#and i get so many weight loss ads and my parents keep talking about their weight loss and diets and i am TIRED

[clueless1995]

any time my brain starts flirting with the idea of an ed relapse i go into the tumblr tags and am reminded that it is truly so miserable and it’s fixes me and like it’s so easy to think it’s romantic when you’re In It but reading people freak out about whether they should eat the birthday cake their mum made them is like. i can’t do that shit again it’s exhausting and bad for you and zaps the joy out of your whole life

[transmascissues]

it's silly but the biggest reason why im not into t yet is bc im so afraid of losing my hair. do you have any solutions/tips for it?

first of all, i don’t think it’s silly — it’s natural to be worried when hair loss is talked about by so many people as like…one of the worst results of aging for men. listening to my dad talk about how much he hates balding definitely did not make me feel particularly good about the knowledge that i may very well be joining him someday. i’m not saying the fear is right, because i don’t think hair loss is something awful that we should avoid at all costs, but it’s an understandable fear given the beauty standards we’re working with, and it’s one that a lot of us (myself included) feel.

one thing that’s helped me is just…paying more attention to the guys that i interact with on a daily basis. i’ve learned two things from it: 1) hair loss is super fucking common. i’d say it’s much harder to find an adult man who isn’t balding at all than it is to find one who’s completely bald. and 2) if you forget everything you’ve been told about how bad hair loss is, you’ll realize that quite frankly, every single one of those guys looks totally fucking fine. it doesn’t ruin their appearance and make them ugly, it looks totally natural and isn’t really even something you’d notice if you weren’t looking for it. we put so much weight on it but it’s really just not that big of a deal. i’ll hear my parents talk shit about men in my family who are losing their hair when i didn’t even notice a difference last time i saw them. it’s one of those things (like so many other appearance-related things) that you really only notice at all because you’ve been taught that you’re supposed to care about it.

this isn’t something i’ve done personally, but if you really want to desensitize yourself to the idea of it, embrace the time-honored queer tradition of just shaving your whole damn head! find out what you’d look like without hair, find out how you feel about it and what you can do that makes you feel good about your appearance without hair, test the waters while it’s still a temporary change and not something permanent. that way, it won’t feel like this big scary unknown, and you’ll actually have a frame of reference for your feelings about how you look without hair rather than accepting the societal assumption that you’ll inevitably hate it. if you don’t want to actually shave your head, you could also just fuck around with bald filters or photoshop and see what happens.

oh, and if you’re attracted to men, keep an eye out for guys who are bald or balding and also hot as fuck. in my experience, there’s no insecurity or potential future insecurity that being gay for other men hasn’t helped me with. just off the top of my head, i can think of a couple actors who i think are absolutely fucking gorgeous who have helped me get over my fears about losing my hair. despite what our anti-aging-obsessed world might want you to think, there is no such thing as a physical feature that automatically makes someone less attractive, and while making attractiveness less of a priority in your life is good, it can’t hurt to also give yourself some proof that actually, you might lose your hair and look hot as hell doing it.

basically, entertain the possibility that it won’t be a bad thing at all! whether that’s just because it turns out to be a neutral thing for you or because you end up actually liking it, it’s not an inherently bad thing. i’ve ended up liking a lot of things that were “supposed to” be bad effects of t — i love the weight i’ve gained and the new shape it gives my body, i get a lot of gender euphoria from the fact that my acne is now on parts of my face that i saw a lot of guys in high school get it and i’m not complaining about the scars i get from it either because i’ve always liked the added texture that acne scars give my skin, and so on. i think there’s a lot of joy to be had in the changes we’re taught to fear, once we look past that conditioning and actually explore how we feel about it.

but if it’s something you really don’t want and you just want to improve your chances of not having to deal with it, it’s not like there’s nothing you can do! products like finasteride (oral) and minoxidil (usually topical but i think there might also be oral versions) are pretty commonly used among trans guys, for the purpose of avoiding hair loss and for other reasons, and there are plenty of other anti-hair loss products out there (though i don’t know how effective any one of them might be). if it’s a big enough deal for you, you can just decide that you’ll go off of t if/when you start noticing signs of it, since no longer having higher t levels would stop the process in its tracks. and if you don’t find prevention options that work for you so it ends up happening, you can always explore different hair styles (judging by the pattern of hair loss i see in my family, i suspect that keeping my hair long would make it less obvious if i started losing mine), find your preferred method of covering it when you don’t feel good about it (personally i love a good beanie generally and would probably wear them a lot more if i didn’t have hair to worry about because my main complaint is the way they press my hair onto my neck), or just shave it all off if you don’t like the look of the partial balding but don’t mind a shaved head. the point being — you have options!

at the end of the day, whether you go on t or not, you’re going to see your body change as you age in ways that aren’t always going to be attractive to others or aesthetically pleasing to you. that’s just the reality of having a body. even if you never went on t, you’d get older and you might see your hair thin out even if you don’t bald, you’ll see your skin start to wrinkle and sag in places that used to be smooth, your metabolism might slow or your body fat might start to gather in new places; hell, you might lose your hair for a totally different reason and end up in the same place but without the benefits of having been on t that whole time. life is full of bodily changes like that. transphobes will fearmonger about the permanent changes of testosterone all day long but the truth is, there is no escaping permanent bodily changes. whether or not you go on t, your body now isn’t the same as it will be in 1 or 5 or 10 or 20 or 50 years, just like it isn’t the same as it was at any point in your life before now. our bodies are never supposed to stop growing and aging and changing throughout our lives. there’s no guaranteeing that we’ll love every single change our bodies go through, but that’s okay! there are so many things in life that are more important than the way our bodies look. even if you go on t and lose your hair and don’t like how it looks, your life won’t be ruined; plenty of other things will bring you joy and more than make up for the insecurities.

just think about the gender euphoria and relief from dysphoria that t could give you. would losing your hair be bad enough to outweigh all of that? or is it just the pressure of a society that decided balding is bad that’s making you fear one single change despite how much joy you could have if you let that fear go? only you can decide if going on t is worth the potential downsides for you, but i suspect that for most of us, the benefits of going on t far outweigh the possibility of side effects like hair loss happening down the line.

[steege-jpt3391]

Blog Post #2: Tokyo Story by Yasujiro Ozu

With this being the second time of me watching this film, I came into it with a new mindset to just enjoy it for what it is because the first time around, I can’t say that I really enjoyed it all that much. The second time around, however, was quite a different viewing experience. The film follows Shukishi and Tomi, the parents of Koichi and Shige. They visit Tokyo for the first time in a while to see their children but find themselves not being able to reach out to them and spend time with them as they’re always busy with their own lives. It then falls onto Noriko, the widow of the couple’s deceased son to keep them company. After a second watch, the film really moved me as I felt myself drifting away and feeling like I’m a part of the family myself. And with that, I also share the same pain everyone felt.

To me, this film perfectly encapsulated the duality of familial relationships where on one hand, families bring about endless amounts of joy and love, but those who share such beautiful memories and emotions also feel the weight of loss and suffering much more severely. On the one hand, I sit watching this film smiling seeing the whole family together, talking, laughing, exchanging small talk, and simply just enjoying each other’s company. However, in hindsight, all these experiences seem surface level to a foreign eye as the children are too busy with their jobs. On the inside, I can’t help but feel the suffering for the elderly couple as they watch their children drift further apart from them, leaving them more alone. As time passes, people tend to disconnect from one another. It is only until after they are gone that you truly appreciate the time you spent with them and realize your own ignorance in not understanding what you had when they were here. It’s only when you’re alone that you take that time for granted. It’s like Shukishi said after Tomi passed away: “Living alone like this, the days will get very long.”

What stuck with me the most, however, was just the sheer stillness of Ozu’s style that allowed me to put myself in many of the character’s shoes and experience life with them. It’s interesting to compare this film and I Was Born, But… side by side as the camera shots in this film are almost entirely still shots. I felt this added to the overall stillness and serenity of the film because I truly could feel the passing of time as while still shots with no dialogue seem long and dragged out, it made me kind of feel appreciative of the time we have in this world. It helped me find a sense of gratitude in the mundane events of life as I never know what’s coming next. One day, my mother too might pass away, so if I don’t stop and take a look around, I might just miss what’s right in front of me.

[sirensmojo]

"Big Bank!" - Hubby! Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Big Fluff, Old Money love story vibes.

Summary: Tommy decided to let his wife take care of his Gin. He comes to taste it for the first time after the Gin was met with great success.

A/N: We stand for a caring & trusting Thomas, sorry not sorry.

*Masterlist*

It was a windy day when Tommy entrusted you with his Gin distillery.

The sun was out, as your children were running around the garden, their giggling easing his mind. His head dropped backward on the garden chair as fingers of one of his hands were fidgeting with his cup or whiskey, as a cigarette was locked in between his lips.

Spring was early this year, much to your family’s pleasure. Spending time outside was something you loved to do, and knowing Tommy’s busy agenda, you made sure to make every family moment the best one.

No need to say time flew so fast, the days becoming months, becoming years.

Tommy and you was an evidence. From the day you bumped into each other in the London’s library his sister Ada used to work, you were inseparable. Thus you didn’t know each other for very long, but everything between you made this fact questionable.

You were acting as if you knew each other since children, a single look and you understood what the other thought. Not too many words were said, but not too many words were needed.

Although you weren’t Tommy’s first wife, you were “the perfect two”, making all the people you knew jealous and envious.

“My love,” you announced your presence when coming closer to the garden table as your husband was eyes closed. “I did some thinking.” You added, catching his attention.

Tommy straightened back his head and he was now facing you as you seated in front of him, glimpsing from afar of your three little boys.

“You know I don’t like your whiskey or any type of alcohol, truly.” You raised your brows, and he puffed on his cig, waiting for you to continue. “I want to make Shelby’s Gin.” You let out outright.

No need to turn around your wish, by the way he shifted position you already knew he was ready to hear anything, and you didn’t want to disturb him from his peace. You knew how he dearly appreciated those little moments in which he didn’t have to think about running a business or dealing with dirty gangsters and rude people.

“You want to do what?” He raised a brow not too sure he heard you well, but when he caught eyes of your lips curling at the corner of your mouth, he knew he had heard it well.

His family was his haven of peace and you would do anything to take off some weight off your Shelby’s shoulders. it was a regular task, a daily basis habit that you quickly took and that you’ll probably never lose.

“I already tried a mixture.” His deep voice accentuating your smile.

“It’s my turn now, you played enough with that, you need to focus on real business now. Put your mind elsewhere and let me fill my bottles.”

You couldn’t quite put your finger on what changed precisely, but you noticed a shifting in your husband’s expression along with the gleam animating his iris.

You thought it was worry.

You lost your father a few months ago due to lung disease and your mother died long ago when you were the age of your own children, and as an only child, you were now all alone without your parents.

Gracefully you had Tommy and the kids because if you hadn’t you didn’t know how you would’ve handled this loss.

As being a sensible cord, your husband didn’t bring it up, and he wasn’t the type of comforting people with words anyway, but he tried it his way, which means he bought you a ridiculous amount of new jewellery and books because he knew how much you liked to read and how you were a simp for big diamonds.

Incidentally, Tommy always found it funny how much time you spend with your nose in books while having a voracious appetite for jewellery. He would never miss an occasion to make fun of you when catching you reading as you had to wear glasses, and it was all funny and stuff till he too, had to wear glasses to read.

Now, in bed, you looked like two old people, instead, you were reading adventure and dramatic novels whereas he was stuck with political subjects.

“Okay.” He didn’t hesitate a single moment which made you smile.

“Okay?” you repeated, your smile growing as seconds passed. He straightened back, leaning over the table to you and his hands reached for yours.

You intertwined your fingers together with ease, sparkles spreading at the tips of each of it.

It was that way with every of his touches. He just had that power over you, which you were proud of as it was just love. It could never be anything else.

His deep blue eyes were anchored into your Y/C/E’s ones and you knew he was trying to bring you comfort. He knew what it felt like to lose people, and was ready to give you whatever if that meant to ease your pain.

You neared your faces and he ran his thumb over the end of your nose, down to your lips as cupping your cheek with his palm. Tommy’s head was slightly tilted to the side, his only purpose being to reach your soul with either his touch or his soul hidden behind his iris.

You leaned your head into his touch and closed your eyes for a second, enjoying that moment between the two of you as the breeze made its way to your neck under your mane.

Now, nearly five weeks later, all Birmingham was only speaking of the Shelby family as the people making “the good priced good gin” according to what you heard in the streets. From the fancy restaurant to the underground pubs, everyone in town had tasted of that oh so liked liquor.

Tommy first heard how good the gin was by his brother Arthur. He, who liked to get drunk all day long and all night long, was always keeping a bottle of it in his car or even on himself.

Then it was Ada, always offering him a drink of it whenever he would visit her.

(...)

It was 4 in the afternoon when Tommy walked through Charlie’s yard to join the Gin factory, when opening the door he was surprised to see you, seated at the old dusty desk filling paper and sipping on several cups.

Your husband frowned, “Y/N?”. He didn’t know if he should be worried or glad to see you working in such a place while drinking a lot knowing you’re not even a drinker in the first place.

You lifted your gaze to him and a huge smile instantly warmed up the atmosphere in the space, “Tommy!” You exclaimed as you got up. Being a bit dizzy you were strongly holding onto the table while getting up but you wanted to join him, and that’s when Tommy noticed your reddened cheek and little eyes.

“You’re drunk,” he stated, concerned. His expression shifted. He seemed a bit worried as he took one of your wrists to help you walk correctly.

You waved your free hand before you as to blow away his remark, “I was trying a new mixture for the Gin.” You informed him. You slid a hand into his rough one and stepped backwards, to the desk. “Here, choose one and tell me.” You proudly pointed to each of the cups. “This one on the left is spicy, the middle one a little too sweet for the Americans, this one to the right is the version that is out, and the last one is a bit strong. If the sadness hit too much.”

“The sadness?” Tommy asked while grabbing the third cup, being the gin that was already out. He was quite startled by how implicated his wife seemed to be, he didn’t actually think she would invest that much time and energy in this activity, but he was relieved she found a reason to get up every morning other than their beautiful family.

He knew how living a life without having or serving a purpose was meaningless and boring, even more, when being saddened by something you can’t control such as the death of a loved one.

The Shelby brother will sleep better now, knowing his other half found purpose somewhere, even if seeing her drunk was a sight he could never get used to…

At this moment, he felt the need to feel her skin under his touch before doing anything else, and that’s what he did, putting his hand at the end of her back, he pulled her closer, his thumb rubbing her skin over the fabric of her dress.

Tommy then drank from the cup and took his time judging the taste of it.

He opened his eyes and dropped the cup on the desk before turning to his wife, she was looking at him, impatience spreading all over her face. She seemed ready to hear Tommy’s opinion on her Gin... On their gin.

The blue-eyed man grabbed her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to Y/N’s. She closed her eyes a couple of seconds before opening them to a staring Tommy. He was fondling her cheeks with his thumbs before exhaling deeply, “I now understand why everyone’s talking about us, Shelbys, being fucking genius’, eh” He got distracted by her lips.

“This,” he pointed to the bottle standing at the corner of the table, and, once again, Tommy got distracted, he noticed words were present on the bottle down the name. “Distilled for the eradication of incurable sadness.” He read out loud.

A faint smile was found on his face before he agitated the bottle in his hand. He was proud.

He put down the bottle and directly sealed his lips to Y/N’s, the calling for love being too loud to resist.

That was exactly why it was her and no one else, she was always unpredictable and versatile. Who would have thought his bibliophile wife could be a real gem in the making of gin?

She put away, gasping for air before looking him in the eyes, “What? Did I never tell you the fact that my grandpa was making alcohol?” She teased his lips by speaking inches away from them, “I know one or two tricks. That’s why it’s selling well.” She concluded before pressing their lips together eagerly.

“This is a big bank, yea” He succeeded at saying in between two kisses.

[capwilsons]

I posted 3,483 times in 2021

201 posts created (6%)

3282 posts reblogged (94%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 16.3 posts.

I added 5,216 tags in 2021

#sam wilson - 1211 posts

#tfatws - 835 posts

#sambucky - 828 posts

#art - 708 posts

#tfatws spoilers - 620 posts

#bucky barnes - 490 posts

#caatws - 200 posts

#anthony mackie - 184 posts

#sharon carter - 71 posts

#sarah wilson - 69 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#ngl just the idea that you had the audacity to tell me that if i had looked at his arc with the lens of ptsd and childhood trauma i'd get it

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

potential options for sam wilson flashbacks off the top of my head:

Sam as a kid/young teen working with his dad on the boat, and having more context about why it matters so much to him to keep it (some emotional moments b/w him and his dad please?)

Sam and Sarah's relationship (flashbacks w/ reference to that 'to the rescue' line)

Generally any flashbacks with his family??

Sam training to be falcon // putting on the jets for the first time and the kind of responsibility he took on with that

Sam dealing with the loss of his parents

Sam dealing with the loss of Riley

what else are you guys thinking of??

