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filmtv2022 · 1 year ago

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Moving Foward: Chapter 2 (18+ MDNI)

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Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Kazansky!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Bradley are both back to Top Gun, and training for the mission must be their primary focus. However, the past keeps crawling back to the surface making this reunion even more difficult to navigate. Memories of the night that changed everything make it painful to embrace the present.

Warnings: Kissing+ Mild sexual content+ Language+talk of illness

Word Count: 3.7K

A/N: A good chunk of this chapter is a flashback to the night that changed everything for Bradley and the reader. I loved getting to go back and explore this pivotal moment in their history. We will get back to the present in the next chapter, but the past will continue to haunt the two aviators as they work out how to handle everything that comes their way. As always, I apologize for all mistakes and inaccuracies.

The locker room was mostly empty as you pulled on your flight suit. Phoenix and Halo chatted lightly on their way out the door, leaving you alone in the echoey space. Sitting on the bench, you listened to the murmur of voices in the hall as they passed by. The excitement that normally surrounds a day like this was drowned out by rising anxiety. The gravity of the mission alone was enough to make you pause, but the people who waited in the other room were the real reason behind your nerves. There was too much history for this to be a simple endeavor.

Glancing at the clock sitting high above the lockers, you knew you had to move. Being late to this meeting would only add further questions to your readiness to fly. The halls were now quiet as you made your way out into the hangar. From a distance, you could see a series of tables set up with a podium at the front. Just beyond, waiting and watching, were the Cyclone and Warlock. They already looked tired, their faces pulled tight from what you could only assume was stress. Searching the crowd you looked for Maverick, the one person who would be happy to see you amongst the pilots gathered for this training, but he was nowhere to be found.

The sound of your boots on the hard ground was lost in the roar of a jet flying overhead. With your head held high, you made your way down the center aisle in search of a place to sit. Every chair that you passed was already taken, the people chatting lightly with the aviator sitting next to them. The noise dimmed for a moment, letting the sound of your steps echo and draw attention to you. Hangman was the first to turn around, in search of the owner of the boot steps. The smirk on his face grew as he took in the sight of you. Flipping the toothpick between his teeth, he couldn’t help but open his mouth.

“My god, Riot, how nice of you to finally show up. I was startin' to think you'd gone AWOL. Not that it would have mattered if had ya had. I'm sure your old man would have swept in and fixed the problem, just like always.”

“Oh, fuck off, Seresin. Do you really wanna get into leaving people behind, asshole? ‘Cause-”

“Leave it alone. He’s not worth it.”

Bradley’s gruff voice cut off your rage. You weren’t sure when he’d stood, but you could feel his solid presence behind you now as his wide palm settled over your bicep, squeezing lightly before guiding you toward the empty seat next to him. Your eyes never left Jake, the two of you battling each other silently to see who would break first. It was the sound of heavy footfalls that snapped your attention away. Maverick strode confidently down the walkway toward the podium.

Mav scanned the crowd, his attention drilling into Coyote and Hangman before turning to you and Bradley. Not wanting to make things worse, a shallow nod was all you gave back to the older man, but Rooster wasn’t feeling so friendly. Even without turning to look, you could feel him tense up, his body going rigid as he avoided eye contact. Pete hid it well, but for the briefest of moments, sadness flashed in his eyes before continuing on with his speech.

The captain’s words did little to encourage, especially when he tossed the NATOPS into the trash can. Truthfully, he could have given the most glorious speech, and none of it would have settled. The feeling of eyes on you never faltered, their attention burned like fire against your skin. Fighting your instincts, you forced yourself to stay focused dead ahead because the alternative was acknowledging the fact that Bradley was sitting next to you for the first time in years.

The briefing didn’t last long as getting in the air was clearly the highest priority for Maverick. Rooster, Payback, and Fanboy were up first leaving you behind in the ready room with Hangman and the rest of the aviators. Mercifully, everyone else seemed too preoccupied with what they were hearing over the radio to pay attention to the way your body betrayed you. Sweat poured from every inch of your skin, soaking your undershirt and adding to the uncomfortable heat of your flight suit. Focusing on your breathing, you reached for your helmet to steady your hands. The trembling of your fingers was certainly not indicative of anything good, but it didn’t matter. Orders were orders, and here you were.

Groans erupted as Rooster became the first to fall to Maverick’s skill. This was certainly not going to do anything to improve Bradley’s spirits, but then again, having to take orders from the man who’d been your surrogate father before washing you out of the Naval Academy didn’t exactly set the stage for a harmonious reunion.

The next group of aviators made their way to the tarmac, pausing only long enough to taunt Bradshaw as he began his push-ups. From the safety of this distance, your eyes fell on Bradley, his strong arms were exposed as he worked through every rep. The sun reflected the sweat that coated his dirty blonde hair, the waves, and curls started to form from the perspiration. Just like the previous night at the Hard Deck, it was hard to believe that this was the same person who had been such a staple in your life. Lost in thought, memories of the past came flooding back in waves. The feeling that came with them threatened to pull you under.

An early April breeze drifted over your body causing goosebumps to form in its wake. Rubbing your palms over your exposed legs, the friction eased some of the chills. It was probably too cold to be wearing shorts, but you refused to admit that spring had only just begun. The jean shorts and Navy hoodie you’d thrown on were a feeble attempt at making the seasons change faster.

The evening sky continued to dim as you waited on the front step of your parent’s home. The sound of your siblings running around the house spilled out through the open windows. Family movie night was getting ready to begin, but tonight you wouldn’t be participating. The tradition had become one of the most cherished moments with your family, but there was something more pressing to take care of.

Closing your eyes, you lifted your face to the sky, soaking in the last little bit of warmth from the setting sun. Normally, being here, waiting for the familiar sound of the ancient Ford Bronco to come rumbling down the street would fill your heart with peace. Tonight was very different. The whoosh of the front door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and back to reality. There was no need to look, you knew who had joined you on the step.

“I wondered where my sweatshirt went,” the smile was evident in your father’s voice. Some kids had safety blankets, and this article of clothing had become yours. Over the years, any time you needed an extra boost of confidence, he’d offered it up, and every time it had worked. Over time, an unwritten agreement had formed. Any time you needed the hoodie, it was yours for the taking, no questions asked.

Opening your eyes, you leaned into his shoulder, the scent of his cologne soothed your nerves as continued on, ”You know that it’s going to be okay, right? No matter what that letter says.”

“But what if it’s not?”

“Y/N, you can't spend all your time worrying about things before they happen.”

“But what if-”

“Listen to me for a minute, okay? I know you, I know how this brain of yours works, and I love the fact that you care so much. But I need you to understand something. My love for you is not dependent on the career you choose for yourself or what you do after graduation, it's unconditional, okay? I love you, and I will love you no matter what you decide to do with your life.” Your father’s soft voice went silent for a moment as he collected himself, “There is absolutely nothing you could say or do that would ever change that, all right?”

“Yeah.”

Leaning back onto his shoulder, the two of you waited together. Rays of orange and pink filled the sky by the time you heard the familiar sound of an engine rumbling down the street. Both of you stood up, your legs stiff from sitting on the hard concrete step for so long. Patting the front pocket of your hoodie you checked for the stiff edge of the envelope hidden inside.

Loud music poured from the vehicle as Bradley turned sharply into the driveway. Throwing it into park, he hopped out and loped across the yard toward you, his stupid Hawaiian shirt flapping in the breeze. The anxiety that sat heavy in your gut faded at the sight of him and his silly little smile. Closing the last few steps, you fell into Bradley’s open arms, your face instantly finding the spot in the middle of his chest that had become like a home away from home. From here, with your arms wrapped around his strong frame and your forehead resting on him, you felt the tension in your body melt away. The two of you stayed like this for a few seconds longer before deciding, rather reluctantly, to break away.

Turning to face your father, Bradley waved and called “Hey, Ice! I’ll have her home by curfew, promise!”

“I know you will, Bradshaw, but for tonight… don’t worry about it. You two go have fun, you deserve it.”

There was a seriousness to the older man’s eyes, not because he didn’t trust Bradley Bradshaw (he trusted him almost as much as he’d trusted the boy’s own father), but because he knew that tonight was going to go one of two ways; and he was terrified to find out which it would be.

“Thanks, Mr. Kazansky.”

…

Before long, you and Bradley hit the road, his hand reaching for yours the moment he turned out of the driveway. With fingers laced together, the two of you drove in comfortable silence. The last bit of the sunset was fading below the horizon as you pulled into the spot that had become yours over the years. It was nothing more than a small clearing along a desolate section of beach, but it was everything to the pair of you.

There were happy memories here. Late nights after football games where the two of you stayed out late drinking ice-cold Cokes and eating way too much fast food. There’d been hours and hours of playing music for one another, each of you getting a chance to play DJ while the other complained with all their soul about the songs the other person picked when in reality they loved it too. And yet, the joyous moments were not alone. It was here that Bradley had first told you of his mother’s cancer diagnosis. It was also the place where you’d held him tight as he mourned her passing.

Parked in your usual spot, Bradley cut the engine. Without speaking, the two of you fell into tradition, grabbing the blanket from the back end and heading down toward the water. Laying the blanket out, you took a seat and waited. The heat from the sand soaked through the thin material warming the back of your legs while Bradley placed the rocks he’d found down on the corners to hold them in place. Satisfied that nothing was going to blow away, he joined you, his legs coming to rest on either side of your own as one of his arms wrapped around your waist. The other was braced behind him to support the two of you. Burying his nose in your hair, Bradley inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of your shampoo. Your right arm rested on top of his, your hands coming together in a relaxed embrace. while your opposite hand fell to his stretched-out leg, fingers drawing lazy shapes on his knee.

Bradley’s muscles tensed as your hand continued to drift over his skin. The hand across your stomach tightened as his breath hitched in his throat. This level of intimacy was nothing new, but something in the air had shifted. Tipping your head back, you tried your best to find his eyes.

“Everything okay?”

“Mm-hmm”

Unconvinced, you shifted in his arms so that you could fully see his face, “Talk to me, Bradshaw. You gonna let me know what’s going on inside that head of yours or are you going to keep pretending like nothing’s wrong?”

His eyes dropped to yours, scanning over every inch before raising his hand and cupping your cheek. There was a fight inside his mind, which played like a movie over his features. It was clear how badly he wanted to speak, and yet the words wouldn’t or couldn’t come. The callouses on his thumbs brushed roughly along your delicate skin as he drew you in closer. Needing more, he swiftly adjusted your position so that you were straddling his legs.

With one hand still on your cheek, the other roamed freely over your back and sides, fingertips dipping under the hem of your hoodie before settling on the curve of your waist. The feeling of his hands on you was intoxicating.

“Bradley,” his name fell in a whisper from your lips, your foreheads pressed together as everything continued to build.

“Y/N.”

Bradley’s resolve finally snapped as he crashed his lips into yours. A pent-up groan rumbled from his chest, the sound of it sent electricity throughout your body. Lost in the moment, his tongue swept across the seam of your lips begging for entrance, which you freely gave. The kiss became an uncoordinated clash of teeth and tongue, the inexperience made forgivable by the pure enthusiasm the two of you shared. These were uncharted waters that you were more than willing to explore together. Time stood still as Bradley’s lips fell to your neck, the new sensation drew a gasp from your lungs. Hearing you react, his hips rolled up into yours, the movement was enough to send you both reeling.

Your every nerve was on fire, screaming at you to keep going, but the logical part of your brain began to fire. The two of you were treading into dangerous territory, and you knew without a doubt how easy it would be to get swept away by the feeling of Bradley Bradshaw. Trying your best to settle the raging need you felt rushing through your body, you pulled back, using your hold on him to create some space between you. Feeling the shift, Bradley’s eyes opened, his pupils were totally blown as she searched for something he’d done wrong.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just… I think we need to slow down.”

Bradley’s face softened slightly at the way you looked down at him. He could have stayed here forever, but he also knew you were right. While he wanted all of this with you and more, it wasn’t the right time. He was avoiding the real reason the two of you came out here tonight by giving into his feelings for you. Those feelings had grown into something so much more than he'd ever expected. Even at 18 years old he knew that he would do anything to keep you safe, to see you happy.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have-”

“Stop. Please don’t be sorry… because I’m not.” you brushed away a floppy curl that was stuck to the sweat on his forehead, “I want this… I want you. I just don’t want our first time to be because we were avoiding something.”

“You’re right. You always are.”

“I’m not always right, but I’ll take the compliment anyway,” breathing out a quiet laugh, you smiled against his lips.

This time the kiss was soft and unhurried. Bradley’s hands gently explored the expanse of your skin, while you held onto the back of his head. Your hands buried in his curls and clinging onto the front of his shirt. Warmth radiated from Bradley as if a fire burned hot beneath his skin, the heat left his cheeks ruddy. It was his turn to press pause and return the pair of you to reality.

“You ready to find out?”

“As I’ll ever be I guess,” feeling the mood change, you adjusted your position so that you were sitting next to Bradley. Your left side pressed to his right.

The sun had finally set, giving way to a clear night sky allowing the moon to paint the rolling ocean waves. Reaching inside your hoodie pocket, you held the envelope out in front of you watching the way the dim light shone on the white paper. Bradley pulled his own envelope from the depths of his cargo pocket, the whole thing was folded in half and obviously beat up. You knew he’d gotten his letter before you, but from the looks of its condition, it had been a lot longer than he’d made it out to be.

Bumping your shoulder, Bradley encouraged you to take action, “You first Kazansky.”

“Okay.”

With trembling fingers, you slowly tore it open and carefully removed the letter inside. The trifold edges were practically pristine.

“I don’t know if I can read it.”

