#and in A Voice From The Past its canon divergence where a canonical suicide attempt becomes a completed suicide | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fanfic-corner · 4 years ago

Text

John Being An Asshole

When The World Screams by K_K_Tibal on AO3. (31,354 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe, Deaf Castiel, EMT Castiel, Guitarist Dean, Aftermath of a car accident, Mild Gore, Past Abuse, Panic Attacks, Mind Reading Through Touch, Ableism, Slow Burn, Love Confessions, John Winchester Being an Asshole.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: The one thing that Castiel Novak can’t do is hear. He excels in his job as an EMT despite the fact that he’s deaf and has never let anything hold him back from being at the top of his game. That is, until he meets a certain man in the aftermath of a car accident. The one thing Dean Winchester can’t do is touch. Communication should be simple with the easy way that people can read each other’s thoughts through skin contact, but Dean outright refuses anything of the sort and much prefers the gentle caress of fingers on guitar strings. That is, until his dreams of being a professional guitarist are shattered in the accident. Even with the unfortunate circumstances of their meeting, a friendship grows and there is one thing they realize they can do for each other very well: Listen.

Notes: I was very confused until I figured out the mind reading thing, but once I did, I loved it!

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas by PrinceMalice on AO3. (50,162 words).

Tags: Radio Show AU, Self Help, Long Distance Pining, Sleepless in Seattle, John Winchester is Terrible, Slow Build, Some Angst.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: “Um, yes, hi. My name is Sam and I’m calling from Lawrence, Kansas.” A new voice... Castiel loved new voices. They always had new stories to tell. “Kansas… well, it’s not really midnight down there, is it? What keeps you up?” he asked. “I’m worried about my brother, Dean.”

Notes: Actually so cute, even though I’ve never seen the movie! I’m never quite sure whether I ship Sam and Ruby, especially in this, but Ruby was an icon in it.

Just Like You by imherecauseimnotallthere98 on AO3. (35,717 words).

Tags: Homophobia, Homophobic John, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Protective Castiel, BAMF Castiel, Protective Sam Winchester, Angry John, Angry Dean Winchester, Angry Sam Winchester, Protective Bobby Singer, Awesome Bobby, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Scared Dean, John Being an Asshole, Swearing, Bisexual Dean, Pansexual Castiel, Past Child Abuse, Accidental Outing, Death Threats, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: When John shows up at their door in the middle of the night, the Winchesters and Cas start looking into who or what could have brought him back. Meanwhile, Dean struggles to keep his relationship with Cas a secret from his father, with some help from Sam. The tension rises between the Winchesters as Dean shows John that he is no longer the obedient little soldier he once was, and tries to establish himself as an equal with his dad.

Notes: I asked for John being an asshole, and this fic delivered. There are many fics where he is horrible or does horrible things, but this one is definitely the crowning champion. Bobby and Sam are incredible in it, though.

999 Days From Now by RebelSpaceOddity on AO3. (35,537 words).

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Alternate Universe, Past Drug Addiction, Romance, Slow Burn, Copious Amounts of Angst, Asshole John Winchester, Diner Owner Dean.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: An AU in which a recovered alcoholic Dean owns a diner, Sam is in law school and is clueless about the way Jess looks at him, and Cas? Well, Cas turns Dean’s world upside down and maybe, just maybe, gives him a reason to have a little faith.The love of a lifetime told in a heartbeat.

Notes: This fic got me. I have a terrible, risky habit of not reading the tags/warnings, so imagine my horror when I got halfway through this fic before I realised my mistake! It was excellent, though.

Father Knows Best by DarkHeartInTheSky on AO3. (81,034 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence from Season 8, Castiel Whump, Hurt Castiel, Worried Dean, Kidnapping, John Winchester Being an Asshole.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: When John wakes up alone in a field after spending years in Hell, he thinks he's been given a second a chance. A chance to do right by his boys for once. A chance to protect them like he should have. So protect them he will--even from the horrific creature that's weaseled its way into their lives that calls itself an angel of the Lord.

Notes: I know he means well, but Jesus H Christ, John is really desperate to win that Worst Father of the Year Award in this (He wins. That’s all I’m saying).

Collapsed Rainbows by suckerfordeansfreckles on AO3. (6,125 words).

Tags: Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hospitals, Nurse Castiel, Blood and Injury, Falling in Love, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, Dean has a lot of Selfworth Issues, Blood, Bruises, Broken Bones, First Kiss.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Dean wakes up on his 18th birthday, giddy and a little scared, and rips his blanket off of himself to start searching his hands for the soulmark that is supposed to appear somewhere on his body today. Nothing. His arms. Nothing. Shoulders, upper body, legs. Nothing. It’s okay, he tells himself, don’t panic yet. But then he rushes to the bathroom and braces himself on the edge of the sink to look up into the mirror, and it’s right there. Black streaks and blotches along the edge of his jaw, dark like ink. Marks like the imprints of knuckles meeting Dean’s chin. It takes him a little while to fully realizes what this means. That his soulmark is there, for everyone to see, right on his face, impossible to hide.

That his soulmate’s first touch will be a punch to Dean’s face.

Notes: Super cute but slightly frustrating and the plot is a tad thin.

Your Love is Strong by tale_to_tell on AO3. (6,562 words).

Tags: Hurt Dean Winchester, Worried Castiel, Worried Sam Winchester, Protective Castiel, Sam Winchester Knows, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean, Sam Winchester is So Done, Brotherly Love, Major Character Injury, Ghosts, Canon Universe, Internalized Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, Implied Sexual Content, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Sam knew. Honesty, it was impossible not to know. Dean and Cas were always brushing shoulders and sharing sickeningly sweet smiles. There was also so much eye-fucking. God, it was disgusting how in love they were. At first, Sam wondered when they were going to figure it out for themselves, but now he just wondered if they would figure it out at all. It had been years. God, Dean was so stupid sometimes. A "Profound bond," could you be anymore obvious than that? Dean was either super oblivious or just an idiot. Probably both. Definitely both. What Sam didn't know, however, was that Dean and Cas were already aware of their feelings for one another and in a relationship. They were just trying to figure out how to tell him. Apparently, a terrible injury on a hunt is what would ultimately reveal their relationship to Sam, just not in the way any of them would have wanted.

Notes: Sam is such an unbelievable mood in this.

Sins of the Father by allthebeautifulthings9828 on AO3. (2,458 words).

Tags: Post Episode s08e23 Sacrifice, Fallen Castiel, Human Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Abusive John Winchester, Love, First Date, Protective Sam Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Angst.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Having had enough of Dean hiding his relationship with Castiel, Sam takes matters into his own hands. He won't let Dean deny that he's in love with the former angel, but nothing prepared him for his big brother's confession about the last time he was with a male. Can Sam undo yet more of John Winchester's damage before Dean runs from his feelings again?

Notes: Quite short but cute, and I live for Sam being supportive.

Athazagoraphobia by Mickey_Todoroki on AO3 and Wattpad. (20,347 words).

Tags: Established Castiel/Dean, Established Gabriel/Sam, Protective Rowena, Hurt Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Abused Dean Winchester, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Athazagoraphobia, Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm, Past Non-con, Attempted Murder, Alternate Ending.

My Rating: 2 stars.

Description: After some thinking, Amara decides that Dean needs both his parents. Only, she didn't know his past. And what John did to Dean growing up. And now that he's back, Dean might regress back to his 22-year-old scared self.

Notes: I know that some people like them, and there certainly are a lot of them, but this reads like an angsty, emotionally repressed fic usually reserved to the depths of Wattpad, which you find at 3am and wonder whether the author is okay. It was fine, but only just.

So, there you have it. (Probably) everyone’s least favourite Winchester, being a complete dick. You’re welcome.

#nobody asked for this #john winchester #destiel #supernatural #fic recs #fanfic

19 notes · View notes

damienthepious · 4 years ago

Text

okay at least one of y’all guessed Scattered so CONGRATULATION, FRIENDO. also. jesus fuck i’m sorry i keep doing this. ONE more chapter. ONE more. I think.

Scattered On My Shore (chapter 18)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [ao3] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum & The Keep

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol), Mutual Pining, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: The Lord of the Swamp has returned home! An exciting event for all who live there, certainly. Arum's humans want some assurance that he will still be safe, when they leave him to return to their own home.

Chapter Notes: There's some discussion of mental health, depression, and suicidal ideation in this chapter, mostly dealing with past events in the fic. Take care of yourselves! I love you! aaaaaa kinda freaking out we're so close to the end now aaaaaaaa im. not ready

They stay an extra day. Just to be certain that the Keep's influence and healing are truly going to stick, Amaryllis says, but none of them are fooled.

Arum does not feel as if their time together is passing correctly; every moment feels distinctly present, his awareness heightened by their closeness and by the Keep's consciousness at his edges again, but time rushes past with the speed of a hunted hare. Arum does not know how to dig his claws into this day and make it stay, if only for a moment or so longer.

When they pull themselves from embrace in the late morning, they eat together again (as close by his side as the night previous, and Arum feels warm from his core). After, they explore the greenhouse more deeply, and Damien recites something that bounces such with clever rhyme that Arum can hardly keep up with the content rather than the form.

He takes them outside, then, because they are curious about the swamp itself, and because Arum cannot seem to deny them their curiosities. He cannot seem to, he does not want to- the fact that they wish to know his home is so intoxicating a realization that he can hardly prevent himself from gripping their hands and rushing to show them every single thing that they could possibly have an interest in.

The Keep opens the way, letting them out at the front, near one of the wider ponds, and-

And the noise strikes Arum first. Instinctively he spreads his arms, pressing Amaryllis and Damien behind himself, safe between his back and the Keep, and then he blinks and realizes what, precisely, he hears. What he sees.

His denizens. The assembled masses of the swamp, flocks and families all gathered on the water and among the low foliage and up in the branches, the venomous monkeys interspersed with brightly colored birds, egrets and lynxfish at the edge of the water, frogs and snakes and chittering rodents, every single beast with a touch of his Keep at its heart-

They have amassed here, outside his home, and their rustling feathers and trilling peeps and croaks and squawks, their hooting and scuffling all slowly die off as each one of them turns their gaze upon him.

And then, after that pause, that silence, the crowd erupts.

It is a decidedly cheerful eruption, but Arum still takes a step backward at the sudden noise, pressing the humans back with him as the denizens of his swamp give one enormous, celebratory noise.

Arum can feel the Keep behind him, all smugness and delight, and as the cheering begins to subside, a suspiciously familiar bird alights at to his left, its head tilted to fix him with bright, beady eyes.

"A-ah." Arum stares at the heron, and he hears Amaryllis give a stunned, breathy laugh behind him. "You- ah. What did I say… spread the word if you must," he mutters. "I see you took that instruction quite to heart, yes?"

The heron chuffs, and then preens as if distracted, and Arum laughs as well as the crowd fades back to silence entirely, staring up at him with obvious expectation.

"Er- they seem," Damien laughs nervously when Arum glances over his shoulder to meet the poet's eyes. "Rather- rather exuberant, I should say."

"I mean, yeah, but can you blame them?" Amaryllis adds.

"No, not at all, it is simply- I was not expecting-" Damien laughs again, and this time when Arum glances to check his expression the poet looks almost shy. "It is simply that… I am quite glad to know that you are so beloved, Arum."

Arum blinks, and then he glances back towards the creatures amassed, surrounding. He sighs, but- he cannot quite bury the wry smile that curls his mouth as he steps forward again, allowing his cape to billow behind him.

He waits for a moment, allowing the excited tittering to die back down after his movement, and then he straightens his spine.

"I suppose the lot of you were eager to see proof with your own eyes, rather than rumor on wing." He shoots a glance towards the heron, who makes an admirable show of puffing up its feathers with pride. "Well," he says slowly. "You may lay your fears to rest. I was separated from my purpose by treachery, kept distant by injury, but-" his voice fails, an unexpected hitch in his throat, and he shakes his head quickly. "But I- I am home. I have come home, and I will not be parted from it again. I- I apologize, for the length of my absence-"

He hears the humans behind him make simultaneous disapproving noises, and he shakes his head again.

"It was never my intention to be kept away for so long." He grits his teeth. "It was never my intention to be away at all. Though-"

He can feel the slight tickle of heat, the radiant warmth of the humans behind him, the safety of their presence at his back.

"Though I will admit that the distance has given me a rather inarguable dose of perspective . The Swamp of Titan's Blooms will be reassessing certain alliances and enmities in the near future," he says in a growl, "but- for the moment, it is sufficient that I am home. I will not be torn away again."

The heron cries out, and Arum attempts not to appear startled when the assembly of his denizens takes up the cheer in response. He manages, barely, not to allow his frill to flare. It ruffles at his neck instead, and he grumbles as the noise fades off again. The heron squawks a question as he is opening his mouth to continue, a pointed inquiry, and Arum bristles, but-

Well. The question is a fair one. Arum himself barely understands how this particular arrangement is even possible.

"These- they are-" Arum pauses. He swallows, and then he half turns to glance back towards the humans, and then he quickly turns his attention back to the front as the looks on their faces break through his control, causing his frill to flare partway. The assembled beasts shuffle, slightly, but they do not chitter or call through his brief silence, and he squares his shoulders. "Amaryllis and- and Sir Damien," he says. At the edge of his vision Amaryllis waves, the absurd, charming creature, and he feels Damien stiffen at the further attention. He inhales, and then he- he reaches back, opening his palms without looking behind himself again, and before he can harbor even a moment of doubt he feels their fingers twine with his own, and they step up beside him properly.

Where they belong, he thinks.

"They are… they are my… consorts," he tries, eying the pair of them, and Amaryllis raises an eyebrow with a wide grin. Damien flushes dark, which- is interesting. Worth revisiting at a later time. They do not seem… bothered, that he would claim them as his, however, so he exhales slowly and turns his gaze back towards the assembled creatures. "They are honored guests, under my protection. It was their efforts which allowed me to return to you as quickly as I have. It was their efforts which allowed me to return to you at all."

He pauses again, and the creatures titter with varying levels of excitement and confusion and enthusiasm, and Arum sticks his snout in the air.

"That will be all, then," he snaps quickly, turning as the Keep dutifully reopens a portal for the three of them. "This has taken rather enough of your time- and mine. This absence will not be repeated. Return to your homes and lives and all will be taken care of henceforth, good day."

Amaryllis and Sir Damien laugh rather enthusiastically in his direction once they are safely hidden within the Keep again. Arum attempts to maintain a dignified level of fury, but-

Wretched creatures. Amaryllis snorts into her hand and nearly doubles in half, and Damien makes a noise that approaches a squeak, and Arum cannot help but fall to laughter of his own as he gathers them into his arms.

Amaryllis' expression begins to cloud over with concern partway through dinner, and Arum is wary from the moment he notices the change to the moment when she finally opens her mouth after the meal is done.

"So," she begins, and Arum attempts to stifle his instinct to bolt. "I wanted to… to talk to you about what happens after we leave," she says.

Arum ducks his head slightly, sighing.

"There is no cause for concern, Amaryllis," he murmurs. "I can apply some salves well enough on my own, and obviously you need not fear harm to your species from my hand, either. Provided no knights come traipsing through my swamp, that is," he says, gesturing lazily. "I have no interest whatsoever in returning to the same work that nearly killed me. As far as I am concerned, this war did kill me. I will not be dragged into it again."

Amaryllis winces. Damien's lips press tight together, and he squeezes Amaryllis' hand for a moment before she releases her grip on him, and shifts closer to Arum's seat instead. "That- that's kind of exactly what I wanted to talk about. Arum, I… I need you to tell me you're going to take care of yourself. That you're not-"

"I said, not moments ago, that I am perfectly capable of-"

"Not the injuries, Arum," she says quickly, and he pauses, narrowing his eyes. "I need to know that- that you're not going to hurt yourself if we're not here with you," she manages, and Arum feels his breath go shallow.

"Amaryllis," he says. "Don't- don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not," she says. "I'm worried about you."