160 notes • Posted 2021-04-12 20:56:41 GMT

#4

anyways give me sam breaking down to tears because he's just had a shit day (wasn't able to save someone in a fight, feeling the weight of the mantle a little too much, his past + trauma being used as media fodder for why he does or doesn't deserve to be cap, the overwhelming weight of the responsibilities he has, or perhaps nothing but yet every reason all at once). And give me bucky simply holding sam, cradling him in his arms, wiping the tears away and doing everything he can to comfort sam. give me bucky drawing sam a bath after his long brutal day, tending to his wounds and holding him while he falls asleep. give me sam being vulnerable and open and raw, and give me bucky being there to solely to comfort his love in his time of need

258 notes • Posted 2021-04-18 22:23:13 GMT

#3

The world needed bi croptop + jean cutoffs sam wilson... I don't make the rules

438 notes • Posted 2021-06-20 22:29:06 GMT

#2

so sam has wings which makes like angel imagery easier obviously but the lengths they went through in ep 6 to really amplify and highlight this was incredible. like so many of his scenes were so beautiful and ethereal, and god did i love it. like i dont know why i connected so much to this but seeing him that way was really satisfying and impactful

759 notes • Posted 2021-04-24 20:46:16 GMT

#1

"Talking of titles, was there ever any conversation about it being called 'The Winter Soldier and The Falcon'?"

2505 notes • Posted 2021-04-03 22:48:22 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[elizabeethan]

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 13 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: Heyooo time for more smut! And more answers. And more cliffhangers.

Rated M

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Read on Ao3

~~~~

The destruction in the apartment is clear the moment she walks in, feeling Killian’s watchful eye leave her as she shuts the door. There’s broken glasses and plates on the floor, Neal having cleared off the counter in what she assumes is his anger. She can’t think of another reason for him to be so destructive, picture frames smashed in the living room and fluffy pillow feathers flying through the air, but she certainly allows her mind to wander. 

  What if he knows? They’ve been careful, but what if someone besides Rufio had seen them? 

  “Neal?” She asks tentatively, clutching the strap of her purse tightly. 

  She hears another crash from his bedroom in response to her voice and cringes. The door opens forcefully, slamming shut behind him as he storms into the living room to meet her. 

  “Where the fuck were you?” he asks threateningly. 

  “I was at the store,” she answers, her voice small and weak, although she thinks it unwise to make a show of strength. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” he spits. He fumes in anger again and picks up a vase that she had filled with flowers she bought herself, hurling it at the wall to her right and sending water and glass towards her. “Rufio is fucking dead , that’s what’s wrong!”

She pales immediately, realizing that he must know of their involvement in his death. There’s not much for her to say, unable to defend herself as she and Killian both know that their actions were wrong. She only wonders now if he also knows of the affair they’ve started. “Neal…” she croaks out in terror, unsure how to continue. 

  But to her surprise, he falls to his knees, his hands catching his head as he lets out a sob. “Who would do this?” he cries, sending her mind racing. “Who would kill my friend?”

  She shifts, the sudden realization striking that he isn’t angry at her, he simply finds it appropriate to take his anger out on her. She has to adjust now, unable to hold onto the fear of him discovering her dangerous secret and required to shift into her role as doting girlfriend. She has to keep up appearances, as much as it pains her to do so. 

  “Babe,” she says softly, “I’m so sorry.”

  Once she’s close enough to him, he grabs at her hand, pulling her roughly into his arms and squeezing her too tight. His actions are forceful, but not at all surprising. He holds onto her, sobbing into her hair and making her cringe as he cries for his loss. He says things like, how could someone do this to me, and it makes her realize that he isn’t sad about his friend’s death. He’s sad that someone has hurt him. He thinks this is personal. 

  While he cries, she looks around the apartment and wants to cry herself. He’s broken so many things, and even though almost none of it was hers, she still feels sadness in the wake of the destruction she sits in. When she looks to the bookshelf frightfully, she realizes she doesn’t see the one and only object that she covets as hers and lets a tear escape. 

  He’s angry. But he didn’t have to take his anger out on the one thing that he knows means something to her. 

  ~~~~

  “The Kings of Elsinore will pay for what they’ve done to us,” Peter says commandingly, his fist slamming against the table before him and making Emma startle. Many of the men around the table nod, grunting in agreement, including Killian. 

  He’s careful not to stare at her too much, although it’s difficult. Aside from his love for her and his disbelief at her beauty, it’s hard not to stare in an attempt to ensure that she’s alright. They haven’t been able to talk since she left this morning, but he doesn’t see any evidence that she’s been harmed. He knows that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been, though. 

  “The murder of Rufio was a heartless and psychotic act with the intention of hitting us where it hurts. Rufio was heir to one of our club’s founding members, and his death will not go unpunished.”

  Killian shudders in his seat, the action making Rob turn to look at him and cock his head. He’s sure Peter means it, and he’s sure Killian’s punishment will be worse than anything he doles out to the Kings if he finds out. 

  He can’t find out, though. Because if he does, he could find out why it happened, and he can’t risk Emma’s safety like that. 

  “We’re going to hit back, which is why Miss Swan is here today,” he continues. His words draw Emma’s attention up from her hands as her big eyes stare at Peter. “It has become imperative that you identify something we can use against the Kings. Any help you need, you’ll have. Hook,” he calls, shifting his focus.

  “Aye?” 

  “Continue to assist Miss Swan in her search. Remove the security features if you have to.” 

  “If it’s alright,” Robin starts, causing Killian’s eyes to grow twice their size, “I’d like to help as well. I believe my tracking skills may be useful in helping Miss Swan decide where to look.” 

  “Fine,” Peter agrees, waving him off. “As for the rest of you, prepare for a battle. If it’s a fight they want, then a fight they shall have.” 

  ~~~~

  She drops into the too-firm chair and it squeaks under her weight, a groan escaping her lips as she jimmies the mouse of her computer. He can’t help the small smile that pulls at one corner of his mouth, her dramatic entrance bringing him joy despite the stress they're all under. 

  No one says anything at first; it’s awkward with Rob being here despite him being one of Killian’s closest friends. Even though he trusts him with his life, he isn’t sure he’s ready to hear the truth of their relationship after how many times he insisted that Killian avoid this. 

  Once her computer boots up, she straightens and he takes a seat in his usual spot, gesturing to another folding chair across the room in an invitation for Rob to sit. “Want me to remove the securities, love?” 

  “No, I don’t want you to remove the securities ,” she responds in a mocking tone, mimicking his accent as she rolls her eyes. “I’m not a damn child; I know how to take off parental controls.” 

  Killian raises his brows, looking at her in surprise, and asks, “then why haven’t you?” 

  “Because I’m also not an idiot,” she responds, glaring at him before turning back to the aged screen. “I’m not stupid enough to try and go against Peter’s rules.” 

  He gives her a small smile, one that he can’t seem to give to anyone else, and can't seem to help giving her, and nods. “That’s right,” he agrees softly, his voice just barely above a whisper. He almost forgets his place, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and plant a kiss on her beautiful-- if not thoroughly chewed up-- lips. It’s obvious enough that something’s irritated her, and he wants to get to the bottom of it and console her so that the light comes back into her eyes. He’s greedy like that, he supposes. 

  “I bloody knew it,” he hears, Rob’s grumbling voice yanking him violently from his thoughts and his desires. 

  Killian turns quickly, as does Emma, both of them staring at Robin in surprise, as if they forgot about their audience. 

  “You’re fucking her,” he accuses, nodding and tightening his jaw. “Killian, mate, how many times have we talked about this--” 

  “Rob,” he starts hurriedly as he stands, his hands held out in a plea. Without words, only his eyes communicating to his friend, he begs for forgiveness and discretion and kindness. “Mate…” 

  He can’t even look at Emma yet because he knows that the look on her face will break him. He knows that she must be gnawing at her lip, her brows high on her forehead and her eyes desperate and terrified. “I’m not going to say anything,” Rob finally says, his eyes meeting Emma’s rather than Killians, confirming his hunch. “You two have royally fucked up, but your secret’s safe with me.” 

  He hears her sigh and worries that she could be crying, so he turns to her. He’s met with her dropping her head into her hands in relief, and he hurries to squat in front of her, taking her hands in his. “It’s alright,” he whispers, running his thumbs over her knuckles. Her dim, glassy eyes meet his and she shakes her head. 

  “We can’t-- he knew after two minutes. We have to go,” she murmurs softly, but he sees something shift in her. She sits up slightly straighter and gazes into his eyes seriously. “Can we trust him?” 

  “Yes,” he confirms while he squeezes her hands. He knows they can, but he turns back to look at Rob anyway. 

  “You can trust me, lass,” he vows, understanding as Killian begs him to. “I swear I won’t say a thing, but you’re playing a dangerous game. What’s the plan here?”

  “We’re leaving,” Killian answers simply. “As soon as possible. We would have tonight, but Neal came back early.”

  “He didn’t come back early, you dolt. They never left.”

  He pales, his face falling, and he feels Emma's squeezing his hand. She must be thinking exactly what he is. They had both assumed that Peter and Neal somehow heard about Rufio and had returned, but the fact that they hadn’t even left is somehow more concerning. 

  “How… how did they find out?”

  Rob snorts, shaking his head. “Right, you were too busy to-- hang on. Killian… tell me you didn’t--”

  “Rob--”

  “You didn’t. ” His face falls pale as well, the look he gives his friend chilling. Killian can feel the disappointment and terror radiating off of his oldest friend easily, and it does nothing to quell his nerves. “Killian, tell me right now that you didn’t kill him.” 

  “I had to,” he whispers, shaking his head in self hatred. “He attacked her. Said he would-- he said--”

  “ Fuck, he caught you, didn’t he?”

  “Robin,” Emma interrupts, trying to stop the two of them from going at it and speaking too loudly. They’re bound to tip someone off if they keep this up. “What Killian did… He knows it was wrong, but there wasn’t much of a choice. Rufio attacked me. He was protecting me, and now… I have to protect him. We have to get out of here, because if they find out that Killian shot Rufio, he’ll be worse off than your friend, Liam.”

  Rob is quiet for a moment, allowing Killian to absorb her words. She’s right, of course. They’ll deliver him a fate much worse than that of his brother if they find out. 

  “Too right, love,” Rob agrees finally, nodding and running his hands over his face. “I’ll help you however I can, so long as the two of you take me as well.”

  “Of course, brother. I’d hoped to grab Tink and Elsa as well.”

  He and Emma hadn’t spoken of his previous dalliances, and he only hopes that his intention to bring Tink along with them doesn’t offend her. It’s not as if he plans on staying with her long, but she deserves to get out just as much as they do. 

  “Only because of Liam, and Tink is--”

  “It’s okay,” she cuts him off with a smile, her hand squeezing his. “Of course we’ll bring them.”

  He can hardly take the amount of love he has for her, her unequivocal understanding of every piece of him hard to wrap his mind around. He gives her a genuine smile, and her gaze meets his, giving him the beaming sunlight in her eyes of which he’ll never tire. 

  ~~~~

  The service they hold at the Rabbit Hole is only slightly deranged. The message is clear enough: Rufio’s loss of life is seen as a personal attack against the club. His death is not sad because his life ended, it’s sad because the club is suffering. 

  It’s nauseating. 

  The only thing that keeps her head on straight is Killian, the gentle looks he shoots her from across the bar where he sits with Rob shooting warmth through her heart and to the pit of her stomach. His presence is so soothing, so grounding. It makes her feel steady and strong to be with him, to even be near him. 

  Each time she catches him glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, she feels her heart rate picking up. He drives her mad, she’s discovered. They’ve only just begun their relationship with one another, but it feels stronger than any she’s ever been in if only based on the physical connection they have with one another. She’s never felt this way about anyone before. She’s been with men before, men before Neal, but it was always transactional and cold. It was fine, but it wasn’t great. With Killian, it’s mind numbing. 

  He reads her effortlessly and flawlessly. He knows exactly what she needs when she needs it. He’s known exactly how to bring her over the edge each time, and she can only foresee their sex life getting better as they grow closer and closer. She can’t wait to grow closer to him. 

  The overwhelming feelings of disgust and discomfort are washed away easily each time he stares at her and are replaced by a feeling of undeniable need. The pressure builds where she needs him the most, arousal washing over her and through her until she can barely stand it, and the feeling of Neal’s hand landing on her shoulder makes her jump. “Want a drink, babe?” he asks, as if completely forgetting the conversation they had last night. He hasn’t even bothered to ask her of the results of her tests yet. 

  “I’m actually gonna just run to the bathroom,” she says with a smile. “Not feeling great, I’ll be back.” 

  She doesn’t give him a chance to respond before she stands and heads towards the bathroom, relying on the dank darkness and the slowly dripping faucet to distract from the overwhelming moodiness of the bar and her overwhelming arousal at the thought of Killian’s hands on her. 

  She focuses on her breathing for a moment, hoping to slow things down around her and calm her racing pulse. The sense of peace is short lived; the door opens slowly, making her heart rate pick up. But when she sees him, she relaxes easily, a smile creeping onto her face. “You need to be careful,” she insists quietly, although she can’t help but giggle as he locks the door and pounces on her. 

  He lifts her onto the counter and his lips are on hers instantly, his hands gripping her ass and pulling her towards him. Her legs wrap around his and her arms grab for his shoulders, her nails digging into the rough fabric of his button down shirt. 

  With his mouth trailing hot kisses along her flesh, his teeth scraping against her neck, he finds his way to her collarbone and murmurs, “I couldn’t stand being away from you a moment longer.” 

  She gasps in surprise at his words, a wave of arousal rushing through her and landing in her core, twisting her and encouraging her to tighten her legs around him in search of friction and pressure. “Fuck,” she whispers as his hands and lips move the cup of her bra to the side. 

  “Do you want this?” he asks, seeking consent before latching his lips to her hardened nipple. She nods fiercely. “ Gods , how I crave you.”

  “Killian,” she breathes, “touch me.” 

  His mouth devours hers again, his hand sliding down the front of her and finding the waist of her jeans. He tugs, drawing her closer to him and, without breaking their lips apart, snaps her button undone and slides her zipper down quickly. 

  “Are you wet already, Emma?” he asks roughly, his fingers sliding over the cotton that’s already nearly soaked through. He growls. “You are; that’s a good girl.”

  “Yours,” she mumbles, her arousal taking over and her mind barely able to keep up with what her mouth says. 

  “Aye, mine,” he agrees, nipping at her bottom lip. He pushes her garment aside and slips his fingers through her folds, groaning when he finds her sodden for him. “So responsive,” he praises. “So perfect for me.”

  With a moan as his mouth presses to the sensitive skin under her earlobe, she nods again, wanting to reinforce to him that she’s his . Only his. Simply, she tells him, “I love you.”

  His fingers glide over her clit, pinching quickly and dragging a whimper from her throat. “I love you so much I can scarcely breathe,” he whispers. “I can’t stand to be away from you.”

  “Then don’t make me wait,” she begs in a whisper herself. 

  He moves his hand away from where she craves him and quickly moves his own jeans, and Emma wriggles until her pants are falling around her knees. “We’ll leave tomorrow,” he vows, smoothing his weeping cock along her clit as she wrestles with the condom wrapper. When she finally has it open, she places it over his tip and slides her fist down to the base. 

  “Where will we go?” 

  She gasps when one finger slips into her followed closely by a second, curling against her expertly and sending her searching for his mouth with hers. He swallows her cries when his thumb gently presses against her clit. 

  “Your heart’s desire, Swan,” he says, lining his cock up to her waiting entrance. “I promise, that’s all I want you to have.” 

  Their foreheads press together, their noses too, and she bites her lip as he pushes inside. She clings to him, her fingers gripping the back of his shoulders, her heels digging into his backside, her core squeezing around his cock. After a few perfectly timed, perfectly angled thrusts, she whispers, “I just want you.”

  He holds her so close to him as one hand grabs onto her ass and the other holds her jaw and neck. His thrusts are quick, but deep and effective, striking her exactly where she needs him. He groans when she clenches around his cock again. 

  His hand slips around from her back so that his fingers can dance over her clit with each thrust. Emma moves her hands up to the back of his neck, gripping his hair and begging him for more in each moan against his mouth. It’s not long before he has her a writhing mess in his arms, pleading for release. 

  “Come on, angel,” he encourages gently but firmly as he gives her another flawless thrust. “Nice and tight for me, aren’t you? I know you’re ready, love. Come for me.”

  His voice is tenacious, but still so tender, so caring in the way that he loves her. She’s never felt so loved and safe while being spoken to in such a dominating tone, and she loves it. She loves the freedom that comes with being commanded and feeling safe at the same time. She never knew the two could coexist. 

  At his behest, she clenches once more and cries out his name, his mouth muffling the sound as he spills into her. They hold each other firmly, panting as they ride out their highs together, although they’ll never be sated. They’ll never have enough of each other, always craving more. 

  “Bloody hell, I love you,” he says when they catch their breath. 

  She hums happily, if only because she’s still panting too hard to speak. She kisses his neck, her lips lingering on his soft, sweat coated skin. “I love you,” she whispers. Then, because telling him once will never be enough, she moves so that her tongue traces his earlobe and repeats, “I love you.”

  He moves her hair out of her face when she pulls away slightly, then presses a kiss to her cheek. “I’m sorry to come in here so… rudely,” he laughs. “But I--”

  “I’m glad you did,” she smiles. She winces slightly as he pulls out, stepping away to dispose of the condom and exposing his bare ass to her, tempting her to pull him back to her. “Are we really gonna be able to go tomorrow?”

  “Aye,” he smiles and returns to her to kiss her once more. “I just need to tell Tink and Elsa. We’re to meet by the docks; Robin knows already.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “Somewhere quiet,” he answers, “hidden away, unsuspecting… but it must be by the beach, aye?”

  “Aye,” she giggles and he straightens her shirt with a smile. “And?”

  “Nantucket.”

  “Nantucket?”

  “Mmm,” he hums as he helps her off of the counter so that she can fix her pants. “Quiet, secluded island, enough tourists to help us blend in. Plus, infamously beautiful beaches for an infamously beautiful woman.”

