couple can hear her. Harper cracks a smile in her direction before looking to Sam again.
“Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone,” she nudges him jokingly, slipping her hand out of his, and heads toward her childhood home to save her sister and fix this mess.
Harper peers around the corner to catch a glimpse of her old house; it is across the road and a few houses down from her vantage point. An idea pops into Harper’s head, and she cringes, knowing it’s the best way. Stripping off her jacket, she throws it back at Sam, standing by Dean and Simone now.
“What are you doing?” Dean asks in confusion as Sam catches it.
“I’m going jogging,” Harper shrugs before taking off down the street at a reasonable pace. She passes in front of her childhood home, feeling the gaze of the vampires keeping watch, but she keeps her eyes forward. There’s only two of them, one of them sitting on the steps of the front porch, the other sitting on the porch swing, trying to look casual.
Once she’s made it around the bend of the road to the neighbors house, she slows to a stop, hiding behind a row of tall bushes along the front yard. Rounding the neighbor’s house, Harper sneaks through their backyard and notices another vampire patrolling the back of her childhood home. She ducks behind another bush, watching as the vampire walks toward her and into the alley between the two houses.
Harper sees her opportunity, quickly and quietly walking up behind the vampire, machete in hand. She hefts the machete at his neck, slicing off his head. The body thumps softly as it hits the grass. She quickly grabs the body and head, dragging them behind the house to keep them out of sight.
Harper then crouches low as she softly pads over to the back of her childhood home and peeks into the window of Maisie old room. Maisie is on her bed and a short, Charlie Brown looking vampire, is at the door with his arms crossed over his chest. Harper takes a deep breath to steel herself, pulling her machete back out from its sheath before knocking softly on the window. She presses herself against the side of the house, waiting for the vampire to pop his head out. Her heart hammers in her chest, as the window slowly slides up and open.
The vampire’s bald head pops out of the window and Harper brings her machete down, cleanly severing his head from his body. She awkwardly hops through the window, shoving the body out of the way as she goes.
“Hey,” Harper says lamely as her feet hit the carpet. Maisie stares in disbelief at Harper standing before her, alive and well. She jumps to her feet, surprise giving way to her need to hug her sister and to know she hasn’t lost everything. As soon as she takes a step toward Harper, though, Maisie can smell her. The scent is so strong it overcomes all other emotions or senses. Maisie can feel the hunger building, and fear grips her heart.
Instead of welcoming Harper into her arms, she suddenly pushes her away. The force of Maisie’s shove surprises Harper almost more than the action itself, sending her across the room and crashing into the door. Grabbing onto the door handle to pull herself up, Harper tries to shake off the pain and confusion.
“Maisie? What the fuck was that?” Harper demands. Maisie looks at her shaking hands in shock.
“I- He turned me. Harp, I’m becoming a vampire,” Maisie chokes out, wrapping her arms around her torso. She can’t look at Harper, not wanting to see how her sister looks at her now.
Harper holds her breath, waiting for something to give. She’s going to wake up any minute. Or Maisie is going to smile and say it’s only a joke. It can’t be real.
Without even realizing she’s taken it out, Harper is pressing her phone to her ear. It rings once before Sam’s voice rings out in her ear. It takes her a minute to find her voice.
“Sam?” She says quietly. She’s not even sure what to say.
“Harper, what is it? You ready for backup?” Sam asks desperately.
“Peter… H- he changed Maisie into a- a, um, and I don’t know what to do, tell me what to do,” Harper chokes out, eyes flying around the room.
“Has she drank human blood yet?” Sam asks, trying to keep himself level-headed for Harper’s sake.
Harper looks to her sister, relaying the question, and Maisie shakes her head. “No, she hasn’t,” Harper answers into the phone, unable to look away from Maisie.
“Okay, that’s good. She hasn’t fully transitioned then. Dean and I can make a cure, but we need the blood of the vampire who turned her, so Peter’s, right?”
“Yeah,” Harper breathes out.
“We’re coming, hold tight. Tell Maisie it’s going to be okay. It is going to be okay, Harper,” Sam’s calm voice evens her breathing. She believes him.
“Okay. It’s going to be okay, Maisie,” Harper repeats, trying to keep Sam’s calm in her own voice as she tries to help Maisie believe it too.
Maisie finally looks up to meet her sisters earnest gaze. In a split second, Harper’s head is turned at an odd angle, and there is a strange crunching sound. Time seems to slow as Maisie watches Harper’s body fall lifelessly to the ground.
“Sometimes, you have to do things yourself,” Peter’s voice cuts through Maisie’s haze. Suddenly, time speeds up to the point that Maisie no longer registers her actions. She is consumed by a blind rage, and she cannot be stopped.
When the world comes back into focus, she is standing in the living room, over her decapitated father, blood on her hands. She looks up at sound of Sam, Dean, and Simone bursting through the front door.
Sam yells Harper’s name as he runs through the house, while Dean heads straight to Maisie. Simone lingers over Peter’s body for a moment, nodding grimly, before following after Sam.
Stopping abruptly in the doorway to Maisie’s old room, Sam’s eyes immediately falling to Harper, crumpled and broken on the ground. Simone brings a hand up to cover her mouth as she gasps in horror. She had seen so much death, but this… This was something she was not expecting.
“Harper?” Sam’s voice barely comes out above a whisper. “Harper, please don’t do this to me,” he breathes out, as he falls to his knees beside her and rolls Harper onto her back. He pushes the hair gently away from her face, hoping and praying to see some sign of life in her. The sinking feeling in his gut tells him there isn’t any hope.
Harper’s eyes are open, but the empty, lifeless stare strips away any shred of denial and false hope that Sam was holding onto. Tears fill his eyes as he pulls Harper into his arms, cradling her limp form close to himself. She feels heavier than usual, the weight of the situation slowly crushing down on him.
He stares down at her through his tears, realizing there won’t be a tomorrow with her. He won’t hold her in his arms, or feel the warmth of her touch again. She won’t be beside him when he wakes up every morning. There will be a constant empty space where she used to be, that no one else could ever fill. Sam lets out one sob after another as he clings to Harper, wishing he could talk to her one more time, to hear her voice wash over him.
Dean finds Maisie in the hallway staring blankly down at Peter’s severed head. He takes her face in his hands and tries to draw her attention.
“Maisie? Baby, are you okay?” Maisie sees the movement of Dean’s lips, but no words connect with her mind. The sound of blood rushing in her ears is deafening. Not her blood, though. Dean’s blood. The machete she hadn’t even realized she was holding clatters to the floor as she pushes away from Dean. She must have grabbed the machete Harper brought in with her to go after Peter.
Harper; Maisie’s stomach lurches as she remembers the last sight of her sister. Stumbling down the hallway, she can now here Sam’s cries. Seeing Sam crumpled on the floor, cradling her sister’s body to him like she is the only thing he can feel, stops Maisie at the door like an iron fist had clamped down on her feet. The tears come faster than her breathing. She wants to go to them, to hold onto Harper. She wants to go back in time, tell Harper she is right and never let Peter back into her life.
All she can do is lean against the doorway as her legs give away. She slides down to the floor, sobs wracking her whole body. Maisie crashes her eyes shut against a world blurred by her own tears. Tears she didn’t deserve to cry. Tears won’t bring Harper back. Tears can’t wash away the fact that her sister was dead because of her.
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