"Absurd," he hisses, looking away. "I am home, entirely thanks to the pair of you. I should be the one worrying over you, going back into the wilds. I could not possibly be safer."

"From yourself?" Amaryllis says, her brow furrowed with worry. "Look, I- I know this is uncomfortable, Arum, but- but I know that you've tried to get Damien to- to-"

"What? Wh-what did you tell her?" Arum says, turning towards Damien, and he means to snap but his tone sounds more hurt than furious. Damien only sits, his hands clasped in his lap, his lips pressed tight together. "What did you say, knight?"

"He didn't tell me anything, Arum." She shakes her head, angling her body a bit more between them, leaning closer. "Nothing specific, at least, but I'm not stupid. I heard you goading him plenty of times, and he said you told him about your- your work before we left, and he said that if he killed you then, it wouldn't have been a slaying and really there's only one way to interpret that evidence-" she pauses, cringes, bites her lip. "You tried to get Damien to kill you."

Arum freezes, his mouth going dry.

"I don't know if it was because of guilt or- or depression or panic about the trip or what, but- but I already told you, Arum. I didn't put in all this hard work just for you to die. Just for you to throw all of it away-"

"I am home, Amaryllis," he manages in a whisper. "You brought me home. There will certainly be no reason for me to- to endanger myself now."

"No?" she says weakly. "There wasn't any reason for you to try to goad Damien into killing you back in the hut, either, Arum, but you did it anyway."

"I-" Arum glances away again, his hand flexing, but she reaches out and takes one of his hands, squeezing tight. His eyes flick to Sir Damien, sitting quiet though his worried eyes are fixed on the pair of them. "I- that was- different-"

"Different how, Arum?"

"I did not want you to endanger yourself for me, Amaryllis," he hisses, turning towards her with his tail thrashing. "You- you make the world less cruel, by your actions, your choices, your existence. The both of you. You try, if nothing else, and for you to leap to action and danger for my sake is- was-"

She stares up into his eyes, her hand clasped tight around his wrist, and he clenches his teeth and pretends that his throat is not aching.

"If helping me destroyed you, it would be the worst of cruelties I have inflicted upon this world. And I, Amaryllis, have inflicted more than my share of cruelties already."

"So you try to take yourself out of the picture instead? Arum-"

"The little knight did not bite when provoked regardless, so I hardly see how it matters," Arum growls, and in his periphery he sees Damien flinch, his head ducking.

Amaryllis' grip on his wrist tightens. "You do know that's not comforting, right? It matters because I- because we love you, and because if you die, Arum, you'll be dead. Even if you were trying to protect us in some roundabout way-"

Arum flinches, and she pauses, pressing her lips together for a moment as she visibly chooses a different phrasing.

"If you had managed to convince Damien to do it, it'd be cruel, first of all. He doesn't deserve that kind of guilt weighing on him. And second, again, you would be dead, Arum. You implied that you and the Keep exist in a symbiosis- what good would you be to it if-"

"Another would come after me," Arum hisses. "I am not the first, and I will not be the last. The Keep will always have a familiar, no matter my own mortal status."

"That-" Amaryllis makes a noise, small and uncertain. "I- okay. Okay, explain that. If you dropped dead right now, would the Keep just- generate a new familiar instantly? Would I be talking to your replacement in a minute flat?"

Arum flicks his eyes away again. "No. Don't be foolish, it doesn't work like that."

"Explain it to me, then," Amaryllis repeats. "Of course I don't know how it works, Arum. So explain to me why you would think that your death would be in any way an acceptable option."

"It- another familiar would be created, yes. They would require- time to grow, however. The Keep nurtures us from infancy. It would have a hatchling-"

"So," she says calmly, "obviously this is the preferred option. You can protect your home better than an infant could."

"But-"

"Would the Keep want you to die?"

Arum flinches again, twisting his body away from Amaryllis though he still will not pull his wrist from her grasp. The Keep gives a sharp, swift reply of its own, near discordant in its vehemence, and Arum ducks his head with a hiss. "N-no."

"I can tell you love the Keep, Arum," she says, more quietly. "I have to imagine that it loves you too."

"It-" Arum inhales, sharp and panicked, then exhales something like a laugh. "I-"

The Keep trills again, and then it reaches with gentle vines to grip a wrist on his other side, echoing the way Amaryllis is holding him. The contact is too gentle, and the feeling of the Keep's affection in his mind is too raw, too close, after so long missing the feeling. He closes his eyes, clenches his teeth together, and pretends not to feel his eyes heating, his throat constricting.

"Yes," he says in a whisper so low he is not confident that Amaryllis' ears will be able to discern it. "Yes, my Keep loves me." He swallows, then lifts another hand to grip the vine the Keep is holding him with. "It loves me," he repeats, a little more steadily, and if he refuses to open his eyes, then perhaps he need not acknowledge the wetness on his cheeks at all. "The Keep loves me, just as I love it."

Amaryllis makes a soft sort of noise, and Arum feels her hand- feels her thumb on his cheek, feels her gentle away the evidence of his ridiculous surplus of emotion. He waits until her hand retreats, and then he opens his eyes again with a sigh.

"You can protect the Keep and care about yourself too, Arum," she says quietly, and her own eyes are bright. "I just- I need to know you're going to be safe. I can't just leave, not knowing if I'm going to see you again-"

"If we are going to see you again," Damien adds gently, moving closer at last, arranging himself behind Amaryllis and reaching to brush his fingers down Arum's arm. "I know, Arum, that it is not so easy as to simply decide that the demons of one's own mind are conquered. It is not a matter of willpower alone- that is why we wish to speak of it."

"We want to help," Amaryllis says, her voice wobbling very slightly. "We want to understand what you're feeling, and we want you to know that we're here, and we care about you, and you matter to us. Even when we leave, even when we're away from you- you matter to us and it's important to us that you know that you matter, that you're not- you're not replaceable. Not to us."

Arum attempts to ignore the way his heart is racing, the way his eyes still feel too hot, and he finds himself failing when the Keep hums, vines embracing him as it echoes the sentiment firmly.

"I- I have- surely you understand that I have precisely zero intention of harming myself," he breathes, quick and harsh. "I do not want to die-"

It is only that sometimes, in the past, when he was exhausted past his means or when the creeping gray of his mind clouded him… it would have been so much easier. Only the Keep would mourn, and soon enough even it would be drawn past that grief by his replacement. Arum very rarely considered those thoughts, outside of those moments of darkness.

They are watching him, watching whatever must be playing out in his expression, patient and fond and worried, and Arum exhales very slowly.

"I do not want to die," he repeats, his voice coming steadier. "I… I can understand…" he sighs, ducking his head. "It is not unreasonable for you to… to concern yourselves. But I have been- I have been speaking with my Keep, since my return, and- and we will not be parted again, least of all by my own hand. I meant what I said, this afternoon, when I spoke to my subjects. If nothing else, my recent proximity to death has given me a rather jarring dose of perspective. I wish to live, to protect my home, to-"

Arum snaps his teeth together, stifling the words that wish to come next, but then-

His shoulders relax, and he allows a smile to curl his mouth. He need not hide such words. Not anymore.

"I wish to live," he repeats. "I refuse to die before I have loved the both of you as well as you deserve, and I imagine that will take rather a long time."

"Oh," Damien breathes, clinging to Amaryllis as she gives a watery sort of smile. "Oh, Arum- oh, my lily-"

Arum's breath catches, and Damien freezes, his jaw snapping shut in obvious mortification.

"Er- rather, that is- that was- rather presumptuous of me, of course-"

Arum presses forward, draping himself over Amaryllis as she yelps and cackles a laugh, pressing her back so that she and Damien both are trapped between Arum's chest and the cushions below, and then he nuzzles Amaryllis' neck, nuzzles past to press his snout into Damien's ear, nipping gently as he crowds closer, closer, warm and safe as he remembers again that they will not push him away, they will not scorn him.

By all the incomprehensibility of the Universe, they will claim him.

"My honeysuckle," he hisses into the crook of Damien's neck, and Damien gasps. "Mine- my love-"

It is wild, it is absurd, maddening, the things he is allowed- what they allow him-

Amaryllis laughs even harder, her hair falling into her face as she unconvincingly pushes at his shoulders. "You- you are such a-"

"I love you, my Amaryllis," he growls, and his heart swells as her breath catches too.

They have given him so, so much. They have given him everything.

He knows precisely the gift he intends to give them in return.\

The next morning dawns bittersweet, though the resplendent peach-and-gold of the sunrise does not appear to have been informed. The light pours warm through the portal when the Keep pulls it open to the very edge of the swamp, and Arum does not know how, precisely, to feel as he watches Amaryllis' posture stiffen and Damien's shoulders sag, when the reality of the parting strikes the three of them in the same moment.

The Keep presses wrapped packages into the humans's hands, bundles of supplies that should more than keep them fed until they reach some semblance of human civilization again. Arum suspects, but has not pried such to confirm, that the Keep has also stealthily added in portions of sweets, as well as other small gifts and trinkets, possibly some bunches of local herbs that it observed Amaryllis taking a particular interest in.

They tuck the new gifts into their packs, and Damien presses his lips together tight, flicking his eyes to draw down Arum's face, rather obviously committing his sight to memory.

"I don't…" Amaryllis sighs, and he and Damien turn their attention towards her. "I don't know how long it'll be before we can manage another trip like this," she says, frowning, and Damien presses a hand to her shoulder, his own expression going mournful.

Arum forces his expression flat, burying his nerves and his hope both. "It may not be so difficult as you think, to see each other again."

He's gratified when Amaryllis' eyes dart to him, surprise and skepticism on her raised brows.

"You better not be threatening what I think you are," she warns. "Magic healing or no, I do not wanna find out that you decided to take a big solo trip so soon after recovering, even if it means we get to-"

"I do not intend any such thing," he says mildly, suppressing the urge to grin, and he nudges the Keep in his mind to fetch his surprise. "Do you… trust me, Amaryllis?"

"Stupid question, Arum."

"Even if what I tell you will sound impossible?"

"Most of what you say sounds impossible," she hedges, narrowing her eyes.

"We love you," Damien says, a little tearfully, and Arum struggles to maintain his composure as the poet takes his hand, lifting it to press a kiss to his knuckles. "Of course we trust you."

Arum squeezes Damien's hand, and he knows his voice will tremble if he attempts to answer that, so he simply nods before he tugs Damien's hand to his own mouth to echo the gesture as Amaryllis rolls her eyes at the both of them.

"Good," he says eventually, when he knows his voice will come steady. "Good. Then- I have something for you."

"A present?" Damien smiles. "Oh, Arum-"

"I suppose you could call it that," Arum rumbles, looking away for a moment as the Keep deposits the bundle into his free arms. "Though, it is a rather self-serving gift, if anything," he adds in a murmur. "Here."

He hands Amaryllis the linen-wrapped ball of roots and soil, watching as she carefully cradles it, her eyes bright as she tilts her head to better see the dark brown sapling with the shining green and purple leaves sprouting small and fragile from the bundle.

"Arum, what-"

"Trust me," he says, and she shoots him a look, scowling though he knows- he knows that she will bury her curiosity for his sake. It will be worth it, he thinks, for the surprise. "Bring the plant home with you. Ensure that the soil is not lost- it is just as important as the flora itself. Place it somewhere it will be safe-" he pauses, breathes a laugh. "Perhaps you could find some room beside the Jungle Flame, out of sight of the kitchen window. If you can bear to clear the stack of notes cluttering the corner there-"

"Watch it," Amaryllis grumbles, and Arum laughs again.

"Give it a home," he says quietly. "Mix the soil provided with some from your own garden. Not too much- no more than half again. It will bloom quickly, when it is settled, and when it does-"

She tilts her head, calculation in her eyes as she commits his instruction to memory.

"When it does," he murmurs, "if you wish to see me again, all you need do is ask."

"If," Amaryllis snorts, and Arum ducks his head. "Yeah, dummy, if we wanna see you again- Saints you're ridiculous-"

"Oh, Arum," Damien murmurs, and then he- goes up on his toes and flings his arms around Arum's shoulders, embracing him tightly and pressing his face against Arum's neck. "Oh, I can safely assure you that my heart will ache with your absence the very moment we are parted, oh my lily-"

Arum returns the embrace, squeezing tight and lifting Damien fully off the ground, though he growls and glares at Amaryllis over the knight's shoulder. "And you call me ridiculous."

"You both are," she says, utterly fond. "I've got a type."

Arum laughs, and clings more tightly, and when Amaryllis steps close enough to grip his arm and kiss his cheek, it takes more strength than Arum knew he possessed to release the both of them from his grasp.

He does let them go, eventually, murmuring his affection close against their skin until they can no longer justify delay. He watches them leave, smiling despite the ache in his heart, despite the utter strangeness of being parted, at last, after so long beside them. He smiles, willing the Universe to grant them swiftness and safety.

The sooner they are home, the sooner he will see them again.

[->]

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #scattered on my shore #lord arum #sir damien #amaryllis of exile #the keep #aaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

13 notes · View notes

imaginaryelle · 5 years ago

Text

Turnabout and Start Again Part 2

Confinement

Rating: Teen (may change in later segments) Warnings: temporary character death, blood, suicide mention, imprisonment Tags: MDZS, Wangxian, Role Reversal AU, Soulmates AU, Canon Divergence, Extremely AU okay, I’m warning you, soulmates + WWX living changes tons. Note: for the day 2 prompt: Music for @wangxianweek 2020. Many thanks to @miyuki4s and @morphia-writes for awesome brainstorming and feedback! Summary: The clan elders made sure Lan Wangji would not be present for the siege of the Mass Graves, but even the discipline whip can’t cut a soul bond, and pain can’t dim Lan Wangji’s determination, even if his efforts consume him.

Wei Wuxian lives. The siege fails.

Thirteen years later, Lan Wangji wakes in a body that is not his own.

Read on AO3 Read part one here.

Lan Wangji looks down at the array again. Around the outer edge, shaky characters spell out: Destroy Jin Guangyao.

For a brief, childish moment, he wishes his brother was here to explain things. Then he realizes that the ends of a forehead ribbon are clenched in his fist and panics—could his brother be involved in this? Could he be the one who—but no. The ribbon is an outer clan ribbon, frayed with age and improper care, and these hands are not his brother’s hands, and the voice he heard was not his brother’s voice.

It is only a small relief. There are still many, many things he doesn’t know. He examines his surroundings more closely and can come to only one conclusion; this is a cell, and a poor one. Worse than the few makeshift camp prisons he’d seen during the Sunshot war. There is no table. No seating mat. No bed to sleep on or blanket to sleep under. No water to drink or wash in, and only an open hole in the flooring of one corner for a latrine. There is one open window, closely latticed and placed high under the eaves; it is the only source of light, thin wavering twilight that it is. The other windows have been shuttered from the outside. The walls are composed of a solid, dark-stained wood that implies this room was adapted, not purpose-built as a cage.

There is just one door, a single heavy piece of wood hung on iron hinges. It is locked, and also sealed with a talisman from the other side. He presses his hand against the tingling line of the seal and reaches for his spiritual power, but finds only a vague sputtering warmth. His physical strength and reflexes have also deserted him: attempts to batter the door down end only with sore hands, feet and shoulders.

No one comes to investigate the noise.

Lan Wangji sits and extends his senses as far as he can, which is not nearly as far as he is used to. The only sounds are the creak of the building in the wind and the chirps of bats outside, seeking their evening meal. He can smell nothing past the stink of blood. Something tugs at his awareness, burning too bright for him to examine it with clarity; there may be a ward around the place.

When he opens his eyes, the shadows have moved. The sun will fully set soon. He examines the array more closely, careful to step so that he will not smear the marks. Desire. Exchange. He can’t decipher the rest of its purpose so he does his best to fix it in his mind. Wei Ying will—someone will know.

Wei Ying must be alive. Lan Wangji would know, wouldn’t he? Even now. Even in this changed physical form, product of desperation deep enough to spill blood and spirit for.

He would know.

He pushes the fear aside. It can serve no purpose here. Better to continue learning as much as he can.