  She wraps her arms around his neck, pushing onto her toes and kissing him. “Sounds perfect.” 

  “Emma���” he starts, and she can sense the shift between them. He’s thinking, his self-anger and self-hatred sneaking through the joy he felt moments ago. “If it weren’t for what I did--”

  “Please,” she whispers. “You know that I love you. The fact that you killed Rufio doesn’t change that. I know you regret it, but if you need forgiveness, you have it.”

  He leans against her heavily, forehead to hers again, and nods. “I do regret it. But I know it had to be done.”

  “Exactly. And where will I meet you?”

  “I’ll find you, my love. The less you know, the safer you’ll be with Neal. Robin knows the plan, though.” She nods against him now. “You’ll be alright,” he whispers, and she almost wonders who he’s promising. 

  “I know; I trust you.”

  ~~~~

  A knock sounds against a heavy door. It’s pushed open slowly, and behind it stands a young and conflicted soul, trying to make the best decision for her family. The things she overheard as she stood outside of the women’s restroom serve to threaten the family she has found, and she cannot let that stand. 

  “Enter,” commands a strong and powerful voice, the man looking up from his ledgers and giving the woman a pensive look. “Elsa, to what do I owe this pleasure?” 

  “Peter,” she answers, moving towards the chair across from him. “I’m afraid I have some… troubling news.”

  The man hums, leaning forward and pressing his arms to the desk. “And what is that, my dear?”

  The woman takes a deep breath, sadly shaking her head at the truth she’s uncovered. She didn’t think her friend Killian capable of such a thing, but discovering that he’s murdered a member of the club has stunned her. “It’s Rufio,” she says wistfully. “I found out who killed him.”

  “That’s very interesting indeed,” the man agrees. “Are you implying that it wasn’t a member of the Kings of Elsinore who murdered a member of our family?”

  “Yes,” she nods with a deep sigh. “But it pains me to put the truth to words.”

  “Elsa,” he starts again, leaning back in his chair authoritatively. “If you know something, you must tell me. How can we protect you if you don’t protect us in return?”

  “Of course. After what happened to Liam, of course I want to protect the club.”

  The man nods in sad agreement. “Yes, his death was a tragedy, but the club has been keeping you safe ever since.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Go on, then,” he gestures towards her. “Whatever you’ve discovered, you must remember that the club’s interests as a whole must come above those of one.” 

  The woman nods once more and takes a deep breath in, feeling the cool air hit her lungs. “It was Killian,” she whispers. “Killian killed Rufio.”