“Come on Mini Ice, you can’t whimp out on me now. Besides, I’m sure your dad’s waiting by his phone to hear the news, don’t want to keep the Admiral waiting.”

Blowing air through your nose, you couldn’t help but laugh at the truth in Bradley’s comment. Tom “Iceman” Kazansky was most certainly waiting at home by his cellphone for your call or text. In fact, he was probably holed up in his office flipping through endless stacks of paperwork with his phone sitting right by his side.

“Okay.”

Slowly, you unfolded the letter, your eyes instantly skimming the page. Your heart thudded in your chest as you finally found what you were looking for, “We are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to the United States Naval Academy!”

“Holy Shit, Y/N! You did it!” Bradley’s excitement poured out of him in a rush as he pulled you in for another kiss, “I knew you would.”

Folding the letter up and placing it back in the envelope, you stuffed it into your pocket before turning back to Bradley, “All right, Bradshaw it’s your turn.”

Leaning closer, you pressed your body into his side, watching as he ripped open the envelope. With a deep breath, he opened the paper and began to read. Silence fell like weight as the seconds ticked by. Worry pitted your stomach the longer it took him to speak.

Finally, he did and his voice shook with anger, “We regret to inform you that your application to the United States Naval Academy has been removed from the pool of potential applicants. This decision has been made based upon the recommendation of one Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell. Citing concerns over your academic and emotional readiness to pursue the demanding coursework involved with this program.”

“What the hell?”

“He pulled my papers.”

“Why? Why would he do that?”

“How the fuck should I know!” Standing up, Bradley ran his hands through his hair, tugging on the strands as he tried to process what had just happened.

Sand flung up as he began to pace back and forth by the blanket. Unsure of what to do, you also stood and made to move toward the hurting boy in front of you. Reaching out, your hand barely touched his arm before he turned to face you, rage pouring off of him in waves.

“Did you know about this?” his voice was low as he glared down at you.

“What!? Obviously, I didn’t know! What are you trying to say, Bradley?” your worry washed away and was replaced by anger.

“I-I don’t know! It’s just… Iceman and Maverick talk all the time, there’s no way he didn’t know.”

“And you think that means that I did? That I knew and didn’t tell you? How could you think that!?”

“I don’t… I-” Bradley’s voice shut off, his words were replaced with a strangled sob as he reached for you.

Stepping back, you avoided his touch, “Bradley Bradshaw, you’re a fucking asshole. How could possibly think I would keep this from you?”

“I shouldn’t have said-”

“No, you shouldn’t have, but you did.” Staring up at him, ice flooded your veins, calming your mind enough to steady your voice, “I’ve known you my entire life, and never once have I kept things from you. And the fact that you thought, even for a second, that I could have known about this and not said something… fuck you. Just take me home, Bradley. I don’t need to deal with this shit from you of all people."

Without speaking, the two of you made your way back to the Bronco, the blanket you’d been sitting on was left behind on the sand. The ride back to your home was deadly silent, not even the radio played to cut the tension. The ride seemed to last forever, but with one final sharp right turn, you were finally back in your driveway. Wasting no time, you jumped out of the vehicle and practically ran toward the house, slamming the front door behind you.

The house sat dark as movie night was over, but a familiar warm light poured out from under the door of your dad’s office. Your hands shook as you found your way inside, tears now streaming down in hot streaks. Instantly, Ice was out of his chair, paperwork discarded haphazardly on the desk as he pulled you into his chest.

“He pulled his papers. Maverick pulled Bradley’s papers.”

The revelation caught the older man off guard. He knew how terrified both Carole and Pete had been of Bradley following in his father’s footsteps, but he never thought that his wingman would go this far to keep Bradley from flying. There was a conversation to be had about this with Maverick, but for tonight you were his only concern. It was obvious to him that so much more had happened between you and Bradley. The last time he’d seen you this distraught was at Carole’s funeral, and while you clearly weren’t ready to talk about it now, eventually you would be. And he would be there to help pick up the pieces.

#top gun maverick #bradley rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader

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duhragonball · 6 months ago

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Less Than Meets The Eye

I finished reading the Marvel U.S. run of Transformers yesterday, so I guess I could talk about that.

It's kind of an underwhelming series. Not bad, and there's some enjoyable issues in the set, but it never really excels for me. I suppose the main thing I could praise it for is its consistent quality. Usually, an 80-issue comic book series sees a major decline as the sales start to slump, but this one remained a C+ affair from start to finish.

The main reason I always wanted to read it was because I was a big Transformers fan back in the 80s, and the cartoon kicked ass. I still watch episodes of the original cartoon in my forties. It never gets old. Naturally, the comics caught my interest back then, but when I was a kid I found comic books to be completely impenetrable.

For example, they had a display in the toy aisle at Target back in 1985, with bagged sets of three comics. That's how I got Transformers #7, 8, and 9. I'm pretty sure the bagged three-packs were sold months after the original release dates. Did you miss issues 1-6? Too bad. Do you want to read #10 to see what happens next? Well you probably missed that one too. Issue 8 featured the Dinobots, except they weren't much like the Dinobots from the cartoon. Also, they ganged up on Megatron and he somehow clobbered them all, which is the opposite of how it works in the cartoon. Cartoon Megs would get ragdolled all the time and it was hilarious.

Issue #9 saw the debut of Circuit Breaker, a half-naked cyborg lady who wanted revenge on the Transformers. By the mid-90's every comic book had a half-naked cyborg lady in it, but in 1985 it was still a fairly novel approach. Also, Optimus Prime's head was being held captive by the Decepticons' leader... Shockwave? And Spike Witwicky's name is Buster for some reason? And Prime gave him the Creation Matrix? Whatever that is? There was a lot going on, and also Circuit Breaker fought Jazz, Wheeljack, Starscream and beat them all.

The serial nature of comic books frustrated me at the time. I was interested to see what would happen next, but I also resigned myself to having no way to find out. Back then unless you lived in a town with an actual comic book store, your only way to buy comic books was to look for them at the magazine rack at the grocery and hope they had what you wanted. So I knew I wouldn't get to find out what happened next, but I assumed that it was a nonstop thrill ride with plenty of twists and turns.

The next time I got an issue was #32, which featured the Protectobots fighting the Combaticons. I seem to recall buying this because I was curious to see the fight. The cartoon was over, or nearly over by then, and one thing it never delivered on was a good Bruticus vs. Defensor fight. So I thought Transformers #32 would scratch that itch. Both squads would fight for a while, then merge into Bruticus and Defensor, and fight that way for a while, just like in the cartoon, right?

Well, not exactly. They did fight in #32, and there was more mayhem. Blaster and Goldbug are AWOL from the Autobots, because they aren't happy with their current leader... Grimlock? Somehow Grimlock's the leader, and he's not as dumb as the cartoon version, but he's still pretty stupid. Also, he wears a ridiculous crown, like a cartoon king would put on. The other Autobots just sort of go along with it, and when the Protectobots rescue Blaster, they explain that they came to arrest him so Grimlock can try him for treason.

What about Bruticus and Defensor, though? Why would the Combaticons withdraw without using their coolest trick? Well, the next issue blurb promised we'd see that fight in #33. So I kept an eye out for #33 and actually managed to buy it... except it was a reprint of the first half of an old Marvel UK story, 'Man of Iron.' The second half was in #34, and that Bruticus vs. Defensor fight seemed like it was completely forgotten. The next issue I bought was #72, and that one actually brought back Circuit Breaker, but they completely ruined her look with a bad redesign of her costume.

Once I got older and started collecting comics seriously, I always wanted to go back and read the entire series from start to finish. But I kept putting it off until this month. Now that I've read the whole thing, I realize that it was mostly hype that had me interested in it. The Bruticus/Defensor fight finally happened in #35, but it was pretty dull and I barely remember it a week after reading it. I think the reason for the reprints in #33-34 had something to do with the ouster of Marvel Editor in Chief, Jim Shooter. #33 listed Tom DeFalco as the new EiC, and I suspect DeFalco had a lot on his plate that month, so putting a book or two on autopilot might have been helpful. I guess what I'm saying is that I find that lore more interesting than the giant robot fight in #35.

Circuit Breaker has always fascinated me, not just because she's a half-naked cyborg lady, but also because she's a great foil for the Transformers. In her first appearance, she shows off her powers and it looks like no robot enemy could stand a chance against her. Worse, she doesn't know or care that the Autobots are good guys, so she's out to kill them all. This is awesome, because the Autobots would be reluctant to fight back against a human, while the Decepticons would be forced to recognize a "puny flesh creature" as a legitimate threat.

So when she vanished at the end of #9 I was so sure that she'd come back in a big way, but it turns out she really didn't. She appeared in several more issues over the course of the series, and each time she seemed to get a little more incompetent. I think the main character arc the writers went for is that her revenge scheme was kind of half-baked, and she wasn't as dangerous as she seemed. By #45 she spared a Decepticon because a human offered to pay her to let him film the execution, and she flew off in disgust. By #75 she was helping Optimus Prime beat Unicron, but that led to a nervous breakdown that left her in a coma. The last five issues feature her lying around passed out. It's kind of a shitty payoff for such a cool idea.

So I didn't enjoy the series as much as I thought I would. For a moment I thought that maybe I had just gotten too old for this fare. A common criticism fans have of this series is that it's written for ten-year-olds, and the writer responded by basically saying, yeah, of course it was written for ten-year-olds, it's a comic book about toys.

But that's not my gripe at all. I just didn't like how the series seemed unable or unwilling to focus on any one storyline long enough to make it satisfying. And then it hit me that I had the same problem in 1987, when I was literally a ten-year-old boy. I read #32 for a cool giant robot fight, and it got postponed to #35. The Blaster vs. Grimlock subplot interested me but that didn't get sorted out until later. Blaster surrendered to Grimlock in #36, but then #37-40 switched the focus to two other sets of characters. We didn't find out what happened to Blaster until #41, when they put aside their differences to co-lead the Autobots together. This arrangement lasted approximately zero issues because Optimus Prime came back in #42. There was just way too much stuff happening, and some of it was crap, but even when it was very good, nothing ever lasted long enough to matter.

Also, one of the things that fascinated me about the comics was how they outlived the original cartoon series by about four years. So while the Pretenders, Powermasters, Micromasters and Action Masters never appeared in the G1 cartoon, they do show up in the last thirty-odd issues of the comics, and I always wondered how those characters would play out in fiction.

Turns out, it doesn't really go well. I thought the Pretenders were dumb in 1988, and my opinion of them never really improved. The Micromasters toys were pretty sweet, but in the end they were just more Transformers, only smaller. And the Action Masters were Transformers that couldn't transform. I didn't really feel strongly about them at all, which is probably how everyone else felt about it in 1990 when the toy line shut down. The comic book tried to do the characters justice, and in some cases it did a pretty good job, but it never really sold me on the toys.

Like, I never understood how you play with a Pretender Transformer. The Pretender Shell can operate independently of the robot, but so what? Why not just call that a separate character, then? You can put the robot inside the shell, but why? It's just a container. The gimmick sort of implied that Pretender Transformers use their shells to disguise themselves, but what are they disguising themselves as? the Autobot Pretenders all looked like giant humans, and the Decepticons all looked like giant monsters. And it's not like their enemies were fooled or anything. Most Transformers recognized the Pretender characters on sight. I really think this was what killed the toy line. I mean, the toy line had probably already run its course by '88 anyway, and the Pretenders were just a last-ditch effort to keep it fresh. TMNT was red hot at the time, so they probably thought making the Transformers look like weird alien creatures would catch the same appeal, but it didn't work. Micromasters aped the Micro Machine craze, and Action Masters were probably trying to follow the G. I. Joe formula? I'm not sure I know what they were going for there.

Anyway, the comic really didn't have any worthwhile Pretender stories that justified an Autobot wearing a flesh costume. There were characters who did it and seemed to like doing it, but there was never a moment where anyone said "Yes, it's definitely a good thing we did this because it gives us an advantage in battle." That just never happens.

I don't really have a strong conclusion to go for with this. I guess mostly it's just a re-affirmation that you don't want to get in a rush telling a big long story. There's a lot of good-to-great characters in Transformers, and a lot of intriguing plotlines, but if you try to do too much all at once, it just becomes a big mess.

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spinderella-umbrella · 2 years ago

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The Rat that Cried Sirius

A “Boy who Cried Wolf” Drabble

Peter had given false warnings one too many times.

The first, when he was studying with James and Regulus in a nook in the Library, his own work completed. He was bored, and the pair across from him were quite frankly making him queasy with their will they won’t they bullshit. Their heads were close together, hands intertwined under the table, and they were talking softly. He had swung back on his chair- he was the one with the best view of the end of the aisle, and abruptly swung forward with a gasp.

“Guys, I just saw Sirius!”

The way they scrambled apart in a panic was well worth the joke.

Sirius had never come.

The second, was when he happened across them in the bleachers of the quidditch pitch, James completing some homework with Regulus tucked into his side.

“You know, I just saw Sirius getting ready to do some flying practice.” Peter said casually. “Had the bludgers out, full kit on and everything.”

“No you didn’t,” James tried, “He wouldn’t have practice without me.”

“Well, you have been AWOL an awful lot lately Prongs,” Peter shrugged.

The pair exchanged a worried look and slid apart, Regulus muttering his apologies and a goodbye, promptly leaving the stands.

When Sirius didn’t come, James turned on Peter with a scowl. “Stop doing that!”

And Peter couldn’t help but laugh.

The third time, though, it hadn’t been a false alarm.

He had come into the dorms and found them in more of a compromising position than usual, Regulus straddling James on the sofa, James’ hand in his hair. There was no explaining that away.

“Guys!” He hissed.

They ignored him, and he closed the door behind him.