His only other clues are a shard of pottery, still slick with blood, and the talisman. The pottery is likely what made the cuts on his wrists, which seem to have stopped bleeding. The talisman is a spirit attraction lure of the sort Wei Ying uses, blood carefully dabbed onto a strip of cloth torn from the hanfu’s bottom edge. Lan Wangji estimates its effectiveness to be minimal, barely more than a marker. Perhaps that is all that was needed.

The light fades. His limbs tremble with exhaustion, and his eyes ache. If this body was once used to exertion, it has become weak with inactivity, or hunger, or blood loss, or all three. He finds a spot well clear of the array and opposite the door and carefully folds himself into a lotus position to meditate.

Peace evades him. Questions hammer at him—how much time has passed, if any? How could he be called to this new form? What are Jin Guangyao’s crimes, to inspire such a desperate response? Where is his brother, and does he have knowledge of them? Did he himself truly die? Did he succeed in saving Wei Ying?

He must have. He felt it.

He concentrates on the flow of his breath, counting inhale and exhale until only the rhythm itself holds his attention. When he is certain his mind is clear, he turns to relaxing his muscles one by one, in preparation for sleep. Even with so many unknowns, even with blood drying to flaking rust on his skin, these are somehow not the worst conditions he has ever slept in. Even this exhaustion, this weakness, this stink of blood in the air, is better than the fever and fear and stench of rot that was omnipresent in the Xuanwu’s den.

In the Xuanwu’s den he had Wei Ying’s company, frustratingly bittersweet as that was at the time.

He is halfway through humming Wangxian before he even realizes he’s started.

His throat aches. He loses the breathing rhythm.

He inhales slowly, and begins to count again.

on to part three

#wangxian #wangxianweek2020 #lan wangji #mo dao zu shi #mdzs fic #turnabout verse #cw: blood #cw: imprisonment #soulmates #alex writes

48 notes · View notes

inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years ago

Text

CHRISTMAS FICS 2019 Pt. 2

(PART 1: Bookmarked Fics HERE)

Happy holidays everyone!! Here’s the promised Part 2 list for y’all!!! This one is all the fics I have RECORDED (not necessarily all the fic I have) on my To Read list (which I only started recently so I wouldn’t have to keep copy-pasting stuff from old Tumblr posts), and I would LOVE for y’all to add your own winter holiday themed fic recs onto this list if it’s not already here!! <3 This is the community gift to the community, and the more fics the better! Any holiday / observance welcome!! <3

Happy holidays, guys!! I hope these two lists help get you into the holiday spirit!! <3

--------

MARKED FOR LATER FICS

A Study in Pink Pyjamas by alexxphoenix42 (M, 1,628 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Est. Rel., Pink Pyjamas, Fluff, Cross-Dressing) – Sherlock hasn't been a fan of either Christmas or fancy pyjamas for a number of years, but John has a way of changing his mind about things.

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard's secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

He's an Angry Elf by Ewebie (T, 2,168 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Crack, Frosty, The Gingerbread Man) – Sherlock as a bad mall Santa and John as an elf... I make no apologies for this.

Santa Claus Is Going To Town by stravaganza (E, 2,253 w., 1 Ch. || Santa!John / Elf!Sherlock Costumes, Rimming, Rutting, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Blowjobs, Sex in Costumes, PWP, Humour/Crack, Christmas) – herlock and John are invited to a Christmas party at the Yard. In costume! Sounds legit, right? Riiiight...

Impossible Things by A_Candle_For_Sherlock (G, 2,413 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Marriage Proposal, Christmas, Fluff) – He'd promised himself he'd do it before Christmas, because otherwise Mummy WILL ask, probably in front of John.

John Likes Christmas by Arcwin (G, 2,638 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff, Kid Sherlock / John, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Nostalgia, Sherlock Holmes POV) – John likes Christmas. I fail to see why. This is where we find ourselves on this dreary, December evening in 221B. “Sherlock, but, it’s Christmas!” I sigh. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

The Biscuits May Look Terrible But At Least We’re Satisfied (E, 2,745 w., 1 Ch. || Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Christmas, Fluff & Smut, Christmas Cookies, Jealous Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Voice Kink, Dirty Talk) – The whole baking craze had started two days ago when Sherlock had casually mentioned that he hadn’t eaten his mother’s famous homemade Christmas cookies in years. Ordinarily such a comment wouldn’t have stuck with John, he knew Sherlock wasn’t close to his parents, but the touch of wistfulness in Sherlock’s voice had John calling Mrs. Holmes as soon as Sherlock was in the shower. An attempt at a Christmas surprise and a flirtatious client all lead to some loving Christmas smut.

The Case of the Frog Murder and the Disembodied Dog's Head by a_different_equation (T, 2,794 w., 1 Ch. || ACD Canon || Victorian, Period-Typical Homophobia, Christmas, Est. Rel., Hound of Baskervilles, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Fluff and Humour, Miscommunication) – The true story behind the Baskerville case, and its strange and rather queer conclusion via Christmas Cards.

The Old Town by a_different_equation (T, 3,573 w., 1 Ch. || Hans Christian Anderson Fusion || Magical Realism, Christmas, Fairy Tale Elements, Love Stories, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Museums, Sweet Sherlock) – Once upon a time there were two boys. This is the story how once upon December, they found the missing Christmas Spirit, true love and new beginnings. A Queer fairytale for all seasons.

New Memories by WhouffleLover24 (T, 4,072 w, 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holidays) – “We all have memories. This is so you can capture new ones.”

i read your book, you magnificent bastard by a_different_equation (M, 4,145 w., 1 Ch. || Writer Sherlock AU || Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Alternate First Meeting, Epistolary, Love at First Sight, Romantic Comedy, Metafiction, Falling in Love, Sherlock Wears Glasses, Gay John, Matchmaker Mike, Storytelling, Christmas) – In which John Watson, recently returned from the war, buys a book in Mike Stamford's bookshop and Sherlock Holmes is a famous, openly gay, crime fiction writer whose hero is in need of a partner. Part 1 of the Magnificent Bastard!AU series

Knit Two Together by shinychimera (G, 4,726 w., 2 Ch. || Platonics/Friendship, Best Friends, Knitting, Christmas) – Sherlock Holmes can master any skill to which he sets his mind -- why should knitting a jumper for his best friend be any different?

Oh, Holy Night by sussexbound (E, 5,311 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Smut, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Fluff) – Sherlock manoeuvres them towards the bedroom and then lowers John carefully onto the bed. “Take off your shirt and trousers. We should wash the shirt, just to be on the safe side with the poison, and you’ll want the ice directly on the bruise, I assume.” John winces and rolls onto his uninjured side. “You just want me to get my kit off.” “Mmm, well it is Christmas Eve, and I have been a very good boy this year.” John’s eyes widen a little, as a smile teases the corner of his mouth. “True.” Part 6 of Home is Not a Place

Winter Ficlets by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (M, 6,239 w., 11 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff & Smut, Jealous John, First Kiss / Time, Marriage Proposal, BJ’s, Suit Porn, Domestic Fluff, Cuddling, Snowball Fight, Winter, Sherlock Cooking, Bed Sharing) – A collection of winter and holiday stand-alone ficlets.

It's Cold Outside by Salambo06 (E, 7,357 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Cuddling, Snuggling, Frottage, First Kiss / Time, Bed Sharing, Miscommunications, Love Confessions) – John and Sherlock, Christmas night, the heat broke, add some shared body heat and (not so) accidental erections mixed with some miscommunication and awkwardness and, you guessed it, they’re sharing a bed.

if you like him so much then why don't you marry him by zigostia (T, 7,750 w., 1 Ch. || Teenlock, Oblivious John, Christmas) – Am I going to regret this? SH Not one bit. JW I’m going to regret this. SH

You Don't Need Wings to Fly by Laiquilasse (T, 11,326 w., 11 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Bullying, Angels, Suicidal Ideation, Christmas) – John, an angel, is sent from Heaven to help a desperate Sherlock Holmes by showing him what life would have been like if he had never existed.

2017 by 7PercentSolution, J_Baillier (T, 11,466 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Case Fic, Est. Rel., Angst, Mental Health Issues, Autism, Anxiety, Family) – Sherlock takes on a case that raises unexpected challenges, both professional and personal. Memories of times before John complicate matters. Part 9 of On Pins And Needles

Five Christmases that went wrong and one that didn't by love_in_mind_palace (M, 11,685 w., 6 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff & Smut, Domestics, Est. Rel., 5 and 1′s, Canon Divergence, Tooth-Rotting Fluff) – John isn’t sure about most of the things in his life. Except for the fact that he loves Sherlock, Sherlock loves him back and that after years of bad luck, he is getting the Christmas he always deserved.

Snowed In by Salambo06, WhatIfIAmInsane (E, 15,687 w., 5 Ch. || Christmas, Smut, Unilock, Alternate First Meeting, Anal, Bottomlock, Army!John, BJ’s) – Sherlock had everything planned out for months now. Today he would finally put an end to this case. Even if that meant keeping an eye on his suspect in a crowded, german airport on Christmas Eve. The same crowded airport John was waiting in for his final flight back home from his first deployment to Afghanistan, not at all thrilled by the prospect of spending Christmas with his possibly drunk sister. Although the airport was stuffed to the brim with holiday travelers and tacky decorations, he was enjoying his time alone, mostly. But then, snow began to fall.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

On the Table (Eventually John Watson's Favorite Christmas Story) by emmagrant01, numberthescars (E, 18,135 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF, Mild Angst, Fluff, Masturbation, Anal, Rimming, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Christmas) – Set after TRF. Someone's leaving John strange little gifts in the weeks before Christmas. But who could it be?

All I Want For Christmas by Mssmithlove (E, 19,508 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Mystrade, Christmas, Holmes Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Pining) – Taking Sherlock's platonic university flatmate home with him for Christmas can be a tricky business. Especially when he wishes their relationship wasn't platonic at all. Part 18 of Happiness Awaits

Home for Christmas by SilentAuror (E, 19,499 w., 1 Ch. || S4 Fix It / Post S4, Doctor John, Christmas, Glasses, Domestic, First Time, Slow Burn, Rosie) – It's been eleven months since Eurus Holmes happened, and just one since John and Rosie moved back into Baker Street at last. With Christmas just around the corner, both Sherlock and John are slightly baffled when Mrs Hudson decides to give them a slow cooker as a "house-warming present"...

Advent Calendar 2017 by Hotaru_Tomoe (E, 41,952 w., 25 Ch. || Not S4 Compliant, Fluff, Humour, Smut, Light Angst, First Kiss/Time, Est. Rel., Hurt/Comfort, Spanking, Christmas Party, Lingerie, Various Universes, Advent Calendar Fic) – My Advent Calendar, 25 one shots from 1st to 25th December, Christmas-ish themed. Each story has its own rating. Part 23 of The English job

In Bed by Ellipsical (E, 46,922 w., 12 Ch. || Autofellatio, Vibrators, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Liminal Identities, Christmas, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Fingering, Jealous John, Therapy, Flirting, Texting, Fluff, Sherlock’s Violin, Anal, Est. Rel., Semi-Public Sex, Harry Watson, Communication, Coming in Pants, Spitroasting, Double Penetration, Dirty Talk, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Acceptance, Happy Ending, PTSD John, Coping Mechanisms, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – It’s almost Christmas, John thinks, and this, this is bullshit. The epilogue to Guilty Secrets. Part 2 of Guilty Secrets

Raison d'être by AmphigoricSymphony and DemonicSymphony (M, 148,721 w., 21 Ch. || S3 Compliant, Sick Fic, Sherlock Whump, Protective John, Major Injury/Illness, Mentions of Past Torture, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation) – The missing months of His Last Vow, starting from Sherlock dropping in John's arms at 221B and carrying through the months of Hospital he endured. This is a study in emotional and physical trauma, striving to stick as close to the canon plot as possible. At Christmas Dinner, Mycroft asks why they are even celebrating. His mother's answer, 'Sherlock is home from hospital,' leads us to believe Sherlock was in hospital the majority of the time frame of his fall from shock at Baker Street, to nearly Christmas itself. We have no explanation for what John was doing all that time, so this is an effort to fill the gap. Part 2 of the Word Play series, Part 1 of the Reason and Ashes series

Extricate—An Ex Files Special by 7PercentSolution (E, 231,432 w., 41 Ch. || Not Johnlock, Sherlock/Victor Trevor, Unilock, Multiple POV’s, Drug Use, Classical Music, Chemistry, Slow Burn, Serious Injuries, Autism Spectrum, Bullying, Rugby, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sherlock Whump, Friends to Lovers, Protective Mycroft, Psychological Trauma, Christmas, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Sherlock’s Violin, Sulking, Late Nights, Sexual Identity, Social Awkwardness, Suicide, Homophobia, Clubbing, Big Brother Mycroft) – When Sherlock met Victor, and what happened next. A backstory that explains why caring truly may not be an advantage. This follows ACD canon and ignores BBC season 4, allowing the two of them to meet while at University.

MFL WIPs

First Christmas by PipMer (T, 4,199+ w., 19/31 Ch. || WIP || Est. Rel., Friendship, Fluff, Humour) – It's Sherlock and John's first Christmas together as a couple. Written as an interconnected set of 221b's for the Sherlock December Ficlet Challenge.

John Watson's Twelve Days of Hiccups by ChrisCalledMeSweetie (E, 8,394+w., 11/12 Ch. || WiP || Hiccups, Experimental Cures, Digital Rectal Massage, Orgasm as a Cure for Hiccups, First Time, Humour, Crack, Friends to Lovers, Christmas) – For John Watson, being afflicted with an intractable case of hiccups was a source of intense irritation. For Sherlock Holmes — his mad scientist of a flatmate — it was a golden opportunity for experimentation.

Your Many Tendencies Series by apliddell (T, 52,222+ w. across 5 works || WiP || Femlock, POC Characters, Enby Character, Sherlock’s Violin, YouTuber John, UST, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Slow Burn, Domesticity, Fluff, Recreational Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock’s Past, First Kiss, Love Confessions, John’s Family, Christmas, Anxious Sherlock, Hurt / Comfort, Institutional Racism) – John Watson returns to London after a long absence, somewhat the worse for wear. She meets Sherlock Holmes, and starts feeling excited about life again.

"Merry Christmas" I wrapped it up and sent it with a note saying "I love you" by starrysummernights (E, 135,132+ w., 30/31 Ch. || WIP, chapter missing? || Post S4, Slow Burn, Mary is Not Nice, Christmas, Fluff, Smut, Angst, Parentlock, Past Torture / Rape) – John has moved back into 221B with his daughter Rosie after Mary was killed, but things are not exactly comfortable between him and Sherlock. After everything that has happened, they are trying to become friends again...and maybe something more. What better time than the Christmas season?! Takes place after TLD.

The Good Morrow Series by greywash (E, 216,513 +w. across 5 works || WiP || Post-TRF Divergence, Horny John, Smut, Feelings, Negotiations, Christmas/Advent, Sherlock is a Mess, Relationships, Addiction Issues, PTSD, Therapy, Injury, Aging, Loneliness, Marriage, Family, Friendship, POV Second Person, Travel, Character Studies) – A post-S2 series where everyone has a lot of feels about everything and plausibility is stretched unto breaking. Also: fucking.

------

AGAIN, PLEASE suggest your own or your favourite holiday fics!! The more, the merrier!!! <3

#johnlock fic recs #to read #christmas fics #marked for later #my fic recs #long post

171 notes · View notes

kilibaggins · 5 years ago

Text

In This Together

Request: "I would like to request a Murphy/Emori with Spacekru while on the ring. Murphy has PTSD from Ontari's rape and he's depressed and cutting. Maybe do something where he tries to kill himself but Emori finds him and with support from his kru he gets better." - @warrier-queann

I’M REALLY NERVOUS I HOPE THIS IS GOOD lol

A/N- Thank you for being my first Request! I hope I write this properly! I hope it's not too OOC.

P.s- This is Canon-Divergent. He still splits from the team, but ge ends up going back with them in this, while that didnt happen in the show (at least on the Ring.)