~~~~

~~~~

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[lluvguts]

stargazing // byler

pairing: will byers / mike wheeler & eleven / max mayfield

genre/warnings: mainly fluff! some soft angst

word count: 2502

summary:  Where the party goes laser tagging for Will's 16th birthday and something happens that Mike will never forget aka that first kiss no one asked for.

n/a: post season 3 spoilers!! you’ve been warned!

March 22nd, 1987

6:37 pm

“Lucas, I don’t even care if it’s Will’s birthday, so help me if you crash this car I’m making Eleven open the gate and feed you to the Demodogs,” Dustin yelled from the front seat of the Henderson’s van with the rest of the group piled in the back.

“El can’t do that anymore, genius.” Max had her hands clasped in Eleven’s lap.

“I have my license, Dustin. Stop freaking out,” Lucas groaned but still reduced his speed by a few miles.

“Lie-sense?” Eleven looked to Max.

“Can we please stop arguing?” Mike hollered over the shouting from the back of the van, as well as Max’s arm stretching across the console to crank the volume louder on the radio.

The party had decided to celebrate Will Byer’s sixteenth birthday in the most acceptable way possible: laser tag. The boys had outgrown Dungeons & Dragons—for the most part—but that didn’t stop them from pooling their money and planning on spending the night shooting each other with lasers and eating junk food like children; if anything it brought back the nostalgia of their middle school antics. The girls, on the other hand, didn’t care for the game as much—although Eleven had a difficult time wrapping her head around the entire idea of laser tagging—and they only went for the sake of Will and to spend time together.

The van slowly turned into the parking lot of the laser tag center and the chatter subsided.

“Is this what you wanted for your birthday?” Mike turned to Will. The other boy gave a shy smile and nodded. No matter how many weeks since they’d announced their relationship to the party and their parents—even realizing it themselves—Will’s affectionate gestures made Mike’s heart beat a little faster, and his eyes linger on the boy’s face a little longer. He wasn’t used to it yet, he’d never been in a real relationship. And his smile is driving me mad.

Will took Mike’s hand and pulled him out of the last row of seats. As he jumped down from the van Mike’s eyes flickered to his shorts. Only briefly. Were they always that..short? His heart leapt from his chest and he looked away, embarrassed, only to find their intertwined fingers. Will caught Mike’s flustered expression.

“What?” he laughed and held up their hands, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” Mike said, his face reddening. “Uh, I mean, you don’t have to. Sorry, it’s just all so new-“

“Hey! Birthday boy! Get over here! You too, stupid,” Max called, pointing to the Polaroid camera in her hands while the rest of the group huddled around the front entrance for the photo.

Will smiled up at the dark haired boy and lead them over to the others. Max held the camera out in front of her as the rest of the group filed behind her, grinning. Will snaked his hand over Mike’s shoulders and Eleven draped her arms around Max from behind.

“Cheese!”

“Mike, stop looking at Will, look at the camera,” Lucas snapped.

They all laughed as the light flashed.

“I took a few, so you all get a copy.” Max let the film develop for a few seconds and handed them each a photo. Mike took one and before he slid it into his pocket he showed it to Will, both staring at their cheeky grins. He already knew where he’d keep the photo—on the bulletin board in his bedroom, amongst ticket stubs, poems and sketches Will had done, and photos of the group when they were younger; right next to the many polaroids he’d snapped of Will. A collage of his hazel eyes. His beautiful, bright eyes.

“Cute, Mikey,” Will whispered. Was he talking about the picture? Or him?

Will briefly touched Mike’s shoulder then caught up with the rest of them, leaving him to stare at the smiles on the film, hiding his blush.

7:02 pm

“Boys against girls!”  

“How is that fair?” Eleven hissed, “It’s just the two of us.”

“We can join a group that’s already in there,” Will added.

“You’re all such a headache. Let’s just split it into two groups. Me, Mike and Dustin on the red team. Will, Lucas and Eleven on blue. Deal?” Max counted off on her fingers.

Mike looked around the area as the others went with their teams and pulled on the correct vests and guns.

“Need some help?” Max asked and went to her girlfriend’s side, she was holding the gear in her arms with a startled expression like she was handling a bomb. She giggled as Max guided the heavy vest over her head and adjusted it to her small waist. Eleven watched it all in wonder, then looked up at her face.

“Pretty,” She said to Max and leaned in for a hug, their pink cheeks pressed close.

“See Will? It’s that simple,” Dustin whispered loudly and then chuckled while he watched the girls. Will punched Dustin in the arm and his eyes quickly met Mike’s from across the neon lit waiting room.

Will was about to say something to him, not in words. In his stare. But the booming voice from the overhead speaker filled the room.

“Game begins in five,” The announcer said.

“Alright. I’m going to go with my team. You remember the rules?” Max had her hands on Eleven’s shoulders, staring into her eyes.

Mike tried to make Will look again, but he was talking to Dustin as they headed into a different room. What was he going to say? What was so simple?

Eleven pointed to Max’s glowing chest, “Shoot the red vests. Hide. Be quiet.”

“See? You’ll do great,” Max hugged her one last time and went over to the door, “But, I am going to win.”

“We’ll see about that, Mad Max.” Lucas shouted and patted their shoulders companionably.

A buzzer sounded as the main doors opened; Mike’s team rushed inside to station themselves around the maze. The arena was pitch black save for the neon lights across the carpeted floor and a constellation of yellow artificial stars on the ceiling. He knew that Will’s team was somewhere on the opposite side, lurking in the shadows. Waiting to stake the perfect moment to strike. The visual made Mike’s heart race and he was drowning in worry.

He could only think of Will. It’s gonna be just like that time at the arcade. Just like Halloween. He’s gonna be walking and everything’s fine until someone jumps out and it triggers a memory in his mind. What if he can’t control it, and the figure in front of him suddenly turns into a Demogorgon? Or the Mind Flayer in his head?

Mike crept around the curved bend in the maze and quietly ducked into a dark alcove to think. A shout suddenly echoed and floated up into the air, the resonant cry drifting to Mike’s ears. To anyone else the sound only meant that someone had gotten caught off guard and a laser to the chest.

What if that’s Will? Is he okay?  

Mike sat up slowly, hoping to find Will and make sure he was safe; he turned his head around the edge of the alcove and in the sound of slamming plastic someone crashed into him. He staggered back, registering the face.

“Oh. Will, thank God. I was going to see-“

Before he could get out the last of his sentence Will took the barrel of his laser gun and pinned Mike back against the alcove wall.

He couldn’t speak.

Mike only watched Will draw his lips up to his mouth, frozen in surprise. Will squeezed the trigger as their lips parted at the same time, as though they’d wanted this from the start. He kissed Will back and shuddered when he felt a brush of those teeth along the front of his flushed lips; Mike dropped his gun and grabbed at his face, embracing the startling sensation when Will pressed himself closer, trapping him. Oh God, don’t move. Don’t pull away, Mike pleaded.  

The trigger went off and Mike’s vest buzzed and filled the space with flashing red light—but Will didn’t let go. He just rooted him in place by the tip of the gun, its weight carrying all throughout the plastic front of his vest and into his pounding heart.

Will sighed into his open mouth, making Mike shudder involuntarily before he moved his body away. The air was filled with the sound of their shaky breathing.

“That’s what I wanted for my birthday,” Mike’s heart sped up at his gruff, breathy voice.

Mike reached for him again, “W-Wait-“

“Shhh,” Will whispered and placed his hand on Mike’s face, smirking, “You’re dead, Wheeler.”

He rushed out of the alcove with a smile plastered on his face before Mike could run after him. The vest shook once more, signaling his loss, before the color faded and died. Mike slid down onto the floor and brought his fingers to his hot cheeks. His lips started to burn as the last few minutes replayed in his head, making his breathing turn ragged again and his stomach twist back into messy, feverish knots.

Mike felt the pulse roar in his ears, still staring at the empty space where Will was only moments before. Where he’d just kissed him.

What just happened?

8:49 pm

“Our team,” Eleven started, staring hopelessly out the car window into the night, “Lost.”

“Yep,” Dustin sighed, “That’s what happens when you’re up against the best.”

Mike ignored their arguing and stared out the back window at the stars. They covered the dark sky, too many to count, thousands of glittering and radiant sparks—they reminded him of Will’s eyes. So full of amber light and happiness, no matter the circumstance.

“Hey.” Mike flinched when there was a tap on his shoulder. Any touch from him and Mike turned into a live wire, his lungs forgot how to work and his heart thrashed wildly inside his aching chest. He longed to let Will’s touch linger, to sustain the burning, fluttering sensation.

“Yeah?” He whispered, taking the time to even his breathing before he looked at Will.

His eyes flickered between Mike’s, searching his face. “Was that alright?”

“Was what alright?”

“Back in the arena..you know..”

Mike’s cheeks burned tomato red as he remembered the softness of his lips and quickly murmured, “Oh, yeah. That was really nice Will, I just-“

“What?” He leaned in, as if getting closer would help to understand. Mike’s body tensed at the hurt beginning to show on Will’s face.

“It..kinda caught me off guard.”

Will paused. “Do you want me to ask you next time? If it’s okay?”

Mike nodded.

Will smiled at their bodies, intentionally placed as far apart as possible. “Can I hold your hand?”

He nodded again and Will slipped his hand into Mike’s, letting his fingers trail absently along the front of his knuckles.

“Mike, this is your stop,” Lucas said from the driver’s seat. Will held his hand tighter.

“Could I come too?” Will asked him quietly, “My mom wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course,” Mike hid his red face as he climbed over the back seat to the car door.

“Aight. Happy birthday, Will,” Dustin said and waved at the two.

He gave Dustin a shy smile. “Thanks, guys. It was really fun.”

“Don’t do anything stupid!” Max shouted out the window as the van sped away.

They stared at each other for a moment, in the quiet of the night, standing in front of the Wheeler’s unlit driveway. Until the front door swung open and Nancy was calling from the porch.

“Guess we better go in then,” Mike whispered, caught up in Will’s gaze.

He looked away, grinning. “Yeah.”

9:02 pm

“There’s so many photos here,” Will inspected the cork board on Mike’s wall. When they’d went inside Mike opened the window above his bed to let the peaceful night sounds in, and allow the stars outside to watch.

“Wait a minute,” Will touched a piece of paper tacked on the board, “I drew this.”

“I love your art, Will. How could I not hang it up?” Mike smiled up at him, so full of affection. He’s adorable when he’s flustered. Will muttered something under his breath and his face turned pink.

“Oh, right!” Mike got off his bed and joined his side. He handed over the Polaroid photo from his pocket, “You can pick the spot to put it up if you want.”

Will studied the picture, as if seeing it for the first time. He was close, close enough that Mike could see every detail of his face, see the curve of his lips that had fit so perfectly in his own.

“You’re so cute.” He pointed to Mike in the photo, then tore a piece of tape to hang the Polaroid next to a small drawing. A pencil sketch of Mike, with a caption at the bottom in Will’s handwriting: my Paladin.

“Y-you’re uh, pretty cute too,” Mike stammered. When Will finished hanging the picture he turned around and followed him to the bed, his head tipping up so their eyes met. The air suddenly felt very warm as they sat chest to chest—silent except for the crickets outside—until Will spoke softly.

“Mikey, can I ask something?” His hazel eyes never left his face.

Mike didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath.

“Anything.”

Will was leaning back on his hands, and decidedly scooted closer. “Can you..hold me please?”

His eyes widened. Will’s request was so gentle that it made Mike’s heart burn for him. The desire to have him in his arms. “Of course I will.”

Mike took his hands and wrapped them around his neck, leaning them back on the comforter, drawing him closer than they’d ever been before. Will nestled his cheek to Mike’s chest as he faced the stars out the open window, his legs eased down to rest snug by his sides.

“Is this okay?” Will asked, tilting his head up so he could nestle into Mike’s neck. His soft brown hair brushed Mike’s skin and sent goosebumps racing up his arms. He closed his eyes and rubbed Will’s back in comforting circles.

“It’s perfect,” He said.

Will yawned. “This was such a great birthday.”

“Yeah?”

“Duh, I had my first kiss.” Will murmured, his fingers under Mike’s neck started to play with his dark curls.

“Tired?” Mike asked, his hands never leaving his back.

“Only a little,” He replied with a drowsy smile against his chest.

He laughed and put a hand gingerly on Will’s face to move a strand of hair. In the minutes that followed he let Will fall asleep while he studied the stars outside, listened to the heartbeat of the boy on top of him, the drawing on the cork-board. The title scrawled beneath.

“My Cleric,” Mike whispered to the stars.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Christmas Specials: Angel

CW: Implied past parental death, referenced past torture/noncon, memory loss and grief

"It, it should be an, um, a, a-a an angel," Chris says, gazing up at the star on top of the tree. It gleams a warm yellow to match the special lights that wind through the branches, the soft smell of pine and wood. The ornaments weigh it down, a multitude of old childhood things Nat brought with her twenty years ago, plus new ornaments added over time by every rescue who has lived here through Christmas and even a few who didn’t. 

Chris picked his out at Hallmark with Nat last week. He chose a little cardinal on a snowy tree branch with a scarf and earmuffs on. He doesn’t know why. But he runs one finger over the top of its little head in thought. 

Nat, crouching down by the bright red, gigantic rubbermaid with Christmas Ornaments + whatever else written on the lid in big black sharpie letters, looks up. “What?”

Chris keeps petting the little porcelain cardinal with one finger, staring up at the star. “Why isn't it, um, an, an angel, Nat?”

"Not sure exactly. I've always done a star," Nat replies, carefully choosing a small ornament shaped like a horse in mid-gallop, covered in elaborately carved and painted Western tack. She slips the little hook into the small metal ring on the horse’s back and hangs it in an empty spot on the tree, smiling.

She looks over to see an expression of something like upset on Chris's face, his eyebrows furrowed, bouncing uncertainly on his toes. "It, it should be an angel," He repeats, insistent. “It, it should be. Um, an… an angel. A star isn’t-... isn’t, isn’t right. It should be, be, be-be-be… should be-, an, an angel.”

His voice drops a little, and he picks at the hem of his oversized t-shirt with one hand, rocking a little until Nat puts a hand to his shoulder and he stops. 

"Chris, is this bothering you? That it’s a star?” Nat and Jake meet eyes where he's hanging garland along the mantle, knowing later Nat will go all-in on her Midwestern roots and pull out the Christmas-themed baskets to decorate it.

“It’s not right,” Chris says, even more firmly this time. He shakes his head, rocking again, forward and back. “It’s, it’s always supposed to be, to be angels.” He makes a soft sound of frustration, hands moving up to his hair, twisting into the copper, yanking hard. “Supposed, supposed to be-”

Nat takes his hands in hers and gently lowers them again, pressing his palms into his stomach. “Tap, Chris. Don’t pull your hair out, please. Let’s do the ones that don’t hurt, okay?”

He doesn’t answer her, but he starts up the familiar movements of his fingers, finger-twist-tap-tap-tap, and he doesn’t go for his hair again. “Angels,” He mumbles. “Should be a, um, angel on the, the, the tree. Didn’t have a tree the, the last time, we were-... gonna go, go get the tree after Thanksgiving, it, um, it was-...” 

The room is perfectly still as he falls silent, rocking harder. 

 "Did you-...” Nat is quiet for a moment, deciding where to take this line of questioning, what is the safest way to ask. “Are you… used to angels, Chris? Did you have an angel tree-topper as a kid?”

He’s still a kid.

He’s still so young. 

Chris isn’t looking at her, still rocking a little, looking up at the star, gnawing on a chapped spot of skin on his lower lip that he’s already managed to make bleed this week. He pinches his finger and thumb around a few pine needles, releasing their scent even more strongly into the air. "She, she always did angels,” He whispers.

Then he winces, cries out in pain, and the moment's gone, along with the memory. They hold him through the headache until it passes, through his tears, but he’s never able to explain.

Within a half an hour he’s forgotten he ever mentioned angels at all, forgotten anything but the awful spike of pain the headache brings on the heels of any thought or memory they aren’t allowed to have.

She refuses to be frustrated - this is a common part of memory recovery in rescues, how things seem to come and go, slipslide through their minds. It’ll come back, sooner or later. She has to believe that - and that even if it doesn’t, it doesn’t matter, they still deserve the new memories to be their own.

Every time he walks past the tree, though - as Nat’s presents for her rescues start to build up, and she takes each of them out to find gifts to give Jake and their fellow rescues, too - his eyes don’t linger on the somewhat haphazardly wrapped boxes. 

They go to the star.

She gives Jake a few twenties from her wallet and tells him to go shopping. He sheepishly pulls out the small red box he’d already bought, five steps ahead of her when it comes to Chris as usual.

They wrap the box together. 

On Christmas Eve, Nat insists on cooking, while Antoni hovers nervously around her and offers, time and time again, to do whatever he can to help. She refuses, but lets him set the table before having Jake take him outside to sit down with a drink and watch the Christmas lights. It seems to calm the part of Antoni that needs always to be serving, the part they are trying so hard to get him to drop. 

Chris wanders through the dining room on his way, getting himself some lemonade in the kitchen and giving her a hug. Krista is moving into her own place in the next month or so and she heads out onto the porch, too, making the most of her last few days in the house. Even Leila, quiet watchful thoughtful Leila, finds her way out there, too.

Which leaves Nat in the kitchen putting together everything she remembers from her own childhood. 

It’s a feast.

Beef tips out of the oven with gravy and thick, chewy noodles, little sausages in a crockpot with grape jelly and barbecue sauce, corn casserole more like savory pudding than anything else, scalloped potatoes that have as much cheese as they do actual potatoes, a salad to pretend anyone’s getting nutritional value out of this, queso dip that comes cheap out of a glass jar with tortilla chips, chopped fruit tossed with sugar… this one day each year, Nat lets herself indulge in what she grew up with, what she misses about home. 

Once it’s all ready, she calls them back in. She watches Chris’s eyes widen as he enters first, seeing how she’s pulled out the extra eaves to extend the table, the sheer weight of the food that has taken her three full days of work to put together, the seasonal plastic tablecloth and placemats under every single plate. 

“Chris, you’ll sit right here,” She says warmly, putting her hand against the back of one of the chairs. 

He moves immediately - then hesitates, going still, glancing over his shoulder back at Jake, who smiles back, reassuring. When his eyes go back to his seat, Nat watches him tapping on himself, soothing his sudden jangling nerves. Not grabbing at his hair or scratching himself. Good sign. “Nat, what’s-... what’s, what’s that?”

She moves away to give him space. “What’s what, honey?”

“The, um, the… the the, the box. On my plate. What, what is it for?” He’s trusting, her youngest rescue, like all of them and yet even more than most. He wasn’t meant to have thoughts or skills outside the horrors that he was held for, didn’t develop himself enough to run, he hadn’t gotten a sense that his world wasn’t right enough to develop his own sense of self. That started here, in this house, under Nat’s protection. 

She doesn’t take this responsibility, to help him mold himself into someone he will want to be, lightly. 

He’s trusting, but in this moment, he’s unsure. She wonders how many times he has been given gifts that hurt, that were designed to hurt.

“One last thing for the tree. Open up and find out.”

“But, but Christmas is, is um, is, is tomorrow.”

“Oh, honey.” He loves when she calls him that, every endearment - except sweetheart and darling, and those she has gathered were weapons, once, used against him - and he flushes, looking down and smiling a little, red hair drifting over his eyes. “I never take my tree down before New Year’s. One year I got it late and we kept that sucker up until Valentine’s Day. Go ahead and open the box.”

His fingers are so long and delicate, as he carefully works up the tape that keeps one end of the box closed. Slipping it open comes easily enough, working the styrofoam packing on the inside out is a little more difficult. The squeak of styrofoam against cardboard makes him grit his teeth and Nat herself winces.

But then it’s out, and he lays the square of crumbling white styrofoam down on the paper, carefully lifting the top half away to reveal what it was protecting inside. 

His eyes widen, and he reaches out, touching a rough-edged tinsel halo wrapped around a wire, running one finger down from the top of a porcelain forehead to the tip of a gently wrought nose, the cupid’s-bow lips, rounded hair. He looks up at Nat as his fingers find the stiff, scratchy fabric of the figurine’s cream-and-gold robes. “An, angel? Nat?”

“For the tree, Chris. You said you wanted an angel.” Nat moves back to lay a hand in the center of his back, and he leans to the side, his head tucking into the crook of her neck like always. “Jake and I figured opening one present on Christmas Eve wouldn’t be so bad. D’you want to put it up?”

“Yes,” He says, in a low soft voice. “She, um, she, she… she she… she always had angels, on the, um, the tree.”

“Chris, can I ask?” She rests her chin atop his head, his fine soft hair tickling her skin. “Who is she? Who are you talking about?”

He shakes his head a little, like shaking water out of his ears. “I, I don’t know.” It’s a confession, admission of guilt, more than an answer. “I don’t, don’t, don’t know who. But… but I know she had, had an angel, she said she bought it when, um, when when I was a, a, a a a a baby…”

Mother, then, most likely. She and Jake make eye contact, and he nods, stepping out of the room to go write it down. Every single memory, no matter how slight, could help them put enough together to find whoever might be looking for him out there. And it gives Dr. Berger a place to start delicately working out what is hidden under all the scar tissue in their minds. 

“She threw it, it, it away,” Chris mutters, eyes closed. “With, with everything else.”