“Guys!” He said as he neared them. “Guys Sirius is coming upstairs right the fuck now!”

“Fuck off, Peter,” James growls back, Regulus taking the break from his lips to kiss down his neck.

Peter pales. “No honestly, I’m not kidding. I was just with him.”

But it’s too late, and the door creaks open. Peter squeaks and transforms into a rat, scuttling away.

James looks past Regulus with wide eyes as Sirius stands in the door, matching expressions of horror.

“P-Prongs?” he says.

Regulus stills at the sound of his brother's voice, bracing his hand on James’ chest and pulling back to gape at him. “Oh fuck, he wasn’t joking.”

“One might say, he was being a Sirius alarm.” James tried to joke, which only led to his boyfriend smacking his chest, Remus snickering in the doorway and Sirius rushing forward to pull his brother by the scuff of the neck off of James’ lap- which, frankly, was not the smartest move on his part.

Sirius lets go of Regulus and covers his eyes with a groan. “Buggering fuck are you kidding me? James you better get the fuck out of my sight before I kill you. Regulus I can’t look at you either right now. Dammit, both of you just get out.” he decides.

The pair adjust themselves and leave, Remus barely stifling his amusement.

Outside and down the corridor, Peter is waiting. “I tried to warn you!” He said.

Both boys smack him upside the head in succession.

#jegulus #marauders fanfiction #mini fic #micro fic #marauders era #james x regulus #the boy who cried wolf #drabble

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goldenfharry · 1 year ago

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Noswaith dda, cariad!

Sorry I've been awol. Hope you and yours are OK?

We went to the wedding of a close friend last week. Little dragon was ring bearer and our goddaughter was a bridesmaid.. They walked the aisle together. Him in a little tuxedo and her in a beautiful dress. Watching them sweetly walking in front of the bride I could've been struck by lightning and died a happy, proud woman. Fast forward to the vows and ring exchange, groom took the brides ring and as the priest started to talk little dragon held the cushion out to the bride and asked in his never-quiet 7 year old voice "well? Do you want it or not?"!!! Have never wanted that bolt of lightning to strike me down more. Even Papa Dragon cringed! Our goddaughter immediately grabbed his hand and told him "not yet, just wait!" like she was his mother not a 9 year old! Everyone had a chuckle except me because I was still slowly dying inside 🙄. After that he behaved excellently, to be fair.

Llawer o gariad I chi

Mama Dragon 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿😘

Hi Mama Dragon! We’re fine, thank you for asking! Wishing the same for you and yours 💛

I just gotta say: I love Little Dragon. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to have the privilege of meeting him, but I will make sure that this stays here forever. I love him. 🥹

But shout out to goddaughter as well! Her awareness job was phenomenal. 😂

#🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿 anon

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parfumieren · 2 years ago

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The Unicorn Spell (Les Nez)

Once upon a time, a man and his wife uncovered an ancient method of turning a goat into a unicorn. There was no magic involved. All it required was a simple and largely painless surgical procedure, performed when the animal was in its infancy. The result was recognizably still a goat. But since it now possessed what everyone knows is the single most important feature of a unicorn's physique, this lowly goat qualified for unicorn-hood by the merest horn's breadth.

The little unicorn's public debut touched off a firestorm of angry criticism. People felt cheated, swindled, duped. This was no unicorn! Obviously this was only a goat, and a vandalized one at that! However, the general outcry held a startling bit of insight about human psychology. That the unicorn turned out to be sham isn't the surprise-- it's that people thought unicorns existed at all. In order to call something counterfeit, you need to be able to point to the genuine article. So if this was a "fake" unicorn, where was the "real" one?

Still, not everyone was immune to the little unicorn's magic. There were those who viewed him as a living, breathing miracle-- a legendary creature straight from the lands of mystery. They did not want to know his creation story, the truth of his bio-engineered beginnings. It was the myth they loved... and at the sight of the little unicorn standing before them real and solid, they were satisfied.

__________ You hear things. That's how it starts. You catch a wisp of gossip about the most insane top note ever to hit Perfumeland: ice-cold raw green beans. What? They did NOT just say that, you think. Oh, but they did.

Person after person on blog after blog waxes eloquent about this one note, the greenest green thing that ever grew on Jack's famous beanstalk. Some (including its creator) are passing it off as an icy violet; others swear up and down it's a springtime iris. But like the Jolly Green Giant, that verdant bean note looms over the critical landscape, casting its shadow across opinions far and wide.

Reactions range from flowery to flummoxed. One review coos, "The earthy green vegetal surge fades into stardust..." Another dares to liken the opener to a "flare of methylated spirits". At times, you feel as though you're reading reviews about a hundred completely different perfumes. Perhaps the real Unicorn Spell is concealed somewhere amidst all these, as elusive as its namesake... a legend in the mists.

Finally you get to try it. And there it is: the rawest and most plangent vegetable note you've ever encountered in a perfume, greener than tomato leaf, juicier than a cucumber. Pert and acerbic, it sits halfway between haricots verts and green bell pepper, with the stems, foliage, and sap of the mother plant included. The impact of it is indescribable-- like seeing a person you know very well suddenly appear before you wearing green face paint. It's the familiar placed in an unexpected context, and it knocks you for a loop.

Given such a shocker for a first note, you could reasonably expect something just as mindblowing to follow. You sit back, waiting to be wowed.

Exactly three seconds in, a fresh and fleshy rose note creeps in, and not just the petals-- the stems, calyx, and leaves as well. This lasts-- oh, a second, maybe two. Immediately following that comes a black pepper accord reminiscent of L'Artisan Parfumeurs's L'Eau de Jatamansi, sharper and perhaps less lovely, but still quite likable. You smile as if you're at the circus, watching perfume notes cartwheel across the ring.

And then.... and then...

Nothing. Kaput. Finito. All gone. As if it had never touched your skin. The lights come up, the janitors start sweeping the aisles, and the ticket-taker scolds, What are YOU still doing here?

It's not as though you skimped, heaven knows. You splashed that stuff on like it was bathwater. But from application to AWOL, the entire Unicorn Spell experience lasted less than five minutes. (Did you ever think in a million years that you'd find yourself longing wistfully for Jatamansi's staying power, or congratulating Eau de Fleur de Soie on its tenacity?)

The worst part is that it smelled GOOD. You really wanted more of it, but for one reason or another, it simply couldn't deliver.

Broken promises have a way of sharpening dull disappointment to a keen edge. You want the excitement of discovery back -- the chase after that monumental, mythical note -- but now that you know the truth, it will never be the same. The legend has taken on a layer of tarnish. You curse yourself for being gullible, and vow never to be taken in again.

But you probably will. Because a wishful heart never stops wishing... and somewhere out there in the mist, the REAL unicorn is still waiting...

Scent Elements: Violet and iris is all Les Nez are admitting to, but there's got to be more to it than that. Or less.

#the unicorn spell #les nez #perfume review #parfümieren

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abbatoirablaze · 3 years ago

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Chasing Hearts, Chapter 6

Word count: 1.8k Warnings: manipulation, angst,

Tyler was quick to follow Reid as he made his way through the grocery store, grabbing some quick snacks for their stay, “we shouldn’t be here, Reid...”

“You always gonna do what Caleb tells you to?” Reid asked Tyler angrily, “You know, I’m not the only one that went looking once her name showed up…Pogue’s looking for him too now.”

Tyler sighed, giving an exasperated huff, while Reid went down another aisle, grabbing some beers.

‘I think he found him.’

Tyler watched his phone as he alerted Caleb of Reid’s latest expedition. He’d been trying to find Chase for years, and he knew that Reid had been closing in on him for a while. As his phone buzzed, he made an excuse that he needed to grab something else.

‘DC area…Pogue left yesterday when he felt a surge in the magic…’

“Shit,” Tyler cursed, knowing that Pogue hated Chase just as much as Reid did. It had been a race between the two since they let Chase go. Caleb had shown them what happened in the book of damnation, and how Chase’s future child was to be one day be Caleb’s future child’s significant other, and it had angered both Reid and Pogue. Neither one of them believed that Caleb was being fair in letting him off with Pope’s Prayer, the curse that the four of them had created together…and once they got proof that Caleb had convinced them to do it out of personal gain, and the future of his line, the two headstrong warlocks created a game to see who could find Chase first, “we’re fucked.”

‘I can’t contain them both.’

‘Well I can’t contain Reid.’

“Hey man, what’s taking you so long?”

Tyler’s eyes shot to Reid, “looks like Pogue is in town too.”

Reid’s jaw clenched, “did you tell him?”

“Got a text from Caleb that he needs my help, and that Pogue went AWOL yesterday once he found out where Collins is.”

“So, he is here…” Tyler nodded, and Reid smiled, “we have to find him before Pogue does.”

‘Protect the girl,’ the new incoming text read, ‘her name showed up in blood in the book last night. She’s definite now. Dahlia Mitchel.’

Tyler showed Reid his phone.

“Dahlia Mitchell…” Reid smiled deviously. His eyes went black, and the lights flickered within the small grocery store momentarily as he used his powers to try and locate her, “…I think we can do that…what do you say, Tyler?”

‘Protect the girl…got it.’

“Let’s go meet the future Mrs. Chase Collins.”

“You mean the future Mrs. Reid Garwin,” Reid smirked deviously, “come on Ty.”

Reid’s eyes went black as Tyler stared up at him, “this isn’t a good idea. At all.”

“Just act like a little kid. That’s all you have to do Tyler. It’s to make sure we protect her…you know what happens if Pogue goes after her and not Chase,” Reid growled to his friend. Tyler rolled his eyes and went to play on the swings by Dahlia and her son. Reid followed him seconds later, a playful smirk on his face, “Tyler…you can’t go running off on daddy, bud…what if some weirdos come and try to take you.”

“Nawww,” the little boy joked, “no one would take me way from you, daddy.”

Reid smirked, messing up his friend’s hair, as he pretended to ignore the woman beside him, “wanna ride on the swing, buddy?”

“YEAH! YEAH!”

“You can swing by me,” her son smiled, quickly trying to grab the empty swing beside him, “hey! HEY!”

“My name’s Tyler!” Tyler said quickly, running over to the little boy. The little boy smiled, jumping off his own swing to hug Tyler. As he turned, Reid held back the laughter at the unamused look on Tyler’s face.

“Tyler,” Reid faux yelled, running over to him. He gave a sympathetic frown at him, then turned his attention to her, “I’m sorry about my son…he-he’s four and doesn’t understand that it’s not okay to run off.”

“I’M FOUR!” her own son yelled, interrupting the moment Reid was trying to create. He let go of Tyler and held up four fingers, “TYLER. TYLER, I’M FOUR TOO! I’M DEVIN. AND THIS IS MY MOMMY. HER NAME IS MOMMY!”

“THIS IS MY DADDY, DEVIN. HIS NAME IS DADDY!”

Reid shot a look back to Tyler, who was clearly mocking the little boy…but since he looked like a four-year-old because of the magic, it came across that he was an excitable little boy as well.

“My name is Dahlia,” she corrected, picking her son up and placing him on the swing, “Devin’s mom.”

“Reid,” Reid smiled charmingly as he lifted Tyler onto the swing and began to push him as well, “I-I’m Tyler’s dad.”

Reid had remembered Chase to be eccentric, if not particular. But something he hadn’t expected was for Chase to like someone that had a child. Yes, she was breathtaking, and had Reid found her first, he probably would have picked her up…but a kid…that was not in the cards for him.

Instinctively he knew that somewhere down the line the kid would have to disappear, whether it be from a boarding school or his magic.

But if it meant getting close to her to show Chase Collins a lesson, he was all for it. As the two ‘parents’ pushed the boys on the swings, they seemed to fall into a comfortable line of questions. Reid told her all about his job in finance, and that Tyler’s mother had left them high and dry for some ‘cookie dealer,’ and a more exciting life in Malibu.

By the time the two ‘boys’ were fed up with the swings, and ran to the jungle gym, Reid was finding out all about her. They’d sat down on a bench not too far off, conversating about their lives.

How Devin was not her son, but she’d taken him in just a few months after her older sister passed, and that she was a teacher’s aid in an elementary school, and how she loved working with children.

So, when Reid asked her out, less than an hour later she was hesitant at best. But he could see the temptation in her eyes to accept, as her gaze continued to flicker between him and the two boys playing on the playground equipment.

“I’m sorry,” Reid fake apologized, moving a little away from her on the bench, “I-I thought…I’m terrible at reading the signals. I thought you were—god, I’m an idiot.”

“No-No,” she said quickly, holding her hands out, “I—god, trust me, you’re really cute…and you seem like a sweet guy…an amazing father…but I just…okay, crazy cards on the table right now…I met a guy a few weeks ago…and well last week he told me some really crazy stuff…like send you to the loony bin kind of crazy, and I just…I really liked him, and I don’t want to get attached to another guy and he be a psycho.”

Reid looked amusedly at her.

Chase had told her something. And gauging the look on her face, it had to be the fact that he was a warlock. Most regular women did not react well when they found out magic not only existed, but that they were seeing someone that was magically inclined.

“Do I want to know what this certifiably crazy information was?”

“I—probably not.”

“Okay,” he chuckled, “well crazy cards on the table. My son’s mother is with a drug dealer in Malibu.”

“Kinda figured he wasn’t a cookie salesman like you said,” she giggled, biting her bottom lip, “that all?”

“Well, she left me six months ago…so, Tyler remembers her…asked a lot in the last daycare he was in why everyone else had a mommy and his left us…lately he’s been going towards any women that he sees with a son his age…I think he’s trying to push me into ‘finding him a new mommy,’ so that he’s like the other kids.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

Reid smiled. While it may have seemed like a kindly one, it wasn’t. He smiled because she was falling so willingly into the lies that he told her, yet she wasn’t willing to accept Collins for what he said, stating that he was crazy.