Warning: Past Rape, PTSD, Self Harm which is pretty describd, Depression, Suicide Attempt, mentions Hanging, drinking, mentions of Floating(aka dying in space but you know that since you've watched the show lol).

Word Count: 2,298.. wow I got a little carried away lol.

Murphy isn't happy. That's no surprise to Anyone who understands the situation. He hasn't been happy for a long time. Heck, anyone who thinks that he's actually happy needs to get their people skills checked. He has so many trauma's under his belt that he could make almost anyone cringe at them. Which, some people in the past have. Emori used to be very open to listening to him, now she barley wants to look at him.

Murphy is laying on the cold, hard ground on his side of the ship, if he turns his head to the right he can see the Words "MURPHY'S SIDE, GO FLOAT YOURSELF" in big red letters, made in red paint that he made look like blood on purpose. He's not crazy. He knows hes not, no matter what the other think about him, and no matter what they whisper to each other when they pass his side. He's protecting himself. Protecting himself from the pain that they could cause him. He doesn't trust anyone, and the last person he trusted left him the moment he gave up on life.

He looks to his left and sees Earth. He scoffs as he thinks of how much he would rather be there than here. The place so many bad things happened to him on, is the same place he wishes he could be. He shakes his head and swallows the lump in his throat that always appears when he's thinking of the past.

He sits up and pushes his hair out of his face. He has let it grow since they've been here. It gets in his face all the time, but honestly he stopped caring a while ago. He grabs the bottle of alcohol he has by his little sleeping area and takes a big swig. It burns going down and he's honestly thankful for it. Otherwise he would actually believe he feels nothing other than emotional turmoil. He chuckles and grabs his knife staring at it with pain in his eyes.

He flicks it across the top of his hand lightly, watching as blood slowly makes its way out of the wound. He doesn't remember exactly when he started doing this, or when it became an actual problem, but he does know that it's been going on for a while. He can remember doing it while he was Stuck with Ontari. He remembers her touching the scars and fresh marks as if she cared, trying to coax him to do what she wanted without forcing it. It always felt wrong. He never wanted her touch, let alone having her touch the scars that show his pain.

Murphy knows he shouldn't think about her. He knows this is what happens every single time he does and nos he's spiraling again. Remembering her touch on his skin as he tried to play along with what she wanted. He remembers the fear that was forced into him as he laid there having to take what she gave him. He tried to think of Emori, but it never worked. He always knew it was Ontari.

Murphy tips his head back and gulps down a few drinks of Alcohol, throwing the bottle afterward in some direction he doesn't know exactly where honestly. He takes the knife, pulls up his Pant leg and cuts his Leg. The blood runs down it but he honestly doesn't care. He just lets it run onto his shoes, onto the floor. He chuckles darkly watching it flow. He closes his eyes just to feel a tear trail down his cheek. He makes a few more cuts on his leg watching as the blood falls together down on the ground.

He gets up, not Caring about the pulling of the wounds on his leg. He knows the others are down the hall. He could go to them, get the help he needs. But he won't. He won't risk being worthless to them again. He's just a waste of oxygen in his eyes. He doesn't help, that was the main reason Emori left him in the first place. He finds himself down the hallway closer to them than he has been in Months. But he knows hes not here for them. He turns to the side finally comprehending where he is. The Airlock. He pushes the red button opening it up and he hears the alarm start blaring, he forces his leg to work enough to walk through the door. He closes the door behind him. He hears yells outside because the comms are on.

"Where's Murphy?" He hears Raven yell. He scoffs and kicks the door. Its great that they care now where he is, it's honestly a little late for that. He's always wondered what being floated felt like. What his father went through for him. His personal theory is that it burns. The cold is so much that it just burns. But he never could find out. Now he can.

"John?" He hears Emori yell from outside. They'll be at the door soon. He can do it before they get there, before she gets there. He can't see them be happy over his death, it'll hurt him even more than ever. He turns to the red button and stares at it. His hand inches towards it and right before he pushes it he hears Emori screaming his name.

"John! Stop! What the hell are you doing?" She screams coming up to the door Banging on it harshly. He looks up at her, seeing she's as beautiful as she always was before. He looks down at the button then at her again.

"Doing what I have to." He says, his voice breaking as he does so. She shakes her head and he runs his hands through his hair turning away from the button.

"You don't NEED me! I'm a waste of space and you know it. I'm worthless! Let me go! You dont love me anymore anyways and I'm tired of this! I'm tired of the pain! I'm tired of feeling her hands on my skin every time i try to think of good things. Every time I think if you I think about her. I think about how I got hung, the torture. All of it. Because my brain with let me be happy! The thoughts won't just go away!" He screams, the tears he's been trying to hold back stream down his face. Emori looks at him in sadness and fear. He hears Heavy footsteps running down the hall towards them and he shakes his head. He grabs his hair and pulls, he realizes it grounds him slightly.

"John. Listen to me," She says lifting her Badass hand to the window in the door to the airlock. Murphy shakes his head looking down, his breath coming in quick bursts, "John! I'm NOT asking, and I'm definitely not joking around. Listen to me right now."

Murphy looks up to her and walks a bit closer to the glass between them. He lifts his hand and places it in the same spot Emori's is.

"Are you listening?" She waits for him to nod before she continues, "You aren't worthless, John. You never will be. You're just going through a rough spot right now, believe me it'll get better okay? Yes, I know you don't believe in all that fairy-tale bullshit, but I don't care. You're strong. You can fight this." She says Looking into his eyes.

"The memories won't go away." He says Looking at her with hope in his eyes. He reaches up to his throat and softly runs his fingers over it. He can Basically feel the rope around his neck. "I don't know what else to do."

"You fight, John. That's what you do. The memories might never go away but they'll get easier to deal with as time goes on. I'm not saying it'll be easy, because hell, I still have bad memories that plague my mind from a long time ago. But just because it's hard, that doesn't mean we should stop being strong.

"You are the strongest man I have ever met, John. You have been through so much, and you're still living with it, but this isn't the way to get through it. You need to fight it." She says breathing deeply, a determination set on her beautiful face.

"Will she ever go away...?" He asks softly deflating against the door. Emori's heart breaks seeing him like this. Seeing him completely broken. She regrets leaving him during this.

"Honestly? I'm not sure. Probably not. At least not right away. But it'll get EASIER. It'll never be perfect but it can get better. Let us help you. When you feel like she's here come to us and we can show you she's not. When you feel her touch and you need us to not touch you, tell us. Let us help you." She says staring at the red button. She hears Raven and Bellamy talking right out of sight, hoping that she could call for them in time if anything happens.

Murphy looks at her deeply and takes a few steps away from the door. The button is right next to him, right under his now outstretched fingertips. He hears Emori gasp and looks at her.

"John, please. We can work through this. All of us. I'm sorry I left you during this. I thought it was just you not Caring about anyone else, but I won't leave again." Emori says starting to tear up.

"Murphy? Hey, man." Bellamy says walking into the hallway where this is happening. "I'm here alright? You're not worthless. And I'm here, and so is everyone else, and we'll make sure you see that."

"Am... Am I broken?" Murphy asks his eyes tearing up again, he walks forward and leans his forehead against the glass. Emori shakes her head immediately and so does Bellamy who's trying to stay farther away than her.

"No, John. John, you're not Broken. You've just been through so much. You'll be alright." Emori says trying to smile in a way she hopes is assuring. She doesn't really know how to feel. She knew about Murphy's self harm issues but she never thought it would spiral all the way to him breaking like this.

"This-" Murphy sighs heavily and his eyes tear up. "This is going to change everything." Murphy finished his sentence and hits his hand against the glass. He pushes the "Open" button of the door separating him from Emori. He takes a few steps and Basically falls into her. Emori holds him close, not wanting to let go of the Man she almost lost. He falls to the ground and so does she, holding him the whole way there.

"It'll be alright, My Cute Thief." Emori says sweetly into his hair as he cries into her neck. She holds him close and Bellamy leans into the wall behind him relieved that Emori could stop him in time. Emori gets up dragging Murphy up with her.

"Let's get you some water alright?" She whispers to him. Murphy nods and clings onto Emori's shirt, following as she walks forward into the main area, where they can grab Murphy some water. Monty And Harper are sitting at a table close by looking on with concern in their eyes. Emori just nods slightly at them and grabs a cup. Murphy doesn't move from where Emori left him when she went to get water. He looks down to his feet and He hears Monty get up from his spot at the table.

"Hey, Man. How you doing?" Monty asks slowly Rising his hand up. Murphy sees it coming and nods slightly at it. Monty puts his hand on hsi shoulder and squeezes. "We're here for you man. You're not alone. I lost Jasper this way and... I'm not letting something like that happen again."

Murphy swallows the lump that formed in his throat and a sob comes out of his mouth, tears still falling. He leans into Monty then, causing Monty to gasp and hug him back. Emori comes back up to them and smiles sadly at the two men. Harper walks up and puts his hand on Murphy's shoulder, to show her support.

"We're here." Harper says softly.

"We're all in this together, man. We just have to stay strong and survive this. It's what Clarke would have wanted." Bellamy says from a few feet away, not Wanting to interrupt too much. He remembers the night he hung Murphy. In explicit detail. Every movement Murphy made, everything. It's hurts to think he made that mistake, which causes Murphy so much pain. Murphy just nods and steps away from Monty.

"Heh, sorry there man. Shirts a little wet." Murphy chuckles out wiping at Monty's shoulder. Monty just shakes his head and pats The other Man's Hand. Echo is sitting at the far end of the table and her and Murphy make eye contact. They nod st each other, in some sort of Unspoken conversation.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up and to sleep, we'll get your stuff from the side in the morning." Emori says leaning up and kissing Murphy softly on the Cheek. Murphy smiles and buries hid face in the beautiful women in front of him.

While Emori drags him to their old room, from when before she ended things before, Murphy thinks. He thinks about what the future may hold and the pain he will have to experience. He knows it won't go away, but he also knows he has Emori to help. He has Bellamy, Monty and Harper... And even Echo. He has them. He can get help, and even though the pain worn go away completely, they'll help him live with it.

#johnmurphyfanfiction #john murphy imagine #john murphy x reader #the 100 imagine #memori #john murphy imagines #john murphy #john murphy fanfic #John murphy x Emori

27 notes · View notes

sometimesiwritebadly · 4 years ago

Text

The Lost Girl (Part 1)

Series Summary: The story of Raven, this first and only Lost Girl of Neverland. A long time ago she was a prisoner on a ship, and now she’s stuck on the island she helped create.

Chapter Summary: A long time ago in the Enchanted Forest, a young Killian, Liam, and Talia watch the stars. In present day Neverland, Raven runs into an old friend-turned-enemy.

Notes: Me? Starting a new series when I have two perfectly good ones? No I would never.

Ok actual notes now this is an OC story starting in season 3 of Once Upon A Time. It’s gonna have a little Peter Pan x OC, maybe some Henry x OC in far later chapters. But overall the story is more about my OC, Talia/Raven, than her relationships. In this story we’re disregarding the whole “Peter Pan is Rumplestiltskin’s dad” thing cause that was stupid. I’ll come up with something better. Also Henry is slightly aged up, I’m thinking around 15. I know this creates problems but i don’t really care :) Besides that there’s not much canon divergence for now, but once we get into seasons 4/5 whatever (idk IF the story will go that far into the show cause I only have a vague plan on the beginning and the end and the middle is a big old question mark) i’m gonna fix some shit *cough* frozen *cough*

Warnings: Heavily implied that the OC is a rape victim. I won’t ever go into any detail but it’s going to come up multiple times throughout this series. Not so much in this chapter, but depression/suicidal thoughts may come up in later chapters because of this. Language.

Word Count: 2.6k

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

~ A very long time ago ~

“Talia!” A young boy’s whispers, and his hand shaking her shoulder, woke Talia from her sleep. Talia slowly peeled her eyes open, to reveal a boy a few years younger than herself.

“Killian, it’s the middle of the night.”

“The stars are falling! Come out and look, Liam is already on the deck!” Killian tugged on Talia’s hands this time, pulling as hard as he could. Even though Talia was easily stronger than Killian, she allowed herself to be taken from her bunk at the mention of Liam. Liam, Killian, and Talia are the only kids on the ship, luckily all relatively close in age. Talia couldn’t help but develop a crush on Liam, who was only a year older than herself.

When Killian and Talia emerged onto the deck, Talia’s eyes were immediately drawn to the sky. Just as Killian had said, hundreds of stars appeared to fall from the sky in a way Talia had never seen before. Killian and Talia ran to the side of the ship to where Liam was already standing. The trio giggled as they watched the sky, pointing out their favorite stars and enjoying this rare moment of fun. Normally the time spent on the ship was the exact opposite; they were all servants, sold to work for Captain Silver until they could buy their way out. Liam and Killian were brothers, who had been sold to the Captain by their father. Talia was given to the Captain by her mother a year later, when her mother was in desperate need of money. The three of them spent their time cleaning the ship, and avoiding the abuse of the crew.

“I wish I could fly like the stars.” Talia said to the brothers, still watching the sky as the stars began to stand still once more.

“What do you mean?” Killian asked, looking up to the girl. Talia often teased him for his height, as she stood nearly a head taller than him.

“The stars are free. I wish I could fly away and disappear, like...like a raven disappears into the night.” Talia felt a tear develop in her eye, though quickly wiped it away, not wanting to appear weak. As she got older, Captain Silver and some of the other crew had begun expecting more of her. Talia wasn’t sure how much longer she could succumb to their requests.

“You would leave us?” Killian said, in a whisper so low Talia could barely hear it. Talia knew her answer, though she couldn’t form the words to voice it. How could she tell Killian, her best friend, the closest she’d ever come to a brother, that she would leave if given the chance? Before she could figure out her answer, an adult voice interrupted the night.

“Talia.” The deep voice caused all three kids to turn around, and they found Captain Silver had joined them on the deck. “Come. Keep me company tonight.” Liam’s hand found Talia’s, causing her to turn to look at him. Liam gave her hand a comforting squeeze, before releasing it. Liam and Talia had agreed to try and keep this part of her life from Killian as long as they could. He was still two years younger than Talia, and blissfully oblivious to the darker parts of life. But as Talia grew, the crew became less subtle about their eyes for her.

“Aye, Captain.” Talia spoke to Silver, leaving her friends for a night she’d rather forget.

~ Present day ~

Raven ran through the woods of Neverland, avoiding the traps she knew lost boys had set. She’d lost count of the days she’d been running a long time ago. For more years than she’d like to admit, Raven had been trying to find a way off the island, and rumor has it that Pan was close to finding the heart of the truest believer, which meant she had to get off this island now or never. If Pan really did have the heart, he’d soon be more powerful than ever before. She wouldn’t be able to hide from him any longer, If Pan ever found out what she’d done, he’d kill her on sight.

Luckily, right now she didn’t have to worry too much about Pan finding her, because his focus was on the newest group that had landed on the island. Raven didn’t know who they were, but her magic made it easy to sense them. They had magic of their own, both light and dark, that much was obvious. If Pan is distracted by them, she may be able to find a portal back to the Enchanted Forest without Pan noticing.

Raven slowed her run to a walk as she approached her hideout. The only place on the island that was hidden from Pan. She had a friend that had used it when he hid from Pan a long time ago, but he was gone now, and with a little extra protection magic, she’d made it her own. Her eyes moved up to the rock that covered the entrance, only to see a group of people attempting to get in. Quickly she drew her bow, and took aim. Her warning shot hit the rock just past the ear of one of the men, causing the whole group to turn towards her. It was a group of five; three women and a man she didn’t recognize, and one man she did. Hook.

“Hook, why the hell are you invading my hideout?” Raven said, pointing her bow at him this time. The other four were armed with weapons of their own; one woman even had a ball of fire in her hand, but she paid no attention to them.

“Your hideout? Last I checked Baelfire was the one who lived here, lass. And you were with Pan.” Killian’s words caused the group to look at her with even more animosity than before. Raven didn’t even get a chance to respond before a fireball was making its way towards your face.