“Your mom did?”

“No. Some... someone else.”

“Well, let’s get the angel up there, then,” Nat says gently, as Chris slides his arms around her waist. His voice is going ragged, and she needs to pull him back from the edge before he tips over into the light. “Then all you hungry people can eat.”

“Aren’t you, you hungry? You’ve been cooking all, all, all, all all day.”

“All days. But no, I’ve tasted a little of everything already. Come on, then-”

The door blows open in a bluster of wind and Kauri steps in, cheeks red from the hint of chill in the air, blue eyes warm and sparkling. He looks better today than he did last week - Nat wonders, briefly, if he’s been staying with someone, instead of trying to sleep in park bathrooms or the cold. “Am I late for dinner?”

“Not at all, Kauri. Will Keira be joining us?”

Keira does not consume, comes a muffled voice from inside Kauri’s backpack. He grins and drops it in the entryway, unzipping to take the Roomba out and set it on the coffee table where visual sensors can take in the tree. 

He glances back at the rest of them, and asks brightly, “What’s for dinner? Smells… huh.” He pauses, looks at the table. A strange look passes over his face, like a man seeing someone he knows but can’t quite place. “It smells really good in here.”

“I should hope so. Can you help Chris switch the star on the tree out for this? It’s brand new.” She picks the angel up out of the styrofoam and Chris grabs it from her, moving into the living room with it held in his hands like something infinitely precious and breakable.

Something so easily lost.

“Cool, an angel.” Kauri cocks his head to the side. “Why’d you get that?”

“Because,” Chris says, with earnest sincerity, and a little sadness. “It’s always, um, supposed to, to, to be an angel. It was always a, an angel before.”

Kauri - and Jake, who reappears shortly after to give his many inches of height to assist them - helps Chris get the angel light up on the tree, warm glow emanating from its robes, and Chris declares it better, now. 

He murmurs to himself, “She’d, she’d like it better with an angel.”

No one asks him what he said, or to elaborate.

By the time he’s on his second helping of dinner, he’s forgotten that the thought ever passed his mind.

But Nat hasn’t.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker, @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript, @itallcomesdowntopain

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

White Lies (Pt. 14 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.1 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

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{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

×

The Truth Always Finds A Way

“It's absolutely beautiful. I love it.” Laura says as you walk with her back to the living room. You just showed her Liam's bedroom, which is finally ready.

It's your fault it took so long though because there were a lot of things you couldn't decide on. But now it's ready, right on time thankfully, because it's the beginning of week 39, and you and Keanu are on full alert because it can happen anytime.

“Thanks. We have everything in place.” Gesturing at the door, Laura easily spots the bag lying on the floor. “That's the bag with everything I'll need in case we have to run.”

“So Keanu convinced you on a natural labor then.”

“Google convinced me.” Slowly, you drop to the couch, sighing. “Sweetie, you're making mommy so heavy.” You whisper to the baby, putting your feet up on the coffee table.

“You're almost here, little one.” Laura lowers her head near your belly. “Aunt Laura will spoil you so bad your mom will hate me.” She fell into his aunt role, but you don't mind. Since you don't have any siblings, you're happy Liam will have an aunt on Laura. “We'll pair up to prank your parents, right?”

“God help me.” You dramatically moan, eyes rolling.

“Planning on having more kids?” She asks, a hand caressing your belly.

“Yes. We have spoken about it and we'll have at least one more.” Smiling, you play with the tips of your hair. “Maybe Sophie will come, but if it's another boy it'll be Ethan.”

“I like it.” She says. “Oh, I have to ask. What was it yesterday? Lucia came over?”

“Yes, she did.” Not even on the last days of your pregnancy that woman leaves you alone. “It was fine until Keanu kissed me. Then it became a fight again. She just can't accept Keanu and I are fine. I don't remember him, but I fell for him again. I don't get what's the big deal.” When you look up at Laura, she has a weird expression on her face. “What is it?”

“N-nothing. Nothing.” She stutters, clearing her throat. “That's odd.”

“It is...” Furrowing your eyebrows, you're just about to say something when her phone starts ringing. “That's my alarm. I'll have to go.” She gets up, offering you a hand to pull you up. “But I can call later if you want to talk.”

“Sure, thank you.” Hugging her the best you can, you walk her to the front door, locking it after she leaves.

There isn't much going on today, so you head upstairs to your bedroom, smiling to hear the shower on. Tiptoeing into the bathroom, you see Keanu inside the box, so you silently take your clothes off before sliding the glass open.

That's when he notices you, turning around and smiling. “Is Laura gone?”

“Yeah.” Holding onto his arm, you step inside, feeling the warm water on your skin. “Heard the shower and thought I could join you.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kiss him, slow and passionately. In moments like this, the whole world disappears. New York is gone, the busy streets and its people... There's nobody else, no worries, just you and him.

“You know we can't...” He whispers, pulling away from a little.

“I know. I just wanna shower, I promise.” You didn't have any ideas, but now you do. But still, you have to stick with showering only. “Help me, Ke.”

“You're such a teaser.” But despite the dramatic eye roll, Keanu grabs the body wash and starts rubbing it through your body.

Much to your dismay, Keanu has become a master of self-control, and once you're done, you have no choice but to leave, dry, and dress yourself as you wait for him. Back in the bedroom, his phone starts beeping, as many messages come through.

“Ke, your phone is beeping like crazy.” You tell him, raising your voice a little as you finish brushing your hair.

“Can you check if it's Robert?”

“Sure.” Walking around the bed, you sit down as you take his phone, your eyes taking in the notifications.

But it isn't Robert, it's Lucia. Pinching your eyebrows together, you start getting angry. Whatever reasons she's texting Keanu, it's probably not good. Unlocking his phone, you quickly find the messages app, opening it, and reading the texts.

‘You can't possibly think this will go on after the birth.’

‘I will tell her myself.’

‘You're disgusting. Lying to her like that, while she's vulnerable.’

Your heart starts beating so fast it drums in your ears. Her words are a mystery, and you're struggling to bring sense into it.

‘(Y/N) has the right to know about Daniel.’

‘My son. My dead son, her true husband.’

The messages keep coming and you start crying, a hand on your mouth to cover the sobs.

This can't be right. What is she saying? There's a sudden, pounding pain on your head, as your eyes go through the new texts.

‘You can tell yourself whatever you want, but this is all on you.’

‘You're lucky I'm not the type of person to expose celebrities, or else I'm sure your career would be over.’

‘You can't just keep lying to (Y/N) like this, it's not fair to her.’

‘This child isn't yours, it will never be.’

‘You can say this is for her own good, but I don't believe this bullshit.’

Standing up to your feet, you throw the phone away, further into the bed, too far for you to reach. You can't read it anymore. Is she lying?

No. Lucia mentioned Daniel as if he meant something to you. Michael did the same. He didn't seem to understand how you were with Keanu, since you were with Daniel...

Too many things come flooding back. Keanu's first distance, some weird expressions you couldn't read when you made certain questions... But still, you can't bring yourself to believe it. Maybe Lucia just wants to ruin your marriage.

When you hear the bathroom door closing, you turn around, not even trying to hide your tears. Keanu gets worried the moment he looks at you.

“(Y/N)? What happened?”

“Why is Lucia saying Daniel was my true husband?” You burst out, both hands clenched into fists. “That this kid isn't yours, that you're lying to me.” Pointing at the phone, you wipe off some tears. “It was her, not Robert.”

Keanu's face drops, and his whole posture changes. That's how you know it. That's when you realize Lucia is telling the truth.

“No...” You mutter, heart breaking as you bring both hands to cover your face. This can't be real, but his silence, his inability to answer proves your otherwise. “Please, Keanu, say something!” You yell, bending over a little when a sharp pain spreads through your hips. With a hand on the bed, you sustain your weight, standing up straight again.

“I'm so sorry, (Y/N), I–”

“My God.” Cutting him off, you pace around, a lump in your throat. You can only feel, and watch, as your whole world comes crashing down. It feels like you're in a nightmare, under torture, with a knife being put through your heart. “How could you...” It comes out a whisper, so you repeat, yelling this time. “How could you do that?!”

“(Y/N), please listen–” He comes forward, making his way around the bed, but you step back, hands raised.

“I don't wanna listen!” You snap, eager to put some distance between you and him. “I don't wanna listen! We... We slept together!” The memory comes back like a wrecking ball, and you feel violated, betrayed. “I–... I gave myself to you because I thought you were my husband. I–” The wave of pain cuts you short again, and you gasp, using the wall to sustain your weight.

“(Y/N), what are you–”

“Stay away from me!” Shouting, you find the closet door, rushing inside and locking yourself inside.

You're moving even before you notice, grabbing the first baggage you find and searching for your clothes, messily shoving it inside the box. Keanu is saying something, knocking, pleading, but you don't want to hear.

He was everything, and now, you just want him to be nothing.

Your head feels like it could explode as you remember all the moments you shared since you first saw him, in the hospital room. Like an idiot, you felt secure back then to know there was someone to look after you, to guide you in a life you didn't know anything about. When he told you about the pregnancy, you thanked the heavens for having a husband by your side. You were scared, terrified, empty... Just as you are now.

Keanu is nothing to you. The happy, wonderful marriage is just a lie. Your life, the man you love... “Go away!” You shout at him, making a damn mess on his closet, but you don't care. You don't want to love him, not anymore.

With whatever is left of your strength and dignity, you close the baggage and leave, pushing Keanu out of your way, sight blurry with tears. “Siri, call me a cab.” You tell as you walk past Keanu's phone, the change of lighting on the screen showing you it got your command.

“(Y/N), please don't leave.”

“Do you really expect me to stay?” Struggling on the stairs with the baggage and your huge belly, you hold tightly on the railing until you're safe on the floor. “A-after you... Damn it! I don't even know why you did this!” You're yelling again, moving to the front door, hoping the cab will get here soon. “What kind of man are you? What kind of person does this?”

“Let me explain, please. I found you after you crashed the car and–”

“And you decided to take me?! Is that it? You thought I was pretty, and I was in the perfect position for you to take me and play couple?!” A horn makes you sigh, and part of you is relieved that you'll go away from the man, the part that's burning with anger.

But there's another side, probably your heart, that hurts, aches for him. This is what's making you cry, and it yells for you to stay. To listen.

But despite his begging, you leave, pulling the door open and running to the cab.

Keanu isn't the one to cry often. He does feel sad, but tears are something rare.

But today, they come rolling down, like a flood.

How could it be any different? After everything he has done, how could he expect this to have a different end? This is what he deserves.

Pacing around the house, lost, he finds himself in the kitchen. Looking at the table, he sees her there, in her pale blue sweater, beautiful, smiling, putting a strand of hair behind her ear. He can't even count how many meals they had here, instead of using the dining room, because (Y/N) felt it was more intimate. Averting his eyes, he stares at the fridge, and there she is again, in her pink lace gown pajamas, stretching out on her swollen belly, marking down the weeks.

(Y/N) will haunt him for the rest of his life.

Slamming his hands on the island, he takes the small flower pot and throws it across the room, giving vent to his anger. Anger at himself for doing this. He could've said no. He could've told her he truth, that he found her, and that he would stand by her side for as long as she needed him.

But he decided on the lie.

Making his way upstairs, his phone's screen is on. Taking it from the bed, he finds the app tracking where the cab is going. Where she is going... But he closes it, going to the gallery instead, where he starts skipping through the photos they took.

Keanu is heartbroken for the first time in his life. On every photo, it hurts more and more, until he can't take it anymore. The tears are blinding him, so he lies down on his back, eyes on the ceiling. The house feels empty already, cold... But that's good. Because it suits him perfectly, that's exactly how he feels.

×

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

[animeyanderelover]

Can you write number 48 to Pluto?

It’s my pleasure.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, clinginess,mentions of death

Prompt 48: “I hate it when you pay attention to something else besides me.”

“And why do I need to take care of him now? Not that I mind, I like Pluto. But still! Don’t you think I have other things to do besides taking care of a demon hound?” Ciel sighed loudly, not looking happy that he had to ask you for this favor. “Believe me, from all the people I could have asked you’re the last one I wanted to ask. But you’re the only person who I can trust with him. You know what he really is and besides...” You bent curiously closer. “Besides?” “Besides it looks like Pluto got very attached to you and you’re the only person he listens too.” You chuckled and glanced at his butler. “Hey. I thought you were one hell of a butler. How come that he doesn’t listen to you anymore?” Sebastian didn’t answer. “Well?”, Ciel asked you. You thought about it for a moment. “Alright then. I have nothing against coming over and taking care of him.” To your huge surprise you heard Sebastian and Ciel sigh in relief. “Thanks a lot. I was worried that he would burn the whole manor down if you don’t agree.” You raised your eyebrow. “Why would he do that?” “As I said, he got very attached to you.”

The next morning you quickly made your way to the Phantomhive mansion. Many people might wonder how you even know the young Earl Phantomhive. It was simple. Your parents and his parents had been friends since a very long time and you and Ciel had been friends since a very young age too. After the fire and after the loss of his parents he had become a bit more distant to you, but at least he had still talked to you. You knew about him and his butler as well. How? Well, you had always been fascinated with reading stories about demons, angels and all this other stuff. And one year ago you had caught him without his eyepatch, seeing the strange symbol he had in his eye. Ciel had panicked and tried to come up with an excuse, you on the other hand had just stared fascinated at it before asking him bluntly if this was a Faustian contract. Ciel had been stunned when you had asked him this and you had simply added one and one, quickly figuring out that his red-eyed butler must be a demon. You honestly weren’t surprised, you had always suspected Sebastian to be anything, but a human. Were you happy that Ciel had given his soul away? No. But you couldn’t do anything against it. Luckily Ciel had trusted you enough to keep it a secret, feeling impressed that you had figured it out.

You waited patiently at the entrance before Sebastian opened the door. “Miss (y/n). You’re finally here.” As soon as he mentioned your name, you suddenly heard loud barking. “Pluto! No! Wait!” Was that Finny’s voice? You stepped in, curious about what was going on. Finny was stemming his feet against the ground, leaning all of his weight back and pulling desperately on the leash he was holding. Pluto on the other hand was trying to move forwards, barking excitedly when he saw you and tried to run to you, but was harshly pulled back, whining loudly. At this point you were scared that he would choke. “Finny! You’re going to choke him if you continue to pull on the leash like this! Let him go!” “Are you sure?!”, Finny asked you. You nodded. The same moment Finny let go was the moment where Pluto jumped towards you, instantly making you fall down with his weight on your top. You started giggling when he started licking all over your face and neck. “Stop that! I’m ticklish!” Pluto barked excitedly. You started petting his head, going into full dog lover mode. “Who’s a good boy? That’s right, you!” You suddenly heard someone clearing his throat behind you. “Would you mind doing that somewhere else? Not right in front of the entrance?” You turned around to see Ciel standing on top of the stains. You started laughing embarrassed. “Sorry. Guess I’ll go into the garden.”

The next few weeks were spent with you visiting the manor every day to take care of Pluto. And slowly, but surely you noticed that Pluto had probably gotten a bit too fond of you. At first you had just brushed it off because this guy was after all a demon hound and dogs were known to be very clingy. But could his current behavior be considered as normal? You weren’t too sure anymore. It had begun with him simply refusing to leave your side, he was clinging on your waist all the time and whenever you had tried to leave him for even one second he had started whining and had refused to let go of you, even if you ordered him too. Whenever you had left the manor to go home he had thrown a drama. It had gotten that bad that Sebastian had to step in every time to prevent him from leaving and it happened more than one time that he had been forced to knock Pluto out. All of this was, even though highly annoying, still in a yellow zone. But it had gotten out of hand when Pluto had scared anyone away from you who even dared to come anywhere near you. For example when Mey-Rin had tried to talk to you Pluto’s grip around your hip had suddenly tightened and he had let a deep growl out of his chest, giving Mey-Rin a dangerous look which reminded you of a predator looking at his prey. He did that to everyone and at some point everyone had started to stop talking to you and if they wanted to tell you something they had started to yell it to you from the distance. Even Ciel kept a safety distance. And from day to day it became worse.

You knew that something was wrong the moment Pluto suddenly stopped acting excitedly. He was just staring at you with narrowed eyes before bending down and starting to sniff on your clothes. “...Pluto? Is something wrong?”, you asked confused. He just continued to sniff on your clothes before he suddenly started growling dangerously, his grip around you tightening. You needed some time until you finally understood what was wrong. He must have sensed the smell of your old classmate on you which you had met on your way here. You had bumped into him earlier this day and both of you had for a moment stopped whatever you had been doing to catch up on old times. When both of you had gone separate ways you had given him a short hug. You hadn’t thought of it as something bad, but Pluto seemed more than just enraged. He was furiously growling. “Wow! Pluto, calm down! He was just a friend of mine!” You had hoped to calm him down, but that didn’t work. Instead he became even more enraged when you mentioned the word friend. By now his nails were digging painfully in your skin and the look he was giving you made you feel scared. What was wrong with him? Was he really so territorial with you? Wasn’t it enough that you spent all your time with him? He had already scared everyone in the mansion away from you! You could endure a lot with him, but that was a bit too much! You had your free time as well! “Pluto! Quit it!” Pluto abruptly stopped growling and gave you a surprised look. You had never spoken that harshly to him since he normally always listened to you, but it seemed like you had to be a bit more stricter with him. “Listen Pluto! I really like you, believe me, I do! But you need to understand that I can’t spend all of my time with you! I have other people in my life and I won’t accept it that any longer that you scare every person who tries to make contact with me away!” Pluto looked completely crushed. He whimpered and tried to stretch his hand out to touch you, but you lifted warningly your index finger. “No Pluto!” For the rest of the day you treated him more coldly, being in a bad mood.

It was late at night when you were suddenly woken up from your sleep. You rubbed your eyes to get rid of the tiredness. What was that for a noise? You were sure you had just heard something right now. You listened closely into the silence of the night. For a few seconds it was quiet, making you questioning if you had just dreamed that. But then you heard it again. It sounded like...the whimpering of a dog! And it sounded like it was right in front of your house! You stepped out of your bed and left your room, heading downstairs quickly. You knew that whimpering just too well. But what was he doing here? He was supposed to be at the mansion this late at night. When you stepped down you suddenly noticed another noise coming directly from your entrance door. It sounded like someone was scratching with his fingernails against the wood of your door. You stood for a moment unsure in front of your door, not knowing whether to open the door or not. But then you decided to let him in, it would mean serious troubles if someone would see a naked man whimpering and scratching in front of your door. So you turned the doorknob around.

Pluto instantly stormed inside, jumping onto you and barking happily whilst starting to spread all his salvia over your face and neck. “Pluto? What are you doing he-“ You stopped when suddenly a nasty smell started to hit your nose which came directly from Pluto himself. The smell was overwhelming and made you nearly dizzy. What was that? You tried to push Pluto away from you so that you wouldn’t have to endure this sickening smell anymore, but as soon as your hands touched his bare chest you instinctively pulled back. His chest was covered in some sticky liquid. It was very dark and the only source of light was the moon who was shining through the open door inside your house. You squinted your eyes to try to get a better look at Pluto. Your eyes needed a moment until they had adjusted to the darkness. The second you realized what this liquid was you paled. Pluto was covered in blood! It was smeared all over his face and body and since he was laying on top of you your white nightgown was also smudged with the scarlet liquid. Why was he covered in blood?! Did he...? Pluto himself didn’t seem to mind that much, he just continued happily to lick all over your face. You gulped. “P-Pluto?” He lifted his head, signaling you that he was listening. “W-what did you do?” Pluto blinked for a moment before he suddenly hurried out of your door, grabbing something he had hidden next to the door before quickly returning and letting the object fall into your lap, looking proud of himself.