“I’m sorry about your bad luck with dating,” he offered sadly, “but…would you be against it if…well…if I asked you out? It doesn’t even have to be a serious date. We could grab a coffee, or do something like this again? At the very least it’ll give Tyler a new friend.”

She blushed, “Reid…I-“

“What if I offered to make you and Devin dinner? Tyler can even be there too.”

She looked between the two boys who were happily playing and back to Reid, “I-I guess one date can’t hurt…right?”

Chase sighed heavily from his spot at the bar. He’d gone on a few of his dates this week, even going so far as to attempt to sleep with them, knowing that at least after him they’d be able to at least have their own happy endings.

But he was never able to go through with it.

Every time he’d get close, every time that he was hard and about to slide home, he couldn’t. He thought of her. He thought about her rejection of who he was, and he got angry. If he didn’t deserve love, then the other women didn’t either.

And long after he’d arrive back at his place he’d pull a beer from the fridge and his mind would slip back to her; like a bad addiction.

Dahlia.

Her petite frame. The tattoos that were hidden on her upper thighs unless she was in clothes lounging around her house. How when he woke up her hair was in a messy bun, thick black framed glasses perched on her nose.

And he wished for everything he was worth that she would just accept him.

But she wouldn’t.

Because deep down, his magic made him a monster.

“Look a little worse for wear there, Collins.”

He didn’t need to turn his head to see Pogue in his peripherals, “What are you doing here, Pogue?”

“Book said you met your girl.”

“Well, the book lied,” he growled sadly, taking a long swig of his beer, “just like everyone else that knows what I am, she wants nothing to do with me.”

“Not after long, she won’t,” Pogue said swiftly. He held his hand up and ordered a beer, “got a message from Tyler…Reid’s on a date with your girl right now…”

Chase’s gaze shot to Pogue, the black starting to fill his eyes before a shock went through his system, the magic forcing itself back down, “What are you talking about, Pogue?”

“Reid’s gonna take your place,” Pogue smirked wickedly, “gonna take your girl so that Caleb’s line is still secured…then when the book confirms it…you’re fair game, Collins.”

Chapter 7, The End

#the covenant #ipswich #chase collins #reid garwin #tyler simms #pogue parry #caleb danvers #magic #witchcraft

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1000roughdrafts · 4 years ago

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Baby Winchester 2021

A/N: gift fic for @rileynicole1967. Merry Christmas! Thank you for being such a huge supporter, and for all of your kind words. I hope you like it. I dont have a laptop anymore so this is posted from my phone, hope the format is alright.

Summary: Reader finds out she's pregnant, and tells Dean in a cute way.

Warnings: fluff, puking, pregnancy, mention of sex, a tiny bit of angst but youd have to really watch for it.

W/C: 1.5k

This is also kind of a fix it fic for the season finale but I warped the time to be close to Christmas.

Excusing yourself from Thanksgiving dinner, after taking a bite of a meal your boyfriend spent hours to prepare, almost made you feel as horrible as the realization that the spontaneous sickness was accompanied by an AWOL period.

You let it slide, blaming the uneasy feeling on those intrusive thoughts, the worries that slip in and mix with hopes, turning into an anxious dream. A dream that involved having a family with Dean.

While you never had that whole marriage and kids conversation with him, you know that somewhere deep inside of him is a craving to nurture and care for a child of his own.

The way he talked about his past with Lisa and Ben was one giveaway, but when the two of you had sex he was careless, and so were you. One of you would courteously offer up the use of a condom, while the other would hear the suggestion with one ear, muttering an "oh, yeah, we probably should," between kisses, but the intention was already lost on the both of you.

It was like under the surface of "we can't have a kid, we're hunters,"there was a shared hope that maybe it would just happen, and it would become part of the challenges you take on in day to day life. Wouldn't really even be much of a challenge, other than keeping the kid safe, but what safer of a place than a bunker?

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't considered the thought, even if just for a daydream. It was a scary thought, raising a baby in this world, let alone in your world, but regardless, you wanted it.

Five days from Christmas, another period hadn't come. Sitting on the toilet you cover your eyes with your hands, pressing a bit deeper than you should, hardly able to control the bounce in your leg. On the floor in front of you is a pregnancy test, your heart racing too fast for you to watch it as it decides your future.

The confliction you feel is enough on its own. The one hand, excitement, the other, fear; a hope for both positive and negative to show up on that little stick.

Thinking back on the symptoms you'd read online they all seemed to line up with normal PMS symptoms. Your breasts were sore and heavy, but you've never examined them enough to know if they're really changing. You've been nauseous, even puking, but often that's not outside of PMS either. The only thing that really screamed 'pregnant' was your two missed periods… until you open your eyes to a test with two pink lines.

With shaky hands you bend forward to pick it up, feeling like every sense has been numbed and magnified at once, like your eyes are playing tricks on you. Your body throws out a nervous chuckle, re-reading the test like you're studying for a final before allowing yourself to actually smile. Panic and excitement fills you but you ride out the high, allowing it to consume you for a moment before planning your next move.

Slipping the test in your bra between your breasts, you throw the box it came in into an empty metal trash bin, setting it on fire to hide the evidence. Dean will find out eventually, but it has to be perfect.

You already had a world of ideas on how to tell him, and with Christmas just days away, the perfect time. You drive to the craft store to see what you could put together.

Walking down the aisle you turn to another and see blank christmas ornaments to decorate. Something inside of you screams, thousands of images popping into your head of what you could do with some paint and an ornament. Grabbing a present shaped ornament you head over to the paint section. You pick up a couple small gift bags and stuffing paper.

Leaving the bag in your car, you walk through the door to see the boys are decorating the bunker with random strings of light and tinsel.

"Looks great," you smile "now all we need is a tree."

"Well now that you're home we can go get one," Dean smiles, walking over to kiss you on the cheek.

You drove to all of the lots in Lebanon, all of which sold out of their best trees and left with the charlie brown's. Both Sam and Dean turned to you at each one with questions in their eyes, and you'd just shake your head. There's no way you'd let a three foot tree sit in a building as beautiful as the bunker. You'd find the perfect one, it just needed to take some time. That's when Dean suggested a different place.

He drove the three of you to a secluded woods, opening the trunk for a saw.

With wide eyes and a hidden smile, you jump out, Sam following.

"You're gonna cut one down?" you laugh.

Dean shrugs, lifting the saw to examine it. Smiling, he looks at Sam, "give me a hand with this will you?" he says, nodding to the other saw that sits in the trunk.

While the boys decorated the tree, you found it the perfect opportunity to sneak away and decorate your ornament. You slip into your car for the bag and run to a room you could lock, starting right away.

On Christmas morning, Dean woke you with a warm homemade peppermint mocha. The things that man could do in the kitchen made your head spin, or maybe it was the little life growing inside of you that made you so dizzy.

You hurriedly set the coffee on the nightstand and run to the bathroom, puking up the sweet, peppermint dream in moments.

Dean is quick to your side, kneeling down with his hand on your back, rubbing comforting circles.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and you can only nod. "Was it too much peppermint?"

You shake your head with a chuckle, wiping your lips with toilet paper before spitting into the toilet and flushing it all away.

"No, the coffee is great," you smile, turning to rinse your mouth out and brush your teeth, "I just don't think I ate enough yesterday," you say, mouth full of toothpaste but knowing it will be the last lie you have to tell him about the showing symptoms.

You walk out and accompany them as Sam pulls a gift from the tree and hands it to Dean. Dean smiles as you go to sit next to him.

"Oh!" you say with your best attempt at faking surprise, "I forgot an ornament" you say, barely able to conceal your smile.

You pull it from your pocket and hand it to Dean, stifling a giggle.

He smiles, "sure thing," he says, reaching for it.

It takes him a few steps to look at it, but even with his back turned to you you know when he reads it. He freezes, staring down at the golden letters that read: Baby Winchester 2021.

"What?" he says, whipping around to face you, and you just smile. Sam is alert, looking up from his phone as if Dean's voice startled him into the moment. Dean's face is tense, but he relaxes it to a smile, "what?"he says again, more excitedly, "are you serious?" he says in a laugh.

Sam stands and walks to Dean's side, reading the ornament over his shoulder, "no way!" he smiles.

You laugh, standing to grab the gift bag from under the tree with the test in it.

"I'm serious," you say, giving him the little gift bag.

Dean pulls the test out, Sam still at his side and when he looks at those little pink lines his face flushes, tears in the corners of his eyes threaten to come down. Sam is quick to run to you, wrapping you in a bear hug, saying congratulations before both of you have your arms wrapped around Dean.

There's silence for a moment, and you know what it means just by looking in their eyes. In their minds, just last week they were fighting mime vampires, the hunt almost getting away with Dean's life had he not missed the nail in the wall and fell backwards instead, and this week, they're expecting a baby. A baby in a world with vampires, and ghosts, and creatures that want you all dead.

You break the silence, "I know," you say almost somberly.

"What are we gonna do?" Dean asks, fear in his voice.

"We're gonna do what we always do. We're gonna keep fighting, but now, we'll be fighting for this little guy," you say, hand around your stomach.

Dean wipes the tear from his eye before it can hit his cheek and wraps his arms around you in a hug, Sam joining in shortly after in an embrace you wish you could stay in forever.

Sure, it's going to be difficult raising a baby in a hunter family, but with these two goons by your side, you wouldn't have it anyway else.

PermaTags<3 @waywardblueshun @81mysteriouslyme @drakelover78 @soab1967 @shutupandfeedmethings @pollywantacracker666 @sonnierae26 @obsessed5sosfreak @tlovescoffee @hobby27 @cluz1babe @emptycanvasposts @suckmyapplejacks

Dean’sQueens<3 @flamencodiva @akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @laxe-chester67 @ellewritesfix05 @lyarr24 @mrspeacem1nusone

#dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural #dean winchester #spn #supernatural fan fic #sam winchester #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x pregnant!reader

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unfortunatelysirius · 4 years ago

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DATING HARRY POTTER AS A HUFFLEPUFF WOULD INCLUDE:

NOTE: Hey, apologies for going AWOL. I’m back to ruin fanfiction.

�� Oh Merlin, there’s a lot of stereotypes about Hufflepuffs. They’re pushovers, they’re losers, they’re cowards, they’re useless, they’re lousy at duels—all sorts, none of it really true. Even the Golden Trio was guilty for thinking it! Ah, Hufflepuff, seemed like the lesser House from afar.

❁ Then Harry met you.

❁ Harry only knew what his friends told him of Hufflepuffs. Hermione didn’t really have an opinion, just that she barely saw their work ethic and suspected they spent a lot of their time with the kitchen elves. Ron was bold with his, claiming they didn’t have a courageous bone in their body. With a lack of any real friends from Hufflepuffs, Harry didn’t disagree.

❁ One day Harry saw you sneaking into the restricted section of the library. You went undetected and looked like you’d done it hundreds of time when you snagged a book Harry couldn’t read the name of then went on your way. Harry was baffled. The only indication of who you were was the yellow tie he saw before you went dancing into the night. And Hufflepuffs? They didn’t seem like rulebreakers and risktakers.

❁ Harry told Hermione and Ron about what he saw and neither of them believed him. So he honestly believed he was seeing colors and the person that stole a book was from another house, not a Hufflepuff. But his curiosity got the better of him so he looked at every person he saw to see if they matched the figure he saw that night. The figure was lithe and limber, able to not make a sound.

❁ Not looking for a Hufflepuff in particular really failed him… none of the other houses had someone with behavior even close. Then again, he didn’t get a chance to truly analyze the figure before it was gone. He was grasping for straws with what little he had to go on, but he was just so damned determined to find out who it was. The figure was graceful and if he had to go with a fifty-fifty, he wanted to say the figure was a girl. Yeah, he’d go with that to cut down half his prospects.

❁ Harry had you in his Transfiguration class. He didn’t give you the light of day until one fateful class period when you got up to hand in an essay and Harry’s eyes followed you up the aisle. You were light-footed and quick, a grace to you unmatched by the identity-less night thief. That’s when he hit him—you were the culprit and he wasn’t imagining things about a Hufflepuff tie!

❁ He confronted you after class. It didn’t go so well. You didn’t like the idea of him seeing you take a book and tried to play it off like you’d never do such a thing; sadly for you, the Chosen One was chosen in what he’d “let go.” That was one of the few things he wanted to pursue. It became a cycle: you tried removing yourself from his radar, he reappeared to interrogate you, you’d threaten to hit him with a knee-locking spell, he’d back off and it started again. He was cute and aggravating, neither so good together. You grew frustrated and Harry? He was like a damn dog trailing after a slab of meat.

❁ Finally after weeks of enduring him following you wherever you went, you had finally had enough. You slapped him in the face and told him to bugger off before you turned him into a toad. All these threats aside, you thought maybe he’d leave you alone if you were to outright say it, but Harry hadn’t gotten his answers yet—and as a bloke who’d investigate his heart out for the right price, nothing could break his stride… or his pride.

❁ Ugh, how was he not bored yet?

❁ You gave him an ultimatum: if you told him the name of the book you stole and why you even took from the restricted section in the first place, he needed to forget you existed and stop being your shadow. Harry agreed. The two of you went somewhere alone and out of earshot from his nosy buddies and anyone else who loved to overhear things they shouldn’t, and once there, you told him your motivations. You needed a book on the history of dark magic because you were learning how to withstand Dark Arts curses in the case the war tried taking you as a casualty. You explained how your father was killed when you were a month old because of dark magic and you didn’t want to have that happen to you or your family again.