“Regina, no!” One of the women yelled, but she quickly realized her words were useless. Raven moved her bow into her right hand, and used the left to easily catch the fireball before it could hit her. With a smirk on her face, she made the ball disappear. The strangers looked at the seemingly young girl with shocked faces.

“You’ve been gone a long time, Hook. A lot has changed. Especially me.” Raven briefly stopped speaking, and used her magic to move the stone blocking the entrance. “I’m assuming you’re looking for something of Bae’s.” Raven walked towards the group, slipping past the man and women who held swords to enter the little home. “His stuff is all here, help yourselves. Just do it quickly, you being here will bring Pan’s attention, and he and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms.” She had moved all of Bae’s old things into baskets, and so she pulled them out of their hiding spot and onto the makeshift table. “I don’t know what use they have to you, Hook.”

“We thought his things might show how he managed to get off the island.” The woman who spoke had held a bow, like your own, but she was the only one of the group who had actually put away her weapon.

“Bae got off the island?”

“You didn’t know?” Hook said, taking a step towards Raven and putting away his sword.

“When he ran from camp I was still with the lost boys. When he never came back, I assumed Pan killed him, or that he’d died trying to get off the island.” Raven paused, not wanting to accidentally reveal too much emotion behind her next words. “I’m glad to hear that he’s ok.”

There was an awkward silence after she spoke. “He’s not exactly-” The brunette, the nice one, spoke, before being cut off by another woman, who you assumed to be Regina.

“He’s dead.” Any hope Raven had previously was squashed in an instant.

“Regina!” The man she didn’t know scolded, only to be met with Regina’s glare.

“What? Are we supposed to comfort her? Lie to her? Hook said it himself, she works for Pan!”

Raven scoffed. “I used to work with Pan. I never worked for him.” While she spoke, Hook and the blonde woman were examining the drawings on the walls. Most of them were old, from Bae’s time in the cave, but a few were newer. Raven had added to Bae’s doodles over the years. “If there’s anything in here that’ll get someone off the island, I haven’t found it. And trust me, I’ve been trying to get off this island for a long time.” She said, beginning to pull stuff out of one of the baskets. The nice woman joined her, inspecting each item as she went.

“I’m Snow.” She introduced herself as she worked, looking at a coconut bowl before setting it down. “That’s my husband, David, and our daughter, Emma. That’s Regina, and it’s clear that you already know Hook.” She pointed to each person she introduced. David and Emma each gave Raven a nod when Snow spoke their names, while Regina ignored her as she rummaged through another basket. “What’s your name?” Snow asked kindly.

“Raven.” She could hear Hook scoff from across the cave, but Raven elected to ignore it.

“Hand me that candle.” Emma said from across the room. David grabbed it from the table where Snow had left it, and quickly lit it aflame before handing it to his daughter. Raven moved to the edge of the cave, watching as the group looked through Bae’s things and examined the wall. Emma and Hook had a hushed conversation about the drawings, while Regina, David, and Snow continued to look through the baskets. Emma turned away from Hook and spoke to the rest of the group after she finished looking at the artwork. “What’s all this?”

“Uh,” Snow began, “Just some cups and bowls he fashioned from things he found here.” Some of those items were actually Raven’s, but she decided to keep quiet and continue watching quietly.

“I don’t know how great a cup this coconut could make. It’s filled with holes.” Raven had already discovered the map that the coconut actually revealed, but she also knew the problem that followed it. So again, she kept quiet. She had no reason to help them, and she hoped once they realized there was nothing of use here, they’d leave and never come back.

“Uh, maybe it’s a tiny...colander.” Snow suggested.

“What’s a colander?” Raven spoke up. Snow waved it off, signalling that it wasn’t exactly important.

“Yes, because preteen Baelfire probably made lots of pasta.” Regina noted sarcastically, ignoring your question and rolling her eyes at Snow. While Snow glared at Regina, you noticed Emma figuring out the hidden map.

“Hold on…” She started, “Hook, snuff out that torch.” Hook followed her direction quickly, and plunged the cave into darkness. Emma connected the two coconuts, and looked up at the roof.

“What, am I supposed to be impressed that he made a night-light?” Regina made yet another sarcastic comment.

Raven, having enough of their slow place, decided to jump in. “It’s a map.” Unlike the rest of the group, who were looking at the ceiling, Raven’s eyes were fixed at the ground. She’d stared at that map hundreds of times, but could never decode it.

“To home?” Emma questioned, a slight attitude in her voice, “I thought you said there wasn’t anything useful here?”

“I didn’t lie. It’s unreadable.”

“Aye, She’s right.” Hook said. Raven looked up, shocked that Hook would even be willing to admit she was right about anything. “There was a short time in Neverland when Baelfire was aboard my ship. I taught him to navigate using the stars. What you’re looking at is the fruit of my labors.”

“Then you can read it.” Regina noted, as she glanced away from the map and towards Hook. For the first time Raven had heard, there was no animosity in her voice. Raven scoffed at her remark, causing Regina’s glare to return and land on Raven. “What?”

Raven looked at Hook as she quoted the words they’d both heard as children, “The best captains conceal their maps in a code.” Hook held the stare for a moment before he spoke again.

“Aye. He was an apt pupil.”

“So you’re saying the only person who can read this map is Neal.” Snow said. Even her hope appeared to be draining. Raven’s eyebrows furrowed at the name Neal, but she figured Bae must’ve done the same thing she had when he left Neverland; New life, new name.

“Which means the only person who can read it is dead. I told you, there’s nothing useful here.” Raven said. Emma took the lid off of the candle, before setting it back on the table and walking out of the cave, followed by Snow and David.

Regina continued to look annoyed, but shuffled through the last of Baelfire’s items. Raven decided to take this moment to confront Hook.

“Why’d you come back?”

Hook looked at her with an unreadable expression. “Why aren’t you working with Pan anymore?” Raven rolled her eyes at his question. Pan was the last person she wanted to be thinking about.

“We had a disagreement. Answer my question.”

“Pan found the heart of the truest believer.”

Raven drew a deep breath at this. Sure, she’d heard the rumors, but it’s different to have it confirmed. She’s really running out of time now. “I heard. What does that have to do with you?”

“It’s Emma’s son. Emma and…” Hook paused. “Emma and Baelfire’s boy.” Raven’s eyebrows shot up now. This was not what she’d expected at all. To learn that Baelfire made it off the island, died, and had a son who was now being held captive by Pan all at once is a lot for anyone to handle. Especially someone who has so much history with Bae.

“Pan took Bae’s son?” Raven could barely believe it.

“Aye.”

At this point, Emma came marching back in, followed by Snow and David. David took this time to relight the torch. The group began looking around again, she assumed they were trying to come up with some kind of plan, but Raven was hardly paying attention. She owed Baelfire so much, and even though every logical bone in her body said that she should just get these people out of her life, her heart knew she had to at least attempt to help. After all, she’d spent so many years working with Pan, her help had set Pan in the right direction to find Bae’s son. When Emma, Snow, and Regina made their exit Raven followed them, while Hook and David stayed behind a moment.

“I want to help you guys.”

“No.”

“Really?”

Regina and Snow spoke at the same time, glaring at the other’s response.

“Look, I know you guys have no reason to trust me, but I owe Baelfire my life.” Behind you, David and Hook exited the cave. She had the whole group’s attention now. “If I can’t pay back Bae, the least I can do is help his son. Plus, I really hate Pan.” Raven could practically feel Hook rolling his eyes behind her, but she kept talking. “And I spent more years than I could count working with him. I know him better than anyone. All I ask in exchange is passage off the island after we find the boy.”

“Henry.” Emma said, as she took a step towards Raven, “His name is Henry. How do we know this isn’t a trick? Can you prove to us that you don’t work with Pan anymore?”

“Yes.”

“How?” Hook spoke up this time, coming into her line of sight.