Your brain on the other hand stopped working when you saw what that thing was. It was an arm! Blood was still flowing out of the opening, staining your nightgown in even more blood. You took notice of the clothing that was still visible on the arm and that’s when you knew to whom this arm belonged. It was from your old classmate. Judging from all the blood in which Pluto was covered you didn’t think that he was still walking under the living. You should have screamed and thrown the arm away, but you couldn’t. Your whole body was paralyzed and your limps felt like they were made out of stone. No matter how much you yelled at your brain and body to move, they didn’t listen to you. Pluto nudged you with his nose and you slowly shifted your eyes to look at him. He had an expecting look on his face, wanting to be praised by you. You didn’t even realized when your hand moved to start stroking his hair and you told him:”Good boy.” Why did you do this?! You should scream at him, but your body refused to. Perhaps this habit had been too deeply engraved in your mind to shake it off and your brain probably thought that this was the best way to handle this situation. By telling him that he did good and encouraging him to do this again. Pluto was clearly joyful when he heard this and once again his warm tongue went all over your face. “W-why did you do this?” It felt hard to speak this sentence, your tongue feeling like it was made out of lead. For a moment Pluto tilted his head as if wondering if it wasn’t already obvious. He stared you directly into the eyes and it was like there was a silent message written inside of it, that was only meant for you. “I hate it when you pay attention to something else besides me.”

[giorno-plays-piano]

Playing games Pairing: dark!Sebastian Stan x Reader Warning: yandere, swearing, some non-con implications towards the end. Words: 2069. P.S. JESUS CHRIST WHAT HAVE I DONE I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON I HOPE NO ONE WHO REALLY MET SEBASTIAN GONNA READ THIS ghjdfyjdfds I’m so sorry guys _____________________________________ “I asked for a vanilla latte with extra milk, not caramel cappuccino.”

You rolled your eyes at his irritated remark. You knew Sebastian wasn’t in his best mood this morning and expected him to make your day nastier just because he felt like it.

“Sorry, but I’m sure it was caramel cappuccino. You asked for some cinnamon on the top, remember?”

“No, I didn’t.” He snarled and looked at you, giving a mocha frappe to Jill, his hair artist. “I asked for a vanilla latte. If you suffer from memory loss, you’d better visit your doctor once we get back to US.”

What an asshole. Mary, who was now applying some makeup on Sebastian’s face with her beauty blenders and brushes, bit down on her lip: she had been watching how he treated you for the last 3 weeks, and it was a living nightmare. It was very odd since Sebastian was on good terms with pretty much everyone around, but you were always an exception. Why? Neither Mary nor Jill could tell. There was nothing revolting in the way you behaved around Mr. Stan, simply doing your job as his assistant. You were getting him coffee every morning, buying some personal stuff for him, managing his meetings… but you were more an errand girl, that’s true. It was surprising for most of the other people surrounding you two, but you didn’t object to your tasks. You were furious because of the way Sebastian treated you.

He was mean, unfair, irritating, and rude. You didn’t deserve it.

“Well, my voice recorder tells I got everything right.” You pulled it from the pocket of your below-knee sheath skirt, ready to press the button.

“What the fuck is that?” The man rose to his feet immediately, almost pushing frozen Mary out of his way and stepping towards you. “How many times do I have to tell you? NO. FUCKING. RECORDERS.”

He was ready to snatch it from your hands, yet you were able dodge him right on time, hiding the recorder in your pocket again.

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry, I’ll put it away!” In a second you were behind Jill’s tall figure as if you were a child hiding from a bad-tempered parent, Sebastian watching you with anger in his cold blue eyes. “I’m not going to use it. But it’s still true, you asked for caramel cappuccino.”

“Guess what? I don’t fucking care.” He growled in a low voice. “You’ll go and get me vanilla latte because it’s your goddamn job. And I want my coffee before Jill’s finished with my hair, understood?”

Watching his with clear disdain on your face, you cursed under your breath. It was freaking hot in Prague where Sebastian was filming now and getting out the second time just to run to Starbucks once more would sure ruin both your makeup and a white blouse you had been wearing. Damn it.

“God, why do you have to be such a bastard most of the time?” You snapped at him, visibly shaking with fury. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you a closet psycho or what?”

“I’m the one who pays you, honey.” He smiled at you the same way he always did it in front of the camera and you felt sick.

You stormed off the room without having a glance back at his perfect white teeth. Sebastian Stan was the worst person you had ever met, and you were working for him, seeing him every day and listening to his orders as if you were his pet. How did it come to this? Why did he look like the most perfect human being to you six months ago? What made him behave like that to you when in reality it was him who offered you a job?

God, it was all messed up. You did not remember when things got so bad you could yell at each other in a full voice. It was actually surprising, someone like you shouting and swearing at one of the world’s most famous actors, but it was something Sebastian let you do. Like he wanted you to scream at him regardless who surrounded you whether it was his makeup artists, agents, cleaning ladies or anyone else. It was like he got off on it.

True, this job payed well, much better than the one you had before. Moreover, in these 6 months you saw more countries than you did in your entire life, travelling with Sebastian everywhere and meeting tons of new people, many of them being great professionals. It was inspiring; it made you dream of all the things you thought were impossible; it made you curious and gave you a chance to practice your networking skills.

But Sebastian was fucking blowing it. After six months of constant everyday battles filled with rage and pure hatred you had gained weight, 10 pounds to be precise. Now you were having problems to sleep, and you knew it wasn’t the jet lag.

Anyway, you spent the whole day running around the city to buy him this or that. In the evening you were so tired you could barely move your legs while Sebastian was clearly pleased seeing you like that. It probably stroked his enormous ego.

Fuck it. You didn’t deserve a minute of it. You were not going to let him ruin you for fun, just because he could it since he payed you. Why did you spend you precious time trying to please him? Sure, you still considered him one of the best actors on the planet, but the things he did to you were not ok. He wasn’t ok. Maybe he really was a psycho or had some disorder he didn’t want to treat, you had no idea. But you knew it couldn’t continue like that. It was too much.

You spent an hour writing an email and asking to be laid off. It was just a few lines, simple and professional, yet you were constantly adding and then erasing new sentences. You shouldn’t make it personal, you thought to yourself. You doubted you could leave on agreeable terms, but you needed to give it a try. Even if your last argument with Mr. Stan might be the worst of them all, it would be your last one. It was worth it.

Sighing, you decided to take a stroll before going to bed. 15 minutes wouldn’t hurt, right? You’d have some fresh air and enjoy the view of Prague’s Powder Gate – you were lucky to stay right in the center of this magnificent old city. You could make some more photos to show your friends once you return back home. It was also nice to just sit on a bench and look at the night sky full of stars.

Maybe then you wouldn’t feel so guilty for leaving Sebastian and your team.

In the end, it took you way more that 15 minutes, but your late-night walk made your thoughts clear and left no regrets about your choice. What was happening between you and Sebastian wasn’t right, and you could do nothing but leave. With so many people wishing to work for him he would get another assistant in a matter of hours, and you would get your life back. Those money you earned would keep you afloat quiet some time even if you wouldn’t be able to get a job right away.

“What is this, Y/N?”

His voice almost made you jump. Sebastian stood up from the chair in the corner of your room once you put on the lights. What the Hell was he doing here so late? How did he open the door? If he needed anything, he could simply give you a call.

Oh. You saw your little black recorder in his hand.

“I told you I won’t use it anymore.” Your jaw clenched.

“I’m not talking about this piece of shit.”

He tossed your recorder on your bed as if he couldn’t care less and moved towards you so fast you had no time to step back.

“What is this pathetic email you wrote?” Sebastian’s handsome face darkened. “Are you not right in the head? You want to leave?”

“Yes, I do. What’s wrong with that?” Your expression hardened. He dared to touch your laptop when you weren’t there. “I thought you’d be glad to know. Today you told me three times I didn’t deserve working for you, correct?”

“You know perfectly well I wasn’t serious.”

“God, I have a hard time telling when you’re serious since all you do is hating me.”

He sent you an icy glare.

“You know I don’t hate you. You just happen to bring the worst in me, dear.”

There he was again. God, were you going to have this argument right now when you were deadly tired? You hoped it could wait till tomorrow, but it was clearly not your luckiest day.

“If you want to blame me again, it’s ok. I’m the worst one. I’m a bad person and a terrible assistant.” You squeezed your eyes shut and sighed again, scratching your forehead. “I get it. What I don’t get is why you aren’t happy I’m leaving.”

“Because I don’t want you to leave. If I really hated you so much, I’d already found another assistant, but I don’t want that.”

“Listen, let’s stop playing our games just for a few minutes.” This conversation made you feel even more exhausted. “We don’t get along. You don’t like me. Why do we torment each other? I don’t even remember the last time we had a regular conversation without shouting and cursing.”

“I’m not playing games with you, dear. You do.” He had already cornered you, his face determined and somewhat unsettling. “What do you want? A raise? More benefits?”

You were ready to yell at him again.

“Did you listen to what I just said? I want to leave. I want to come home and forget about all our horrible fights. I want to have a steady and boring job back in US. Do you understand?”

“NO, I DON’T!” The man screamed at you again, and now you suddenly felt his arms clenching your shoulders painfully and winced from his touch. “I already told you to stop toying with me! After all this shameless flirting and batting your eyes you wanna tell me you’re leaving? Do you think I’m so stupid to believe in this bullshit?”

It took you a few seconds to process his words. What? Flirting? Well, you did consider him handsome and charming, who on Earth didn’t, but you had never pulled anything like that. At first, it was because of your professionalism, and then your relationships escalated so fast you knew that he hated you and you hated him. What Sebastian had been even talking about?

You felt very aware how close he was once you felt his heavy breath on your face. He never did this before.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I want to leave. That’s all.” You tried pushing him back with your hands against his chest. “Please, let me go. I need to… t-to go to the kitchen.”

“You’re going nowhere, dear.” His expression darkened. “Tell me the truth. You don’t want me to treat you like my assistant? I get it, I get it, it’s fine. I can treat you like my girl in front of everyone if that’s what you want.”

“No! I – “

His put his hand on your mouth immediately, leaning in closer.

“It’s ok, I understand. I grew tired of pretending like nothing happens between us, too. You want me to let everyone now? It’s ok. I’ll post our photo on Instagram tomorrow. Is this what you want? Is this what you want?”

You tried to scream, but his grip on you was too strong as if Sebastian was really some kind of super soldier. Desperately trying to wriggle free you only got him to hold you tighter, his soft lips all over your face already wet with tears.

“It’s ok, dear. I got it.” He shushed you, trying to keep your arms together with his hand and pushing his knee in between your legs. “I’m sorry it took me so long. I understand now, so you don’t have to go. You won’t go, will you?”

You couldn’t answer him even if you wanted to.

[iam93percentstardust]

AU-gust Day 27: Flower Shop

Requested by @warmachinesocks for a Winteriron AU! Well, this took a left turn into Fantasyland but it is still a flower shop so I’m gonna count it

Also on ao3 here

~

“Tony, doll, can you grab three bundles of orchids from the greenhouse?” Bucky calls.

Tony gives him a cheeky salute and disappears through the back door. He comes back a moment later with three bundles of bright purple orchids and passes them off to Bucky, who starts working on the arrangement. The order isn’t terribly complicated, which he’s grateful for—after last week’s wedding fiasco (fucking mother of the bride), he’ll be happy if he never has to see another complicated order again.

“How’s it looking back there?” he asks, pretty certain that they’re running low on some of the annuals. They’ll need to purchase new seeds soon.

Tony shrugs. “We’ll need new zinnia and petunia seeds soon,” he says, leaning up on his toes to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “But everything else is looking good.”

“What about everything downstairs? If I’m running by the nursery this afternoon, we might as well make a double trip and swing by the apothecary.”

“I’m going to need more death cap mushrooms soon but that’s a trip to the forest, not the apothecary. I think I want to start a new plot of sage though so I’d like to get some of that. Oh! And I’m running low on incubus tongue and with Valentine’s Day coming—”

“Love potions are more in-demand than ever,” Bucky finishes. He’s been dating Tony long enough to know what potions are popular at what time of year.

“Attaboy,” Tony says with a wink. “When’s the next time we’re going over to Steve’s for dinner? I’ve got a client who needs a dragon scale for a protection spell and I think he said he was shedding a few weeks ago.”

“Tomorrow. He and Sharon are—”

The bell above the door chimes and they both chorus, “Welcome to Bluebells and Belladonnas!”

Angie, the little old witch who comes in every week to pick up roses for her wife, coos at them, “You two are so cute!”

“Not as cute as you, Mrs. Martinelli,” Bucky says, laying on the old Brooklyn charm. He uses it on most customers because it makes them buy more but for Angie, it only makes her chuckle and blush. “What can we get for you today?”

“A dozen roses,” she orders like always and passes them a tube of lipstick. Tony disappears into the greenhouse behind the shop again. “Here’s the color she’s wearing today.”

He makes small talk with the old woman, chatting about her granddaughter who’s seeing Steve and speculating about when they’re finally going to announce that they’re engaged. Tony comes back out a few moments later with a collection of white roses. He swipes the lipstick over them and, before their eyes, the color spreads across the flowers until all twelve are as deep a red as the lipstick itself.

Tony passes the flowers and the lipsticks back over to Angie as Bucky rings her up. “And how will you be paying today, Mrs. Martinelli?” he asks.

“With news,” she says, lowering her voice to a hush. Bucky and Tony glance at each other. Ravenspoint is a small town; news is worth its weight in gold. “They contacted Peggy first, that’s how we know before everyone else.”

“Know what?” Tony asks, leaning across the counter.

“The Starks have returned to the manor.”

Bucky doesn’t think that Angie notices Tony going stiff but he certainly does. Beneath the counter, he slips his hand under Tony’s shirt to rest on Tony’s hip, running his thumb back and forth soothingly.

“Rosewood’s been empty for decades,” he points out. “Since Stane’s death. Why are they back now?”

Angie shakes her head. “Maria didn’t say. But apparently, the wards wouldn’t let her and Howard back in when they tried to enter. That’s why they needed to see Peggy.”

“Peggy wouldn’t be able to lower the wards,” Tony says quietly, leaning further into Bucky’s hand.

“That’s what she told them. I guess they thought that as the head witch of the coven, she’d be able to override little Anthony’s spell.”

Tony flinches and Bucky looks down at him. Tony has never told him the full story of what happened the night Howard and Maria Stark fled Rosewood, leaving their only son and heir behind in the guardianship of the family butler but he’s heard enough pieces that he could probably guess. The storm of the century centered directly over the manor, a family friend much too interested in the immense amounts of power the young heir holds killed, and a father who couldn’t resist keeping his resentment over his child’s power to himself and a mother who never bothered to protect her son banished? Yeah, Bucky can most definitely figure it out. These days, no one knows that Tony of Bluebells and Belladonnas is Anthony Stark—besides the Jarvises, Peggy, and Bucky himself.

“Where did they go?” he asks, wondering if he needs to put up his own wards around the shop and their upstairs home tonight—or if they need to be leaving town for a few days.

“To the Jarvises,” Angie says. “Where else would they go? They’re the only ones who know where Anthony might be.”

Bucky and Tony share another look, both thinking the same thing: they need to call Edwin after Angie leaves to make sure word doesn’t get out about Tony’s whereabouts. They let Angie take her roses and leave and Tony immediately disappears into the downstairs greenhouse to call Jarvis and spend some time puttering with his potions. Bucky locks up the shop early, deciding that Tony’s distress is more important than the day’s sales. They don’t have any deliveries or orders today so he refuses to worry about any potential loss of profit. They make more than enough from both businesses anyway.

He goes back into the regular greenhouse for a few minutes to collect a small bouquet of flowers: gladioluses for strength, violets for peace, magenta zinnias for constancy and affection. Tony is working on what looks like a luck potion when he gets down there so Bucky waits until he’s done adding the crushed gardenia and has set the pot on a low simmer before he says, “What did Jarvis say?”

“To set up the wards,” Tony says. He’s not looking at him but he hasn’t sent him away either so Bucky feels confident coming up behind him to put the flowers in a vase and hug him close. He rests his chin on Tony’s shoulder.

“Anything else?”

“Maybe close the shop for a few days. I don’t want to do that though. We’ll lose out on too many customers.”

“So we’ll ask Steve and Sharon to come in.”

Tony snorts. “Over my dead body will we trust Steve with the greenhouse.”

“Sharon can handle those. Steve can handle the cash register. You know how many bouquets will sell with his ‘aw shucks’ routine?”

“…A lot,” Tony admits reluctantly.

“Exactly.” Bucky turns his head, pressing a kiss to the underside of Tony’s jaw. Tony sighs. “Come on, doll. Our friends have been saying for ages that we need a vacation so let’s take one. We’ll get away from here, wait until it all blows over and your parents leave again, and then we’ll come back.”

Tony closes his eyes, swaying a little on the spot. Bucky knows he’s been stressed lately. The store had a couple rough months earlier this year and they’re still not making as much of a profit as either of them would like. Bucky’s been stressed over it too but Tony seems to take it personally.

“Come on,” he croons, mouthing behind Tony’s ear. “We’ll go up into the mountains, rent one of those cabins with the bear rugs you read about in those romance novels you think I don’t know about.”

“Bucky!” Tony hisses.

“Whaddya say?”

“…Yeah, okay.”

[kathaariawrites]

Nights in Cádiz - Armando Salazar x Reader (Chapter 1)

Hi my lovelies! This was supposed to be an oneshot for my beloved Capitán but I have so many ideas that I can’t so it’ll be divided into chapters. I actually dreamt with this story and had to write it. Armando may seem sweet here but don’t be fooled. Will be uploaded to AO3 as soon as possible with my other works, I'll publish the link here. Spanish to English translations at the end of the chapter.

Things to note:

This is an AU where the crew was freed from the curse, Jack Sparrow and basically everyone in Barbossa’s ship were killed by them and they went back to Spain. Pirates of the Caribbean (this movie at least) has a very confusing universe and I don’t think the timelines fit so I took some liberties with that. They were not gone for too long (25 years in my head though it felt longer for the crew while cursed).

For historic accuracy (someone has to care about that, right Disney?) I gave the reader a Spanish family name and set names for her parents.

Although I speak Spanish, it’s not my first language so I’m here begging for forgiveness for any mistakes and also begging for corrections if that’s the case.

Enjoy!

Life in Cádiz was monotonous to say the least. The city was not big and most of the life in it revolved in the Armada: if you did not work there, you probably knew someone who did, a friend or a family member. In your case it was your dad, Almirante Caballero. Your relationship with him was good. He was a honorable man, with a stable income that was more than enough to provide for his family and keep a big house. You had no complaints even with the long periods of absence in you childhood, a part of you knew it was part of the job.

Recently though, the whole Armada seemed restless and the rumours were endless. The crew of La Maria Silenciosa was back from the dead, freed from a supposed curse that seemed too fantastic to be real even to you and coming back to Spain after years of being declared dead to the world. You remember clearly as a child how the widows wept, the families broken as they received the news, the ship being late to their return, no communication from the captain and pirate activity on the rise again, the rumours reaching the Spanish shores in no time. The crew had passed, the ship was destroyed and the pirate named Jack Sparrow was to blame.

The captain and the lieutenant were your dad’s closest friends and the loss of such an esteemed member of his life destroyed a part of him you thought you would never see again. The friendly, warm shimmer in his eyes was gone since then and your mother begged him to leave the Armada, that they could survive somewhere else and do something else but he refused every time; Armando Salazar had renewed his will to get rid of the pirates, a goal they shared, and to protect his country. Now, with his return, your father seemed eager to receive him, to have him back to his house, show what had happened in these years.

That’s why today, standing in a beautiful blue dress the same shade of the sea that bathed Cádiz, you stood beside your father in front of the docks to greet them, eyes trained on its sails. How was it possible for the ship to be back in shape, like nothing happened to it? You don’t remember the captain or teniente Lesaro but you were just as nervous. Would they look like what the rumours said? Would they be aggressive, rude? So immersed and nervous you were that you did not notice the ship anchoring, the officers leaving and the families hugging and crying in celebration to have their loved ones back until your father’s strong voice shouted.

“¡Armando! ¡Guillermo!”

His voice sounded strained and you looked at your parents for the first time since arriving. Your mother had tears in her eyes, a hand covering her mouth and your dad did not look much better. He almost ran to the officers and embraced them, as did your mother, though the captain and the lieutenant were not in your line of sight for you to evaluate their reactions. That did not stop you from seeing their arms embracing your father too and the sobs that left his chest made your eyes go wide.