❁ Harry could see this was personal so for once, he was pretty serious (but not serious Sirius). And to your shock, he apologized for basically being your stalker. Then to your immense displeasure, he informed you of something else: he didn’t want to forget your existence.

❁ “What the bloody Hell, Harry? We agreed to this!” you cried out in protest.

❁ The arsehole didn’t look fazed.

❁ Harry very suavely told you he fancied you and for the last few weeks he was only following you around because he felt leaving you alone would make you never give him the time of day again. Truthfully you probably never would have—he was a Gryffindor and Gryffindors did ridiculously stupid things and acted like bastards half the time. All houses had their flaws but Harry was many things: brave, oblivious, mad, and arrogant. A lot of those traits were none you particularly fancied yourself… but upon Harry’s confession, you could see yourself looking past all that.

❁ You agreed to let bygones be bygones and give Harry a chance to show you that he was more than your weird stalker/frenemy… Would you regret it? Yeah, probably. If he drew his friends into messes that were potentially lethal, you sure as hell would get the same bewildering stories to tell your future children.

❁ Good thing Hufflepuffs were badasses, too.

❁ Story aside, the two of you are a power couple.

❁ Oh, who thought a Hufflepuff couldn’t be powerful? Slytherins, Gryffindors? Well, they’re wrong.

❁ You’re an absolute beast at magic and yeah, Harry’s the Chosen One, but you’re only the tiniest bit beneath his level; he’s got the title but a match-up between you and Harry is not something anyone has the balls to face.

❁ You guys are the cute, playful couple and the warriors-on-their-way-to-battle couple.

❁ Your favorite place to go on dates to is the Three Broomsticks for Butterbeer and to people-watch. Harry’s a nosy Norman and likes to eavesdrop (and secretly, you’re not so opposed).

❁ He can be shy. He’s confident most of the time, then there’s these moments of vulnerability where he’ll go on self-pity tirades that he doesn’t deserve you and he hates putting you in danger. Cute of him to worry, but you’re a badass, remember? It’s up to you to remind him you’d leave if you really wanted to, but sometimes it’s good to let him see that himself. Bad bitches do what they want when they say they want.

❁ You hate Cho Chang with a passion when she starts making eyes at Harry. If you didn’t value your education or fear Umbridge, you’d relinquish any dignity you have left and start a cat fight.

❁ Harry’s loyal and sweet. You’d think he wouldn’t be, being the cocky prat he is at times, but damn, he knows how to defy expectations. When the two of you are together he has no eyes for anyone but you.

❁ He says, “I love you,” first. Big surprise.

❁ He’s a really passionate lover. Like, really passionate. He doesn’t give off the vibe, but man, oh man… he’s got moves.

❁ Harry truly takes every predisposed thought you had of him and basically shoots them all to Hell—just as you do his expectations of Hufflepuffs.

❁ Perfect match made in Merlin’s cauldron, huh?

❁ Nah, perfect match made in Hell.

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spicymayo1983 · 3 years ago

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Hiya. This is part 7. You've experienced joy and massive heartbreak in the span of a week. First your mother and then your father.

Poe has already returned to D'qar, leaving you alone to face unimaginable tragedy.

You're all by yourself with your own ugly, terrifying thoughts.

As you try to pick up the pieces of your life thoughts drift to your relationship with Poe, and the urgent feeling to start a family that both of you have.

But can you survive the events of that week?

Do you want to?

Warnings, angst, grieving, thoughts of self harm, suicide, if this might be triggering to you please don't read, this chapter is dark, not for anyone under 18.

Your father had simply lost the will to live after losing his wife of nearly 40 years and passed away in his sleep of a broken heart.

His body and mind were quite simply tired. What did he have to live for with his soul mate gone?

The last year of your mother's life was difficult as she faced the end stages of her terminal illness. Your father provided her around the clock care. Bathing her, feeding her, basically doing everything.

You hated yourself for not being able to help and placing the burden all on him.

She was lucky to have someone so devoted to her.

Like you and Poe, your parents were two halves of the same soul.

The last week of his life was nothing but unbearable sadness and grief but at least he lived long enough to see you and your soulmate get back together.

The excitement and giddiness of your reunion has been dealt a serious blow, though. Any joy that was in your heart has quickly been extinguished.

You might be carrying a grandchild that will never know the joy of being doted on by grandma and grandpa, there will be noone to walk you down the aisle if you do get married.

You have lost everyone in your family, you are faced with the grim reality of being the final surviving member.

Once again your happiness and accomplishments feel hollow and empty.

You're a self described popular loner. Meaning that you have a lot of acquaintances and people generally like you but no close friends.

What was the point of even existing if there was noone there to share your joy with?

As you plan yet another funeral by yourself Poe and the leader of the red squadron, Garven Dreis, have both been sending holograms that you haven't been answering.

The red leader is likely assuming that you've gone AWOL, you surmise nervously, meaning that there might be people looking for you.

You haven't told anyone that your father died. What was the point? You thought bitterly.

It's just been you, death and your own increasingly dark and harmful thoughts.

The funeral is private with only you in attendance. You had your father cremated and you dug a small hole next to your mother's grave and buried him yourself.

The eulogy? Tears and silence.

You haven't really slept or eaten in days. You are wild eyed and absolutely hysterical from grief. You've gone mute from shock and can't really communicate with anyone.

You look like a walking skeleton due to weight loss. The thought of dying is the only thing that brings a smile to your face.

You clean yourself up, fix your hair and put on nice clothing so when your body is discovered at least you'll be presentable.

As you sit on that little stone bench in the family cemetery you start to think about how and where you want to end it.

You love being in control.

With your final plans in order you head back to the family home and compose your goodbye.

Poe,

I couldn't take it anymore and ended my pain. If you're reading this it's already too late. You can find me at the place where it all started between us.

Love,

Y/n

D'Qar, emergency meeting with General Organa

Poe has been trying to contact you for three days with no response. He's convinced that something terrible has happened to you and he's not wrong.

Finally as a last resort he arranged an emergency meeting with General Organa to explain what has happened, and that he must travel to Yavin 4 again.

"I need to leave, it's a family emergency". Poe explains quickly to Leia, a desperate look appearing on his face.

"You're needed here, I can't grant you any more leave". She replies sharply. "If the first order attacks we'll be crippled without the black squadron".

"Someone I care about is in danger". He explains, the tone of his voice switching from desperation to anger.

"You're staying here and that's an order". Leia replies defiantly.

Poe is absolutely livid at her orders. With a slight smile on his face he looks at her and says with a shake of his head,

"No, I'm going, what are you going to do? Court marshal me? Throw me in prison? The first order will win without me and you know it".

The edge of the rainforest, Yavin 4

You're relaxing on a blanket at the edge of the rainforest. It was the same spot where you lost your innocence to him decades earlier.

It was where you and Poe shared your thoughts, dreams and feelings for each other.

It only seemed fitting that you would end your life there.

As you relax on your back and watch the clouds drift by your eyes wander to the item next to you, on your right.

Your trusty, standard issue blaster pistol.

You sit up quickly, pick it up and begin to examine it with your hands, the memories come flooding back.

Meanwhile at your family farm Poe has landed his X wing nearby and was searching desperately for you or your father.

"Corr? Y/n? Where are you?" He calls out desperately, going from room to room.

Finally he stumbles upon your hastily written suicide note, and realizes that it might be too late.

You haven't done anything, yet. But you are still contemplating.

You are now holding the blaster, mentally and physically you are exhausted and run down.

You can't decide if you need some sleep or if you need to kill yourself, you think with a bitter laugh, the irony of your situation striking you as funny.

Finally, you've made your decision. You close your eyes and place the blaster to your heart.

And then, all of a sudden the blaster goes flying out of your hand and tumbling down the cliff, someone has just used the force to save your life.

You turn around to see who it is, and you instantly burst into tears.

End of chapter 7

#poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron smut #star wars #star wars smut #fanfiction #fanfic smut #fanfic #romance #tragedy

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morningstarships · 4 years ago

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am i a monster? - bnha s/i oneshot

this is a self shipping fic so if u self ship w/ dabi and ur uncomfortable with sharing him, heres ur warning!! ;w;

i’m vv proud of this!! pls consider rbing it !!

TW!! Death, Eye trauma, mentions of killing, and trauma.

word count - 2.2k

summary - apollo gets a blast from the past.

ships: dabi x apollo, dadzawa

Ever since they were a kid, Apollo knew they’d never live up to expectations of their peers. And of course, they always heard the basic, ‘Oh, you have such a strong quirk! I’m sure you’ll make a perfect hero one day!’

But they genuinely never expected to be standing on a building, purple and blue fire spread across the horizon, hand linked with a villain. Their eyes were sparkling with delight. The sight of fire made them giddy, their heart beating a mile a minute.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” Dabi’s rough voice made their heart skip a beat. “I’m glad you are, doll. It’s nice to see that pretty face light up.”

“Don’t be so cheesy.” Apollo nudged him, but that only made him chuckle.

“C’mon, darlin’, let’s get going.” His hand linked with theirs, eyes trained on them. Apollo glanced down at the flames once again, eyebrows furrowed.

Any negative thoughts were pushed down by a gentle kiss to their temple, Dabi’s voice coming out in a hum of amusement. The two walked off, entering the warp gate that Kurogiri had left open for them.

“Took you long enough.” Tomura’s voice was a soft grumble, the male sitting at the bar. Dabi rolled his eyes, but bit his tongue.

“Sorry, Shiggy. It was my fault.” Apollo smiled gently at Tomura, who just huffed. “I wanted to watch the fire.”

“Whatever.” Tomura scratched at his neck. “We’re running low on food.”

“I’ll go pick some stuff up.” Apollo tied up their hair with a grin. “Anything specific you want?”

“Just don’t get those shitty TV dinners. I’m sick of those.” Dabi spoke from the couch. Apollo raised an eyebrow, but shrugged.

“Alright, King Tut.” A teasing smile tugged at their lips. He snickered at their taunts, kicking back to relax. Apollo went to their shared room, changing into a baggy hoodie and sweatpants. Usually they would just ask Tomura for the money to feed everyone, but…

With how down in the dumps everyone was feeling, Apollo wasn’t gonna ask Tomura for his money. He needed it. Besides, their last job, they had gotten paid like they could get an entire grocery store. Paid for killing a well known pro hero...

A soft sigh left their parted lips, their boots thumping lightly once they left the room.

“Be careful, kitten.” Dabi called out.

“You’re telling me to be careful?” Apollo’s grin was mischievous, arms crossed.

“Oh, my bad. Maybe I should tell the cashier at the store to be careful.” Dabi snickered. Apollo’s boots thumped as they walked towards the male. They ruffled up his hair, snickering at the frustrated groan he let out. Before he could even snap at them, Apollo peppered kisses onto his face. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Oh yeah?” Apollo pinched his cheek. “What would happen if you didn’t?”

“I’ll keep that to myself.” Dabi flashed them a lazy grin. “Now go get food before I starve to death.”

“Whatever you say, stinky man.”

“Hey! I smell fine!”

“Uh-huh.” Apollo snickered. They fixed their sleeves, then walked out of the hideout. Their mood was lifted, a small smile resting on their pale face.

God, they had it bad for him. Every time he spoke… Every time he looked at them with those eyes… Fuck. They cracked their knuckles, heart beating quick.

The walk to the store was leisurely. Thankfully they lived close to one. Their eyes were focused on their phone, replying to a stupid text that Dabi sent. They weren’t paying attention to their general surroundings when the small villain bumped into someone.

“Shit!” Apollo’s eyes snapped up to look at the person, eyes widening when they saw who it was. “S-Sorry.”

“It’s no problem. Just watch where you’re going next time.” Aizawa’s dull voice filled their heart with dread. When was the last time they actually ran into him? The training camp incident? No, Dabi took care of him in that…

“Y...Yeah.” There was no doubt that he recognized them. But if he would say anything…

Apollo pushed the feelings down, choosing to grab a cart and rush away. They didn’t want to stick around to find out. Knowing him, he wouldn’t make a scene in public. Unless he changed…

No. He hadn’t seemed to follow them at all, which made them let out a sigh of relief. They were going to leave him a present again. Since he saw them, however…

Apollo’s fingers twitched lightly, eyes narrowed. They needed to make this quick. They went down each aisle, making sure to get stuff that would actually fill the others up. Pre-made, but still good. They made sure there was some stuff for themselves. Sweets, mostly, that would probably be consumed within days. They’d have to hide that stuff, since Toga had an affinity for stealing their snacks.

Apollo refused to get seafood. Dabi and them both despised the crap. It stunk up the entire hideout and nobody ate the garbage in time. They added up everything in their head, eyebrows scrunched up. Their cart was already almost full, but…

Their multicolored eyes landed on an intricately decorated cake, different fruits lining the top and side. They swiped it from the shelf, balancing it on top of everything else. Toga and Twice would be ecstatic.

Apollo was quick to checkout and pay. Aizawa was nowhere in sight, forcing Apollo to let out a sigh of relief. They weren’t ready.

The cold nipped at their skin, the moon gleaming. The bags they held were digging into their arms, but they pushed through.

Apollo stopped at the corner of the road, pointed ears twitching.

“You might as well come out.” Apollo spoke softly, eyes narrowed into slits. “Eraser.”

“I knew it was you.” Aizawa stepped out with a sigh, staring at the smaller person. Apollo turned to face him, fangs bared.

“No shit. You’re not stupid.” Apollo’s voice was filled with malice. They weren’t angry with him. It wasn’t his fault they decided to go AWOL. “What do you want?”

“I just want to talk.”

“I have to get home. The ice cream will melt.” Apollo sighed. “Just say what you wanna say.”