“Easy. I’ll take you to my grave.”

~~~

I hope this is a good first chapter! I had a hard time deciding when to stop lol, but i already have half of the next chapter written so hopefully I’ll update this one pretty soon :)

#once upon a time #once upon a time fanfiction #once upon a time fic #ouat #ouat fic #ouat fanfiction #peter pan #peter pan fic #peter pan fanfiction #ouat canon divergence #ouat season 3

14 notes · View notes

blxckdamask · 6 years ago

Text

Trashcan’s Fic Rec

So since it's the end of May, I thought it would be nice to rec some of my favourite fics I've read throughout the month. Most of these are BNHA since that's what I’m into now lmao. I’m doing this instead of writing the 5 fics I have planned and I havent posted in like 3 weeks oops.

Bakudeku Fics:

Izuku and Katsuki, better known to the world as the Wonder Duo: Deku and Kacchan. The married hero couple finally adopted their first child together, a bouncing baby boy. Luckily, they're on paternity leave for one year (thank god), so they can bond with their son as much as possible. They're going to be the best damn daddies and go beyond PLUS ULTRA!

Alternatively titled: The Entire Goddamn School Gives Up On Trying To Understand These Two & Aizawa is Really Tired.

Izuku and Bakugou had a long and complicated history, but most of the school was pretty sure that they understood where the two currently stood as rivals. Then Izuku's dad showed up on campus and everyone's preconceptions were mercilessly thrown out the window. In which Bakugou tries to murder a man, has a soft side and convinces his entire class the twilight zone is real.

Ft. Part 2: Turns out Izuku and Bakugou will work together willingly if given proper motivation. Endeavor showing up for a training exercise apparently qualifies. Aizawa is really tired of these children not asking for help and everyone else is absolutely terrified (and secretly very glad these two don't work together more often).

In complete honesty, no one who knows the Class 3-A should be surprised anymore. Izuku is asleep.

In which Izuku is hit by a ‘Sleeping Beauty’ Quirk, Class 3-A tries to find his True Love and get them to kiss him, and Katsuki’s very angry about it all.

Izuku is hospitalized after a nasty fight. Katsuki finally visits.

In which Izuku worries that his and Katsuki’s relationship has become too domestic, and Katsuki proves him right. Not that either of them are complaining.

Todobaku Fics:

Everytime his doorbell rings at 3am, Todoroki knows exactly who is it.

Bakugou brings home a stray box full of kittens for his and Shouto’s one year anniversary.

Shouto’s eyes light up in a way that rivals every star in the galaxy, and the past year falls to pieces. “You’re Katsuki.”

With staggered breath, he replies, “You remember me?”

“Of course I do,” Shouto says, “You’re my boyfriend.”

---

Todoroki Shouto gets amnesia and remembers only two things: 1) his name, and 2) that he's dating Bakugou Katsuki.

The only problem is, they broke up a year ago.

“Katsuki, your soulmate is someone who will always be by your side. They will be someone who completes you. Together, you will make an unstoppable force.”

AU where Bakugou and Todoroki are soulmates and Bakugou is in denial.

Shouto is looking at the damn vent like he’s about to make a break for it. “It’s not, um, what it looks-” “It’s exactly what it looks like,” Katsuki cuts across, his voice losing its bite. Shouto flinches, and silence spreads between them like the frost on Shouto’s fingers.

- - -

Shouto Todoroki and Katsuki Bakugo are tired of their marriage.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not letting you go. I quite like being in my own body.” Todoroki's next breath comes out icy cold, and Katsuki leans as far back as their joint hands will allow.

“Are you fucking hearing yourself?” he sputters, feeling heat crawl up his neck to his ears.

(or: bakugou and todoroki get hit by a body swap quirk, and physical contact seems to be the only answer to their predicament)

The first time Bakugou told Todoroki he was in love with him, he thought he’d die.

“What would their relationship have been like, if Bakugou’s pride hadn’t stood in the way? Would they have been friends, or would things have mostly stayed the same? Would Bakugou have been happier, more open and honest about his feelings and wants and needs as a person? Would he have accepted and even appreciated the comfort others offered him, rather than always keeping people at arm’s-length in an effort to maintain an image of independence and strength?

Todoroki didn’t know.

He didn’t know. But he wanted to.

Abruptly, like a bolt of lightning, he realized he actually had the chance to find out.”

(Or: that one where Bakugou has temporary amnesia and Todoroki is tasked with caring for him until his memory returns, but ends up falling in love with the part of Bakugou that Bakugou has always kept hidden away instead.)

“English tea, right?” He asked. The man in front of him stared, unsure of how to interact with the handsome, blonde man. This, of course, annoyed Bakugou. “Speak, moron.” He said harsher. Todoroki continued looking at him. He probably doesn’t speak sign language. He reached towards the left end of the counter and grabbed a paper menu. Searching quickly, Todoroki found the English tea, and pointed to it.

Kacchako Fics:

Her hands found his. She breathed out. Her breath smelled like Listerine, it made Katsuki wrinkle his nose at her.

“I’m pregnant.”

Katsuki’s eyes widened and he stared at her, his mouth opening. “Oh shit. Shit, whoa, okay, wow.” His hands unclasped from hers and traveled down to her stomach. “Ochako, wow.” Not even an hour ago he was convinced his girlfriend was breaking up with him. His mind couldn’t completely wrap around what was happening, but he couldn’t stop looking at his girlfriend in awe. He kissed her forehead, a smacking kiss with a “mwah” sound that had Ochako rolling her eyes and cuddling closer to him. “You’re pregnant.”

“I am.” Ochako agreed, her voice steady and confidant.

Katsuki licked his dry lips. His mind was racing. “Cool.”

Broken down and humiliated after her crushing defeat in the Sports Festival, Uraraka just wants to sleep off her injuries in the infirmary. She didn't expect to get a very loud and very angry roommate for the night.

(A Kacchako one shot that turned into a love story.)

Other Fics:

Five times Hizashi feels like a burden to Shouta and one time he finally snaps with Shouta by his side to pick up the pieces.

Hizashi is all too aware that they’re polar opposites, Shouta being the calm to his storm, the quiet to his loud exuberance. Shouta, who’s at his most content curled up on the couch in their shared living room, or anywhere, really, napping or idly playing with their two cats while Hizashi’s busy going through his ever-growing music library, bothering Shouta for his opinion before adding the songs that have gained his friend’s grudging approval to whatever new playlist that he’s working on.

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t leave him alone and, miraculously, Shouta’s been tolerating him for fifteen years.

He hopes to God that it hasn’t become an obligation.

Morgan doesn’t really know Captain America.

What if Remus and Sirius realised Harry was being abused? What if all Dumbledore’s careful plans were pulled apart by the power he relied on most of all?

After the Triwizard Tournament, a traumatised Harry admits he can't go back to Privet Drive. Sirius and Remus refuse to submit to Dumbledore's plan and take him back to Grimmauld Place with them, where they must learn how to live together, how to care for one another, and how to trust one another. After so long, can they build a family together? Will they even have a chance when a war rages outside their door? And can the prophecy ever be fulfilled?

#fic rec #monthy fic rec #bakudeku #todobaku #kacchako #erasermic #stony #wolfstar #drarry #bnha #mcu #Harry Potter

77 notes · View notes

goddamnitdazai · 7 years ago

Text

Survival is a Process {1}

Characters: Oda Sakunosuke/Mafia!Dazai Osamu (platonic), Port Mafia, Armed Detective Agency, Ango. Rating: Teen and Up Genre: Angst, canon-divergence Pairing: (platonic) Odazai Warnings/Tags: Mentions of suicide, suicide attempts, alcoholism, depictions of violence, canon violence, language. (AO3 link)

Hospital 01 There are little pieces of him everywhere. Carmine splatters clinging to Dazai’s pants and shirt sleeves. The tips of his hair are dip-dyed scarlet, crusted to the back of his neck. His coat, beige and smelling like gunpowder and smoke, sits draped over Dazai’s knees. Two holes frayed at the edges where the sash ties to his waist like two blossoming flowers. Dazai’s hands feel warm from the scrubbing and his bandages are still wet from the sink over flowing. It’s been eight hours now, nine if you count the screaming on the phone and the car ride and the twenty-two minutes Dazai spent with his gun down a doctor’s throat. The blinds are drawn shut but sunlight finds its way through and scatters over the off-white tiles. It’s too bright for him, Dazai thinks, but Dazai can’t move. There’s safety in this miniscule space by the bed. He’s been here since the start and nothing terrible had happened. The thought pushes a sarcastic snort through his chapped lips. Except everything was terrible.

Seconds drag by. The edges of his teeth grind on his bottom lip until it begins to bleed. Hours become unrelenting demons taunting him with deafening silence. Pale fingertips scrape the tattered fabric burnt onyx by two bullets; Dazai can hear metal tearing through the air as his thumb slides over a single burnt thread. Automated machines click in patterns; Dazai has them memorized. Dripping IV fluids become environmental reminders that Odasaku is still breathing. Plastic tubes stretch from his dry, spit caked mouth down to a mess of wires and lines hardwired into boxed machinery. Up and down and up and down the life line of luminescent green bounces to the drumbeat of a broken heart (still alive). Dazai loses control of his breathing and gags on oxygen. Trembling lips fight to inhale; the memory of smoke and charred flesh returns like a reel of an old horror film stuck on a loop. Dazai’s fingers curl to his palm at the sound of his cell phone ringing for the tenth time in half an hour. The garbage can rattles against the floor as the phone drops, he should have crushed the thing. Yet the consistent ringing battering against his over-sensitive ears poses as a miniscule distraction. Moments slip away too quickly; within a minute the quiet beeping of medical devices consumes the air. Dazai fidgets and switches his left leg with his right. The ball of his foot bounces over the tile. Exhaustion tugs at him to close his eyes just for a minute. But what if he dies while I’m sleeping? He can’t hold on to air. Fervency causes his fingers to shake as he pulls the black tie from his neck. Dazai counts the tiles on the floor, but his heart refuses to fall back to a natural rhythm. He can feel the overstrained muscle pounding in his ears. Bloodshot eyes flit from corner to corner; Dazai tries to laugh at himself—his throat is too dry. Anxiety crawls on him, leeches. He can feel them holding on to his skin, scurrying beneath his bandages, making his heart beat louder. It’s a war drum pounding in his head. The taste of blood fills his mouth, his bottom lip is throbbing. The muscles in his legs squeeze as he eyes the corner of the bathroom. If he moves the world will end. Bile rumbles in his stomach. It’s been twelve hours; he can’t feel his entire body. The edges of the world start to shimmer. He counts the spots of colors rapidly changing in front of him. Part of him, a quiet part that used to rule the forefront of his mind, tells him to breathe—there’s no oxygen going to your brain, you’re going to pass out. Dazai tries to pull the voice forward. Reality has become unrecognizable. He reaches for Odasaku’s hand as his head falls to the fluffy white blanket covering his friend’s lower half. Odasaku’s fingers twitch under the touch. Dazai counts to five, exhale. The mattress groans but Dazai can no longer hold himself upright. There is a weight resting on Dazai’s chest trying to drag him down like quicksand. Immovable, untouchable, unrelenting. A hand reaches to touch the back of his neck. Instinct screams at him to move, but there is no strength left in his legs. Half-heartedly he reaches for the gun at his side. The nurse backs away at the sight of metal. Dazai smirks a bit as his hand falls to his side, empty. “You should rest s-“ “I don’t want to hear your voice unless you have information on why he hasn’t woken up yet.” Dazai says coldly. ______________________ He counts the tiles again, but by twos this time. Then four, and then he counts backwards from the bathroom towards the front of the room. The door shuts quietly; nothing has changed. He shifts his knees up to his chest as he counts. He’s far too tall to fit comfortably like this, but he can’t stand the way the cold hospital floor feels under his feet. Brilliant orange fills the window as violet trickles down from the highest part of the sky. Odasaku once mentioned he loved this time of day, the combination of remaining daylight and growing twilight. Brilliant swirls of dark blue contrasting through puffy cotton-candy clouds—Dazai couldn’t understand his fascination with it. Odasaku was never one to prattle on about the vitality of a sunset (he mentioned it once but Dazai changed the subject), yet his nature to stare in awe at the swirling hues did not leave him. Silently as they walked Odasaku would glance up every few minutes at the sky until the moon hung lover over the city. Dazai always thought it was the alcohol that fueled Odasaku’s child-like lust for a painted sky of oranges and blues. But now he wondered if his friend just enjoyed something brilliantly simple, and Dazai was not a good enough friend to listen. Dazai was the mouth piece, that fact he knew, but it never occurred to him the bulk of conversations revolved around Dazai’s subject of choice. Relentlessly picking on Chuuya, over-dramatizing situations where he nearly died (he waited and waited but it never happened), the affections of a woman he met at a bar the previous night. There was an endless list of things forever growing in the back of Dazai’s mind, but he couldn’t pinpoint when that list first formulated. He could recall the first time he bothered Chuuya about his hat when they were younger, and it made the boy turn red instantly. Chuuya punched him hard in the stomach (Kouyou made him apologize right after). It had been the first time Chuuya talked to him on his own volition. He was shy, quiet, and always hiding behind Kouyou especially when Mori was around. At times Chuuya would wander through the hallways but never spark conversation, and he called Dazai weird one time under his breath. He liked the way Chuuya’s face strained when he was angry; he could understand it. And so he kept going and going and going. So much that now Dazai could map out the way Chuuya’s eyes narrow when he’s really angry, or how one brow twitches when he’s trying not to let Dazai get under his skin. At least it was something—he was a person to Chuuya; even if Chuuya hated the person he was. Forced partners, but it was okay sometimes. Mori never showed the slightest bit of emotion on his features regardless of what happened; except once. The knife in his hand glimmered beneath the moonlight, and his eyes had grown just as wide as the source of the light. Dazai watched his face contort to a man who had finally found the grasp of power he’d been searching for. His motive, his movements, they were calculated down to the finest detail. Mori knew Dazai would never speak of this, yet he found it necessary to mention it aloud. His voice was cold iron against Dazai’s skin. It had been the first and last time Mori made his skin crawl. There was nothing left after that—Mori and himself weren’t people, to each other, to most. Prodigy and master, as expected from Dazai (the demon). That was okay, he supposed. Odasaku—he was simple; but Dazai still found him puzzling. The sheer blasé words that came from his mouth sounded incredibly strange given his background. A man in the Port Mafia, a killer who chose to stop, to adopt orphans, to be good. But, he still rested on the side of darkness. He drank with the prodigy of Yokohama’s criminal elite, but spilled no blood. An oddity of the Port Mafia, like Dazai, perhaps this is what fused them. But, Dazai could never understand the motives behind pure selflessness. What it felt like to breathe life for someone else, for anything else, was not something Dazai bothered to miss. For as long as he could remember he never had a thing in the world to hold close to his heart. What would he even want? Humans were endlessly selfish, and that he understood. The logistics of self-elevating, self-serving. Of winning. Dazai always won—he was good at it. Perhaps Odasaku’s simplicity allowed him to choose the manner in which he lived, or maybe he was too good at hiding from people who would have taken him in. Would Mori have brought him to the Port Mafia if he’d found Odasaku at that age? Dazai shivers at the thought of a young Odasaku covered in blood with empty eyes staring back at him. Would he have seen past Dazai’s demonic reputation? Doubtful. Their encounter was chance, or fate, because fate was always an incredibly cruel beast. Weakness is not a familiarity. The waning strength in his shoulders and ache in his back do nothing but irritate him even more. As the clock ticks forward Dazai’s mind continues to dwindle down to a blank canvas. The simplest of movements take extreme amount of energy to even put forth minimal effort. Heavy ink-colored bags hang below his eyes. It’s close to ten pm. He fights the urge to glance towards the garbage where he’d thrown his phone earlier. Surprisingly it had remained eerily silent, and none of Mori’s subordinates had stopped to talk to Dazai or tell him to leave. Nobody had come by at all. It was better this way. Just the two of them suspended in time; waiting and waiting and waiting. Dazai’s arms cross over each other as he leans his cheek onto his left wrist, elbows expanded over Odasaku’s stomach. For a man who’d been sleeping for over a day, Odasaku looks overly exhausted. Even from a distance Dazai can see the drooping beneath his eyes like someone had come and tugged the skin hard enough to permanently alter its elasticity, leaving behind saggy darkened bags. Instead of his usual soft expression there is a hardened furl of his bottom lip that drags wrinkles across his chin. The look he wore, a man with anger and with guilt, when he left Dazai in the parking lot of the restaurant remains etched in his features even as he sleeps. Fragile moonlight streaks over Dazai’s back illuminating the gentle rise and fall of Odasaku’s chest. The warmth from his skin begins to lull Dazai into a half-sleep, but something inside him snaps. A siren, a rush of fear sweeping him up like a tidal wave pulling him to the blackest part of the ocean. Air is sucked from his lungs leaving him gasping with trembling shoulders and enclosed hands. Nails dig crescent moons into his palm; get a fucking grip. Dazai counts the ticking of the clock by twos until his vision levels out and the fog clogging his mind dissipates. He matches every miniscule inhale with Odasaku’s until their heartbeats syncopate. Memories fade in and out like ghosts. Dazai’s state wavers on the line of conscious dreaming and exhaustion. He can hear the music playing softly through the worn speakers. Low hanging lights casting a halcyon glow over the amber liquid swirling in his glass. Ango’s blood-red tomato juice filling the cup; Odasaku’s genuine interest in Dazai’s experience with a machinegun mounted truck. The picture they took resides in his pocket still; he can hear it crinkle as he slumps further on to Odasaku’s stomach. Haunting him. Fueling him to burn the entire city to the ground. The scent of death mixes with whisky. Ango’s office felt musty and dark. Rows and rows of books neatly organized on shelves with far too much dust collecting on the edges. Odasaku let Dazai prattle on about Ango’s odd habits without rolling his eyes or telling him to quit. Ango’s nose scrunched up the closer Dazai got to his desk. Immediately Ango furled back into his chair shouting that he smelled terrible and how could he go to a bar with all this work? But what if he smelled like us? Odasaku played Dazai’s game happily (even if it was childish). Their tab was enormous and the night was warm. Summer had sprawled over the city and Dazai had thrown his jacket in Odasaku’s fridge before passing out on the couch. “Because he is my friend.” Mori’s eyes narrow but every other detail remains upright. He can see through Dazai’s bandages and skin and façade of childlike antics as the cogs in his mind start churning. Problem solving was something Mori enjoyed unfolding. Like a paper crane deconstructed back to its original form. Dazai worked backwards from the simple words Mori spoke to the events from days and days before. Sunlight burns red over Yokohama. Dazai’s men drive too slowly for his liking. His heart pounds as his shoes smack against blood soaked tile. The scent of metal and burning flesh overtakes the natural musk of the forest. Heat scorches up his back and constricts his throat; a ball of smoke lodges itself in his lungs. Door after door there are bodies littered on the floor wailing in pain, calling out to him, to Gide, to death. Shards of glass decorate the floor in shimmering glitter as the moonlight gleams in from the cracked skylight. “He is my friend.” Dazai jolts upright. Panicked hands crawl to Odasaku’s stomach and his chest, eyes strained and blurry from fighting against relenting darkness. His lips tremble, the name falling from them as though the mere utterance of it would send the entire world crashing down on him. The resonating beep from the monitor does little to satiate Dazai’s blossoming anxiousness. He only recoils his hands after counting Odasaku’s heartbeat twelve times. Two am and there is no more light peeking through the blinds. Shadows overlap as Dazai’s eyes adjust to the darkness. He buries his head on Odasaku’s stomach once more. Cheek turned slightly to feel muscle twitches and radiating thumps of his heart pumping blood through his organs. His eyes retrace Odasaku’s wearied expression. A good man