You stood there, uncomfortable, until your father walked with all three in your direction.

“I trust you remember mi hija, ¿[Y/N]?”, your father asked and you gave them a little curtsy. The eyes of the captain were trained on you the whole time, the weight of it was borderline oppressive. Lesaro smiled at you and nodded, taking your hand and planting a soft kiss to the back of it. The captain did the same, his eyes still piercing yours and bringing a soft blush to your cheeks.

“I certainly do, Hugo, though she was much smaller when we left these shores.”, Lesaro added with a smile. “A lot of time has passed, ¿eh?”

Your father agreed, “Sí, mucho tiempo. We have a lot to talk, Guillermo, over a glass of wine. I trust you and Armando have decided on staying with us for the time being?”

“Sí, I don’t believe we have other option and I look forward to having a real meal, fresh and delicious. Is Lucia still working for you?”, the captain replied and you started walking to your house together, your father giving them a briefing of life and happenings in Cádiz and the Armada while they were gone. Every now and then the captain’s gaze layed on you and you wanted to hide, the walk seemed endless.

In the house, the afternoon passed calmly and quickly. You didn’t see them the entirety of it, both men staying in the guest rooms to rest and get some energy back after the weight of the journey and their final battle. You walked through the gardens until a maid called you in for dinner.

Your father was happy and it showed in his face and actions. The capitán and the teniente seemed equally happy to be around the living and eating a well made, hot meal. After you were finished you stood up and excused yourself, resuming your walk in the garden with a book in your hands until you heard steps from behind.

“You are not very talkative, señorita. ¿Te ha comido la lengua el gato?”

You turned around, your eyes finding his on instinct. “Soy perfectamente capaz de hablar, capitán. I am merely giving you the opportunity to talk to my father, your absence had a great impact on him.”

His eyes softened at that and he hummed gently, stepping closer to you. “Lo siento, señorita. I am afraid my time away from the living has taken some of my social skills.” He offered you his arm as an apology, to which you promptly took and resumed your walk.

“Do not fret over that, capitán, it is understandable. But does it not make you uncomfortable to speak about it? The curse, these years? You seem so at ease.”

He chuckled then, his free hand resting on top of yours on his elbow and his fingers flexed, as if appreciating the warmth of the touch. “It is...a numb feeling, I admit. I used to think I would not wish to talk about it if we were ever set free but now I find it does not bring me any feeling. Besides, I presume there will be a lot of explanations to give to the Armada, so my talking is not over.”

You smiled and nodded in sympathy, “You have quite a tale to tell, capitán. All of you do. And it could be quite hard to tell it, some might be disbelieving but you have friends in this house, I am sure you will be back on the sea in no time.”

“I do not think of sailing again, señorita. I’m afraid my time in a ship is over.”

Her eyebrows raised, “You will not? The Armada has relieved you of duty?”

“You’re an inquisitive one, señorita.”, he chuckled again. “I believe this information is classified and therefore not for a civilian’s ears.” Another chuckle at your indignant huff and then silence for the rest of your walk. He took you back inside, leaving you by the doors of your room and leaving with a kiss to the back of your hand once more.

“Buenas noches, señorita.”

“Buenas noches, capitán.”

“Llámame por mi nombre, señorita. Armando.”

“Entonces te digo lo mismo, Armando. Llámame por mi nombre. [Y/N].”

“Pues. Buenas noches, [Y/N].”

“Buenas noches, Armando.”

Spanish translations:

Armada = how the Spanish navy is called

Almirante = Admiral

La Maria Silenciosa = The Silent Mary

Mi hija = My daughter

Sí, mucho tiempo = Yes, a long time

Señorita = miss

¿Te ha comido la lengua el gato? = Cat got your tongue?

Soy perfectamente capaz de hablar, capitán = I’m perfectly capable of speaking, captain

Buenas noches, señorita = Goodnight, miss.

Buenas noches, capitán = Goodnight, captain.

Llámame por mi nombre, señorita. Armando = Call me by my name, miss. Armando.

Entonces te digo lo mismo, Armando. Llámame por mi nombre = Then I tell you the same, Armando. Call me by my name

Pues buenas noches = Then goodnight

[takingcourage]

Family Ties

A Miscalculations one-shot

Pairing: M!Cassian x MC

Word Count: 3,400

Summary: Having Cassian back in her life means meeting his family too.

Note: This story is set somewhere between the final chapters and the epilogue of Miscalculations. It’s dedicated to my Cassian Nonnies and the now-inactive secretsaladbouquet, who once asked to see Kellen and Owen meet Cassian’s family. 

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“She’s going to love you, Kellen.”

“You don’t know that.” Rolling her lips flat, she stared past the sidewalk and up the stoop to the front door. Unassuming as it was, she couldn’t help imagining a critical woman peering through the diamond of frosted glass. A woman she had the sense that she’d already wronged despite never meeting her -- perhaps because she'd never met her.

Shifting the car into park, Cassian removed his hand from the gear and used it to cradle Kellen’s knee. “I know my Ma. She loves anything that makes me happy, and you’re at the top of the list.”

With a deep exhale, she felt a small portion of her worry melt away at his words.

“Besides,” he went on, “look who we’ve got in the backseat. You make a good impression on everyone, don’t you, Owen?”

“Uh-huh!”

Kellen giggled in spite of herself. Their son had almost-irritating tendency to agree with everything his father said, as long as it wasn’t related to vegetables or bedtime. “He’s like our secret weapon,” she agreed, punching her thumb on the seatbelt release.

“Show me your smile,” Cassian prompted, catching his son's eyes in the rearview mirror. The boy obliged, then resumed his efforts to pry apart the clip at his chest. “And yours?” Cassian continued, turning to the woman beside him.

Her lips curved instinctively at the question. Eyes dancing, he leaned into the passenger seat for a quick kiss. “Let’s go.”

Plucking up her courage, she tossed the strap off her shoulder and reached for her bag. 

Kellen knew how to exude confidence. Between her flirtatious nature and her ability to stand up for herself against the naysayers in her line of work, she was used to taking the world by storm. Yet, she was at a loss as she mounted the doorstep, waiting to meet Cassian’s mother. 

This wasn't a place to make an impression with double entendres or by bringing up her MBA. She didn’t even know how to get her own parents' attention, and they were the ones who’d raised her. What hope did she have of impressing the woman responsible for the incredible man standing next to her?

Hearing the click of the latch on the other side of the door, she shivered and held Owen’s hand a little bit tighter. The hair at her temple swayed as Cassian leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “You’ve got this.”

“Thanks,” she mouthed, focus still cemented on the door as it opened to reveal a dark-haired woman.

Though she’d seen pictures, Cassian’s mother was shorter than she’d imagined. She bit back a newfound sense of awe that this was the woman who’d brought eight children to a new country all on her own. But any threat of intimidation evaporated at the sight of the woman’s smile. Like her son and grandson, Teresa Keane had an incredibly ready grin.

“Hello, hello! Welcome.” The older woman’s thick brogue made Cassian’s accent sound weak by comparison.

“Ma, this is Kellen.”

“Hi, Mrs. Keane,” she greeted, stretching out her free hand.

“Hello, dear. Call me Teresa,” the older woman urged, pulling her in for a hug instead. Arms pressed awkwardly to her sides, Kellen tried to focus on the moment instead of berating herself. The attempt was only partially successful.

Ten seconds in, and I’ve already made a fool of myself. The thought sent a tremor of unease through her bones as Teresa pulled away.

“And this must be Owen?” She bent at the knees for a closer look. “How are you, young man? You’re very handsome, aren’t you?”

Feeding off the woman’s enthusiasm, Owen’s mouth cracked into a smile.

“He’s like a vision of the past, isn’t he?” she asked, straightening back to her full height to embrace her son.

“It’s uncanny,” he agreed.

Kellen warmed at the pride in his voice. They were fine -- this was fine. In spite of her misstep with the hug, things were still going relatively well.

“C’mon in,” Teresa beckoned. “It’s nearly winter and you’re still standing out here on my porch. It’s like you want this lovely family of yours to freeze, Cassian -- it really is. Let’s get inside.”

Gathering Owen into her arms, Kellen followed the other woman into the house, grateful when Cassian’s hand found the small of her back. Even if she and Kellen didn't get along right away, at least Teresa would see how attentive Cassian was toward them both. 

“Is that apple cake I smell?” He asked, and Kellen breathed a chuckle at the question. Between the strong fragrance as they approached the kitchen the number of times it had come up in conversation, she could practically already taste it.

“Don’t sound so surprised. You know I make it any time there’s family over.”

Family. Was that how Teresa thought of them?

She means Cassian, you idiot, she corrected. And maybe Owen. They are related, after all. Whatever Teresa meant, Kellen was fairly certain she wasn’t part of it. But maybe someday...

Hoisting Owen a little higher, she tried to focus back on Teresa's voice.  

“... told Cal not to cut into it until we got back, but I had to post Grainne in the kitchen to keep him in check. I’ve been watching him like a hawk all morning.

Kellen’s ears perked at the familiar names and tried to conjure up the images that matched them. Even with pictures to help, there were so many people to keep track of that it had taken nearly an hour for her to get the names and birth order of his siblings straight. With a flash of panic, she remembered how many members of his family she’d have left to meet after today.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Kellen. Today is about Teresa. The fact that she was meeting two of his siblings was fairly incidental. As the youngest, Callahan was living at home while he attended university. Grainne -- Cassian’s eldest sister and the one he was closest to -- had devised an excuse to join them at her older brother’s insistence.

“I can hardly blame him. It smells delicious.” Kellen tried to gather the threads of conversation she still remembered, hoping there was still time to salvage the afternoon. “I assume you’re who I have to thank for Cassian being such a wonderful cook?”

The sound that came out of Teresa’s mouth was inarticulate, but it struck Kellen as vaguely disparaging. “I saw to it that no child of mine would ever have to rely on takeaway. They’ve all been cooking since they were old enough to reach the stove.”

Kellen bit her tongue to silence the curse that was hovering at the tip. She'd have a fit if she knew her grandson was subsisting on my repertoire of frozen bag meals and grilled cheese sandwiches. Maybe Cassian can give me some lessons before the next time we come over

“Mama, I thirsty.”

Shifting Owen’s weight to her hip, she dug into her deep leather tote for his bottle. Their eyes locked as he clicked the button to release the cap and sucked the straw. As she trailed Teresa into the kitchen, she stroked the boy’s curls fondly. Trivial as the interaction had been, she couldn’t help her sense of relief at the small reminder that her son’s needs were still being met.

Still shielding the cake as they entered, Grainne was the first to speak. “Cass! Good to see you.” If Cassian's stories hadn't left her with such a favorable impression of his sister, the woman's sparkling eyes and bubbly affect might have given cause for alarm. “And Kellen?” Abandoning her post, she slipped an arm around the other woman's shoulders.

This time, Kellen was more prepared. Though her hands were still occupied with Owen and her bag, she managed to lean into the embrace instead of standing still. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Cassian talks about you all the time,” she shared as Grainne pulled away. 

From his place at the breakfast table, Callahan lifted a hand in salute.

Once the adults had finished introductions, Grainne’s attention turned to the only child in the room. “Hey there, buddy. Can you tell me your name?”

Holding his cup close to his chest, the boy replied with serious eyes. “Owen.”

“Owen, huh? I like that name.”

He gave her a toothy smile and wriggled to be let down. Releasing him to the floor, Kellen stretched out a hand to keep him from venturing too close to the stove where Teresa was finishing up the custard.

“He’s so sweet,” Grainne crooned in Kellen’s direction. “I can’t believe how much he looks like you, Cass.” 

“Poor kid.” Cal quipped, tilting his chair to balance on the back two legs. “Pity you’re such an ugly ba--”

Spoon in hand, Teresa turned on her youngest before he could even think of adding a second syllable. “Callahan Arthur Keane! There are young ears in this room. You should be ashamed."

“Yes, Ma.” All four legs of his chair smacked the tile floor.

Kellen squatted down to retrieve Owen’s cup before it could roll under the table. Out of sight, her brows furrowed in concern. Was Cassian on such bad terms with Cal? She knew he’d asked Grainne to come in order to help temper his youngest sibling’s dubious charms, but it had never occurred to her that the two brothers might not get along.

Schooling her features before she rose, she wondered vaguely if she needed to come to Cassian’s defense.

Goodness knew she and her own brother weren’t close enough to have any kinds of disagreements. They didn’t know one another well enough to offer meaningful insults. But her parents certainly did. She considered it a miracle if the three of them made it more than five minutes without trading barbs. If the situation had somehow been reversed, would she have wanted Cassian to defend her against their criticisms?

She couldn’t say for certain, but the question was enough to make her feel sick to her stomach.

“You’re just bitter, Cal. We all know there weren’t any good genes left by the time it came to you.”

Recognizing the teasing edge in Cassian’s tone, she realized she’d been misreading the entire interaction. Blood rushed to her cheeks along with the certainty of her mistake. His family isn’t like that, Kellen. They don’t have those fights.

Noticing her distraction, Cassian raised a brow in concern. She quickly shrugged it away before he resumed the conversation.

“He’s only like me when it comes to looks. He’s already better with numbers than I am. Should we show your Uncle Cal, Owen?”

“Uh-huh!”

Still exploring the floor, Owen probably wasn’t even certain what he’d agreed to, but he always had plenty of uh-huhs for his father. Most of his nun-uhs and noes were, unfortunately, reserved for her. She smirked as her son turned his attention to Cassian. Come to think of it, she couldn’t blame him for the preferential treatment. His father had a tendency to get all of her yeses as well.

“C’mere,” Cassian prompted, and the boy who’d been squirming in her arms no more than two minutes before happily climbed up on his father’s knee. With the ease of practice, the man held out his hand, fingers stretched. Owen took them in turn, counting off in a lilting rhythm.

“One... two.... three...four....”

Of the two of them, Cassian was by far the more accommodating teacher. Kellen was always slow to provide answers when the boy faltered, intent on learning exactly how far his memorization skills had progressed. Cassian mouthed everything along with him, sometimes whispering hints with pretend secrecy. She hadn’t determined which approach was the most pedagogically sound, but there was no question which one was more fun to watch.

Teresa had turned from her place at the stove, positively beaming as she saw the two of them interact. Even Cal had slipped his phone into his pocket and adopted a courteous expression.

“Seven...eight...”

Owen’s brow furrowed, and he launched himself toward Cassian’s ear in concern. Even though Kellen didn’t catch all of the words he whispered, all signs pointed to a call of nature.

“Excuse us,” Cassian offered, pushing back his chair so that Owen could hop down from his knee. “We’ll be back shortly.”

Kellen breathed a quiet laugh as they passed into the hall, all at once aware of the tension now that the one person who connected them was gone. Feeling an uncustomary loss for words, she tried to recall what she knew about the room’s other occupants. Grainne was in sales, Cal was finishing pre-requisites and hadn’t declared a major, Teresa did administrative work for one of Cassian’s brothers-in-law... that didn’t give her a lot of ideas for sparking conversations.

“Mona?”

“Hmm?” It took a beat for Kellen to comprehend that the word was a question.

“Your lipstick,” Grainne clarified. “It’s Mona, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m impressed! Cassian told me you were into fashion, but...”

“My roommate is a beauty vlogger. You see enough swatches, some of it just starts to stick. It’s a great shade with that outfit, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Suddenly self conscious about the rest of her makeup, Kellen’s eyes flicked to the semi-reflective door of the microwave, but it was no use. The image was too dark to reveal anything about the application, though she was sure it had been passable when she’d left her apartment some hour before.

“It’s nice not to be the odd one out in the family anymore,” Grainne continued, leveling luminous brown eyes at Kellen. “My sisters have been refusing makeovers for years. At least Ma lets me pick her nail polish from time to time.”

Kellen’s lips crept into a smile as Teresa pshawed the statement. “Don’t speak ill of those who aren’t here to defend themselves.”

“You sound like the girls who sit in front of me in psych class,” Cal complained, phone in hand again. “They’re always carrying on about makeup and shoes. It’s moronic.”

Grainne cocked a conspiratorial brow across the table. Kellen met her grin, bracing her elbows on the table as they listened to Cal's continued complaints.

“I’m sorry you lead such a rough existence, Cal,” Grainne offered sarcastically when he paused to check a notification. “I’ll say an extra prayer for you tonight.”

“Plates?” Teresa cut in, her implied command rousing her youngest from his seat.

Kellen had to hide her giggle after the glance she shared with Cassian’s sister. No wonder he was so fond of the woman. She didn't want to get ahead of herself, but it was easy to see the two of them becoming friends. Making light conversation as Cal set the table, she hardly had opportunity to miss her boyfriend and son. 

By the time Owen and Cassian returned, the cake and been cut and was ready to serve. His needs met, Owen returned his father’s knee while Teresa passed out the slices. 

Kellen leaned over to straighten the buttons on the boy’s shirt. “Maybe you should share a piece, at least until we know he likes it? There’s a lot of cinnamon on top.” Catching herself, she glanced toward Teresa, “I can’t wait to dig in. Owen’s just a wild card when it comes to spices.”

“He’ll like custard.” Cassian poured a measure onto his cake and slipped his son a bite, beaming with glee at the boy’s enthusiastic response.

“More, please?”

With a hearty laugh, Cassian obliged. “Save some for the rest of us, a stór.”

“I’ll get him a dish,” Teresa insisted, returning to the cupboard for a toddler-sized bowl.

Like his affinity for sisters, Cassian’s taste in desserts was unassailable. The apple cake was, indeed, one of the best things Kellen had ever tasted. With the sharp tang of stewed apple, warm blend of spices, and rich, velvety cream, she was starting to feel like she never wanted to leave Teresa’s kitchen.

They finished eating some twenty minutes later, and Grainne stepped into the other room to take a phone call. Increasingly sleepy, Owen was preparing for a second attempt at counting. Exchanging a polite smile with Teresa, Kellen gathered up the dishes from their side of the table and followed the older woman to the sink.

She’s lovely and kind, and she seems to like you so far. Make conversation, her subconscious urged as she set the plates on the tile countertop. “Cassian’s told me about his nephew and nieces -- your other grandchildren?”

“I have four. Well, five now,” she adjusted, watching Owen tug on Cassian’s fingers. “Jack’s going to be so excited to finally have a boy cousin. He was so disappointed when Ciara’s last one was another girl.”

Kellen nodded with a faint smile, feeling heavy with the reminder of how extensive the Keane family was. Even with Cassian’s many assurances that they were loving and supportive, she was still an outsider. Perhaps she always would be.

“I have to tell you, Kellen, you’re not at all like I imagined.”

Panic pierced through like a knife to the gut.

Kellen expelled a shallow breath, feeling like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. For the past hour, she’d been lulling herself into a sense of security. Sure, there had been some missteps, but they'd started to find their footing -- or so she’d thought. But really, Kellen, she chastised, Cassian’s incredible. Is it any wonder you don’t measure up?

This was her worst nightmare. She could deal with their judgment, but if they didn’t accept her? She couldn’t ask Cassian to choose between her and his family.

“Oh, but I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Teresa reached for Kellen’s arm, grasping it just above the wrist. “You know how he is: he’s got this constant need to swoop in and be a hero. I always worried he’d end up with a woman who was afraid of the world and needed rescuing all the time. That’s not what I see when I look at you, Kellen.”

For the second time that afternoon, Kellen bit back the words that came on impulse. Despite her frequent insistence to the contrary, she had been the kind of woman who’d needed rescuing. But with Cassian -- in many ways, because of Cassian -- that wasn’t the case anymore.

Lost to her thoughts, it took a few minutes to realize that Teresa had continued speaking. “You keep up with him. You challenge him.” A bony elbow prodded her side softly. “And you make him the happiest I’ve seen in ages. I’m glad he has you.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled in response, wondering how tentative that gratitude must be. For a mother, it would be all too easy to see her as the woman who’d broken her son’s heart. With a shiver, she considered how she would react when face to face with someone who’d hurt Owen in the same way.

She certainly wouldn’t be this civil.

“I’m really grateful to have him in my life again.” Glancing back to the man at the table, she couldn’t help the impulsive compliment. ”You must have been an amazing mother.”

“I did what I could," she agreed, nonchalantly. "Cassian said you don’t see your own parents very often?”

“Maybe once or twice a year. We’re hardly close.”

Turning back to the sink, Kellen expected to see judgment. She found only a genuine smile: a reflection of one she’d seen countless times before. “I’m sorry for that. I hope you know you’re always welcome here with us. Cassian knows this already, but we'll be getting together for dinner for Jack's birthday next week -- we'd love for you and Owen to join us if you'd like."

“I’d like that very much,” she assured, hardly giving the question a moment’s thought. She didn’t need time to consider; her eager anticipation was already proving that it was the right answer. Her eyes swung back to the table, imagining how much Owen was going to enjoy getting to know his cousins. 