“I’ve seen your crimes on TV. Is that really what you want to be doing for the rest of your life?”

“It’s better than being housepets for the police. Spending your life fighting against people who were deemed ‘evil’ by society.”

“That’s because you are evil. Or at least misguided.” Aizawa sighed softly. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“...Neither do I. But you’ll just follow me if I walk away.” Apollo sneered. Their heart was beating in their ears, eyes narrowed. “What do you want me to say?”

“...I don’t know.”

“You have to understand. I couldn’t just...become a soldier in some stupid war. That’s all hero work is. UA too. You claim to help children become heroes, but it was just training children to be soldiers for the police.” Aizawa hadn’t spoken, so they continued. “What would’ve happened if I stayed? Become some sidekick to a big agency? Hero work is so stifling.”

“So, instead, you chose to leave your life behind. And what? Live a life of thievery?” At those words, Apollo scoffed. “Just like the men that came into your home that night…”

“Don’t you DARE talk about that. You weren’t there!”

“I raised you. If anything, I know you better than anyone ever could.”

“Why do you act like heroes are so much better than us?!”

“Because they are.” That pissed them off. They snarled lowly, eyes narrowed into slits.

“Then WHY are they so easy to KILL?!” Their teeth were bared, eyes wide with rage. Aizawa widened his eyes, hands curling into fists. “Everyone has a hit out for them.”

“You’re the one who killed him?”

“Yeah. I was.” Apollo felt the adrenaline rush through their veins, a vicious grin spreading across their face. “I watched the life drain from his eyes. He called out for his wife and children. It was pathetic.”

“I raised you to b-”

Aizawa’s words were cut off when Apollo placed the bags down.

“You raised me to be a bootlicking pussy. I carved my own path and I’m doing great!”

“You call ‘living in squalor’ great?” Aizawa sneered. “I don’t want to fight you. And we both know I can end this in an instant.”

“Maybe you could when I was younger. But I’m stronger now.”

The streets were almost empty, which was good for them. Not so much for him. He wouldn’t even get a chance to use his quirk.

Their fingers snapped, purple flames shooting from the tips within seconds. Maybe they wouldn’t have to fight him…

Nope.

His scarf came barreling towards them, the cloth wrapping around their arms and waist. He had already erased their quirk. Shit.

“Piece of fucking shit…” Apollo’s voice was a loud snarl. He was pulling them towards him… That was good.

“If you stand down now, I’ll go easy on you.” The two came face to face, his eyes wide. Apollo’s expression softened. They just needed him to loosen the grip on their arms.

“Do you think I can change?” Their voice quivered. Crocodile tears. They felt the grip loosen. “You really are an idiot.”

A knife was pulled from their pocket as quick as possible, the stench of blood filling their senses.

“Oh, what a shame.” Apollo mused. Aizawa’s grunt made them grin. How much of an awful child were they? “You can’t use your quirk with only one eye, now, can you? Poor Eraserhead.”

“You’re a damn monster…” His words did sting. Instead of crying like a little bitch about it, Apollo just let out a mocking laugh.

“It’s been fun.”

Apollo walked back to the corner of the street, lifting the bags from the ground. Ugh. The ice cream was melting. They placed a palm on the concrete with a gentle sigh.

“Maybe we’ll meet again, Eraser.”

Crimson liquid had fallen to the ground in front of them, Aizawa standing over them with grit teeth. They raised an eyebrow.

He was persistent. How annoying.

Apollo could’ve done more to harm him. But honestly? What was the point? They created a tall cement wall between the two. It was just to keep him from seeing where they went.

Well…

At least the rest of their walk home was calm.

They had left the hideout in a great mood.

Apollo’s face was emotionless when they entered the hideout. It was hard to tell that they were even upset. To the naked eye, at least.

Dabi could tell otherwise.

The bags were dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, Apollo letting out a quiet sigh.

“You guys can put this shit away.” Two bags remained looped on their arm, which were the copious amounts of sweets they had grabbed for their mouth only.

“Why the hell sh-” A sharp glare made Tomura shut his mouth.

“I’m going to bed.” Apollo’s voice was dull, eyes focused on the ground. “Don’t be too loud.”

Dabi sat up from the couch with a frown etched into his features. The heavy thump of their boots faded as they entered the bedroom.

“Hey, doll.” Dabi’s voice made them sigh. Not now. He couldn’t see them like this… So damn vulnerable. They had busied their hands with stashing away the snacks, back facing him. He could tell. Damn him. “Rough trip?”

“...Am I a monster?” Apollo’s voice was barely a whisper. They knew the answer. For fucks sake, they killed people for money. Of course they knew what the answer was.

“No.” That wasn’t what they were expecting. “Sure, the heroes might label us as that, but babe. Look at me.” Tears were brimming in their eyes. “Let me see that pretty face, darlin’.”

Apollo turned to face him, hot tears rolling down their cheeks. Pathetic. He must’ve been thinking that. How could a villain like them be crying over a simple word?

“What happened?” Dabi cupped their face in his hands, eyebrows furrowing up in concern. “C’mon, kitten, you can tell me.”

“I-I…” Apollo hesitated. Would he get angry? “...I ran into Eraser at the store. He recognized me. He called me a monster.”

“That fuckin’ asshole…” Dabi’s eyes narrowed into slits, but he put aside his anger towards the hero and pulled the smaller villain into his chest. “You’re not a monster. Trust me. I’ve seen monsters. It’s the ones the Hero Commission are protecting, not us.”

His hands, warm to the touch, rubbed circles into their back. They felt their body slowly melt into the touch, hands gripping the front of his shirt.

“Besides, with the amount of blood on you, that bastard will be out of commission for a while.” His laugh was breathy and light, which made Apollo smile. He was right. “Now.” Dabi tilted their head up with a finger under their chin. “You know what we’re gonna do?”

“What?”

“We’re gonna go cut into that cake you got, drink, and be so sickeningly sweet, just to annoy the boss.” It was their turn to laugh. It was loud, a fanged grin spreading across their face.

“That sounds like a plan.”

“Good.” Dabi caught their lips in a gentle kiss. “I love ya, sunspot.”

“Love ya too, Cremation boy.” Their first nickname for him had stuck like glue. He didn’t mind. He pulled his jacket off, wrapping it around their body and pressing a soft kiss on their temple.

“Let’s go.”

#ship: shattered memories #ship: phoenix ashes #self insert #self inserts #self ship #self ships #self shipping #f/o #self ship writing #self insert writing #dabi #bnha #oneshot #my writing #bnha oneshot

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thisextensiveuniverse · 4 years ago

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Angel Sanctuary Chapter 1

There were few places that were left untouched through the raging war, from the brunt of the oldest Archangel’s undying wrath, on all those he perceived to be enemies; the barracks, training field, and the Pavilion, to name a few of those places.

Another that stood out was the Infirmary.

The home of the thirdborn Archangel, his true home nothing but a memory now, darkened and desolate, he kept himself in his Infirmary where he could tend to the ones who came to him with the care and kindness he was so well known for, that so few saw in these trying times.

It took some time for the angels to notice, those that hid within their broken homes and demolished buildings, those who snuck around, out of sight, under the nose of the enraged Commander, that when an angel went to the Infirmary, they didn’t come back out. There was fear at first, that the Healer had lost himself just as the eldest had, and they avoided stepping foot in the Infirmary for some time, dealing with wounds and injuries on their own.

And, slowly, those who needed tending to had begun to dwindle, much to the Healer’s dismay and concern, and he’d stand just outside the entrance to his Infirmary, looking around for those he knew needed help, but didn’t dare come to seek it out.

…

It was the one day in an eternity that the guards took the day off, where they were free from the horrors of their tortures for the day, an entire twenty-four hours of relief before it was back on again, the next day, back to the norm of a day in the prisoners lives.

He sat huddled in the corner of his cell, his once white tunic torn and stained amber, the gold bands that had once shined so proudly in the sun were tarnished and rusted.

Shivers rocked his body, the cold seeping into his skin, still soaked from his drowning late that night before, freezing, down to the bone.

He looks up at his cellmate, his bloodied beaten form in the far corner, huddled around himself. Arms shaking as he tried to protect himself, blood dripping from the fresh wounds, over the scabbing ones underneath. His breathing was wet, quick and weak, but as silent as a whisper, as quiet as a church mouse.

They had to get out of here.

He didn’t think his friend could take much more of this treatment. They couldn’t stay here. He had to get his friend away from this place, he had to. Escape had never been an inkling in the back of his mind, as it was never a hope to reach for, but now, this day, it was the day to try new things.

Pushing himself up, wincing and stumbling at the rotating and weight placed on his injured ankle, the scabbing gash in the center of his left foot as it cracked back open once more, leaving fresh foot prints of red on the dismal gray stone underneath him, as he stepped forward.

There was no time to waste.

“Come on, Abner, come on, we have to go.” The red mound of limbs slowly unraveled to reveal the dirty head of hair, dried and flaking blood over his shoulders, eyes red and bloodshot. “G..Gadreel?”

The former sentry nods, taking his arm in hand and drags it over his shoulders, the other bit his lip harshly, to keep from screaming at the agony of the movement. Gadreel struggled to lift him and carry his weight under the fatigue of his own injuries.

“Yes, come friend, brother, we are leaving.”

“..Leaving?”

“Yes, you must move quick, my friend, and try to stay as quiet as possible.”

Abner nods, grasping his younger brother’s shoulder with all the strength he had, grimacing slightly at the soreness the action brought with it, the cool water that dripped from his friend’s form was a nice reprieve though, it was somewhat soothing to his burning flesh.

Holding the bloodied angel steady, Gadreel peered outside the cell bars, first to the right, then to the left. He gripped the edge of the gate, fingers curling around it, and softly apologized to his older brother for what he was about to do. He digs his fingers into the gash on Abner’s shoulder, the scream he lets free was loud and agonizing, and it was loud enough that he was able to gather his strength and break the lock on the cell door, tearing it free.

For a moment, he made no movement, standing completely still, as though he were a statue.

Waiting for someone to come catch them. To see the broken loc and beat them for it. But, no one came. There was no cracking of a whip, and no yelling, from the guards or their torturer. Stepping out cautiously, he closes his eyes, waiting for a blow that never came, and then he breathed out a soft breath.

Abner was choking on a sob as he tried to remain as silent as he had been instructed to be, not wanting to ruin this one taste of possible freedom, and he bit his lip hard enough that he tasted the coppery taste of blood.

Knowing that it was now or never, to seize the moment, Gadreel turned, fingers cracking under the strength of his grasp on Abner’s tattered tunic. He ran down the hall as best as he could, disturbing the rest of the prisoners, and backed in their shouts and cheers. It empowered him, the adrenaline, and the light of sweet freedom from endless pain. He could see it. It was so close, he could practically taste it.

The Prison was loud with the cheers of it’s prisoners as the legendary duo broke through the doors, light pouring in down the darkened hall, overpowering the soft forced glow of the torches, pounding and banging against the bars of their cells at their triumph.

Gadreel and Abner disappeared from sight as the secondary guards poured in to silence the prisoners.

“Sir!”

Sampson turned at the call, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Yes, what is it?”

“Sir, they’re gone! The indefinite prisoners! They’re gone!”

He face thundered in building rage, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, prisoners scurried to the backs of their cells in panic. “Sound the alarm! Alert the Commander and Warden! They must be found!”

…

Under the protection of the masses on the Axis, Gadreel made his way slowly farther and farther away from the prison, trudging through the freezing snow under foot, leaving a path of red footprints behind him, quickly trampled away by the passing of others. His heart racing and grace rolling dangerously, this had never happened before, Heaven’s Prison was inescapable, once you went in, you never came out.

He stumbled down the path and nearly sent them both tumbling over. Abner weakly grabbed for his attention and he gave it to him as he had desired.

“…Brother…they’ve noticed…”

Gadreel followed his gaze, to the guards making their way into the crowd, and he felt panic rise in his chest, the hand tugged weakly at his tunic, pointing in the direction of the Garden.

He shakes his head, no, that would be the first place they’d think to look for them.

His gaze travelled over the buildings carefully, but quickly, time was of the essence.

The Infirmary.

They’d all heard the rumors, once one went in, they didn’t come back out. No one knew why, and he didn’t care to think of that possibility, anything was better then what they’d already been put through.

Gadreel grunted, and Abner whined, but they both turned in the direction of the thirdborn’s domain. Hurrying to get away from the guards quickly approaching, closing in on their location, leaving nothing but drops of blood and red foot prints in their wake.

Little things that went unnoticed in the hustle of the Axis.

They both struggled to climb the stairs that lead to the Infirmary’s doors, panting for breath, the exhales they made condensing before their eyes. By the time they reached the top, Abner was practically dead on his feet, he was carrying most of his older brothers weight, and slowly ambled them closer to the great oak doors, collapsing onto the one, pushing for all that he was worth, now that the adrenaline was fading, so was his strength, and he groaned as he pushed, until the door gave way, and moved, opening under his pressure.

…

He’d been sitting at his desk going through the pile of charts he’d been given, from his oldest brother, for review pertaining to his newest recruits, that needed the Healer to sign off on his clearance to begin their training, when they fell through the doors of the Infirmary.

They were heavy doors, thick wooden monstrosities, and they were not easily opened.

Still, they had crashed through, desperate to be within the confines of his Infirmary, the one place they knew they would be untouchable. Rumors had spread through remains of the Host of the asylum that was offered within the Infirmary, even if the Healer wasn’t quite aware of the fact that he was offering it when he took you in as his patient and kept you until you were well enough under his own standards.

The Infirmary had become a sanctuary, a safe haven, for those afflicted by the war. For those under persecution, for those too young to defend themselves, for those who refused to fight against their morals and were declared insubordinate or AWOL.