forgives, and Odasaku was a good man. Better than Dazai could ever hope to be. There would be no situation in the entire world where Odasaku would not have stopped Dazai from chasing revenge. He would have stalled him, stopped him, helped him. Dazai was not a man of righteousness or selfless acts of kindness. He was not the type to see pain and reach out to help. Instead he allowed his friends to blindly go and rely on their own skill, much like Dazai relied on his own skill to keep him alive (ironic). Dazai was not a good friend to Odasaku. He was not a good man; he was not a good person (or a person at all). Bred into darkness with sadism threaded in his blood. Their friendship was neither fate nor chance it was a fluke in every way possible. Blossoming only to wither and die on the vine. Had he chosen to follow instead of retreat they could have ended their lives together, but even the thought of lying with Odasaku in death’s grip did not sit well in his stomach. Self-sacrifice was not in Dazai’s nature either. Born to play puppet master in a devil’s playground. What else could he possibly offer Odasaku? He was never bothered by it all. By the radiating sadistic nature in which Dazai performed. The Spartan-like training Dazai heaved at his subordinates and their casual disposal when their talents never came to fruition. Friendship was unethical, but the truest form of care. Or, what Dazai presumed was the care from one human to another. A gentle breeze following a storm; a radiant glow of new life forming after a fire destroys an entire acre of land. Perhaps this mixture of the two of them sought to balance out the roles of their paths; but all that seemed entirely too simple of an explanation. No, Dazai thinks, there is nothing deeper than the random encounter of two men finding themselves in the same place at the same time. Then why did it feel like a hundred knives were plummeting into Dazai’s chest at the thought of never meeting Odasaku? The image of him writing Dazai off as an annoying, pessimistic devil built for nothing but destruction? King of death, ruler of Yokohama’s underworld. He did not rightfully merit Odasaku’s unfathomable devotion. Wandering aimlessly to the void of nothing, searching for any retched sliver of something to grasp, only for it to be pulled from him the moment he discovers its worth. This was the end he’d always seen, always experience. He deserved it; but Odasaku did not deserve this ending. Pained sobs clog up his chest. Teeth burrow to the bottom of his lip and tear open old scars from hours before. A mess of exhaustion and turmoil Dazai flattens his face against the blanket and bites at his lip. His toes curl inside his shoes as every muscle contracts. Exhaustion tapers off to vehemence. Teeth grind hard enough to crack. The barrel of his gun is beginning to look extremely appetizing. Odasaku begins to cough. The tube down his throat chokes him; Dazai freezes. A world stuck in slow motion abruptly speeds up. Dazai feels dizzy as he stumbles from the chair to press the button to call a nurse. They swarm him. Without realizing Dazai walks backwards towards the window, the chair he’d been residing in for a day left on its side near the doorway. Saliva drips from the clear tube as it’s pulled from Odasaku’s throat. Silence is broken by questions and strained coughs. Nurses move like ethereal beings leaving trails of their existence like blurred starlight. Dazai sinks to his knees. The door shuts behind the last nurse as she reminds Odasaku to rest. Bandages cover his upper half and wrap lazily down his right arm. A new scar buried under stitches sits on his left cheek. Odasaku’s eyes are hauntingly empty. For once Dazai is hyperaware of the sound of his own breathing. Like a child discovering movement Odasaku experimentally wiggles his fingers. His eyes roam over his legs; Dazai swallows a lump in his throat and averts his eyes to the clock hanging on the wall. Four am. Odasaku peers at Dazai as if he’s trying to reconstruct him from the ground up. Piece by piece memories reconnect like building blocks. Dazai watches the way his eyes grow from grey, hollowed ashes to burning whips of emotion. Odasaku’s back straightens. Dazai can’t figure out how to move back to his feet. Hidden instinct forces Dazai to reach his hand forward though the distance between them leaves nothing but space for his fingers to touch. Shadows blindly run over Odasaku’s face leaving slivers of fading moonlight striped down his torso from the blinds. His eyes bore into Dazai’s but he’s looking passed him, at something, at nothing. His voice is heavy and raw, it scrapes over Dazai’s ears. “You should have let me die.”

#odazai #Oda Sakunosuke #dazai osamu #bsd #bungou stray dogs #odazai fic #odazai angst #i rise from the grave to bring y'all this new series #whoops #my writing #SIAP #bsd fanfic #odasaku #dazai #dazai and the dark era #platonic odazai #SO MUCH ANGST BYE

115 notes · View notes

worryinglyinnocent · 6 years ago

Text

Entangled Lives (3/6)

Summary: After the events of Par Avion, Charlie explores his growing feelings towards Desmond and his unwavering feelings towards Claire, and together the three of them form a new relationship. Of course, there are still flashes of the future to deal with, and Penny to think about, and separations to be borne through time and distance, but they are determined to make it work, and to find themselves a happy ending.

Canon divergent from S3Ep12 Par Avion, although it still follows background canon plot events. Also partly inspired by a prompt I received a long time ago: “What if Charlie had survived, time-travelled, and been the musician who programmed the Looking Glass?”

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [AO3]

======

Entangled Lives

Part Three

It was when they overheard Jack, Juliet and Sayid talking about the Looking Glass station that they realised what was going to happen and how it was going to happen. The Looking Glass, a station underwater where the island’s communication channels were controlled from. A room underwater, with lights and switches, and the very distinct possibility of drowning within it.

Since he had become part of the castaway group on the beach, Desmond had received the distinct impression that there was something of an A-team situation going on amongst the survivors, with Jack, Kate, Sawyer, Sayid and now also Juliet forming that team. Given that they seemed to take everything upon themselves, it would be very easy just to let them get on with it and do whatever it was that they needed to do to shut off whatever it was that was jamming the signal and get them off the island onto the boat. Charlie wouldn’t need to go anywhere near it. He wouldn’t even need to dabble his toes in the water.

Desmond sighed, watching the little group huddling over the Looking Glass plans, and he wondered just how much the future would change if Charlie wasn’t the one to go down and flip that switch. Would Claire and Aaron still be able to get off the island? Even if they went down there and Charlie survived in whatever way, it was still closer to his vision than him not being there at all.

They still hadn’t come up with any kind of concrete solution. Claire was determined that she wasn’t going to lose either of them, and certainly not Charlie, but in recent days Desmond had received the impression that Charlie wasn’t so sure himself. And it had to be said, as much as Desmond wanted to keep everyone safe for as long as he could, he really, really wanted Claire and Aaron to be able to get off the island at almost any cost. The question was, how close to almost any cost was he prepared to go? Was Claire’s escape even related to Charlie’s death in any way? This was the first time that he had ever seen the further fate of anyone other than Charlie in his visions, and he wasn’t sure if it was because there was a direction cause and effect link or if it was because he was becoming so much closer to Claire as a result of his relationship with Charlie and her.

“What’s going on there then?”

Desmond turned on hearing Charlie’s voice, then focussed his attention back on the action group getting plans together a little further along the beach.

“We’ve found our underwater room,” Desmond said. It was all he needed to say. Charlie’s eyes widened momentarily, and he looked from Jack’s group to Desmond and back again.

“Right.”

He didn’t say anything else for a long time, and then a certain determination that Desmond had never seen before came over his face, and he set off along the beach to go and see what was going on for himself.

“Charlie! Wait!”

Desmond scrabbled to his feet and tore off after him, arriving at the group and having to take a step back on seeing the complex plans spread out on the sand that they were all poring over.

“I’ll go,” Charlie said.

For a long moment, the others looked at him as if he had grown two extra heads, and Charlie rolled his eyes.

“What? Just because I’ve never shot a polar bear or wrestled an Other doesn’t mean I can’t flip a switch in some weird underwater room. I mean, how hard can it be, right? Besides, you lot are all going to have to stay here to make sure that the Others fall for the bait and that no-one ambushes you on your way to the radio tower. If you’re going to send someone down to flip switches, don’t you think it ought to be someone slightly more expendable that you don’t need to kick arse here?”

“You’re not expendable, Charlie.” The sound of everyone else speaking in unison with him made Desmond feel very justified in saying it, and also reminded him that he’d just run across the beach after Charlie to stop him from making this sacrifice, and now he was standing here beside him like a lemon, not adding anything to the conversation.

“I’ll go with him,” he said, both in an effort to add something of value and justify his sprint, and to hopefully get the opportunity to talk some sense into Charlie.

The rest of the group continued to look at each other before Jack gave a nod.

“All right. I guess that we could use all the volunteers that we can get to get this thing sorted out. I suppose we ought to be on the lookout for Locke throwing a spanner in the works as well.”

“I know he wants to stay on the island, but I don’t think that he’s going to the lengths of paddling out into the ocean to sabotage our own attempts to leave,” Desmond said. He paused. He hadn’t exactly known Locke as long as the rest of them. “Well. I don’t think he would.”

Kate scoffed. “When it comes to Locke, I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

“So, where is this physics-defying underwater power station, then?” Charlie asked. He was definitely going ahead with the plan, and Desmond could only smile and nod and go along with it. Maybe he could knock him out with an outrigger paddle or something on the way.

By the time they’d worked out a plan and the A-team were fully on board with Charlie and Desmond taking on the critical task of switching off whatever was jamming the signal, Desmond was no closer to working out a plan for Charlie’s survival, but he was absolutely, completely sure that no matter what happened, he was going to do something. Whereas before he had been agonising over what to do, now he was determined. He’d let Charlie come far too close to death once before when they’d been to find Naomi in the jungle, and Claire had already said that there would be no sacrifices for her sake on her watch.

Now all Desmond had to do was work out how to stop Charlie from sacrificing himself in the first place.

They were on their way back to their tent, safely out of the earshot of the A-team, and of Claire who was over at the pantry chatting with Rose and Bernard, when he could finally grab Charlie and try and talk some sense into him.

“Are you insane?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting Claire and Aaron off this bloody island, mate,” Charlie said. “If I have to drown by flipping switches, then maybe that’s the way it’s got to be.”

“Claire already said…”

“Yeah, I know.” Charlie sighed, scuffing his shoes in the sand and not meeting Desmond’s eyes for a long time. Even after he began to speak again, he was still only looking at his feet.

“I just think that maybe this time, it’s got to happen,” he began. “This is the fifth time you’ve seen me die. Don’t you think that maybe the universe is trying to tell me something here? Maybe this is just what’s meant to be, and every time you save me from my certain doom, you just piss off the universe a little bit more and it comes up with a brand-new way to kill me. It’s like Final Destination, you know. You can never cheat death. It’s always going to get you in the end.”

“I was in the hatch before it came out,” Desmond said. Charlie did have a point, in a way. Maybe the universe was trying to kill him. That still didn’t mean that they had to let it win.

It was all just so bloody unfair. Just when they’d got everything onto an even keel and things had been looking up for all three of them, this had had to happen to tip everything off kilter once more.

There were no words to express Desmond’s frustration in that moment; there were only actions. He cupped Charlie’s face and pulled him in for a kiss, a fierce and desperate one that he poured all his feelings into, praying that Charlie got it, that he realised just how much he meant and just how important and not at all expendable he was.

Charlie gave a squeak against his mouth and almost pulled away before relaxing into it. They were right in the middle of the beach and anyone could see them. In fact, most people were probably looking at them right now in astonishment. Although it had become clear to most people that something was going on when Desmond had started spending more and more time in Charlie and Claire’s tent, including a few overnight stays, they had never made their relationship public in that respect. This would be the beach camp’s first confirmation that yes, they were together, they were bi and poly and proud and they really didn’t care what anyone else thought. Well, Desmond certainly didn’t care, and from the way that Charlie was kissing him back with equal vigour, he didn’t think that he cared either.

“What was that for?” Charlie asked, breathless, once Desmond finally let him up for air.

Desmond gave him an incredulous look. “Can you really not guess? Really? I know you’ve got some self-esteem issues, brother, but that’s ridiculous. That was because I don’t want to lose you, and even if you’re determined to go on this suicide mission, then I’m going to be with you all the way. Because you’re not alone, Charlie. You have people who care about you and would be devastated to lose you. You have me and Claire and Aaron.”

Charlie’s smile could probably have powered the hatch for three years on its own, and Desmond thought that perhaps he’d managed to get through to him.

“I’ve had an idea,” Charlie said. “Honest to God lightbulb moment. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I know what to do. I know how it’s all going to work.”

He threw his arms around Desmond then took off back towards the tent, leaving Desmond standing confused in the middle of the beach, wondering what kind of epiphany he’d missed.

“That’s good,” he said faintly.

It was only then that he really noticed the rest of the camp’s eyes on him, with some visible jaws dropped at what had just taken place. Over by the pantry, Claire was watching him with Aaron on her hip and a proud expression on her face. Yes, those are my boys, her smile said. I’m not going to lose either of them to a watery grave.

To the rest of the camp, Desmond just gave a shrug and set off towards the tent after Charlie, hoping to gain some insight into whatever it was that had given him this new lease of life, leaving the spectators to their own conclusions.

Charlie had a plan. Well, he had about half of a plan depending on what happened once they got down to the Looking Glass and found out what was actually waiting for them there. Maybe it was less than half a plan. Maybe it wasn't a plan at all. All he knew was that he really didn't plan on dying today, and that he couldn't tell Desmond that. Desmond had probably guessed given that Charlie had been remarkably upbeat throughout the last couple of days since they'd volunteered to make the dive; his behaviour was hardly that of a man who had accepted his inevitable fate and was giving up on life. No, Charlie had a plan to survive this latest encounter with death, but he was acutely aware that if he told Desmond his theory then it would be immediately undermined.

All the same, that didn't mean that he couldn't take some precautions just in case the plan turned out to be not that great a plan after all and he did meet his doom down there.

They'd paddled out to the location of the Looking Glass, following the power supply cables from the beach, and now they were sitting right above it, ready to make the plunge. Charlie peered down through the water, but it was too deep to see anything of their ultimate destination other than an ominous shadow sitting on the ocean floor. It was incredibly deep, and even though Charlie considered himself an accomplished swimmer, even he was getting cold feet at the prospect of actually going down there. At least Desmond would be coming too.

"Are you ready?" Desmond asked presently. "All the pieces of the grand plan that you don't want to share are in place?"

"It's not that I don't want to share it, it's more that I'm worried that something will go wrong if I do." And also because he didn't have all that much of a plan in the first place and Desmond would probably have a heart attack if he realised just how unprepared he was. He'd probably get knocked out with a paddle and Desmond would go down alone which, although good from the perspective that Desmond had not foreseen his own death and therefore would probably be all right, it didn't go along with what Charlie had in mind for defeating his destiny once and for all, rather than just keep putting it off.

"I know, I know. You've got your reasons. I do hope that if we both get out of here alive then you'll share them with me."

"Of course. Let's just get this over with first though, ok?" He paused. "Desmond, if anything does happen down there..."

"It's not going to."

"Yes, but if it does... Hang on, have you had any more flashes?"

Desmond shook his head. "No. I don't tend to have one until after the previous one's come to pass. We'll have to get through this first before whatever oracle that it is deigns to give me any more clues."

"Ok. Good. Well, not good, but you know what I mean. Anyway, if something does happen, promise me that you'll take care of Claire and Aaron."

"With my life, Charlie."

Charlie shuddered at the phrase. "All right. No more talk of life and death. I'm going down. Give me enough time to get down there, then follow me."

Desmond nodded his agreement and Charlie pulled off his shoes. He'd sounded a lot surer of himself than he actually felt, but they said that if you acted a part well enough then everyone would believe that it was true.

He took a deep breath and dived ungainly into the water, making the outrigger sway on the waves. The salt water stung at his eyes, but he just kept swimming downwards to the structure that was becoming a lot less shadowy but no less ominous. He had a plan. Everything was going to be all right.

“Well, that was exciting.”

Desmond’s tone of voice made it clear that it had been anything but exciting, but Charlie didn’t question it. He was far more concerned with trying to memorise the code that Bonnie had given him, because it was a lot of numbers, and he was sure that he wasn’t going to remember them all. Between Bonnie, Greta, and Patchy returning from the dead for the - was it the second or the third time – it had been quite the ride; not at all the plain sailing that Charlie had hoped it would be. The plan had been to get in and get out again; he hadn’t bargained on being tied up for a few hours or witnessing Desmond harpoon a man.

Still. Needs must, and sometimes, needs must use harpoons in the name of getting everyone off the island safely.

Charlie sincerely hoped that Desmond had a head for numbers. He had to have done, he’d been punching them into the computer in the hatch for three years. Although, those were the same numbers over and over.

He shook his head, otherwise the hatch numbers would supersede the code numbers. Who in their right mind had a code like that? It was utterly ridiculous. Still, there was nothing for it. He entered the room, taking a deep breath although he wasn’t exactly sure why. There wasn’t any water in it yet. This was the moment of truth, the moment in which he’d very quickly find out if his plan was worth anything.

He keyed in the first few digits of the code, listening to the tones the keypad made, and he came to a realisation. He didn’t need to know the rest of the code. It was already drilled into the back of his mind. He didn’t know the numbers, but he would recognise that sound pattern anywhere.

“It’s Good Vibrations,” he said to himself. “Whoever programmed this was a musician.”

He ignored the numbers, going for the sounds instead. Now that everything depended on it, he was second-guessing his own memory. He closed his eyes and hummed the famous bars to himself a couple of times. He could do this. Everything was going to be all right and he was determined not to drown if he could help it.

He punched in the rest of the code, and the readout on the screen told him that it was correct. All he had to do now was flip the switch.

You flip a switch. The light goes out. And then you drown.

Charlie took a deep breath and flipped the switch. Above him, the flashing orange light died. He closed his eyes and waited for something to happen, some kind of rush of water from the depths. Outside the console room he could hear Desmond rushing around collecting Scuba gear for the swim back up to the outrigger. Everything was normal. Had his plan worked without him having to do anything, then?

"Hello?"

A scratchy, staticky voice from the console brought him back to himself and all thoughts of his imminent demise fled as he found himself face to face with a rather grainy satellite image of Penny.

"Penny!"

"I'm sorry, who are you? Where are you?"

"Oh, yes, right, sorry, I'm Charlie, you don't know me, but I know Desmond. Desmond!" he yelled back out into the main station. "Desmond, Penny's on the phone!” He turned back to the screen and the incredibly confused Miss Widmore. "Are you on the boat?"