When they’d decided to go all in, to jump headfirst into this relationship without looking back, she’d thought that the family she had with Owen and Cassian would be all she ever wanted. But this afternoon was reminding her of something she been learning time and again since Cassian came into her life: what a delight it was to be proven wrong. 

[platinumsun490]

Sonic and Friends: Last of Us AU-Knuckles

Thanks to the inspiration of solar-socks, who thought of the idea of putting Knuckles the Echidna in place of Abby from the Last of Us, I have written my own version of his backstory as to why he hates Tom, in place of Joel, and Sonic, in place of Ellie. Like Abby, Knuckles loses his dad, but I added a bit more to that. Gotta warn you though, this does not have a happy ending. Each piece of the story is something that led Knuckles to the final conclusion of killing Tom and getting revenge.

nothing but ANGST

Knuckles watched from the little secluded area he and his father, Locke, had hiked out to as echidnas of all kinds walked in and out of the hospital, either to help or to visit. While he knew it was important for him to be there, seeing how he was going to be the next leader, it was nice to get away every once in a while. Just then, Vector, a crocodile, and Espio, a chameleon, came running up to them from a distance.

“Sir, that hedgehog showed up,” Vector said breathlessly.

Locke rolled his eyes, unknowing. “What hedgehog?”

“The one your wife keeps talking about.”

Knuckles stopped rummaging through his bag to stare at Vector and Espio, who couldn’t be saying what he thought they were saying. Espio stepped forward, saying, “They found him in the tunnels. He has an old bite mark on his arm. No signs of infection.”

The echidna warrior watched as his father, Locke the echidna, blinked a few times in shock, shaking his head and saying, “That can’t be.”

“They’re already runnin’ tests on him, but…you gotta get down there,” Vector said. Both of them seemed to be in disbelief. Knuckles couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

After so many years of saying the echidna people, his people, would have a cure for the Zombot Metal Virus soon, it finally happened. He remembered watching his parents preach about it sometimes, like religious leaders saying the word of an otherworldly being. At first, he thought his parents were going crazy, and chose to stick by his friend’s sides, but now, this news practically proved his parents right. He watched Locke shift his weight nervously from one foot to the other. “Dad?” he asked timidly.

He merely pointed down the path they had originally came from, silently telling them to head back to base. Vector and Espio left first, most likely to spread the news further, and Knuckles watched as his father took him by the arm and pulled him to the main building, a hospital.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Knuckles watched as his mother and father discussed the operation in his dad’s main office. Locke was trying to explain how there was no way to remove the specimen without destroying the host. Lara-Le, Knuckles’s mother, was clearly not happy about his father’s wording. “The host? He is a child, not some petri dish.”

“You think I don’t-” Locke’s voice began to raise, but he quickly contained himself and said, “I’m aware of the situation.”

“And you’re okay with killing him?” Lara-Le asked with a grim expression. It scared Knuckles a bit to see his mother so upset. He was used to a negative attitude from his dad, but not his mother. She was always so positive about things, keeping everyone’s heads up when it felt like there was nothing else.

“No, Lara. I’m okay with developing a vaccine that’ll help save millions of lives. How many echidnas have died for less?”

Lara grew angry. She jabbed a finger at Locke’s chest, pushing him back a bit. “That was their choice. Are you asking me, or are you telling me this is how it’s gonna be?”

Locke moved closer to her, but she stood her ground. Knuckles watched his father place his hands comfortingly on Lara’s shoulders. “I am begging you to buy in.”

Lara didn’t hesitate with a response. “And what if this was Knuckles?” Knuckles watched as Locke’s expression changed slightly, just slightly, before going back to serious.

“Look, everything that we’ve been fighting for, all the sacrifices, all the horrific…all of that is justified with this one act.”

“If this was our son, what would you do?” Lara asked again calmly. She was starting to scare Knuckles. Locke stood there, not saying anything, which made Lara turn and leave. Before she walked out, she said, “I’m telling the human, Tom. He has a right to know.”

She faltered when she noticed Knuckles sitting on the floor next to the doorway, but she just rubbed his head and walked away. Knuckles then stood up and walked into the room, where his dad was leaning against the desk with a dark look, his body showing signs of tiredness. Walking up next to his father, Knuckles said, “If it was me, I’d want you to do the surgery.”

Locke took his son’s hand and gripped it tightly, like a patient on a lifeline. Knuckles watched his father wipe a few tears away, then walk away to do what he had to do.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Knuckles watched as Vector and Espio leaned over a bleeding body.

His father’s body.

Dropping his weapon, Knuckles stumbled into the room, gaining his friend’s attention. Espio took a step back while Vector stood up and held his hands out, saying, “Knuckles…”

“Is that…?” Knuckles whispered. He felt all the blood drain from his face, his hands shake as he saw a scalpel from the operation jammed into his father’s neck. Blood was staining the floor a dark red, darker than his fur tone, darkening to a sickly brown color.

Knuckles watched as Vector moved towards him, not to comfort, but to stop. It was then that Knuckles realized he was screaming. He was screaming for his father. He didn’t know he could make such a horrid sound. It scared him. “No! DAD! DAD, NO!!” Falling to his knees, Knuckles curled up in Vector’s arms and started to sob violently, his breathing erratic and ragged. He buried his face in Vector’s shoulder, continuing to cry over his loss.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Knuckles watched as a thief who had broken in interrogated Lara-Le about the cure for the virus. The human, Tom Wachowski, had taken the hedgehog, Sonic, away from their home, leaving the echidna race to fend for itself after years of saying they had a cure and ended up not having one. Now, people, humans and Mobians alike, had gotten angry.

“Tell me where you people hide the cure or I’m going to make sure you have one less mouth to feed,” the man said as he held Knuckles down at gunpoint.

Lara stiffened at the sight, then took a deep breath, put on a serious expression, and bargained, “If I show you where it is, will you let my son go?”

Knuckles watched the man nod, then yelped when he literally kicked out of the room. Knuckles reached for his mother, but she just smiled tearfully at him as she led the man away.

Minutes later, as Knuckles and a few survivors were escaping, he heard a gunshot.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Knuckles watched as Tom tried to climb the fire escape as fast as he had done. Tom had ran into Knuckles on a supply run and saved him from being bitten or killed from one of the monster. Now, a horde of Infected was closing in on them, and they didn’t have much time.

Thankfully, one of the buildings still had its fire escapes attached to it, despite the ruins around them. Tom finally reached the top, but one of the steps gave out and left him dangling off the edge.

He scrambled to climb over, but he didn’t have a good grip. With a sneer of disgust, Knuckles grabbed Tom by the front of his shirt and lifted him up with ease, ignoring the man’s panicked yelling. He wanted to do this. He wanted Tom to remember who he was.

“Did you hear about what happened to the echidnas after you ran off with the only hope the world had? Do you know how many died at the hands of murderers and Infected?” Knuckles seethed through clenched teeth. Tom looked confused for a second, then frantic. He thrashed in Knuckles’ hold, hitting and kicking, but to no avail. The red echidna lifted him higher, scowling with absolute hatred. The faces of his parents and friends flashed in front of him, making him hesitate. They wouldn’t want him to do this…

Knuckles let Tom go.

Knuckles watched as Tom’s body slammed into the fire escape a few times, then hit the ground with a sickening thud. Infected after Infected jumped onto Tom, and Knuckles turned away, just as Tom’s screams were cut short.

“NOOOOOOOO!!!!”

The echidna looked up in surprise to see Sonic standing on a building near them, having seen the whole thing. His expression was one of shock, fear, defeat, and anger. He glared at Knuckles and sobbed as he fell to the ground, curling in on himself. Knuckles watched Sonic choke on his own breathing, but actually stepped back a bit when Sonic grew rageful.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” Sonic shrieked, filling the empty space around them with an echo of his threat. “You hear me, you bastard?! I’ll kill you for this!”

Knuckles watched Sonic sob uncontrollably for a few seconds before grabbing his bag and jumping over to the next building. He was done here. That was all that mattered to him.

For once in his life, Knuckles didn’t stand by and watch. For once, he did something.

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 4

Cara missed her first two classes, having been knocked out into the late morning hours, courtesy of her dad. No parents were rushing to wake her up, no breakfast waiting for her, no offer for a ride to school. She woke up with a gash on her head, an abdomen that was an artwork of black and blue. The cause of it all was a dealer who had no stock to sell. His suppliers suddenly cut all contact leaving her parents without their fix.

Last night her dad came home seconds from exploding. He almost broke down the door as he struggled to open it in his drunken stupor, nose flaring and teeth grinding into dust even before his eyes locked on her. While these beatings were nothing new to Cara, she will admit that his hand was extra heavy yesterday, evidenced by the deeper shades on her skin. Her mother didn't even have to add anything into the mix, satisfied by her husband's handiwork.

Cara just couldn't wait to leave, but money was a dilemma. She tried her best to get the odd job here and there, whatever she could find, really. Things were even more difficult since her parent recently took to stealing her hard-earned money, ransacking her bedroom for anything worth selling. Not even the mattress stuffing or the soles of her shoes were a safe place.

Adding to her troubles was the potential loss of a job. She could no longer babysit Sherry and hasn't been contacted by the Birkins. Still, perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing. After all, these people were beyond dangerous, and she would do just about anything to never meet that man again. It still broke her heart to be cut away from such a sweet little girl, the separation was sudden, and god knows how hard that must've hit Sherry, losing one of the few people she trusted.

As expected, both her parents were gone. They were likely fishing for another dealer, and if they did not find what they were looking for, she knew what will be waiting for her tonight. It was better to stay away from home for now, and it didn't matter where.

While the other bruises were easier to hide, the limp in her walk was too obvious. She had just finished formulating a story by the time she made it to her third class, auto-mechanics. Usually, people ate up her stories without a problem, curbing their questions as their concern lacked genuinely. The real issue was Claire. She'll spit the story right out without even tasting it.

Claire was already waiting in their usual spot. Despite the pain, Cara tried her best to be as subtle as possible but attempting the once flawless movement of her legs took a considerable amount of control.

"Hey, you," Claire cracked a smile as soon as she spotted her friend. "Missed you at lunch. Actually, missed you for like half the day. Where've you been off to? Could've invited me too."

" Stayed up too long watching reruns and then ended up sleeping in. I scared my mom this morning when I came out of my room. She thought I was a burglar." Cara giggled over her lies, struggling to fight the grimace as she took a seat. Thankfully, Claire didn't seem to notice, leaning back in her chair to put up her red hair into a high ponytail. Care relaxed inwardly, feeling safe from the questions.... for now.

Half an hour later, Claire slid beneath the car donated to the school while Cara sat next to her on the floor leaning against the door. Cara was glad. This way, she could finally slouch over and breathe, gladly keeping the weight off her bad leg. The radio played a series of pointless advertisements adding nothing valuable to the background noise. Mr. Crawford liked the radio host, but Cara thought he simply lived to promote Michael Warren or was paid handsomely to do so. Sure, the mayor had done much for the city. Still, she found all this prosperity odd, especially under such a short period of time. Something smelled fishy.

"This shit can't be fixed," Claire grumbled, sliding out from below the hunk of metal, tossing the greasy gloves next to her on the floor. The car was so weathered the paint came off in large chips as she peeled whatever was left of it on the door.

"Something Claire Redfield can't fix? Well, that's a surprise." Cara giggled, raising an eyebrow.

"I can't fix what's not there. Half the parts are missing. The idiot who donated the car must've stolen it, took whatever was worth shit, and donated the rest to get rid of the evidence."

"Looks like you've been hanging around the station too long. What, are you going to start an investigation now?"

"If I wanted that bike upgrade, then I obviously need money, and you know I don't like asking my brother for money. But what I don't mind asking for is a job around the station. Pretty much everyone knows me by now. It's like a foot in the door. I'll just annoy them until it's official."

"Once they hire you as a janitor, don't forget about me. Then we can break into the records room where they keep all those juicy storybooks."

"Okay, that's a fun idea. But here's another idea! How about we not get my brother fired along with us. Plus, you forget where we live. Nothing major happens around here."

"That's where you're wrong," Cara whispered before mentally slapping herself. She tensed, begging higher entities that Claire heard nothing.

"What do you mean?" Claire perked up, reminding her of a puppy who heard the sound of the treat bag opening.

"Oh, nothing," Cara tried to play it off, not want her friend to dig deeper. If there was one thing she learned last Friday, it was to keep her mouth effectively shut. She was already screwing herself over and placing a friend in danger. Her pulse began racing with the prospect that she already said too much.

"Cara," Claire crawled towards her friend, a threat in he voice. "You heard something or...saw something? You can tell me, I'm your friend. Chris and I will always be there for you."

"I know. You remind me of that every day. It's not a big deal. I'm just worried about the level of stupidity in this town. I've heard about the three seniors who got caught breaking into Kendo's gun shop last night. He had them lined up on their knees with their hands behind their head by the time the cops came. The whole street watched them."

"Ugh, I've never seen someone do something as stupid in my life. Had to hear all about it from Chris. In fact, that's all he talked about last night and this morning. Don't get in the wrong crowds, bluh bluh. Guns are bad bluh bluh." As claire grumbled through her rant, Cara knew she had successfully steered the boat to safety.

"Well, it's nice to have a brother. I wouldn't mind a lecture or two."

"Oh honey, I can help with that," Claire cocked her head to the side with a gleam in her eyes.

"No, yours are excluded."

"Oh, ha ha, you'll be begging for it one day. Now be a good girl and be on the watch out. I'm taking a nap." Claire said, sliding back below the car before getting into a comfortable position. "Oh, and give me a foot massage while you're at it,"

"It'll cost you."

"Wait till I hear back about a job, and then we'll talk,"

They stayed like that, Claire breathing softly while Cara listened absentmindedly at the radio. Her thoughts were yet again plagued by the events of last Friday. It was suffocating having to mentally recover from something so scarring and no one around her knowing a thing. She had no one to talk to. The words of the host were starting to become much more appealing than her thoughts.

"Michael Warren did so much for Raccoon decades before he was mayor, but with him in power, we're doing so much better, growing faster than ever before. We all gotta thank him for that, you know? Everyone was skeptical about big pharma moving in, but he made a good partnership with them, and the jobs came raining down. Have you seen the homeless folk on the streets? No, cause they all got help, been offered good jobs, their lives are turned for the better. Y'all look at the jails. They are pretty much empty. Nobody needs to turn to stealing for a living when good-paying work is right in front of them." The host trailed on, with Cara barely listening to the shameless paid promotion. The supposed decrease in crime seems a bit far-fetched to Cara. Maybe the robbers, murders, fraudsters, and rapists just moved their activity to the next town over for whatever reason, much like her dad and his dealings? But if there were so many work opportunities, why couldn't someone come 'help' her parents? Uproot them out of the dark pit they dug?

"Hey, you coming?"

"What?" Cara snapped back to reality, realizing Claire was already on her feet, stretching her back.

"The assembly?"

"Oh...?" Cara frowned, forcing a straight face as she pulled her aching body up.

"I guess I can't blame you. You did miss half the day. Come on, I want to get a seat in the very back, makes for a speedy getaway." Claire was already out the door, staring back at her friend with her hands on her hips, impatiently tapping her foot.

"You go ahead and reserve me a seat. I just need to go to the washroom." Cara said, hoping to walk to the gym at a slower, less painful pace.

"Fine, but don't be too long," Claire said before jogging away.

Taking her sweet time, Cara turned a 5-minute walk to the gym into 10 minutes, but even then, that was still an exhausting mission. Soon she was seated next to Claire with the rest of the students as they waited for the presenter.

The gym was in a state of chaos. Everyone talked over the other. But this was not a surprising thing considering it was the last period of the day and the events of last night.

When Cara looked over the stage, she was surprised, seeing a banner with the Racoon police department STARS name on it. Great, it was another talk with the cops, most likely about drugs and whatnot.

"Hey, maybe your brother is here,"

"Chris? He would've told me,"

A throat clearing next to the speaker's podium failed to get the attention of the kids. It was followed by a very authoritative "Attention,"

Cara never experienced so much power put into a single word, but it was loaded, and it succeeded in forcing everyone to smack their lips shut.

For a few seconds, she was staring but unable to focus, her muscles tensed, ready to make a break for it. She held her breath, slid down her seat, covered her face with a curtain of hair, and for added measure, she put her head down. She hoped to stay hidden in the crowds of students.

It was Albert Wesker at the podium, hands resting on the edges. His eyes didn't have to scan the crowds for long, finding her easily. Her attempt to hid was adorable but in vain. He could track down men in another country given extraordinarily little info, and the foolish little thing thought she could hide in a measly crowd of 1200 hormone-riddled teens.

"I am Captain Albert Wesker of STARS, and five days ago, there had been an unfortunate, unfortunate accident. Maxwell Robford was barely five years older than many of you. Driving while drunk, he ended up wrapped around a tree and was incinerated along with his car. That road wasn't popular, and it would take days for someone to stumble across the wreck and give us a call. We could only recover a pile of ashes and bones to return to his family. Our hearts go to them. I'm here on behalf of STARS to urge you to stop drinking and driving because the next incident may not only result in us digging out your corpses but those of others. The morgue is no place for people so...young. That's all from me, and now my partner will add a few more words." Wesker stepped away from the podium, nodding as the other uniformed officer took over. The next speaker struggled to calm the students, who all at once started talking about the accident.

"That’s so terrible. I feel so bad for his family," Claire said, leaning her head back.

"Yeah..." Cara answered absentmindedly, unable to take away her eyes from the crooked officer. She was angry that he could come to her school and pretend to be an officer of the law concerned for the futures of the kids in the room. If anything, she could bet all the money she had that the kid died because of a foul. Maybe, Wesker himself arranged the scene before it was supposedly...discovered. Perhaps that poor kid saw something he shouldn't have and paid the price. And maybe she'll also end up in an unfortunate accident sooner or later. The thought of that sent the bile straight up. She rocked herself, mind reeling with the possibility.

"I'm going to the washroom," Cara said quietly, her voice unusually thick as she could not push the lump down. Raising from her seat, she rushed out of the gym, feeling the world closing in on her. She was barely aware of Claire calling out to her and the man on the stage who followed her with his eyes.

Completely bypassing the washroom, Cara burst through the school's back doors before throwing her back against the garbage bins, sliding to the floor. The stench didn't register as her brain tricked her into thinking she could smell burning flesh. Thinking about what the kid must have felt while burning up, she shut her eyes tightly, unable to handle such imagery. She didn't try to control her sobs, letting them overpower her without caring about who was watching.

Someone was watching, and they were amused.

"You know, it's rude to walk out while a speaker is presenting. We take the time out of our boorish days to speak to a bunch of idiots who won't hang onto a single word we say. A complete and utter waste of time." Wesker spoke, walking around the garbage can to look down at Cara. The silence came sharply as she noticed his presence. It was hard to believe the girl cowering in the corner was the same person who risked her life to protect his little Sherry.

"Did you kill him?" Cara whispered, her puffy eyes finding his.

"Who?" standing in front of her, Wesker squatted down to her level.

"You know who I am talking about."

"Still in the mood for asking questions? Do you think he will be more alive having that knowledge?" Wesker reached over with a gloved hand to push the hair away from her face, enjoying the complete mess she was. The girl was like this because of him, and he loved having that power. He didn't have to do a thing to get to her. Merely show up.

" I didn't say anything to anyone, I swear. Please just leave me alone." Her voice was octaves higher, uncaring when it fragmented at the end. Even if someone heard her, she doubted they would help. The decorated officer can make up a story more likely believable than a word out of her mouth. She was alone and wholly regretted leaving the gym. Cornering herself, she practically led him to her.

"Our encounters will only end once I say so. Now, answer this. Why were you limping?" Wesker watched as she flinched when his hand came to rest on her injured leg. He found this development displeasing. Someone trespassed on his right to be the only one to hurt her, to use her, to kill her. And correction was in order.