He stands quickly, eyes wide in surprise, at the bodies that lay just within the entrance of his Infirmary. Beaten and bloody, covered in the evidence of the torture they had endured, they wore ragged tunics and trousers, that all prisoners were given at their intake into that dreaded feared place. Stepping out from behind his desk, he raises his hand, staying his Virtues from drawing their weapons, and crossed the threshold, making his way down the aisle towards the pair laying on the floor, to kneel before the two prisoners desperate enough to attempt an escape from Heaven’s Prison, and chose to come to his Infirmary, above all other places, for protection.

Raphael watches them silently, looking from one to the other, taking in their ragged appearance. The one dripping water on his floor, the other staining the stone with crimson blood, both tortured and abused horribly. He knew who they were, of course, they all knew who these two were. They had been given the task of guarding Eden, one at the west gate and the other at the east, and how they had allowed the serpent entrance. The Council, what remained of it, had decided their fate, a one sided vote, his oldest brother blaming them for the Morningstar’s betrayal and their Father’s disappearance, and he’d thrown them away without hearing anything on the matter, locked them up and threw away the key, leaving them to their fate.

“Gadreel, Abner, what brings you here?”

The one, painting his floor crimson, gave him a pained wounded whine in response to his inquiry. But the other crawled forward, limping even still, and reached for his hand with reddish-brown fingers. The Archangel allowed him to take hold of his hand, frowning at the shaking of the younger’s hands as he clutched his hand to his chest, whether the quaking from the cold, or from the pain he surely felt, he didn’t know.

The soaked prisoner, shivering from either shock or temperature, perhaps a mixture of both, pressed his lips to the back of the Healer’s hand, this hand he held in his grasp meant safety, it meant freedom, and he loathe to let it go. “P—Please t—ta—take us…..Pl—Please….I b—beg y—you…”

He nods, without hesitation, and curls his fingers around the younger angel’s wrists. “I will take you, Gadreel. You are safe here.” He reaches out with his free hand to caress the prisoner’s cheek. “Let me help you, now.”

Raphael looks between the two of them with concern. “Can you stand?”

Gadreel nods. “I can stand.” He turns his gaze to his brother and cellmate. “Abner cannot.”

He nods, they would deal with that matter on it’s own, and turned to gaze over his shoulder. “Oren, Zed, would you help him to a bed?”

The two Virtues nod, stepping forward to lift the limp prisoner between them, curling his sliced arms over their shoulders, their arms around his lower back, and help carry him to the nearest empty bed.

“Annael, put a covering down over that bed before they set him down, we are not soiling his blankets while we clean him up.”

The healer nods at his command, running off to fetch a thick covering to set down over the blankets, so that his blood and such wouldn’t soil them.

Raphael turns his attention to the remaining prisoner, still clutching his hand, trusting his healers to care for the other until he could tend to him himself. “Let’s get you on your feet, careful now, not too fast, lest you become dizzy.”

Gadreel clutches tightly to the Archangel’s hand, and he took that as his permission to pull him up, rising with him in sync as he pushed himself up with his other hand, stumbling forward once he managed to get to his feet, just on the verge of falling once more, had the Archangel not caught him when he did.

The Healer gives him a look. “Stand, indeed.” He turns, gesturing for him to follow with his free hand. “Let us get you into a bed as well.” Gadreel nods, stepping forward silently, leaning into the gentle touch when the Healer’s free hand curls around his shoulder, and fingers dig in firmly. “You’re absolutely soaked, ‘Reel, were you under water?”

Raphael frowns when the younger angel nods, responding in a hushed tone, soft as a whisper. “They have a well. They tie my arms over a thick wooden beam. It’s hard to breathe.”

The Archangel looks down at him in horror. “They drown you?”

He feels his heart grow heavy when the younger angel nods in affirmation, and gives his shoulder another squeeze, this time in assurance. “You will never suffer through such a thing again. You are safe here. We will take care of you now.”

The Healer gestures for the young healer to lay their own covering over the bed next to Abner and guides the younger prisoner to sit on the edge for a moment. “We will get you into warmer drier clothing and then we will tend to your wounds.”

Gadreel nods silently, not accustomed to the kindness he had been shown, not anymore, not after being through what he’d been through. Raphael smiles down at him, caressing his cheek again, rubbing his thumb over his cheek bone. “You’re safe here, ‘Reel, you and Abner both. We will get you fixed up.” He bends slightly to press his lips to his glistening forehead. “You are loved in these walls, baby brother.” And pulls back. “So dearly loved.” Gadreel gives him the barest of smiles, nodding to his kind words, and he smiles down at him fondly.

Straightening, Raphael turns to the healer who had laid the covering down, pulling her in close to his side for a moment with an arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Izeriel, will you go fetch a pair of tunics and trousers, for our patients?”

She nods silently, squeezing into his side for a brief moment, and stepped away to gather what she was sent for.

Nodding down to Gadreel, he gestures to his friend, a silent promise that he’s right next to him, Gadreel nods, and he turns to stand at the head of the bed they had set Abner down on. Stroking his fingers down the tortured sentry’s neck, he gained his attention, Abner looks up at him with terrified eyes. “You are safe here, little one. No harm shall come to you while you are under my care.” Nodding to his chest, he spoke just as gently as he had before, as to not startle the trembling youth under him, and strokes his fingers back down his throat. “I’m going to remove your tunic, alright?”

Abner nods silently, reaching up to grip at the front of the Healer’s tunic as he bent forward, he whines softly as his tunic is lifted, pulled away from deep gashes carved into his chest. The Healer was as gentle as he could manage as he lifted the tunic up, guiding the prisoners arms out of the sleeves, and lifts his back from the bed slightly to pull the ragged top over his head. He gestures for his Captain to assist with removing his trousers, as he lifts the wounded prisoner’s waist from the bed, allowing Oren to tug the sticky trousers off.

“Annael, pull the blinders around for some privacy.”

The healer aiding in their tending to the beaten prisoner nods, pulling the cloth barriers around the bed to conceal him within, leaving the only open space behind the Healer’s back.

Raphael glances at her from over his shoulder. “Would you fetch a basin of warm water and some sponges, mis chamomile in the water. Bring towel with you.”

Annael steps away to fetch what she was sent for, and the Healer rubs his fingers over the wounded angel’s forehead, taking up his attention once more. “We’re going to get you cleaned up and then we’ll treat your wounds, alright, the chamomile will help you relax and aid with easing the pain.” He gestured to the side. “You know Oren.” The Virtues Captain waves, smiling in greeting, when he turns to look at him with his wide eyes. “Him and Annael are going to give you a nice bath. It may sting a bit, most of these are still rather fresh, but it will help keep infection from setting in.”

Abner nods silently, closing his eyes when the Healer leans forward, letting out a deep breath when he feels warm lips press to his temple. “You are safe here, baby brother. You are loved in this place. We will take care of you.” He reaches up with a shaking hand to curl around the back of the Healer’s neck, licking his lips, his voice coming out as a faint whisper. “Thank you.”

Raphael smiles, kissing his temple once more, leaning over to look into his eyes. “You are most welcome, Ab.”

He nods to Oren, and Annael at her reappearance, to wash him gently and with great care.

Stepping out from behind the blinds, he returns to Gadreel’s side, having been cleaned himself, his wounds tended to by Izeriel, and helped into a warm dry tunic and a pair of clean trousers, the sentry sits on the edge of the bed quietly, staring at something on the floor between his feet, or, perhaps, lost in dark entrapping thoughts. He curls a gentle hand around the back of his head, the younger looking up at the sensation of the gentle touch and meets his eyes in silence.

“Gadreel, you’ve been so strong for such a long time, taking all of this suffering, and still managed to carry your beloved brother all this way.” He strokes a finger down the bridge of his nose. “Let it go now, baby brother, let it all flow freely.” He smiles down at him comfortingly. “There is no judgement for shedding tears.”

“It is weakness. Vulnerability that will be used against you. They don’t like it.” The younger angel shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“I like it.” Raphael shakes his head. “It is strength. To show how one truly feels. To be yourself.” He nods in assurance. “You can. You should.”

Gadreel stares up at him for a long moment, and he stares right back, watching as those brilliant blue eyes begin to shimmer with unshed tears, the pain he’d been holding back for so long finally breaking through the walls of the fortress. He pulls him forward, into his stomach, when the first sob breaks free. He rubs at the back of his head, at his shoulders, as he shakes from the force of his sobs, held back for far too long, the result of so much pain and sorrow. Slowly, the younger angel’s arms lift, his fingers curling into the back of his tunic, and he heaved a deep anguished sob, for the pain he’d endured, for the loss of his once loving big brother, for the anguish at the hands of someone who had sworn to protect him. “That’s it, Reel.” He strokes through the hair on the back the younger angel’s head, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. “That’s it.” His sobs slowly fade, after such a long span of time, and when he was sure the last of them had been cried, he curls his fingers around the sides of his head and pulls him back softly.

Curling his hands around his cheeks, rubbing away the tear tracks with gentle fingers stroking over his cheeks, he smiles down at him soothingly. “Does that feel better, Reel?” The younger angel sniffles softly, nodding his head mutely, and lifts his arm to rub the back of his hand under his nose. Raphael stays his hand gently, shaking his head, as he turns for the bedside table next to them, pressing a soft handkerchief against his nose. “Give a nice blow.” He wipes his nose clean when he can blow no more.

Guiding him back, around to lay under the warm blankets of the bed, he tucks them up under his chin.

“You rest now, alright?” He strokes his hair back from his eyes. “I am here if you need me. We all are. We’ll care for you now. You just relax and rest. You’re safe with me.”

Gadreel nods, his eyelids drooping, and curled down against his pillow. Comforted by the gentle feeling of fingers stroking through his hair, and by the warmth of presence, staying by his side as he drifted off into the grasp of sleep’s hands.

Raphael smiles down at him, stroking his fingers down the side of his face, and stands from the side of the bed.

Next to them, the dividers had been pulled back, a new pair of trousers slipped onto the other sentry’s waist, a tunic over his head, laying lightly over thick bandages wrapped around his chest. Oren sat in a chair at his bedside, holding one of his hands, stroking the fingers of his free hand over the back of Abner’s hand, watching silently as his patient slept peacefully before him.

Raphael comes to stand at his side. “How does he fair?”

His Captain looks up at his approach. “He was beaten quite badly. We put some ointment on the fresh ones and bound them. There was a break to his left leg, which is most probably why he had such trouble moving on his own, we splinted it and bound it.” Oren shakes his head, looking back down at his younger brother’s peaceful expression, blissfully taking into sleep’s comforting hands. “I’m surprised they managed to get all the way here in the condition they are in.”

“Indeed.” Raphael nods, looking between the both of them for a moment, and turns back to his Captain. “Stay with them for a while and then make your rounds between the others.” The younger healer nods at his orders. “And, Oren,” he looks back up to his Archangel. “If anyone comes asking about them, come get me immediately.”

“Yessir.”

…

He smiles as he approaches them, they’ve been here for nearly two weeks, and they had yet to have anyone come searching to see if they were with them here, listening to their laughter as he comes up to stand before their beds, it was good for them, they needed as much laughter as they could get, to drown out the other emotions.

Oren’s laying with Abner in his bed, resting back against the pillows, the young sentry between his legs, smiling down at the prisoner as he skillfully evades the hands reaching for his as he has a go at his belly, clawing the fingers of one hand in, and when the younger angel reaches for them, he pulls his hand back, attacking with his other hand in it’s place. Abner shriek’s with laughter, struggling to catch the Virtue’s hands, arching his back and squirming in place, the healer holding him in this position with his grace.

In the other bed, next to them, Gadreel squeals with laughter, his arms wrapped around his belly, struggling in Akriel’s hold, the Virtue’s arm curled around his ankles as he threads a feather between his toes, scribbles down his soles with the quill, and returns to his toes.

Raphael raises an eyebrow. “Where’d you get a feather?”

His mental specialist looks up at him and smiles. “Lamechial went through a molt a couple of weeks ago, I took one, I’m not sure why or what I intended to do with it, but I found the perfect use for it now.”

“I see,” he nods, looking between the two prisoners, stuck in his Virtues merciless clutches, and smiles at their predicament once more. “I don’t very much mind how long you two keep this up, in my opinion, they need all the laughter they can get, but at least give them a moment to catch their breath in the near future.”

“Sure, Raph.”

“Obviously, Raph.”

…

Three weeks into their stay with them, the guards come searching, bringing the hounds with them, to sniff out the trail of their missing prisoners. The hounds bark and jump forward, catching the scents of the ones they were sent after, pulling the guards with them. Gadreel and Abner cower at the sight of them, at the growling and barking hounds, the youngest prisoner cowers so much so that he falls over the edge of his bed, he’s the reason they’re here, it’s going to be so much worse for him, so much worse.

Healers turn to look at the sound of the barking, Oren turns from the back of the room, running back to his Archangel’s office, they knew it was a possibility, it was only a matter of time before they came searching for them here, and they’d been ready for it when the possibility was made true upon.

Gadreel pushes himself back against the edge of his older brother’s bed, Abner curls his fingers in the back collar of his tunic and tugs, nearly choking him in the process.

They’re staring at the guards approaching, the dark glare in their eyes, the barking snapping hounds tugging against their leashes.

And, then the Archangel’s there, Raphael comes to stand between them, his arms spread slightly, and they stare at his back, as he blocks their approach.

The Healer meets their glares with one of his own, a tad bit more terrifying then theirs is, and they shy back slightly at the sight of it. “You wouldn’t dare.”