Her expression just became even more confused. "Pardon?"

"The boat." Charlie felt his insides begin to turn to ice. "You know, the boat that Naomi came from. The boat that she said you sent to come and rescue us. And Desmond. Desmond get in here!"

"Charlie, I have no idea what you're talking about, I'm in London, I don't have a boat, I haven't sent one. I don't know anyone named Naomi."

"Oh crap."

"Charlie?"

Desmond was running towards the console room, Penny was trying to work out what on earth was going on, and there was a tapping noise at the porthole. Charlie looked over at it on instinct, and the ice in his guts became even worse as he saw Patchy grinning at him from the water outside, Scuba gear on, holding a...

"Where the hell did you get a hand grenade from? And don't you ever die?"

"Charlie!" Both Penny and Desmond were screaming his name in unison, and then there was the rush of water that Charlie had been expecting. Oh crap. This was definitely not part of his plan. He couldn't very well drown now when he'd just learned that Claire getting on that helicopter might not be the escape from the island that they wanted for her after all.

The door was a little way open and he pushed it further, the rush of water doing the rest, and he was swept out straight into Desmond, sending them both flying as the station began to flood.

"It's not Penny's boat!" Charlie yelped, trying to keep his head above water.

"What?"

"Naomi's boat..." He decided that it would probably be better to focus on getting out of the Looking Glass rather than trying to explain everything to Desmond when they were both about to drown, and he took a gasp of air before diving under, out towards the pool where they'd entered. The breath hadn't really been big enough and his head was pounding with the need to let out the air and take another breath; black spots were dancing in front of his eyes. He felt a hand grab him and in his oxygen starved panic, he thought it was Patchy caught up to him again and he flailed about trying to shake him off. Then he realised it was Desmond, and he grabbed the scuba mask that was floating around between them, gratefully taking a gulp of air. Desmond had evidently only been able to grab one before everything had flooded, but it was better than nothing, and they slowly made their way back up to the surface and the outrigger together.

For a long while after they clambered back into it, all they could do was just lie there and get their breath back whilst the scorching sun attempted to dry them.

"What were you saying about Penny's boat?" Desmond asked eventually, and on hearing the words, Charlie sat bolt upright again, suddenly and immediately alert.

"It's not Penny's boat! I spoke to Penny in the room before it flooded."

"You spoke to Pen?"

"Why do you think I was yelling for you to come over, you cretin?" Charlie gave a huff of annoyance. "Anyway, Naomi's lying. She said that Penny had sent her and the boat to come and rescue us. Penny's still in London and she has no idea what's going on, she doesn't know anything about this!"

For a long time, Desmond didn't say anything, and Charlie was wondering if he had water in his ears or was suffering from some kind of oxygen deprivation to the brain. He was on the verge of shaking him to try and get across the vast implications of what he'd just learned, when Desmond finally spoke.

"Well, that's a bugger."

"It's more than a bugger!" Charlie exclaimed. "We need to warn everyone else that Naomi and the other people on the boat are not what they seem! And how did Naomi know that we'd trust her if she said that Penny had sent her? Anyway, that's beside the point, the point is that everyone's in danger and you'd better have a vision of Claire not getting on that helicopter soon because who knows what might happen if she does!"

"Charlie, I completely appreciate the need to warn the others, but we can't exactly do that whilst we're in the middle of the ocean, so shall we get back to the beach first and take it from there?"

Considering Desmond was usually one for panicking, the calm and pragmatic approach surprised Charlie, and he dutifully took up his paddle as they steered back towards the beach.

"Since we're both still alive, can I ask about your plan now?" Desmond asked as they paddled.

"I guess so. I just had a hunch. All these times you've prophesised my death, you've been the one to save me from it."

"That's true. I suppose that since I was the one who had the foreknowledge, it made sense for me to be the one to save you. That vision had to have come to me for a reason."

"I know. Anyway, I had an idea that if I was the one to save myself, then that would break the cycle, so to speak. If you knew what was coming but didn't interfere yourself - you left my fate in my own hands, either to accept it or try to change it. So, I chose to try and change it instead. And since I'm still here, I guess it worked. Well, for now at least.”

Desmond nodded. “I can’t fault the logic, certainly. Here’s hoping that you’ve beaten it once and for all.”

By the time they got back to the beach, it was clear that a lot had been going on whilst they’d been out at the Looking Glass. To call it chaos would have been doing it a favour. Charlie looked at the Dharma van, and the destroyed tents, and the dead Others, and then he looked at the little group of their own survivors who were gathered around.

“Do I even want to ask what happened here?”

“Probably not,” Sayid said, at the same time as Hurley said: “I ran over a bunch of guys.”

“Right. You know what, I’m not going to ask, because we’ve got a bigger problem on our hands.”

Sawyer just looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “What kind of a problem, short stuff?”

Charlie rolled his eyes at the moniker but there wasn’t enough time to get angry, not when Jack was quite possibly taking them towards a rescue that was anything but, and he launched into his explanation of what had happened down in the Looking Glass, and the ominous message from Penny that the boat was nothing to do with her.

Juliet and Sawyer looked at each other.

“We need to tell Jack,” she said. “I guess it’s up to everyone else to decide for themselves what they want to do, but we need to let them know.”

Sawyer nodded his agreement. “Yeah. We’re meeting up with all the others at the cockpit this evening. Come on, we ought to get going.”

He shouldered his rifle and took off into the trees, and gradually the rest of the camp followed on behind him, grabbing what weapons they had and filling up water bottles. Charlie just collapsed down onto the sand with a groan.

“Really?” he muttered. “I’ve just nearly drowned, paddled back to shore and given you incredibly important bad news, and now we’re going on another route march? Let a bloke get his breath back, why don’t you?”

Beside him, he heard Desmond chuckle, and then a familiar tanned hand was holding a water bottle in front of his face.

“Come on,” he said, giving Charlie a hand back to his feet. “The sooner we get going, the sooner we can reassure Claire that you haven’t been doing any self-sacrificing on her behalf, and the sooner we can work out a plan for what’s going to happen now that getting on the helicopter probably isn’t such a good idea.”

The meeting at the cockpit was exactly the shitshow that Charlie had expected it to be, with everyone arguing with everyone else about whether to trust the new arrivals or not. It was clear that the party was splitting into two – those who were with Jack and wanted to get off the island at any cost, and those who were with Locke and thought that it would be safer to stay firmly put rather than to entrust their rescue to a group of unknowns.

But through it all, Charlie only had thoughts for Claire, and when he saw her in the gaggle of survivors that Jack had led through the trees, he ran over to her, wrapping his arms around her and Aaron.

“The hero of the hour,” she said, before giggling and kissing him. “I’m so glad that you’re all right.” She looked over his shoulder at Desmond, who was standing a little apart, letting them have their own moment. “Thanks for taking care of him, Desmond.”

Desmond shrugged. “No, he took care of himself, actually. He had a plan all along.”

Claire just smiled. “I’m very happy about that.” She looked over at Locke and Jack and sighed. “What now, Charlie? Something’s telling me that we ought to go with Locke, if these people can’t be trusted to get us out then I don’t want to risk Aaron’s safety like that. On the other hand, though…”

On the other hand, neither Charlie or Desmond entirely trusted Locke, and whilst Charlie would admit that through the haze of his own jealousy, Locke had been a good friend to Claire, sticking with Desmond and Charlie mattered more to her.

“If we stay together, then we’ll be all right,” Charlie said. “So, wherever you want to go, wherever you feel that Aaron will be safest, we’ll go with you.”

“That’s the problem,” Claire said. “The only place I know that Aaron will be safe is with me.”

Over in the main group, Rose had announced her intentions to remain with Jack’s group, and Charlie knew that Rose had no intentions of leaving the island, whether the newcomers supposedly sent to rescue them were benign or not.

“I think we’ll be better off at the beach,” he said. “We know it there, it’s familiar territory. And I think you’d feel safer there. A nice, wide open space. Hard to sneak up on someone from the ocean.”

Claire laughed weakly. “I guess you’re right.” She hooked her arm through his. “Back to the beach it is, and on the way you can tell me all about your plan for cheating death.”

To say that the next few days on the beach were fraught would probably be the understatement of the century. Although they had decided to stick together, Desmond was worried about Penny, and how come the people on the freighter who had said that they'd been sent by her, and whom she knew nothing about, knew about her. If she was in danger and it was somehow Desmond's fault, then he would never forgive himself, and so it was with a heavy heart that he went with Sayid out to the freighter to try and work out what was going on.

That was when things had started to get scary. Claire cuddled Aaron close as a confused and terrified Desmond's voice resounded over the satphone, convinced that he was in 1996. It was the lack of recognition that cut the deepest, the fact that only a few short hours ago, everything had been all right and well in the world, and they had been rejoicing in Charlie's survival, and now Desmond didn't have a clue who she and Charlie were. Daniel was trying his hardest to explain everything to Desmond, and Claire knew that she and Charlie crowding around him probably wasn't going to be helping matters, but at the same time, she desperately wanted to know what was going on and if he was getting any better.

A part of her really wished that he hadn't gone. They were meant to stick together; that was the entire reason why they'd all gone back to the beach, but Claire couldn't really blame Desmond for wanting to make sure that Penny was all right. It was strange, she was just as much a part of this relationship as the three of them were, despite her being on the opposite side of the world and not knowing anything about Claire and Charlie. Her importance in Desmond's life had become an importance in all the rest of their lives as well, and Claire had to wonder if she would ever get the chance to meet the mysterious woman. She'd seen her photograph; Desmond never went anywhere without it. She hoped that they would meet someday. She wanted to meet the person that Desmond cared about so much.

The waiting for news was getting to be painful, and Claire had taken to walking up and down the beach with Aaron on her hip just to try and get rid of some of the nervous energy that was plaguing her at the moment. The rest of the group left her to it, although she was getting some odd looks from Charlotte. Daniel was too preoccupied with sorting out what was happening on the freighter to pay much attention, and everyone else knew about the relationship. Charlotte was clearly intrigued as to why Charlie and Claire, ostensibly a monogamous couple, could be so incredibly worried about a single man.

There was an exclamation of triumph and Claire turned to see Charlie running across the beach as fast as he could over the uneven sand, his arms windmilling for balance as he came over to her.

"He's ok," he said breathlessly. "Whatever it was that Daniel told him to do, it worked. So, there's no danger of him losing all his remaining marbles just yet."

Claire breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank god for that. Are they any closer to working out what's going on with the freighter and who sent it?"

Charlie shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Apparently everyone's being rather cagey and no-one really trusts Desmond and Sayid enough to tell them anything, but it sounds like half the crew's going mad, so maybe we are better off cutting our losses and staying here." Charlie held his hand up to block out the sun and looked out towards the sea, beyond the horizon to where the freighter was. "I'm half-inclined to think that Desmond and Sayid might just commandeer the thing and get us all out here by any means necessary."

"Well, Sayid could certainly do it. I'm not quite so sure about Desmond but he's determined when he wants to be, we all know that." Claire glanced over in the same direction, wishing that she could see the freighter and reassure herself that Desmond was all right. "It'll be ok. We've got to stay positive."

It was hard, though, when things kept going wrong and it wasn't entirely clear who could be trusted. Even within the network of the freighter crew, there were clear divisions. Those like Charlotte, Daniel and Miles who had come on what they perceived to be a scientific expedition, and those who were far more concerned with wiping Linus off the face of the planet. Considering that Locke had taken Linus back to the Others' village with him, Claire was quite glad that she hadn't gone along as well.

When it became clear that nowhere on the island was going to be safe from the mercenaries that the freighter had brought along with its possible allies, Claire and Charlie looked at each other. Sayid had come back with the raft and was loading people onto it, ready to evacuate. The rest of the A-Team were all over the place; Hurley was nowhere to be found. Desmond, however, was on the freighter. He was out there, and he was ready to receive them, ready to make sure that they could get off the island once and for all. For all they might not have trusted the freighter folk to start with, and for all they had been justified in that belief, right now that boat was the only way for them to get away safely.

"You need to go," Charlie said, nodding towards the Zodiac craft that Sayid was quickly filling with people. "You and Aaron need to get on that boat and get out to the freighter."

"What about you?"

"I'll be ok, I'll get the next boat." Charlie was ushering her forwards. There was only going to be one place left in the boat, and she couldn't ask anyone else to stay behind just so that she could make sure that Charlie was going to be all right. "Desmond's already there, so he'll make sure that you're ok. It's going to be fine, I promise. I'll be right behind you."

Sun and Jin, already sitting in the boat, gave Charlie a grateful smile as Daniel pushed it off and they headed out towards the freighter. Claire looked behind her until Charlie was no longer visible, and then turned her face into the wind, holding Aaron close and closing her eyes. She could hardly believe it. She was away from the island at last, after she had almost given up hope of ever leaving it. Now, she was one step closer to getting home.

Of course, getting home presented several more challenges in and of itself. Once they were on the freighter, there was no guarantee that the freighter could get them to where they needed to be, and there was the small matter of them being supposedly dead at the bottom of the ocean. It would certainly cause a stir when they arrived home in Sydney or wherever and the world realised that they were still alive. It would raise all kinds of questions as to where they had been for the past three months and who on earth had the resources and expertise needed to fake an entire plane crash. And of course, why anyone would want to do that in the first place. From what Claire had heard Desmond say in snippets here and there when he had talked about Penny and her father, it seemed that Charles Widmore was certainly the kind of person who would do such a thing and had everything at hand to pull it off.

There were all kinds of island politics going on that Claire didn't even hope to understand, but she knew instinctively that letting other people know about the island and all the weird and wonderful things that had happened here would not be a good idea. Although there were enough of them that hopefully they wouldn't all immediately be carted off to the mental ward, it was still something of a worry.

She shook her head and focused on the shape of the freighter as it came into view. There would be time enough to worry about what would come next later. For now, they actually had to get free of the island. If Desmond and Sayid's reports from the freighter were anything to go by, then that might be easier said than done. Its influence seemed to extend far beyond its boundaries.

Finally, they reached the freighter, and the process of getting everyone off the Zodiac and onto the boat began. Desmond was there assisting with proceedings, and it seemed like, in the absence of the mercenaries who were now swarming all over the island looking for Linus, the rest of the crew were more willing to help with the evacuation of the Oceanic survivors.

Once everyone was on board, Daniel turned the Zodiac around, and Claire honed in on Desmond. He came over to her, weaving through the scared crowd on the deck, and he put his arms around her and Aaron.

"I'm so glad that you're ok," he said. "Where's Charlie, how's he doing?"

"He's getting the next boat over, there wasn't room for him and we didn't want to ask anyone else to give up their place when we're so close to finally getting off the island."

"Yeah." Desmond looked guilty, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry that I didn't come back with Sayid," he said. "I just... I've spent so long on that island that once I was finally free of it, I didn't want to go back, just in case I never got the chance to get off it again."

"Hey, it's ok." Claire went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "I understand. It'll be ok. I'm here now, and Charlie's nearly here, and then we'll be able to get out of here together and work out what the hell happens next."

"Yes." Desmond gave a little sigh, a satisfied sound. He was nearly home, wherever home might be for him. That was another thing to think about. It was one thing for the survivors of the Oceanic flight to be found having been presumed dead, but what about Desmond and Juliet, who'd both been on the island for three years before the plane even crashed? How could they be explained when the time came?

She shook her head, determining to think no more about it. No more worrying today. She'd done enough worrying over the last couple of days to last her a lifetime, and she really needed to concentrate on the present. They weren't out of the woods just yet.

"You find somewhere to sit with Aaron out of the way," Desmond said, and he guided her over towards a corner, sheltered behind a container. "I just want to see what's going on downstairs, I haven't seen Michael for a while."

"Michael? Michael Dawson? Our Michael? What's he doing here?"

"It's too complicated to explain," Desmond said. "I'm not entirely sure that I understand it myself, but I'll tell you everything in a minute."

He left her then, and Claire just settled down with Aaron. He was getting fussy, wanting to nurse, and Claire realised with a grimace that she hadn't brought any dry nappies with her. They'd have to make do for a while, presumably there were sheets and towels on board the freighter that she could use, although from what she could see of it, the place did look pretty spartan.

She got Aaron settled on her breast and leaned back against the container, watching the comings and goings. Just a few more minutes and Charlie would be back, and they'd all be safe. Nothing was going to go wrong. They'd figure out what to do, and then their lives could finally move forward. The chopper was coming back, and Claire could just about make out Hurley and Kate inside it.

That was when everything started to go pear-shaped.

Claire wasn't sure that she had ever seen so much chaos in one place. Possibly in the aftermath of the crash itself, with fire and fumes and blood and screaming, but she'd been too busy having contractions to really pay much attention to it all then. Now, she was absolutely aware of it, and it terrified her. All she could think about was Charlie, on the Zodiac headed towards a boat that was rigged to explode at any moment. As much as she was desperate for him to get here and get away from the island with her, a part of her knew that he would be safer where he was. Then Desmond was hurrying her towards the helicopter, and they were taking off, and they had come so close, but to no avail. Back to the island they would have to go.

As they flew overhead, Claire could see the Zodiac beneath them, but she couldn't make out Charlie from so far away. The boat looked like it was still heading towards the freighter, and she wanted to yell at them to go back.

Then, the freighter blew and everything went blindingly white.

When Claire opened her eyes, the island was gone. So was the smoking freighter. So was the Zodiac.

So was Charlie.

#Lost fanfic #Charlie Pace #Claire Littleton #Desmond Hume #Charlie/Claire #Charlie/Desmond #Charlie/Desmond/Claire #polyamory #canon divergence #polyamorous characters #bisexual characters

0 notes

inevitably-johnlocked · 6 years ago

Note

Do you have any fics where Sherlock actively protects and/or defends John? Not like I’m-leaving-to-protect-you, but like standing-and-facing-aggressors-to-protect-and-defend?

Hi Nonny!

Ahh, I actually do, but I end up classifying it under “John Whump” or “Possessive Sherlock” LOL. Here’s what I got for you!

PROTECTIVE SHERLOCK