The guards tense at the Archangel’s full attention, exchanging a glance, tugging their hounds back. “We’re here to collect the escapees on Michael’s orders.”

“Well,” Raphael snarls at them. “You can tell Michael that they are mine, and if he wants them, he can come fight me for them.”

“Sir—”

“Get out of my Infirmary.” The Archangel jerks his head towards the doors. “Michael may be in control out there, but in here”, he gestures around with his hands. “I’m the one in control. Get out of my Infirmary or I will strike you down.”

“Sir, we don’t want to fight, we just—”

“Then, you’d best be going.”

The Healer takes a threatening step forward, and the guards step back, retreating under the reality of his threat, and nod, turning tail to make their leave.

Raphael watches them until they disappear out the doors, nodding to Constantine and Ephraim to close them, and turns to his two young patients. “Come, come, let’s get you back in bed.” He crosses around the end of the bed quickly, holding his hands out to the younger sentry, and once they’re standing, he pulls him into an embrace when he feels him shaking in terror. “It’s alright, little one, you’re alright. I told you that you were safe here, and I don’t say things I don’t mean, I won’t let anyone take you.” He pulls him back gently, caressing his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. “I’ll have Oren come stay with you for now, it’s alright, you’re alright, let’s get you back in bed.”

Gadreel nods, moving around when he’s guided around, and tucked back into his bed, resting back against the pillows, and thumb rubs over his cheek tenderly. “You just relax, I won’t let anything bad happen to you, you’ll come to no more harm with me here.” The younger sentry nods mutely, smiling up at him slightly, and he returns the smile in kind, stroking a finger down his nose. “You get some rest.”

Once he’s sure the younger of the two is comfortable and soothed, he turns to the other, Abner hisses, rubbing at his chest lightly, and he nods. “You’re going to be a bit tender for a while, I’m afraid, other then this, there will be no strenuous movements.” He guides him back against his own pillows, pulling the blankets up under his chin, and brushes his curls back. “You get some rest too.”

Abner smiles up at him, casting a quick glance to his younger brother, already sound asleep, and turns back to the Archangel. “Thank you.”

“I meant what I said, you are mine, and I don’t let harm come to those who are mine.” Raphael pats his cheek lightly. “But, you’re most welcome.” He strokes a finger down his nose too. “Get some rest, I’ll send Oren over to stay with you for now.”

Michael never comes to confront him about the prisoners staying here with him, though he knows the message he sent was received, but one thing is made clear, the lines have been drawn, and they are not on the same side.

6 notes · View notes

leighlim · 4 years ago

Photo

Rex looking good in 1999.

(Hopefully by this point you’ve finished all 82 minutes of ‘Toy Story 2’, the kind of person who isn’t bothered by spoilers, or are just deciding if you still want to keep watching.)

PS: While looking through the credits...I just noticed that Andrew Stanton is Zurg!

--------

HIGHLIGHT:

INT. AL'S TOY BARN (BUZZ LIGHTYEAR DISPLAY) - DAY

BUZZ waves a hand over TOY STORE BUZZ. Nothing.

He survey's his counterpart's jawline then taps his own.

BUZZ Am I really that fat?

He notices the utility beld of TOY STORE BUZZ and whistles.

One last look at the frozen Lightyear, he reaches towards the belt---

The hand grabs him.

BUZZ Ow! What are you doing?

TOY STORE BUZZ has him on a lock.

TOY STORE BUZZ You're in direct violation of Code 6404.5, stating all Space Rangers are to be in hyper-sleep...

The automaton points to the aisle filled with motionless Buzz Lightyear toys.

TOY STORE BUZZ ...until awakaned by authorised personnel.

He gives BUZZ a shake.

BUZZ shakes his head.

BUZZ Oh, no.

TOY STORE BUZZ lifts him up and slams him against the display wall.

TOY STORE BUZZ You're breakin' ranks, Ranger.

He secures BUZZ and activates his radio.

TOY STORE BUZZ Buzz Lightyear to Star Command. I've got an AWOL Space Ranger.

BUZZ leans back and shakes his head.

BUZZ Tell me I wasn't this deluded---

--------

My verdict of the film: 6/10

Link to the timestamp commentary: Maybe in the future...

A Formal Review: I notice that there is a indescript set-up for Buzz’s ‘Spanish Mode’ for the next one

5 notes · View notes

delightfully-difficult-pirate · 5 years ago

Text

CS JJ Day 27: My True Love Gave to Me (1/1)

A/N: This began life as a Secret Santa gift, but I had to abandon it halfway through when my first giftee went AWOL and it didn’t fit the desires of my new giftee. However, I really enjoyed this story and decided to finish it as my entry for this year’s @csjanuaryjoy! Thank you so much, mods, for organizing this event and facilitating all the joy! This a small, Christmas-time, neighbors AU and I hope you enjoy!

AO3

~*~

Emma Swan knew that she tended to be a bit of a Grinch during the holiday season. She’d spent too many Christmases watching happy families celebrating while whatever foster family she was with barely acknowledged her existence with gifts of second-hand clothes to develop the warm, fuzzy feelings people associated with the season. Not all of the families were like that, of course, but few had bothered to put real effort into presents. Only Ingrid, the woman who had tried desperately to adopt Emma but was denied by the state, had ever given her gifts that really meant anything when she was young.

She spent Christmas with her chosen family of friends now and had received a plethora of thoughtful gifts, but she still hadn’t been able to bring herself to really care about the holiday.

Given her general disregard for winter festivities, it was quite a shock to come home one day and find that her apartment, in which she lived alone, looked like the Christmas aisle of a department store had exploded inside of it.

Soft blue lights twinkled in her windows and garland hung from almost every available shelf or ledge. The side table by her front door now sported a festive red and green quilted runner and a reindeer shaped dish held the miscellaneous change and spare key that usually were strewn haphazardly on the table’s surface. With a sigh, she dropped her keyring with the others.

Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, Emma proceeded into her home. A tree, an honest to god real tree, now dominated one corner of her living room. Gold tinsel and bright, colorful lights wrapped around it and simple round ornaments of red and silver hung from the branches. Her heart dropped, just a little, when she saw that there were no gifts piled underneath.

There was, however, a nutcracker sitting on her coffee table, and a small cat asleep on the back of her couch.

“Killian, you asshole,” Emma growled. The cat’s presence revealed the identity of the orchestrator behind the home makeover.

Now awake, the cat, a lovely calico named Tinkerbelle, stood, stretched, and jumped off the couch to rub herself against Emma’s ankles.

“Tink, did you help your owner with this… this… travesty?”

The cat just stretched and rubbed herself against Emma’s pant legs. With a chuckle, Emma lifted the interloper and settled her against her chest. That elicited a loud purr and a head-butt against her chin.

Tinkerbelle belonged to Emma’s upstairs neighbor and friend, Killian Jones. The day he’d moved into the third floor, Tink had shown her displeasure at the move and escaped. Emma, just home from grocery shopping, heard a very irate “Bloody hell!” echo down the stairwell before a small ball of fur ran right into the bags she had set down on the landing in order to unlock her apartment door. After a quick scramble and a few scratches, Emma had extracted Tinkerbelle from the bags just as a sweaty man came bounding down the stairs after her.

Emma held out the hissing cat as she asked, “does this belong to you?”

“Aye, that she does.” With a sigh, he had taken the pissed off cat and held her firmly against himself with one arm. The other he held out as he introduced himself as Killian Jones, her new neighbor.

“Emma Swan.” She shook his offered hand.

She’d stared in shock as he lifted her hand and placed a quick kiss on the knuckles.

“You have my thanks, Emma, for your assistance. May I offer you an IOU for a drink, for some time in the future after I have unpacked?”

Emma blinked before finally replying, “That isn’t necessary.”

“Maybe not, but the offer is open. I will let you know when my apartment is fit for company.” With that, Killian had made his way back up the stairs and Emma had to scold herself for admiring the way his jeans hugged his backside. The man had just moved in; she shouldn’t be ogling him like a teenager. Even if his accent sent shivers down her back.

Eventually she’d taken Killian up on his offer of a drink. That had led to more drinks, casual dinners, and nearly three years later, Emma considered him one of her closest friends. He was the one that had her spare key and watched over her apartment when her work as a bail bondsman took her out of town. A trust she was now rethinking since he’d apparently used the privilege to infest her apartment with holiday cheer.

Emma cuddled Tink as she wandered her apartment. The kitchen wasn’t too bad; a few towels decorated with snowflakes and a snowman shaped cookie jar were the only new additions she could see. The guest bathroom, however, nearly burnt her eyes with how much red and green was packed into the small space. There was a new Santa toilet cover with a matching bathmat. The hand towels looked like the bottom halves of elves and her simple soap dispenser had been replaced with a Christmas tree one.

Blessedly, her bedroom and attached bathroom had been spared the Christmas invasion. Killian obviously knew better than to mess with her private space.

Tinkerbelle jumping from her arms and Emma heard the squeak of her front door’s hinges. The culprit returning to the scene of the crime, she thought, as she heard Killian chuckle when Tink greeted him with a meow that seem far too loud to have come from the cat.

“I know, it’s time for dinner,” she heard Killian matter-of-factly tell Tink. “I just need to add the finishing touch to the tree.”

Realizing Killian didn’t know she was home, Emma toed off her shoes and softly walked to spy out the bedroom door. Wanting to remain hidden, she used the reflection in her TV to watch Killian. He had a simple box, which he laid on her coffee table. Whatever item he pulled out was too blurry to make out clearly, but she surmised it was some time of tree topper as he stretched to reach the top of the tree. She risked a real look as he fiddled around behind the tree a bit and saw that it was a gold star. She swiftly ducked back into her room when it illuminated, Killian having finished plugging it in.

“There,” she listened to him say. Tink meowed in reply.

“Alright, fine. Let’s get you some food.” With that, Killian collected the empty box, scooped up his cat, and left her apartment, locking the door behind him.

Once he was gone, Emma stood in her living room and gazed at the tree. It was, she realized, the first Christmas tree she’d ever had. That thought immediately brought tears to Emma’s eyes, which she roughly wiped away. She didn’t need a tree; especially not one that was going to shed pine needles all over her floor for the next few weeks.

Later that night, when Emma went to turn off the lights before heading to bed, she couldn’t help but admire how lovely it looked in the dark room. As she lay in bed, she sent a text to Killian.

Thank you.

~*~

Three days later, Emma noticed that the Christmas tree in her living room had gained some ornaments. Where before there had only been classic glass bulbs, there were now wooden figures nestled amongst the branches. All of them were birds of some type, which Emma found odd.

Three looked like chickens. Four were small, dark birds. Two were obviously doves and the last was an odd looking bird with stripes on its wings that had a pear dangling by the stem from its mouth.

Emma held the pear-holding bird that she had found near the top of the tree in her hand. Something about the bird felt familiar but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It wasn’t until she was placing it back in the tree that the answer hit her like a ton of bricks.

It was a partridge. Holding a pear…

A partridge in a pear tree… well, a pine tree, but the connection was there.

Two turtle doves. Three French hens.

And a quick google told her that the fourth gift in the 12 Days of Christmas song was either “calling” or “colly” birds, deepening on the version, and that colly was believed to refer to blackbirds, which were dark like “col”, the Old English word for coal.

Leave it to Killian, an English Literature professor, to give her a gift that involved Old English.

Pulling her phone out, Emma autodialed Killian’s number.

“Evening, love,” he answered.

“If you keep breaking into my apartment, I’m going to make sure that Santa leaves only col in your stocking.” She put extra emphasis on the word col.

She could hear him laughing in the apartment above her.

~*~

As expected, Killian did not stop adding more decorations to the Christmas tree. The next day brought five gold painted rings, followed by six geese with eggs.

On the seventh day, Emma found more than just seven wooden swans a-swimming on her tree after returning home. A new picture frame adorned her wall, containing a collage of pictures of Emma herself swimming. Or at least interacting with water. She didn’t think that sitting on the side of the pool with only her feet in the water really counted as swimming. Most were from that summer, when Killian had been her plus-one at a friend’s wedding in Cape Cod.

In one, which she couldn’t remember seeing before, she was “manning the helm” of a sail boat with Killian standing behind her, his hands on hers. Killian had insisted on renting a small sailboat while they were out of the city so that he could show her the joy of sailing. Emma smiled as she remembered how he’d gently guided her movements and ensured she didn’t kill everyone on board.

Well, he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for any possible dangers, but in this specific photo, Killian wasn’t looking at the waters around them. Instead, his attention seemed to be solely on herself. He was smiling, but it was… different. It seemed softer, somehow. In fact, his entire expression reminded her of the ones she usually saw on the face of her best friend’s husband, David, when he was in awe by how much he loved the woman before him.

Emma stepped away from the picture, her heart pounding. She had to be reading too much into a simple facial expression. There was no way Killian was in love with her. He would have told her if he was. Probably with a poem.

Or by breaking into her apartment and recreating an old Christmas carol.

“On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…” Emma sang softly to herself.

Before she could stop herself, Emma ran upstairs to Killian’s apartment. It was only when Killian open the door in response to her insistent knock that she realized she had no idea what she was going to do. So she did the first thing that came to mind, which was to grab fistfuls of his shirt, drag him toward her, and hope the kiss she gave him conveyed what she couldn’t put into words.

He responded instantly. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against him. She followed when he began to slowly step back into his apartment, only to find herself pressed against the door moments after it was closed. Emma couldn’t help running her hands through Killian’s impossibly soft hair as the kiss deepened.

It was Killian who managed to regain control of himself first, pulling away from the kiss and resting his head against hers.

“Emma… I…” he began.

Emma smiled. “I know.”

#Captain Swan #captain swan january joy #OUaT #CS Fan fic #CS Fic #Lee writes

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